and i feel god in this chili’s tonight

roger taylor is my skinny queen (23)

[brookediamonds]

Masterlist

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Axel Kovačević:

series/same worlds

one shots/imagines

smut

drabbles

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Updated: 11/11/25

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

Welcome to my page! I currently only write for Axel Kovačević and you can find my rules right here. Please be patient and thorough with submissions, I can't wait to read your request!

Submit here.

[brookediamonds]

I miss you boo 😢 😘🥰

miss you too friend 🤍

[brookediamonds]

MISS YOU 😢

i miss you too :( and writing

[brookediamonds]

Are you alive?

LMFAOOO NOT REALLY 😭 I’ve lost my passion and am burnt out from work. I’m really sorry for losing this part of myself. Maybe I can do some writing this weekend.

[brookediamonds]

Hii, can we see an Axel x reader, where Axel keeps trying to ask her out and trying to go out with her, but she just had a baby a couple of months ago. So she declines him but once he finds out she has a baby he legit vows to be the father for it and its cute a whole lot of cuteness?? Tyy

the fate of ophelia | Axel Kovačević x Fem!Reader

Summary: After you gave birth to your baby girl, you swore to never put her in harms way ever again. Moving to a different city and state, you find yourself wanting to find yourself again.

Word Count: 2.11k Warnings: Reader has bad past, none, young reader (23-24ish)

gif is not mine

You sign the waiver with a quiet sigh. The pen clicks louder than it should in the small, echoing lobby of the new dojo you've just joined.

You keep your gaze low as you hand over the clipboard, aware of the distant thud of bodies hitting mats, the rhythm of shouts, the sharp whip of discipline in motion.

It's familiar. Comforting. You grew up with this kind of noise, this kind of structure. And now, months after bringing life into the world—alone, raw, and still healing—you're desperate for it.

Discipline. Focus. Somewhere to put the parts of yourself you're still reclaiming.

You glance up just in time to meet his eyes.

He's taller than you expected. Light brown hair, broad shoulders, that effortless command of presence that men like him tend to have.

But there's something else beneath all that, something quieter, observant. His eyes are a deep blue, and they rest on you like he's already taken note of the things you're not saying.

"First class?" he asks, voice low, a bit gravelly. Not unkind.

You nod. "Since I was a teenager."

There's a pause, just a beat. He nods in return, and you notice the subtle movement of his jaw tightening before he relaxes. "We go at your pace here. No pressure."

You don't tell him you're used to pressure. You don't tell him you can't remember the last time you moved your body without feeling like you were carrying the weight of the world on your back—or the baby monitor in your bag.

Instead, you murmur, "Thank you," and follow him further into the building.

The first class leaves you sore in places you forgot existed.

But it also leaves you with something else: breath. Control. You walk out drenched in sweat but feeling like you finally remembered how to be in your body again.

Axel watches you the way a sensei watches anyone new—quietly, respectfully, but closely.

When you miss a block or falter on a stance, he corrects with a gentle touch to your wrist or a nod of encouragement.

"Not bad," he says after your third class, offering you a small water bottle from the fridge. "Most people don't come back after the first."

"I'm not most people," you say softly avoiding his gaze.

You don't realize how much that tells him until you see the faint smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. He nods again, like he agrees.

You don't talk about your baby.

It’s not because you're ashamed, not even close. Your daughter is the sun that rose after the darkest storm of your life.

But something about this space, this version of you that's slowly growing stronger again, you want to protect it. You want to keep it just yours for a little longer.

But Axel notices things. That you always check your phone once around the 40-minute mark. That you wear the same zip-up hoodie no matter how hot it is.

That there's a new softness in your body, not weakness, but one that speaks of change. Of recovery. Of sacrifice.

He never asks, but you catch him watching sometimes. Thoughtful, not invasive.

One day, while helping you stretch after class, he kneels beside you, his hands gently pressing into your lower back.

"You carry tension here," he murmurs. "It's not from training."

You freeze for a second. Swallow. Then exhale.

"No," you admit. "It's from… before."

Axel doesn't pry. He simply adjusts your posture, holding your hips steady. His hands are warm.

"You don't have to carry it forever."

Your eyes sting a little at that. But you don't cry. Not here. Not yet.

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Axel asks you out on a Wednesday.

The class had just finished. Your knuckles red, your ponytail damp with sweat, your limbs pleasantly sore from pushing yourself harder than usual.

You were tugging your bag over your head when he walked over, casual as ever, a bottle of water in hand.

"Hey," he says, voice a little more careful than usual. "What are you up to this weekend?"

You slide your sandals on before looking up. "Besides icing my legs and pretending I don't want to die?"

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I was thinking maybe you might want to have dinner with me. If you're free."

It's a simple offer. Normal. And you hate how badly you want to say yes.

But instead, heart twisting, you lower your eyes, give him a small smile, and say, "I'm really flattered, Axel. But I can't."

Something flickers across his face.

"Okay," he covers it quickly, gives a slight nod, and murmurs, "got it."

And then he's gone.

Nor do you go to class for the rest of the week.

You mean to, but the sitter texts the next morning saying she's come down with the flu and can't risk getting the baby sick.

You understand. Of course you do. You just hadn't realized how much you were relying on those few hours to breathe. To move. To feel like someone other than just "mom."

And now, knowing Axel probably thinks you rejected him because you weren't interested… it sits heavy in your chest.

You bounce Daisy gently on your hip, pressing a kiss to her soft curls as she babbles into your shoulder.

"I wish I could tell him," you whisper.

But you've been through too much. Given too much. And every time you think about letting someone see all of you—the past, the postpartum softness, the sleepless nights and the single stroller parked by the door.

It terrifies you. What if you're too much? What if you scare him off? What if he goes?

Friday evening, there's a knock at your door.

You're still in your worn leggings and tank top, hair thrown up messily, baby monitor clipped to your waistband as you open the door with caution.

And there he is.

Axel. Hoodie half-zipped, hands in his pockets, a faint crease between his brows that melts the second he sees you.

You furrow your brows. "Axel?"

"I—" He scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry. I know this is… a little out of the blue. I just—when you didn't show this week, I thought maybe I crossed a line asking you out. And I didn't want you to feel like you had to avoid the dojo because of me."

Your heart sinks. "No. No, you didn't… I should be the one apologizing."

He shakes his head, about to argue, but you step forward and say softly, "I wanted to say yes."

His eyes flicker up to yours. "Then why didn’t you?"

And like a cue from the universe, Daisy starts crying from her nursery. Loud, insistent, unmistakably baby.

You flinch, visibly, but Axel doesn't move.

You hesitate for a breath. Then: "You might as well come in."

The moment he steps inside, his eyes scan the space instinctively.

Soft toys on the rug. A folded blanket on the couch. A pastel bottle drying by the sink. It's warm here, safe. Like your home exists in its own little world of gentle chaos and necessary calm.

It smells faintly of lavender and formula and something sweet, like a candle long since blown out. He doesn't say a word.

You disappear down the hall, and he hears your voice cooing softly through the door: "It's okay, baby. I'm right here."

You return with her in your arms, and Axel swears he forgets how to breathe.

She's little. Pink-cheeked. Wrapped in a sleepy onesie with her chubby fists curled into your shoulder. Her head rests against your collarbone like she's always belonged there.

"I haven't been to class because my babysitter's sick," you explain, gently bouncing her in your arms. "It's just us. And I didn't want to bring her to the dojo and cause a distraction."

Axel shakes his head slowly, but responds immediately with, "you wouldn't have."

You pause, searching his face. "I wanted to say yes. I really did. But as you can see… there's more to me than just karate."

He steps closer, just a little.

"I can see that," he says softly. "I see someone strong. Someone who's still showing up for herself, even if it's messy. Even if it's hard."

You swallow the lump in your throat, eyes stinging.

"I don't care if you have a baby. I don't care if you bring her with you, or if you need time, or if you're scared. I'm not going anywhere, Y/n."

Your lips part, but no words come.

Instead, Daisy lets out a sleepy squeak in your arms, and Axel reaches out instinctively, brushing a gentle finger over her hand.

"She's beautiful," he murmurs.

"She's my whole world," you whisper looking down at your small creation.

He meets your eyes, voice barely above a breath.

"Then I'd be honored to know both of you."

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Sunday morning feels like something sacred. You pack Daisy's diaper bag with care, a blanket, pacifier, spare onesie, her favorite toy that smells like home.

She babbles in her carrier as you adjust the strap on your shoulder, feeling something foreign settle in your chest.

Excitement.

Hope.

Axel had texted you late Friday night after he left your porch.

'If you're up for it, come by the dojo Sunday morning. Just us. You can bring Daisy. She's already a student in my book.'

You'd stared at the message longer than you needed to. Re-reading it until the edges of your fear softened into something warmer. Something like trust.

Now here you are, pushing open the front door of the quiet dojo, your slides squeaking slightly against the hard wood floor leading to the mats.

He's already there, crouched down with a soft mat rolled out just beside the main floor.

When he sees you, his whole face lights up in that quiet, understated Axel way, like someone flipped on a switch behind his eyes.

"Hey," he says, standing up. "You made it."

You nod, adjusting Daisy in your arms. "She did most of the convincing."

"She ready to spar?" Axel chuckles as he steps closer, glancing at the baby now wide-eyed and alert against your chest.

"She already wins every fight with me," you mutter under your breath.

"You can lay her down over here if you want," he says gesturing to the soft mat. "I figured she might like being close."

You blink, a little stunned at the thoughtfulness. "You set that up… for her?"

"For you," he corrects, quietly. "But yeah. For her too."

Your heart aches. You know it's not normal for people to accommodate this, especially a guy.

The session is slower-paced than usual, but not easy.

Axel is firm but patient, walking you through everything you missed with such focus and gentleness that you forget for a moment you're not just here for your body.

You're here for your mind. Your soul.

He notices things. Like how you hesitate with your footing because you're still self-conscious about your postpartum hips.

Or how your punches get a little wild when you're frustrated. He doesn't correct you harshly. He guides.

You land a clean jab and he nods, clearly impressed.

"There you go," he murmurs standing not too far behind you. "See? Still in you."

You grin despite yourself. "Bit rusty."

"You had a baby, Y/n," he says, his voice low and soft, like he's trying to remind you of your own strength. "You grew a human and still came back here swinging. That's not rust. That's resilience."

You look back at him, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding against your chest, and not from the work out.

"…Thank you."

He just nods again, offering you his hand to help you balance during a stretch.

Halfway through cooldown, Daisy lets out a squeaky whine.

You turn instinctively, but Axel's already crouching by her.

"She okay?" he asks softly.

"Just fussy," you nod crouching down next to him to pick her up. "She's probably hungry."

Without a word, Axel grabs the diaper bag and hands it over. You kneel beside the mat, unzipping it quickly to pull out her bottle.

He lingers nearby, not too close, but not far either. She settles almost instantly in your arms, suckling peacefully while you sway her lightly.

"She's really good," he says. "For a baby."

"You haven't heard her at 3am," you smile playfully.

He laughs, quiet and low. "Guess I'll have to earn that privilege."

You pause feeling a blush rise to your face as you make eye contact with Axel.

There's a beat of silence before you glance down at the baby in your arms and say, voice barely audible: "You don't have to keep showing up, you know."

"I want to," he says. "I want to know you. Both of you."

Your breath catches at his words, his honesty, and the sincerity in his eyes.

Daisy lets out a satisfied sigh in your arms, her little fingers curled against your chest.

You gently brush her hair back and whisper, "You'd be the first."

Axel kneels beside you, close now. His hand rests near your knee—not touching, just grounding.

"Then let me be the first," he proposes. "If that's what you want."

You nod slowly. Heart thudding. Voice barely steady.

"I do."

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Masterlist

(a/n: this has to be one of the sweetest prompts I've received so far, Axel stepping into a role like this? My heart 😭)

[brookediamonds]

making the bed

Summary: Based off this request.

Word Count: 1.64k Warnings: None, anxiety, fluff

gif is not mine

The hum of the stadium still echoed faintly in your ears even hours after the show ended. The roar of the crowd, the blinding lights, the camera flashes—all of it still clung to you like static.

You'd smiled until your cheeks hurt, signed your name until your wrist cramped, and posed for photos until the muscles in your face felt like stone.

You'd done everything expected of Y/n L/n, the rising star with a voice that could make the world fall quiet.

But as you slipped past the last corridor of the arena, still wearing the faint shimmer of stage makeup, you didn't feel like that girl at all.

You just felt… tired. Hollow, even.

Barcelona was breathtaking, yes—sunlight spilling through every street, laughter and accents melting together—but fame had a way of isolating you in the middle of noise.

For days, you'd been followed by a sea of handlers, photographers, and brand reps talking about contracts and sponsorships.

You were the chosen voice of the Sekai Taikai world tournament, the girl who would "bridge art and athleticism" for the global audience.

And now, after your performance had gone viral, the energy drink brand sponsoring the event had decided to keep you on as their face for the rest of the week.

They said it was perfect synergy. You needed energy for your stage, and the athletes needed it for theirs.

You just wanted to breathe.

You tugged your hoodie over your head and slipped into one of the side halls, sneakers silent against the polished floor.

The stadium was quiet now—only the distant sound of a late-night maintenance crew echoed somewhere down the hall.

You followed a dimly lit sign pointing toward training rooms, not because you had a reason to, but because it was the first place that wasn't buzzing with life.

When you opened the door, the faint scent of sweat and sandalwood hit you. The mats were empty, save for a few hanging punching bags swaying from the air vents above.

The lights were half-dimmed, and the silence felt sacred—like the world had finally stopped spinning.

You didn't notice anyone else there.

You stepped inside, your throat tightening. It had been days since you'd had a moment alone. Since you'd been allowed to feel instead of perform.

You clenched your fists, staring at one of the hanging bags. Maybe if you just—

You swung.

The bag twisted hard under the impact of your sneaker, sending a jolt up your leg. It felt… good. Unpolished, but freeing.

You went for another, kicking again, this time harder. And again. Each strike sent a shudder through your chest, loosening the invisible weight pressing against your ribs.

Then a voice came from behind you—calm, low, with an edge of authority.

"Your form's wrong."

You yelped, eyes snapping toward the sound.

Across the room, a tall figure stood near the mirror-lined wall, one hand still halfway through what it looked like a dance.

His chest rose and fell evenly beneath his black training shirt, his hair damp from exertion. You hadn't even realized someone else was there—someone who clearly belonged in this space in a way you didn't.

"I—what?" you stammered, heart racing as you straightened.

His eyes flick from your foot to your posture. "Your kick. You're throwing it from your hip. You'll hurt yourself doing it that way."

You blinked, unsure if you were more embarrassed or startled. Clearly, he had no idea who you were. "Didn't realize I had an audience."

"You didn’t," he said simply, voice low and steady. "You just barged into mine."

You looked around, noticing the water bottle and towel near the mat, the rhythm of his breathing as he resumed his stance.

He was clearly training—late at night, just like you were hiding. The quiet type, the kind who didn't need a crowd to prove he was good.

You crossed your arms, cheeks warm. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your… whatever that was."

"Kata," he corrected, stepping forward to reset his stance. "Form practice."

"Right," you muttered, half to yourself. "Karate stuff."

That earned you the faintest smirk, though it was gone before it fully formed. "Pretty much."

You should've left. You should've apologized again and gone back to your room.

But something about his composure, the way he moved like the world outside couldn't touch him, kept you there. You also liked that he didn't seem to know you.

"Wait..." he spoke quietly. He glanced at you again, studying your face. His brow furrowed slightly. "I know you."

Oh.

You tilted your head slightly, caught off guard. "You do?"

He nodded once. "You sang at the opening ceremony, right? The one everyone's been talking about."

"Yeah," you swallowed, suddenly self-conscious. "That was me."

His gaze softened, though his stance stays solid.

"I didn't recognize you without the glitter," he says bluntly.

A quiet laugh escaped you, the first genuine one in days. "Guess that means it's working."

He didn't reply immediately, just watched you for a moment longer, as if trying to figure out why a singer would be hiding in a practice room.

He could see it though, the exhaustion on your face, and not to mention the anger behind the kick you attempted on the bag.

"Well, if you're gonna kick it, at least do it right," he gestures toward the punching bag. "Here."

You hesitated, caught between the absurdity and the strange comfort of it all.

But when he motioned again, patient and wordless, you stepped closer.

He moves behind you, not too close, but close enough that you can feel the controlled heat radiating from him. His hand hovers over your waist, guiding you slightly.

"You want the power to come from your core. Pivot here," he murmurs, tapping just above your knee. "And kick through it, not at it."

You swallow and nod, copying his stance. The mat squeaks faintly under your sneakers. You breathe in, swing your leg, and hit the bag again.

It wobbles in a slow arc, not quite the satisfying strike he made look so effortless, but stronger than before.

He hums, half-smile curving at his mouth. "Not bad for a newbie."

You turn, mock-offended. "A newbie?"

"Yeah," his tone softens as he straightens up. "You've got good instinct, though. Not everyone does."

You laugh, feeling something you haven't felt all week—light.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you grin up at him. "I mean, it's not every day I get personally coached by the three-time boys' champion himself."

His head lifts slightly at that, the barest flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You know who I am?"

"Hard not to," you shrug, the corners of your lips curled up. "Every journalist and reporter's been chanting your name since we landed. Kovačević this, Kovačević that."

He scratches the back of his neck, gaze dropping as if he's embarrassed by the attention.

"People exaggerate," he mutters, shrugging it off. "There's always someone better."

"That's very humble of you," you tease gently. "But, no offense, it sounds like something a champion would say."

He lets out a short laugh, low and rare, and for a second the air between you feels charged, alive.

You're about to say something else when faint voices echo down the hallway outside the room.

"She went this way!" someone whispers. "I swear I saw her hoodie!"

Your pulse spikes. You know that tone—breathless, desperate, fandom-fueled.

"Shit," you whisper under your breath, spinning toward the door.

Axel notices immediately—the way your shoulders tighten, the panic in your eyes. Without missing a beat, he grabs your hand. "This way."

Before you can protest, he tugs you toward the side of the room, opening a supply closet and ushering you inside.

The door shuts with a quiet click, plunging you both into a cramped darkness that smells faintly of detergent and pine cleaner.

You press your back against the wall, trying not to breathe too loudly. Axel's hand is still around yours, steady and grounding, and you can hear the faint shuffle of footsteps just outside.

"Is she in there?" "No, keep looking. Check the other room."

The voices fade slowly, the sound of sneakers scuffing down the hall growing distant.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, stifling a small laugh that bubbles out anyway.

"Wow," you whisper, still catching your breath. "Didn't realize hiding in a broom closet would be part of my brand deal."

Axel's chest shakes with quiet laughter. "Guess we both needed a break from the spotlight."

You turn your head toward him, the dim sliver of light from the door crack catching his face just enough to make your breath hitch.

Up close, you can see details you hadn't before—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint flush along his cheekbones, and a few freckles scattered faintly across his nose.

He looks calm, but his eyes... dark blue, like the sky right before a storm, are focused entirely on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," you nod, but your gaze lingers on his mouth when you do. "Just… didn't expect my night to end like this."

"Same," he murmurs. His voice has dropped a little, lower now, rougher.

The silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable. It hums with something else—something you don't want to name.

You're still watching him when his expression shifts. His hand loosens slightly against yours, but his eyes don't move away.

Slowly, almost as if testing the moment, he leans in. His lips brush yours—gentle, hesitant, like he's waiting for you to pull away.

You don't.

For a second, the world outside ceases to exist. There's only the warmth of his mouth and the quiet sound of your breath mingling with his.

When he pulls back, it's so sudden it makes your chest ache.

"I—sorry," he starts, voice barely a whisper. "I shouldn't have—"

You don't let him finish.

You grab the front of his shirt and pull him back down, your lips crashing into his again.

This time there's no hesitation, just the quiet thud of his heartbeat under your palm and the muffled laughter between your mouths as you both realize how ridiculous, how perfect this moment is.

Outside, the world moves on without you.

Inside that tiny closet, it feels like it's stopped just long enough for you both to catch your breath—and maybe, just maybe, find something worth holding onto.

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Masterlist

(a/n: the next one after this is soooo sweet, I was working on it and on this one at the same time because I loved them both. Can't wait to post it!)

[brookediamonds]

Hiii idk if you’re still doing fics or even requests but I had one I wanted to throw out there.

So: reader isn’t a participator in the Sekai Tekai, she’s actually like this super big influencer, right? And she’s invited by the board to come do an open live performance for the Sekai Tekai (like Carrie Underwood in season 4) and stick around to cover the events by her widely renowned blog/channel

Maybe she gets sick of being hounded by paparazzi and people and finally is able to hide out in one of the training rooms since no one would think to look for her there and Axel is just confused to see the singer from a few days ago. He doesn’t know who she is because he’s basically chronically offline and anything he knows is from Zara.

So he’s being genuinely nice and curious, and they get to talking, when reader hears people coming, he’s quick to hide in one of the storage spaces where they keep mats or whatever.

Just like generally super fluffy and like both of them are super awkward. Maybe like soft make out? No actually smut though.

Btw love all of your works, they’re great!

Working on this next! 🫡

[brookediamonds]

I was wondering if you could do a axel x reader where reader is pregnant and throughout her pregnancy she is being really hard on herself, like she has so many insecurities (that only her sees) and one day it's like really bad to the point where she's turning insecure about some small like her eye color (like that small of a detail) and axel is there to just comfort her and turning her vision around, like maybe he makes her stand in front of a mirror and points out all of her qualities that are good that she thinks is bad?

Sorry this is so long 😅

pretty isn't pretty | Axel Kovačević x Fem!Reader

Summary: 2nd trimester has you feeling down about yourself to the point where the littlest things feel like rocks dragging you down. Axel can't help but notice your change in demeanor, and help you find your way back to yourself.

Word Count: 862 Warnings: Insecure reader, none, pregnancy

(side note: there's only one you, be kind to yourself 🤍)

gif is not mine

You don't even remember when you started avoiding the mirror.

Maybe it was after that second prenatal appointment, when your jeans wouldn't button and Axel insisted you needed new leggings ("Baby, you're not fat, you're growing a human, and it's beautiful."). 

Maybe it was after the first round of baby registry gifts arrived, and you found yourself fussing over whether yellow onesies would make the baby's eyes look more like yours or his. 

Or maybe it was just this quiet, persistent exhaustion, the way your reflection seems to have softened and dulled, the tiredness settling beneath your skin and in your bones.

Today, you're perched on the bed, tugging at a loose t-shirt (Axel's, obviously, since almost everything in your closet is too tight or too itchy). 

Your eyes drift toward the full-length mirror and immediately skitter away. You sigh and curl in on yourself, hands ghosting over your belly.

You don't hate what you see. But you don't love it either. 

Your hips feel too wide, your face feels rounder, your skin's breaking out in new places, and last night you cried because your feet looked swollen in your sandals. Axel keeps telling you you're beautiful, but some days the words don’t stick.

You're so lost in thought you don't hear him come in.

"Babe?" Axel's voice, warm and a little scratchy from his early morning run. You swipe at your eyes quickly, acting like you're scrolling your phone.

He doesn't buy it. He can see the redness in your eyes, and flushed cheeks. 

"You okay?" He sits beside you, thigh pressed to yours. "You barely looked at me when I came in. Did you sleep okay?"

You want to brush it off. Joke about hormones, about how your favorite cereal tastes different now, about how you woke up in a panic because you dreamed the baby had his nose and your weird elbows. 

But the words tangle up inside you.

You spoke, softly, "Do you think I'll be a good mom?"

Axel looks crushed when the words leave your mouth. 

"Y/n..." he winces.  "Am I still…" You trail off, voice small. "Am I still me? Or am I just, like, someone's mom now?"

Axel's brow furrows, then softens. He slides a hand to your belly, rubbing gentle circles—his new favorite habit. 

"You're not just anything," he says quietly. "You're still you. Still the same girl who made me fall in love with her by arguing over whether pineapple belongs on pizza or not. Still the girl who can't sit still during movies, who tries to make the perfect grilled cheese and always burns one side."

You smile, but your eyes are shiny.

"Hey," he tips your chin up, searching your face. "You're gonna be a great mom. And even if you weren't carrying our little one in there, I'd still think you're the most gorgeous pain in my ass on earth. None of this—" He gestures to your growing bump, your rumpled hair, the nervous way you pick at your shirt. "—changes who you are to me."

You rest your forehead on his shoulder. "I'm tired, Ax."

You were tired of feeling like this. This wasn't you. 

"I know, baby. I know."

He pulls you in and holds you, like he always does—tight, warm, safe. "But you don't have to be perfect. You just have to be you. That's more than enough for me. And for the baby. And for everyone who loves you."

You let yourself breathe, tucked under his chin. For a little while, that's enough.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You wake up to soft light and a silent house. Axel's side of the bed is empty, but you smell coffee and hear the faint sound of him coming back inside from his morning run. 

You shuffle to your feet, yawn, and—without thinking—pad straight to the bathroom. This time, you don't avoid the mirror. 

Maybe it's because you're too tired, or maybe you just… want to try.

But you stop dead when you see it.

Across the mirror, scrawled in Axel's familiar handwriting with a dry-erase marker, are dozens of little notes and arrows, circling every bit of your reflection:

Best smile in the Valley

Your eyes are my favorite color

#1 mom-to-be 

Softest hair, even when you say it's messy

My reason to get up in the morning

Still got the best ass, sorry, it's true

Braver than you think, stronger than you know

Little one's safe place

Axel's favorite human, don’t forget it

Some are sweet, some are ridiculous (you snort at "eyebrows: slay"), but all of them—every last one—point to pieces of you you'd forgotten how to love.

You run your fingers over the words, eyes stinging, and for the first time in a while, you see yourself. Not just the changes, not just the tiredness—but you. Still here.

You don't even hear Axel come up behind you, but you feel his arms slide around your waist, warm hands splayed over your growing belly.

"Morning," he mumbles into your hair. "See anything you like?"

You grin, teary and bright. "Yeah. I see everything."

He smiles at your reflection, nuzzling your shoulder, and you let yourself believe it—all of it—because sometimes love looks like a messy mirror and a boy who never lets you forget who you really are.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

(a/n: I'm back bitchesss, sorry for that hiatus! Like I said in my previous post, I had no freaking clue I had requests. Working on those next... THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE)

[brookediamonds]

IT'S ME, I'M THE PROBLEM IT'S ME

you guys... I have 3-4 requests in my inbox and I had no fucking idea, I am SO SORRY. I quite literally have no idea how long they have been sitting there, and I truly apologize if you think I avoided your request.

I never saw any notifications therefore I never looked at my inbox. That's on me. I hope the fandom isn't dead, I'm here, I'm ready, I'm back at it. 😭

[brookediamonds]

Hii, are you still taking requests?

helloooo, yes I am 🙂‍↕️

[brookediamonds]

Missing you and your writing hope you’re doing well 🥰

aweee I miss you too 😭 I miss writing too, I’ve been lacking inspo lately and felt like my fics/ideas have sucked lately.

here are some things I’ve thought about:

- clingy!reader x grumpy!Axel trope

- Reader has a boyfriend (who sucks) going into the Sekai Taikai and Axel catches her eye & vise versa

- Stripper!reader x rich!Axel who either saves her from that life or is her #1 fan

- Doctor!Y/n x Assassin!Axel (in the john wick world omg)

Ideas I’ve had in the drafts for sure, not to mention the two or three smut drafts I have about Axel leaving for a tournament and them having phone sex, the other is reader getting mad at Axel for not paying attention to her at a team dinner so she sends a provocative pic from the bathroom 😭

I miss our croatian king sm 😭

[brookediamonds]

miss my giant croatian karate king 🥺😔

[brookediamonds]

you were made for loving me | Axel Kovačević x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Axel are in your college years, relationship going strong. After a tipsy night out with the girls, you're dared to make a bold move that sends Axel into a territorial spiral. This is apart of my Sunshine!Axel x Grumpy!Reader trope.

Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Fake tattoo, NSFW, smut, oral (m on f), p in v, reader is on bc, MINORS DNI, 18+

gif is not mine

You shouldn't have said "bet," especially after two shots of tequila. You knew Sam and Tory were just waiting for that one word.

What started as a dumb joke about how whipped Axel is for you:

"He'd probably pass out if you got his initial tattooed on you," Tory had laughed, somehow turned into a dare, and before you could back out—you were laying stomach-down on your bed, cursing under your breath while Sam applied the temporary tattoo with surgical precision.

It was bold, black, and cursive. Right at your lower back. A full-on tramp stamp. Just a single letter: A. With a fine line heart around it. 

And maybe the worst part? You kinda… liked it.

You forgot about it until practice the next day, when you were stretching before warmups and your shirt rode up—just enough to flash it.

You didn't notice at first.

But he did.

You're mid-stretch when a familiar hand brushes across the small of your back, gentle but possessive, fingertips hovering right over the ink.

You freeze.

"What's this?" Axel's voice is low, amused, and way too close to your ear. You don't even have to turn to know he's grinning like an idiot. "Is that… my initial?"

You glance over your shoulder, trying to play it cool, but your face is already warm. "Relax, it's fake. The girls dared me."

He crouches beside you, hand still splayed over the mark like he's guarding it from the world. "So you're telling me… you let them tattoo my initial on your ass... as a joke?"

You roll your eyes, ready to turn in your place. "Technically lower back—"

But he cuts you off with a kiss to your spine, just above the letter. Soft, smug, reverent.

"I'm not gonna survive this," he mutters, still hovering. You feel your face go warm as he continues to run his thumb over the marking.

"Axel—"

"No. No, you don't understand." He straightens, looking genuinely unwell. "This is the hottest thing you've ever done. I'm gonna have to fight with a boner, thanks to you."

You gasp, elbowing him in the stomach, flustered and cursing under your breath.

But Axel just throws an arm around your shoulders, eyes still gleaming.

"You know this means I'm getting a real one now, right?" he says, dead serious. "Yours. Somewhere stupid. Like my hip. Matching tramp stamp energy."

You roll your eyes with a groan. "You're an idiot."

"Your idiot," he says, proudly.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

After practice, you and Axel head back to your shared apartment, tattoo completely out of your mind. But not his.

Steam billows around you as you step out of the bathroom, hair damp against your neck. 

The place feels different at night, quieter, more intimate, the only light coming from the bedside lamp where Axel lounges with a book, one arm tucked behind his head.

You turn your back to him, rummaging through your drawer for a tank top, unaware of how the towel slips just slightly. 

The fabric catches at your waist, revealing that bold black letter once more.

The sudden silence behind you is your first clue. Then the soft thud of his book hitting the floor.

"You still have it on," he says, voice thick.

You glance over your shoulder to find him already on his feet, crossing the room with that intent focus he usually reserves for opponents on the mat. 

His eyes are fixed on the small of your back, pupils blown wide.

"It lasts three days," you start to explain, but before you can finish the sentence, his hand is on your waist, guiding you—no, steering you—toward the bed with gentle urgency.

"Let me see it properly," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "Please."

The towel slips further as he positions you at the edge of the mattress, his palm pressing between your shoulder blades with just enough pressure to bend you forward. 

The cool air hits your exposed skin, raising goosebumps along your spine.

"Axel—" you protest weakly, but the words dissolve into a soft gasp as his fingertips trace the outline of the heart, feather-light, worshipful.

"It's perfect," he says, voice hushed like he's in a cathedral. "Right here. Like you've been marked as mine."

His lips find the notch at the base of your neck, warm and soft against your cooled skin. 

A shiver races through you as he works his way down, vertebra by vertebra, each kiss a deliberate promise. 

His hands steady your hips, thumbs pressing into the skin at the small of your back.

"I've thought about this all day," he confesses between kisses, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Couldn't focus in class. Couldn't think straight during sparring."

Your fingers curl into the sheets as he descends, mapping the landscape of your back with his mouth. 

The towel has fallen completely now, pooled around your feet, but you can't bring yourself to care. 

Not when his breath is hot against your skin, not when his hands hold you like something precious. His hands grip your hips firmly as he reaches the dip of your lower back.

When his mouth finally presses against the letter—his initial—you feel his smile against your skin, followed by the warm, wet heat of his tongue tracing the outline of the heart.

"Mine," he whispers, the word a hot brand against your skin.

"Yes," you breathe, the admission escaping before you can catch it. 

Your body betrays you further, arching back into his touch, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

The sound escapes your lips before you can stop it—a desperate, needy moan that echoes in the quiet room. 

Something in Axel shifts at the sound; his grip tightens, and he sinks to his knees behind you, his broad shoulders nudging your legs apart.

"Stay just like that," he commands, voice rough with want. 

His hands slide down to cup your ass, thumbs spreading you open to his gaze. 

The vulnerability of the position makes you tremble, but the reverence in his touch keeps you from pulling away.

His breath is hot against your center, a teasing promise that has you pressing back instinctively. 

When his tongue finally makes contact—a long, deliberate stroke from your entrance to your clit—your knees nearly buckle.

"Fuck," you gasp, fingers clawing at the sheets as his tongue circles your clit with devastating precision. 

"This," he growls against your flesh, his words vibrating through your core, "is all I've been thinking about since I saw my mark on you." His hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling you back against his mouth. "Tasting you while looking at my initial. Knowing you're mine."

His confession sends a rush of heat through your body, pooling low in your belly. 

You feel exposed, vulnerable, and impossibly turned on—his possessiveness awakening something primal within you.

Axel devours you with single-minded determination, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit. 

The wet sounds of his mouth fill the room, mingling with your increasingly desperate moans. 

Your forearms brace against the mattress as his hands grip your thighs, keeping you spread open for him.

"Axel," you gasp, the name catching in your throat as he sucks your clit between his lips.

He hums in response, the vibration shooting straight through you. His tongue works with practiced precision until your thighs begin to tremble, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

A sudden sharp sting blooms across your right cheek, the sound of his palm connecting with your flesh echoing in the quiet room. 

The sensation ricochets through you, pain transforming instantly to pleasure as blood rushes to the surface of your skin.

"Mmmph," you whimper, the word barely audible as your body instinctively arches, seeking more.

"Fuck, I need you now," he growls, rising to his feet behind you. 

The rustle of fabric follows as he shoves his basketball shorts down his long legs, his boxers following in one fluid motion. 

His erection springs free, heavy and flushed, the tip already glistening.

The mattress dips as he presses one knee onto the bed, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the nape of your neck. 

You glance back over your shoulder to find his eyes locked on yours, dark with hunger. 

His chest heaves, golden-brown hair tousled from where your fingers had gripped it earlier. 

You bite your lower lip, feigning innocence despite your compromising position—bent over the bed, wet and wanting.

"What are you waiting for?" you ask, voice deliberately soft, eyes wide with mock naivety that you know drives him wild.

His grip tightens on your hip, thumb brushing over his initial as he positions himself. 

The blunt pressure of his cock nudges against your entrance, hot and insistent. 

A groan tears from his throat when he feels how ready you are for him.

"You're going to kill me," he mutters, jaw clenched with restraint. "Looking at me like that when I can feel how wet you are."

You wiggle your hips slightly, pressing back against him in invitation. The movement draws a sharp hiss from between his teeth.

"Please," you whisper, the word barely audible but loaded with need.

That single word breaks his restraint. He pushes forward in one slow, deliberate thrust, stretching you around his length until he's buried completely inside you. 

The fullness makes you gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as your body adjusts to accommodate him.

"Christ," he breathes, his voice strained. His thumb continues to trace over the tattooed initial, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the way he fills you. "You feel incredible."

He starts to move, pulling almost completely out before sliding back in with agonizing slowness.

Each thrust is measured, controlled, designed to make you feel every inch of him. 

The angle has him hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, your back arching deeper with each stroke. 

Your breath catches with each thrust, the slow pace maddening, delicious torture. You need more—need him deeper, harder. 

The pleasure builds like a current beneath your skin, making you desperate for an anchor. Your arm extends behind you, fingers grasping at air until they find his thigh.

He captures your searching fingers, intertwining them with his own in one fluid motion. 

His grip is firm but tender as he brings your joined hands to rest against the small of your back, right over his initial. 

The position shifts your balance, arches your spine even more dramatically as his pace quickens.

"I've got you," he murmurs, hips snapping forward with new urgency. The wet sound of skin against skin fills the room as he abandons his earlier restraint.

Each thrust pushes you further up the mattress, the sheets bunching beneath your chest. 

your joined hands press against the tattoo, his palm hot against your knuckles, holding you in place as he claims you completely.

"Look at me," he commands, voice ragged.

You turn your head, cheek pressed against the rumpled sheets, and meet his gaze. His eyes are wild, intense, pupils blown wide with desire. 

Sweat glistens on his brow, golden-brown hair falling across his forehead. 

The sight of him like this—completely undone because of you, because of his mark on your skin—sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

"I want to see your face when you come," he says, each word punctuated by a thrust that hits deeper than the last. "Want to watch you fall apart knowing you're mine."

His free hand slides around your hip, fingers finding your clit with unerring precision. 

The dual sensation—his relentless rhythm inside you and his skilled fingers circling your clit—is overwhelming. 

Your vision blurs at the edges, pleasure coiling tighter with each stroke. 

"Axel," you gasp, the word barely audible as the tension inside you reaches its breaking point. "I'm—"

The rest of your sentence dissolves into a broken moan as your orgasm crashes through you, violent and all-consuming. 

Your body convulses around him, inner walls clenching rhythmically as waves of pleasure radiate outward. 

Half your face presses hard into the mattress, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes squeezed shut as the sensation tears through you. 

Your fingers clutch desperately at the sheets, knuckles white, as your hips buck uncontrollably against his hand.

Axel's rhythm falters as he feels you pulsing around him. 

"Fuck—I can't—" he groans, his voice breaking as his thrusts become erratic. His grip on your hip tightens to the point of bruising, his other hand still pinning yours against the tattoo. "Going to—"

His groan is primal as he drives deep one final time, his body shuddering violently against yours. 

You feel the hot pulse of him inside you, filling you with liquid heat that makes your toes curl. 

The sensation of him emptying himself triggers aftershocks that ripple through your oversensitized body.

With trembling hands, he pulls out, his cock still twitching as he positions himself over your lower back. 

Your skin prickles with anticipation as you feel the final spurts of his release landing hot and wet across the tattooed letter, painting his initial with pearlescent stripes.

The sensation of his seed marking both inside and out draws a deep, satisfied moan from your throat. 

You glance back over your shoulder to see him staring down at his handiwork, chest heaving, eyes fixed on where his cum glistens across the black letter. 

The possessive hunger in his gaze makes something molten pool in your belly, even as your limbs feel boneless from release.

"Fuck," he whispers, voice reverent as his finger traces through the mess he's made, smearing it across your skin in deliberate patterns. "You have no idea what you do to me."

You watch him over your shoulder, transfixed by the intensity of his focus—the way his eyes track every glistening trail his fingertips leave behind. 

In this moment, he looks almost feral, marking his territory with primal satisfaction.

"I think I have some idea," you murmur, your voice hoarse from moaning.

He smiles then, that sunshine smile that never fails to warm you from the inside out, even when it's edged with something darker like now. 

Axel collapses beside you, pulling you against his chest. His heart hammers wildly beneath your ear as his fingers trace idle patterns along your spine. 

The wetness on your lower back is cooling, but you can't bring yourself to care.

"I'm going to need photographic evidence," he murmurs against your hair.

You slap his chest weakly. "Absolutely not."

"For private use only," he insists, his mouth curving into that boyish grin that somehow manages to be both innocent and filthy. "Something just for me. To remember this moment."

His fingers trace the outline of the letter on your lower back, smearing what remains of his release into your skin like a ritual. 

You know he’s joking, but… you couldn’t help but ponder the idea. 

You consider his request, weighing your natural caution against the raw vulnerability of this moment. 

The temporary tattoo suddenly feels like something more significant, a threshold crossed. 

His eyes watch you with that unguarded adoration that always makes your chest tight.

"Fine," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically. "But only with the Polaroid camera. Nothing digital."

"Wait, seriously?" Axel's eyes widen, his voice pitching higher with genuine surprise. He sits up so quickly he nearly tumbles right off the bed. "Are you serious right now?"

"Just get it before I change my mind," you mutter, already feeling heat creep up your neck.

You adjust yourself on the bed, stretching out on your stomach, chin resting on your folded arms. 

The sheets are cool against your flushed skin as you position yourself—back slightly arched, the black letter fully exposed, still glistening with the evidence of his possession.

Axel scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping over his discarded shorts in his haste to retrieve the Polaroid from the bookshelf.

His naked form moves through the half-light of the bedroom with unconscious grace, all lean muscle and purpose. 

The camera looks almost comically small in his large hands as he checks it for film.

"How do you want to—" he starts, then stops abruptly when he turns back to the bed and sees you waiting.

His mouth falls open slightly, the sentence dying on his lips. 

The camera dangles forgotten from his fingertips as his eyes travel the length of your body, lingering on the curve of your spine, the swell of your ass, the glistening evidence of his claim.

"Just like this," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He approaches slowly, reverence replacing his earlier enthusiasm. The camera trembles slightly in his hands.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, positioning himself at the foot of the bed. "I don't deserve this."

"Shut up and take the picture."

The camera whirs softly as he frames the shot. You hear his breathing deepen, becoming more focused. 

This is Axel in his rare moments of complete concentration—the same intensity he brings to the mat.

The click of the shutter breaks the spell. The Polaroid ejects with a mechanical whir, and Axel catches it delicately between his fingers.

"Don't look yet," he murmurs, setting the developing image face-down on the nightstand. 

His eyes never leave your body, drinking in the sight of you sprawled across his sheets, marked in the most primal way possible.

He retrieves the discarded towel from the floor, still damp from your shower. 

With unexpected tenderness, he begins to clean you, the soft terry cloth warm against your cooling skin. 

His touch is reverent as he wipes away the evidence of his passion from your lower back, lingering over the tattooed letter that started it all.

"I think I ruined your temporary tattoo," he says, voice laced with something between regret and satisfaction.

You smile lazily, enjoying the way his expression shifts to concern. "Don't worry about it. I have another one in my purse."

The change in his demeanor is instantaneous, like flipping a switch. His eyes widen, pupils dilating with fresh desire.

"You have another one?" he repeats, voice cracking slightly.

Before you can even nod, he's gone—a blur of naked limbs and golden-brown hair as he bolts from the room. 

You hear him stumbling in the hallway, followed by the frantic rustling of what must be your purse contents being dumped unceremoniously onto the entryway table.

You laugh quietly into the pillow, stretching your limbs languidly across the sheets. 

The mattress still holds the indent of his body, warm and slightly damp from exertion. 

You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling while listening to his increasingly frantic search through the living room.

"Where is it?" he calls out, voice muffled by distance and desperation. "I found your lip gloss, your keys, three hair ties, and—oh god, is this a condom? When did you put this in here?"

"Check the inside pocket," you call back, amused by the chaos you've unleashed.

More rustling, followed by a triumphant "Aha!" that echoes through the apartment.

He appears in the doorway seconds later, clutching the small packet like it contains the secrets of the universe. His hair is even more disheveled now, cheeks flushed pink with excitement.

"Where?" he asks, practically vibrating with anticipation as he climbs back onto the bed.

You pretend to consider, tapping your finger against your lips thoughtfully. His eyes track the movement, following the gesture like a predator tracking prey.

"Somewhere you haven't marked yet," you say finally, rolling onto your side to face him. The sheets slip lower, revealing the curve of your breast, and his breathing hitches.

"That's not very specific," he murmurs, crawling closer until his body cages you against the mattress. The packet crinkles between his fingers as his free hand traces along your collarbone. "I need coordinates."

You bite your lip, considering. The temporary tattoo had been a joke, but seeing him like this—pupils blown wide, hanging on your every word—makes something wicked unfurl in your chest.

"My hip," you whisper, watching his reaction carefully. "Right here." 

Your fingers ghost over the sharp bone just below your waist, the spot that would be hidden by most clothes but visible in bikinis, in moments like this.

Axel stills like he’s just been handed sacred instructions.

His gaze drops immediately to where your hand lingers, and something primal flashes behind his eyes.

For a second, he just stares—silent, reverent. Then, slowly, he reaches for the damp cloth again, wiping gently over the area like he’s preparing a canvas.

"Hold still," he mutters, but his voice has gone thick, almost hoarse.

You do as he says, heart hammering, watching with a fluttering stomach as he tears the packet open with more care than you’ve ever seen him give anything outside of you.

He peels the protective film away, then places the delicate, heart-wrapped initial against your skin with precision. You feel the slight pressure as he presses it down, smoothing it carefully with damp fingers.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to smirk at how serious he looks. Like this is some ancient ritual and he’s the only one allowed to perform it.

Once the transfer is fully pressed and dampened, he peels the backing off, and there it is—Axel's initial in fine, inky detail, nestled perfectly over your hipbone.

He exhales like he’s just seen the sunrise. "That's insane."

You glance down. "It's a temporary tattoo."

"It's art," he argues, wide-eyed. "It's… vandalism. I'm gonna lose my mind."

You snort running his your fingers "You already have."

Instead of answering, he dips his head and kisses the new mark, lips soft but reverent.

You feel the brush of his smile against your skin, and it makes your whole body tighten.

"You're not washing this one off," he murmurs.

You grin into the pillow. "Guess we'll see where it ends up next."

"You keep hiding them—" he glances up, eyes gleaming with promise. "I'll keep finding them."

And with the way his fingers trail slowly up your side, the way he shifts to hover over you again, you know he absolutely means it.

Tomorrow, it'll be your ankle. Next week, maybe behind your ear.

And every time, Axel will search you like a map he never wants to stop reading.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcrib

(a/n: heyyy what is up, my guys?! Sorry I've been a little MIA, the request box has been a little dry and I haven't felt inspired much unless it's with this trope and I don't want y'all to get annoyed by it... or my smut. anyways, like comment, reblog, enjoy!!)

[brookediamonds]

Could you maybe do another writing like "crawling back to you" but where zara is readers best friend and zara cheers reader on while reader beats up axel new gf? But of course axel and reader end up back together ❤️

it's a bad idea, right? | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: After you give Axel an ultimatum, his girlfriend makes his decision for him when she confronts you and you have no choice but to give her a reality check.

Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: Cheating, violence (fighting), exes-to-lovers

gif is not mine

You shouldn't be here.

You know it the second you step into the empty classroom after hours, the door clicking shut behind you like the final warning bell.

The air is still, the lights dimmed, and Axel's already there, leaning against the desk like he’s been waiting all day just to see you.

"You came," he says quietly, like he wasn't sure you would.

You cross your arms, keeping your distance. "What do you want, Axel?"

He doesn't answer right away. Just looks at you like you're the only person he can see.

And that look, it makes your stomach flip, makes your body remember things your brain is trying so hard to forget.

"I miss you," he says finally, voice low and raw. "You know that, right?"

You sigh, averting your eyes so you wouldn't have to look into his dark blue ones. "You have a girlfriend."

"She's not—" he exhales. "It's not the same."

You scoff, trying to look unaffected. "That's not an excuse. You chose her."

"I didn't choose her over you," he says quickly, stepping forward. "It wasn't like that."

But you step back.

"Don’t," you say. "Don't kiss me just because you're confused."

He stops mid-step, eyes flickering with something desperate. "I'm not confused."

You raise a brow. "Then prove it."

Silence.

Your heart pounds in your chest, begging to close the space between you, but you don't.

You stay rooted in place because you've already let him back in once. Maybe twice. Maybe more.

But not again. Not like this.

"You don't get to have both," you say firmly. "So break up with your girlfriend—or you can kiss all of this goodbye."

You turn to leave, hand on the doorknob before he can even react.

"Y/n—"

"No, Axel," you repeat, without looking back. "If you mean it, prove it. Otherwise? We're done."

And just like that, you walk out, heart aching, eyes burning, but your head held high.

He doesn't get the girl and the safety net. Not this time.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You're at your locker with Zara, half-listening as she complains about her chem partner and mindlessly snacking on gummy worms when it happens.

Valerie. Axel's girlfriend comes into sight.

Click-clack heels. Signature smug expression. Entourage in tow.

You don't even have to turn around, Zara notices her first.

"Ugh," she mutters. "I smell fake perfume and desperation."

You snort, "She's probably just—"

"Oh, you're here," Valerie cuts in sharply, arms crossed, voice slicing through the hallway chatter like a switchblade. "How convenient."

You turn, chewing your last gummy worm slowly. "Valerie. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Zara hums, already leaning against the lockers like this is about to be entertainment.

"Cut the crap," Valerie eyes you up and down, sneering. "I saw you with Axel."

You blink, feigning innocence. "Was I supposed to stop being in public places?"

"Don't act like something's not going on," she snaps. "I'm not stupid."

"No," you say, smiling sweetly, "but clearly, you're insecure."

Valerie's eyes flash, but she keeps going, voice rising. "You really think he'd go back to you? After what happened? He chose me. I'm the one he wants. Not some clingy ex with attitude and nothing to offer."

Zara stiffens beside you, but you raise a hand, calm, cool, and collected.

And then you smile.

The kind of smile that tastes like revenge and bubblegum lip gloss.

"Oh, Val," you say, voice dropping low, sugary venom lacing every word, "he was begging me last week to fill in the places he knows you never could."

Valerie's face goes red, like she's been slapped. "You're lying."

"You sure about that?" You taunt her, tilting your head slightly. "Because he knew exactly how to touch me, like he never forgot. Like he's been craving it."

Zara chokes on a laugh as you smirk at the dumb girl in front of you.

It's the last straw. Valerie lunges. But she's too slow.

You sidestep her swing like it's choreographed, like your body's been waiting for this, and before she can catch her balance, your fist connects with her jaw.

A clean hit. Sharp. Loud. Satisfying.

She stumbles back, crashing into the lockers.

Gasps ripple down the hallway.

"That's my girl!" Zara shouts as the begins to pack with teenagers circling you.

Valerie stumbles back from your punch, dazed, but clearly not down for the count. You watch her closely, pulse steady, breathing calm.

Zara's still losing her mind beside you, practically doing backflips, shouting something like “SHEESH!” as Valerie wipes her lip and glares murder into your skull.

"You little bitch," she snarls, lunging again, but this time it's not a punch.

It's a scrap.

She claws forward, grabbing a fistful of your hair like it's going to level the playing field, and for a second, the world tips into chaos.

The hallway explodes with shouting, phones come out, and someone starts chanting, "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

But Valerie messed with the wrong girl.

You twist sharply, ripping your head from her grip with a practiced move, and slam your knee into her gut.

She doubles over with a grunt, giving you the perfect angle. Without hesitation, you spin and deliver a kick, clean, sharp, and brutal, right across her face.

Her head whips sideways, as crack echoes down the hall. A tooth goes flying and skitters across the linoleum floor.

The crowd gasps in unison as Valerie drops like a sack of potatoes.

And that's when you hear it.

"Y/N!"

You turn, chest heaving, blood buzzing in your ears, and there he is.

Axel.

Pushing through the crowd like the hallway's parting just for him, eyes wide, jaw tense, panic all over his face.

"What the hell—"

He pushes through the crowd like a storm, eyes locked on you, but his jaw is tight with something darker now.

"She came at me," you tell him, voice calm, steady, proud.

He glances at Valerie on the floor, blood running from her split lip, a smear where her missing tooth used to be. She looks up at him with wide, teary eyes.

"Axel…" she breathes. "Aren't you going to say something to her?"

He crouches next to her, just enough to meet her eye, but the look on his face is unreadable.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I am."

Everyone leans in.

"You were jealous," Axel continues, his voice low and deliberate, "so you ran your mouth, tried to start a fight, and got your ass kicked. You think that's something I'm gonna stand behind?" He shakes his head. "We're done, Valerie."

Her breath catches. "W-What?!"

Axel stands, his tone final. "We've been done. You just didn't want to believe it."

Then he turns to you, like the hallway's fading into white noise, like the only real thing left is you.

"Let's get out of here."

You nod wordlessly.

Zara’s grinning so hard you're sure her cheeks hurt.

"I'll cover for you," she says, winking. “Go be with your boy."

Axel takes your hand, bloodied and bruised, and threads his fingers through yours like it's second nature, like he's wanted to do it since the minute he let you go.

You walk past the crowd together, leaving behind stunned silence and a crying Valerie.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You sit on the edge of the bathroom counter, legs swinging slightly as he wets a cloth and dabs at the scrapes on your knuckles. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

"This might sting," he warns.

You roll your eyes. "I just kicked a girl in the face, I think I can handle a little sting."

"God, I forgot how mouthy you are when you’re right," he chuckles under his breath.

"I'm always right."

"I know."

He lifts your hand again, focused, but you feel his eyes flick to your lips now and then. The air between you buzzes.

"You didn't have to dump her in front of everyone," you say, teasing, even though a part of you secretly loved every second of it.

"Yes, I did." He meets your gaze now, steady and serious. "She made the mistake of thinking I didn't still belong to you."

You freeze for a second.

Then smirk. "You do still belong to me."

"Glad we're on the same page," he says, setting the cloth down and stepping between your knees, hands resting on your thighs. "I was losing my mind without you. You know that, right?"

You shrug. "Not my fault."

"No. But it's definitely your problem now."

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it.

It's quiet after that.

Then you murmur, "Did we really just do that?"

Axel grins. "Yeah. We really did."

And before either of you can second-guess it, his mouth is on yours—warm, desperate, all the things you've both been holding back finally crashing through.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(A/N: anytime I watch a John Wick movie it makes me want to learn how to fight, that new Ballerina movie? I will be signing up for classes to learn something, watch me.)

[brookediamonds]

you can hear it in the silence | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: It's a normal summer day of getting your monthly self-care done with your friends when Sam and Tory start to play a game of truth or dare in the nail salon. You being as bold as you are choose dare... what do the girls have in store for you? Apart of my Sunshine!Axel x Grumpy!Reader trope.

Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: None, sm fluff, reader in her soft girl era

gif is not mine

It's one of those sticky summer afternoons where the sun feels like it’s personally attacking you, and you're only surviving thanks to overpriced iced drinks, air conditioning, and the fact that Sam and Tory dragged you out for a self-care day.

You didn't want to go, obviously, but you came. Mostly because they wouldn't shut up.

And maybe because you secretly like the way it feels to do something soft like this, even if you grumble the whole way.

You're halfway through choosing between two shades of nude polish while your nail tech gently files your hand into perfection, when Tory leans over with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Okay. Truth or dare."

You glance over at the blonde girl next to you. "What?"

"We're doing it," Sam confirms, eyes on her own hand as the nail tech buffs her nails to a perfect shine. "We're officially bored enough."

"Fine," you say slowly, narrowing your eyes. "But Sam goes first."

Sam sighs dramatically but relents. "Truth."

You and Tory exchange a look.

"Okay," you say, grinning evilly. "What's your biggest irrational fear during sex?"

Sam almost chokes on her sip of iced green tea. "What the hell!"

"Answer the question," Tory sings, grinning.

"Okay, fine," Sam blushes down to her shoulders. "My biggest irrational fear is sneezing. Mid—like, in the middle of it."

You can't help it. You snort, then try to cover it with a cough.

Tory's wheezing beside you. "That's the most Sam thing I've ever heard."

"Shut up!" she laughs, covering her face. "Okay, Y/n, you're next. Truth or dare?"

You sigh, like the weight of the world has been placed on your shoulders. "Dare. Obviously."

Tory leans in, her grin downright devious. "Get Axel's initial on your ring finger. Both hands."

Your body stills. You glance between them, deadpan. "You want me to what?"

"You heard me," Tory says sweetly. "A little 'A'. Just a dot of commitment."

"That's not commitment, that's… fan behavior."

"Own it," Sam teases, kicking your ankle gently. "You're his number one fan anyway."

You shoot her a glare, but your face betrays you—heat crawling up your neck as you fight the very real urge to smile.

"You guys are insufferable," you mutter.

"But you're doing it," Tory responds, smug.

"Fine," you roll your eyes, but you nod once. "But it better be minimal. Like, blink and you miss it."

Your nail tech doesn't even flinch at the request, just helps you choose the cleanest fine-line font, and soon enough, there's a tiny silver A stamped right at the base of both your ring fingers—subtle, tasteful… and stupidly telling.

"Ugh," you mumble, staring at your hands once they're done. "I'm going to look so whipped."

"You are whipped," Tory grins. "And he's gonna lose his mind. Sunshine boy's probably going to frame your fingers."

"You have to show him the second he sees you," Sam says, kicking her feet like this is the most exciting event of the week.

"Or don't," Tory adds, sly. "Let him notice on his own. Make him work for it."

You snort. "You guys act like I tattooed his name across my face."

They just smile wider.

You glance down at your fresh manicure—clean, glossy black polish, short and neat like always. Subtle. Sleek. Except… the tiniest little silver letter on your ring finger.

A.

It's dumb. And small. And not even that noticeable unless someone's really looking. But suddenly your palms are sweating and you hate that your heart skips just thinking about him seeing it.

You roll your eyes at yourself and grab your phone. "Whatever. You two are worse than he is."

"Thank you," Sam says sweetly.

Tory clinks her water bottle against yours. "We try."

You cross your arms, trying to look as unaffected as possible… but you already know the second Axel notices, he's going to make the biggest, cheesiest deal out of it.

And secretly?

You kind of hope he does.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You're sitting cross-legged on Axel's bed, pretending to scroll through your phone while he moves around the room in the background, tugging on a clean shirt and spritzing his cologne like he's going to war and not just shaved ice.

You don't say anything, just flick your eyes to his reflection in the mirror and back down to your screen.

He looks good. Unfairly good. But you'll die before admitting that out loud right now.

You're… just testing filters. On his face.

The camera is aimed at him, zoomed in from across the room. Bunny ears. Nah. Sunglasses? Kinda hot. Glitter hearts? Okay, definitely saving that one for later.

"You look stupidly good in this one," you murmur under your breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, flipping to the next filter and snapping a few more silent photos as he scratches the back of his neck, completely oblivious.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile at how domestic this all feels.

He walks over, pulling his chain out from under his shirt and adjusting it in the mirror. "What are you even doing?"

You shrug, noncommittal. "Testing something."

He flops down next to you, peering over your shoulder. "Wait… are those filters? On me?"

You say nothing, but your thumb pauses over the screen just long enough for him to see a picture of himself with giant doe eyes and sparkles.

"Noooo way," he grins, reaching for the phone, but you pull it out of reach.

"Touch it and I swear I’ll get a real tramp stamp of your name in Comic Sans."

He freezes. "Tempting… but I'll behave."

He laughs under his breath and leans in, kissing your cheek in that annoying, affectionate way that makes your stomach twist.

You try not to react, but then he shifts slightly and grabs your hand without warning, absentmindedly tracing his thumb across your knuckles.

That's when he freezes.

You feel his eyes on your hand before he even speaks.

"What's this?" he asks, voice dipping into something soft and stunned.

You raise a brow, not looking up. "What's what?"

"This little 'A' on your finger…" His voice gets higher. "On both your fingers—What is this?!"

"Oh. That?" You glance over lazily, trying not to laugh. "It's a letter."

He blinks at you, mouth open. "My letter."

"Well," You shrug, completely nonchalant. "Could be for apples. Or anarchy."

"Y/n," his voice cracks a little and you can't help the tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"It was a dare," you say finally. "Tory made me do it."

But Axel isn't even listening anymore. He's still staring at your hands like they've just become national treasures.

He picks one up gently, inspecting the tiny tattoo like it might disappear if he breathes too hard.

"I can't believe you did this," he says softly. "You—You let people see this? In public?"

You roll your eyes. "It's barely visible, don't get dramatic."

"I'm always dramatic," he grins, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing the ring finger, right over the little A. "This is the best day of my life."

You snort. "Seriously?"

"Yes. I feel so honored. So chosen." He's glowing. Like actually glowing. "I'm going to hold your hand everywhere now."

"You already do."

"Yeah, but now it means more."

You groan, shoving him lightly. "You're unbearable."

"And you're in denial," he sings, tossing himself back onto the bed with your hand still clutched to his chest. "You're so whipped for me."

"Shut up."

"I'm gonna cry. I'm gonna tell my mom."

"Don't you dare—"

"Oh my god, I'm gonna take pictures. I need evidence. My contact photo of you is changing immediately."

"Axel."

But it's too late. He's already rolled over, pulling you half into his chest while reaching for his phone, grinning like you handed him the moon on a manicure.

You wrinkle your nose. "You're so dramatic."

"And you're so mine," he teases, tugging you into his lap and nuzzling your temple with a grin.

You try to scoff, but your hands stay right where he wants them—resting on his chest, ring fingers tilted just enough for him to steal one more glance.

And a picture.

"Smile," he whispers, turning your phone around and switching it to selfie mode. "You and me. No filter."

You roll your eyes again, but you're already smiling.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

A few weeks later...

Axel's mom answers the door with her usual warmth and a knowing smile.

"He's out back," she says, stepping aside to let you in. "And try not to fall for his sad puppy eyes. He's been pacing around waiting for you like a puppy on espresso."

You roll your eyes playfully, biting back a smirk. "I make no promises."

You find him lounging poolside when you slide the glass door open.

He's got one leg dangling in the water, sunglasses pushed back into his hair, and a popsicle in his mouth like he's trying to win a summer cliché contest.

At the sound of the door, he sits up instantly, squinting toward you.

"There she is," he beams, already on his feet and walking toward you like you haven't seen each other in weeks, even though it's only been a day.

You meet him halfway, letting him press a sticky kiss to your cheek, his fingers sneaking around your wrist to tug you closer.

"Hey," you mumble, trying not to smile too much.

"Hi, gorgeous," he echoes, grinning down at you. "What'd you do today?"

You tilt your head toward the pool chairs and start walking, Axel trailing behind like a very tall, very eager shadow.

"Sam, Tory, and I had a little self-care day. We hit the outlet mall, grabbed smoothies, and then got mani-pedis again."

He instantly lifts your hands like they're made of glass, inspecting each finger with exaggerated focus. "Please tell me you got it again. Please tell me there's a tiny 'A' somewhere or I might actually combust."

"They're just turquoise," you bite back a smirk, letting him look.

He frowns. "Just turquoise?" His voice is so tragically disappointed it makes you laugh.

"Why would I get your initial every time?"

"Because I'm the love of your life?" He deadpans. "Because your ring finger misses me when I'm not around? Because you're secretly obsessed with me?"

"You are such a drama queen," you chuckle slipping your hands out of his grasp so you can set your tote bag down.

He drops your hands with a sigh, throwing himself backwards onto the patio couch. "This is worse than when the ice cream truck drove past our street."

You roll your eyes, kicking off your sandals and heading toward the pool. "Come on, sunboy. You begged me to come over and now you're sulking."

"I'm not sulking," he calls after you, already following. "I'm just… passionately grieving."

You spend the next hour hanging out in the heat—him in the pool, you stretched out on a towel, half-lazy and half-listening as he narrates his swim tricks and fails spectacularly at a handstand.

He brings you a lemonade, steals your sunglasses, and insists on laying his head on your stomach like a golden retriever in need of constant validation.

Eventually, the sun gets too high, and you scoot to the edge of the pool to dip your feet in.

Axel swims over, arms resting on the ledge, chin tilted up at you like you're the most interesting thing in his world.

"New bikini?" he asks, his eyes shamelessly dragging over you with a lazy smile. "Because, no offense, you're kind of making the sun look like a background prop right now."

"You're so full of it," you snort, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"I'm serious," he grins. "You look good. Like, 'I'm about to risk drowning just to be near you' good."

Your smirk softens just a bit. "Didn't you already do that trying to handstand earlier?"

"That was different. That was athleticism. This is me trying to flirt while treading water."

You tilt your head, amused. "You're very committed to the bit."

"And you," he says, flicking water up at you playfully, "are very cute with your hair all wet and sun-warmed. I like this version of you."

"This version?"

He shrugs. "The one who's a little pink from the sun and hasn't told me to shut up yet. It's rare. I cherish it."

You roll your eyes, flicking water back at him with your toe. "Shut up."

"There it is," he laughs, dodging the splash.

Before he can hit you with some absurd reply, because you know he's cooking one, his gaze drops.

Then it stills.

Then it lingers.

"Wait. Wait." He scrambles upright so fast the floaty wobbles behind him. "What is that?"

"What?" you ask, eyes still closed behind your sunglasses.

"Lift your foot."

"Excuse me?"

"Your foot, baby. Let me see—oh my god."

You peek at him through your lashes, barely hiding your smirk. "You good over there?"

He's staring at your toes like they hold the secret to life. "You did it again. You did it again."

You wiggle your toes innocently, letting the sun catch the faint shimmer of turquoise polish, and the tiny, black A stamped delicately on the tip of your big toe.

"You didn't even tell me," he says, breathless like you just gave him the world's most heartfelt gift. "You just walked in here like it wasn't a big deal. Like you weren't walking around with me on your toes."

You shrug. "Didn't think you'd notice."

"Didn't think I'd—babe. I notice everything. I would've noticed if you spelled my name out in invisible ink across your collarbone."

You raise a brow. "Don't get any ideas."

"No promises."

Hmm. You'd tuck that idea away for another time.

You yawn. "Guess I'm just obsessed with you or something."

"Oh my god," he groans, leaning forward to press a kiss to your wet toe with zero shame. "This is art. This is devotion."

"Okay, calm down."

"No, you don't get it," he says, still holding your foot like it's sacred. "This is commitment. This is soulmate behavior. You're literally marrying me."

You yank your foot back and flick water in his face. "If you propose in this pool, I'm drowning you."

"Hot," he mutters, before dunking under in one smooth motion.

When he resurfaces, he's right between your legs, blinking up at you with water dripping from his lashes and the most ridiculous smile on his face.

You sigh and shake your head, but your smirk gives you away.

Yeah. He's annoying. And dramatic. And hopelessly obsessed with you.

But he's also yours.

And apparently, now, so are your toes.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(A/N: okay so... there's gonna be kind of a pt.2 to this 👀 same trope but omgggg it's so spicy. we've also never seen them behind closed doors so i'm excited to write it. please like, comment, reblog, appreciate you all 🤍)

[brookediamonds]

crawling back to you | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: It's been a few months since your break-up with Axel. Physically, you were killing it in the dojo, emotionally, however, you were dying inside. And unbeknownst to you, so was Axel. One day at practice, things boil over when someone new enters the picture, or at least tries to.

Word Count: 5.8k Warnings: Angst, ex-to-lovers, smut, minors dni, p in v, squirting (i need jesus), 18+

gif is not mine

You weren't supposed to care anymore.

That was the whole point of breaking up, wasn't it? Cut it clean, give it space to heal, let the bruises fade beneath the surface. 

But months had passed and the ache still found you every time you saw him—worse now, because he didn't look hurt anymore.

Axel laughed at something someone said as he leaned back against the dojo wall, that crooked half-smile tugging at his mouth. 

Like he wasn't haunted by the same silence that kept you up at night. Like he didn't hear your name in every quiet moment.

You sat on the edge of the mat, stretching half-heartedly, gaze fixed anywhere but him—until a voice, sweet and sticky, pulled your attention back.

She was new. Pretty. Confident. 

And she stood too close when she spoke to him. Axel didn't move away.

You told yourself it didn't mean anything. You told yourself you didn’t care.

But the way he looked at her, it wasn't the way he used to look at you, not quite, but it was close enough to hurt.

And the worst part?

He didn't even glance your way.

You barely heard whatever the girl said next. Something about sparring, or his form, or how good he looked on the mat, whatever. 

You stood up too fast, your knuckles already itching for impact, for the kind of release only a fight could offer.

"Y/N," Sensei Lawerence called out to you. "You're up."

You didn't even ask who your partner was. It didn't matter.

The second the match started, you hit harder than usual. 

Sharper. Cleaner. Every strike was precise, fueled by something no one could name, but everyone noticed. 

Your opponent barely had time to register a block before your foot connected with their side.

"Damn," someone muttered under their breath from the edge of the mat.

You didn't smile. You didn't say a word. You just reset your stance, ready for more.

Axel watched from across the room, arms folded but tension clear in his shoulders. He'd always known you were good, but this? 

This was something else. You fought like you didn't feel anything. Like you had nothing to lose.

And maybe that's what got to him the most.

Because while you moved on the mat like you'd never needed him, he couldn't stop thinking about what it used to feel like, having you in his corner, stealing little glances between rounds, smiling only for him.

Now, you didn't even look his way.

And he didn't know if he wanted you to, because if you did, he might not survive the look in your eyes.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

A few days later, you're called forward to spar with the new girl. Harper. 

You couldn't help but feel your blood boil, the knot in your stomach twisting as she glanced at Axel, then at you. 

You didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. Just stepped onto the mat like it was any other fight.

Except it wasn’t.

Harper smirked at you, hair pulled back in a high ponytail, lashes batting like she didn't just spend the last ten minutes acting like Axel's personal cheerleader. 

"Go easy on me?" she teased.

You didn't answer. The room quieted, your friends Sam and Tory wincing in the corner because they knew what was about to happen. 

Sensei gave the nod.

The second Harper moved, you were already there. Fast. Brutal.

Controlled only by the discipline that had been drilled into you for years—but barely.

A sharp strike to her ribs. A pivot and elbow to her shoulder.

A low sweep that had her stumbling, and just before she could regain her footing, your foot caught her square across the jaw.

She dropped like a stone, and gasps erupted around the dojo.

Even Sensei Lawrence raised his brows as he crouched beside Harper, checking her pulse and pupils. 

"Y/L/N, what the hell are you made of?" he muttered, not unkindly. There was almost a smirk in his voice. "Textbook takedown."

You stood motionless, chest heaving, heart pounding, not from the fight, but from what it had meant.

From who had been watching.

You turned your head, just slightly, and caught Axel’s stare.

His jaw was tight. His eyes unreadable.

When class is dismissed, you avoid Axel's gaze as you pass him before entering the dojo's locker room. 

But of course, he followed you.

You were halfway down the hallway, halfway to the locker rooms, when his voice called out, quiet, level, but unrelenting.

"Y/N."

You stopped in your tracks, a lump catching in your throat at his tone of voice. 

Didn't face him, just waited.

His footsteps slowed behind you, then stopped a few feet away. "You want to tell me what that was?"

You gave a short, humorless breath. "A fight."

"You knocked her out."

"She didn’t block."

"You've fought harder guys than her," He hesitates. "You don't usually go for the head like that."

You finally turned, eyes cold but sad, arms folded like a shield. "Why do you care?"

Axel didn't flinch, but his voice dropped. "Because you looked like you wanted to hurt her."

Your lip curled slightly, defensive now, wounded and bitter. 

"And what?" You sneered. "You're mad I knocked out your new little fan club?"

His expression shifted—surprise, pain, something else underneath it—but he didn't rise to the bait. 

He just looked at you. Quiet. Steady.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

The question shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did. But it did.

And for a moment, your throat closed up.

"I'm fine," you said, voice brittle, turning again before he could see the shine in your eyes. "I'm always fine."

And then you walked. Because if you didn't leave right then, you might've told him the truth.

That you weren't fine. That you still dreamed about him.

That seeing him smile at someone else felt like bleeding out slowly, and no one even noticed.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Harper sat on the bench in the locker room, head tilted with an ice pack pressed to her cheek, the faintest shimmer in her eyes. 

Her lips were pulled into a pout, and when Axel stepped in, she perked up like she hadn't just been laid out minutes ago.

"Hey," she said softly, like she hadn't just taken a cheap shot. 

Axel crossed the room, still in his gi, his expression unreadable. "You okay?"

She gave a small, pathetic shrug. "Physically? Sure. But that was uncalled for. I don't know what I ever did to her."

Axel looked down at the floor, brow furrowed.

"She just went crazy on me," Harper added, her voice lighter now, almost coaxing. "Maybe she's jealous or something, I don’t know. I was just talking to you, and next thing I know, she kicks me in the face."

He stayed quiet.

Harper shifted closer on the bench, her knees brushing his. 

"I mean, you and I—we've been getting closer lately, right?"

Axel's eyes flicked up to hers, cautious.

"She's your ex," Harper whispered, "but maybe it's time you finally let that go." Her hand reached out, fingers grazing his arm, then his jaw. "You deserve someone who's not... broken."

And then she leaned in. Her lips barely grazed his when his hand came up between them, stopping her mid-move.

"I can't," Axel muttered, pulling back. "Don't."

Harper blinked. "What?"

"I'm still in love with her. It's always been her."

The words came out without hesitation—sharp, grounded, final. Like he hadn't even realized until now how true they were.

Harper recoiled, her expression twisting. "Seriously? After what she just pulled? You're still hung up on that?"

Axel's jaw clenched. "Yeah. I am."

"She's crazy, Axel."

He turned toward the door.

"She's dramatic, unstable, jealous—"

"Don't talk about her like that," he said sharply, stopping in his tracks. 

He didn't raise his voice, but the shift in tone was enough to suck the air out of the room. "You don't know anything about her."

"I know she made you miserable," Harper stood, scoffing.

"No," he said, turning to face her, eyes cold now. "Being away from her made me miserable."

Harper was quiet.

Axel exhaled, shaking his head once like he couldn't believe this was even happening. 

"Next time you try to use her name to make yourself feel better, don't."

And then he walked out, leaving Harper speechless and alone. Because there was only one girl he was still in love with.

And she had just knocked the breath out of him in more ways than one.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The party was already packed by the time you walked in, trailing behind Sam and Tory, who disappeared into the crowd within seconds.

You hadn't planned to come. But after the week you’d had, silence wasn't your friend. Distraction was.

You were nursing a drink by the kitchen island, half-listening to someone's story about a prank at school, when a guy you vaguely recognized stepped up beside you. 

He was cute—clean-cut, confident, a football player maybe. He smiled easy.

"You're Y/N, right?" he asked, leaning closer to be heard over the music. "I saw your win at The All-Valley. That takedown? Brutal."

You gave him a tight smile. "Thanks."

He didn’t stop there.

"You’re pretty badass on the mat, most girls don’t hit like that," he gives you a small smirk. 

You didn't say anything, but you didn't walk away either. You let him flirt. Let him hover close. Let his hand brush yours as he pointed at your cup.

And across the room, Axel saw everything.

He'd only just walked in, white tee hugging his slim form, his golden brown locks slightly messy from running his fingers through it. 

He hadn't even made it past the threshold when his eyes landed on you. And him.

Some guy—smiling too much, standing too close, like he had a right to. Axel's jaw tightened.

You were laughing. Not the real kind, the one he knew. This one was hollow. Forced. 

The way you used to laugh at his dumb jokes when you were trying not to admit you were already falling for him.

He hadn't seen you smile like that in months. And it killed him that it wasn't his anymore.

He made his way toward you slowly, not even aware he was doing it at first. Just pulled by something magnetic, territorial, familiar.

By the time you glanced up and saw him standing just a few feet away, you froze.

Your breath caught. So did his.

The guy next to you didn’t notice at first. He was still talking. Still leaning in like Axel's presence didn’t change the temperature of the room.

But it did. You held Axel's gaze, unmoving.

And just for a second, the ache returned—the one that settled in your chest every time you looked at him too long.

He looked at you like he was drowning. And you looked away first.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Laughter, bass, the occasional pop of a beer tab—it all blurred together, meaningless and distant as Axel wandered the upstairs hallway. 

He hadn't even realized how tightly his fists were clenched until his knuckles ached.

He didn't belong here tonight. Not with that guy all over you. Not with that laugh—that fake laugh—still echoing in his head.

He just needed a second. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere away from the crowd.

He pushed open a random door and stepped inside.

And stopped cold.

The bathroom light was on, illuminating the space clearly. 

You were there, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, knees drawn up, your face buried in your hands.

Crying. 

Silently, like you'd done this a thousand times. Like you knew how to break without anyone noticing.

His chest cracked open.

"Y/N?" Your head snapped up. 

Your breath caught as your eyes met his in the dim light, tearstained and wide, and for a split second—just one—you looked like you wanted to run.

Or fall into him.

Neither of you moved.

Axel stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him like he was sealing the world out. The muffled beat of the party disappeared.

He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, watching you wipe at your cheeks like it didn't matter. 

Like you hadn't just broken his heart without saying a word.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You gave a shaky laugh. "That's the second time you've asked me that this week."

He leaned back against the counter. "And it's still the second time you’ve lied."

You looked away, eyes brimming again.

"Don't," you whispered, voice cracking. "Don't be nice to me. I can't take it right now."

Axel was quiet for a long moment. 

"I saw you downstairs," he breaks the silence after a few seconds. You stiffened.

"I hated it."

You looked at him, something fragile flickering in your expression.

"I hate seeing you laugh when it's not real," he added, voice lower now. "Hate that you look like you're fine when I know you're not. And I hate—" he broke off, jaw tight, "—I hate that I let you walk away without fighting for you."

The silence between you pulsed like a bruise.

"I'm not fine," you admitted, voice barely audible.

He closed his eyes for a second, like those three words punched the air from his lungs.

"Me either," he whispered.

The silence in the bathroom stretched, heavy but soft. Axel stood across from you, unmoving, like one wrong word might shatter whatever fragile thing was holding this moment together.

Then he spoke, quiet and sure.

"I still love you."

You look up at him through your lashes.

"I tried not to," he said, voice rough now, like it scraped coming out. "Tried to stay mad. Tried to forget. But I can't. Every time I close my eyes, it's you. Every time I walk into the dojo, I hope you'll look at me. Just once."

This entire time, you thought you were the only one between you two, praying for any kind of interaction. 

Your lip trembled.

Axel turned like he was going to leave—slow, reluctant, but sure. Like he was walking away from the cliff’s edge before either of you fell again.

But just as his hand brushed the doorknob, yours reached out and caught his. He froze.

"Don't go," you whispered. "I shouldn't have walked away either."

He turned, slowly, eyes meeting yours like he didn't believe it at first.

But you were already standing, clutching his hand like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

"I love you too," you said, voice cracking on the words. "I never stopped."

And that was it. That was all it took.

Axel crossed the space between you in two strides and kissed you like he was breathing again for the first time in months—desperate, aching, slow at first, then deeper, like every broken piece of him was finding its match in you.

You kissed him back just as hard, fingers curled in his t-shirt, tears still fresh on your cheeks but forgotten.

His hands find your waist, grip tightening as the kiss deepens into something hungrier, something that tastes like months of longing finally breaking loose. 

You arch against him, fingers threading through his golden brown hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

In one fluid motion, Axel lifts you—his strong hands wrapping under your thighs, your legs instinctively circling his waist—and sets you down on the cool marble of the bathroom sink. 

The sudden contrast of temperatures makes you gasp against his lips, your back pressing against the mirror.

"I missed you," he breathes against your neck, voice rough with want. His lips trace a burning path from your jaw to your collarbone. "Every day. Every fucking day."

You can feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest, matching yours. His fingers slide up your sides, tentative at first.

"I missed you too," you whisper, voice trembling with raw honesty. "Your voice, your touch—everything." The confession feels like relief, like exhaling after holding your breath underwater for too long.

His blue-green eyes darken, pupils dilating as his fingers trace your jawline with reverence. 

When his lips return to yours, you melt against him, surrendering to the sensation you've craved for months.

"The way you look at me," you murmur between kisses, your hands exploring the familiar planes of his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. "I missed that most."

Axel's hands slide beneath your shirt, calloused fingertips tracing patterns against your skin like he's memorizing you all over again. 

His mouth travels lower, pressing hot kisses along your throat, the hollow of your collarbone. 

"I missed your lips," he whispers against your mouth, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your body. "The way they feel, the way they taste."

His confession sends a shiver down your spine as his mouth returns to yours, hungrier now, more desperate.

One hand slides up your ribcage, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. 

You gasp into his mouth, the sound small but unmistakable.

"That," he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you with darkened eyes. "That sound you make when I touch you. I've dreamed about it."

His lips find your neck, hot and insistent, sucking gently at first, then harder at the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

The sensation pulls a soft moan from your throat that you couldn't have contained if you tried. 

Your head falls back, giving him better access as his hands slide under your thighs, gripping tighter, pulling you closer until there's no space left between your bodies.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, tugging upward with urgent need. 

He breaks the kiss just long enough for you to pull it over his head, revealing the familiar landscape of his chest—lean muscle under pale skin.

"I need you, Axel," you whisper against his mouth, voice raw with desire. "Please."

His hands slide beneath your shirt in response, warm palms pressing against your bare skin. 

"Can I?" he asks, voice rough with restraint.

You nod, lifting your arms as he peels the fabric upward, his knuckles deliberately grazing your skin. 

Your shirt joins his on the bathroom floor, and his eyes darken as they take in the sight of you.

"God," he breathes, his voice thick with reverence. "You're so beautiful. Even more than I remembered." 

His fingertips trace the curve of your collarbone, trailing down to the swell of your breasts. 

The touch is featherlight, almost worshipful, as his eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"I used to think about this," he murmurs, leaning forward to press his lips to the center of your chest. "How perfect you are. How your skin feels against mine."

His mouth traces a path along the edge of your bra, his warm breath making goosebumps rise on your skin. 

When his lips close over the sensitive skin just above the fabric, you can't help the small, needy sound that escapes you. 

Your back arches reflexively, pressing your chest more firmly against his mouth.

With a practiced motion, his fingers find the clasp of your bra, hesitating there as he looks up at you through thick lashes, seeking permission in your eyes. 

You nod, breathless with anticipation.The fabric falls away, and Axel's gaze turns reverent, hungry.

When his mouth closes over your nipple, warm and wet, a sound between a gasp and a whimper breaks from your throat. 

Your fingers tangle in his golden-brown hair, tugging slightly as his tongue circles the sensitive peak. 

The sensation sends lightning down your spine, pooling low in your belly.

"I need you," you whisper against his mouth, the words half-plea, half-command. Your fingers slip down his torso, tracing the familiar ridges of muscle before dipping to the waistband of his jeans. "Now."

Axel's lips curve into a knowing smirk against your skin, his breath hot as he ducks his head to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. 

His voice drops to a husky whisper that vibrates through your entire body.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, his accent thickening with desire as he nips at your pulse point. "You want me, baby? Want me to fuck you right here?"

The crude words in his mouth sound like poetry, making your thighs clench around his waist. 

Heat floods your core at the possessive edge in his voice, the raw need that mirrors your own.

"Yes," you breathe, the single word catching in your throat as his hand slides between your bodies, fingers working at the button of your jeans. "God, yes."

His mouth reclaims yours, swallowing your gasp as his hand slides past the waistband of your jeans, fingers ghosting over the thin fabric of your underwear. 

The sudden pressure makes you whimper against his lips, your hips instinctively rolling forward to meet his touch.

"You're so wet," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice thick with wonder and need. 

His fingertips trace lazy, torturous circles through the damp fabric, finding that perfect spot that makes your breath hitch. "Is this all for me?"

You can barely form words as pleasure ripples through you. Instead of answering, you reach behind him, sliding your hand into his back pocket where you know he keeps his wallet. 

Your fingers close around the worn leather, extracting it with trembling hands.

Axel watches you with hooded eyes, his movements never ceasing as you fumble with that square foiled packet that he always kept at arms length whenever with you. 

"Always for you," you whisper against his lips, never breaking eye contact as your fingers work at his jeans, popping the button open with practiced ease. "Only you."

His breath catches as you slowly drag the zipper down, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet bathroom. 

The condom packet glints in your palm, trembling slightly with anticipation. 

Axel's eyes darken as he takes it from you, his teeth tearing the foil with a primal urgency that makes your core throb with need.

The thin barrier between you is quickly dealt with as he rolls it on, his movements efficient but unhurried. 

His hands return to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there as he positions himself.

His eyes lock with yours, intense and searching. In them, you see everything—months of longing, heartache, and desire crashing together like waves.

"Say it," you breathe against his lips, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Say you're mine again."

You need to hear it—need the words to make this real, to banish the ghost of Harper and every smile he might have given someone else. 

Your voice trembles with vulnerability as you whisper, "You're mine, right?"

"Yes," he answers without a moment's hesitation, his voice rough with emotion. "Always yours. Only yours."

And then he pushes into you, slow and deliberate, filling you completely. 

The sensation steals your breath, your head falling back as your body remembers his—how perfectly you fit together, how right this feels.

"Fuck," he groans against your neck, his accent thick.

The mirror behind you is cool against your heated skin as Axel presses deeper, your body arching to take all of him. 

Your reflection catches in the corner of your eye—flushed cheeks, parted lips, his broad shoulders framing your smaller form—but you can't look away from his face. 

From the raw intensity in his eyes as he watches where your bodies join.

"God, you feel—" he groans, voice breaking as his hips snap forward, the new angle making you cry out softly. "Perfect. So fucking perfect."

Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as he builds a rhythm that's both familiar and desperately new. 

Each thrust sends ripples of pleasure coursing through you, building like waves threatening to break. 

The bathroom counter digs into your thighs, but the slight discomfort only heightens everything else—the pressure of his body against yours, the heat of his breath on your neck, the delicious friction where you're joined.

He pulls you flush against him, one arm wrapping possessively around your waist while the other tangles in your hair. 

You cling to him, arms looping around his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle there as his mouth finds the sensitive curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

"I've missed this," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot as his lips trail a blazing path up your throat. "Missed how you feel."

Your head falls back, giving him better access as his teeth graze your pulse point, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue. 

The dual sensation sends electricity racing down your spine, pooling low in your belly.

"Axel," you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips.

His grip tightens in response, possessive and desperate.

His pace quickens, each thrust deeper than the last, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. 

Your legs instinctively constrict around him, thighs quivering against his sides as the first waves of your climax begin to build. 

The tremors start subtle, then grow more pronounced, your muscles contracting involuntarily.

"I can feel you," Axel whispers against your ear, his voice strained with his own restraint. "You're close, aren't you?"

You can only nod, words failing as pleasure coils tighter in your core. 

Your ankles lock behind his back, pulling him impossibly deeper as your body betrays how close you are—the trembling in your thighs growing more intense against his heated skin.

His rhythm falters for just a moment as he registers the telltale quivering of your body. 

"I—I'm gonna cum," you gasp against his ear, your voice breaking with urgency, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

The tension in your core winds impossibly tight, trembling on the edge of release.

"Me too," Axel groans, his voice ragged and strained. His forehead presses against yours, eyes locked on yours with devastating intensity. "Together. Come with me."

Your bodies shudder in perfect synchronicity as the wave finally crashes. 

Your vision blurs at the edges as pleasure pulses through every nerve ending, your inner walls clenching around him in rhythmic waves. 

Axel's deep moan vibrates against your chest as he spills into the condom, his powerful body trembling against yours.

You cling to each other like survivors of a shipwreck, breathing ragged and uneven, hearts thundering.

His mouth captures yours as another wave of pleasure crashes through you, silencing your cries with his lips. 

His tongue slides against yours, tasting your gasps as his hips continue their relentless rhythm, drawing out every tremor, every aftershock. 

Your body convulses around him, each pulse more intense than the last as he refuses to let you come down, pushing you higher instead.

"That's it," he whispers against your lips between kisses, his voice husky with satisfaction. "Give me everything."

You whimper into his mouth as his hand slips between your bodies, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with just enough pressure to send you spiraling again.

Your thighs quake around his waist, muscles contracting beyond your control as he coaxes yet another climax from your oversensitive body.

"Axel—I can't—" you try to protest, but the words dissolve into a broken moan as his thumb continues its relentless circles. 

Pleasure borders on pain, every nerve ending raw and exposed. 

Your body arches involuntarily, spine curving like a bow as sensation crashes through you in merciless waves.

"You can," he murmurs against your throat, voice velvet-rough with command. "One more. For me."

His fingers work magic between your thighs, the pressure perfectly calibrated—not too soft, not too hard—just the exquisite torture of knowing exactly how your body responds. 

Your vision blurs, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes as overwhelming pleasure builds again, impossibly soon after the last.

"It's too much," you gasp, the words barely coherent as your hips buck against his hand. 

But even as you say it, your body betrays you, already climbing toward that peak again.

Axel's eyes darken as he watches your face, the pleasure and pain mingling in your expression. 

His thumb continues its relentless circles as he shifts inside you, angling his hips to hit that secret spot deep within.

"Remember that night in my room?" he whispers against your ear, his voice a seductive rumble. "When I made you come so hard you soaked the sheets?"

The memory flashes vivid and hot—your body arching off his bed, that unprecedented release flooding through you, the look of awe on his face as you came apart in a way you never had before.

"I want to see you like that again," he continues, his fingers increasing their pace. "Want to feel you let go completely."

His other hand slides to the small of your back, tilting your hips at a sharper angle.

"Oh god—Axel—" Your words dissolve into a strangled cry as something inside you breaks open.

The pressure builds to an unbearable crescendo, your thighs trembling violently around his waist. 

Tears spill from your eyes as a violent wave of pleasure crashes through you, different from anything before—more intense, more overwhelming. 

Your body convulses as liquid warmth gushes from you, soaking both of your thighs and the counter beneath you.

Axel holds you through it, his expression caught between awe and reverence. 

"That's it," he whispers against your temple, pressing kisses to your tear-streaked face. "Let go for me. Just like that."

You collapse against him, burying your face against his shoulder, muffling your broken sobs as your body continues to shudder through the most intense release of your life. 

With exquisite care, Axel eases out of you, his movements deliberately gentle. 

His fingertips trace feather-light patterns against your oversensitive skin as he withdraws, a small sound of concern escaping his lips when you wince.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispers, brow furrowed as he cradles your face between his palms.

You shake your head, still trembling from the aftershocks. "No. Just... intense."

His thumb brushes away a tear that clings to your lashes. The tenderness in his touch makes your chest ache more than any physical sensation could. 

This is the Axel you remember—the one who, beneath all that quiet confidence and stubborn pride, treats you like something precious.

"I've got you," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead.

His arms encircle you, strong and steady as the tremors subside. 

He reaches for a hand towel from the rack beside the sink, dampening it with warm water before tenderly cleaning between your thighs. 

The cloth is soft against your sensitive skin as he works with careful precision, his touch clinical yet intimate.

"Lift," he whispers, helping you raise your hips as he slides your underwear back up your legs. 

His fingers hook into your jeans next, easing them over your still-trembling thighs. 

You watch his face as he works—the concentration in his brow, the gentle press of his lips—and something inside you unravels further.

He secures the button at your waist, then rises to meet your gaze. 

His hands cup your face as if you're made of glass, thumbs brushing away the last traces of tears from your cheeks. 

He presses his lips to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth, his tenderness making your heart constrict. 

He reaches for his discarded clothes, stepping back just enough to give himself room. 

Your body instantly misses his warmth. 

You remain sat on the cool marble of the sink, legs still slightly wobbly, watching as he pulls his shirt over his head, the fabric sliding down to cover the lean muscles of his abdomen.

Before he can step further away, you reach out, fingers catching the hem of his shirt. 

You pull him back between your legs and wrap your arms around his middle, burying your face against his chest. 

You breathe him in—that familiar scent of him. 

His arms tighten around you, one hand stroking your hair with gentle reverence. 

You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, and when you glance up, his eyes are soft with understanding. 

The corner of his mouth lifts in that crooked half-smile that always made your heart skip.

"Let's get out of here," he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. "This party's too loud anyway."

You look up at him, your heart still racing from everything that just happened between you. 

The vulnerability in his eyes makes your chest ache with a sweetness you'd almost forgotten.

"I have those spicy Croatian chips you like at my place," you whisper, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. "The ones your mom sends in those care packages. Been saving them."

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his features before melting into something softer. "You kept them? Even after..."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I couldn't bring myself to throw them out. Or eat them. Felt wrong somehow."

His face softens, eyes crinkling at the corners as something vulnerable passes across his features. 

The tension in his shoulders releases, replaced by a quiet certainty that makes your heart stutter.

"You kept my favorite chips," he whispers, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. His voice drops lower, accent thickening with emotion. "No one's ever understood me like you do."

Axel leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, mingling with yours in the small space between you.

His eyes search yours, blue-green depths swimming with unspoken questions.

"Be mine again," he murmurs, not quite a question, not quite a command—somewhere in between, raw with longing. "For real this time. No walking away, no giving up when it gets hard."

Your fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, memorizing the contours of his face as if seeing him for the first time. 

His stubble tickles your palm as you cup his cheek, drawing him closer until your breath mingles with his.

"Yes," you whisper against his mouth, sealing the promise with a kiss that starts gentle but deepens as his arms tighten around you. 

Your lips part beneath his, tongues meeting in a slow dance that speaks of homecoming rather than desire. 

This kiss is different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago—this one tastes like forever.

When you finally pull away, his eyes remain closed for a heartbeat longer, like he's savoring the moment, afraid it might dissolve if he looks too quickly.

"No more walking away," you murmur, your voice soft but certain. 

The words feel like a vow between you, weightier than any promise you've made before.

Axel's eyes lock with yours, searching, finding nothing but truth. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, featherlight, reverent.

"Even when it gets hard?" he asks, vulnerability threading through his voice.

"Especially then," you whisper, covering his hand with yours. 

You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, and he kissed you again—slow, sure, full of promise.

It didn’t matter what came next.

You had each other again.

And that was everything.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(A/N: sorry about that, had to get that one out of my system. i saw one of those posts that said "give me angst, fluff, and smut all in one" and i said: here you go. hope this was okay!! like, comment, reblog, appreciate y'all!! 🤍)

[brookediamonds]

wouldn't it be nice | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: It's finally summer and the first day is spent with he boy you love right on the beach. Apart of my grumpy!reader x sunshine!axel trope.

Word Count: 2.04k Warnings: None, all fluff

You're lying on your towel, the sun warm on your back, when you feel a shadow fall over you. Then two strong hands gently touch your shoulders.

"Sunscreen time," Axel announces, voice low and mischievous.

You glance up at him over your sunglasses, unimpressed. "You offering, or are you hoping I'll beg?"

He smirks. "Do you want me to beg?"

You roll your eyes but sit up anyway, handing him the bottle. "Don't get weird about it."

"I live weird," he says, squeezing sunscreen into his palms like he's about to perform surgery.

The second his hands touch your back, warm and slow and just a little too thorough, you know he’s milking this.

He smooths the lotion over your shoulders, down your spine, fingers slipping just beneath the band of your bikini top.

You tilt your head slightly, smirking. "Didn't realize sunscreen application required a full massage."

Axel leans in, voice husky near your ear. "I'm thorough. You're delicate. Gotta protect my girl."

"Thought I was a menace," you hum, smug.

"You're a hot menace," he corrects, clearly distracted as his hands slide down to your waist. "A menace who's definitely doing this to mess with me."

You turn to face him, snatching the bottle from his hands. "Okay, your turn."

He plops down eagerly, giving you his back like he's being knighted.

You squeeze a line of sunscreen down his spine—cold, just to mess with him—and laugh when he yelps.

"You deserved that," you say sweetly, smoothing it over his sun-warmed skin. "You were practically drooling."

The minute you peeled your cover up sundress off, Axel was starstruck by your new lavender bikini set. Scratch that, he was starstruck by the way you look in your new lavender bikini set.

He hasn't been able to tear his eyes away from you since. Or his hands.

"I was being respectful," he defends. "Internally drooling. Completely different."

You keep rubbing, hands slow and deliberate, and you don't miss the way his shoulders twitch when your fingers brush under his waistband.

"Is this payback?" he asks, voice tight.

"Mhm," you whisper near his ear, "but also, I like seeing you like this."

He turns suddenly, sunscreen forgotten, and tackles you gently onto the towel, caging you in with a grin.

"You wanna play, baby?" he murmurs. "Then play nice. Or I'm gonna forget we're in public."

You snort, pushing at his chest. "We're at a family beach, psycho."

"Then stop being so pretty," he says leaning down, pressing a soft kiss to your nose. "You're ruining my self-control."

And as he flops back beside you with a dramatic groan, hand sliding easily into yours, you can't help but smile, because you definitely did it on purpose.

And he definitely loved it.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Axel's been in the water for five minutes—ten tops—but that's more than enough time for two girls nearby to start gawking like they've never seen a shirtless boy before.

You're on your towel, legs stretched out, sunglasses perched on your nose as you sip from your water bottle and try to be chill.

You're not typically the jealous type. Not really.

Not until a girl in a pink bikini nudges her friend and says "Oh my god, look at his shoulders," and you nearly choke on your drink.

Your eyes flick to the ocean where Axel is waist-deep, shaking water from his hair like some walking beach day fantasy, completely unaware of the attention he's getting.

Something hot and possessive flares in your chest. Without thinking, you snatch off your sunglasses and toss them onto the blanket.

You're on your feet in an instant, sand sticking to the backs of your legs as you stride purposefully toward the water.

The cool waves lap at your ankles, then your calves as you wade in. When you reach the shoreline where the water hits mid-thigh, you call out to him.

"Baby!" Your voice carries across the water.

Axel turns immediately, his face lighting up when he spots you.

"Come on in beautiful! Water feels great!" He grins, holding his arms out wide. You smile, really smile at his invitation.

You sprint, full-on beach run, into the surf, splashing toward him while the two girls not-so-subtly watch.

Axel laughs just before you launch yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist, arms tight around his neck.

He catches you easily, water splashing up around you both as he holds you close.

"Whoa," he murmurs, pressing a hand to your back, the other under your thigh. "What's all this?"

"Maybe I missed you," you pout playfully.

Axel pulls back just enough to look at you, like really look at you, and his whole face softens.

That lovesick grin overtakes his expression as he leans in and kisses you. Slow. Sun-warmed. The kind that melts you from the inside out.

And maybe, just maybe, when he breaks the kiss, he looks past your shoulder to shoot a smirk in the direction of the two girls who definitely aren't looking anymore.

You tighten your arms around him. "I don't like sharing."

"Good," he hums, nuzzling your temple. "Because I'm all yours."

The waves hit your legs, the sun kisses your skin, and for once, you don't play it cool. You don't hide how full your heart feels.

You just hold him and let yourself smile like the world belongs to you. Because it kind of does. And right now? He's your favorite part of it.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Later, the two of you are sprawled out on your shared towel like a pair of lazy cats, sun-warmed and grinning. Axel's lying on his back, hands folded behind his head, hair still damp and curling slightly at the edges.

His eyes are closed, a rare moment of stillness…until something juicy and cold presses to his lips.

He startles slightly, then cracks one eye open.

You're hovering above him, holding out a slice of watermelon with a smug little smile. "Eat it."

He chuckles, opening his mouth just enough for you to feed it to him. He takes the bite slow, dramatically, like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

"Mmm," he chews, eyes fluttering shut again. "You're spoiling me."

"I like feeding you," you hum, slicing another bite with your fingers. "You look all soft and happy like this."

"I am soft and happy," he mumbles through another bite. "I've got sun, snacks, and my bikini-clad dream girl all to myself."

You roll your eyes, but the blush creeps in anyway. The sunlight catches on his sunglasses as he tilts his head back, savoring the sweet fruit.

"Those look good on you," you say, eyeing the sleek black frames perched on his nose.

He grins, adjusting them slightly. "Thanks. They're new."

A playful impulse strikes you. Quick as lightning, you reach out and snatch the sunglasses right off his face, giggling as you slide them onto your own nose.

"Hey!" Axel protests, blinking in the sudden brightness. His eyes narrow playfully as he reaches for them, but you lean back just out of his grasp.

"How do they look on me?" you ask, striking a dramatic pose with your chin tilted up.

"Better than they do on me," he admits, his eyes softening as he takes in your appearance. "…Steal my fruit next too, why don't you."

You reach for a grape and pop it into your mouth, then offer him one with a smug grin. "Say please."

He narrows his eyes at you playfully, then leans in close, voice low and full of teasing heat. "Please, baby."

You feed him the grape, trying not to laugh as you do it.

He kisses your fingers on the way out.

And when you try to steal another grape without asking, he rolls onto his side and traps you under his arm, sunglasses be damned.

"You're lucky you're cute," he mutters into your neck, lips brushing your skin.

"I know," you hum, looping your arms around him lazily.

He sighs, content.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Your friends have finally made it to the beach, Sam and Tory join you in the water while the boys' sit along the shoreline catching up after finals.

You'd convinced them both to help you look for seashells—"real ones, not the boring half-broken ones"—and now the three of you are spread out across the shallow stretch, heads down, giggling every time one of you finds a good one.

"Ooooh," Sam sings, holding up a perfectly spiraled shell. "This one's gotta go to the collection."

"She's gonna run out of hands soon," Tory calls from a few feet away. "She's hoarding."

"I don't hoard," you argue, already balancing three in one palm and two more pinched between your fingers. "I collect with intention."

Behind you, seated with the other guys where the water meets the sand, Axel's stretched out on his towel with one arm propped lazily behind his head.

His sunglasses are on, half-watching the ocean, half-watching you—sun-kissed and glowing and in full beach goblin mode.

You don't even glance at him as you walk past, your hands too full. But when you get to his towel, you bend down and wordlessly place a few shells on his thigh like he's a human shelf.

"Mm," Axel hums, barely reacting. "Good choice. That pink one's kinda hot."

You stifle a laugh, already heading back out to find more.

A few minutes later, you return with another handful, grinning. Sam's still beside you, swinging her arm like a kid.

Tory's knee-deep in the far corner of the bar, talking to Robby across the way. This time, you set another shell on Axel's chest. Then two more on his stomach.

He glances down at them, unfazed. "Is this my new role? Ocean boyfriend slash decorative display table?"

You shrug. "You're multi-talented."

Another shell goes on his bicep.

"Getting heavy," he says dramatically. "Might need compensation."

You lean down, press a kiss to his cheek, and whisper, "That one's rare. Be gentle."

He grins like an idiot but doesn't move a muscle, letting the shells stay exactly where you put them.

The guys around him—Robby, and Miguel—start snickering, but Axel just kicks sand at Miguel's foot without a care in the world.

And when you come back a third time. shells spilling from your hands, eyes shining from the sunlight, he actually sits up, dusting the ones off his chest and holding out both hands.

"C'mere, baby," he says. "I'll carry the treasure haul for you."

You dump your findings into his palms with a grin and a muttered, "Good boy."

He just smirks watching you run back to the girls in the ocean. "Anything for my favorite girl."

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The sun's long gone, and the sky is a blanket of deep navy and scattered stars. The bonfire crackles at the center of your group, casting flickers of gold across everyone's faces.

Sand still clings to your legs, and your hair smells faintly like saltwater and smoke.

You're curled in Axel's lap, facing the fire with your back against his chest. His arms are wrapped lazily around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder like you're his personal pillow.

He's got a half-melted marshmallow on a stick in one hand and a graham cracker loaded with chocolate in the other.

"You gonna eat that, or just roast it into oblivion?" you tease, glancing at the marshmallow starting to droop dangerously off the stick.

"Relax," he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into your temple. "It's an art."

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch as he carefully slides the marshmallow onto the cracker and squishes it into a perfectly messy s'more.

Then, because of course he does, he holds it up to your lips like he's feeding royalty.

"Say ahh," Axel sings, ridiculously proud of himself.

"You're so annoying," you mutter, but you lean in anyway and take a bite, chocolate smudging the corner of your mouth.

Axel immediately swoops in with his thumb to wipe it away, except instead of just cleaning it, he licks the chocolate off his finger and grins like he just got a reward.

"Mm. You taste like campfire and sugar."

"Gross," you snort, but you're smiling now, leaning back against him more.

He takes a bite next, humming dramatically as if it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. "We make a good team. You eat, I feed you. You sit, I hold you. Perfect."

"Absolutely," you agree as his arms tighten around you just a little. You grab the rest of the s'more and feed it to him this time.

The group around the fire groans in fake disgust.

"Get a room!" Miguel shouts, tossing a marshmallow at you.

Axel just catches it and plops it in his mouth without missing a beat. The two of you just laugh and snuggling further into each other, prepping to roast another marshmallow.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: I had to write a summer edition, and there's probably gonna be lots more too. Requests are still open, don't forget to like, comment, and reblog 🥰)