MeToo

[joost-big]

PADDY THE BADDY

Summary: After a tough win in the cage, Paddy only wants one thing — to go home. To you.

Author's Note: This work was written with the help of a translator, so there might be some awkward phrasing 🤷🫣 This is my first fanfic work, I've never written anything like this before. If it turned out not too bad, maybe I'll write something else 🙂‍↕️ By the way, this is my first Tumblr post 😅

You never really liked watching fights live.

Not that you found it disgusting or scary — it was just that every punch Paddy took hit somewhere under your ribs so hard you forgot to breathe. You always sat somewhere to the side, gripping the armrest, waiting for it to be over.

You'd been together for six months. Six months that no one knew about — not his team, not your friends, not the annoying fans online. Paddy said he wanted to keep it quiet. You didn't mind. You were never one for attention anyway.

But tonight, when he walked into the cage under the roar of the arena, when the spotlights hit his broad shoulders, when he looked into the crowd and found your eyes — you suddenly realized you didn't give a fuck about secrets. You wanted everyone to know: this guy is yours.

The fight was brutal. Paddy took a couple of shots that made your heart drop to your stomach, but he kept getting up, smiling that stupid smile of his, and moving forward. In the fourth round, he caught his opponent in an armbar, and the guy tapped.

Paddy roared. The arena exploded.

And you just exhaled, finally remembering how to breathe.

After the fight, there was press, interviews, crowds of people wanting to congratulate him. You stood in the corner, clutching his hoodie to your chest — the one he'd left with you before the fight "for luck" — and waited.

He found you an hour later. Came up from behind, wrapped his arms around you, buried his nose in your hair. He smelled like sweat, adrenaline, and victory.

"Tired?" you asked quietly.

"Gonna pass out the second I hit the bed," he whispered hoarsely.

"Let's go home."

Home was his flat — the one you snuck into at night, where your toothbrush sat on the nightstand and your t-shirt hung in the closet. Where it smelled like him and comfort.

In the car, he was quiet, holding your hand in his, staring out the window. You could see how exhausted he was — shoulders slumped, eyes drooping, but his fingers still gripped yours like he was afraid to let go.

At home, he collapsed on the couch without even getting changed. You sat beside him, stroking his head, pushing the damp hair from his forehead.

"You did amazing," you said simply. "I'm so proud of you."

He cracked one eye open, smirking.

"Proud, are ya?"

"So proud."

"Gonna kiss the winner then?"

You leaned down and kissed him — lightly, on the corner of his mouth. But he caught the back of your head and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. He smelled like victory and exhaustion, but his lips were soft and warm.

"I was thinkin' about you," he whispered against your mouth. "The whole time I was fightin'."

"What were you thinking?"

"That I wanted to come home. To you."

Your nose stung.

"I'm here," you whispered. "I'm always here."

He fell asleep right there on the couch, still dressed. You covered him with a blanket, turned off the light, and lay down beside him, pressing against his side.

You woke up to him kissing your neck.

It was dark, only streetlights filtering through the gap in the curtains. Paddy was on his side, pressed against you from behind, his lips trailing slowly over your skin.

"What're you doing?" you mumbled sleepily.

"Can't sleep," he breathed into your shoulder. "Adrenaline's still... y'know."

You smiled in the darkness.

"Want me to help?"

He nipped at your earlobe, and shivers ran down your spine.

"Yeah."

You turned to face him. In the dim light, you could only see the glint of his eyes and the outline of his jaw. You ran your hand over his cheek, feeling the stubble under your fingers.

"Tough fight," you whispered.

"Yeah."

"Should rest."

"Should."

"But first…"

He didn't let you finish — covered your mouth with a kiss. Slow, deep, the kind that made everything inside you melt. His hands slid under your shirt, gripping your waist, stroking your stomach.

"I wanted you so bad," he breathed between kisses. "All week. Couldn't think about anything else."

"What exactly?" you teased, though your voice shook.

"How you smell. How you sound. How you look at me when I…"

He didn't finish — pulled your shirt off over your head and pressed his lips to your collarbone.

You exhaled, head falling back, fingers tangling in his hair. He kissed every freckle, every dip, moving lower until he reached your stomach.

"Beautiful," he breathed into your skin. "So fuckin' beautiful."

"Paddy…"

"Shh. Let me look."

He pulled off your trousers, tossed them aside, and just looked. You felt his gaze on your skin, and the heat inside you grew.

"Come here," you called, tugging at his shoulder.

He obeyed, lying on top of you, hovering on his elbows. His knee pushed your thighs apart, and you felt how much he wanted you — hard, hot, pressing against your stomach.

"You sure?" he asked suddenly. "I could just sleep if—"

"Paddy." You cupped his face in your hands. "Shut up and fuck me."

He grinned, teeth flashing in the dark.

"Whatever you say, love."

He entered you slowly — so slowly you arched off the couch, digging your nails into his shoulders. He was everywhere — filling you, stretching you, making you forget how to breathe.

"Easy, easy," he whispered, kissing your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips. "I'm here. I'm with you."

Every movement was deep, unhurried, like he wanted to stretch this moment forever. No rush, no roughness — just him and you, and quiet breathing, and the creak of the couch, and the smell of sweat and love.

"Paddy," you gasped when he hit that spot that made your vision blur.

"I know," he whispered. "I can feel it. C'mon, baby. Come for me."

He sped up just enough to push you over the edge, and you fell apart, clenching around him in waves, digging into his back, muffling your cry against his lips.

He followed a few thrusts later — froze, arched, breathed your name into your neck and collapsed on top of you, heavy and warm.

You lay like that for a long time. Him on you, you under him, breathing in sync.

"I love you," he said suddenly into the silence.

You froze.

He kissed you. Soft. Gentle.

"Now sleep," he murmured, settling beside you and pulling you close.

You closed your eyes, feeling his hand stroke your back, feeling his heart beat steady under your ear.

"I love you too," you whispered into the dark.

[joost-big]

Paddy Pimblett. The Party

A/N: This is my first work written on request 😅 I hope I lived up to the expectations

(I'm using a translator, so there might be some mistakes.)

The party was at someone he knew — you couldn't remember whose house it was or what the occasion was anymore. The only thing you knew was that it was crowded, stuffy, smelled like alcohol and strangers' perfume, and Paddy had been drifting in and out of the crowd all night, popping up next to you like he was checking you hadn't run off.

"What're you doin' sittin' in the corner?" he appeared beside you with two glasses, handing you one. "Come dance."

"I am dancing," you swayed to the beat. "See? Very enthusiastically."

He rolled his eyes, set the glasses on the nearest surface, and grabbed your hand.

"Come on," he tugged.

You didn't resist.

On the dance floor, he was too close — or maybe you were pressing into him, it was hard to tell. The music was pounding so hard your ribs vibrated, and he was grinning that stupid grin of his, moving like nobody was watching. You laughed, trying to match the rhythm, but he kept messing you up, spinning you, his arm around your waist a couple seconds longer than necessary.

"You're good at this," he shouted in your ear.

"I dance like a log!"

You shoved his shoulder, but he just laughed.

An hour later, you were exhausted. It was hot, stuffy, your throat dry. You nodded toward the bar, and he let you go with a knowing "I'll be right there."

You made your way to the counter and ordered water. You drank greedily, feeling sweat trickle down your back. In the mirror behind the bar, you could see the whole room — faces flashing, lights, shadows. And Paddy. He wasn't alone anymore. Some girl had come up to him — tall, flashy, in a sparkly dress. She was saying something, laughing, touching his arm.

You looked down at your glass.

Nothing new. He'd always been like this — open, social, easygoing. You didn't have any claim on him. You were friends. Just friends.

But something still tightened in your chest.

You turned away, took another sip. Decided it was time to go home. You didn't want to watch him flirt with someone when you'd been carrying this stupid feeling around for months, too scared to name it.

"Hey," his voice came right next to your ear. "Where you goin'?"

You flinched. He was right there, out of breath, like he'd run.

"I wanna go home," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm tired."

"What about me?" he looked almost offended. "You're gonna leave me?"

"You've got company," you nodded toward the bar, where the girl was still standing. "You won't notice."

Paddy followed your gaze and frowned.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"No idea. Thought you knew her."

"I've never seen her before in my life."

You shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. But then he caught your chin, tilting your face toward his.

"Hey," he said quietly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're lyin'."

"I'm not."

"Look at me."

You looked. His fingers were still under your chin, and the touch sent goosebumps down your skin.

"I wanted to be with you tonight," he said. "All night. You think I was dragging you around for no reason?"

Your heart dropped.

"Paddy..."

"Come on," he cut you off. "There's a quiet place upstairs. We need to talk."

He led you through the crowd, past dancers, past couches, past everyone. You went up a narrow staircase to the second floor, where it was mostly empty, and he pushed open a door.

It was a small room — a storage closet or the host's private space. It was dark, smelled like dust and old furniture. Paddy shut the door, and the music became muffled, distant.

"What's going on?" you asked, your heart pounding.

"I've been watchin' you all night," he said, turning to face you. "You know that?"

"I know."

"And you were still gonna leave."

"You had that girl..."

"What girl?" he stepped closer. "I don't give a fuck about that girl. I wanted to be with you. I always want to be with you."

You opened your mouth but didn't know what to say. He was looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he was deciding something important.

"I don't know how else to say this," he exhaled. "I like you. Not as a friend. Not even close."

The air in the room grew thick, heavy. You could feel his breath, the heat of his body, the smell of alcohol and his cologne.

"How long?" you whispered.

"A long time. Too long," he stepped even closer, almost touching you. He reached up, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "Tell me it's just me, and I'll back off."

"Me too," you breathed. "Me too, Paddy."

He looked at you for a second, two. Then he kissed you.

It hit like a punch to the gut. Hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that turned everything inside you upside down. He pressed you against the wall, his hands gripping your waist, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands slid down your back, tugged at your shirt, found bare skin.

"Paddy," you breathed. "Here..."

"No one's gonna know," he whispered. "Door's shut. We'll be quiet."

He grinned, teeth flashing in the dark.

He kissed you again, slow and deep, and you forgot where you were. His hands undid your jeans, pulled them down along with your panties. You bit your lip when his fingers found you.

"So wet," he rasped. "That for me?"

"For you," you could barely breathe.

He pushed inside with his fingers — slow, careful, like he was afraid to hurt you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Look at me," he said. "I wanna see you."

You opened your eyes. In the darkness, you could only make out his face — his half-closed eyes, his parted lips. He moved his fingers, learning you, finding the spot that made your knees go weak.

"Paddy," you gasped.

"Shh," he kissed the corner of your mouth. "We're being quiet, remember?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back, but it was almost impossible. He knew what he was doing — your mind went blank, and all that was left was him, his hands, his breath, his voice whispering, "So beautiful."

When he finally pushed inside you, you choked on a sob, clutching at his back. He stopped, letting you adjust, then started moving — slow, deep, almost too good.

"You feel that?" he whispered. "Feel how much I wanted you?"

"I feel it," you could barely speak.

He sped up, and you forgot about being quiet. A moan slipped out, and he covered your mouth with his hand, pressing his forehead to yours.

"I asked you to be quiet," he teased.

You pressed into him harder. He moved faster, rougher, and you felt the tension building inside you, winding tight.

"I'm close," you gasped.

"Come on," he whispered. "Come for me."

You came with a muffled cry, your body arching, clenching around him, and he followed a few thrusts later — quiet, almost silent, just his ragged breath giving him away.

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

You sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. He had his arms around you, kissing your hair, rubbing your back. You could feel his heartbeat slowly steadying.

Downstairs, the music was still going, people laughing, dancing.

When you finally walked out, Paddy held your hand and didn't let go.

[joost-big]

Can you please right a scenario where paddy x reader do it in a party I love your paddy!!posts keep up the great work😩💕

Thank you so much for the feedback 🤭💘, I'll try to write something like that soon🙂‍↕️

[joost-big]

Paddy Pimblett

18+ Alphabet

(if you'd like a custom alphabet with a specific character, just let me know and I'll try to make it for you.)

*Sorry for any mistakes — English isn't my first language, and I'm using a translator.*

A — Aftercare

Paddy’s not the type to just pass out the second he cums. First, he makes sure you're okay. He’ll get you water, pull the blanket over you, and trace his fingers along your spine while mumbling softly. If you’re shaking, he just pulls you in tighter. He’s brutal in the Octagon, but with you? He’s your own personal teddy bear. After sex, he just wants to cuddle. For a long time. Until you both fall asleep, tangled up so tight you can’t tell where his hands end and you begin.

B — Body part

Thighs. His hands were practically made to grip your thighs hard enough to bruise. He loves it when you wrap them around his waist, when he sinks deep inside you, when you're trembling underneath him. Sometimes he just looks at your thighs, spread open for him, and his eyes go dark.

C — Cum

Inside. Always inside, unless you’re using other protection. For him, it’s this primal rush—feeling you clench around him, taking every last drop. “Want you to feel me inside you for hours,” he whispers, thrusting deep.

D — Dirty secret

He loves it when you scratch his back. Hard enough to draw blood. Because those marks are a reminder of how you dug into him when you came.

E — Experience

Experienced — but not in a "slept his way through half of Liverpool" kind of way. He knows the female body because he knows how to read body language. In the Octagon, it helps him anticipate strikes. In bed, it helps him know what you want, even when you're silent. You don't have to explain things with him — he feels the way you breathe, the way you tremble, the way you tighten around him.

F — Favorite position

From behind. So he can see the arch of your back, grip your thighs, and sink into you as deep as possible. Or on your side — when you're both exhausted, but he still wants to feel you, lazily thrusting while kissing your shoulder and whispering, "You're mine. Only mine."

G — Goofy

He can be a goof. He'll laugh and tease you. But when it's time for business — he's dead serious. That switch from a smile to that predatory look.

H — Hair

He loves it when you run your fingers through his hair. Especially when you're on top — using it to steady yourself, to tilt his head back, gripping the strands when it feels especially good. It makes him melt — and he gets even softer.

I — Intimacy

For him, sex without feelings is empty. He needs to look you in the eyes. He needs to feel like you're with him — not just letting him fuck you. He might stop mid-stroke to ask, "Where are you right now? Come back to me." And he'll wait until your eyes finally meet his.

J — Jack off

Rarely, because he'd rather have the real you. But when you're away or he's deep in a weight cut — yeah, it happens. And when he does, he's only thinking about one thing: getting home and doing all the things to you that he's been replaying in his head.

K — Kink

Soft domination. He likes feeling in control, but only if you give it up willingly. He might pin your hands above your head, lightly grip your throat, or whisper in your ear, "You're my good girl, yeah?" Another thing that gets him? You wearing his stuff. His huge hoodies, his post-gym t-shirts — still smelling like him.

L — Location

Home, in bed — safe and cozy. But there's an adventurer in him. The elevator? Been there. The locker room after the gym closes? Oh yeah. His car in the parking lot? Easy. He loves the risk of someone maybe hearing.

M — Motivation

When you're mad at him. Arguing, rolling your eyes, shoving his chest — it flips a switch. Suddenly he's in "gotta calm her down — preferably in bed" mode. Also? When you watch his fights. Not just cheering — but clenching your fists, biting your lip, actually feeling it. After the fight, he could stay in bed for days straight from the adrenaline and just having you there.

N — No

Fake it. If you're pretending you're into it — he knows. And he is strongly against being called Patrick.

O — Oral

He's a god at eating pussy. Because he treats it like an art — driving you crazy with his mouth, looking up at you from between your legs, smirking. He can go for hours. And when you go down on him? He holds back with everything he's got just to keep from coming immediately. He loves watching you work for him — the way you use your tongue, the way you take him deep. "That's my good girl," he breathes out, tangling his fingers in your hair.

P — Pace

He knows how to do it all. He can be slow and languid, drawing whimpers out of you with nothing but tenderness. Or he can fuck you so hard the bed slides across the room — especially after a fight, when the adrenaline's still pumping. But his signature move? Start slow, take you right to the edge, then speed up... then slow down again until you're begging.

Q — Quickie

Absolutely loves them. Especially when you sneak into the gym before his training session — or when you hide together in the bathroom at a party.

R — Risk

Total adrenaline junkie. He'll fuck you in the locker room while his team's waiting right outside. In the car in a crowded parking lot. Whispering, "Shh, they'll hear us," — while pushing deeper.

S — Stamina

He's a fighter, baby. He can go for hours — switching positions, making you come again and again. He only taps out toward sunrise. And even then, only if you don't give up first.

T — Toys

Curious. Not really into using them himself, but if you bring out a vibrator during foreplay? He gets so fucking hard. He especially loves watching you come from the toy while he's still inside you.

U — Unfair

He knows how to tease. He'll push in just an inch — then stop, smirking at you. He'll rub the head of his cock against your folds, not entering, until you're crying for it. "Tell me you need me," he whispers. "Tell me whose you are." And only then does he give you what you're begging for.

V — Volume

He's not quiet. He groans, growls, breathes out curses, whispers sweet things. Loud — but not on purpose. He just can't hold back when it feels good. Especially when you clench around him — he makes sounds that might have the neighbors checking in.

W — Wild card

He has a weakness — when you take charge. Not just waiting, but climbing on top, taking control, telling him exactly what you want. It drives him absolutely crazy. He'll just sink back into the pillows and watch you move on him, gripping his thighs. "Fuck, you're amazing," is all he can breathe out.

X — X-ray

He doesn't really think about it, but fact is fact — he's pretty big. Thick, too. He knows he has to be careful, especially at first. But when he sees how wet you get for him, how you take all of him — he smirks.

Y — Yearning

He stares. That look — heavy, hungry, through half-lidded eyes. He'll look at you like that from across the room while you're talking to someone else, and you can feel it on your skin. And he touches — casually, but too long. The small of your back. Your neck. Your knee. And his voice drops lower, raspier.

Z — ZZZ

He cuddles. Pulls you close, wraps you in the blanket, kisses the top of your head. He'll ramble about random shit in a sleepy voice until you drift off. And if you're already asleep? He lies there for a long time, running his fingers through your hair, just... happy. His hand is always on you — your stomach, your waist — needing to feel that you're right there.

[ferdyxp]

Dobronx😊🇧🇷

[joost-big]

Paddy the Baddy

Summary: Sometimes, all it takes to confess your love is getting stuck in an elevator with a drunk Paddy Pimblett.

Author's Note: I finally decided to post another work 😅( I'm still using a translator, so there might be some mistakes.)

You've been friends with Paddy for a long time. Long enough to know: when he's drunk, he gets even louder and even more... yours. Not in the way you wish he was. But in that way that pretends you're just friends.

The party was at his mate's from the gym. You went along for company because Paddy said, "It'll be boring without you." And you, like an idiot, went. Because saying no to him is something you never learned how to do.

The club was crowded, stuffy, loud. You nursed some light cocktail all evening, while Paddy... Paddy drank for two. Whiskey, beer, more whiskey — you lost count. He goofed around, danced, hugged people, told loud stories, and you caught yourself unable to look away.

"What you starin' at?" he shouted, noticing your gaze, and bounded over to you, breathless and happy.

"Just thinking about how hungover you'll be tomorrow," you smirked.

"Don't care," he threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in. "Tonight's fun."

He smelled like whiskey, sweat, and that cologne of his — the one that always made something clench inside you. You let yourself lean into him a second longer than you should have.

"Let's go home," you said an hour later, when he could barely stand. "You've had enough."

"I'm fine," he slurred, but let you lead him out.

You stepped outside, and the night air hit like a truck. Paddy swayed, and you offered your shoulder for him to lean on.

"You're my savior," he mumbled, burying his nose in your hair. "The best."

"Shut up and walk."

The lift in his building was old, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and dim yellow light. You stepped inside, and Paddy immediately leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

"You feeling sick?" you asked, pressing his floor button.

"Nah, I feel good," he breathed, eyes still shut. "Always feel good with you."

The lift jerked, moved a couple floors, then stopped. The lights flickered and died, leaving you in total darkness.

"What the fuck?" You jabbed at the buttons, then the emergency call. Nothing. "Paddy, I think we're stuck."

Silence.

"Paddy?"

"I'm here," his voice came from right beside you. "Just... processing."

"You got your phone?"

"Yeah, but it's dead."

You fumbled in the dark until your hand hit something warm. His hand. He caught your fingers and squeezed.

"Don't panic," he said quietly. "Just chill. They'll fix it."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But screaming and banging our heads won't help."

You exhaled, trying to calm down. The darkness was so thick you felt like you could cut it. His hand in yours — the only thing keeping you grounded.

"Scared?" he asked.

"A little."

"Come here."

He pulled you, and you stepped forward, hands pressing against his chest. He was warm, smelled like alcohol and sweat, and his heart was beating fast-fast-fast under your palms.

"Hug me," he said simply. "It's better for both of us."

You hugged him. Pressed your cheek to his chest, felt his arms close around your back. In the dark, everything was different. Simpler. More honest.

"Y'know," his voice was low, rough, "I think sometimes..."

"About what?"

"About what it'd be like if we weren't friends."

Your heart skipped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it," he sighed, his fingers tracing your spine. "I'm drunk, yeah. But not drunk enough to talk shit. I think about it. A lot."

"Paddy..."

"Shh," he cut you off. "Just listen. You're always there. Always. And I look at you and think: why the fuck are we just friends? Why the fuck can't I kiss you when I want to? Why the fuck do I have to pretend I don't notice how you dress, how you laugh, how you look at me?"

You froze, afraid to breathe.

"You're drunk," you whispered.

"Sobering up by the second," he replied. "Tell me I'm the only one feeling this, and we'll forget it. I'll survive. But if not..."

"If not?"

He cupped your face in his hands. In the dark, you couldn't see his eyes, but you felt his breath on your lips.

"Then I'm gonna kiss you."

"Kiss me," you breathed.

That kiss wasn't your first. But it was the first one that felt right.

He kissed you hungrily, desperately, like he was trying to make up for all the years you'd wasted being friends. His hands gripped your waist, pressing you against the lift wall, and your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

"See?" he breathed against your lips. "See how it could be?"

He kissed your neck, your collarbone, moving lower, and you tilted your head back, thumping against the mirror.

"I want you," he groaned. "Wanted you for so long it hurts."

"I'm here," you whispered. "I'm here, Paddy."

His hands slid under your shirt, touching your hot skin. You arched into him, and he moaned — low, strangled.

"In a lift," he chuckled. "Seriously? Our first time in a lift?"

"You wanna wait for the lights to come back on?"

"Fuck that," he exhaled and crushed his lips to yours again.

He lifted you by the thighs, and you wrapped your legs around him, feeling the cold mirror against your back. His hands slid under your skirt, pulling down your lace panties.

"So fuckin' wet," he breathed, fingers tracing your folds. "Is this because of me?"

"Because of you," you admitted, voice shaking.

He pushed two fingers inside — suddenly, deep — and you cried out, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Easy, easy," he whispered, kissing your cheekbones. "I'm here."

He moved his fingers slowly, learning you, finding the spots that made your knees weak. You bit your lip, trying not to moan too loud, but in the silence of the lift, every sound was painfully clear.

"Paddy," you gasped when he hit that spot that made your vision blur. "Please..."

"Please what?" his voice was hoarse. "Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me."

He smirked in the dark.

"Whatever you say."

He pulled his fingers out, and you heard him fumbling with his jeans. Then his cock pressed against your stomach — hard, hot, pulsing.

"You sure?" he asked, freezing.

"Paddy, if you don't fuck me right now, I'll kill you."

He laughed and pushed inside.

Slow. So slow you arched, nails digging into his shoulders. He filled you completely, stretched you, pushed you to the edge.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're so tight. So hot."

"Move," you begged. "Please."

He moved. Slowly at first, letting you adjust, then faster, harder, slamming you into the mirror. You scratched his back, bit your lip to keep from screaming, but he heard every breath.

"So beautiful," he whispered. "Always were. Why didn't I..."

"'Cause we're idiots," you gasped.

"Agreed."

He sped up, and you felt the tension building, coiling tight inside you.

"I'm close," you gasped. "Paddy, I..."

"Come for me," he whispered. "Let go. I can feel it."

You came with a cry that he swallowed with a kiss. Your body arched, clenched around him, and he groaned into your mouth, following a few thrusts later.

You froze, breathing hard. He was still inside you, pressing you to the mirror, and you felt him pulsing.

"Fuck," he finally exhaled.

"Yeah."

"I wasn't joking about loving you," he said suddenly. "Just so you know."

Your breath caught.

"What?"

"I love you," he repeated. "Have for ages. Just... was scared to say it."

You cupped his face, trying to see him in the dark.

"Me too," you whispered. "I love you too."

He kissed you — soft, gentle, nothing like before.

"What fucking idiots, huh?" he smirked.

"Idiots," you agreed.

And right then, the lift jolted, hummed, and the lights came back on.

You froze, staring at each other in the harsh light. Him — flushed, hair damp with sweat, jeans around his thighs. You — skirt hiked up, mascara smudged, smiling like an idiot.

"Someone might see," you whispered.

"Don't care," he pecked your nose and started fixing his clothes.

You giggled, straightening your skirt.

The doors opened on his floor. Empty hallway.

"Come on," he took your hand. "I've got a shower. And a bed. And I'm not letting you go till morning."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we do it again," he grinned that stupid grin of his. "If you're up for it."

"I'm up for it," you answered, and he kissed you right there in the hallway, under the cameras, holding you like he was afraid to lose you.

You slept the whole next day. And when you woke up, the first thing he said was:

"We should get stuck in lifts more often."

You laughed and threw a pillow at him.

But he wasn't wrong.

[sofia-the-worst]

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[happyheidi]

[nichbowows]

[danocel]

[illusbyaf]

WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT??

[coal855]

PADDY!

[coal855]

Joost

[celebritys]

[soluda]