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pencil-n-pen · 2 months ago

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YOUNGBLOOD

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue!reader

masterlist | kofi | next part

wc: 9.3k (sorry)

summary: summary: You’re the girl. Every guy who asks you out gets the same answer: No. You don’t do dating anymore. But as your reputation grows, so does the challenge. And when Rafe Cameron gets you in sights, he’s not about to give up.

cw: Rafe and reader are both assholes (hers is justified bc to me women are always correct) but it works out. oh also this one is a little spicy !! ofc not full smut but this is Rafe Cameron we’re talking about i can’t NOT include a LITTLE. ward jumpscare for like two seconds, references to past shitty relationships

tags/tropes: he falls first and harder (seriously he wants her BAD) black cat x doberman, kind of how to lose a guy in 10 days vibes, at first Rafe wants her bc of the challenge but eventually he just WANTS her, mild hurt/comfort, dom! rafe but also he does whatever reader wants (except stop trying to date her)

a/n: in this fic i imagine reader being one of those super fluffy feral black cats and then rafe is this doberman sitting behind her. walk him like a dog sis walk him like a dog

i’m so glad i finally finished this i’ve been writing it for ages but here it is !! hope u guys like it <3

EDIT 2: part two is up you heathens :) (affectionate)

songs i listened to while writing: Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer, Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, Champagne Coast by Blood Orange, Salvatore by Lana Del Rey, Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey, sex money feelings die by Lykke Li, Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy

title taken from Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer aka this fics anthem

. ݁₊ ⚜️ . ݁˖

He meets you in, of all places, a fucking Barnes & Nobles.

There’s one Barnes & Nobles in the entirety of Kildare Island; it’s on the North side.

Rafe is only there because one of Kelce’s current flings is obsessed with reading those smutty books. Race doesn’t get the appeal. Apparently, the fling is at home sick and Kelce wants to get her something to make her feel better.

Rafe and Topper both think the partying might seriously be affecting his brain chemistry.

But anyway, Kelce asked Rafe to help because he’s “got a way with wooing women” and then since Rafe was going he said fuck it and invited Topper, who will surely be the voice of reason in all of this.

(He seriously doubts it, since Topper almost died in a burning building for the sake of his girlfriend, but whatever. Rafe just doesn’t want to deal with pussy-whipped Kelce by himself.)

They’re on their third go around the store and Rafe is beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of just grabbing the nearest book of the shelf and telling Kelce to just fucking pick something when he spots you:

Straining to reach a book on one of the top shelves. Looking perfectly and immaculately delicious.

“Yo,” He smacks Topper’s arm, getting his attention, “Who the hell is that?”

Topper follows his eyeline, landing on you.

“No fucking way, dude. No chance.”

He frowns, turning and looking at Topper, affronted.

Topper shrugs. “No offense, man. I tried once. All the guys in the island got this stupid-ass nickname for her, too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm. The Pogue Princess. She’s turned down every single guy to ever ask her out. Even the Kooks.”

Rafe snorts. “So she’s arrogant?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I totally thought she was a bitch when she turned me down, but honestly, it makes sense. People only ask her out because she always says no.”

“So?” He scoffs. “She’s fucking hot. She should be flattered.”

He looks her up and down again. “I’m gonna ask her.”

He can picture it exactly: having the one and only Pogue Princess hanging off his arm. The girl no other guy has banged— she’d be his, and his only. He’d have those lips and that face— he’d have you.

And you’d have him, of course. Not many girls can say that.

“Suit yourself man. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your ass down.”

He strides over to you, sidling up next to you, leaning against the shelf.

“Hey,”

“No.”

He blinks. “What?”

“No. No I don’t want your number, no I don’t want to sleep with you, no I don’t want to go out with you.” You say, not looking over at him once.

“Well, how come, doll?” He says, leaning down a bit so he’s closer to your height. “We could have a good time, you and me.”

“First of all,” You start, pulling a book off the shelf. “It’s a known fact that Rafe Cameron doesn’t date Pogues. Secondly, I can tell you exactly how this relationship would go. We’d date, and then after a few weeks you’d grow sick of my Pogue-ish ways or something like that. We’d break up, and then I would be seen as even more of a social pariah than I am now. I’d be unwelcome in Pogue spaces because I’d forever be the girl who dated Rafe Cameron just to get her heart broken like all the others, and I’m already a stain on this side of the island, but I’m willing to bet your groupies and fanclub would increase their ridicule if I was ever seen here. So no.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve thought this out.”

“No I haven’t. It’s predictable.”

You re-shelf the book you were holding then walk away, stalking deeper into the store.

He looks back at Topper once, flashing his best friend that dangerous smile.

Topper groans in the distance, all too away of the effect a challenge has on Rafe Cameron.

—

You have to say. You’re a little surprised to feel his continued gaze on your back, even more displeased to hear his footsteps trailing behind you.

“You won’t better your chances by annoying me.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” You slow your walk, reaching out to tap your hand on the spine of a book you’ve been eyeing for awhile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And what does my reputation say about me?”

“That you’re an asshole and a heartbreaker,” You turn and look back at him over your shoulder. “You’re not exactly selling me, here.”

Your eyes latch on something tucked under his arm. It’s the two books he saw you eyeing. His gaze catches yours and he gives you a cocky smirk.

You roll your eyes and turn back around. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Rafe Cameron.”

He trails after you the entire time you’re in the store, picking book after book off the shelf that he sees your eyes even linger on.

“What’s your plan here?” You ask, turning a book over in your hands and scanning the blurb on the back. “Buy the entire store? Woo me with your credit card? You’re not the only guy on the island with a piece of plastic.”

“Pretty sure I’m the guy with the most on his plastic, though.”

You sigh loudly through your nose. “I’m not interested in men who are only interested in me as an object. You want the trophy you get from ‘bagging the Pogue Princess.’ So fuck off.”

You’re so sick of this. Sick of every guy being the same— only being interested in you as an ego boost. No guy has ever been interested in you for you.

And they never will be, so long as you keep turning them down. Every man wants what he can’t have.

“You’re seriously not going to get anything?”

You pause in your storm off, turning around to look at Rafe. “What?”

His arms are laden with a thick stack of books, muscles flexed at the weight of the stack, straining at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He gestures to the shelves around you. “You must have looked at the entire store. You’re really just going to leave?”

“I’m a Pogue, Rafe. You do the math.”

Your hands clench and unclench on the strap of your bag. You never thought you’d catch the attention of Rafe Cameron. If Sarah’s the Kook Princess, then he’s the Kook Prince. Dating him would give you some major points on the North Side of the Island.

…And ruin your relationship with 90% of the Pogue’s on The Cut.

Besides. Even if you did date him, he would stick around. No way in hell he would. And then you’d be back right where you started.

Your fumbling with your keys out in the small parking lot, groaning as your ancient beater car key once again refuses to turn in the lock when you hear footsteps behind you.

You rub a hand over your face and turn around.

“Can you please leave me alone? Seriously.”

He’s got that stupid smile on his face again and he’s holding something out to you.

A book. Just one.

You take it from his hands cautiously. “You had a whole stack. Why downgrade to just one?”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “Cause you looked at all those other ones once. You stopped at this one three times. Figured you might’ve wanted it.”

You chew your lip. “I’m still not going out with you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d change your mind right now.”

He leans down, reaching forward, breath fanning your face. You screw your eyes shut, bracing.

A loud click behind you. He pulls away.

“But you will.”

With that, he turns, walking back into the store. At the doors, he flashes you one last smile.

You take one breath. Two.

You climb into your now unlocked car, tossing the book onto the passenger seat.

When you get home, you won’t be able to stop thinking about how in the moment, you kind of wanted him to kiss you.

—

He finds you at the Boneyard, because of course he does.

You’re sitting on one of the drift wood-slash-benches near the bonfire, pretending like you’re not shivering.

“You know, most people come to beach parties to let loose and have fun. That includes me. Having fun and letting loose does not include you.”

“Oh, come on. This is neutral territory, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What am I allowed to call you?”

“Nothing. Go find another girl to stroke your ego. Or your dick. I don’t care either way.”

He leans down into your space. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I only came over to give you this.”

This time, instead of holding out a book (that you had, in fact, read in a matter of days. It was as good as you’d thought it’d be) he holds out a jacket. One of those expensive North Face fleeces.

You scrunch your nose. “And why are you giving me that?”

“You’re cold.”

“So?”

“So, I’m being a gentleman.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you knew what that word was.”

He drops the fleece on your head. “Take the fucking jacket.”

You slide it off your head, putting it on and glaring at him all the while.

“I’m only putting this on because I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I’m still not dating you.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate you.”

He cracks the same smile he gave you at the bookstore. “Sure.”

He takes a swig of his beer, walking backwards towards his group of friends. “You look good in my clothes, princess.”

You flip him two fingers, and he flips them straight back.

You’ll deny it later that you smiled after the interaction.

—

He shows up at your job. This time, Topper’s with him.

You close your eyes and count to ten, mentally picturing fleeing the country and never having to deal with men again before speaking.

“You know, there’s a term for you right now.”

He smiles that same stupid fucking smile, tapping his fingers on the table of the cafe you work at. He’s seated outside in your section. You highly doubt it’s by mistake.

“Determined? Persistent?”

“A repeat offender,” You say flatly. “Now will you please order and get the hell out here?”

To his credit, Topper looks vaguely uncomfortable with his own presence. Though that might be because you did turn him down particularly brutally. You wince internally. It wasn’t his fault, per se. It was just… not a good day.

Rafe is perfectly capable of handling your top-notch bitch-ery, and secretly, you enjoy the chance to be as openly angry as you want to be.

Rafe pretends to read over the menu. You know he’s only pretending because you watched him read it for five straight minutes when they first arrived. He probably has it memorized.

“I’d like a blueberry muffin,” He says, still smiling. “Just one.”

You scribble it down on your order sheet, then turn to Topper. “And you?”

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “Just a water, please.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Seriously? You came all the way to my job to harass me and that’s what you order? One muffin and a water?”

You write the water down anyway, clicking your tongue. “And the asshole-ery continues.”

“And what would you have us order, then?” Rafe asks, eyeing you from his position at the table.

It’s scary how well he commands a space just by being— he’s Rafe Cameron and he knows it. He exudes power and control.

He’s the exact kind of man you turn down hard. No chance of anything.

“Something actually worth bothering me for,” You slip the notepad into your apron pocket and spin on your heel, “I have other orders and tables to wait. Don’t expect to get your muffin and water soon.”

As you wait and bus the tables that need to be dealt with before your orders are ready, you begin to wonder if you’re going too far.

This isn’t just any Kook. This is Rafe. He could completely and utterly destroy your life if he wanted to.

Maybe you’re better off agreeing to go out with him. Just to be safe. Women don’t turn a man like that down.

Finally, you get their orders out to them, setting them on the table a little less harsh than you were originally planning.

“There,” Can’t quite stop your mouth, though. “Do you want the check now?”

Rafe picks up his muffin, shrugging. “Sure.”

You slide them the bill— you had it ready the second you got the chance. You’d rather not have them here any longer than you have to.

It was hard enough to get a job outside The Cut. You don’t need to give your boss any more reason to fire you.

Rafe tosses a few bills onto the bill and you take it, counting the money.

“You overpaid.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Your total was nine dollars and twenty six cents. You just handed me two hundred dollar bills.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s confused. “I thought you were supposed to tip waiters and shit.”

You blink at the bills. “Yeah like, five dollars. Not two hundred. I don’t even think we accept hundred dollar bills.”

“Tell your manager I’m the one who paid. Can’t take issue with a Cameron.”

“You’re the worst,” You tell him, but take the money back to your manager. He isn’t happy, but like Rafe said— can’t take issue with a Cameron. He gives you the change you need and bores holes into your back with how hard he’s staring as you walk the money back.

“Here.” You thrust your arm out, handing him the change.

Rafe crosses his arms. “I said that was your tip.”

“I can’t accept this. I don’t accept pity money.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not pity money.”

“Then what kind of money is it? Cause it sure feels like pity money. Oh wait, is this you-owe-me-now money?”

He groans. “Can’t you just take the fucking money?”

“Not if there’s a consequence.”

If Topper looked uncomfortable before, he looks almost nauseous now. You kind of feel bad for him.

Rafe scrubs a hand down his face. “Will you just take it? No consequence.”

“Why?”

Topper chokes on his water.

“Why?” Rafe asks, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Because it’s what I do. You’re the Pogue Princess, yeah? I’m giving you the princess treatment.”

“But why? What do you gain from this?”

“I’m just gonna go wait at the car,” Topper says, getting up so quickly he bumps the table.

Rafe’s eyes never leave you, the money still clutched in your hand. “You know what I get out of this? The prettiest girl on the island in my clothes. The prettiest girl on the island spending my money.”

The bills start to crinkle in your grip. “I’m a Pogue. You don’t date Pogue’s.”

He stands, pushing back his chair in a much more controlled manner than you were expecting, given the look on his face. “Have you ever considered that you’re the exception?”

“No, because I’m not. The only part of me that’s an exception is the challenge. That’s all you want.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His gaze is dark where it scans your features, something calculating in his eyes.

“Some guy fucked you over, huh?”

Your near full body flinch is a dead giveaway. “Fuck you, Rafe. You’re an asshole.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. But I’m gonna keep showing you what this,”

He gestures to the both of you. “Could be like. I’m not that kind of asshole. Not to girls who look like you.”

He stands, taking all the change out of your hand except the $100 bill.

“Hold onto that for me,” He says, voice husky as it brushes your ear.

His hand comes up for one second, two, and then he lowers it. Like he’d had to restrain himself ok touching you.

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He smirks at the reaction.

And then, he’s gone. Now you’re just some waiter standing at a table with a $100 clutched in your hand.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, getting busy bussing the table. You notice something fluttering under his plate.

An old receipt with a number scribbled on it.

And a $20 bill.

“Son of a—“

—

You’re having a really bad day. One of those thirty-million-minor-inconveniences-in-a-row days. With one last fuck you from the universe on top.

You couldn’t get your hair right no matter how many times you tried, your makeup is rushed and bad because you spent too much time on your hair, once again one of your neighbors pulled out of their driveway without looking and almost killed you, a guy tried feel you up during your shift and your manager told you it was your fault for wearing revealing clothing (you were literally wearing your uniform) and then top it all off, your car won’t start. It won’t even try.

You slam your head against the steering wheel. Your boss made you stay late because of the incident so it’s getting dark now. You’re not walking all the way back to The Cut. But you don’t know how you’re getting home. It’s not like you can just call a mechanic. None of your pogue friends have cars and only person who does you’d… rather not call right now.

So that just leaves one option.

A really, really, terrible option.

A horrific one.

You curse as you rifle through your purse, pulling out the old receipt. Your phone’s almost dead, so you have to make this count.

You dial the number, pulling your knees to your chest and sinking low in your seat.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Rafe.”

“I was wondering when you’d call me.”

“I’m sure you were,” You say flatly. “Listen I… I need a favor.”

“Spill.”

“I’m at work. My car won’t start. I just—“ You break off, frustrated tears welling in your eyes. “Can you please come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way. Sit tight.”

He hangs up the phone and you sigh, scrubbing your face and willing the tears to just go away. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, probably smearing your makeup past the point of return, but you can’t find it with in yourself to care.

You sit there for what feels like minutes, hands pressed to your face trying desperately to stop the tears that keep flowing when you hear a car pull up next to you.

You sit up, hands lowered, eyeing the sleek Range Rover that just pulled up next to you.

You manage to climb out of your car, hugging your waist in an act of self-soothing and a sad attempt at getting warm. It gets cold in Kildare at night.

Rafe rounds the front of his car, expression pinched.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, really, just…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely to your car. You sniff hard, rubbing the back of your hand across your face. “It’s just been a long day.”

He looks over your shoulder, assessing your car before looking back to you. “Get whatever you need from your car.”

You rush to gather the items from your car, piling them in the backseat at Rafe’s direction. You turn, facing him when something is thrown at your face.

It’s disturbing that you recognize it by deja vu alone.

“Rafe—“ You say, taking the jacket in your hands.

“You’re cold. Put it on.”

“But—“

“Listen, princess, I’m perfectly satisfied waiting here all night until you put that on.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the car.

You squeeze the jacket in your hand. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That.”

“Mmm,” He hums. “That’s a tough one. Probably cause you look pathetic when you shiver.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do. You get all hunched. Like an old lady.”

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

He smiles. “Put the jacket on.”

You do. It’s just as warm as last time.

He nods his head towards the car and you climb into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt.

He climbs in after you, putting his seatbelt on and pulling the car out of the parking lot. After a moment, he reaches across the console, turning on your seat warmer and cranking the heat up.

“Thank you,” You say after a moment.

“I told you I’d show you what life would be like if you were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” He says, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Mine.”

“So you’d have me, what? Caged? Chained to you.”

“Spoiled, is the word I’d used.”

“I’m not an object, Rafe. I’m not going to be some kind of kept woman.”

He snorts. “Who said anything about that?”

“That’s what you want, is it not? Want me to have no personality, no nothing. You want me to hang off your arm and laugh at everything you say—“

“Fuck no,” He says so vehemently you pause. “You’re so fucking mouthy. And stubborn. If I wanted some brainless fangirl, I’d go find one. I wouldn’t pick her up from her job and drive her home. Probably wouldn’t give her my fucking jacket.”

You look up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

He shrugs. “None of those girls tell me to fuck off.”

“So it is the challenge. That’s all.”

“That’s not all. You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Come on. No guy has ever given you his jacket? You seriously want me to believe you look like that no one’s ever spoiled you?”

“No,” You say curtly, “You want me to believe that every guy just enjoys spending a bunch of money on a girl?”

“Not a girl. Their girl. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Cause it’s not your job to get it. It’s your job to be spoiled. Now where the hell am I going?”

You give him a vague address— just the street name and how to get there. You’re not stupid enough to give him your house address.

You don’t talk for the duration of the drive, you begin to shrug out of his jacket when a hand on your thigh stops you.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me the next time you see me.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“If I have anything to say about it.”

You slowly put the jacket back on, then hastily climb out of his car, barely remembering to grab your stuff from the back.

You pause by the window. He rolls it down.

“Um. Thank you. Again.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t mention it.”

—

You don’t see him for a full two weeks after that.

After the first week, you figure he’s busy.

After the second week, you assume you scared him off.

You’re out on your old, busted kayak on the water, enjoying the early evening sun.

“Afternoon, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,”

You look over, eyeing Rafe and Sarah on one of the Cameron’s smaller boats. Sarah waves at you kindly. She’s always been fairly kind to you—

“Princesses have to stick together.” She’d said to you once, an easy smile on her lips, her face bathed in an orange glow in front of the bonfire.

A similar smile is on her face today. But the one on Rafe’s is nothing but mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here?” He calls.

You flip him a certain finger.

“Come on!” Sarah yells. “We’ve got beer!”

Well. Who are you to say no to free alcohol?

—

You should’ve said no to the free alcohol.

“You know what Rafe?” the words tumble out of your mouth, clumsy. “You’re really hot. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to hate you when you look so hot?”

You’re sitting on one of the benches on the boat, half leaning on the back of it and half leaning on Rafe.

You might have forgotten to take into account the fact that you’re a lightweight.

He raises an eyebrow. “How many beers did you have?”

“Don’t worry about that,” You slur, attempting to shush him but failing halfway through, your hand falling harmlessly into his lap. “I like beer. I like drinking. How come I don’t drink often?”

You pause, squinting at him. “How come you’re so hot?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, “You’re drunk.”

“Who cares? I like being drunk. Drunk me is fun. Like that one song. Release your in-hi-bitions— feel the rain on your skin!”

He gives you a pained look. “Please don’t try to start dancing. You don’t have the coordination for it, and I’m not going into the water when you tip overboard.”

“Pshhh, yeah you would. You like taking care of me. Cause you’re weird.”

You turn to face the other side of the boat, where Sarah is watching you with an amused expression. “Sarah! Did I tell you that he drove aaaaaaaallllllllll the way to my job to pick me up cause my car wouldn’t start?”

She tilts her head, looking at Rafe. “You told Dad you were going to go pick up Topper and Kelce from a party so they didn’t drunk drive.”

You make a so-so motion with your hand. “That’s like. Basically the same thing.”

“It is not. You really are a lightweight, huh?”

You squint at Sarah. “Did John B. tell you that?”

She splutters. “No, I—“

You cross your arms, frowning. Then you turn to look up at Rafe again. “I should’ve called John B. to pick me up, cause he’s the only Pogue I know who’s got a car. But I didn’t. I called you.”

“Mm,” Rafe says, his jaw tensing and un-tensing. “And why is that.”

“Cause he’s being a dick. He’s all upset ‘cause I’m hanging out with you, keeps telling me I’m gonna get hurt again and blah blah blah, but then, it turns out he’s been dating Sarah for weeks and he didn’t tell me! It’s the same thing! And we’re not even dating.”

Rafe looks at Sarah. “You’re dating him? That’s who you broke up with Topper for?”

She glares right back at him. “There is literally a Pogue in this boat right now who is only here because you want to date her. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“She’s different.”

“How?”

You and Sarah ask the same question at the same time. Rafe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s not just some random Pogue I picked up off the street.”

“I could have been.”

“You’re not helping.”

You frown, staring at your feet.

He gazes at you for a moment. “She’s just… different.”

You blink up at him through your lashes. “You should kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” You whine.

“Because when sober-you remembers all of this, she’s already going to kill me.”

“Not to mention I would.” Sarah grumbles, taking a sip of her own beer. “Come on, Rafe. You should bring her home. It’s getting late anyway.”

“Mm,” He hums, glancing at you up and down. “You wanna go home?”

“No. There’s no beer and Rafe there. S’ boring.”

“I’m pretty sure sober-you likes it that way.”

“Then she’s boring,” You poke the muscle of his bicep. “Do you work out?”

“Yes.”

“Are you buff?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Could you carry me?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm,” You sink lower on the bench, kicking your feet. “Okay. We should go home before sober-me figures out what’s going on.”

Sarah brings the boat back to their little dock while Rafe makes various attempts to keep you awake during the journey.

You whine, batting his hands away as he pokes your face.

“We’re here, so you’re gonna have to get up.”

You groan. “You’re a big strong man. Carry me.”

You hear a huff, a sigh, and then arms come around your middle and you let out a half-aborted scream as you’re hefted into the air, stomach landing on a muscled shoulder.

“I was joking,” You mumble, your arms dangling. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“I swear to fucking— here.”

He slides you off his shoulder and you wobble as you land, vision swimming.

“I think I’m a lightweight.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Why are you so mean?”

“I was told by a certain princess that it was my brand.”

“I wanna go home.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to walk then? Towards my car? So you can go home?”

You turn (slowly) and squint at his car in the distance. “That seems really far away.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t wanna walk that far.”

The muscles in his jaw jump. “Just this once, because I need to get you home, and you are drunk, I am going to offer you a piggy-back ride. Got it?”

“Hmm. Okay.”

He stoops a little so you can hop on, then hooks his arms under your legs with only a mild grunt, your arms crossing —not too tight— around his neck.

He makes his way across the deck and up the path, silently, your cheek pillowed on the side of his neck.

When he makes it to the car he opens the passenger side door and slides you into it, clicking your seat belt on when your fingers fumble with it.

He’s silent the entire drive, jaw clenched and hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

The silence practically thrums with anger, the charged air prickling your skin.

“Are you mad at me?”

He works his jaw. “No.”

“It seems like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then how come you’re upset?”

He sighs out through his nose. He doesn’t respond right away. Waits until he pulls over at the front of your street, sets the car in park. His hands don’t leave the steering wheel.

“You’re… squishier than I thought.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No- fuck. I’m saying you’ve got a convincing stone-cold-bitch act. Then you go and get drunk and turn into this. Makes me feel like a piece of shit.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t like it. Me.”

He finally looks over at you, his eyes hooded. “I never said that. It’s one thing for us to have this back and forth assholery, as you put it. But now I know this is also who I’m being a dick to.”

You look down at your lap. “You know, I wasn’t always a stone-cold bitch.”

He cuts you a look. “Stop talk—“

“No, you shut up, I’m not that drunk anymore,”

You’re totally lying, which he knows, but he lets you talk.

“There was… this guy. I really liked him. He really liked me. Well, I thought he did. He was a Kook, too. Everyone warned me against getting with him, but I thought what we had was real,” You clench your hands on your thighs. “It wasn’t. Turns out his friends had dared him to sleep with ‘the prettiest Pogue he could stomach.’ That’s all I was. The only Pogue he could stand to fake it with. He told me the morning after. We broke up.”

“Who—“

“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you this so you understand that I am a frigid bitch, but I’m also… this. So you better not fuck this up.”

He chuckles. “What do you want me to do, then?”

You shrug. “Prove me wrong. And I’m not made of glass. You just gotta… take it.”

Rafe raises a single eyebrow. “Take it?”

“Look, I already told you I think you’re hot. You’ve got a brain. Put the pieces together.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. “And if I go too far?”

“I’m not that fragile.”

He crosses his arms, biceps flexing. “You sure about this?”

“Right now? Yes.”

He hums. “I should say no. You’re drunk. You’re not in the right mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

“But?”

“I’d rather test this and see,” He leans down, across the middle console, eyes hooded and hungry as he stares down at you. “You’re on, pretty girl."

—

When you wake (in your own bed, shockingly) it’s to the sound of a chainsaw right next to your ear.

Oh. It’s actually just your phone buzzing.

You hit the accept button and roll over onto it instead of doing all the effort of lifting it onto your face.

“H’llo?”

“Morning, princess.”

You groan. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You don’t remember last night?”

“You’re on, pretty girl.”

You groan again, this one long and drawn out. “Why did you let me drink? You should’ve thrown me off the side of the boat after the first beer.”

You’re utterly mortified at how you acted. There’s a reason you don’t really get drunk anymore.

“And get rid of my free show like that? Please.”

You huff, head pounding at the effort of remembering the night before and speaking. “Why’re you calling me?”

“Had to make sure all that drinking didn’t kill you. We’ve got plans tonight.”

You sit up a little in bed. “No we don’t. I have work tonight.”

“That’s your only dispute?”

“I figured I didn’t have to state the obvious ones.”

“Come on. It’s just a little party—“

“I don’t do parties, Rafe.”

“I recall seeing you at the boneyard more than a couple times.”

“Bonfires on the beach don’t count as parties.”

“So you’d come if it was on the beach?”

“No, I—“ You tap the speaker button, dropping the phone into your lap. “What’s the point of this party, exactly? You want to be seen in public with me? Want everyone to know I’m off limits?”

“Yes,” He says it so easily, though his voice a little rough, a little gravelly, “But you also need to lighten up. I’ll pick you up from work. Bring clothes to change into.”

You open your mouth to respond but the hang up tone beeps steadily in your ear.

Of course you had to go blab your tragic backstory to Rafe fucking Cameron.

—

Work is long as usual, and you’ve contemplated quitting several times by the time you’re changing into your ‘party’ clothes in the bathroom, ignoring the fact that Rafe has definitely been parked and waiting for half an hour.

Your boss kept you late. Again.

You rush out to his car, cursing. He’s leaned up against the passenger side door, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He looks up when you approach, the corners of his lips twitching.

He pushes off the car, opening the passenger side door and nodding towards it.

“You look good.”

You pause, shouldering your work bag. “That’s it? I keep you waiting for thirty minutes and that’s all you say?”

“Did you want me to get upset?”

“Well, no, but—“

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Get in the car.”

He closes the door after you then climbs in himself, cranking up the heat and driving towards the boneyard.

You notice his eyes flicking down to your thighs every now and then. When picking an outfit for the party/bonfire/whatever, you’d decided to go simple. Having Rafe follow you around would be attention enough.

Still, the jeans you’re wearing are tight. A bit more form-fitting than your usual attire.

He seems to notice.

You shift in your seat, a little self conscious under the heat of his gaze crossing your legs and angling them towards the car door.

He sighs. “Mm-mm. None of that.”

He reached a hand across the console, deft, strong fingers effortlessly hooking and curling over your knee and dragging your legs back over and closer to him. Once he resituates you, his hand travels a little higher, squeezing and rolling the plush flesh there in his hand.

Your breath hitches. “What are you doing?”

“Taking.”

You swallow heavily, nearly choking on the lump in your throat. “You better not act like this at the boneyard.”

“And what if I do?“

“I’ll leave.”

He snorts. “I’m your ride. You gonna walk home? In the cold?”

“It’s not cold out.”

“It is to you. You’re always shivering. You better have brought the jacket.”

He doesn’t have to say which jacket for you to know which one he’s referring to.

You cross your arms, firmly ignoring the hand still intermittently squeezing your thigh. “I did. But i’m serious, Rafe. You have to back off when we get there.”

“Mm,” He hums. “Then at least let me have a little now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. The timber of his voice, the low, almost croon to his tone. He says it like you’re in control. Like you have power over him.

Even just the idea of it is exhilarating.

You push your thigh up into his hand, just a little bit.

“Only cause you’ll be insufferable if I don’t.”

He curls his hand under your thigh, palm pressed to the side and fingers pressing into the muscle through your tight jeans.

“Thanks, baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You pull up to the beach, party already well under way.

People cheer as Rafe climbs out of the car, but he ignores them in favor of walking over to your side of the car and offering you a hand, which you swat away.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re really hard to be polite to?”

“You’re just—“

“For the love of god, don’t start with that shit. Get over here.”

He snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side. He starts towards the beach and you squirm, not wanting to be seen tucked under his arm.

This is the exact scenario you’d wanted to avoid with this whole thing. Showing up with Rafe Cameron —literally climbing out of his car— and having his arm around you is the perfect way to be ostracized by almost ninety percent of your circle.

“Will you chill the fuck out?” Rafe says, slowing to a stop a little ways away from the party, turning you to face him. “We’re just going to a party.”

You attempt to shrug his arm off your shoulder, but it holds fast. “You don’t get it. You have money, so you don’t need a community to fall back on. We’re poor. All we have is each other. So if I walk over there with you, i’ll lose it. I’ll be a traitor.”

His expression twists. “You’re blowing this so far out of proportion it’s not even funny.”

Anger begins stirring in your chest. “Rafe—“

“Who cares? No seriously, who the fuck cares? Everyone on this island is a piece of shit in their own ways. No one gives a shit if I got you under my arm. No one’s watching you. You’re not a fucking celebrity. You’ve got a reputation for turning down guys, you’re not fuckin’ Taylor Swift.”

The anger fades and your skin prickles in its absence. “I don’t think that I’m famous or anything.”

Rafe’s features smooth into something a little calmer. “I know, I know. Is this cause John B’s being a dick?”

“He has a point—“

“No he doesn’t,” Rafe snorts, “He’s dating my sister. He doesn’t get to say anything.”

You sigh. “They’re just worried about me making the same mistakes again.”

His arm leaves your side and you resist the shiver that threatens to overtake you at the sudden loss of the warmth and stability you hadn’t realized you’d been reliant on during the length of the conversation.

Rafe slides a gold ring off his pointer finger— the gold ring. The Cameron signet ring. The ring he never takes off.

He takes your hand, turning it palm side up, and drops the ring in it.

“There. My dad would probably murder me if anything happened to that ring. If I become a real and serious dick to you, chuck it in the fucking ocean.”

You stare down at it. “This is real gold. It’s a family heirloom. You can’t just give it to me.”

“I’m not,” He says easily, “This is a loan. When you decide that I’m not gonna fuck you over, you can give it back.”

You close your fingers around the ring, still warm from his finger. You tilt your back, looking up at him through your lashes. A small smile starts to spread across your face.

“I’ve really got you wrapped around my finger, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, tucking you under his arm again and walking you towards the party. “Took you long enough.”

The party honestly is fun after that. You drink (not much, Rafe carefully watches your alcohol intake and makes sure you toe the line of tipsy, but don’t fall over into drunk territory. He spends the night nursing one beer, claiming designated driver whenever someone gives him shit for it.

“Never stopped you in the past.”

“Didn’t have precious cargo before.”

He stays true to your earlier agreement and remains fairly hands off, but follows you around the party like some sort of guard dog, lingering just over your shoulder and successfully scaring off every guy who even looks in your direction.

Some of the pogues do give you the occasional glare or judgmental look or two, but Rafe was right. No one cares.

It’s… nice. For once you’re not hoping no guy approaches you or praying a Kook doesn’t start some shit with you. With Rafe trailing behind you, one hand in his pocket and jaw set, you truly are free to just enjoy the party, for the first time in your life. No one’s trying to hit on you, no one’s trying to making a spectacle of trying to convince you to date them, no one is making snide comments.

It’s weird, because you’re accustomed to a certain kind and amount of anxiety that comes with going to a mixed party, but everytime you start wondering how things are going to go wrong, Rafe is there with an arm around your waist or some stupid comment or other about somebody at the party whispered in your ear.

You manage quite a bit more socializing at the party than you usually do. Unfortunately, between this and the alcohol, you tire pretty quick.

You trip over your third stick when Rafe settles a hand on your hip with an “Think it’s time you went to bed.”

You groan. “But I’m actually having a good time for once.”

He steers you in the direction of the car. “Well, you’re in luck, cause if you think you’re going to parties alone from now on, you got another thing coming.”

Rafe at your side —a seemingly permanent arrangement now— you stumble your way towards the car.

“Isn’t that boring for you?”

“If it was, I’d say something. Besides. There’ll be different parties. Stop worrying so much about shit.”

His words seem harsh, but his tone is nothing other than low and fond.

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to grab the jacket—“

“I did bring it—“

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It didn’t match the outfit!”

“Are you being serious right now?”

"Is it a crime to want to look good at a party--"

He chuckles, fingers flexing on your hip as he tugs you closer to him. "You're so stupid."

"Rude."

"Not rude if it's true."

You elbow his side, but he just laughs louder.

Unsurprisingly, he warms the car for you when you get in.

—

Storms are a common thing in Outerbanks. Everyone's used to them. Monsoons, thunder storms, even the occasional hurricane. So you're not surprised to get the warning, not surprised when it hits.

You are a little surprised to wake up pelted with rain, a tree branch in your room, and part of the roof missing.

"Shit," You gasp, pushing the fallen debris off your body and rolling out of your bed to assess the damage.

It's bad. The branch is big and long, probably from that stupid tree your neighbors refused to cut down that you said was going to be a storm hazard. They'd refused, and now there's a huge tree branch that's caved in your roof and part of the wall that separates your bedroom from the living room.

No one is home but you. No one ever is, but right now it causes tears to rise to your eyes, because there's a branch in your room, and the roof is in pieces, and now that you've stopped moving, your legs and arms and torso actually hurt quite a bit, and something warm and wet is running down your temple and when you touch your fingers to it, they come away wet and scarlet.

You're out of your depth and you're scared. You can't stay here, obviously, but you don't know what to do. No one else is home. You don't even know who to call. JJ is out, because who knows if his dad is home and he doesn't even have a phone right now, Kie's out too because her parents didn't like that you were a Pogue with a reputation, you and Pope aren't that close, and John B is... John B. He has a car, at least, and you grew up together, so he'd probably overlook everything between the both of you if you're in danger.

You snatch you waterlogged phone off your dresser, shaky fingers scrolling through your contacts, thumb hovering over John B's.

You should call him. You've been neglecting your friendship with the group recently, working around the clock and Rafe whisking you away. Everyone's busy in their own way, what with the treasure and everything, so this could be a moment to reunite, bond over how shitty the storms make life on the Cut.

There's one other person you could call.

You shouldn't. Should stick to the friends you know, call John B.

But if you called Rafe, he'd come. He'd come get you, and probably take you back to his house and you wouldn't have to worry about anything, because for some reason, he's serious about doing that.

You could call him. He probably wants you to.

You press call before you can talk yourself out of it.

"Do you know what time it is--"

"A tree branch fell on my roof and now I don't have part of my roof and I'm really cold and wet and please come get me."

"Jesus— okay, yeah, yeah I'm coming. Shit, okay. Are you hurt?"

"My head is bleeding and I'm battered all over, but I don't think I need to go to he hospital."

"You're bleeding from your head and you don't think you need to go to the hospital?"

You can hear the sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over.

"I don't want to go because then I'll be stuck in these clothes and they'll poke and prod at me and it'll take ages and—"

"Alright, alright. Calm down. How bad is the damage to the house. Look around for me."

"Um," You turn in place, scrutinizing the disaster and chaos around you. "I think most of the roof is intact, just the portion that covers my bedroom and some of the living room are uncovered. The branch took out most of the wall that seperates my room from the living room."

"Fuck. Okay, what about the rest of the house?"

"Um, I don't think I can get to it. The tree branch and other house... pieces are blocking my door."

"Can you get out? At all?"

"Yeah, I think through my window."

"Don't move. Take what you need from your room. I'll be there soon."

“Please don’t hang up.”

The line goes silent and you think he has hung up, that you didn’t say it fast enough or he just didn’t care, but then he speaks.

“Would you rather I sneak you in my house or walk in through the front door?”

“…What are the pros and cons?”

“Well, getting in the front door is easiest, but then you risk seeing my parents and my Dad won’t have questions, but Rose will, and I never want to answer her questions anyway.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She is. Sneaking you in is harder, but then we avoid conversations, but if we get caught, conversations will probably be worse. Might become a whole lecture.”

“They’d lecture you for taking in a girl who needs help?”

“Rose would.”

He keeps talking the entire way to your house, his voice speaking in low tones as you gather up the things you need to spend an indefinite amount of time away from home.

He eventually does hang up when he arrives, so you turn your attention to prying your window open and climbing out of it.

You can barely get it wedged open enough to fit through, so you toss your bag through first and shout a quick “over here!” before beginning to crawl through.

You hear footsteps slow to a stop in front of you. “You know, usually when this scenario happens, you’re facing the other way around.”

You swat at his leg. “You’re disgusting. And I’m not stuck. You just arrived at an in-opportune moment.”

He curls a hand under the window and pulls up, making the gap wider. At the sudden release of tension you yelp, tumbling out of the window.

“You’re such a mess.”

“You didn’t warn me!”

He helps you to your feet and leads you to his car, the hand on your waist keeping you distracted from the wreckage behind you.

—

You do decide in the end to just walk in the front door, because you’re cold and wet and tired.

Ward does wake up and meets you at the staircase (you’re pretending not to notice the sheer opulence of the house) looking rumpled and confused.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, gesturing your rather pathetic looking form.

“My girlfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, “Branch fell on her roof. Place is a mess.”

You wave hello. “Sorry for waking you, Mr. Cameron.”

His gaze flicks to you for a second, then back to Rafe.

“Girlfriend?” His tone sounds… off. “How long has this been a thing?”

Rafe shifts, squaring his shoulders and stepping a little more in front of you. “A little while.”

Ward hums again, eyes flitting to you, taking in your appearance.

“Make sure you get the first aid kit. That head wounds looks nasty.”

Rafe nods. “We got it. Thanks, Dad.”

Ward just dips his head once, then steps back into the bedroom.

You let out a long sigh, pressing a hand to your chest.

“I thought he was going to throw me out.”

“He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

You snort. “Yes, yes, you’re a big strong man. Can we attend to my wounds now? And get some dry clothes?”

Cleaning your wound doesn’t take long, mostly because your head is the only one that really needs cleaning. The rest is taken care of in the shower. The most luxurious and amazing shower of your life. Seriously. You didn’t even know showers could be this relaxing.

The warm water soothes your aching muscles, and Rafe has weirdly good taste in bodywash.

He’d left you a change of clothes and a spare towel even though you said you brought your own.

You change into his anyway.

They’re more comfortable. Better quality than your ratty pajamas.

Your underwear is a different matter. Your dresser is old and broken —as most things in your house are— and the drawer you picked to store your underwear in doesn’t close all the way. This normally isn’t an issue, but when your roof is suddenly no longer attached, it means the a good portion of your underwear got soaked and muddy.

Except the ones at the bottom of the drawer. So the only underwear you had to bring to Rafe’s that was clean and dry is the tiny, lacy stuff you bought from Victoria’s secret and only wear when you’ve taken an everything shower and need a little pick-me-up. When you want to feel like a hot piece of ass. Girl things.

So you look at yourself in the mirror, clad in your own tank top (it’s actually warm enough in his house to wear a tank top to bed) and a pair of his pajama pants, the draw-string pulled tight, the fabric sagging low on your hips, showing off a thin little strip of lace.

Your face flushes. You look like his girlfriend. Dressed in his clothes, lacy underwear peaking through, skin freshly washed and smelling of his body wash.

When you step out of his bathroom, old clothes clutched in your hand, he stills.

He sits back on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his elbows as you slowly saunter over, steps quiet.

His eyes flick down to the lace, pauses on the sight, then back up to your face.

The air is charged, thick with tension.

You pull away from it, tossing your clothes in your backpack and ignoring the heat of his gaze on your back.

“Come over here.”

You straighten, hands behind your back as you walk to him.

“Closer.”

You step forward, now standing between his legs.

His hands come up to the back of your thighs, tightening, before moving to your hips. His thumbs ghost over the edge of the lace, and he rumbles something deep in the back of his throat.

“I like these.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

He presses his face forward, pushing your tank top up with his nose pressing his lips to the now exposed skin of your stomach.

You gasp, then feel him smile against you. He tugs you closer, face pressed to you and hands gripping your sides, just above the edge of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you reach a hand down, sliding from the top his head, down the side of his face, then slowing to a stop at his jaw, pushing your palm up. His head lifts, his eyes a little glassy, chin resting on your stomach.

“You introduced me as your girlfriend.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are.”

“I am?”

You stroke a thumb over his face, sweeping over his cheekbone and under his eye. He leans into the touch, pliant.

“You think I let just any girl in here? You think I give any girl my clothes?”

“Yes?”

“Come on, baby. We’ve been over this.”

He presses another kiss to your stomach, mouth hot and lips firm.

He lifts his head up again. “You can make me yours anytime you want. Just say the word.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, words barely even a breath.

“Mm,” He hums, hands running up and down your sides. “You think too much.”

You pause for a few moments, taking everything in.

You grab his hand, leave it palm side up in front of you, then reach into your pocket and drop something into it.

The ring. His ring.

He stares at it for a beat, then closes his hand around it, slipping it back onto his finger.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He grins.

Your drop your hands around his neck and he moves his hands to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his middle.

He doesn’t waste any time kissing you. It’s hot and full at first, a roaring flame licking in both your chests, like he’s been holding himself back all this time and finally let it all out. He pushes up into you, and the kiss deepens before it mellows out, slowing down to a few cracking embers.

He pulls back, your noses brushing. “Been wanting to do that since the fucking bookstore.”

“That long?”

“Mhm. You were wearing those cute little pants and you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Wanted to have you right there.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Mm. Only when it comes to you.”

You fall into each other again, and again, and again.

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

“I really like you in lace.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

3K notes · View notes

redwinelew · 3 months ago

Note

can I request a smau for lewis hamilton where he's secretly dating his new teammate leclerc's sister and a mistake of instagram story tells everyone they're not just flirting on socials but are actually a couple?

thanks<3

BABY, I LIKE FLIRTING!

type social media au

pairing lewis hamilton x twin sister leclerc!reader

summary as requested!

face claim daisy edgar-jones

song after midnight by chappell roan

warnings age gap (28 x 40), a bit suggestive on some parts

author's note figured now would be a good time to post this. also i made reader charles' twin since daisy is close to his age i hope that's alright with u anon. sorry this is shorter than what i usually write i hope u like this 33

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from pinterest, instagram and twitter. credit to owners.

masterlist | request info | requests are OPEN!

ynleclerc just made a post!

♬ Naked In Manhattan • Chappell Roan

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 6,727 others

ynleclerc random 2024 photo dump 💋

tagged charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, f1, danielricciardo, yukitsunoda0511

view all 190 comments

user who do i need to fight to date charles sister

charles_leclerc user Me obviously

user charles_leclerc my bad bruh 😭🫡

user user LMFAO

user still can't believe vcarb sponsored y/n to come to a race instead of her brother's own team 😭😭

ynleclerc user well does ferrari have danny ric?? and yuki?? no i don't think so

user ynleclerc y/n leclerc aka #1 daniel ricciardo and yuki tsunoda stan

ynleclerc user exactly exactly

user the leclerc genes are insane bro

user user face cards never decline fr

user the best siblings duo ever i don't make the rules

user CHAPPELL ROAN???? you are so real for this

ynleclerc user 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

user she is who i want to be when i grow up

user the coolest girl ever

lewishamilton That skirt looks gorgeous on you

ynleclerc lewishamilton what's underneath is ever better

user ynleclerc WOAH??????

user ynleclerc EXCUSE ME

lewishamilton ynleclerc I know

user lewishamilton AYO??

user lewishamilton SIR??????

user lewishamilton "I know" EHAT DOES THAT MEAN

user lewishamilton grandpa still got some game damn

user lewishamilton something's in the air in maranello fr ain't no way lewis is flirting with charles sister PUBLICLY

messages (y/n's pov)

ynleclerc just added to their stories!

lewishamilton just added to their stories!

twitter!

messages (y/n's pov)

ynleclerc just made a post!

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, doechii and 16,044 others

ynleclerc well since the secret is out...... here's some pics from the archives

ps lewis is still alive dw charles is not gonna kill ferrari's only hope at wcc this year

tagged lewishamilton

view all 712 comments

user I KNEW ITTTT

user i guess now we know why y/n kept hanging out at merc garage last year 😭😭

user user she was also in vcarb's garage??

user user i mean yeah but that was sponsored. during other gps she's always seen hanging out in merc garage but ppl thought it's only bcs she's friends with carmen

user the last pic...... i would do the same tbh

ynleclerc user alex took the pic 😚😚 i just couldn't resist

user and the crowd is in shock????

alexandrasaintmleux it's been so hard keeping this a secret haha so happy for you two ❤️❤️

charles_leclerc alexandrasaintmleux I still can't believe that you knew first before I do

ynleclerc charles_leclerc she's my favorite so i love her more

charles_leclerc ynleclerc WE SHARED A WOMB!!!!!

ynleclerc charles_leclerc and i'm pretty sure you almost ate me so consider this a payback

lewishamilton just made a post!

liked by zhouguanyu24, calliewilson_ and 4,728,948 others.

lewishamilton Mi amor ❤️

tagged ynleclerc

view all 44,630 comments

ynleclerc baby that's spanish 😭😭 mon amour is french

charles_leclerc ynleclerc He doesn't even know the difference? This is the man you claimed to love?

ynleclerc charles_leclerc he's trying ok give him a break 😭😭

charles_leclerc If you break her heart I will sabotage your car. Mark my words, Lewis

ynleclerc charles_leclerc ARE YOU INSANE 😭😭

user charles_leclerc we love a protective brother

user user i can't take the threat seriously i'm afraid lmfao 😭😭

lewishamilton charles_leclerc I deserve it

scuderiaferrari charles_leclerc Please don't

francolapinto congratulations!

user can't believe all of this started bcs of some instagram stories

user user how long do u figure they would keep this a secret if that accident didn't happen 😭😭

user user they're gonna have to be public eventually. can't hide from charles forever

user i wonder how family dinners will be from now on

user user chaotic most definitely

user user thinking about charles giving lewis the talk has me dying

user oh to be charles leclerc's sister and date lewis hamilton

user user living the dream fr

user when i said i want 1644 dramas in 2025 this is NOT what i meant 😭😭

2K notes · View notes

jungkoode · 3 months ago

Text

Strings Attached (to my heart)

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 2: 1000 notes. ✔️ NEXT

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish), dry humping, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, creaming his pants, sexual content, explicit content, library smut, clothed getting off, breast play, grinding, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, size difference, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, protective jungkook, closet sexual activities, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first attempt at a Spidey!JK AU, where he somehow manages to be an even bigger mess than Peter Parker 😭. This story is very close to my heart because it dives into the dynamic between a confident noona and her adorably flustered freshman—who just so happens to be Seoul’s clumsy new superhero. To be honest, this Spiderkook oneshot was heavily inspired by Tangie, aka @rpwprpwprpwprw (love you bb!!!). I’d been lowkey daydreaming about Spiderkook for ages but thought, “Nah, that’s too silly.” Then I discovered there’s an entire community sharing the same brain cell as me??? Like, you’re welcome for my service, I guess?? Originally, this was supposed to be a short, smutty 5k romp. But do you think I can write smut without plot? I CAN’T. IT’S A MEDICAL CONDITION. Now it’s a 12k beast with feelings, webs, and chaos. Sorry (but not really). If you enjoy this, I might turn it into a mini-series because, let’s be honest, spider powers in… certain scenarios… sound very intriguing. Hihihi. Hope you enjoy this mess I’ve unleashed on the world! 🕸️

Edit: also, yeah. Tae is older than Jimin and Jungkook here because my sleep deprived brain slapped a ‘hyung’ on Jimin’s mouth and I’m not editing again. (≖͞_≖̥)

The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.

A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.

You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.

The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.

"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.

"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."

"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"

You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"

"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"

"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."

He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—

No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.

"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."

You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"

"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"

"That's not how spider-sense works."

"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."

"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"

"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"

"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."

You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"

"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."

You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...

No. Stop it. You're not doing this.

"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."

He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.

You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.

But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.

You really need to stop noticing these things.

You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.

And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.

It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.

Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"

"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.

You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."

There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.

"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.

"You didn't spit in them, did you?"

"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"

You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.

"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"

His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.

He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.

"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."

You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.

You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.

It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.

He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your hand freezes midair.

His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.

You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.

"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."

If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.

"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."

"Exactly."

He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."

You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."

"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"

And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.

You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.

Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."

Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."

Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."

Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"

Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."

"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"

Jimin gives him a look.

Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."

Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"

"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."

"But that was BEFORE—"

"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."

Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"

"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."

"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."

"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.

"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."

Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.

"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"

Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.

"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.

The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.

"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.

Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.

Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.

But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.

"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"

"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.

Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"

"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.

Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.

"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."

Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.

"Wait, why do I have to—"

"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.

Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.

"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.

"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.

"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.

"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"

"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.

"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."

Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.

"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.

"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."

Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.

"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."

"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"

Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.

"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"

"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"

"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."

Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."

"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."

"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"

Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."

"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.

"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.

Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.

"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."

Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."

"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.

But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.

"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"

Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.

Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.

But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?

And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?

You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.

Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.

"Noona!"

You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.

He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.

"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.

Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"

The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?

You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.

The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.

"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.

You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?

God, this kid.

"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.

"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"

You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.

"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"

That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"

His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.

"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"

Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"

"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"

"Jungkook."

He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"

"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"

Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.

"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"

"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.

"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"

The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.

"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"

You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.

Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"

You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.

Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.

You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.

"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"

You don't answer.

"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"

"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.

He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"

"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.

"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.

You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.

Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"

He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.

"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.

You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.

He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—

"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"

"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"

He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.

And that's when it hits you.

Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.

Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"

"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.

Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."

"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.

You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.

And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.

"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"

"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.

Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"

Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.

"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."

Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.

He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.

"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.

"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.

Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."

Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.

So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.

He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.

Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.

Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.

He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.

"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.

Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.

Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—

You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.

"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"

Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"

But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.

Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"

Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.

Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.

And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.

Totally not unhinged.

But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.

He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.

And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—

Yank.

Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."

Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?

"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.

"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."

"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"

Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.

"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.

But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.

"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"

"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.

"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"

"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"

"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?

"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"

The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."

And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—

"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."

Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"

"I—"

Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.

"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.

"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.

And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.

"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.

His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.

"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"

Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—

You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.

"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"

Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—

"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."

"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"

You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"

"Since... right now?"

Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.

Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—

"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.

Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.

All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.

"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.

"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.

His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.

Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.

You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"

Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.

But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.

Oh no.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.

"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.

His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.

"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.

You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.

"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?

"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.

You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.

He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.

"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"

You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.

"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"

"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.

"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"

"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.

"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.

And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.

Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.

Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?

Or—

The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.

And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.

"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.

But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.

Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.

Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.

"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.

You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.

"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.

Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.

"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.

You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.

You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.

Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.

His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.

But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."

The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—

Oh god.

You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.

A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.

"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"

He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.

"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"

Fuck.

"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.

But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.

His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.

Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.

"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."

You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.

And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.

He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.

But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.

"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"

His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.

The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.

"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"

He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.

"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."

And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.

He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.

"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.

He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).

But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'

"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.

No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—

"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.

Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"

You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—

"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.

The dam breaks.

Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.

His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.

"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.

"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.

You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"

"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.

He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.

"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.

"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.

His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.

Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.

"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"

"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."

His breath catches. "But—"

"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."

Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—

"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.

"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"

And then the door clicks.

Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"

Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.

"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"

Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

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oatmealwrites · 3 months ago

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JJK FOREPLAY FAVORITES

their fav way to increase sexual tension!~ HC

[non curse AU ig -> i like being happy ok]

regular masterlist (i will be editing it/making a new one eventually)

Increase the tension= things they loooove to do you/with you to crank the heat up AKA when this happens ur gonna be banging

tags: hickies, oral (m & f receving), sloppy ass kissing, hair pulling, full nelson, orgam (m & f), implied f anatomy of reader, p in v, no protection, car sex mentioned, dirty talking, riding, chocking, degrading, lots of cumming, wlw, fingering (f rec), prob more tbh, MDNI, 18+

NOT PROOFREAD -> maybe ill edit it tmr idk

Characters: Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Toji, Kamo Choso, Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Higuruma Hiromi, Ryomen Sukuna, Shoko Ieiri

words: 2.7k

~~~~~~~

Nanami Kento - neck kisses below the collar

After a long day of work, coming home to you is the only thing on poor Kento’s mind; insufferable colleagues and idiotic customers, the one saving solace is ending the day by your side. If he comes home at a reasonable hour, and you’re still awake, he’s immediately hanging up his coat and pecking your lips full of all the love he’s been harboring for the past few hours.

You stand in the entrance way to your shared home, peck after peck; only breaking to breathe and murmur ‘i love you’s in between. The two of you sway and stay that way for a few minutes before you part and separate to prep dinner while he takes a swift shower. BUT, if you’re in the mood or he is… those lips may linger just a bit further down.

They start off trailing down his sharp jawline, then the spot under his ear, and finally he’s undoing his tie and top two buttons to make room for your lips sucking little bruises on his flesh. Groans of pleasure escape his lips in octaves so deep your poor cunt clenches pathetically around nothing. By this point, he’s dragging you to the couch or even kitchen island; never parting far enough to break the suction you have on his flesh.

Each suck is below where the collar of his shirt hits his neck; the fabric being able to cover each indecent mark that none of his coworkers will ever see. You stay hovering over him; his hands digging into your waist while his head tilts back further and further to give you access. When the canvas efficiently marked up, his hands slide down to the swell of your ass and…. Well, he’d like to leave a trail of bites where no one will ever find them on you. ;)

Fushiguro Toji - standing behind you (caged in)

It’s when you’re doing a mundane task, like folding laundry or taking a mental note of the food in the fridge to be restocked, when Toji walks up behind you. If you had headphones on, he slides them off and pushes his biceps forward to effectively cage you in between him and whatever furniture you’re in front of.

The cologne radiating off him is intoxicating, and the way he can look down over you makes his cock twitch in his pants. Toji acts like it’s casual, offering you help in sorting laundry or a reminder that you were nearly out of orange juice, before he steps even closer. The swell of your ass now plush against his semi; Toji closes the fridge door or places the towel you’re folding back on the bed. He wants your full attention.

Though the man behind you doesn’t spin you around quite yet; instead, he digs his hands to grip your waist and pull you back into his chest. His full erection now grinding into you, he’ll continue whispering casual questions while his body radiates enough sexual energy to make your mind dizzy.

Hovering above you, cock hard in jeans and pushing sluttily into the curve of your ass, Toji ruts into you a few more times until he’s sure you’re as horny as him. When he does spin you around, it’s to either pull you up to the kitchen island or push you onto the mattress and solve the little big problem that’s aching in his trousers. Be ready for a full nelson~

Choso Kamo - hair pulling

It starts as a simple makeout when Yuji leaves the shared apartment to hang out with Nobara and Megumi. You’re sitting on the couch, video game or movie loading idly in the background, while the two of you exchange a moment of heated kissing. Given the amount of time Yuji hangs around his brother, romantic moments are rushed and sometimes awkward between you both.

Though in this moment on the couch, tongues exploring each other's mouths and teeth clicking every so often at the sloppiness of it all, there’s no better feeling. Choso’s hands rub tiny circles into the bones of your hips while yours find solace wrapped around his neck to pull him closer. When you reach forward to pull those two elastic bands and let his hair down; he moans.

Choso loves when you tug on his hair; it’s the best indicator to know you're into this as much as he is. Whether it’s when he’s splaying your thighs apart and eating you out, or when you're tugging him back to kiss you while you ride him; Choso is putty in your hands when your fingertips pull on his hair.

When you’re kissing and he feels that familiar tug, his cock is getting stiffer by the second. Groaning into your already messy french kiss, he pivots to pin you to the sofa cushions while your hands occasionally pull him back so you can breathe. But it’s not enough; every scrape against his scalp leaves him chasing your lips again and again and again.

If you tug one more time… Choso will leave your lips with a slight whimper before moving down a bit lower to another area he’d like his lips to be on. Once he’s set up shop and comfortable down there, he’s not leaving your pussy until you’re ripping the follicles from his head.

Geto Suguru - whispers in the ear

Yelling was something Suguru was quite familiar with: Yaga scolding him during his high school days and Satoru constantly yapping his ear off every time they hang out; leaving the moments of silence in between something he’s grateful for. Whether it’s a casual conversation in an area reserved to be quiet or a simple hushed comment you don’t want to repeat; Suguru loves it when you whisper in his ear.

The way you lean up on your tippy toes to reach his ears and cover your mouth with your hand as if it’s a secret being shared makes his pulse spike. Usually, he’ll take your hand once you finish speaking and place a light kiss or bite to the flesh before continuing on whatever activity you were both currently doing. BUT, if he’s pent up or you’re just looking extra cute that day, he’ll return the favor and lean down to whisper in your ear.

His hot hushed breath on the shell of your ear makes you jump from the sudden action, and he laughs when you raise an eyebrow at his intentions. He’d never do anything naughty though…. Jk ofc he does. It’d start with a couple suggestions in your ear about new cafes to go to, movies to watch, until it becomes completely filthy. Positions he wants to fuck you in when you return home, how the way you squeak when he talks in such a whisper reminds him of the way you squeak when pushes the tip of his cock in, and how the way you shiver makes him wanted to pinch your hardened nipples right here and now.

The sensuality of it all is what makes this arousing for Suguru. It’s not exaggerated pornographic moans; it’s raw and real. Of course he loves when your voice is hoarse from groaning his name out as he drives you to multiple orgasms, but he also loves the hushed whisper that only he gets to hear. So next time you pull him down to tell him something in secret, just know you might end up yelling by the end of the night. ;)

Gojo Satoru - eye contact

Tugging off his sunglasses and enjoying the view is not something that Satoru gets time to do very frequently. More often than not, he’s dealing with bullshit from his higher ups at work, trying to clean up the messes other people make, all the while assisting new students/hires in training for their future careers. So when Satoru does finally get a moment of peace to sit back and take in the scene around him, he always ensures you’re by his side to enjoy it as well.

At first glance, it’s not always the most photogenic moments where Satoru gets this moment of reprieve: sitting on the sofa after work, cafe dates during his lunch break, sitting in your kitchen making a grocery list; however, they are his favorite. In these moments, all eyes are on you.

When you pause from whatever task and take in the man in front of you, his pupils immediately dilate. He’ll silently admire the way you sway your hips from side to side in mindless motions; falling in love with you all over again for the trivial little habits he loves to watch you perform. But when you pause and meet his lingering gaze? Buckle up.

Satoru will raise an eyebrow, but not break the connection. Instead, he splays a half grin on his face and pulls you into him; strong arms wrapping around you. It’s when you admire his eyes and then finally break the gaze to peer at his lips does Satoru finally kiss you. Now this kiss can either be sweet and romantic to convey the emotion between you both… OR it be a precursor to something more.

His gaze on you doesn’t stop when you’re sinking to your knees to suck him off on your shared sofa; admiring the tears that prick from the tension in your jaw. His gaze on you doesn’t stop when he’s fingering you on his sheets; watching the way your face contorts in pleasure. But his favorite sight is when you’re both eye level and you’re riding his cock while gazing at his blue eyes.

Higuruma Hiromi - hand on throat

Hiromi is a lawyer, in which this position gives him a lot of control over the future of a person’s fate. He can watch someone walk free or spend the rest of their life behind bars all simply based on how well he can perform his job within given evidence. Though the final verdict is never up to him; the sentencing is decided by the jury or judge. So when you’re in the middle of a heated makeout, and you bring his hand to gently grasp your throat for the first time; he pauses.

It’s the only time he has absolute control in the moment; one you willingly and trustingly submit to him. The rush of it all gets Hiromi feeling more on edge. You can be making out in his car, interrupting him while he’s getting dressed, or simply straddling him on your bed; regardless of the location, he’s getting hard.

Long deft fingers keep his hand in collar around your neck, pulling you in for messy kisses or pushing you back to admire the drunk look on your face. Tightening the pressure and watching your eyebrows furrow from lack of oxygen and heightened ecstasy make his slacks feel extra tight; pre-cum pouring embarrassingly from his weeping tip from within his boxer briefs.

When you kiss, regardless of the position, and Hiromi has a hand around your throat; he intends to keep it there for a while. If you’re sucking him off, he cums even faster if he can feel the way his dick is sliding down your throat with his hand. Even when you inevitably get to fucking, his hand is latched around your jugular; occasionally tightening and releasing to give right ratio of pain and pleasure.

Of course, he’ll eventually need both hands for your activities, and release his grasp; ensuring you can breathe properly once more. However, if you ever bring his hand to your throat, just know you might have his cock sliding down there soon.

Ryomen Sukuna - you’re on his lap (u being dominate/initiative)

In every aspect of life, Sukuna has always been in charge. Whether it’s work positions, social hierarchies with peers, and even your sex life; he’s always the one calling the shots. So on those occasional moments when he’s been busy with work and you’ve been feeling a little neglected; you slide onto his lap and peer down at him.

Regardless of how tired or worn out he is, Sukuna will always pry open an eye and peer at you as you sit on his muscular thighs and look down at him. He’d never admit how much of a turn on this vision is; but the sight of you trying to use power and make him submit leaves his cock twitching.

Even if you just wanted passing attention and a few simple kisses; Sukuna isn’t letting you off his lap. Large hands keep you seated in your position while he nips and licks at the flesh on your neck; urging you to finish what you started. It’s when you finally get comfortable and pull his face to meet your lips, tug his hair to look up at you, and when you guide his hands to touch you where you want it that pushes him over the edge.

Sukuna loves power, and he loves you even more for wanting a fraction of that feeling; even if it does mean he’s the one submitting in this situation. This is where that submission ends though, after things get steamy, he’s effectively throwing you on to whatever surface he feels like and bending you into a pretzel of positions. He’ll tug your hair, degrade you, fuck you so hard that your pussy has molded to the shape of his cock. BUT, the fact that you took the initiative and tried to overpower him is what makes him so rut so ruthlessly into you. Whenever he thinks your cunt has milked him dry, he’ll conjure up that image of you sitting so coy on his lap that he’s pouring another load into your pussy without even realizing.

Shoko Ieiri - hand on thigh

Ieiri sees lots of injury and death within her line of work; though she’s forever grateful her gloves protect her from touching anything. A thin layer of latex protects her from the grime and bacteria from wounds and decay; but finally home alone with you, leaves her wanting nothing separating the space.

Whether it’s hand holding in the supermarket, cuddling with legs intertwined, or running a hand through each other’s hair; the physical touch makes her sigh in content at the simplicity. BUT, when that lingering hand moves to the plush and fleshy area of an exposed thigh? Expect some other sighs.

Now Ieiri likes you touching her thigh and touching yours; so here are both scenarios:

If you are the one initiating it:

You’re sitting on the sofa, watching reruns of your favorite show and enjoying the evening with some snacks and wine, when your hand moves from hers to the soft subtle flesh of her exposed thigh. It’s a gentle squeeze at first; reassuring of your presence at her side after such a hard week of work. Though Ieiri finds it more than reassuring.

At first she’ll place her hand on yours, and you when you're about to stop, thinking that’s what she meant; Ieiri will guide your hand up higher. You’ll pinch each inch of her thigh until your fingers are grazing her sleep shorts and she finally peels her eyes off the screen to shoot you a knowing gaze. Yes, she loves your hands on her… but she’d like your mouth to now replace that spot ;)

If she’s initiating it:

It starts harmlessly when you’re both relaxing on the sofa after a long week, when her hand rests on your thigh. At first you thinking nothing of it; her fingers digging into the flesh and occasionally kneading it without ever looking off the tv. Right when you think she’s about to stop is when she reaches up juuuust a bit higher to repeat the action to the new area.

This continues until she’s up past the hem of your sleep shorts pant line and tracing the outline of your sopping pantines. Fingers are still pinching the skin of your upper thigh; they’ll occasionally move to press against the pathetic wet patch of the fabric and rub small circles on your clit. Ieiri loves the feeling of your thighs under her hands, but she loves her fingers inside you more.

a/n idk where this came from tbh; im actually so tired and this isn't proofread

IK i should work on my series... but i have like horny thoughts motivation and wanted to write before bed hehe

reblogs/likes/comments all appreciated

-oatmeal <333

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prythianpages · 29 days ago

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The Mark You Left Behind | Eris Masterlist

Eris x Reader ft. Azriel | Eris breaks your heart, unaware that you’re carrying his child. Now, both of you are left to grapple with the consequences of his actions, as your lives spiral in unexpected directions.

warnings: angst, hidden pregnancy, Eris being an asshole sometimes (other warnings will be specified by part)

a/n: The title is inspired by the song Que No Quede Huella (a classic), which is why the banner has the spanish lyrics. These parts are listed in chronological order. The parts with ৡ are kind of like bonus parts.

(I will say this will most likely be a set of fics/drabbles that center around a story but not necessarily a plot? Idk if this makes sense. Basically me writing a series but without the full detailed commitment? I'm just happy that after dealing with a rough writer's block, I'm actually getting the inspo/urge to write something.)

ৡ Down To You | The more Eris lets you in, the more he finds himself being pushed and pulled into feelings he's scared to accept. aka the beginning of it all

ৡ Tell Me I've Been Lied To | Eris didn't know that three simple words could change the course of your lives.

I. Stuck | After breaking your heart, Eris thinks you have moved on.

II. Think of You | Eris is unaware of how wrong he was. You're still picking up the pieces of your shattered heart. You find that it does not matter how far you distance yourself from Eris, a part of him will always be with you.

III. Something I Wait For | You're still overridden with stress over your unexpected pregnancy when an unexpected guest turns up at Day Court.

IV. Silver Soul | Azriel finds himself meddling in your business.

V. Lost in the Dark | Eris wants you back in Autumn. Meanwhile, you find yourself confiding in Azriel.

here is a little meme/post I made over one of the scenes from pt V.

VI. How Did We Get Here? | Things get heated at the High Lord's meeting and Azriel accidentally lets something slip.

VII. Protect Me From What I Want | After finding out you're carrying his child, Eris makes a sudden & unexpected visit to Day Court.

coming soon:

VIII. I'd Be There | Growing desperate in his search for you, Eris reaches out to Lucien, only to be settled over with more worry. sneak peak kinda

IX. If Only | Azriel is there to comfort you after taking you away from Day Court. aka your pov after pt VII

X. Come Back To Me

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

@blueroseava , @lovetia , @historygeekqueen , @idk1027 ,@naturakaashi

@blightyblinders , @wolvesnravens , @galaxystern08 , @faeofthemoonandstars , @antisocial-architect

@elisha-chloe, @cwallace02sblog, @randomramblesfanfiction, @moonlitlavenders, @booksnwriting

@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamarancianne, @daemyratwst, @ratgirl2020 @balufy

if you asked to be on the tag list & don't see your name here or on my general one, pls let me know! I'll keep track of them here.

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris vanserra x reader #eris angst #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar x you #the mark eris left behind

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kiwriteswords · 22 days ago

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Florally Inappropriate [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 1.3k|| AN: Florist!Reader is making me miss my days as a florist! Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, established relationship, secret relationship, flirty!reader, bold!reader, sassy!reader, reader kinda has acts of service/gift-giving love language, sexual theme (if you squint), teasing BAU members, The BAU giving Hotch SHIT. Summary: Aaron Hotchner is not a man who treats himself, but when he begins dating a florist, you make sure he knows what it's like to be doted on...and the team slowly catches on.

Dating Aaron Hotchner had always been quiet by necessity.

Subtle glances. Brushed fingertips. A softness only shared in private.

He didn’t like attention. Didn’t like being fussed over.

But you liked taking care of people.

And he’d accidentally made the mistake of falling for someone who loved to dote.

So, naturally, you made it your mission to turn him into something he never asked to be:

A flower guy.

Not for others—

He’d already mastered that.

You’d heard all the stories by now: the bouquet traditions with Haley, the subtle elegance he insisted on for gifts, the ways he used flowers like quiet punctuation in the lives of the people he cared about.

But when it came to himself? His own space? His own peace?

Not once.

“A vase of fresh flowers,” you’d said once, teasing him as he stirred sugar into your coffee at your shop. “Just for you. No occasion. No apology. Nothing to prove. Imagine that.”

He had rolled his eyes, but not unkindly.

“Not really my thing.”

You smiled. “That’s what you think.”

So you took it as a challenge.

It started the first time he called you late one night from the tarmac, exhaustion in his voice and a subtle softness you now recognized as I miss you.

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he said, voice low over the hum of the jet engines. “Can’t wait to see you.”

You hummed a quiet, “I can’t wait to see you too,” already flipping open your planner to jot down the return date.

And then the next morning, with a smirk and a plan, you pulled one of your smaller house arrangements—crisp white anemones, soft lavender sprigs, dusty miller—and walked it over to Quantico. You didn’t even try to get upstairs. You already knew the drill.

Security didn’t question you.

You were the flower shop girl with the kind eyes and security clearance just shy of trustworthy. They took the vase from you, promised it would be placed on his desk.

The next time, it was something different. Warmer. Whimsical. Ranunculus and chamomile. You tucked in a note that said:

“Fresh blooms for your fresh start (aka post-case paperwork hell). You’ve got this, Mister Tall-Dark-and-Tired.”

Just your handwriting, which he’d definitely memorized by now.

And it became a ritual.

Every time he let you know he was coming home, you delivered a new arrangement to his office. Always tasteful, always different. Sometimes elegant—simple roses and clean lines.

Sometimes soft and romantic—pale blush peonies, trailing jasmine, a note that read:

“For when you miss holding me in your arms. These won’t talk back, but they also don’t smell as good as I do.”

And sometimes just… you.

“Here’s something cheerful in case the world is being insufferable again.”

He’d show up at your door later, late and exhausted, but with that rare smile—

That real one. The one that crackedthrough his armor and made you feel like something inside him had bloomed just for you.

He’d step inside, slide his arms around you, press his mouth to your neck, and murmur, “You really don’t have to keep doing that.”

And you’d say, every time, “I know.”

And then do it again anyway.

Because if anyone deserved a small piece of peace—of beauty—it was Aaron Hotchner.

Even if he’d never pick flowers for himself.

And it started innocently enough.

A vase of flowers on Hotch’s desk wasn’t exactly out of place. He was a thoughtful guy. The team had seen him organize flower deliveries for others before—

Memorials, birthdays, even that one time when Penelope had a “bad vibe” week and he sent her peonies from Gideon.

So when they first noticed a small vase on his desk—a clean arrangement of white tulips and baby’s breath—no one thought much of it.

Until it happened again.

And again.

Always different flowers. Always perfectly arranged. Always with a small card tucked into the side.

The first time, Emily made a passing comment while grabbing a file. “Nice centerpiece, Hotch. Didn’t peg you for a soft bloom guy.”

He didn’t even look up. “Gift.”

From who? she wanted to ask. But he was already mid-profile, and she figured maybe Jack’s teacher or Jess sent something. Whatever.

But by week four, when another bouquet—this time sunflowers and eucalyptus—appeared in his office with a small envelope and zero explanation, the curiosity officially became a thing.

Morgan was the first one bold enough to poke the bear.

He leaned in Hotch’s doorway, arms crossed. “You, uh…got a secret admirer, or is this part of your new mindfulness routine?”

Hotch didn’t even flinch. “Flowers improve workplace morale.”

Reid, walking past, chimed in without looking up from his tablet: “That’s actually true. Studies show that the presence of plants and flowers can reduce stress and increase productivity in office environments.”

Morgan raised a brow. “So you’re saying Hotch here is just…a flower guy now?”

Hotch flipped a page in his report. “Apparently.”

But it was Penelope who finally cracked the code.

Or, at least, peeked into the vault.

She was walking past his office on her way to the breakroom when the newest delivery caught her eye—

Velvety purple calla lilies and dark greenery.

Very moody romance vibes.

She stopped, admired it, and then saw the card tucked in.

And, of course, she read it.

She gasped so dramatically, it startled Reid halfway out of his chair.

“Oh. My. God.”

Morgan leaned over the back of JJ’s desk. “What?”

“Hotch has a lover. A secret lover. A saucy secret lover.”

Reid blinked. “How do you know it’s…saucy?”

Penelope held up the small card like it was evidence in court. “‘If you’re reading this before taking your tie off, just know I’m already thinking about undoing it with my teeth.’”

JJ choked on her coffee.

Morgan barked out a laugh so loud, Hotch’s office door creaked open.

He stepped out, perfectly stoic. “Something wrong?”

Penelope froze, the card still dangling from her fingers like a loaded weapon.

“Nothing!” she squeaked. “Just… admiring your very professional workplace foliage.”

Hotch walked calmly to her, plucked the note from her hands with two fingers, and returned to his office without a word.

Door shut.

Silence.

Then:

“Oh my god,” JJ whispered. “Who is she?”

“She’s bold, that’s for sure,” Emily said, now seated at her desk, clearly invested. “I like her.”

Reid blinked. “He has a…romantic partner?”

“Clearly,” Penelope said, fanning herself. “And clearly, she knows what she’s doing.”

“I bet it’s the cute florist,” Morgan said suddenly. “That case I stayed back for, I saw her delivering something at the receptionist downstairs.”

Everyone turned.

JJ narrowed her eyes. “What florist?” The gears began turning in her head. She’d almost forgotten.

He shrugged. “You remember a few months ago? You said you set Hotch up with someone to help with a flower arrangement?”

JJ paused. Blinked. “No way.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, JJ. Did you set him up with a flower shop femme fatale?”

Penelope nodded slowly. “Makes sense. She’s got the access, the handwriting, the aesthetic.”

Reid, slightly concerned: “Should we be… teasing him about this?”

JJ smiled, sipping her coffee. “Only if you want to die.”

Morgan laughed. “You’re just mad you didn’t call it.”

Emily leaned back in her chair. “I’m not saying we stake out the next flower delivery. But I am saying if she starts sending him candles, I need to meet this woman.”

“I knew she’d be good for him,” JJ said with a sigh, wishing she pushed the two of you together sooner.

Meanwhile, inside his office, Hotch sat at his desk, reading the note again.

His lips twitched just slightly at the corner.

He didn’t even care they’d seen it.

Because later, when he got home, you would pretend not to know what they were talking about, wrap your arms around him, and ask, “Did my flowers brighten up your scary little office today?”

And he’d murmur against your skin, “They did. But I think your note is what caused the real chaos.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy

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lady-lauren · 7 months ago

Text

❥ ENJI TODOROKI X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 1.7k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: stuckage (aka you get stuck and fucked), major dub-con, some ass play, spitting (on your ass), degradation, creampie, Enji is dirty and mean and he's really not sorry for it

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

The sink of spandex between your thighs reminds him of why you are such a vexation. Fabric stretches across the mound of your cunt as you struggle, a perfect contour of what lies just out of reach.

“Finally found something you can’t escape, hm?”

Enji hears your scoff echo across the panes of the air duct, elbows pinging the metal as you try to shift your weight.

You won’t slip away. Not this time.

“Pull me out,” your hips arch and shake with your demand.

The hero claws inside his chest, your plea reaching his sensibilities. But the curve of your thick, open legs strokes a more sinister flame in the pit of his stomach.

“Where’s the fun in that? I’ve chased you for long enough.” He deserves a reward.

For a cat burglar, he expected you to be more clever. Yet here you are, stuck at the waist in the old factory’s ventilation, in a hole your thighs were never going to breach no matter how much you struggled.

Now he gets to be the judge and jury of your punishment.

“Almost like you wanted to be caught,” he muses to himself as he finally gives in to the itch to sink his fingers into the fat of your ass.

Your gasp sounds like the hiss of air down the duct, shrill and quick. You’re not a naive villain—you know what’s coming.

Blunt nails scrape against your costume, black threads splitting with just a fraction of the force he can give.

Your skin spreads into view like a ripe fruit being peeled. Sweet flesh is already dripping as he snaps away the spandex over your cunt, a thrill sparking in his cock at the sight of your pussy lips opening as you wiggle yourself in his hold.

“Oh you fucking pervert! Let me go!”

He could. He should. He won’t.

Intentions are made clear when his massive hand cups your cunt, thumb rubbing over your asshole as he grips your body, shoving you tighter into your trap.

You grunt and groan, shoulders thumping against metal. You seem to be testing your flexibility in a guise to rub yourself back against the palm of his hand. Your wetness smears against his skin, labia spreading against callouses.

He presses his hand until he finds the swell of your clit. A muffled moan makes him rub hard, hard enough to have a muscle in your thigh clenching and shaking.

Grinning, he spits a string of saliva to drip down onto your ass, moving his thumb just enough to catch the lubrication and smother it against your puckered hole. He dips his thick digit into your ass and delights at how you buck back against him.

“You’re a better whore than a thief.”

There’s no denial, just short moans against metal at each thrust of his thumb into your ass. He twists the digit in your tight cavern, moving his fingers away from your cunt so he can watch your pussy clench in anticipation of more.

You’re a prettier sight than he imagined, already messy, body begging for his touch. He’s had many frustrated nights fisting his dick to dreams of catching you.

Enji toys with you just long enough to get his cock fully hard and aching.

You whine as he pulls away, hips pushing back like you’re searching for him, desperate and needy.

He keeps quiet as he unbuckles his suit, wrapping his cock in his hand and pumping, squeezing his fingers around the base of his cockhead.

Taking advantage of you shouldn’t turn him on so much, yet his balls feel heavy as he watches you panic, unable to see the world behind you.

Your head clinks against the air duct, your trapped hands slapping against the bottom.

“En…Endeavor? Please. Please don’t leave me like this.”

He hates that he won’t be able to see the look in your eyes when he fucks you, but it’s too much of a risk to let you free. You’ll slip away like every time before.

You purr with comfort when he grips your ass, pulling at the fat until your pussy is spread to hungry, flaming eyes.

He bursts your relief by prodding his cock into your wetness. Your cunt clenches at the feel of him and he can practically smell your fear.

“I’m not going anywhere, little whore.”

It takes a few purposeful thrusts to get his thick cock to push inside you, your cunt stretching and burning at his intrusion. He doesn’t care to hurt you, mean hands wrapping around your thighs and using your weight to pull your pussy down his cock.

He doesn’t want you ready, he wants to feel your struggle, feel the tightness of your pussy as he punishes you.

Whimpering as he finally gets his length inside you, you grind back against him. He can’t tell if you’re trying to push him out or pull him in.

It doesn’t matter what you want; what matters is what you can give him.

Your pussy starts to gush as he begins his pace—quick, deep, balls slapping against your clit.

Enji’s fascinated by the sight of your wet flesh dragging along his length, sucking so securely it’s like you’re afraid he’s going to leave again.

“I’ve got you,” he sneers in some twisted sense of heroism.

Your reply moan is bubbly, as if you’ve resigned yourself to take whatever you can get.

He pulls your hips up, squishing your body to the top of the air duct as he gets into the heat of his stride. He’s blinded by the pleasure of your warm, went cunt, lost to the primal urge to take, to use.

It’s too easy to abuse you. So small, so exposed. You’re putty in his hands as he spreads you apart even wider, shreds of fabric shuddering against the bounce of your ass.

You sound like an animal trapped in the wall, yelping and cooing all the same as his fat cockhead bullies into your depths.

“You like being a cocksleeve,” he grunts, “your cunt’s so fucking wet.”

Cream is building at his base, smearing into red curls. Your stomach flutters at his words and he realizes he can feel himself in your core.

He could break you if he isn’t careful.

Yet he doesn’t slow down, barely breaking a sweat as he pushes harder, faster, jaw clenching as he chases his high.

He drops one of your thighs, pulling the other higher around his waist as he pounds a fist into the brick wall. The new leverage has your body slipping farther down the chute, trapping you more snugly.

“P-please,” you pant, nails scraping against the metal prison, “I c-can’t take it…”

“Don’t fucking care. You’re cunt’s mine.”

Your ass ripples as his muscular thighs slap against yours, slick dripping into the rips of your costume.

“Such a stupid little girl. This is what happens when you, ah, run from me.”

He can’t hear any response over the wet slap of skin against skin, the slurp of your greedy cunt.

Putting his hips flush to yours, he grinds into your cunt, so deep he knows it hurts.

His hand scrapes up your thigh, big fingers searching for your clit. When his index finger swirls against your swollen bud, you scream, the sound reverberating like a confession in your trap.

Enji presses his forehead to the wall, eyes closing as he feels hot pleasure starting to build in his balls, twitching in his cock.

“Go on,” he pinches your clit between his fat fingers, “cum, cum little whore.”

Your body starts to shake as you whimper, thighs quivering as you lose control. He rubs two fingers against your clit as he pushes harder into you, motions getting sloppy.

Enji grunts, “I said cum, fucking cum.”

He slams into you so roughly that he hears the air duct creak from his pressure. He puts his focus into filling you, stretching you, letting you feel his cockhead spear against the abused, gummy spots inside your cunt.

Your orgasm is rough, sputtering, slick gushing against where he invades the tight suck of your pussy. You thrash against his hold and whine like a bitch in heat, rolls and smashes of pleasure fissuring down every nerve, making your legs kick.

Against every lingering heroic instinct, Endeavor lets himself fill your guts with his cum.

He feels like a volcanic eruption, spewing flames from his skin and molten cum from his balls. You keep him sucked tight as he unloads, cum spilling from the tight squeeze and down your thighs.

His chest heaves with deep breaths, blue eyes opening to stare down at the havoc he’s wrecked.

Your poor body is limp, lodged around his impaling cock. Sweat, cum, and slick drip down your thighs, his fingerprints bruised into your skin. Your costume has come apart even more, peeling down your legs like he’s ripped you apart.

He wonders for a moment if you’ve suffocated; if he’s fucked you to death.

After a few moments, you stir, one weak hand knocking against the air duct.

“For the love of god…” you choke.

Heating the metal just enough to make it malleable, he bends the air duct away from your sweaty, shaking body. Then he tugs you without care, letting you fall onto the floor before his feet.

“Suck me clean.”

A dumb girl would’ve run on shaky, messy legs. But like the smart girl you are, you get on your knees and pop his heavy cock between your lips.

He smirks at the mess of makeup on your face as you look up at him, tongue flat as you lick his cum from underneath his shaft.

Enji grips the hair on the back of your head, shoving your face down to his balls for you to suck the mess you’ve made.

“Not gonna run again, are you?”

“I might,” your moan vibrates against oversensitive skin, “if it means I get your cock again.”

#kinktober #endeavor smut #endeavor x reader #tw.stuckage #tw.dubcon #bnha x reader #enji todoroki smut #mha x reader #enji todoroki x reader #bnha smut #enji todoroki #endeavor #bnha fanfiction #dripping banner by @/adorenedwithlight

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iamred-iamyellow · 7 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Spice Up Your Life

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: max verstappen x fem!beckham!model!reader

♥ synopsis: you’re the daughter of victoria and david beckham. ginger spice, aka geri halliwell and the wife of red bull principal was in a pop group with your mom, allowing you to visit the paddock frequently and meet the one and only max verstappen.

♥ smau - fc: isabelle mathers + girls on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: ft. a few familiar footballers and no horner

-August 2024-

liked by victoriabeckham, davidbeckham, maxverstappen1, and 584,603 more

ynbeckham home sweet home

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judebellingham i’ll let the united kit slide for now

ynbeckham 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

user7 i need more judeyn content

k.mbappe @/ynbeckham your dad played for madrid too you know

ynbeckham @/k.mbappe yea i know

vinijr damn 😐

ynbeckham i love you guys I swear 🫶

manchesterunited welcome back

ynbeckham let’s start the season strong 💪

user1 she is her

user6 let’s go man u girlies

user2 stop it why is @/maxverstappen in her likes?

user3 because he has good taste?

user5 i’ve seen yn at madrid games sitting next to carlos so maybe max has seen her 🤷‍♀️

user7 @/user5 it’s that versainz influence

liked by maxverstappen1, realmadrid, davidbeckham, and 483,549 more

ynbeckham madrid

tagged; @/judebellingham

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erling awh she even wore your kit

judebellingham i know 😍

user1 bet max wishes she was wearing his number lol

carlossainz55 @/ynbeckham i knew you’d come around eventually

ynbeckham peer pressure

realmadrid @/ynbeckham you love us

ynbeckham @/realmadrid i do 😔

user2 i LOVED seeing david & victoria there with yn

user3 right! it was so sweet

user4 the way they were cheering on jude too 🥹

user5 idk anything about the judeyn lore…

user4 @/user5 i gotchu! with davud being who he is yn had immediate connections to the world of football. madrid and united are the two teams most people know him from so yn quickly made friends with a lot of the players like jude!

maxverstappen1 feels like everyone was there except me 😅

ynbeckham you didn’t miss out on too much but you should totally come down to the pitch one day 🙃

maxverstappen1 @/ynbeckham maybe i can just invite you over to the paddock this weekend?

ynbeckham @/maxverstappen1 ill check my schedule

user7 SMOOTH

user8 stop it did max just pick up yn in her comment section 😭

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You pulled an already opened white envelope from your counter and spoke directly to your phone, which was recording you.

"I'm sure we've all seen the Max comments, everyone was raving about it. What I want to know is... who told her?" you pointed at the camera, sunlight reflecting off of the charms on your nails.

"I got this letter from Geri with a Red Bull paddock pass inside," you stated, pulling the lanyard out of the envelope. You flipped the pass ID over to show the camera up close, "Valid for: All Days."

You stepped back from the camera with a knowing look on your face, putting your hands on your hips.

You tilted your head, "I guess I'll see you in Monza."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

yns insta story

liked by landonorris, davidbeckham, judebellingham, and 249,785 more

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user1 she wasn’t joking 😭 she’s actually in monza

user2 whatever max wants max gets

davidbeckham i’ll be in the mercedes garage if you need me x

ynbeckham ok 🙂↕️

redbullracing @/davidbeckham you won’t be joining us?

davidbeckham @/redbullracing maybe i’d join you if i had a valid pass like yn

redbullracing 😬

user3 THEY DIDNT EVEN GIVE HIM PASSES HAHAHAHDJDJD

user5 no fucking wonder he’s hanging out at mclaren and mercedes 😭

user7 gonna need someone out there to record her and max's meeting tbh

gerihalliwell glad to see you put the paddock pass to use! can't wait to see @/victoriabeckham in Vegas <3

♡ by ynbeckham and victoriabeckham

user9 you couldn't get david passes too?

gerihalliwell I got 2 to give away... my hands are tied

user12 double it and give it to the next disgruntled dad

user8 lets go spice girls vegas reunion

user10 if they're gonna make vegas a whole thing we might as well have geri and victoria sing like they did in '97 for the mclaren car launch

user14 the f1 spice girls lore runs so deep

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Post Race Interview-

”Max how did you feel about your race today?”

“Uhm,” he scratched his head. “Definitely could have done better, the car could’ve been better, but you know congrats to Charles.”

“I saw the Beckhams in the paddock today. How do you feel about Y/n cheering you on in your garage today?”

“It felt great you know? I’ve always wanted to meet her and her family. I’ve talked to two of the spice girls now so we’re getting close to crossing that off the bucket list.” he laughed.

”Alright, thank you Max,” the interviewer said and he walked off.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari, maxverstappen1, and 974,635 more

ynbeckham adorando il mio tempo qui in Italia 🇮🇹 @/charlesleclerc congrats on the win, i know tifosi is proud !! @/maxverstappen1 it was truly great to meet you, i hope we run into each other again soon <3

translation: adoring my time here in italy

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redbullracing we were glad to have you in the paddock yn!

ynbeckham thank you so much for having me <3

judebellingham you better invite me next time

redbullracing @/judebellingham i’ll try my best to🫡

k.mbappe @/redbullracing if you invite him you have to invite the whole team otherwise it’s just unfair

redbullracing it’s just an inchident

user1 oh and you just know max is shaking right now

charles_leclerc he dropped his phone

maxverstappen1 @/charles_leclerc delete this

user2 seems like max won’t be following charles on insta any time soon

user3 i loved seeing her in the paddock today! i don’t think i’ve seen her at any events other than for modeling or footy

user5 hopefully she’ll keep coming back

scuderiaferrari tifosi is definitely proud of charles! i’m sure they’d be happy to see you one day in our garage @/ynbeckham 😉

ynbeckham admin 🤭

redbullracing @/scuderiaferrari stop trying to steal our new mascot you already have leo and now roscoe

liked by lewishamilton, bellahadid, gigihadid, and 1,230,583 more

ynbeckham getting ready for the versace runway

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bellahadid cant wait to see you walk ❤️

judebellingham still upset I wasnt invited but whatever

k.mbappe yeah get in line

user1 you are SO stunning

maxverstappen1 can't wait to see you

ynbeckham 🫶

user2 wait a damn minute max is gonna be there?

user3 or does he just mean see her again in general lmao 😭

user2 @/user3 why would he mean that?

user3 @/user2 I dunno he posts comments like they're private texts

user7 why are we not freaking out over the heart yn posted

user6 maxyn crumbs

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by donatella_versace, judebellingham, landonorris, and 2,842,473 more

versace a collection unapologetically positive and authentically Very Versace…

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ynbeckham it was an absolute honor <3

francisca.cgomes you looked stunning 😘

ynbeckham thank you kika 💋

user8 the three of them ate the runway up

landonorris hire me next

ynbeckham I think max would make the perfect model 😍

landonorris ...

user2 shes whipped for him

user3 is she wrong tho

gigihadid great to see you again Lewis <3 its been a long time

♡ by lewishamilton

user7 hang on let them cook

user12 yns dress >>

user5 lewis is completing his side quests rn

judebellingham our girl walked a runway 🥹

vinjir shes all grown up

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

yns insta story

liked by gigihadid, judebellingham, k.mbappe, and 563,493 more

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ynbeckham GUESS WHO HAS A DATE

judebellingham it was about time

user1 whoever it is wife her up

carlossainz55 if i’m the date does that mean we get to go to a madrid game

ynbeckham @/carlossainz55 wow using me for clout much

maxverstappen @/ynbeckham @/carlossainz55 couldn’t be me

user2 MAX 😭

user3 max is putting in the WORK

user5 wait a minute does this mean her date is not max?

user7 wdym?

user5 he didn’t like the post and sure he commented but certainly he wouldn’t still be trying to put moves on her is they were already going out…

user6 @/user5 you better be lying 😭

user10 NO please I need maxyn

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, oscarpiastri, and 1,539,094 more

maxverstappen1 a much needed vacation before vegas

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user1 max blink twice if you need help 😰

user2 i’m really starting to lose hope in maxyn

user3 why was he at versace then?

user4 i dunno having the seven time world champ and the two current champ contenders there is good for business maybe?

user5 yn is still going to vegas tho

user6 she could just be going there for her mom and geri

user7 guys..

user10 no please they were just flirting in comments like two days ago

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by redbullracing, brookylnpeltzbeckham, gerihalliwell, and 1,745,952 more

ynbeckham it’s race weekend! how are we feeling?

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manchesterunited feeling like you abandoned us :/

user10 i can’t believe she’s missing united vs city for this 😔

ynbeckham i have to support my man this comment has been deleted

user1 yn we need a vegas vlog 😩

user2 spice girls reunion go crazy in the chat

gigihadid i’ll see you again soon <3

ynbeckham <3

judebellingham wish i could be there

ynbeckham call me when your season is over

user3 judeyn…

user7 guys what if she’s dating jude

judebellingham @/user7 i can confidently say she’s not

user7 @/judebellingham but what if that’s a cover up 🫣

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by redbullracing, ynbeckham, charles_leclerc, and 3,493,595 more

f1 for the second time in a row max vestappen has won the vegas grand prix

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ynbeckham @/maxverstappen1 i’m so proud of you. love you so much ❤️

♡ by maxverstappen1

user3 MAXYN IS REAL

user7 i just dropped my phone

user10 i fell to the ground

user4 this is what we’ve been waiting for

user7 congratulations max 🫶

ynbeckham DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

max’s insta story

liked by ynbeckham, charles_leclerc, judebellingham, and 1,843,950 more

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francisca.cgomes you two are so cute together 🥹

user1 stop it they’re so adorable

user2 david is being awfully calm right now lol

alexandrasaintmleux we should double date

ynbeckham we’re so there!

ynbeckham love you so much

maxverstappen1 i love you more

liked by bellahadid, haileybieber, victoriabecham, and 2,953,290 more

voguemagazine yn beckham to be on the cover of british vogue

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bellahadid congrats on your first cover i’m so proud 🥹

ynbeckham thank you bella 🫶

user1 she is SO beautiful

rhode come model for us 😍

ynbeckham just say when

user2 your favorite nepo baby’s favorite nepo baby

maxverstappen1 buying every printed issue right now ❤️

ynbeckham stop im blushing 🤭

#𝒍𝒊𝒗'𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 ౨ৎ #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x yn #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen smau #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n

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starcrossed-lov3rz · 11 months ago

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The Vow Spoken Through Time - Masterlist

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut, dirty talk, oral (both receiving), praise, slight degradation, slight d/s vibes, Brat!Reader, Jealous!Rhaenyra, Jealous!Daemon, canon-typical violence

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra, AU:No Dance of Dragons, playful dynamic, Modern!Reader in HOTD!World

Status: Ongoing

Description:

Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?! Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them. AKA: You fall through worlds and wake up in our favorite blondes’ bed. SHAMELESS “reader falls into HOTD world from our world” trope (I’m sorry, I CANNOT help myself, I’m a sucker for them). There’s not really a plot plot, but if you stay long enough we might run into one.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13…coming soon

Want to be added to a taglist? Click HERE!

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd #hotd season 2 #hotd smut #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targeryen x reader #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon x rhaenyra x reader #daemon x y/n #rhaenyra x y/n #daemon x you #rhaenyra x you #daemon smut #rhaenyra smut

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inseobts · 3 months ago

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In the Shadow

Trafalgar Law x Strawhat!Reader + Eustass Kidd x Strawhat!Reader (not really but could be implied)

Reader power explained: Chaos Magic (like Scarlet Witch from Avengers), aka telekinesis, telepathy, and energy manipulation.

Tags: wano arc spoilers, love triangle, blood, fluff

Masterlist // ko-fi

The battlefield in Wano was chaos, flames and smoke rising into the blood-red sky. The rumble of Kaido’s forces clashing with the samurai and pirates was deafening, but you stood your ground on a jagged cliff overlooking the chaos.

Beside you, Trafalgar Law stood stoically, though his exhaustion was evident. His breathing was shallow, and blood dripped from a cut, but he refused to lean on anyone for support.

“Don’t move!” you snap, crouching beside him where he leaned. His hand pressed to the wound, blood pooling through his fingers. He looks at you with his silver eyes, sharp even through his pain.

“I’m not your responsibility, Y/N-ya” he muttered.

“Shut up.” Your words come out harsher than intended, but you don’t care. “I can’t just leave you to bleed out!”

He smirks faintly. “You’re a Strawhat. You should be chasing your captain, not wasting your time on me.”

“You’re an ally now.” Your voice wavered, betraying more emotion than you wanted. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe.”

Law looks away, the tension in his jaw softening for just a moment. It isn’t like him to let anyone fuss over him, but something in the way you hovered told him it was useless to argue.

You worked quickly, tearing a strip of fabric from your shirt to bind the wound. “You know,” you say, trying to fill the silence, “for a brilliant tactician, you’ve got a real knack for getting yourself nearly killed.”

“Funny” Law says after a small chuckle.

After a few seconds of silence, an all-too-familiar voice cut through the tense air.

“Oi, Strawhat girl! Didn’t think you’d be babysitting him of all people.”

You turn, meeting Eustass Kidd’s cocky grin as he walks toward you. Despite the chaos of the battlefield, he looks annoyingly composed.

“Kidd,” you say, voice laced with exasperation. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” Kidd replies, stopping a few feet away and crossing his arms. “Just wondering why you’re babysitting him when you could be out there kicking more ass.” He nods toward Law with a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to play nursemaid. Guess the surgeon isn’t as invincible as he thinks.”

“Say that again, and I’ll carve you into pieces” Law growls, though his voice lacked its usual menace.

Kidd laughs, crouching beside you with an infuriatingly amused expression. “Relax, doc. She’s got it covered. Right, Y/N?”

You sigh. Kidd’s presence is a double-edged sword—helpful, sure, but he never knows when to stop pushing buttons.

“We don’t have time for this” you mutter, tying off the bandage around Law’s wound.

“Hey, I could carry him if you want” Kidd offers, his grin widening when Law shot him a murderous glare.

“As if I’d let you.”

“Oh? Afraid I’d drop you on purpose?” Kidd teases, standing back up and stretching. “You should be thanking me for offering to help your girlfriend.”

Your face burning, “He’s not…”

“She’s not…” Law cut in at the same time.

Kidd’s laughter echoes, “You two are pathetic.”

But before you could fire back, a distant explosion shook the ground beneath your feet. You all turn toward the palace in the distance, where Luffy and the others are undoubtedly making their stand.

You stood, determination hardening your features. “We need to move.”

You are now at Law’s side, wrapping an arm around him to steady him. He stiffened but didn’t pull away, too proud to admit he needs the support at least until his wound would heal a bit.

Kidd raises an eyebrow, clearly biting back another remark. But this time, he says nothing, merely watching as you help Law.

Later, after the fighting died down, the allied forces regrouped at the ruins of the performance floor. The surviving fighters gathering to tend their wounds and plan the next move.

“You didn’t have to save me back there” Law says quietly, breaking the silence.

“Don’t be stupid” you reply, staring out at the sea. “Of course I did.”

He stays silent for a long moment. Then, almost too softly to hear: “You’re too kind for your own good.”

You turn to him, frowning. “And you’re too stubborn to admit you care about anyone.”

For once, he doesn’t argue.

From a distance, you hear Kidd’s voice as his crew prepare their ship for the next adventure.

“Hey, Strawhat girl!” he calls. “Try not to get yourself killed before I see you again.”

You roll your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Why tomorrow don’t you try saying goodbye without the insults” you shot back.

Kidd grins, a glint of something unspoken in his eyes, before turning away.

You feel Law’s gaze on you.

“You really attract the strangest people” he murmures.

You laugh softly, leaning back against the railing. “Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

Law doesn’t respond, but the faintest smile plays at the corners of his lips.

For now, it is enough.

Everyone is now enjoying the celebration, the air filled with laughter, food, and the occasional argument over meat.

You sit cross-legged a bit farther from your friends, jocking with your powers. Threads of energy between your fingers, forming intricate shapes that shimmered.

“Hey, Y/N!” Luffy bouces over, eyes wide with excitement. “Make something big this time! Like… a dragon like Momo!”

You smirk, twisting your fingers in sharp, deliberate motions. A glowing construct of Momonosuke’s dragon form coiled into existence above your hands, its fiery eyes flicking toward Luffy.

“Whoa! So cool!” Luffy reaches out to touch it, but the dragon snaps at his hand, dissolving just before contact.

“Careful,” you tease “It bites.”

Luffy laughs, unfazed, and then goes off to wrestle more food.

From across, you hear Kidd’s voice booming over the din.

“Still playing with your little magic tricks, Y/N?” he says with a grin plastered across his face.

You roll your eyes, “Jealous I can make things without smashing half the town?”

The crews burst into laughter as Kidd scowles, though a small smirk tugged at his lips.

Zoro observes the scene while drinking, “She might make you disappear next.”

“Like I’d let her” Kidd shoots back, crossing his arms.

“Should I prove it?” you say, standing and letting threads of energy crackle around your hands.

Before things could escalate, Law’s voice cut through the noise.

“Enough” His tone is calm but firm, the kind of voice that demanded attention.

You turn to see him standing with his arms crossed with his usual stoic expression. But there is something different in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip.

His gaze locks on you as he says “Don’t waste your power on pointless shows.”

Everyone stops drinking and laughing and went quiet, turning to watch the exchange. You feel a flicker of irritation rise in your chest, you drank a bit too much for this.

“It’s not pointless, I’m just having fun.”

“Fun gets people killed” Law replies evenly.

“You’re so dramatic” you say as your temper flared, and before you could stop yourself, you raise a hand. A surge of energy lashes out, wrapping around Law’s hat and yanking it from his head.

The entire crowd froze again.

Law’s expression darkens, and you could see the faintest twitch in his jaw.

“You’ve got three seconds to give that back” he says, his voice dangerously low.

You twirl the hat in your hand, smirking: “Make me.”

Gasps erupt from the crews. No one ever challenged Trafalgar Law like that—at least, not without regretting it.

But instead of retaliating, Law surprises everyone. He steps closer, closing the distance between you, until he was inches away. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, in a move so swift you almost didn’t see it, he snatches the hat from your hand and place it back on his head.

“You’re impossible” he says, turning to walk away.

“Aw, is that your way of saying you like me?” you tease, your grin widening.

Law stops in his tracks, his back to you. The crews erupted into laughter and cheers, but you barely hear them over the pounding of your own heart.

When Law finally turns, his face was unreadable, but there is a faint flush on his cheeks.

“Maybe” he says quietly, so only you can hear. Then, louder: “But if you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The crew’s laughter grew louder, and you can’t help but laugh too, the tension between you and Law dissipating in an instant.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you on your toes, then” you say, your voice light.

Law shake his head, but there is a small smile on his lips as he walks away, the crews still hollering behind him.

And from the other side, Kidd watched the exchange with a scowl.

“Idiots” he mutter, but there was no mistaking the jealousy in his eyes.

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nerdy-novelist017 · 10 months ago

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Paige's Masterlist For The Bikeriders

Requests Are Open For Benny x Bunny Or If You Just Wanna Chat, I'd Love To Hear From You :)

Benny x Bunny 🐰

aka: shy!reader who has Benny Cross positively wrapped around your finger from the very first time you stood before him with a bowl of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

* means it has NSFW content!

Part 1 Little Bunny

Part 2 The Ride

Part 3 A Date

Part 4 Rooftop Conversations

Part 5 Ponytails and Promises

Part 6 Apologies

Part 7 Perfect

Part 8 Soaked

One Shots*

SFW Alphabet

NSFW Alphabet*

Life Raft*

Broken Glass

Sweet Talking*

Bruised Ego

Love, Lids, & Lessons

Baby Fever

T-Shirts

Denim*

Tease*

(I sadly can’t add anymore of you wonderful readers to my tag list but you can turn on post notifications for updates about Benny and Bunny!)

#the bikeriders #benny cross x reader #benny cross #benny x bunny #austin butler #austin butler x reader #benny x reader #austin bulter x you #imagine #motorcycle #fluff #tom hardy #jodie comer

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pencil-n-pen · 2 months ago

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EYE TO EYE, THIGH TO THIGH

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

──────────────────────

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue! reader

previous part | masterlist | kofi

this is a sequel but it can be read as a standalone!!

summary: you’ve done it. you’re actually dating the Rafe Cameron. He’s everything you didn’t think he’d be. So maybe you’re a tiny, little bit in love with him.

cw: honestly not much considering this is a rafe fic, relationship insecurity, references to past bad relationships i guess? rafe is rafe and reader is reader :P

tags/tropes: Rafe spoiling reader bc i feel like we didn’t get enough in the last fic, relationship insecurity, fluff, reader is secretly shy and has so much anxiety she just hides it by being a bitch (me too girl) reader feeling safe enough with Rafe to be soft, squishy, shy, and girly-girl <3

a/n: okay so yall at that last fic up i am surprised i will admit. also guys pls appreciate the fact that the color scheme for the first fic was blue and now it’s pink. also fairy warning, the tone of this fic is way different than the first one, we’re highlighting reader’s insecurities so she’s not as maneater-black cat. Rafe is showing her she doesn’t have to be all of that with him :) He loves spoiling his girl <3

title taken from Little Bit by Lykke Li —the original, not the remix— aka the sequel’s anthem. i highly suggest giving it a listen (especially while reading !!)

──────────────────────

݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Despite projecting confidence and arrogance, you don’t actually know that much about relationships. It’s easy to act like you know better when you know better, and for the most part, you do.

After that fake relationship fiasco, you had to be painfully honest with yourself about what you would and wouldn’t tolerate in a future relationship, if you ever were to get in one.

And now you are in one with the least likely person you ever thought you’d start dating, and well. You kind of feel like you’re bracing for pain that —hopefully— won’t come.

You’ve upheld a strong belief that all relationships are terrible to some extent. The bickering, the clinginess, the cheating. Lack of chemistry. Lack of physical attraction.

None of these things are present in your relationship with Rafe. Except the bickering, but it’s not real fighting. Rafe just enjoys riling you up so he can kiss you senseless after. It’s a hobby of his.

Your first and only real argument thus far was about your house.

“My dad is a real estate developer,” He’d said, jaw tight. “And your house is the size of a fuckin’ postage stamp. Just let me fix it.”

“Rafe, that kind of renovation and repair costs thousands of dollars. Not hundreds, thousands. I can’t be indebted to your family like that.”

Rafe had just groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, baby, you need to get this through that thick fucking skull of yours, but we’re rich. Filthy. Fucking. Rich.”

He’s enunciated the last three words, practically spitting them.

“And you’re my girl. I am your boyfriend. I’m your provider. I take care of you. That’s my job. Can you let me do my job? Can you afford the repairs? Look at me in my eyes and tell me your job at that cafe is going to pay for the renovations.”

“…”

“That’s what I thought. Look, it’s a win for everybody. You get your house repaired for free, and my dad gets to boost his public image. He’s always stressing about that.”

It was hard to complain about things while you were staying in their mansion during the repairs —which, shockingly, didn’t take long. You suppose your house is pretty small and the damage wasn’t that bad.

Your stomach churns with guilt every time you think about all the money that it cost to have the work done. Money you didn’t pay.

It keeps you up at night, a constant, disgraceful, litany.

Money money money money money money money money money money money money money—

So you finally decide to approach Rafe about it.

He’s seated at his desk, headphones on, playing some game with Topper and Kelce.

You peer over his shoulder, trying to figure out if this is a game he can pause or not.

You should wait then, he’s busy, and like, he’s going to think it’s stupid. Actually, maybe you shouldn’t ask him at all—

“I can hear you lingering back there. Do you need something, baby?”

“You can’t hear me,” You grumble, stepping forward so you’re lingering next to him, instead of behind. “I don’t need anything. Just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Ooooooooo!” Topper and Kelce both coo, their voices tinny and barely audible through Rafe’s headphones.

“Shut up, both of you,” You say, leaning down to rhe microphone on the side of Rafe’s headphones, “Neither of you have girlfriends.”

“Yeah,” Rafe chuckles, “The bitchless don’t get to say anything.”

“Rafe, don’t call girls bitches.”

“But you call girls bitches.”

“That’s because I am a girl. And a bitch.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re not supposed to understand it.”

He shakes his head then pushes his headphones partway off his head. “What’d you need to talk about? Something important?”

You shake your head. “It can wait.”

He frowns, muttering out a quick “bye assholes,” To Topper and Kelce before clicking out of his game and taking his headphones off.

He spins in his chair, facing you. “How’s it work that you call me a dickhead without shame but can’t tell me when something’s wrong?”

You shrug. “Cause sometimes you’re being a dickhead.”

“And the other part?”

A slight, embarrassed flush begins to creep up your neck. “I don’t know.”

“Mmm,” He hums, clearly dissatisfied. “What did you want to talk about?”

You steel yourself.

“I don’t want you spending so much money on me anymore.”

“Absolutely not.”

His words are firm and resolute, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

It’s a good thing you were graced with the ability to make room for an argument. Runs in your family.

“Rafe,” You start, crossing your arms- to which he immediately rolls his eyes with a groan, “I’m serious. You gotta stop. It’s too much.”

“It’s not.”

“It is! It keeps me up at night, worrying about all the money I owe you—“

He drags a hand down his face. “I’m going to stop you right there, because you’re being stupid again. You don’t owe me anything. Why do I spend money on you, baby?”

“Because… you have poor spending habits?”

He rolls his eyes again, reaching forward to grab your hands in his, tugging you forward. “I spend money on you because I like to.”

“I don’t know why.”

“You’re not supposed to understand it,” He says, parroting your earlier words back at you. “Seriously. There’s no way in hell I’m going to stop spending money on you.”

You sigh, and he squeezes your hands consoling.

“I know, I know. Must be so hard having an unlimited budget and a hot boyfriend.”

“Shut up.”

He pulls you down for a kiss, something gentler than usual. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Despite what he said, your guilt prevails. Then, it sticks its greedy little fingers into your brain and takes root, and suddenly you’re thinking about all the other ways Rafe spoils you. And surely it can’t last, right?

It’s a little twinge when he picks you up from work. (it’s not that far from his house, but multiple trips is a lot of gas, and gas isn’t cheap and that’s more money—)

It’s a prickle on the back of your neck when he insists you borrow his clothes or use his shower. (Luxuries, because his clothes are so much better made than your own and imagine the water bill with another person using the shower—)

And sometimes —it sounds stupid but you can’t help it— he’s just too hot. You just look at him- at the set of his jaw and the curve of his cheekbones and the rippling muscle of his bicep and how he fucking smells, and you just can’t seriously believe that he’s yours. (He always says he’s your boyfriend with such emphasis on the word yours. Like he belongs to you, not the other way around.)

You hate it, because really, you need to enjoy what you have, because it’s what practically every girl dreams of having, but the fear, the guilt— it’s invasive. A little parasite that eats away at your confidence. Makes you feel just a little sick, all the time.

“Alright,” Rafe says one day, pulling you aside into the travel section of Barnes and Nobles —the most secluded, because who even uses the travel section anymore?— and leveling you with a look. “You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wro—“

“Don’t give me that shit,” His voice lowers, “We’ve been in here for nearly thirty minutes, and you haven’t picked out one book. You haven’t even looked at one. For you, that’s like the apocalypse. What’s wrong?”

You freeze, panicked. “I think we should break up.”

“No.”

“Wha— You can’t just say no.”

The muscle in his jaw jumps. “Yes I can, because that isn’t the issue.”

“Yes it is, this isn’t working out—“

“Yes it is.”

“Are you just going to refute everything I say?” You hiss.

“I am because you’re lying, right to my face.”

He leans down so you’re face to face. “I’m gonna ask one last time. What’s. Wrong.”

“I don’t know!” You explode, whisper shouting. “I don’t know, Rafe. I don’t know if something’s wrong with me, or if we’re not compatible or what. I just…”

You sigh, slumping. “I feel so guilty, all the time. For all the money you spend on me, and all the stuff you do for me. I feel like a bad girlfriend, and I feel like you don’t think I can take care of myself.”

He leans back against a bookshelf. “So when I spoil you, the thing that’s my job as a boyfriend, you feel guilty?”

“Yes.”

“And you think I’m doing this because I don’t think you can take care of yourself?”

“Yes? I don’t know.”

He gazes at you for a beat, eyes flicking over your form.

“If you would just tell me the name of that guy—“

“No. You would actually kill him.”

“He’d deserve it.”

“Not the point here, Ray.”

“Kind of is,” He mumbles, turning his head.

You’re both silent for a few moments, and you’re sure you’ve gone and ruined things when he speaks again.

“Tell me what you need.”

Your shoulders hike up to your ears. “I don’t know what—“

“Yes you do,” His eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you. “Tell me what you need. Use your words.”

Your skin feels hot and flushed.

“You’re not going to like it.”

He sighs. “You get all up in your fuckin’ head about stuff and you never stop to ask if I even care.”

“You—“

“I’m obsessed with you. I will always give you whatever you want, every time you ask, whenever you ask. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“No. I want to hear you say it.”

“I understand.”

“You understand what?”

“That you’re obsessed with me, and you’ll always give me whatever I want, every time I ask, whenever I ask.”

He hums, satisfied. “Good girl. Now tell me what you need.”

“Reassurance,” You breathe, a rush of words and air. “It’s stupid, because—“

“Don’t start with your independent woman bullshit.”

You frown, but continue. “I just don’t want to be overbearing.”

He snorts. “I don’t think you could be overbearing if you tried. You hardly ask for anything. Crank it up, baby.”

You groan, stepping forward into his awaiting arms and smashing your face into his chest. “But that’s exhausting.”

He wraps his arms around you, slowly rocking you side to side. “And doing everything yourself isn’t?”

“Different kind of exhausting.”

“Mm. I see.”

You pull away, peering up at him through your lashes. “Are you really obsessed with me?”

His lips twitch. “Is that all you got from that conversation?”

“It was the only important part.”

He leans down and plants a kiss on your nose. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who hasnt noticed.”

He tugs on your hand, leading you back through the store and letting you wander through your favorite sections, this time stopping to actually look at things. Every time you step away without handing it to him he pushes you back, giving you a stern look.

“I don’t want to get the whole store, Rafe.”

“You could.”

“You’re not helping.”

With effort, you manage to thin the stack to the ones you actually want, not just everything you’re interested in. Rafe gives a huff but allows you to put some of the books back, but only under the promise that you’re not doing it because “you’re being stupid again.”

When you get back to the car, small stack of books in your lap, you decide to give the whole ‘asking for things’ a go.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Are you upset with me?”

The rumble of the engine starting reverberates through the car. “No.”

“Are you annoyed with me?”

“Hold onto your books, I’m turning. No.”

“Are you planning on being upset with me anytime soon?”

He squints at you. “Is this going to take long?”

“Depends on your answer.”

“No.”

“No to what?”

“Your dumbass question.”

“It’s not a dumbass question.”

“Yes it is. Who the fuck plans to be upset with someone?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

—

“Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

You’re sitting on his bed, legs crossed with his head pillowed on your thigh, arms wrapped around your waist. It’s a warm evening- his bedroom window is cracked open and the salty breeze wafts through the room, pleasantly cool air coming with it. You’re wearing a matching set of silk pajamas— they were expensive as hell and probably one of the only things you don’t feel bad about Rafe buying for you, just because they’re so damn comfortable.

His eyes are closed in contentedness as you slide your hands down his neck and over his shoulders. He’s forgone a shirt tonight, and if you look closely, you can see goosebumps left in the wake of your slow, deft hands.

“Before we started dating- that time in the car. You said you like me because I’m mouthy and stubborn. But I’m not really that mouthy and stubborn now. Do you like me less?”

He squeezes you tight. “Doesn’t your brain have an off switch?”

“No.”

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, his throat vibrating against your legs as he does it.

“Okay, first of all, you’re still mouthy and stubborn as hell, just in a different way. And no. I don’t like you less. If anything, I like you more.”

You worry your lip between your teeth. “How come? I thought most of my appeal came from the challenge.”

“That’s bullshit, baby. I like that you’re mouthy and stubborn. I also like that you’re soft and squishy too.”

His hand drifts lower, kneading flesh as it goes. “Really like that you’re squishy.”

“Mm. I think I’m a little too squishy.”

He presses his face closer to your tummy. “Are we talking physically or metaphorically here? You’re losing me.”

“Mm. Bit of both.”

His nose presses into the plush flesh. “No.”

“Just no?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He squeezes you once, then relaxes again. “Please go back to rubbing me, baby. Your hands feel so fucking nice.”

“Where do you want rubbed?”

“Anywhere. Jus’ wanna feel you.”

He falls asleep before the sun sets fully, breaths tickling your stomach and arms still firm around your waist.

The guilt starts to whither.

—

You’re going to do it. You’re going to ask him for something before he can offer. You’re gonna do it. It’s not hard. You can do it.

You slide into the passenger side door, leaning over to give him his customary kiss.

“How was work?”

“Can we please stop at that coffee place I like on our way?”

He blinks, taken back by your request for a moment. He recovers quickly, a smile tugging at his lips as he gives you another kiss, this one a little more heated than yours.

“Of course we can. You want that drink you like? The one with the cold foam?”

You nod, trying to discreetly rub the sweat from your palms onto your pants.

“Aww, look at you,” He coos, “So worked up over a little coffee. You spent your whole shift worryin’ about this, didn’t you?”

“Not the whole shift.” You mumble, embarrassed.

“It’s just a little coffee,” He teases, “No need to start worrying.”

“Too late.”

“Then we better go get that coffee, huh?”

He stretches his arm across the console, hand finding the meat of your thigh and just resting on it. It feels almost like a reward.

—

He catches on quick that you are, actually, trying to ask for things. Even though your skin prickles a little bit everytime, because you can do these things yourself, of course, but Rafe always gets this pinched look on his face when you insist on doing something yourself.

Rafe says that you’re the weird one in this scenario, not him. That most girls jump at the chance to sit back and let their boyfriend’s do all the work. But that just doesn’t sit right with you. It feels… unequal. If he does everything, if he takes care of you, then what are you bringing go the relationship?

“Your hot ass, for one.”

You swat his arm, sitting on towels on the beach in front of his house.

“I’m serious Rafe!”

“When are you not?”

You swat at him again, but he just chuckles, pushing up so he’s leaning back on his elbows. “Any chance you’d be satisfied with the ass answer?”

You give him a look.

He sighs. “Figured not. Okay,”

He rolls over, lying on his stomach and staring up at you. You cross your legs, absentmindedly taking his face in your hands.

He tips his head into your palms. “Permission to get mushy?”

“Permission granted.”

His eyes, nearly the same shade as the ocean behind him flit over your face before he speaks. “Well for one, you don’t take my shit. Pretty sure my family likes that about you.”

“As if you actually listen.”

“Don’t interrupt, I’m being mushy for you. You take care of me too. It’s cute as shit. You don’t even realize when you’re doing it. You’re doing it right now.”

You frown. “I am?”

“Mhm,” He taps your hands on either side of his face, “Just like this. So stop worrying about it.”

“But like, this doesn’t require any effort and I like doing it, and—“

He raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, you maybe have a point,” You concede, brushing a thumb over the crest of his cheekbone. “But it still doesn’t feel equal. I’m not doing anything, really.”

“You are. Don’t sell yourself short, angel,” He presses a kiss to your palm, then turns back to you, hand sliding over yours. “I promise you. It’s fair.”

“You promise?”

“Mhm.”

“You have to say you promise.”

He leans up and captures your lips in his, slow and soft and warm. The kind of thing that makes your stomach flip and your insides melt.

He pulls back, lips brushing yours as he speaks.

“I promise.”

—

Slowly, slowly, you allow yourself to enjoy things. Enjoy your insanely hot boyfriend, enjoy not having to worry about money- for anything, big or small.

Sometimes you buy something small just for the thrill of it. Sometimes it makes you guilty afterwards, sometimes it doesn’t.

“Rafe?”

“Yeah baby?”

“There’s a sale at Victoria’s Secret—“

“Get in the car.”

Some things he’s definitely more enthusiastic about than others, but, for reasons you don’t understand, he really does just enjoy spending money on you. “Doing his boyfriend duties,” as he’d put it.

A small part of you is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the longer it doesn’t, the more you settle into the comfort and, dare you say it, love that he wraps you in.

“Ray?”

“Hmm?”

You’re at a bonfire at the Boneyard, a scaled down version of the usual event that the bonfires end up being. Not a big turnout tonight— probably because of the cold snap threatening to turn summer into fall.

Rafe comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and dipping his chin into your shoulder, lips warm and soft where the meet the skin of your neck.

“You need something, sweetheart?”

You hum for minute, thinking. Sometimes you just want him near. You’ve come to learn you’re actually a very tactile girlfriend— when your boyfriend actually makes you feel loved and cared for.

“Can we go home soon?”

“Of course baby.”

“We should stop and get some food. M’ a little hungry.”

“Yeah? We can stop wherever.”

“And I was thinking,” You pause, the teeniest curl of apprehension poking your chest, “Maybe we could go out tomorrow? Go to a couple shops?”

He mouths the side of your neck, breath warm. “I think that’s a great idea. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Cause I get to show off my girl. My beautiful,” He sucks at the skin of your neck, a shudder running through you, “beautiful girlfriend.”

“Mm, what about me? Don’t I get to show off my handsome, sexy boyfriend?”

He grins against your skin. “Anytime you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

You aren’t either.

݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

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noxiwrites · 5 months ago

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Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class.You're not too bothered by him, he's just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It's every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

2.9k

Add yourself to my tag list | Masterlist

I II III IV V

You’re going out. You’re not quite sure how you’ve let Molly drag you out, convincing you that you just need to drink a bit and clear up some head space from what’s been happening recently. Once you told her what had happened, and how you’d stopped again, she’d be adamant that you just needed to see what ‘competition’ was out there- aka, all the ‘ugly boys in town have nothing on Rafe’ and then you’d be okay shagging him.

“Do I look okay?” You ask her, standing in front of the mirror as she applies the final bit of her lipstick. Molly scoffs, rolling her eyes at you.

“Are you kidding? It’s any girls wet dream to look like you, yes you look okay.”

She finishes her lipstick and you take a step back, looking at your outfit one final time before you’re being dragged out of your apartment and to Ryan’s car outside. He doesn’t drink, you’ve discovered, so he’ll happily drop you and Molly off and pick you up once you’re finished. You both clamber into the back seat, adjusting your skirt once you’re sat and listening to Molly talk her boyfriends ear off.

It’s not long before he pulls up at the side of the road, wishing you both a fun time as Molly is practically dragging you out of the car and into the bar right next to it. It’s Friday night, loud, lots of people pushing around and you eye the crowd.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You yell over the music, as Molly looks over at you, gaze hardened. She’s still got her hand wrapped around your arm as she drags you up to the bar, waiting to be served.

You have a look around. There’s plenty of guys here who aren’t that bad looking, yet you’re just not interested. Molly hands you a glass of something that you don’t bother to question as she leads to over to a table in a far corner, a bit further away from the crowds. You take a seat, face crinkling when you take a sip of your drink and it’s straight vodka.

Molly giggles at you spluttering, taking a sip of her own drink. “So, you need to tell me more about Rafe. You can’t just tell me you’ve kissed him and think I’m okay not knowing more,” she leans forward on the palm of her hand.

“It literally was just a kiss, Mol. He touched me a little but I froze up before he could do anything else,” she nods, staring at you like she’s expecting more.

“Go on,” she says, and you’re not quite sure what else she wants from you, so you say the only thing that comes to mind.

“When I told him to stop, he turned 60 degrees on me, like he thought I regretted it or something,”

Molly takes another sip of her drink. “Doll, that man is totally obsessed with you! Of course he’s gonna be upset when you tell him to stop something he thought you were both enjoying.”

You were enjoying it, you think- the way you reacted to him would tell you exactly that. You can’t, though, get it out of your head that he’s your teacher.

“I don’t know Mol, it just seems weird because he’s our teacher,” she raises an eyebrow at you.

“Teaching assistant. Maybe that’s what’s stopping you, the thought of shagging a teaching assistant even though he’s hot,” the crowd gets especially loud after her statement and you look up, half expecting everyone in the bar to be listening in and judging you- but they’re just watching some sport on the tv.

You sigh, swirling your straw in your drink as you think about it. If that’s the bit that’s holding you back, then how do you get around it? Molly reaches over the table, grabbing your hand.

“Girl, don’t worry. Tonight I’m gonna convince you that it’s okay to shag him, hand on heart,” she smirks at you, raising her glass and clinking it against your own. The notion brings a smile to your face.

So far, Molly has had a great time convincing you that all the other guys in town aren’t worth your time- and so far, it’s working. You’ve had three guys try their luck and each time, you’ve turned them down.

You’re sat in the fifth bar of the night, feeling a little tipsy from whatever Molly has been passing you to drink, and you’re actually enjoying yourself. You're thinking more and more about Rafe- about how he looks, how he smells, how he acts.

It’s confusing you, you’ll admit- you’re not sure what exactly it is about him that makes you so nervous. You’re not grabbing for his attention like everyone else in class- yet you find yourself slowly wishing to see him more and more. You’re not quite sure what to make of those feelings, or how to even put them into words for Molly to give you advice.

Five minutes later, Molly comes back from the bathroom, phone in hand. “I’m so sorry babe, I’ve got to go- Ryan’s had a bit of an emergency.” You nod your head, downing your drink with her before hugging her goodbye. She turns to leave, before turning back to you.

“Are you gonna get home okay?” She asks, and you swallow, standing on shaky legs. You’re a little more drunk than you thought.

“Yeah- I- I should be fine,” you muster out, smiling at your friend. She raises an eyebrow, contemplating, before giving you a kiss on the cheek and rushing out the bar.

You decide to wait a few minutes before exiting yourself, pushing the bar door and being blasted by the cold night air. It makes you regret wearing so little, as you pull your phone out of your bag and opening Uber.

Molly is already long gone, the sidewalk littered with other drunk people. It’s currently seven o’clock, already dark- and people are drunk. You scoff, realising you’re just as bad as everyone else.

You stand, looking at the prices to go to your home when an idea pops into your head. Campus is still open, and most of the teachers stay late on Friday so they don’t have to work weekends.

You could, in theory, go see Rafe. While you’re not level headed- while you’re not thinking straight, because you’ll be able to speak easier and maybe even move a little further with him.

Maybe. Maybe doesn’t stop drunk you from selecting your building on campus, and climbing inside the Uber when he pulls up in front of you. You hiccup as the Uber pulls away, and he looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“Fun night love?” He asks and you smile.

“Yeah, not been bad,”

He clears his throat, turning onto the Main Street that leads to campus. “And you’re headed to the university now? Why’s that?”

You smile again, looking down at your nails. “I’m going to see my boyfriend, he’s working late,”

The words fall from your lips and you don’t even mind them, drunken stupor fueling you along. The driver nods as he pulls into the campus, navigating the windy roads before you see your building and he pulls into the car park. You thank him as he stops and he wishes you a goodnight as you shut the door and watch him drive away.

You breath out, wrapping your flimsy little cardigan around you as you turn to face the building. You’ve no time for normal thoughts as you see Rafe’s classroom light is on and you grin, slightly stumbling as you walk towards the front doors of the building.

The hallways are quiet, apart from the clicking of your heels as you make your way towards the door of your class. You’re thinking about all the possibilities, all the outcomes of what might happen. You know you’re tipsy, but you’d remember every second of tonight.

You hiccup, giggling as you think about Rafe’s biceps, hand hovering above the handle of the door, when you finally look through the little window on the door.

And your heart stops. You think this is the fastest you’ve sobered up, blinking your eyes a few times to make sure you’re seeing what you’re seeing. It’s not a mirage. No smoke screens.

Rafe’s sat in his chair, legs spread, chin resting on the palm of his hand as Kendra sits cross legged on his desk, holding something out of your view. You can see her twirling her hair around her finger, and Rafe laughs at something she says. You can’t swallow. You breathe out, shallow and ragged, the all too familiar feeling of bile rising in your throat.

Why does this bother you so much? Why do you want to cry, want to scream, want to rip her head off her shoulders? You’re not sure.

You’re frozen on the spot, watching as she pushes his shoulder back and he swings around in his chair, smile on his face. You’re locked onto the two of them, unable to shift your eyes- until you see the smile drop from Rafe’s face, his eyes gazing directly back into your own. Kendra turns, looking at what Rafe is looking at, and when she sees you, she smirks.

Like she’s proud.

“I won, bitch,” she mouths, and you finally unfreeze. A tear slips down your cheek and you’re mad you’re crying over a guy you’ve kissed once. Once. And he started it. That, somehow, makes it worse. You turn, setting a quick pace back down the hall. You hear the door open behind you, barely, but nothing else when your ears are ringing this loud.

Why is it bothering you that much? Why?

You swing the front doors of the building open, out into the cold, which has started a spout of pelting rain, really adding to the way you feel. Your ears are blaring at you as you walk down the sidewalk, pulling your phone out of your bag and tapping the screen, ordering an Uber to pick you up at the end of the block.

A hand reaches for you, grasping your arm and spinning you. It’s Rafe, to your displeasure, saying something to you. His mouth is moving, but you’re not hearing him.

“Will you just stop? It’s not what it looks like,” you make out and you scoff, ripping your arm from his grasp. You shrug, ignoring the way you want to cry, trying to act indifferent. You should have known better.

The ringing subsides as you continue to walk down the sidewalk, hearing Rafe’s footsteps behind you, his voice sounding like background noise. You turn.

“I’m not bothered about what you’re got to say, to be honest. You can go,” you say, turning around again. You can see your Uber from where you are and you speed up a little, hoping to make it to the car before you’re completely soaked.

“Look- let me explain, please,” he all but begs, and you’re sure you can hear the desperation in his tone. You don’t give him the pleasure of seeing your face crumple, wanting to give in.

“I don’t care Rafe. It’s not like we’re together, you can see who you want.” You reach your Uber and feel his fingers slide against your arm, leaving a tingle- but you’re too quick, opening the door and sliding inside the backseat, telling the driver you’re ready to go.

When you’re pulling away, you look over your shoulder out of the window to see him still stood in the rain, watching the car pull away.

You can’t believe you could have been so stupid. How could you have not seen? It should have been so obvious to you, so fucking obvious- but you were gullible, stupid. You let yourself believe tonight that he wanted you, and for the first time, you knew you wanted him too.

The Uber pulls up outside your estate and you thank the driver, using your card to get into the side gate as you walk around to your flat. With shaky hands, you open the door and are greeted by whiskers, who meows at you from the hallway table. You smile down at him, scratching between his ears.

“You’re the only guy who won’t let me down, huh?” He blinks up at you slowly as you sigh, giving him a final scratch before dropping your keys into the bowl and taking your heels off, padding down the hall.

Whiskers follows as you head into your bedroom, taking off your soaked clothes and wrapping yourself in a towel to dry off, finding some old clothes to change into.

You chuck your phone onto your bed, taking a seat on the edge. Your head falls into your hands, breathing deeply as the scene flashes through your mind again. And again. And again.

Even when you try to sleep, it plays. Kendra’s mocking words haunt you, even in deep sleep- and you wake up in the morning, feeling heavy. Despite the lack of good sleep, you get up, getting yourself ready for work.

You feed whiskers, wishing him a good day before leaving the house. You see a flash of red on your doorstep and you back up, pulling your key from the lock.

Red roses. A dozen, along with a box with a bow on the top. They’re wet, a card stuck in the top of the roses soggy as you pick them up and read the card.

All it says is sorry, but somehow, you know who they’re from- and it makes you wonder how he knows where you live. Or how he got in. You scoff, walking down your front path to the bin and chucking it all in, before unlocking your car and heading to work.

It’s a slow day in the coffee shop, despite it being a Saturday. You’re exhausted, messing up orders and just being overall clumsy. Lots of familiar faces come and go, and you hate seeing people you know when you’re at work.

You’re stood at the counter, drawing up some signs for some new treats when the bell above the door chimes.

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” You ask, out of instinct, not looking up as you finish the last parts of the last sign.

“I’ll have a black coffee and your number, please,” you recognise the voice and flutter your eyes up, to see Tobey stood at the counter, smiling down at you. You blush, processing his order.

“Six dollars, please,” he plucks his wallet from his pocket and hands you a twenty, and you give him his change before making his coffee. When you hand it to him, he inspects the cup before looking back at you.

“My order is wrong,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows, confused. “Oh? How so?”

He grins down at you. “I haven’t got your number yet.”

You roll your eyes, turning around to slot the sign into the baking tray with the right sweets. “Have a nice day, Tobey,” you sigh, picking the tray up and walking it over to the big display. You don’t hear the door bell again and glance over to see him watching you.

You observe him back. He’s not bad looking, dark brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, green eyes and a fairly sharp jaw. Today, he’s wearing some sweats and a hoodie, different from the jeans you remember last time.

You sigh, walking back to the counter and looking up at him expectantly. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Let me take you out,” he responds straight away, taking a sip of his coffee. He smiles, holding it out. “This is good, thank you.”

You’ll admit, this is a different side to him from what you saw in class that time. Yeah, he’s still as persistent, but he’s been nicer about it this time.

“I don’t know,” you begin, trailing off as you stare out of the window, images of last night flashing through your head again. It angers you, pisses you off, to even think about thinking about it.

“Cmon, just one? If you don’t like it, then fair enough. I’ll back off.” He tells you, running a hand through his hair. You weigh out your options, contemplating what could happen. And then you remember last night again.

“Okay, what the hell. I’ll give you my number and you can pick me up sometime.”

Note ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Helloooooo 🫶🏻 sorry this took me so long I’ve been at work 😪 anyway, I’ve just watched the new Noah beck movie, Sidelined, and was wondering if any of you guys would be interested in me writing something for Rafe inspired by that? Love yas, let me know what you think 🥰

Check out a teaser for a new series here <3

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