summary: you hop on the trend of wiping off your boyfriends kisses off, only to cave in a matter of seconds.
content: just fluff, pet names, clark being the cutest ever i want to smush his cheeks
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it was cruel. but you couldn’t help yourself.
all clark ever wanted to do after work was kiss you all over and hold you as if your body disintegrated the stress of the day from his. but tonight, after hours of doomscrolling, you just had to try the trend on clark.
you hear the lock on the front door click, in sync with a heavy exhale of relief. you turn to look over the couch to see an especially disheveled looking Clark taking off his shoes with his heels and placing his briefcase on the floor.
“hey, you,” you chirp, leaning back on the couch to get an upside-down view of your boyfriend, your voice so syrupy and inviting Clark could practically start floating.
“hi baby,” he says softly, smiling when he sees you sitting so pretty on the couch, quilt draped over your lap with a book on top. he pads over to you, stalking above your form behind the couch. “missed you, missed your face,” he bends down to meet your laid back head and presses a long, tender kiss to your lips. when you separate, he barely has time to admire your face (as he always does) before you wipe your lips with the back of your hand. he slightly retracts away, brow furrowing in confusion. he ducks down to kiss you one more time, to make sure he’s seeing right - only to be met with the same sight he’d witnessed before.
“why are you doing that?” he asks, face inches from yours.
“doing what?” you act oblivious, stuck between keeping a serious face or grabbing his and kissing it all over, saying you didn’t mean it.
“wiping them off,” he says, deflated, and it makes your heart ache. he’s so innocent and so obviously hurt. you know Clark and you know where his mind has immediately gone - to the pit of self-doubt that tells him it’s his fault. “did I do something?”
that damn kicked puppy look is what gets to you break. you spring up, bouncing in the couch cushions, to throw your arms around his neck.
“imsorryimsorryimsorry,” you say between kisses that land in various places on his face. he’s confused at first, but his arms eventually fall to their natural place around your waist. “it was a prank..” you admit, biting your lip.
“a prank?” he raises his eyebrows. “you wiped my kisses off, as a prank? What happened to my sweet girl?” he pouts, the mix of your pet name and how he looks so genuinely disappointed is enough to make your stomach sink with the realization that maybe - no, definitely - you fucked up. your nerves settle when a smile breaks at the corners of his mouth.
“jesus, you’re going to kill me,” he lifts a hand to brush the hair out of your face, palm resting on your cheek. “i thought you were mad at me or something. I got scared.” he says softly. Ouch.
“fuck, no, Clark,” you grab his face, smushing your lips to his in a harsh kiss. “i’m so sorry, I felt so bad doing it - I just saw it on TikTok - fuck, I’m sorry, I love you-“ you kiss him again, and this time he reaches up to wipe your kiss off his mouth.
your jaw falls open, releasing a dramatic gasp. “touché, Kent. touché,” you smile, tracing his jaw with your finger. “can we kiss for real now?”
“oh, now you want to kiss for real?” he teases, squeezing the flesh on your hips. “you’re lucky you’re so cute.”
“and ‘m still your sweet girl?”
“always.”
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a/n: pls send asks so I don’t fall off the deep end!! im working on my last request now pls give me everything
non est. relationship, making out (duh), more suggestive for some, reader is NOT shy (not me), reader has lips piercing (rings) for taesan's (from someone who has lips piercing), leehan wants that cookie
💫: it's been a while sorry, im writing longer fic lately so it takes time with work, but i felt like doing this so here it is !
Park Sungho
Sungho can feel his throat tighten when he lock eyes with Jaehyun as he closed the closet’s door to his face, the way he wiggled his eyebrow one last time while mouthing him the word ‘proof’ again makes it hard to swallow the lump in his throat. He lets go of a shallow breath when he can’t no longer see in front for him and suddenly, he’s more than aware of how small the closet is. His shoulder hits the door as he turns around and all he can smell is your perfume – despite Woonhak’s clothes filling the closet.
You’re so close, almost touching him with every move he makes. On the other hand, you don’t even move your little finger. The air is electric, heavy as all he can hear is your calm breathing not matching his at all. He clears his throat a first time, then a second before he feels you move closer.
“So ?” you asked in a whisper, your breath fanning on his skin, causing the hair of his arms to raise. “Wanna do something, or are we just gonna stare in the dark for nearly ten minutes ?”
Your tone told him everything he needed to know, he can feel his cheeks getting warmer and his chest raise in anticipation. Maybe it’s the few, light, drinks he had during the night – well, without it, he wouldn’t even be there to begin with – he’s confident enough to let his hands find your waist and pull you closer. You stumble into his chest thanks to the few clothes that fell on the floor as you stepped in a second ago, making your breath hitched. It tugged in smirk on his lips, feeling your hand grabbing onto the black tank top he had on, he can feel your cold hand through the fabric.
Brushing his nose teasingly into yours, waiting half a second, just to make you want for more before his lips pressed on yours gently at first, knocking the air out of his lunges. Your chest is pressed against his, making it hard to focus on anything else – not that he wants to. He forgets about the noises coming from outside the closet, the whole situation in fact. All he can think of is the way your lips move in sync with his, how eager you become as the second pass and how hungry for more you get.
Sungho’s intoxicated with you, everything about you : your scent, your touch, how you feel under his hot palms as he grabbed onto the skin of your waist harder now, just to feel you closer if it was even possible. The way you hum into the kiss drives him crazy, leaving him wanting more of you than just a hot kiss that neither of you seem to break – even if it means barely gasping for air without truly breaking it. He has no idea how long it’s been already, but for good measure, he finally breaks the kiss.
“Sungho–?” you don’t even have time to ask him anything that his hand grabbed your face forcefully, tilting it upward, leaving all the room he needs around your throat.
Your breath gets caught when his lips find the hot skin below your ear, kissing the way down to the base of your neck. A whine fell from your lips before you could even realize it when he sucked on the tender flesh, taking you by surprise. Your knees are weak, his other arm holding your strongly against him when they almost gave up on you and you swear you want to see all he can do to you with his strength. Your nails dig moon crescents into the skin of his shoulder at the feeling.
But the time is up, and the second Sungho hears someone walking to the door, his mouth let go in a loud pop before his gaze anchors in your blinking and glossy eyes, your mouth slightly agape and he can tell you want more – just like he does. Yet he still let go off you quickly when the door finally opens and plays it cool when Jaehyun’s jaw drop open in a smile at the big purplish hickey on your neck.
Lee Sanghyuk – Riwoo
When the door closed on his side, the first thing that crossed his mind was that he didn’t want you to do anything if you didn’t want to – even if you seemed to enjoy the game more than him since they started it. Or maybe it was the alcohol speaking more than you, he wasn’t sure, he wasn’t really that close to you. The darkness made it hard for him to picture where you were, how far at least, so he nearly jumped when your hands found him.
“Wanna have fun ?” you asked gently, your thumb drawing slow circles on the back of his hands as you guided them higher to your waist, without making them touch you before he answered.
A shaking chuckle left his lips as he smiled anxiously at first. Wetting his lips quickly, he leans closer, enough for his lips to ghost over yours as he answers. “Yeah.”
That’s all it takes for your lips to crash on his without hesitation, taking him aback. His hands rest comfortably on your waist, goosebumps running up his arms following the feather-like touch of your hands until your hands cross behind his neck, pulling him closer. Kissing his lips hungrily, teeth clashing and your tongue picking at his bottom lips – he can barely catch his breath. He never dared thinking of you that way, kinda thinking you were out of his league and genuinely thinking you never really noticed him much more than for his silly joke. So your fingers running through the hair at the base of his neck told you another story.
His grip on you tightened as you pulled gently on his lips, a small whimper came out making you chuckle.
“That’s not funny,” he whispered against your lips but leaned in right after, not leaving you room to answer, too lost in the moment.
A small gasp left your throat when he pulled you flushed into his chest. Now it was his turn to turn you on even more, reciprocating your eagerness as he kissed you one last time before leaving open mouth kisses down your neck. The light pull in his hair had more effect on him than he’d like to admit, and you could probably feel it by now. Tilting your head back, a breathy moaned echo in his ears, and he couldn’t help but think he won the lottery for having such a pretty girl melting under his touch.
He stopped for a second when he felt your fingers creeping under his shirt, feeling the toned skin of his stomach under your pads as you stroke his side gently.
“I want you,” you whispered gently, making him stop in his tracks.
Looking back at you, his eyes widened slightly when he saw the soft neediness written all over your face even though he can barely see it, he would’ve remembered if you ever looked this soft and it made his heart beat faster.
It stopped when the door opened to Taesan whistling when he saw you still all over him. He never saw you backing down so shyly before, but he also didn’t miss the lingering look you gave him before tilting your head to the stairs.
“If you want to,” you added with a small shrugged, and that was bold of you to think he didn’t want to when all he could think of was how you’d feel wrapped around him.
Myung Jaehyun
Jaehyun was all talk when he first sat down around the circle, leaning on his hand backward confidently as he drank way too quickly. His cocky smile almost irritated you, but you had to admit it looked hot on him. So you didn’t really take a moment to think when the bottle he spun stopped on you, you just accepted your fate and followed him into the damn closet.
To your surprise, Jaehyun let his back hit the wall as soon as he stepped in without making any moves, making you arch your brow. The cocky smile was now on your lips, not that he could really see it anyway. Taking the dangerous step between you two, you wrapped your arms around his neck only to feel his breath hitched as you did so.
“What now, MyungJae ? All bark no bite ?” you asked against his lips.
“I just didn’t expect you,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly so his nose wouldn't bump into yours instinctively.
“Why’s that ?” you proceeded, playing with the slightly longer stand of hair in his neck.
His hands hover over your hips for a second as he collects his thoughts, swallowing hard before daring leaving them lightly on the exposed skin between your low cut jeans and shirt.
“I don’t know, you’re hot ? That’s intimidating,” he said softly but you can hear – and feel – the smile on his lips.
It makes you roll your eyes, “as if that would change anything for you.”
With that, you cut the conversation short and kissed him properly, ignoring the goosebumps rising under his soft touch. A small chuckle left through his nose when you didn't waste a second to deepen the kiss, playing with the soft hair of his neck some more before both your hands traveled down to hold his cheeks. A warm feeling embraced him at the sweet gesture, the way you cradle his skin gently twist his stomach in something so different from neediness. He almost feels bad at the way his pads dig into your skin, but you're intoxicating. Everything, the softness of your lips on his, your perfume going up his nostrils enough so he could get drunk on it.
Your teeth nipping at his bottom lips made him weak and he had to fight any desperate sigh from coming out of his mouth. He couldn't let you have you this too. But his skin was melting under your touch, now that your fingers were traveling down his chest without leaving him any space to catch his breath. They stay comfortably on the loop of his belt, pulling him closer. His breath hitched loudly, and he could feel your cocky smile against his lips.
"You're impossible," he whispered out of breath as he broke the kiss for a second.
"You seem to enjoy it though," you argued, your hand traveling south for a second, brushing slightly the boner hiding in his jeans.
He scoffed, pulling you flushed against him and tilting your head up gently with his pointer finger. It made your stomach twisted, not expecting this kind of move from him.
"And you look like you want to feel it down your throat," he added, his finger tracing down your neck as his lips moved against yours before he left one last kiss.
The door opened to a rather flushed Woonhak to see you still in Jaehyun’s arms. He babbled some words as Jaehyun stepped out of the closet, flashing you a cocky smile one last time as you closed your agape mouth, not believing what he just told you.
Han Donghmin – Taesan
"So, you were curious ?"
Was the first thing you asked after the door closed beside you. Taesan can hear your back lay gently on the other side of the closet and he can't help the way his heart is racing. He swallows, takes a small breath before nodding even if you can't really see it.
"You heard that ?"
"You weren't really subtle about it," he can hear the shrug in your voice, and a dry chuckle left his lips.
"Maybe not," he accepts his fate, looking straight in front of him where you must be since there's literally no room. "So ? You're gonna let me test ?" he processed to ask.
"Sure."
He doesn't need anything more before taking the only step separating him from you – he already lost a whole minute talking, he can't lose more.
His lips don't crash on yours like you expected, no. They laid gently on them, tasting the bitter rest of alcohol, feeling the chill of the two rings sitting still around your lips before they moved smoothly to take your breath away. He didn't drink, there's nothing bitter in his breath, just the sweet taste of pineapple and you have to admit it makes you want more.
You can't help the way your fingers wrapped around the bottom of his shirt when his hand gently finds your cheek, and you're almost ashamed of the soft humming that leaves your throat when he deepens the kiss right after. He's intoxicating, his cologne clinging to your skin and you don't know if you want to get rid of it or for it to stay on your clothes so you can fall asleep with his scent around you.
On the other hand, he barely feels them, the rings. Or maybe he's too obsessed with the way your lips move confidently against his, how you don't even hesitate to pull him closer or dig your nails in the skin of his hips through his shirt. He wonders how it must feel on his back, how the scratches must hurt afterwards but right now, all he wants is to eat you alive. You whine when he tries to bite on the ring and pull, frowning his way despite the fact he can't see it – you push his chest slightly.
"Don't ?"
"Why not ?" he teased, his teeth now nipping at the thin skin of your lips instead.
It's too hard to get them anyway, he settles for less – he's fine with it, as long as he can hear the airy whine falling from your lips. He doesn't know how much time is left, and he's sure he cares if someone opens the door while he's feeding down your neck.
So his hands drive south and lifted the bottom of your shirt, his cold hand laying harshly on the skin of your waist before breaking the kiss. A smirk tug at his lips when you follow him before he kisses his way down your neck to your cleavage.
"Dongmin–" you whined, one of your hands finding his red hair when you're suddenly bathed in light.
Several screams and whistles resonate across the room, but the only thing you can hear is the click of his tongue as he stopped kissing you. But when you lock eyes with him one last time before he lets you go, you can tell they're full of promises – if you want to.
"So ?" Jaehyun asked with raised eyebrows.
Dongmin shrugged, "you don't really feel it."
Kim Donghyun – Leehan
He didn't say a word when the bottle stopped on him, he barely even looked you in the eyes as Dongmin walked you two to his closet. So you didn't expect him to push you against the wall the second the door closed. You hear some reactions at the loud sound outside but couldn't give it more care when his lips hover over yours immediately.
His large hands find their place on your hips, his cologne intoxicates you in half a second and you have to push on his chest slightly or you might get more miserable than you can accept.
His heart was racing under your touch, the proximity forcing you to take a deep breath despite it being mixed with his.
"What's up with you ?" you asked softly, his nose brushing into yours as he leaned closer again.
"I'm just serious about games," he said plainly before leaning in and kissing you fully.
It's overwhelming. His lips are rough on yours, kissing you deeply without hesitation it makes your heart beat faster and faster. You can't think straight, your hands grip on his collar like a lifeline, roughly pulling him closer and closer, until his chest is pressed against yours. Stands of his hair falling into your face, tingling gently the apple for your cheeks and you don't waste a second to hold it back with both your hands, running your fingers gently on his scalp. He could tie them at this point, and as a low groan left his throat, you swear you felt your stomach twisted.
His kisses are hungry, eager for more and it caught your breath when you felt his tongue running on your bottom lips. You opened up without hesitation, allowing his tongue to dance with yours as you hum into his mouth.
You never would've thought he was like this, to have such ease around your body like he owns it. At least it really does feel like it when he slowly pushes your shirt up to draw small and slow circles on your hips.
You honestly abandoned fighting for dominance the second his lips fell on yours, and just went with the flow, pulling on his hair slightly just to get another mutual groan that makes you want to beg for more.
It's so hot, you can barely breath with the strength he used to keep your back against the wall. A small whine escaped your lips when he broke the kiss, and you can't help but follow them a little before hearing a low chuckle from him. You don't even have time to ask what's up when you feel his lips leaving open kisses down your neck, straight to your chest.
A shaking, breathy giggle left your lips when you feel him suck on the tender skin as he pulls your shirt down for a better access. It's too much. Him, his warm touch, it just leaves you there wanting more when you don't even have 10 minutes together. As a high pitched whine left your lips, you can feel him smile on your skin.
"Oh ?" he hummed, coming back to your lips to kiss you more time before you heard movements outside the closet.
When the door opens, he's on the other side of the closet, gently fixing his hair while you're still out of breath, and everyone can see the purple mark on your chest.
Kim Woonhak
He cleared his throat nervously when the door closed behind him. Sungho almost had to push him in when he asked to play himself, surely making Jaehyun laugh, but Woonhak was about to pee himself. Not that he didn't want to be there, with you, he just never thought he'd ever get intimate with one of his hyung's friends.
"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," he started, talking way too fast for it to look like he's just trying to cool things down.
"We can like, get to know each other ?" he offered half sarcastically, making you giggle lightly.
"You're cute, Woonhak, Jaehyun's right about that," you said gently, as you took the two steps between you two. "You really wanna talk ?" you asked honestly after making his heart jump in his chest, bumping your finger into his chest.
Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he shook his head before he whispered, "No."
His big hands instinctively reach for your waist then, pulling you closer as your perfume fills his nostrils and he had to close his eyes for a second to collect himself before your chapped lips land in his.
He's taken aback at the sweetness of them, the rest of the juice you mixed with strong alcohol all night but he can't taste the bitter taste of it. Or maybe he's just lost in too deep already, loving the way your lips move gently in sync with his.
He'll never hear the end of it, he already knows it, but he wouldn't trade his place for anything. He actually loved how you feel under his palms, your chest pressed against his and he's almost ashamed how his body reacted quickly.
Getting lost in the kiss, his arms roamed on your back as he hugged you closer. He's out of breath already, but he can't bring himself to let you go, not when you hum blissfully in his mouth enough for him to want to eat you alive. So gently, he pushed his knee between your thighs, and the gasp that escaped your lips made his blood go south.
No more being shy. His lips crashed back on yours as he steady his grip on you and turned you around in one swift movement to push your back against the wall, all that without breaking the kiss.
It's hungry, rushed, like he's not sure he's doing it right but can't help but go on anyway. He pulls you closer harshly, and his heart stops when your hands find the hair at the nape of his neck. He doesn't want to stop, doesn't want to let go and something in him makes sure he doesn't hear the person come closer.
But he surely hates the light coming in suddenly, but not as much as he hates breaking away from your lips. His breath is fading on your lips as he tries to catch it under the eyes of his friends.
He can't look you in the eyes as the both of you walk out the closet, he can't hold any eye contact to be honest, but he's uncomfortable in his jeans and all he can wish for is that you'll follow him upstairs to help him out.
Tw: No murder (yet), brief mentions of violence and potential murder, unconsensual touching (NOT NSFW), threats
I know him being killed isn't a big surprise- BUT IM STILL MAD. I want bro to come back. I need him. Heck at this point I'm just gonna watch all the dramas T.O.P has been in because man's just too fine.
Part 1
Beginning where I left off, during the Merry-Go-Round Mingle game, you best bet he won't let you be separated from him. He'll hold your extremely tight if you try to get away. He'll turn his head, and give you a very maniacal closed-lip smile.
"Don't run mousey. I'm not letting you get killed. I wanna be able to play one more game with you."
If it's just 2 players? He won't let the others kick you out. He'll probably just kick someone and run off while holding you in his hand. Once you're in the room, he'll probably pin you to wall give you big smooch somewhere on your face. Literally could be anywhere.
If you resist, he'll just hug you tight and cover you in even more kisses. He's just waiting for you to submit.
If you just stand there and not really do much about it, he'll hug you tight.
"Good. I knew you were a good mousey. Those bastards can't compare."
During the game, if someone tries to separate you or prevent you guys from winning, he won't hesitate to hit the violence button. You can honestly just stand there and watch him go nuts.
For the voting after the game, if you choose to continue the game, he'll be much more pacified. Just doing his usual clinging and teasing. He likes holding hands with you and swinging your arms in-sync as you wait for the voting to finish.
If you choose to not continue the game, he'll stare into your soul. He couldn't believe you. Weren't you supposed to be his good little mousey? You won't expect much during the voting, but during meal time he'll go nuts. He'll pull you aside and keep you pinned against the wall. He won't let you ignore him.
He'll harshly whisper to you that if you pull something against him he would personally kill any of the people who want to continue. All to prevent you from leaving him.
"Don't pull that shit, 'kay? All those fuckers are gonna die anyway. Just you and me baby. Just you and me."
As we know, he dies during the teams fight. But I want to do a possible part 3 where he does in fact live. Basically a theory on what he would do if he survived.
So until I upload a part 3, that'll be that. Sorry this part was shorter, but I need to think a bit more for part 3 considering I'll be twisting away from the drama's story.
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Chat I would absolutely allow him to drag me into a room during the Mingle game. Like sir of course I will follow. Bro's voice is simply perfect like could you please read a book to me and I will be knocked out within minutes.
PAIRING: MICHAEL JACKSON X BLACK!FEM!SINGER!READER
SUMMARY: (This is Aaliyah inspired if it's not obvious) You are doing rehearsals for your up and coming show and Michael decided to stop by.
Note: It took me a while to come up with this, so enjoy. 😋 (I lowkey didn't know how to write this, cause im lowkey still in writers block. Sooo i asked my friend to help me with this, we kinda have different writing styles so sorry if some parts are different then others. Cause i rather have the writing styles be different then use ai 😪 too many people on here use ai so i would like to not be one of them. Anyways, thank my friend Jess for helping 😛)
You stood in the middle of the dance studio with a mic in your hand as you rehearsed for your up and coming show, your backup dancers dancing around you as you sung "i dont mean to be bold, but i gotta let you know."
The music echoed through the room, bass vibrating beneath your sneakers as you moved across the floor.
"Again from the top!" your choreographer called.
You nodded, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear.
Your outfit was simple for rehearsal—low-rise cargo pants, a fitted tank top, and a cropped jacket tied around your waist. Comfortable enough to dance in, but still stylish.
The track restarted.
You took your position.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
The dancers moved in sync around you as you stepped forward, hitting every mark you'd spent weeks memorizing. By the second chorus, sweat was beginning to form along your forehead. You were so focused that you didn't notice the studio door opening.
Or the man slipping quietly inside.
A few of the dancers noticed first. Their eyes widened. One of them elbowed another. The whispers started immediately. You, however, remained completely unaware.
Michael stood near the back wall with his hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. A pair of sunglasses rested on his face despite being indoors. His shoulder-length hair framed his face perfectly, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched you perform.
He'd only stopped by for a few minutes. At least that had been the plan. Then he'd seen you dancing. And suddenly thirty minutes didn't seem long enough.
The music ended.
You finally looked up. The room had gone strangely quiet.
Your brow furrowed.
"Why everybody lookin' at me like that?"
Nobody answered. Instead, several people looked toward the back of the room.
Confused, you followed their gaze.
The second you spotted Michael, your entire expression changed.
"Oh."
A grin spread across your face.
"So, you came to support me?"
"Yes, and i think you're doing an amazing job."
"Well, i learned from the best" You smiled. He let out a little giggle, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.
"Oh, stop..."
Before either of you could say anything else, your choreographer clapped his hands.
"Alright! Break's over. Back to your places."
You sighed dramatically.
"See? They won't even let me enjoy my company." "You should probably listen to him," Michael laughed.
"You sound just like my manager."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Rolling your eyes with a smile, you jogged back to your mark. The dancers slipped into formation around you while the music cued back up.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
The beat dropped. This time, you knew exactly where Michael was standing. You told yourself you wouldn't look. You lasted all of ten seconds. During the first verse, you glanced toward the back wall.
Sure enough—
There he was.
Hands tucked into his pockets, rocking lightly with the beat, smiling like he'd bought front-row tickets.
A grin tugged at your lips.
The next eight-count had you walking toward his side of the room before spinning away at the last second, flashing him a cocky smile over your shoulder. His smile widened.
"You know," he called just loud enough for you to hear, "you're supposed to be rehearsing."
"I am!" you shot back between lyrics. "Looks like you're flirting."
"So?"
A couple of your dancers burst into laughter. "Girl, leave that man alone!" one of them yelled. "I can't help it," you replied with a shrug. "He cute."
Michael instantly ducked his head, laughing into his hand. "Oh, my goodness..."
"You blushing?" you teased as you danced past him again.
"No." "You lyin'."
"I'm not." "You are."
"I am not." "You smiling too hard."
"I'm just enjoying the show." "Mhm."
The bridge arrived.
You walked backward through the choreography, never taking your eyes off him until the very last beat, then gave him the smallest wink before spinning into the next formation. Michael froze for half a second.
"...Did she just wink at me?"
One of the dancers laughed. "She definitely did."
He let out another shy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's gonna make me leave." "You ain't going nowhere!" you called across the studio. "I thought you were supposed to be concentrating!"
"I can multitask!" "Apparently."
The music ended with everyone hitting their final pose. Silence. Then Michael started clapping first.
"Beautiful," he said, still smiling. "Absolutely beautiful."
You walked over, breathing a little heavier from the routine. "So..." you asked, placing a hand on your hip. "Was I distracting?"
He laughed. "You know you were."
"And did it work?"
Michael looked at you for a second before letting out that soft,
unmistakable giggle. "...Maybe a little."
You threw both hands into the air triumphantly.
"Ha! I knew it."
He shook his head. "You are impossible."
"But you love me."
His eyes softened. "I do."
"Exactly."
One of your dancers groaned dramatically.
"Can y'all stop being adorable for, like... five minutes?"
You and Michael looked at each other before breaking into laughter.
PLEASEPLEASEPLEAE MORE YUTA CONTENT🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
Its like a battlefield out here trying to find some fics
sugar rush ʚ꩜ɞ ⋆⑅˚₊
summary: working at a bakery with yuta, you often get distracted
the bell jingles as a customer walks in with two young kids. kids were a breath of fresh air, their carelessness relieving compared to adults who nitpicked every single thing they could possibly find. “hi! what can I get for you guys?” you plaster on a bright and cheery smile. the kids look into the glass case and point, looking up at their mom. “hi, could we do two mini glazed donuts and… do you guys have anything else of just pastries?” the sign is right behind me, you refrain from saying. “we also do coffee and tea, the menu’s right here.” you turn and point to the large and not easy to miss sign behind you.
the customer taps her card as you grab two donuts and stick them in a paper bag. “I’ll go grab your coffee.” the customer nods and you slip into the back. megumi and yuta were sitting on the counter chatting, it was extremely hot due to the cake baking in the oven. you grab a to-go cup and sit it under the coffee machine, watching the coffee drip. as you’re putting back the ice scoop you drop it, clattering on the floor. you pick up the scoop and throw it in the sink. “shit. how are you guys not dying from the heat back here?” yuta laughs, “sorry.. its ms. ogawa’s daughters wedding later today and theres going to be a lot of people there so she came in really early and..” he trails off as megumi pushes him, noticing how you were overwhelmed and didn’t want to hear about ms. ogawa’s daughters wedding.
the bell outside jingles, megumi hops off the counter and grabs the cup and lid from your hands, “i got it” he mumbles as he walks out. the timer on yuta’s phone sets off, you walk to the oven and get the cake out, setting it on the rack along with the other layers. yuta pats the space next to him, so you pull up onto the counter.
his eyes wander across your face, analyzing you. yuta always looked at you with a calm demeanor, but he seemed different, he gazed at you intensely. “what?” you ask. you don’t break eye contact. without saying a word, yuta slides off the counter and moves in front of you, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a sip. “whats wrong?” yuta inquires, noticing your expression. you sigh and throw your head back, “nothing, everyone today just keeps pissing me off. not you or megumi, but the customers and gojo’s not even here. what kind of manager just doesn’t show up with zero warning?”
his hand rests on your thigh as he pulls you into a hug. “its okay, we’ve got it.” he reassures you. he knows how overwhelmed you get, especially in the heat. working at a bakery in the summer, it was bound to happen. he pulls back, his eyes finding yours once again. he lets out a low laugh, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “what’s so funny?” you give him a look. he still doesn’t stop smiling, “nothing, its nothing.” you look away and his hand pulls your face towards him. “can i kiss you?” the question shocked you and you paused before giving him a slight nod. he presses his lips against yours and you feel your body relax. his hand on your jaw slips into your hair and tugs slightly in an attempt to get closer to you.
your arms wind around his shoulders as you deepen the kiss, his tongue pressing against yours. when he finally breaks away, he smiles again. “what’s up with you, you keep laughing at everything.” his fingers drum against the table. “its kinda hot when you’re all mad” he says quietly, looking down. now its your turn to laugh, shortly that is. “wow, now im never kissing you again.”
megumi barges in, rushing over to the coffee machine. “would love some help out here.” he huffs. “coming” you and yuta say in sync. you adjust your apron and walk towards the counter. maybe working in the heat wasnt that terrible.
.𖥔 summary: in which lip and his girlfriend attempt to bake cinnamon rolls, but end up figuring out there's a different bun in their oven...
.𖥔 warnings: reader gets burned, they go to a hospital, im so rusty at writing because its been forever... sigh
.𖥔 wc: 659 words
“Hey, watch it!”
Lip is laughing as his girlfriend flicks flour onto his clothes. They’ve been baking - or, at least, trying to - for an hour. Cinnamon rolls. To kick off autumn the right way, she’d said. But it’s dissolved into chaos four separate times, and Lip was currently the victim of a flour fight. She’s been pushing handfuls at him for about five minutes now, and his shirt is completely covered in the fine powder.
“Sorry, Lip, I just keep slipping….” She tries to defend herself, putting her equally coated hands into the air apologetically and grinning at him. It’s a beautiful smile, one he’s grateful for being able to see. He leans forward and kisses her softly, disregarding the flour all over him.
“Love you, baby, but can we please finish these?” He asks, kissing her forehead before pulling back.
“Yes. Yeah, we can.” She nods, grabbing the recipe sheepishly. They spent the next 15 minutes actually baking, until they had a tray full of what would be cinnamon rolls once they spent some time in the oven.
“Let me throw them in-”
“Oh, no, Lip. Not after last time.” She shakes her head, putting her hand in the air. Last time he’d made her dinner, he’d burned his hand on the stovetop. He’d been leaning on the counter while staring at her - could you blame him? - and moved his hand on top of the flame. It was bad, sure, but a one time thing.
“Come on,” He protests, looking up at her with a grin. “Let me do it.”
“I got it, Lip!”
Famous last words.
The shriek pierces the air before Lip can process it, but her hand had brushed the inside of the oven for just a second too long, and there was skin peeling off of her hand. And that’s how they ended up in the car on the way to the hospital, her hand gingerly wrapped in one of Lip’s flannels, the other one rubbing her forehead.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers, glancing over at him as he drives stoically, staring at the road. “I was laughing, and my hand slipped.”
“Maybe neither of us should ever go near the oven or the stove ever again.” He smiles, trying to assure her he’s not mad, briefly glancing over at her. “Then we’d both be safe.”
“Why are we even going to the hospital?” She’s practically whining at this point, which Lip happens to think is very endearing.
“Because the inside of our oven is rusty as hell, and I wanna make sure you don’t get sick.” He glances at her as he pulls into the hospital parking lot, shrugging his shoulders.
Within 20 minutes, they’re standing at a bed in the ER. Must’ve been a slow day, since the problem wasn’t so immediate. The doctors had run a few routine tests on her hand, just checking everything was okay. The two of them are waiting anxiously, Lip’s hand holding her uninjured one, his thumb rubbing over the back of her knuckles as his lips find the top of her head.
“All good, babygirl.” He whispers softly, smiling against her skin. “I’m sure.”
The doctor opens the curtain, looking at the clipboard. “Well, it’s good you two came in to be sure, but everything seems to be alright. No problems with you, no problems with the little one either-”
“Little one?” It comes in unison, both of them at the same time, confused and sharing a glance.
“Yes. The baby.” The doctor says, her eyebrows scrunching together. “Did you not know about the baby?”
“No!” Again, together, perfectly in sync.
“Oh. Well, congratulations, I suppose.” It’s awkward for a moment before the doctor shuffles away, and leaves the two of them on their own.
“Baby?” She whispers, looking up at Lip, squeezing his hand so tight he swears it could fall off.
“Told you we should’ve been more careful.”
“Shut up!”
credits to andromeda-graphics for the dividers!!
taglist: @thankschef-blog @pb-n-jen (to be added) (just comment to ask!)
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for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous
─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.
─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader
─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...
─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!
ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!
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The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.
Rafe.
You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.
The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.
“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.
You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.
“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.
He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”
His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.
Because you’re not sane.
Not anymore.
You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.
But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.
Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.
He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.
“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.
You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.
But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.
“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.
“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”
A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.
“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”
Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.
“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”
The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.
Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.
It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.
When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.
“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”
Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.
And just like that, you’re back where you started.
───MONTHS LATER . . .
“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.
Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.
You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.
But you don’t care. Not right now.
“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.
His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”
You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”
That does it.
He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.
“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”
You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.
“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”
His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.
“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”
You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”
His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.
But this time feels different.
There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.
“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”
You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”
And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.
Because this time, you want him to come after you.
And he always does.
Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.
You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.
“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”
The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.
Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.
Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.
“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.
“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.
He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.
“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”
You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.
“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.
His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.
“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”
Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.
But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.
“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”
You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.
You’re his. You always have been.
“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”
The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.
With him.
Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.
“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.
You never could.
And Rafe knows it, too.
───
You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.
Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.
You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.
But, of course, Rafe hears everything.
The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.
“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.
You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”
But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.
He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.
“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”
You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.
“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”
“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.
Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”
You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”
His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.
“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.
You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”
Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.
“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”
“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.
“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”
His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.
“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.
And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.
But you’re not normal. Not anymore.
“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”
His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.
You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”
You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.
A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.
It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.
But then things escalate. Quickly.
She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.
Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.
Until it does.
The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.
“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”
Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”
“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”
The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.
And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.
That someone is Rafe Cameron.
Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.
So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.
The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.
And it worked.
You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.
“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”
You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.
“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.
Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”
You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.
Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.
You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.
As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.
“She won’t come near me again.”
“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”
And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.
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HIIII im the person who rambled about pv x reader x wl a while back, ive been crawling to that fic everytime ever since and its so good 😭 I LOVE IT!!!!! im back here again for you to hear me out on this..... its also pv x fem!reader x wl ofc, but if its too draining to write for both i understand
now onto the idea!!! ive always imagined that pure vanilla has a thing for breeding and so does white lily ー i keep on thinking to myself about how they would sandwich f!reader at the same time, strap and dick filling her up at the same time......GOSH i need to know if you see my vision PLEASE. i cant even begin with how if reader is impregnated after that they would pamper her nonstop and isolate her from everything and everyone else - making her believe that she only needs *them*, and that they would make such a good family together (and want reader to keep on getting pregnant, over and over and over and over)
^^^ holy fuck thats alot HELEP. sorry if thats too bothersome
- 🥩 anon (if thats available)
made a short drabble in response, teeheee
the room glows low with faerie light—soft blues and golds that flicker like starlight across the silk-draped bed. the warmth of the space wraps around you like mist, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of the bodies pressed against yours.
you’re on your knees, straddling pure vanilla cookie.
his hands hold your hips gently, thumbs circling into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. his cock is already inside you, thick and slow, stretching you open with every roll of his hips. your legs tremble where they’re planted on either side of him, thighs quivering from the pressure, from the fullness.
beneath you, he’s breathless. flushed. ruined.
“you feel… divine,” he whispers, kissing the soft swell of your breast. “you take me so well. you always do.”
behind you, white lily cookie leans forward, her arms wrapped around your waist. her strap rests at your entrance, pressing slickly against the sensitive stretch of your ass. she kisses your shoulder, then your neck, her breath silky against your skin.
“breathe for me,” she coos, fingers brushing your lower stomach. “you can take us both, darling. we believe in you.”
you whimper as she begins to press in.
inch by inch, the pressure builds. her strap is thick, patient, unrelenting. your walls are already stretched tight around pure vanilla’s cock—and now your other hole is being filled, too. your fingers grip his chest as you tremble between them, spine arched, every nerve lit.
“good girl,” pure vanilla breathes, stroking your cheek as your body squeezes him tighter. “so good for us. so full already…”
you can barely answer. can’t think. can’t breathe. your body is caught between them—pure vanilla’s cock grinding slow and deep into your soaked pussy while white lily moves carefully from behind, her hips nudging yours, pushing her strap in all the way.
“there we are,” she purrs against your ear. “you’re perfect now.”
they begin to move together.
pure vanilla thrusts up into you from below, soft gasps escaping his lips as your cunt flutters around him. white lily holds your hips, guiding your rhythm while grinding forward in long, deep strokes. you’re pinned between them—rocked in sync—pushed and pulled and filled to the brim.
your voice breaks on a moan, your head tilting back as your body starts to give in.
“it’s a lot, isn’t it?” pure vanilla whispers, his thumbs brushing tender circles into your hips. “but you’re doing so well. taking us both… like you were made for it.”
“you were,” white lily echoes, her lips brushing your ear. “you were always meant for this. for us. to be filled like this. again and again.”
your walls clench down, overwhelmed and overstimulated. every thrust pushes more heat into your belly, your legs starting to shake where they straddle vanilla’s hips.
he moans deeply, voice soft and cracking. “we’re going to fill you, my love. make you ours completely.”
“so full,” lily murmurs, rocking into you harder now. “we’ll give you everything. you’ll carry so much love inside you.”
your orgasm rips through you like a breaking wave—wet and loud and helpless. your cries are muffled against white lily’s shoulder as she holds you still, her hips never slowing, strap grinding against that sensitive spot while vanilla fills you with thick pulses of cum.
his hands shake where they hold your hips down. “you’re… you’re taking it all,” he groans, voice ragged. “look how perfect you are.”
you’re shaking. limp. barely able to stay upright between them.
white lily hugs you from behind, her face into the back of your shoulder. “we love you so much,” she whispers. “we’re going to make you a mother.”
pure vanilla’s breath is still caught in his throat as he presses soft kisses to your belly. “you’re glowing already… but just wait.”
“just wait,” lily echoes, smiling against the back of your neck. “we’ll make sure you never go a day without knowing who you belong to.”
you can’t speak. can’t think.
you’re still full of him. full of her.
and they’re already planning the next time.
...
you're barely showing when it starts.
pure vanilla insists you stop bending down to pick things up—“just tell me, sweetheart. you shouldn’t strain yourself.”
white lily takes your hand when you try to walk too far—“the air is cold today, darling. what if you caught something?”
they move your favorite chair closer to the bed. they take away the broom again. the knife. your journals. your messenger bag. “you don’t need to worry about anything but growing love,” lily says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
meals are brought to you. conversations are filtered. letters never reach your hands. they say the world is too loud, too harsh for you now. “don’t think so hard, love,” pure vanilla murmurs. “you’re doing enough. just rest.”
you ask about leaving the palace, just for a walk. white lily only smiles gently and rests a hand on your belly. “why would you want to leave safety?”
you don’t remember when the windows were locked. You don’t remember when the door stopped opening.But their hands never stop touching you. Their voices never stop praising you, and when you cry?
