#❝... what are you staring at?❞﹙ic.﹚

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Only I Get to Lift You

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Mild jealousy, light angst, fluff, playful possessiveness

Summary: With TikTok supposedly on the verge of being banned, you’re determined to convince Paige to do the Jacked and Kind trend as a farewell. Paige refuses, saying she won’t even post her drafts, unlike the rest of your teammates. So, you ask someone else...

“C’mon, Paige, please?” I whined, leaning my full weight against her as we sat on the couch in her dorm.

Paige groaned, not even looking up from her phone. “Nope.”

I pouted. “It’s a farewell to TikTok. You have to do it with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“Paige—”

“No.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, flopping against her. “Everyone else has done it! Ice, Azzi, Sarah, Jana—”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t need to do it,” she cut in. “I don’t even post like that, Y/N. I have like… a hundred drafts, most are ads that having been set to drop yet.”

I gasped. “And you’re not gonna post the non ad drafts?!”

“Nope.”

I sat up, scandalized. “You’re the worst.”

She smirked. “And yet, you’re still in love with me.”

I grumbled under my breath before pushing off the couch. “Fine. If you won’t do it, I’ll just ask Jana.”

Paige quirked a brow. “Jana?”

“Yup,” I said, grabbing my phone. “She’s tall, she’s strong, and unlike some people, she actually likes to have fun.”

Paige snorted. “Go ahead then. Have fun.”

Oh, I would.

Convincing Jana had been way easier.

“You wanna do a TikTok trend with me?” she repeated after I explained.

I nodded. “Yeah, you just lift me on your shoulders for the ‘Jacked and Kind’ thing.”

She smiled. “Okay, sure.”

Easy.

Sarah started the music, and I grinned at the camera as we recorded.

Jana crouched, letting me carefully climb onto her shoulders. She stood with ease, my legs dangling as I gripped her head for balance.

Everything was going great—until I saw Paige standing across the gym, her arms crossed, staring hard.

I could tell exactly what was happening in that pretty little head of hers.

Something clicked.

Something possessive.

And suddenly, the video was no longer cute to her—it was personal.

The second I hopped off Jana’s shoulders, Paige was right there.

“Redo it.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

She gestured at my phone. “The TikTok. Redo it. With me.”

I stared at her for a second, then smirked. “Ohhh, now you wanna do it?”

Paige clenched her jaw. “Only I get to lift my girl on my shoulders. No one else.”

Azzi, Ice, and Sarah cackled in the background.

Jana, bless her heart, just looked amused. “I mean, I don’t mind—”

“No, you’re good,” Paige said quickly. “We’re doing it again.”

I bit back a laugh. “Oh, so when Jana does it, it’s a problem?”

“Yes,” Paige said without hesitation.

Sarah whistled. “Damn, she’s pressed.”

Paige ignored her, just crouching down. “C’mon, up you go. Alright, run it back,” she said.

I rolled my eyes, but agreed to letting etting Sarah re-start the sound. We waited for the sound to start playing.

Once the sound started playing Paige stood, her grip on my waist firm, like she needed to prove something.

I smiled as the song restarted, she lifted me up with ease. With me now resting on her shoulder, Paige smirked up at me, squeezing my calves. “Now it’s cute.”

I laughed, shaking my head. This girl was ridiculous.

But, honestly? I loved her for it.

The second I posted the TikTok, I knew it was over for Paige.

The comments were rolling in within seconds:

@paige4mvp: “FINALLY she did the trend, took her long enough ”

@wnbabuckets: “Paige, just go ahead and clean out those drafts while you’re at it.”

@uconnfancam: “Bueckers, drop the drafts, we BEG.”

I scrolled through the flood of replies, laughing to myself as I sat on the couch. Paige, who was sprawled across my lap, raised an eyebrow at my amusement. “What’s so funny?”

I turned my phone toward her, showing the endless comments demanding that she post the TikToks she had sitting in her drafts.

Paige groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “Ma, I told you they were gonna start on me the second you posted it.”

I smirked, playing with the ends of her hair. “Well, maybe if you actually posted anything instead of letting your drafts collect dust, they wouldn’t be on your ass like this.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t even have that many—”

“Paige, you have like 105, and I'm pretty sure 50% of em are yet to be released ads and sponsors.”

She sat up, giving me a look. “How do you even know that?”

I gave her an innocent smile. “I may or may not have taken a little peek while you were editing our video.”

Paige groaned again, flopping dramatically against me. “You’re the worst.”

I laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And yet, you still love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “Whatever, you say baby.”

A few hours later kk had convinced me to do a TikTok Live with her

“Alright, y’all, what’s up?”

I grinned at the screen as KK adjusted the phone, setting up the TikTok Live. The chat was already moving at lightning speed, comments rolling in about the Jacked and Kind TikTok.

@paigeismybabymama: “Y/N, YOU SNAPPED WITH THAT POST ”

@kkfanclub: “KK AND Y/N?? ELITE LIVEEEEEE”

@paigeslockscreen: “Where’s Bueckers?? She still hiding from the comments??”

I laughed as KK read that one out loud. “Nah, she and Jana are building something new once again. Probably about to break our damn apartment, from the way they are yelling at each other.”

The camera shifted slightly, showing Paige and Jana sitting on the floor, surrounded by wooden planks and an instruction manual that Jana is reading out loud only for paige to tell her to slow down or she's not making any sense.

KK snickered, before adding fuel to the fire. “Hey, P boogers! The chat said you need to come out of hiding and post your drafts.”

Paige didn’t even look up. “Tell them to mind their business.”

I smirked, leaning toward the phone. “Y’all heard her—keep commenting about it.”

More comments flooded in instantly.

@nukebueckers:“POST THE DRAFTS, PAIGE. STOP PLAYIN.”

@wnbawatchparty: “NAH, WE AIN’T LETTING THIS GO.”

Paige sighed dramatically, setting down the drill and turning toward me. “Y/N, baby, you’re supposed to have my back.”

I gave her an innocent shrug. “I am. I just think you should give the people what they want. Cause its also what I want”

She squinted at me, then at the phone. Then, with a mischievous grin, she stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

The chat immediately went wild.

@paigebiceps:“NAH WAIT WHY IS SHE BUILT LIKE THAT”

@fypuconn:“PAIGE IN THE SPORTS BRA AND GREEN PJS HELLO????”

@wnbabuckets: “IS SHE ABOUT TO DO A TIKTOK ON LIVE???”

I raised an eyebrow as Paige walked over to me, now standing directly behind the couch. She leaned down, resting her chin on my shoulder. “You wanna put on show for TikTok, baby?”

I smirked before turning to look at her. “You trying to redeem yourself?”

She grinned, kissing my cheek. “Something like that.”

The chat was moving way too fast now.

@paigefanclub: “SHE CALLED HER BABY AGAIN BYEEEE”

@jukebueckers: “NOT HER BEING ALL FLIRTY ON LIVE—”

@y/nnation: “SOMEONE SCREEN RECORD THIS”

KK, who had been watching with amusement, shook her head. “Nah, this is actually crazy. Go ahead, do the trend again, since Paige wanna prove something.”

Jana, who was still trying to assemble the furniture, looked up and smirked. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

“Alright, P baby. You ready?” I say as I stood up going to stand in the middle of the floor.

She smirked. “Always, ma.”

Paige stretched again, showing off just enough muscle to make the chat go feral. Then, with zero hesitation, she reached down and grabbed my waist.

I let out a small yelp as she lifted me effortlessly, settling me onto her shoulders like it was nothing.

The chat? Absolutely losing its mind.

@paigeisstrong: “I KNEW SHE WAS STRONG BUT DAMN”

@y/nluver:“THE WAY SHE JUST PICKED HER UP LIKE THAT—”

@uconnfans:“OH SHE OWNS YOU FR”

I laughed, holding onto Paige’s head for balance.

The two of us did the trend flawlessly, Paige flexing way more than necessary, making sure to show off just how effortlessly she could hold me up.

As soon as we both finished, she had a menacing idea to toss me back down onto the couch. Letting out a yelp, as I landed on the couch I sat up only for Paige to put me in her lap. Her hands lingering on my waist as she pulled me close. “That good enough for y’all?” she teased the camera.

The chat was a mess.

@fypnation: “PAIGE JUST BE LIFTING READER LIKE A FEATHER, HUH?”

@wnbastans:“THE WAY SHE HOLDS HER???? THIS AINT EVEN FAIR”

@paigebucketsss: “YEAH OKAY, THEY’RE IN LOVE. WE GET IT.”

I grinned, leaning into Paige. “See? Was that so bad?”

She hummed, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Not if I get to do it with you.”

KK gagged in the background. “Alright, that’s enough of that. Y’all got the people going insane.”

Jana, still struggling with the furniture, snorted. “At least someone’s getting something done today. Paige please come finish helping me.”

Paige just smirked, wrapping her arms around my waist. “So, what I’m hearing is… I should post at least one?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Paige, just post your damn drafts already, and go help Jan.”

She sighed, pretending to think. “Ehh… maybe I’ll just keep making y’all wait, and fine give me the drill,”

The chat lost it again.

And I just shook my head, knowing damn well she was never gonna let this joke die, or post them damn tiktoks.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[phinjeet]

* i LOOOOVE when they hav silly little episode-specific outfitz i lov it so much . big fan of when itz cute lil suitz/uniformz especially

[punkshort]

Just This Once

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After yet another argument with your dad, his buddy across the street is there to help make you feel better.

Warnings: no outbreak, language, smut (18+ MDNI), age gap, hurt/comfort, reader's mom is dead, reader has hair (length unspecified), size kink, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk

WC: 5.8K

"Your mama didn't leave all that money in her will for you to piss it away on some bullshit degree!"

Your father's hurtful words ring loudly in your ears on a loop when you storm outside, screen door slamming shut behind you.

"Asshole," you hiss under your breath repeatedly. You clench your fists tightly at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms and leaving angry little marks in your skin. Gravel crunches under your sneakers, each heavy footstep slicing through the peaceful quiet of night as you head towards the road, where your car is parked. Unfurling one hand, you reach into your purse for your car keys only to drop them in your haste. Metal skitters across asphalt and you curse again before bending to pick them up.

"The hell you doin' makin' all that racket?"

You snap your head up and peer into the darkness across the street. You recognize the voice but don't see the man - Joel Miller.

Joel has lived in the house across the street ever since your family moved to this side of town when you were a teenager. He mostly keeps to himself but throughout the years, he and your father grew pretty close. Whenever one of them needed help moving furniture or working on their trucks, they were there for each other. He was there mowing his lawn when you were taking pictures for your first formal dance. You'd see him and his daughter, Sarah, at every birthday party throughout the years. He sat next to your dad on your front porch wearing matching scowls the night your high school boyfriend brought you home from your very first date. And he was there on the day of your mother's funeral, wearing a black suit and slicked back, wavy hair with his hands clasped dutifully at his waist, looking stoic and forlorn.

"J- uh - Mr. Miller?"

You hear ice rattling in a glass and your eyes focus on his front porch, barely making out his broad shadow as he sips his whiskey.

"You havin' a tough night?" he asks. You huff and scoop up your keys before standing.

"Just another joyous dinner with my dad."

You note his silence and you cringe. What were you thinking? Of course he's not going to want to hear you speak badly about your father. So you clear your throat and try again.

"I'm just kidding-"

"You want a drink?"

Your eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He's sitting in one of his two adirondack chairs with a bottle of whiskey on the table in between. He picks the bottle up by the neck, swirling it around so you could see it. Your nose wrinkles at the thought of drinking whiskey but you find your feet moving in the direction of his house anyway. As you climb the stairs to his porch, he catches your eye and cocks an eyebrow.

"You're old enough to drink now, right?"

You roll your eyes and collapse into the chair next to him.

"Been old enough for a few years now," you mumble.

He doesn't have a spare glass outside so he tips back what's left of his drink before pouring some more and sliding it across the table for you.

"That's right. You gotta be... what? Twenty-three now?"

You shake your head and wince when the liquid passes your lips, leaving a trail of fire all the way down your throat.

"Almost twenty-six."

"Shit," he mutters to himself. He sighs and relaxes back into his chair, eyes drifting across the street to your father's house, then you do the same. The longer you sit in silence, the more your shoulders loosen up. That is, until Joel speaks.

"What had you all worked up?"

You roll your eyes and reach for the glass again, then decide against it. One sip is enough.

"Same fight we always have," you grumble. You stare at the windows, curtains pulled tight but not tight enough to hide the flicker of blue light from the television in the living room. Based on the time, you guess your dad is watching sports highlights. Or the news.

"'N what's that?" he asks.

"College," you say simply. Joel twists his head to look at you.

"College?" he repeats. "Thought you dropped out."

"I did," you tell him a little harsher than you intend. "But only because I didn't want to go to school for economics. Or nursing. Or biology. Those are degrees he deems worthy of the money my mom left me, but I don't want to do any of that."

"What do you wanna do, then?" he asks gently. You turn to meet his dark gaze and you're struck by how thoughtful and attentive he looks.

"Well," you begin, taking a deep breath, "I really love photography. So I want to go for my fine arts degree, but my dad thinks it's a waste."

You brace yourself for the reaction you're used to getting: a snort of disbelief, a cruel laugh, a shake of a head. But to your surprise, Joel smiles.

"I think that suits you."

You give him an incredulous look before jokingly pointing at the bottle. "How much have you had to drink?"

He laughs now, a deep sound that rumbles from his broad chest and makes the wrinkles next to his eyes and mouth deepen when his smile widens.

"Just had the one," he answers before leaning forward a bit in his chair. "I say it suits you 'cause for as long as I can remember, I saw you with a camera in your hand, takin' pictures of just 'bout anythin' you found worthwhile."

"You remember that?" you ask softly. Joel heard the awe in your voice and he tries to act nonchalant, giving you a casual shrug and a nervous scratch of his greying beard before replying.

"Yeah. Sure I do. Had Sarah beggin' me for a fancy camera two Christmases in a row," he says. You catch the way his eyes soften at the thought of his daughter and it makes you smile.

You sigh after a minute of silence. "Why can't my dad see it?"

Joel shrugs again. "It's different when it's your own kid," he explains. "You want somethin' steady. Somethin' practical, so you don't gotta worry 'bout 'em."

You hum under your breath and let your eyes drift back across the street, where the television was now turned off and your father's bedroom window glowed yellow. He must be getting ready for bed.

"How's Sarah doing, anyway?"

"She's great," he answers. "Studyin' abroad in Spain for the semester. Miss her like fuckin' crazy, though. Place is real lonely."

When you tilt your head to look at Joel again, you're surprised to find him already gazing at you, but something about it feels different. Like the air is suddenly charged.

You open your mouth to say something but when his eyes drop to your parted lips, the words die on your tongue.

Then, as if he noticed the shift as well, he blinks and looks away, clearing his throat.

You should have taken it as your cue to go. It's late and you still have to drive back to your apartment downtown, but something keeps you planted in his chair. Something that tugs at you, a curiosity that grows somewhere in the back of your head.

Something that wishes he would look at you like that again.

"No lady in your life to keep you company?" you ask boldly.

He cracks a small smile and shakes his head. "Nah. Hard startin' over at this age."

Your chest aches a little when you see the brief look of sadness cross his face, which he quickly shakes off.

"How 'bout you?" he asks, and you feel your heart skip a beat. He locks eyes with you again. "You got a guy you're lookin' to have struck with the fear of god by me 'n your old man?"

Joel smirks at his joke and you could politely laugh and answer, but instead you keep your gaze fixed and without a flicker of humor, you murmur, "Nope. I am very unattached at the moment."

His smile falters and across the street, the light in your dad's bedroom turns off. Your tongue shoots out to quickly lick your lips and you aren't sure what burns more: the remnants of whiskey or the heat from Joel's stare.

He looks like he's debating on how to answer. Similar to yourself, he's sensing something unexpected building, something you are both trying to tread around lightly. Finally, the devil on his shoulder wins the fight.

"Find that hard to believe."

The air feels paper thin. Every inhale seems to make you feel dizzier, but you know it isn't the air - it's him.

"Oh?" you breathe.

He nods, looking more determined now. Confident. You feel your cheeks grow hot and you're grateful for the cover of night. Fortunately, his intense gaze drops to the table between you, giving you a second to gather yourself. But he really does only give you a second because he asks, "Didn't care for the whiskey?"

You shake your head. "Not much of a whiskey girl."

"You wanna come inside? I can get you somethin' else."

Come inside. Your heart beats fast and your legs shake from how hard you're pressing them together. Is he just being polite or is he asking what you think he's asking?

And if he is asking what you think he's asking... is that something you want?

Joel's a good looking guy, especially for his age, but you never thought about him like that before. But tonight, spending time one on one, you are privy to a different side of him. One that listens to you and apparently pays attention to your interests. It has you seeing him in a completely different light.

"Yeah," you whisper. Your voice sounds a little thicker than you expect and it has him smiling as he stands. He picks up the glass and the bottle, then nods towards his front door. You swallow, force yourself to your feet, and follow him inside.

It looks different than you remember, although in reality, it probably had hardly changed a bit. Same old carpet, same couch, same television... It wasn't so much the house, but the reason you were there that made it feel strange. You weren't there to visit Sarah or come scoop up your dad when he was drinking too much watching some football game with Joel. You're there for something else, and more importantly, you're there alone for the very first time.

"What can I get you?"

"Hmm?" You swivel around to face him, hoping your nerves weren't showing now that the soft glow from his kitchen lights illuminated your face.

He gives you a knowing smirk and points to his fridge. "To drink?"

"Oh," you say, "uh, just water."

Joel frowns. "You sure? I got beer, tequila, and some fruity shit in a can that Sarah left."

You're tempted to take something stronger but ultimately shake your head. He pulls a glass from his cabinet and fills it with chilled water from a pitcher in his fridge while your eyes dart around the room. You smile to yourself. The place is clean but there were certainly signs a bachelor lives there. There's a calendar on the wall that's a month behind, a dirty skillet in the sink, and coffee grounds scattered on the counter next to the canister.

"Here," he says, handing you the cold glass. You take it and bring it to your lips, watching as he pours himself a small splash of whiskey. He stares down at the brown liquid, contemplative, like he was struggling to make a decision. Then, as if he found his answer, he tosses the drink back in one go and nods before catching your eye again.

"Am I-"

Joel cuts himself off with a dry laugh. His palm swipes over his mouth nervously before trying again.

"Am I, uh, readin' things wrong? Or is there somethin' goin' on here?"

Your heart rate spikes at his forward question but you give him credit - he's putting the choice entirely on you. He's giving you an out. However, you swallow thickly and shake your head.

"No," you all but whisper. "You're not wrong."

You shakily place your glass on the counter next to you, knowing full well you are about to cross a very dangerous line, but the utter excitement swirling in your stomach and the arousal pulling between your legs has you ignoring all of the potential consequences of your decision.

Joel stares at you in shock from his place next to the sink, as if he can't quite believe his ears.

"You're shittin' me, right?"

His voice is laced with so much disbelief that it has you feeling kind of high, so you smirk and take a few steps forward, hoping you're coming off as assertive. You don't really blame him for being surprised. Hell, you even surprised yourself tonight, but something told you that you wouldn't regret your choice.

"No," you reply slowly, and this time you allow your gaze to travel down his chiseled jaw and across the broad expanse of his chest, making sure there was no mistaking your attraction for him before locking eyes again. "Unless... do you want me to go?"

Joel's eyes flicker nervously towards the front of the house and you wonder if he's thinking about you leaving or what your father would think if you stayed.

You get your answer soon enough.

"No," he says firmly. And in one long stride he closes the distance between you, wraps one arm around your middle, and tugs you forward while pressing his lips hungrily against yours.

It steals your breath at first, the surprising softness of his lips combined with the burning remains of whiskey on his tongue. It's so much better than you expected, too. He's gentle in the way he holds you and guides you backwards, yet there is no mistaking his eagerness when his tongue tangles with yours. The coarse hairs from his beard burn your chin in the most delicious way and you wonder when this is all over, if you still feel that tingle every now and then as a reminder.

Every backwards step towards his living room has the heat flaring hotter between your thighs. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, searching for stability, for something to keep you on this planet because you swear if you let go, you would just float away. You have no idea what's come over you, but you can't remember ever wanting somebody this badly before.

Your legs collide with the couch and you're both so lost in tasting one another that you stumble a bit before clumsily collapsing onto the cushion. Without breaking the kiss, you throw your leg over his lap. Your hands drift up to his thick, wavy hair and his find a home over your ass, fingers plucking uselessly at the denim shorts you had on.

The only sounds that fill the room are the ticking from the clock on the mantle, your shared heavy breaths, and the creaking from the leather couch underneath your knees. That is, until you roll your hips forward, grinding down on his lap. Joel lets out a deep groan and you swear you feel a shudder shoot through his whole body.

"Christ," he rasps, pulling away so he can catch his breath. You smile as you trail kisses down his neck, pleased with how wrecked he sounded already. His hands knead the flesh of your ass as you make your way down. Your tongue dips into the hollow at the base of his throat, licking up the dried sweat and moaning at the taste when he asks, "Are you sure 'bout this?"

He sounds conflicted, like the last thing on earth he wants to do is stop, but his moral compass got the better of him. You unlatch yourself from his neck and sit up straight, hips slowly grinding down on his lap as you gaze down at him with heavy lidded eyes.

"I'm sure," you tell him, voice firm and certain. You feel the corner of your mouth curl when his swollen lips part to release a soft noise when your clothed center rubs along his cock, stiff and straining in his jeans.

"Okay," he whispers, messy curls flopping forward when his chin drops to watch you move. "Just this once."

A thrill shoots through you, electrifying your limbs and jump starting your heart.

Your head falls to capture his lips in one more wet kiss before you push yourself off the couch to stand. Joel remains seated with his legs spread wide and he watches with his chest heaving as you unbutton your denim shorts, letting them playfully fall to the carpeted floor.

You're feeling pretty good. Your confidence is through the roof at the way Joel's jaw drops a little when you slide your panties down your legs, but it was short lived.

You lean forward to help him with the zipper on his jeans and his hips lift so he can shove the fabric down, just to his knees, apparently too eager to rid himself of them entirely. You allow him the honor of pushing down the band of his boxers and your breath gets caught in your throat when you see the size of him for the first time.

Just like that, your confidence washes away and your eyes widen. You think you can handle his length but it's his girth that gives you pause.

It's as if your composure transfers right to Joel because he clocks your reaction and he smirks with a smug look on his face. His fist wraps tightly around his cock when he says, "It's alright, you can take it. We'll go slow."

"Okay," you say softly. You straddle his lap again, knees sinking into the soft leather, as you both stare down at his leaking shaft between your bodies. Slowly, you rock your hips, letting him slide between your folds and you gasp when the tip of his cock catches on your clit with every pass.

His hands rest on your waist, gently helping you move back and forth while he watches in awe as you cover him with your slick. Your eyes flutter closed and you sink your teeth into your lower lip, breathing in deep through your nose and feeling your muscles relax. Every time he slips through your folds, the ache in your cunt grows tighter.

"Fuck, J- uh, Mr. M-"

Your hips still and you open your eyes as the realization hits you both at the same time that you have never called him by his first name before. It should have filled you with shame or at least some guilt, but instead you feel yourself dripping even more sticky arousal onto his skin. Joel feels it and chuckles.

"Think we're past formalities, darlin'."

Your eyes flash in the darkness of his living room and you give him a sly grin.

"Yeah, guess so," you breathe, hips resuming their slow pace up and down the underside of his cock. "Unless you're into that sort of thing..."

Joel growls and his hands dig into your waist, moving you a little faster on his lap.

"Way you're soakin' me, I'd say you're the one who's got a thing."

You laugh breathlessly and circle your arms around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth closer, needing to feel his lips on your skin once again.

"Maybe I do," you admit, mostly joking when you lean in to graze your lips against his ear to give it a try. "I want you to fuck me, Mr. Miller."

Joel's teeth find your shoulder and he gives you a playful nip, but other than that, he remains stoic. So, you try again.

"Think I'll be sore tomorrow, Mr. Miller?" you prod. His dick twitches between your legs and his breathing stalls, but still, he says nothing.

You briefly think you might be crossing a line, but you go for it anyway when you whisper, "When you see my dad tomorrow, are you gonna be thinking about this, Mr. Mill-"

Joel tosses his head back so he can grab your jaw, cutting you off with his thumb and forefinger digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes look fiery and his teeth grind together as he stares daggers at you. For a second, you think you fucked up, but then he says, "You gonna run your mouth all night or are you gonna sit on my cock?"

A wide smile breaks across your face but it's restricted by his firm grip on your jaw. You shuffle onto your knees, raising your hips in the air so you could line him up at your entrance, but then he releases your chin and stops you.

"Wait," he murmurs, then two fingers slide through your pussy, collecting your arousal and making you gasp at the contact. Your eyes lock and he pops both fingers in his mouth with a groan. His eyelids droop closed for a moment as he savors your taste, the sight causing your mouth to go dry and your knees to feel weak.

"C'mere," he rasps, hand curling around the back of your neck and pulling you down. Your mouths collide and his tongue slips easily past your lips, offering you a taste of yourself while his other hand holds himself steady and nudges at your opening.

Slowly, you begin to sink down. The stretch gives you pause almost immediately and you whimper into his mouth. With one hand still cupping the back of your head, he breaks the kiss but presses your foreheads together as you both fight for air.

"'S okay, take your time," he says, but his voice is strained and his words are slurring, already feeling drunk off you.

You nod and try to take more. Another inch disappears inside you and your thighs tremble as you focus on breathing.

"You're so big," you whine when you take another inch. A shaky breath slips past his lips and his hand tightens around the back of your neck.

"Easy," he warns when you try to go too fast. You cry out softly and pause again, frustrated that you can't take him faster. Joel senses it and presses a kiss against your lips.

"Don't rush," he says, "wanna really feel you."

Just this once. You suppose since this wasn't going to happen again, you should make it count. Go slow, like he says.

"Touch me," you whisper, your nose brushing gently alongside his. Your eyes close and your fingers curl into the tense muscles of his back, then you sigh with relief when his thumb grazes your clit.

"Like that?" he asks, swirling circles over your bundle of nerves. You nod.

His touch softens you and you feel your muscles stretching and relaxing as you press further down. It's when you are nearly seated in his lap that his lips feverishly seek out yours once again, slotting together and muffling your moans when your hips grow flush with his.

"Y-you-" he stammers against your lips as you both work on adjusting to the feeling of your cunt wrapped snugly around his sizable length. He swallows and tries again. "So good, darlin'. S-so tight, fuck-" he groans, then flexes his hips, pushing himself as deep as he can possibly go. You wince and cry out, but he shushes you. "'S alright," he pants, "I got you. Just... just stay still a second, okay?"

You nod, mind a blur as he wraps his arms around your middle and buries his face in the crook of your neck. He sighs and slowly flexes his hips again, but it doesn't hurt the second time. You rest your cheek on the side of his head and close your eyes, allowing him to do whatever it is he wants to do.

His hands roam greedily around your body, thick fingers stretching to touch as much of you as possible. You feel his heart hammering in his chest and you think yours might be beating in rhythm with his, but you can't be certain because all your focus is drawn to the fullness between your legs and the soft noises emanating from the man underneath you.

"Talk to me," you whisper. His hands still and you hear him swallow.

"Say my name."

You don't process it at first, mind still slow and foggy like you were drunk, but you only had one sip of whiskey. Then, you realize what he wanted.

"Joel."

He groans, the vibrations transferring from his mouth to your chest. One of his hands slides up your thin shirt and pushes up your bra to cup your breast. "Again."

You moan his name and tip your head back, curling your spine so you push more of your chest into his palm. Two fingers pinch and roll your nipple and you gasp, then whisper his name again.

Just when you think you can't take much more and you will have to resort to begging, Joel melts into the couch and gazes up at you with the softest pair of eyes. He looks like a completely different man: his face is relaxed and he stares at you like you're the only two people on earth. Like you weren't his friend's daughter and there wasn't anything wrong with what you were doing. He looks at you like he's just a man and you're just a woman who holds the secrets of the universe in her hands.

He doesn't ask you to move, but he doesn't stop you when you slowly begin to rock your hips forward, either. The first few passes are tough. The stretch of his cock sliding in and out of you, even just a little bit, is an adjustment. But the more you move, the easier it becomes, and all the while Joel has his eyes pinned on you. He sees the way you screw your face up when the pressure is too much, then the way your brows relax and your breath evens out.

"How's it feel?" he asks when it becomes clear you are no longer in discomfort. You roll your hips steadily and link your arms around his neck.

"Good," you say truthfully, "so deep, and so full."

"Yeah?" he asks. "Anyone ever been this deep?" He punctuates his question with a snap of his hips and your mouth falls open. You find it difficult to answer when he's thrusting upwards, the power behind it already forming a dull ache somewhere deep inside you, so he asks again.

"No," you whisper.

"Yeah, that's right," he grumbles. He drops his gaze to watch you bounce on his lap, to watch the way your cunt spreads to accommodate him. Both his hands curl around the tops of your thighs as you move, squeezing your muscles like he needed to confirm you were real before sliding his palms up to rest on the crease of your hips.

You have no idea how you'll ever be satisfied with another man ever again now that you've felt what it's like to have Joel split you open and chase away every stressful, lingering thought from your brain. Just this once, just this once, just-

"More," you gasp, thighs tight and aching from supporting your weight. His fingers press into your skin and he begins to guide you, moving you up and down as he stares deep into your eyes.

"So soft," he murmurs. Your skin prickles at the wonder in his voice. "Everythin' 'bout you is so warm 'n soft. Gonna drive me fuckin' crazy, darlin'."

You move a little faster and you wish you had the foresight to pull his shirt off earlier. You want to see him - all of him - so you drop your hands to the hem of his shirt and slide them under it, instead. His breath sharpens when your palms run over the soft swell of his stomach, fingers mapping every inch of his skin and piecing together what he must look like from touch alone. Then, your hand sweeps over his heart. You feel the rapid thump right there, right under the pads of your fingers, and his dark brown eyes find yours. They look a little wild, a little wrecked, but mostly they look at you with adoration while you continue to ride him with every ounce of strength you have.

His breath grows ragged, just like yours. You easily drop yourself down onto his lap over and over, body now fully relaxed and open and accustomed to his size. He grunts each time his cock disappears inside you and his jaw starts to tighten when he meets you, thrust for thrust.

"Look at you," he breathes, "takin' me so well. Perfect little cunt, fuck-"

Your eyelids flutter and your mouth drops open, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to your peak. You can feel the heat pooling low at the base of your spine and your breathing is reduced to sharp gasps.

His hands push and pull your body up and down - fast - and it has your fingers digging into his chest for balance underneath his shirt.

"Shit... feels so good," he moans, jaw slack and eyes glassy as he watches you whine and writhe in his lap. Sweat dots your forehead and you feel that familiar crest swelling deep inside.

"Joel-" you pant, voice cracked and hoarse. He blinks and catches the way your hips stutter. His hands slide up your back and press you forward, into his chest, and you tiredly slump against his shoulder.

"I got you," he murmurs before harshly snapping his hips. You moan his name and squeeze your eyes shut, the new angle stealing your breath and making your thighs shake. A hand presses on the base of your spine, pushing you down and holding you still while he fucks up into you. Each bruising thrust has you whimpering into his neck but you're so fucking close, you just sit there and take it until the dam breaks and you practically scream out his name, your voice echoing off the walls in the dark, otherwise silent house.

He's saying something but your ears are ringing too loudly and your blood is pumping too fast for you to make it out. His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your back and his voice is soft and calming and it's exactly what you need.

The ache between your legs forms into a burn from how hard he fucks you, chasing his own high now that he knew you were taken care of. Your lips press weak kisses against his throat. You feel the vibrations from his grunts and the salty taste of his skin when you whisper inside before he can even ask.

"Yeah? Want me to fill up this pretty little pussy?"

His voice is thick and rough. You peel your eyes open and tip your head so you can watch his face contort and his mouth fall open. He breathes sharply when his cock swells inside you and you smile at the instant relief painted across his face. His palm still flattens against your lower back, holding you in place as he pumps you full of his release. Then you feel his muscles relax and his grip around you loosens with a deep sigh.

"Christ," he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. You giggle and he grins before his hand cups your jaw and pulls you up for a kiss. It's so tender that it leaves you breathless and you hardly even notice he's sliding out of you until a sharp pang deep inside reminds you and you whine.

"You did good," he says softly, still holding you close in his lap. "Feel alright?"

"Mhm," you nod with your lower lip pulled between your teeth. He gives you a lazy smile and pushes a stray piece of hair away from your face. Your heart lurches at the sweet gesture and you smile back.

A car slowly lumbers down the street, between Joel's and your father's houses. It draws your attention outside and you frown at how dark it is.

"What time is it?"

Joel sighs and squints at the mantle clock. "Almost one."

"Shit," you mutter, then go to stand. "I should get going."

"You can stay," he says quickly. You are in the middle of picking up your clothes from his floor and you pause to meet his eye. He shrugs. "I mean, if you wanna."

Place is real lonely. His words from earlier filter through your brain and you feel guilty when you shake your head.

"I ... I can't. My car - he'll see."

"Oh," Joel whispers, then nods like it's no big deal. Like he was just being nice with his offer and it didn't matter to him either way. But you saw the disappointment in his face before he dropped his chin to fix his pants and a sharp pang splits your chest.

He stands to adjust his pants and you excuse yourself to use his bathroom. After cleaning yourself up, you rifle through your purse for a pen but come up empty. Instead, you pull out a tube of lipstick and you grin when you scrawl your number on his mirror. You shove it back in your purse and fix your hair before descending the stairs to find him in the kitchen drinking a glass of water. He holds out your glass from earlier and you shake your head.

"I'm gonna head out then," you say.

"Alright."

He walks slowly behind you, holding open the door to the quiet night air when you turn to look at him one more time. You know it's a little risky, but it's late, your dad's house is dark, and you're quick. You stretch up on your tiptoes to give Joel one last, lingering kiss, then step backwards onto his porch.

"Thanks for tonight."

He laughs quietly and leans against the doorframe. "I should be thankin' you."

You don't say anything. You grin and take a few more steps backwards before swiveling around and jogging lightly down his steps. When you make it to your car, you resist the urge to look back to see if he's still watching you from his front door.

You smile to yourself as you drive down the empty street, the dull ache between your legs and the burn on your skin from his beard both pleasant reminders of your unexpected evening.

But later that night, when your phone pings with a text from an unknown number right as you're getting ready for bed, something tells you it will be more than just this once.

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[leclerc-hs]

save a bull! part 2 - cl16

pairing: bull rider!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which a city girl meets a cowboy OR charles finds himself infatuated with the visiting city girl warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, smut under the cut!, bad writing? word count: ~3k author's note: SURPRISE SHAWTYYYYY! hiiiiiiii I missed you all SOO much. I'm sorry if this isn't good I'm really really rusty on my writing since it's been a few months but I'm trying to get back into it. if you hate this I'm SORRY lol but I love u all and I hope you like it anyways. xoxo let me know what you want to see next.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The tension is palpable, a charged current zipping through the air as his touch seems to melt every bit of composure you had left. His grip on your back is firm, but not forceful—just enough to make you aware that he’s in control of this moment.

He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t back down, his eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to argue, daring you to say something that will break the silence. But all you can think about is how his breath feels on your skin, how his fingers leave a trail of heat where they touch.

Your brain momentarily froze. In no fucking world, would I let you wear anyone’s but mine. 

You could feel the flush of your cheeks start to burn not only from the alcohol consumed but his confession. The heat of his fingers seeping through the thin material of your dress was just the icing on the cake.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning forward so the edges of his lips graze your ear. “You want a hat, you take mine.” 

He pulls his head back a few inches, his eyes dipping to your lips for a brief second that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“You’re insane.”

“You keep calling me crazy,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, “but you’re the one standing right here, aren’t you?”

“Delusional.” Your pulse races, lips parting slightly, as if you might say something else, but all that comes out is a shallow breath.

His fingers sprawl across your lower back, pulling you towards him even closer if possible.

“So you’re telling me that if I slipped my hand up your little dress right now, you wouldn’t be soaked?”

You don’t know what to say. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

“Maybe I like crazy,” you finally murmur, your voice betraying the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his breath mixing with yours. “I thought you might.”

-

The days since that night have been a blur. His words echo in your mind, louder than anything else, like a broken record. You’ve tried to push it down, tried to bury it with distractions, anything that would stop you from thinking about the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the way his eyes burned into yours. But the more you push, the more it pulls.

And now, here you are, waiting for him again.

“I can’t believe we have to go back to the city in a few days already.” Abigail groans— the two of you sprawled in the grass, just staring out at the open fields.

You looked down at the grass, your fingers ripping some of it to play with. “I can’t believe I’m sad to leave.”

You both fall into fits of laughter. “Yeah, but that’s just cause of a certain cowboy.”

You shake your head, looking at Abigail with the biggest smile. “I’ve never felt so at peace like this before. The quiet is nice.”

You fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments, letting the harsh sun beat on your skin. 

“So when is he coming to get you?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the sound of a pick-up truck turning on the gravel of the driveway has you shutting it. 

Abigail moves to stand up, her hands reaching down towards you to pull you up from the grass, then turns to Charles, who is slipping out the driver side door with a smile pulled on his mouth. 

“Don’t keep her out too late or she’ll be grounded.” Abigail jokes, which earns her a small smack to her arm from you.

He dips his head, tilting his hat towards the both of you, “Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.” His voice is low, laced with something you can’t quite place—something that makes it feel like he is the one making the promises, not you.

Abigail gives a final wink to you before heading back into the house, leaving you both alone.

You watch her walk away, trying to pretend you didn’t feel that little jolt in your chest. But as soon as she’s out of an earshot, Charles turns his attention back to you, his gaze more intense than before.

“So, you ready for a ride?” He asks, the corner of his mouth curling into something dangerously close to a smirk.

You hesitate, “And if I said no?”

He chuckles, and its like the sound rolls right through you, making your heartbeat pick up. “Not if you want to earn that cowboy hat,” he says, the teasing glint in his eyes.

-

The soreness settles in deep, a quiet ache in your muscles you didn’t even know you had. Horseback riding hadn’t seemed like such a workout when Charles first suggested it—hell, you thought it would be a relaxing, leisurely ride through the fields. 

But now, after hours spent clinging to the saddle, your body is sending you sharp reminders of how much work it actually takes to stay upright and in control. Your thighs are tight, your lower back sore, and every small movement feels like effort.

As you stretch out your arms, trying to relieve some sort of tension, you can’t help but smirk. You’d never expected a day with Charles to feel like this— like you’d been put through the paces, not just by the horse, but by him too.

It’s the subtle shifts in his movements, the way he guides the horse with just a slight tug of the reins, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon, and the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for the reins that keeps your attention. 

“You alright there?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a hint of something more when he looks you over, taking in the way you’re moving a little more carefully than earlier.

You roll your shoulders. “I feel like I just ran a marathon on a horse.”

He laughs, his eyes lighting up. “That’s the price of learning how to ride. But you did good, yeah?”

The way he says it, like its a compliment, makes you stand a little taller despite the soreness. “I didn’t expect it to be so…intense,” you admit, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingers just a second too long on your lips.

“Nothing about this place is every just easy,” he says with a shrug. “But, I guess that’s what makes it worth it.”

The weight of his hand at your back sends a warm shiver up your spine, a subtle pressure thats both grounding and electric. You try not to focus too much on the way his touch seems to anchor you, or the way your pulse quickens with every step toward the open field.

The picnic is simple—just a blanket, a few baskets, and a clear view of the sun slowly starting its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the land. It’s the kind of peaceful scene that feels too much like a dream. And yet, it’s real.

As you both settle onto the blanket, Charles moves with an easy confidence, reaching for the baskets without breaking the quiet tension that lingers in the air. 

“You hungry?” His voice is casual.

You nod, still not quite sure how to handle the way your body feels with him so close. There’s something about his presence that makes it hard to think straight, hard to remember you’re supposed to be relaxing.

“I think I could eat,” you reply, your voice softer than usual. Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you catch the subtle way his lips curl into a half-smile, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking without needing to hear it.

He uncorks a bottle of wine, and pours a glass for the both of you.

The quiet stretches again, comfortable yet heavy, as you both settle in.

Charles leans back, resting on his elbows, his eyes never leaving you as you take a sip of wine. “You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and thoughtful, “I didn’t think I’d be sharing a moment with you like this today.”

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass as you glance over at him. “What do you mean by that?”

His smirk softens into something almost like a grin, “You didn’t think you’d be here, either, did you?”

You want to brush it off, act like its just another evening out here, but something in the way he says it makes your chest tighten. You hesitate for a moment before finally responding. “Guess not. Guess I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

The air shifts around you as he watches, his gaze intense and focused, like he’s weighing his next move. “Well, I hope you’re not regretting it.”

You place the barely touched glass of wine in your hand, onto the grass, and then turn to Charles. Your heart races, and for a split second, you’re sure he’s talking about more than just the picnic.

Your gaze drifts down to the hat resting beside him, the brim casting a shadow over the worn denim of his jeans. It sits there, between you two, almost purposefully. The thought hits you unexpectedly—the way its placed, almost like a bridge, an offering, a challenge.

There’s something oddly magnetic about it, the way it ties him to the land, to this place, to who he is. The fact that it’s so close, just inches away, and yet you feel like you have to earn it somehow.

You glance back up to find him watching you, his eyes lingering on yours with that quiet intensity, like he's aware of your thoughts without you needing to voice them. There’s no teasing, no playful smirk this time—just that still, steady gaze. And for a moment, it feels like everything is poised on the edge of something important.

His fingers twitch, like he's fighting the urge to reach out, to pull the hat closer or to pull you closer.

"You thinking about it?" he asks, his voice quieter now, almost too casual, like he’s pretending he doesn’t know exactly what you’re thinking.

You blink, and your heartbeat picks up a fraction of a beat. "What do you mean?"

"The hat," he says, almost like it's obvious, though there’s a small glimmer in his eyes that tells you he knows what it’s really about. “You ever worn one before?”

You shake your head slowly, the question hanging in the air, the tension between you both thickening with the simple exchange.

His hand moves just slightly, like he’s about to offer it to you, but he pauses, letting the silence stretch for a moment too long.

"You know," he says, his voice low, as if the words are meant only for you, "it doesn’t look right on just anyone."

The weight of that statement settles over you like a slow burn, and your thoughts race, caught between wanting to prove him wrong and knowing, deep down, that this—whatever this is—has already shifted something inside you.

Fuck it.

You know he’s watching the way your fingers dance along the brim, your thumb tracing the edges as if you’re deciding whether to make the commitment or leave it in its place between you two.

Your fingers continue to toy with the edges of the brim, before you grasp it in between the pads of your fingers, picking it up thoughtfully as you weigh the symbolism of it. It feels heavier than it should in your hands. 

“Don’t tease me.” His gaze never leaves you, steady and unblinking, as though he’s waiting for you to put the hat back onto the blanket again.

You could easily put it on, feel it settle on your head, feel his presence there with you. Finally, you look up at him.

“You said it doesn’t look right on just anyone,” you murmur, your voice low, like the words are meant for you and him only. “But what if it fits?”

The air seems to thicken, the question more loaded than it should be.

He shifts his hips just slightly, still leaned on the back of his elbows as he stares at you. “You’re not just anyone.”

It’s a statement more than an answer. And it leaves your stomach in knots as you raise the hat to your head, pausing before it touches the hairs of your head.

“Trying to figure out if this is going to be some cruel joke.” He groans. “Don’t do it, unless you mean it.” His voice is rough.

You place it on your head, looking at him with a wicked smirk and glint in your eyes. “What was it you said about me liking crazy?”

-

He gives you no more than two seconds, before he’s sitting up from his arms and quite literally yanking you onto his lap. Your legs straddle him, and you want nothing more than to rub yourself against him. 

His eyes trace every feature of your face and then land back on your eyes. The look on his face so serious, you wonder if he’s alright.

“Just kiss me alr-“

Your words are cut off almost instantly as the palm of his hand swallows the back of your neck and pulls your lips down to his. You can feel the vibrations of his groan into the kiss, and you feel like you might combust right then and there.

Your hips rut against his lap involuntary as his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it. There’s no more teasing. His own mouth takes over yours in deep, intoxicating kisses, that have you arching for more.

His hands glide down the swell of your back, before landing on your hips and guiding them to work against his groin.

The tantalizing touches create a surge of heat forming in your stomach, before you pull away from him, his eyes glazed with a sort of hunger it seems only you can fill for him. You lift your hips from his for a second, giving him time to unbutton your jeans and yank them off of your body, while he finds the time to unbutton his and pull them down halfway.

“I don’t think I can wait.” You seem to say, your voice laced with desire at the sight of his hardened cock before you.

“So don’t.” He huffs, before pulling you down on him, his mouth overpowering yours instantly. You start to lower yourself, more than ready to quench this thirst you’ve had for days. 

He hisses through his teeth when the head of his cock slides between your thighs. His fingers lock on your hip, stopping you from getting any lower. “I need to know you’re 100 percent about this.”

“I’m half nude in the middle of a field for you, what do you think?”

“I’m serious.” He grits, he sounds almost pained as he feels just how soaked you are against the head of his cock. “You do this, and you’re mine.”

Your eyes meet his in this moment and you feel your heart pounding against your chest. “Does that make you mine too?”

“I’ve been yours since you stepped foot in this town.” He says, like he didn’t even have to think about a response. Like it was in his nature.

“Good.”

You drop your hips down further, effectively slamming him right into you. You both cry out at the pressure, the stretch, and the depth he’s hitting you with at this angle. It’s all perfect. 

“Oh my fuck.” He tenses. "You look fucking unreal in my hat."

You grind against him, like you cant get enough, as he fucks up into you as merciless as possible. Its as if neither of you can get close enough. His arms envelop you as he pulls you back, letting him fall to his back as thrusts into you powerfully.

“Charles,” you whisper. “I need..”

You don’t even know what you need. All you know is that you need more of him.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, so rough in your ear, you could come just from hearing it. “Fucking gripping me like you’re gonna come.”

His voice is hoarse as he slips a hand down your back, gripping your ass in his hands and pushing you to meet his thrusts even harder. 

It doesn’t take the long. You both shatter completely, groaning and moaning against the blanket.

“Oh fuck.” His arms are tense as he snaps his hips into you, dropping his head back against the blanket as you careen forward with a cry. You both can hear the squelch of the both of you, and it somehow makes it even hotter as he keeps going.

You sag against his chest and it rises and falls deeply as you both come down from the high.

“My god sweetheart.” He chuckles, his fingers sweeping your hair behind your ear as you lift your head to look at him. His cock still inside of you.

“Yeah, you’re mine alright.” He says it like he’s talking to himself. He probably is.

You smile, dropping your face back into his chest.

Yeah, you are. But how could you keep him when you're leaving in just a few days?

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan When You're Pregnant

I got baby fever rn, some here's some headcanons for when you get pergananant (am I pergot?) with Lo's baby

(breeding kink go brrrrr)(nsfw section below the fluff stuff)

First off, I think we can all agree that no matter what variant Logan it is, whether it's planned or an accident, he's gonna freak out initially when you both find out your pregnant

He'll keep the initial freakout under wraps though.

70s!Dofp Logan, Old man Logan, and Trilogy Logan would probably be the most freaked out

The others, like Origins, Future DOFP, who are a bit more settled in would probably be more ready

Worst Logan? You're gonna need to give him a hug

Moving on

They all step up though, don't worry

Even 70s DOFP, he may be a menace but he sure as hell ain't gonna leave you or his baby alone

ANYWAY

Logan is so supportive of you. He'll constantly be checking on you. He'll be nesting almost immediately so get ready

He will definitely become more protective too. Like a lot. He'll try his best to not be overbearing but he's went lot of his life losing those he loves. He absolutely cannot afford to lose you and ya'lls baby

Lets say for this that you two are in an established relationship, planned or not, I'll leave that to ya'lls lovely imaginations

hes there for every doctors trip, exam, sonogram, etc etc. he doesn't miss a thing and holds your hand the entire time

The first trimester is rough. Mood swings, morning sickness, aches and pain. Logan handles your mood swings like a pro. He always knows just what to say, and he never really can take it personal when you get an attitude with him- mainly bc he likely deserved it with his own sarcasm

He's patient with you when you get snippy at him. He'll give you space when you need it, or will be extra attentive. Whatever you want. He's learned to read your emotions

He'll hold your hair back and rub your back whenever the morning sickness hits. Get you some tea, maybe a little toast if you feel like you can hold it down

One day you just couldn't hold anything down, by evening you're in tears, frustrated with everything. You attempted to eat some saltines and couldn't even hold those down. You're crying on the bathroom floor and Logan sits with you, cradling you in his arms as he says soothing things,

"You're so strong bub. You're gonna be okay. I'm right here."

You'll get backrubs and footrubs anytime you want

The food cravings and constantly being hungry becomes a lot too. It's fortunate that Logan had learned to be a decent cook over time.

He'll insist that you eat only healthy good foods for the baby, but when you look at him with pouty lips and pleading eyes because you REALLY want that extra cheese pizza topped with extra pepperonis and peppers, along with those garlic knots, and chocolate chip peanut butter ice cream, AND caramel sea salt chocolates. He has to give in. he's grabbing his keys and wallet to get what you want

Listen, you totally want to eat healthy for the baby too, and you do! You take your vitamins, you incorporate so much fruit and veggies and whatever else in your meals

But dammit sometimes that baby just wants fries dipped in ice cream and you learned how to sneak those unhealthy snacks under Logans radar

(or so you think, hes' got heightened sense of smell. he DEFINITELY smells the weird junk food you're sneaking)

You're tossing and turning one night, feeling restless and just wanting to eat. You wake him up, chatty as hell and eventually you tell him you want something to eat

"Bub you just had a whole meal 2 hours ago"

"I know just something small. Like a poptart. or a rice krispie"

He sighs. "No more poptarts or rice kripies. I'll make you something."

He closes his eyes, expecting to get another few minutes of sleep before he goes to the kitchen, but he can't feel you staring at him. Hard. He took a breath, pushing the blankets off as he got himself out of bed, heading to the kitchen to make you a good healthy snack

don't worry, he's not mad. he actually finds he loves the pregnancy quirks of yours

when you start getting those random hormone rushes, bursts of energy, running around doing anything and everything he gets so amused. but he loves it too when you also start getting sleepy

he really loves it when you get sleepy because then all you want to do is snuggle with him.

you get borderline violent about cuddling with him. you wrap your entire self around his body and you do not let go. even with his strength it's nearly impossible to peel you off him and if he does (he made the mistake once) you get extremely pissy and teary eyed

He will not let you do anything

and by that i mean you're not carrying groceries, you're not cleaning, you are not allowed to stand on ladders or counters, no picking up heavy things

You and him have a time of night and morning where you snuggle, and he'll designate time to talk to you, give you kisses and say sweet things, and then he'll move to talk to your belly

"Gotta make sure the lil one knows my voice"

He loves resting his ear on your belly, hearing both of your heartbeats.

he'll give you a kiss, then the belly, then you again

You better be ready to be touched a lot. He's always gotta put his hand on you somehow. It's not just about feeling your preggo belly but just you too.

NESTING

yeah, hes gonna drive you insane. He gets the urge to redo everything. the babys room. your room. the entire house/apartment if you're living in one.

He makes your bed the comfiest spot every so that's a perk. tons of pillows, only the fluffiest and warmest blankets

while you make decisions on the babys room together, he really wants to put the stuff together, so you sit in your rocking chair in the room and watch him as he gets angry over the crib instructions

it's really cute when he insists on a more foresty/woodland themed room for your baby.

As you get bigger, he gets more and more protective

he actually growled at someone once for attempting to touch your belly without permission. not a bad thing to have at least

it's a little more embarrassing though when it's your friends that you did say could touch your belly and logans hackles raise over it

he tries to recognize when he's doing too much but he can't help it, instinct.

Logan is over the moon when the baby kicks the face time

he just happened to have his hands resting on your belly

when he felt it, you both jumped, staring at your belly and then each other

when you realized it was the baby kicking, you both were like giddy teenagers

logan puts his head against your belly, waiting for it when the baby kicks again- right on his face

he gets slightly offended

but he kisses your belly anyway, promising your baby that he's always going to love them and take care of them

it pulls on your heart strings a bit

you and logan don't care if it's a boy or girl- and decide to leave it a surprise,

arguing over baby names though wasn't fun. you eventually though land on a name if its a girl, and a name if its a boy, names that you both adored

when you start shopping for baby clothes, logans looking at the little girl dresses and you could see the softness on his face, the way he adored the little dresses.

he can't even get embarrassed

it's so cute watching logan sit in the middle of the girly baby aisle, surrounded by pink bows.

he gets equally excited over the boys stuff too.

forever believe logan will just be a great dad in general

when you get big enough where doing things are hard on your own, logan starts definitely not leaving you alone very often

he helps you out of bed

with your shoes

if hes around and you're trying to get up from a couch or chair- even if you aren't struggling he'll still be there to help you up

you ever see those trends where dads hold mommas belly up to provide some relief? logan will insist on doing that.

he just thinks your so damn cute with your round belly

logan will eventually express his nerves about being a father. he'll need reassurance here and there that you think he'll do good.

you think logan would be an absolutely wonderful father of course. look how good he takes care of you

not to mention his non-bio daughters like jubilee, rogue, and kitty

and if lauras around too, it won't be like he never had any experience

logan will definitely stay calm and collected when you go into labor

he supports you every step of the way

if you're going to a local hospital, you bet your ass he'll be speaking for you and protecting you from anything unneccessary

all the while supporting you every way possible. don't worry about squeezing his hand too hard. he literally survived a nuke

despite the amount of things he's seen, it is still hard for him to see you in so much pain. he may even hold back a tear or two. he has to focus on you though

when the baby is here, he's all over you first, making sure you're okay. then his instincts kick in and he's all over the baby

that first cry breaks his heart and he doesn't like how the nurses and doctors seemed pleased by the whole thing. okay sure, it's a good thing. his baby is still crying though and he doesn't appreciate the smiling

you guys ever see that picture of Hugh bottlefeeding his newborn, i think it was during the x-movies filming. that is such a cute picture honestly it makes my utereus clench

he's so proud and supportive of you by the way. He takes wonderful care of you both when you get home

all that worrying for nothing. he was a pro with yours and his baby.

NSFW (mention piv, breastmilk, body worship)

yes i had to include an nsfw part here dont judge me

Logan should have known it would happen eventually. the way he always needs to finish inside you. even if you were using protection, he should have known that it would fail one day

he'll pick up on the hormones quickly, the smell of you triggers something in him and once you both figure out you'll pregnant itll all make sense

at first things are pretty usual with your sex life but the hormones start kicking in

you start gaining a little fat, your breasts get bigger, maybe your ass

you were already irresistable to logan before. now though, pregnant with his baby?

like i said, the mans always touching on you. when youre in private though hes REALLY touching you

don't worry, you feel the same. your hormones start to really kick in and you're aroused 24/7 and he can smell it

"you look so fucking good like this bub." he'll moan when he's thrusting into you, seeing your swollen belly and breasts.

it's not just about you being pregnant but you two just can't keep your hands off each other because you're happy.

your sex life was already very active, now it's even MORE active, like, you cannot keep your hands off him. he's the same way. you look and smell so damn good he can't take it, he HAS to fuck you

logan being a dad to your baby is making him 10 times hotter

logan probably cuts back on being rougher if you both are into that, much to your disdain. your hormones are on fire and you need him to fuck you hard

it takes a little begging and he breaks, giving you what you want

"look at you bub, fucking begging for it. as if i hadn't given you enough already"

logan practically drools anytime he sees you naked

as you get really big, sex becomes less common because you're not really comfortable, and maybe doctors tell yalls to slow it down for a bit.

logan will of course not do anything to risk you or the baby but fuck when you walk around in that tight black dress, tits and belly all swollen. he can barely stand it.

fortunately even if you aren't having penetrative sex, you're still fairly aroused so logan gets to get off to your hand or mouth. he'll return the favor with some light oral

he'll want to help you shower all the time

you're just so beautiful to him.

when you start getting self conscious over your weight gain, logan won't have it. he'll be doing some serious body worship doing your pregnancy, don't worry.

kissing your stretch marks, his hand rubbing soothingly all over your body as he whispers how beautiful you are

when it's closer to your due date, the doctor gives you a list of recommendations to help get things rolling

when logan finds out sex is one of those things, he's over the moon.

you personally, just want to get the mini canadian out of there at this point

it's not the first thing you try, because youre self conscious despite logans affirmations that he thinks you're so sexy

eventually you give in

lets just say you both were on the way to labor and delivery soon after

he adores your body after birth too. like i said. body worship to the maximum. even when you're not banging cause you need to heal first, he's kissing every inch of you to make sure you know he adores you. he sees how you've looked at yourself in the mirror and he isn't gonna have it

oh btw he'll definitely accidentally taste your breast milk straight from the source at some point. he really doesn't do it on purpose, he just got lost in kissing and sucking on you.

lost in the sauce if you may

he wants you to heal and feel good though, so even after the 3 months are up, he'll want to wait a little longer, because he doesn't want to hurt you. he's a big man.

EXTRAS: (random stuff )

the people who are around you are ecstatic over the announcement of your pregnancy

charles is just glad he gets to be a grandpappy (as if he isn't already)

maybe jean and scott are expecting too, or already have their little one, so you guys bond with the couple over parenting as well

wade immediately refers to himself as uncle wade

will also say "our baby" when referring to you and logans baby. logan does not like that.

wade makes a deadpool onesie. you have to stop logan from tearing it apart

okay but a onesie based on logans suit would be so goddamn cute

i said before that logan doesn't like ANYONE touching your belly. even if it's a trusted friend

if someone asks, very politely, you have to make sure logan isn't around before you say yes.

one time hank asked and you said yes, not realizing logan was coming around the corner. it was really embarrassing the way logan ran up so fast, immediately pushing hanks hand off.

hank laughed it off

im sure yall have your own ideas for what yours and logans baby names would be. I think Charlie would be really cute, naming the baby after charles (and it's a gn name!)

rogue, jubilee, and kitty, would be over the moon. they would be so supportive of you and logan

laura would be so excited, a bit curious. you and logan will make sure she doesn't in anyway feel neglected or replaced during the entire pregnancy and when the baby comes

laura is obviously a great big sister.

they would definitely tease logan too btw

you guys don't even need to register. due to the people you love around you- you basically get everything you need before you 3rd trimester even starts

you and logan can be assured that your baby will always be safe and loved no matter what because of the family you both have found. (yes even with origins and old man logan)

[blubunz]

YAP SESSION 1

— leon s. kennedy x f! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: exhibitionism, sloppy writings, it's just me yap, oral (f! receiving), reader wears a skirt, Leon's a messy eater, slight piss kink, pussy eating, overstimulation, fantasizing about being watched, you two get found out... almost.

A/N: why do I always write when I'm sleepy.

Bro I've been thinking about how you'd usually wear skirts when going out with Leon, cause like, don't get me wrong, you usually wear pants and stuff too but you consider wearing skirts on special occasions, cause most of your skirts are cute so you wanna show them off to Leon everytime you two go on dates.

Of course, Leon finds you adorable as hell, but he can't deny that he often fantasize of kneeling before you and give you the messiest oral session you've ever had.

You, back against the tree in the park you two went in. Your empty ice cream cone fell off the side as your body trembles and a hand over your mouth.

God, Leon gives the best head, he's eating your cunt like a madman, looking up at you only to see your eyes roll and your breathing grows rapidly. It's still daytime, and whats worse, its the weekend, so you can't make a sound here.

His fingers dig in the fat of your thighs, kneading your ass in the process as his tongue rolls around your vulva and attacks the little hole that you usually use to urinate. Then he reaches inside your pussy, groans muffled against your pussy as he lets out the loudest slurp. It makes you wanna slap Leon because holy shit someone's gonna see you guys if he keeps being this loud on purpose!

But you can't do that, too busy trying to be quiet and trying not to get lost in the sensation, you can feel drools rolling down your chin, dripping down your cleavage and staining your top. Your body's shaking so hard as you're overwhelmed with many sensations and stimulation. Excitement, fear, pleasure and all that makes your pussy walls so tight around his probing tongue.

Leon groans, lapping against your pussy like a dog drinking water, his own cock straining against his pants, dripping pre-cum. He adjusts his kneeling position, rutting against your foot, seeking his own climax.

You can see through your blurry eyes that Leon's cheeks hollow while he sucks hard again on your clit, flicking his tongue back and forth around the nub. His heavy breathing brushes past your pubic mount and he resumes back to your cunt.

Your hand shook, nails digging in the tree behind you. Leon continues his ministrations until both of you jolt at the sound of the nearby bush.

You try to push Leon's head off, but he insists on keeping his lips attached to your cunt, sucking harder than ever to make you moan more, furthermore making you more ashamed.

Yet, you can't deny the thrill of being seen like this. Some twisted desire inside you just relish at the thought of being watched while Leon uses your body. You can almost imagine how other men would jerk off to the view, or some people would stare in disgust, it all excites you, makes your pussy throb.

A quick shadow came by and you jolt again, and Leon groans when he can feel your pussy gets tighter than earlier, and how you cum at the mere thought of being seen.

Yet, you only see a tail wagging, and a dog walks around, nose sniffing the air. It sees you two and stares. You know dogs aren't like humans, it's doesn't judge you simply cause it doesn't know what you two are doing, but you keep your gaze on it, tears brimming your eyes as the dog curiously gets close to where Leon's kneeling.

A shout of a lady breaks you through, cumming for the second time and squirting all over Leon's face and mouth. Your clit is twitching, you're overstimulated now, but Leon's such a jackass, keeping his head buried between your thighs still, lapping uo your juices.

"Ugh, where is that dog?!" The woman frustratedly groans, and you swear you can feel your heart thumping loud both in fear and arousal.

Before the woman can walk in on you two, the dog runs out, back to its owner.

You cry out again in your palm as Leon's teeth graze over your clit, putting pressure on it until your pussy squirts out for the third time, and Leon can even taste the slight acid taste as a little bit of piss leaks through.

He finally lets go, his face is a wet mess, lips glistening and red from eating your cunt like a fine dine. He licks his lips and kisses your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You love going on dates with Leon. He's so full of surprises sometimes.

[paperstorm]

The final chapter is up! We had so much fun writing this all season and thank you every single person who commented or kudos'd or just read this fic. Here's a tease from the last chapter. If you're looking for both morning sexy times and the happiest of endings for this little family, we got you covered 😉

Jonah flops against him and Carlos moves in closer on his other side, the two of them bracketing him like protective bookends.

“How’d you sleep?” Carlos asks him.

It might be too complex a question for a three year old, but Jonah grins up at him and brightly answers, “I have a race car bed!”

“You sure do!” Carlos agrees, reaching down and smoothing stray hairs out of Jonah’s eyes.

Jonah looks to TK and asks, “When is Daddy coming home?”

For a moment, the question twists like a GI infection in TK’s gut. He exchanges a sorrowful glance with Carlos, who sadly shrugs a shoulder. They have so much to learn, so many things to figure out on this new adventure together, and how to talk to someone this young is something TK knows he hasn't mastered just yet.

Carefully, he answers, “I don’t know. It might not be for a long time.”

“Oh.”

“But,” TK continues, slouching further down onto the pillows and snuggling in closer, “you’re gonna live here, now, with me and Carlos. And we love you so much. And everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” Jonah answers, easily accepting his answer, at least for now.

TK breathes a sigh of relief. TK knows it isn’t the end of the conversation. Jonah’s so little, he has to be so confused, and that makes TK’s heart hurt. But it’s a conversation they don’t need to have this morning. He looks at Carlos again over the top of Jonah’s head. Carlos nods at him reassuringly, moving in closer from the other side so they can cuddle Jonah together.

“Can I have breakfast?”

“Of course you can. What do you want to eat?”

“Pancakes!” Jonah decides.

“Pancakes it is,” Carlos replies. “You two hang out for a bit, I’ll get them started.”

“Stay?” TK asks Carlos quietly, circling his wrist with his fingers over Jonah’s body. “For a few more minutes.” 

Carlos pauses and looks between the two boys in his bed. He must be feeling what TK is feeling, the overwhelming emotion that comes with experiencing their first morning together as a family of three, instead of two. Carlos nods quietly and settles back against the headboard. He lets his arm drape over the pillows that have flattened during the night until TK is curled under it and Jonah is snug between them again.

“I’ll get started on breakfast soon, okay? Unless you’re so hungry now that your stomach is turning into a monster.”

Carlos tickles Jonah’s belly and he giggles. “No,” he says confidently, like a monster could never hurt him. 

TK observes quietly, feeling like he’s in a dream. He knows nights of crying and fear are around the corner, where Jonah wakes up confused and scared and missing his dad. TK knows that it’s not all smooth sailing from here, but right now he looks at Jonah’s resilience in wonder, and Carlos’ natural ability to bond with him, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

“Good,” Carlos tells him. “Because you know what the best part about today is?” 

Jonah looks up at Carlos in wonder, four big brown eyes staring at each other. TK is in so much trouble with these two. He could let them get away with anything. 

“What?” Jonah asks, hanging onto every word Carlos says like Carlos is already his hero. TK knows the feeling. 

“We don’t have any plans. Which means we get to sleep in and then do whatever you want.”

Jonah’s eyes grow even wider and his head whips over to TK as if to confirm Carlos’ words. “Whatever I want?” 

TK smiles, squeezing Jonah’s arm. “Whatever you want,” TK confirms. Maybe he and Carlos can be the fun brothers for one more day and spoil this boy beyond belief. He deserves it. Tomorrow, they’ll begin to figure out how to be parents that say no and set limitations, but today, Jonah can get whatever he wants. 

“I want ice cream!” Jonah cries out, and both TK and Carlos laugh. 

Carlos meets his gaze over the top of Jonah’s head, and TK nods. 

“We can do ice cream,” Carlos agrees. “But maybe this afternoon, huh? It’s supposed to be hot.”

“Hot!” Jonah repeats. 

TK chuckles. “Yeah, you’re not used to this, bud. It gets way hotter here than it does in New York.” 

“It does?” 

“Mhm. Think summer all the time.”

Jonah’s grin goes wide. “Yay,” he cheers. “Can we bring Lou-Two with us?”

TK laughs again. “To get ice cream? Probably not, he likes staying here. But you can help me feed him some red peppers later.”

“Okay!”

They fall into silence for a few blessed moments and TK’s gaze naturally drifts to Carlos again. Carlos is already looking back, and his fingers dance along TK’s neck. 

‘Love you,’ Carlos mouths, and TK smiles. 

‘Love you too,’ TK mouths back, and then puckers his lips to ask for a kiss. 

brighter in the morning

co-written with the lovely @paperstorm <3

Sometimes nights together are hard to come by, but TK and Carlos find ways to connect as husbands in the morning. A series of 12 mornings together for each of the 12 episodes in season 5 (plot permitting …)

Chapter One: 5x01 - 7.0k

Chapter Two: 5x02 - 3.8k

Chapter Three: 5x03 - 3.9k

Chapter Four: 5x04 - 2.4k

Chapter Five: 5x05 - 4.2k

Chapter Six: 5x06 - 6.6k

Chapter Seven: 5x07 - 5.7k

Chapter Eight: 5x08 - 2.8k

Chapter Nine: 5x09 - 3.2k

Chapter Ten: 5x10 - 5.3k

Chapter Eleven: 5x11 - 4.6k

Chapter Twelve: 5x12 - 5.4k

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

By the time Lizzie heard the knock on her door, she was almost regretting inviting Lando over.

Not because she didn’t want to see him—she did. But because she was still exhausted, her limbs felt like lead, and she hadn’t had the energy to change into anything more presentable than this.

Which was how she found herself standing in front of her door, dressed in sweatpants and a vintage Ferrari hoodie that was older than both of them, trying to summon the will to care.

She pulled the door open, and there he was—Lando Norris, grinning at her like she hadn’t texted him less than 6 hours ago to say, Hey, I had a seizure, so can we not do the fancy restaurant thing?

“Hey,” he said, then his eyes dropped to her hoodie. His expression morphed into pure betrayal. “You—Lizzie.” He pointed. “Is that—is that a Ferrari hoodie?”

She crossed her arms, ignoring the amusement bubbling in her chest. “It was my dad’s.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Lando said, still staring at it like it personally offended him. “It makes it worse. It’s, like, vintage blasphemy.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in. “You’re in my apartment. You don’t get to insult my clothes.”

“I absolutely do.”

“You really don’t.”

"You literally live in Woking," Lando said darkly as he stepped into her apartment. "A stone throw away from the MTC!"

Lizzie rolled her eyes once more, closing the door behind him. "And I'm still a Ferrari girl at heart."

Lando groaned, shaking his head. "You're breaking my heart here, you know that?"

"Is now the time to mention that Mara is also named after Ferrari?" she asked with a grin, as he followed her into the kitchen and sat down a grocery bag on the counter.

Lando blinked. "How is Mara named after Ferrari?" he asked her.

"Well, Mara is short for Maranello," Lizzie said brightly.

Lando's mouth fell open. "You have got to be kidding me," he said, staring at her. "Your dog is named after Ferrari headquarters?"

Lizzie just smiled, not even trying to hold back her amusement. "Yep," she said, popping the p on the word.

"First the hoodie, then the dog... what's next, a Vettel tattoo?" Lando asked her with a sigh.

"I mean, I was considering it," Lizzie said, completely deadpan.

For a moment, Lando actually looked worried. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

Lizzie cackled, a deep, full-belly laugh. "Relax, Lando. I'm kidding."

His shoulders sagged. "You're an evil woman. An actual evil woman."

"What is even in there?" she asked with a nod to the grocery bags.

Lando smirked. “Backup nuggets.”

Lizzie frowned. “Backup nuggets?”

“In case yours suck.”

Lizzie snorted. “Wow. True trust issues.”

Lando grinned, but there was something softer behind it. She felt it when he looked at her for just a second too long.

She shoved the nuggets into the oven before he could say anything annoying about it.

"I also brought ice cream. I didn't know what you like..."

"Vanilla," she said immediately.

"Vanilla it is," he agreed. "Where's Mara by the way?"

Lizzie's eyes darted down the hallway. "She's probably passed out in the living room, honestly," she said. "Dad said she barely left my side last night, poor thing. Probably wore herself out."

Lando winced. "I can imagine. Must've been pretty freaked out, huh?"

Lizzie nodded. "She kept licking my face. Apparently they do that to wake you up when you have a seizure."

For a moment, his gaze softened, and he looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't get hurt, right? When you have a seizure, I mean."

"Generally, no," Lizzie said, "I might accidentally bite my tongue, and I'm usually sore and tired after, but I don't get hurt."

Lando nodded, but she could see the concern still lingering on his face. "But you're okay now?" he asked quietly.

Lizzie managed to bite back her smile. "I'm fine, Lando. I promise. This really is normal for me."

His head dipped. "You're sure?"

She softened, touched by the worry in his voice. "I'm sure," she said gently. "No need to look so serious, pretty boy."

“Excuse me, I’m not pretty.” He objected with a disgusted expression.

Lizzie snorted. “Yeah, you aren’t if you pull a face like that.” She shot back immediately.

“Excuse me, that’s not very nice!”

“Mate, make up your mind,” Lizzie said with a snort. “I say you are pretty, you disagree. I say you aren’t, you also disagree. What are you then?”

“I am ruggedly handsome,” he told her seriously.

She could only stare at him.

“If you somehow manage to grow a beard, then, maybe. But with that clean-shaven look you have going on right now? Not in a million years. You’re pretty, and that’s that.”

Lando's eyes widened, taken aback. "Did you just—" he spluttered. "Did you just insult my ability to grow facial hair and then go and call me pretty in the same breath?"

"I absolutely did," Lizzie said, barely able to hold back her grin. "What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?"

What she hadn't expected was for him to advance and corner her against her kitchen counter.

She froze, eyes wide, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest. Lando planted one hand on either side of the counter, caging her in.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, expression still tinged with faux offense.

And his eyes...she could spent a whole book describing their colour and Lizzie was quite sure that it was going to fall short. Even in the dim light of her kitchen, they shifted from blue to green and back.

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable. Lizzie's mind went completely blank, and she found herself staring at him, a flutter of nervous energy coursing through her like electricity.

Lando was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. She was suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in her body, like this new, intimate proximity had set her senses on fire.

Lizzie wasn't even sure who moved first.

All she knew was that suddenly, his lips were on hers. The kiss started gently, almost tentatively. But something shifted in an instant.

It became hungrier, more desperate, like a dam had burst. Lizzie couldn't help herself; her arms wrapped around Lando's shoulders and pulled him closer, every part of her body pressed against his.

One of his hands threaded into her hair, angling her head to get better access, and she made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt, clutching at it as she kissed him back, dizzy with the feel of him.

Oh. 

Oh. 

Lando groaned, the sound reverberating through her. His free hand slid beneath her hoodie, seeking out the bare skin of her waist.

Her own hands moved over his back, desperate and urgent. The kiss turned hotter, less controlled as her world narrowed to this, to him, to the intoxicating feeling of his body against hers.

And then the sound of the oven timer beeped. Loudly. She jerked in his grasp, managing to make one of her cookbooks clatter down onto the floor.

A second later, Mara was barelling into the room, clearly thinking that she had had a seizure and destroyed her house.

Lizzie and Lando sprung apart, both of them flushed and more than a little breathless.

Lizzie couldn’t help it; she burst into a fit of giggles, watching Mara skid across the linoleum.

"I'm fine, Mara," she said through her laughter. Her dog whined, clearly not convinced.

Lando was looking like a deer in headlights, his cheeks flushed and his hair messed up from her fingers. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she bit her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

"We should rescue the dino nuggets," Lizzie suggested.

Lando still looked stunned. "Right - yeah - nuggets-" he said, blinking.

Lizzie chuckled and knelt down to pat Mara to reassure her. The dog was practically whining with worry, licking her face and nudging her. Lizzie gently pushed her back in an attempt to give herself some space.

"I think you traumatized my dog," she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his head, still endearingly awkward. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I wasn't exactly...thinking when..."

She just shook her head, grinning. "Maybe we should focus on rescuing those dino nuggets, don't you think, pretty boy?"

He swallowed, glancing at her briefly before nodding. "Yeah. Nuggets."

Lizzie pushed herself off the floor, giving Mara's head a final pat before she headed over to the oven. Lando joined her in the kitchen, his gaze flickering to her every other second. Lizzie took the plate from the oven, setting it down on the stove top.

"They look fine," she said, inspecting the slightly-singed edges of the nuggets. "All things considered."

Lando leaned against the counter beside her. "Great," he said, but his voice was still a little unsteady.

She shot him a sideways glance, amused by the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth.

"Was that..." he trailed off and she watched to see a slight blush cover his cheeks.

"What?" she asked, hiding a smile. He was even more adorable when he was embarrassed.

He cleared his throat, looking vaguely flustered. "That was okay, right?"

And just like that, her own cheeks grew warm. They'd just made out in her kitchen, and now he was asking her if... if it was okay?

She studied him, taking in the pink hue on his face. There was something so vulnerable about the way he was looking at her. It was like he couldn't believe it had happened, and now he was scared he had overstepped.

"It was..." she began, only stopping to consider her words."...pretty incredible."

Relief flickered across Lando's face. "Yeah?" he said, a hint of the cocky demeanor returning. "You liked it, then?"

In response, Lizzie just rolled her eyes, pushing the plate of dino nuggets towards him to end the conversation before he could say anything else.

"Try a damn nugget."

Lando raised an eyebrow, but his smile grew even wider as he picked up a nugget from the plate. "Bossy."

She just rolled her eyes again, biting back a laugh. "Eat your nugget before I regret telling you that I liked it."

He chuckled and popped the nugget into his mouth. "Not bad," he said, still grinning.

Lizzie found herself returning the smile. He was impossible.

But then again, she thought as she looked at him, she supposed she wouldn't want him any other way.

"Let's take this to the living room," she suggested.

"So is there even more Ferrari merch there?" Lando asked her. She just rolled her eyes.

"Not Ferrari merch, no," she said drily. “I keep that in the bedroom.” Lando gave a squawk in response. She just laughed. 

Did her living room kinda look like the set of a fantasy movie had thrown up all over it? Yes. 

She had a near life size portrait of Astrid and Ciaran, the main characters of her book series hung over her fireplace, which an amazingly talented fan artist had painted and she had purchased.

Lando was staring at the portrait with something close to amusement. He turned to her, eyebrow raised. "Okay, so who is that guy, and why does he have bat wings?"

Lizzie sighed, taking a seat on the large couch that dominated the room. "That would be Ciaran. Bat wings and all."

Lando took a seat beside her, still eyeing the portrait suspiciously. "And who exactly is Ciaran supposed to be?"

"He is the Dark Prince...The Heir to the throne of the land of Kasharia," she said with a wave of her hand. "He's the love interest in the Seasons of Fate Series."

Lando's eyebrows shot up, turning back to the portrait, studying it with more interest this time. "And the Wings are his thing, I'm guessing? Makes him the 'Dark Prince'?"

Lizzie bit her lip to keep a laugh from escaping. "Basically."

"Right, right." He was nodding now. "What about the woman, then? Blondie with the dagger?"

Lizzie found herself smiling, remembering the story behind that particular piece of art. "That would be Astrid," she said.

Lando looked like he was starting to put pieces together. He leaned back on the couch, eyes on the portrait once more. "And Astrid is, what? The princess or something?"

"She's a handmaiden of the Princess of another kingdom he's supposed to marry," she explained with a wave of her hand. "She ends up married to Ciaran instead."

Lando was nodding along as Lizzie described it, a look of fascination on his face. "Oh, so it's like one of those forbidden romance deals, huh?" he asked, sounding surprisingly invested.

"In a sense, yeah," she agreed, finding herself amused by his interest. "You seem surprisingly interested in this, considering you thought the wings were over the top a minute ago."

Lando shot her a look, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, I can appreciate a good love story, can't I? Besides, million of people adore your books. There must be something pretty special about them."

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

"I don't know about that, but people seem to enjoy them," she said lightly. "Still thinking you are going to pick one up?" she teased him with a grin.

"It’s probably gonna take me two months to get through the first book, between my schedule and my dyslexia, but the bat wings have totally sold it," Lando told her seriously.

She couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. The idea of Lando, who was about as far from a fantasy fan as you could get, actually trying to read one of her books was too absurd. "You are absolutely not going to read one of my books," she said, grinning.

"Hey, I could!" he objected with mock offense. "Don't underestimate me."

Lizzie shook her head, still laughing. "I'm not underestimating you. But let's be honest, you've got better things to do with your time than read about bat winged princes and handmaiden."

"Don't you have better things to do than too watch 20 men in their cars drive around in wobbly circles?" he shot right back. "You created these books. You poured your time and energy into them. I don't think there are many things that are more important than that." 

Lizzie fell silent, taken off guard by his words. He had a point, she thought.

"I suppose you have a point there," she admitted quietly.

Lando seemed pleased with himself, his cocky demeanor falling back into place. "See? I do have some smarts in there."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "You are insufferable, you know that? Besides, what's with your job," she teased him. "Isn't Miami coming up?"

Lando just snorted. "Yeah, we are all looking forward to hear the Dutch national anthem. Again."

Lizzie chuckled, picturing the familiar sight of the podium at a Grand Prix - the winning driver and the Dutch and Austrian anthems playing. "You are so dramatic. Maybe you'll win in Miami."

He gave her a look, his expression clearly communicating that he thought her words were ridiculous. "Uh-huh. You obviously don't know my luck. Second place is basically my second name."

Lizzie laughed, finding his complaining endearing despite herself. "You sound like Mara when I have a treat, but don't give it to her. Stop whining. Second place is still impressive as all hell, you know that right?"

Mara perked up at the mention of her name and took that moment to jump up on the couch, and once again, not caring at all about personal space, just drape herself all over Lando.

Lando looked startled, his gaze flying down to where Mara was settling onto his lap. "Uh..." he said, his voice full of confusion.

Lizzie tried not to crack a smile at the way he looked like he'd never encountered a dog before. Mara, meanwhile, looked incredibly pleased with herself.

Lando looked up at Lizzie, his expression a comical mix of disbelief and alarm. "What...what is she doing?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

Lizzie couldn't help herself; she burst out laughing. "She likes you," she managed to say through her mirth. "Clearly a woman of excellent taste."

Lando gave her a dubious look, clearly not sure if he was being insulted or not. Then Mara shifted in his lap and let out a happy sigh, and he looked back down at her. Lizzie could see the exact moment he melted. No man was immune to dogs.

"I'll go against my core beliefs and root for the ugly orange car with your number on it if you promise me that you'll believe that you have a chance of winning."

Lando shot her a look, a little surprised at her request. Then his familiar cocky smirk spread across his face.

"You'll root for papaya? Over Ferrari?"

Lizzie just nodded. "As long as that big ego of yours lets you believe you can win," she said dryly.

[prettybugsinbandages]

Idk how to tag anything properly but this is angst, little comfort and dark themes!! Please don't read if you're in a bad place currently because it might just make you feel worse!!

When they all arrived in Twisted Wonderland, the reactions varied wildly; Irritation, indifference, curiosity, empathy, pity, disgust, admiration. All directed towards them—The Yuus. Not you. You didn't even seem to exist.

You aren't important. At least not enough to be a protagonist in this story all seven of them are living in.

The realization that you're alone in this world seems to hit like ice cold water dumped over your head and the chill of it creeps into your heart, freezing your veins and arteries.

You arrived the same way they did: Another world, no magic, the black carriage ride that would've seemed like a lifetime opportunity. But you aren't like the Yuus. You can't muster the determination and resolve they have to push through this unfamiliar terrain without much of a reaction. In fact, you cannot even begin to understand why none of them are upset about this.

Why? You find yourself asking over and over again and the question echoes relentlessly in your mind. Why aren't they grieving everything they've lost? Because you can't seem to stop thinking about it—Everything you've ever amounted to is gone. All your relationships, achievements, successes and lessons. Everything you've built is gone like a dream. Erased in an instant.

Hundreds—no—thousands of eyes stare at all of you. You don't have time to think about how beautiful they are. You've been stripped bare and raw of everything that ever made you you. You've been killed without ever physically dying.

As you struggle to adjust into this unfamiliar world, you can't help but admire others you share Ramshackle with. They're strong and determined, truly remarkable individuals. Charismatic and brave, they seem like the type of fictional characters the fanbase would adore—praised for the grit and unyielding stubbornness they display valiantly. Even the other students of magic descent respect them.

Sometimes you lie awake in your room—rundown and shabby, but improving. Together you're slowly transforming the dorm into something livable, maybe even inviting. During moments like these you find deep appreciation within yourself for the other seven that arrived with you. In vulnerable moments like this, they aren't companions; they're a lifeline.

Then there's you—a playground rock next to shining gems on pedestals. They reassure you that you're important. But nobody outside these croaking walls seems to believe that. The frustration builds sometimes, a tight knot in your chest just twisting and turning, and inevitably only knotting more. Curled up on the creaky floor, clutching your hair while staring wide-eyed at a single spot as if that floorboard specifically caused all of this. Tears don't seem to come; instead, you sit there, taking deep, shuddering breaths, lost in a sea of thoughts that you're drowning in.

Why? Why are you treated like a Ramshackle ghost—or even less? You all share the same origin, the same story of loss and these faux "New beginnings", so what makes you so different, so unappealing that nobody seems to want to spare more time than polite? Is it because of the fear that grips your heart? Its clutch is tight and cold, holding you to this new world full of threats hidden behind the guise of beautiful and new magic you didn't have back home.

The mesmerizing people that wield such pretty magic can control bodies while leaving consciousness intact—or the opposite. The idea of someone with malicious intent having that power over you is a chilling nightmare. You cannot simply compete for your own safety.

The inhabitants of Twisted Wonderland are simply stronger. Not just the fae, mers, or beastpeople, but even the humans. Their bodies are resilient, able to shrug off low-level magic that would leave you bloody or bruised.

At times you wonder why exactly nobody seems to care enough to remember you and there are moments when you find yourself gazing in the mirror, only met with an unfamiliar face. The reflection you're met with isn't quite yours—it's something darker, something hollow. A shadow, endless and consuming, its eyes locking with yours with an unnerving intensity. That smile, twisted in ways that were once pretty, no longer feels like it belongs on your face.

It's almost as you though you're looking at an echo of yourself, a distorted version that somehow feels both foreign and familiar, comforting in its familiarity but unsettling in its wrongness.

You blink, and the reflection moves. Just a slight shift, a creeping inch closer to the glass, closer than where you stand in reality. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic surging through you as you back away, tearing yourself from the bathroom and your own gaze. You slam the door behind you, leaning against its cold, worn surface. But even as the chill presses against your skin, it does nothing to calm the racing of your heart. The sleep deprivation is wearing you thin, and the hallucinations are becoming harder to ignore, more frequent, more real.

Ace's eyes narrow as you attempt to make small talk in the Ramshackle kitchen. He's friends with all the Yuus and quite close with them all. Deuce lingers somewhere nearby and you can hear his footsteps clomping around as he chases Grim. A soundtrack you've grown familiar with over time.

"—so yeah. He totally shrugged us off. Said we weren't 'big kid' enough to know what was going on." Ace rants, throwing his arms up in exasperation before running a hand through shaggy locks, his scarlet eyes met your own briefly before he continued rambling about something that had happened today in physed. His words swirl around you, filled with the day's energy, yet never fully reaching.

You always liked when the Adeuce duo visited. They were really only here for the others and you knew it, of course. If you remain in your room when they visit, neither boy will seek you out. They only included you in their escapades when you're right there—an afterthought. It felt cruel, like an unspoken rule of polite indifference. Nobody hated you, you just weren't important.

Deuce poked his face into the room, offering a polite wave as he rummaged through the fridge for a snack before leaning against the counter as he watched you make lunch. His expression is thoughtful and only vaguely curious.

"You don't really do anything, do you?" The words slipped out like a quiet curiosity that cut deeper than he likely intended. It's not a jab, just a question. Maybe that makes it hurt more. You felt like a rarely regarded lamp in a corner, the bulb long burned out, the shade dusty and untouched, and a soft light no longer emit from it.

You awkwardly muster a smile and try to respond—to list a reason you're worth more attention than you receive, but your voice falters. Before you can say a word, Grim streaks across the table, scattering papers and bunching up the cheap cloth. One paw hits Ace in the face and Deuce barely manages to avoid a fall with the creature darting between his legs.

Both boys shoot up, laughter and curses ringing out through the dorm as they chase Grim out of the room. You're left in the quiet, the emptiness settling over you like dust—suffocating and dull. The buzz of the kitchen light hums in the silence, a low, monotonous sound that only seems to heighten the irritation building inside. It's the kind of anger that feels pointless, but it consumes you anyway, making you feel unbearably stagnant.

Your eyes are locked on the tiles beneath your feet, the stark off-whiteness almost glaring under the dim light. You stare so intensely that your eyes begin to sting, but you can't bring yourself to look away. Something feels off, something is off.

And then, it hits you. Your oldest companion—the one constant presence you could always count on—has abandoned you. Your shadow is gone. For a fleeting moment, you feel exposed, like the absence of it leaves you vulnerable. You almost want to reach out, to search for it, but there's nothing there. The realization leaves you with a cold, sinking feeling, and the silence suddenly feels oppressive.

Your gaze pulls away from the tiles, heart racing, trying to dismiss the unsettling feeling. Turning back to the counter, you expect to regain a semblance of calm. But as you do, something catches your eye—your shadow is cast strangely, distorted in a way you don't recall. Paranoia gnaws at you, the question unanswered. Was it always like this? You couldn't even remember.

Before you could process it any further, you hear Yuuken's voice, calling you from down the hall, asking for help with the renovations.

Engaging with anyone here was an uphill battle—woundingly difficult. The conversations seem one sided, his interest always fleeting as if there's nothing about you that's all that interesting. You're invisible. Once again, feeling like a ghost, a nameless background character in a story you were pasted into, into a story that you weren't even supposed to be dragged into.

What cuts deeper like a blade into the fat layer is the reality that you're not just standing idle. You're there in the overblots, fighting every battle as if you were qualified despite being dastardly unfit for this work. Fighting just as fiercely for people who don't even dare to acknowledge your existence for longer than necessary. You've pulled people to safety, pushed others out of the way of dangerous attacks and when it's all over you're tending to the injured, soothing the boy whose overblotted until he comes to. Yet when he wakes his eyes are darting for someone else.

All you want—all you need—is a simple acknowledgement. A thanks.

Yuu is injured but so are you. "What about me?" The words slip out before you can stop them

"What about you?" He repeats as his eyes rake over your crumpled form; battered and broken.

His voice is distant, edged with a vague obligation of care or pity. "You're hurt. Staff and paramedics will be here soon. Stay put." You would've felt your heart swell to feel any sort of acknowledgement and being withdrawn from your lonely bubble but he goes ahead and says that to everyone else and the hope sputters out and fades away. Are you merely another faceless voice in the crowd?

But he's beside Yuuka and her friends, thanking them tending to the others, offering words of comfort and appreciation and a hot surge of jealousy envelops you for only a fleeting moment before it cools almost immediately. It's not Yuu's fault. She's stumbling over words, eyes darting between you and him, desperately trying to redirect all the praise.

"They helped a lot too. Don't worry about me. Please—they took a lot of hits for the team—" her voice is rushed, earnest. She sees you. She knows.

But you're numb. The words wash over you, leaving you staring blankly. Your focus sharpens as you watch him, the indifference cutting deeper than any wound from battle.

It's not Yuu's fault, you think, the realization like a blade. And it's not mine either.

Your eyes harden, the simmering negativity solidifying into something darker—hatred for this world and its unforgiving, selective gaze.

The Blot's words wrapped around you like velvet, warm and inviting. Each word a whisper, and just beyond your comprehension. It spoke in a language too rich, too layered for you to fully grasp, yet you found yourself managing a nod and agreeing to flowery promises barely understood.

Home seems too far now, a vague dream you once had a long time ago that's memories grow dim within your worn mind. Crowley's so-called "research" moves at a snail's pace, each reassurance vague and hollow with no weight behind it. They have housewardens, heirs, socialites, all silently pining to have them by their side in the end. The others have people who want them here.

When graduation comes, you know you'll be alone. No citizenship, no comforting embrace after a long day, no government papers to properly own a home, and no magic to shield you.

A higher education was beyond your reach without the proper credentials. You could aim for a trade but no reputable company would hire a ghost in the system without insurance. Shadier paths were on the table for you but you didn't want to hurt innocent people and you weren't ready to die. Not yet.

"You promise?" The words rasped from your throat, a fragile plea to the pitch-black figure—it smiles.

Snowflakes gathered on your broken body, frostbite gnawed at your fingertips and toes. The cold seeped deep, pressing kisses to your very bone marrow. The results of the accident are chilling, your body numb and your mind blocking the pain out.

"You'd accept even if I won't, darling." It purred, voice dripping with amusement and leaning over your mangled body. Once again you looked like broken porcelain. Doll carnage—too pretty to die in its eyes.

"You're going to die in that stupid uniform." It reminds with a melodious laugh escaping it, crouching so unseen eyes met yours and the empty gaze felt cold like a harpoon through your skull.

A response doesn't form just yet, instead your words linger on time quickly slipping away. "You'll make me live?"

"You make it sound like a punishment."

"It could be."

Its grin only widened. "I'll make you thrive—I'll sponsor you. Only to test magicless bodies, of course. You're soaked with hatred, my dove—enough to feed me for centuries and I just might be able to use all that to give you some fancy powers," The Blot chimed and waves it's hands around with a lighthearted laugh as if you're not mangled and dying right now.

You muster a nod and your vision is blurring quickly, adrenaline settling in as your blood pumped quickly to get you up, away from the charming danger you'd shake hands with if your body was capable of movement.

"I've waited too long.." It murmured softly, a hint of cruel reverence sends a shiver runs down your spine as the Blot's presence looms closer, its hands—tender, almost too tender—brush away strands of hair from your face, as if trying to soothe the tension there. Your body trembles under the weight of its touch, that impossible softness juxtaposed with the suffocating darkness that clings to it. The Blot's dark hands reach for you, wrapping around your shoulder and back to prop you up, not in malice but in something more unsettling, as though its cradling you like something fragile, something it fears may break at the breeze.

It laughs, a low, melodious sound, "Even a worm will turn," it murmurs under its breath, the words curling into your mind, buzzing like static. You can't focus on anything other than the overwhelming presence of it, the heat of its breath a nearly welcome sensation against the stinging snow, slowly burying you.

It'd been a few days since the accident—now you walk the halls, your feet knowing the path subconsciously as your eyes linger on the jewelry again, the weight of it palpable on your finger. The design is intricate, just as you'd always admired—luxurious without tipping over into excess, a perfect balance of elegance. But it's the stone at its center that pulls at you, black as the void. It swallows light, reflecting nothing but its own cold depth, as if it has its own consciousness. You feel it almost stare back at you.

A scoff slips past your lips, quiet but bitter. On your left ring finger... really? The symbolism is unmistakable, painfully so. The left ring finger—a spot traditionally reserved for unions of love, a mark that binds two hearts together. But for you, it's a symbol of something far more suffocating. This ring doesn't speak of affection or choice. It speaks of a contract. A binding agreement you were coerced into on the brink of death.

You'd like to think that in a normal situation you would've denied it but a voice in the back of your consciousness rejects that. You know you would have taken the deal.

Yuuta's voice comes from behind, cutting through the weight of your thoughts. You don't flinch, but his sudden presence forces you back into reality. His usual smile is present, though there's something different in his eyes today—a worry you can't quite ignore.

"Hey! You walk fast-" He pants, falling into step beside you. "Doing anything for lunch? Me and the others are... honestly really worried about you. Ever since you came back a few days ago from that night-blizzard-walk.. you've been off." His voice drops slightly as he tilts his head to try and meet your gaze.

It's hard to resist his pleading look. Yuuta has a way of being both persistent and comforting, and something about him makes you swallow your usual refusal. You nod, even though you'd planned to stay alone, to work through your thoughts—thoughts about the Blot, the contract, and the strange shift in the world since you'd returned.

Sighing inwardly, you follow him to the familiar table. As you lower yourself onto the bench, your thoughts stills scattered, the sound of something unpleasant catches you off guard—a soft, squishy noise. You frown, reaching down to find a purple whoopie cushion beneath you.

Before you can say anything, Ace's laughter rings out, easily cutting through the table's chatter. "I told you it'd work! They're always in their own world, seriously."

Epel's high-five to Ace is audible, and you can almost feel their amusement. Deuce, on the other hand, shoots Ace a disapproving look. "A whoopie cushion? What are you, twelve?"

Ace chuckles, standing and grabbing the whoopie cushion from your hands before glancing back at the others, a mischievous grin still present on his face. "Firstly, I saw you laugh too, and hey, what can I say? I'm a guy who appreciates the classics." His crimson eyes flick to you, and before you can even process it, he taps the cushion gently on your head a few times. "Real spacey lately, huh?"

The words hang in the air, and for a split second, you freeze. Spacey. They're speaking first. They're acknowledging you first. After everything, after how invisible you've felt... now they decide to reach out?

Anger grows in your chest but you quickly suppress it. Your fingers instinctively brush the blot ring on your finger, feeling its cold weight. Thrive. The Blot's promise. The smile and soft words is the only thing you can offer right now, even if it feels a little too forced, too foreign on your face.

"Have I been?" You ask, the words coming out light and easygoing. "It's difficult to sleep in a rickety, haunted dorm. You and the others should sleepover more. I like the background noise."

It wasn't a full lie. You did feel less lonely when they visited, but the feeling only increased tenfold when you could hear everyone downstairs while you remained forgotten in your room. Still, you left the invitation open.

Just you wait. You thought, your smile dimming as Ace returned to his spot and the conversation flowed, your earlier anxieties and insecurities nulled by the ring thanks to the contract.

You'll ease yourself into their lives, each thread slipping through the spaces between them, invisible but vital. Not just the ones at the table, but everyone you've fought for, the ones who've forgotten you, the ones who've never seen you or bothered to try. You'll become a part of them so intertwined that they'll find it impossible to live without seeing you in every aspect of their days and nights.

In time, you'll make sure of it. You'll be everywhere—in their laughter, in their sorrows, in the smallest moments, the ones they think they can forget. They'll breathe you in without even realizing, and soon, every part of their lives will have a thread of you running through it. You'll be their lifeline.

srry if its not the cute, comforting lovestory you were expecting lol

I'm sorta leaving it on an open end here to keep you all guessing ig lol. I can probably write separate minifics or whatever for this au I made or drabbles or maybe even a second chapter if anyone wants.

I wrote this in November and am posting it now so that was my procrastination ig

I've been sitting on this idea with no motivation to write it for probably two years so spare with me if it doesn't make sense or it's no good.

First time writing for tumblr and I haven't written outside of my notes app in a long time lol

[hotchnersangel]

GIRL, SO CONFUSING!

Aaron Hotchner

a/n: i’ve been watching an awful lot of love island so this is very angry girl staying composed confrontation core.

warnings: jealousy, oc! vs you, bombshell!reader, angry girl core, (not an accurate representation of beth in the show),

————————

Aaron Hotchner was a proud man, not in a bad way, quite literally the opposite. He had built up his reputation, he had loved and lost but that had never been his priority. He somehow felt content in his life with different kinds of love, like the one he felt for the bau team, or... well, you. It was different to the team, it made him comfortable. He knew you, and you knew him. Everyone knew you as a pair, if you were seperate, well that would be awkward. Though, your platonic love hadn't been a relationship, not nearly. Maybe the lines between platonic and romantic were hazy sometimes but that did not mean that you were together, You were both adamant that you were not, always shutting people down when they suggested the idea of it.

Recently, Aaron had started seeing a new woman, her name was Beth. She was sweet at first and she stayed that way to the team, though it didn't feel that way with you. Overtime, she seemed to reject yours and Aaron's relationship, which you didn't like because he could be friends with who he likes. You would understand if you and Aaron had a history, but you didn't. Simple, you were friends, best friends and Beth tried to accept it, but she didn't. Instead, you resulted in pretending to get along with one another, though you all know that it's so far from the truth.

The bau were round Rossi's house, having a 'family' dinner and coincidentally you were sat opposite Beth, forced to stare at her the whole evening. Deep joy.

"So, Beth... you got your hair done?" You try start a friendly conversation with her. In return you get a short smile and a nod.

"Yeah, I did." She replies and you awkwardly smile at her, not knowing what to reply.

"You guys are twinning now..." JJ tries to break the ice but it had the opposite effect, Beth just straightened her posture and tried to pass the comment off. The silence on our side of the table was thick, the raw unspoken awkwardness of a lack of common ground.

"You guys do say we are alike..." you say nonchalantly, trying to diffuse some tension with some humour.

Beth laughs and shakes her head. "I don't see it."

You give JJ a look sharing unspoken pleas for a new convo topic, you hide your smile behind your wine glass as you take a sip.

"So," JJ looks at you with a smile, "How is that boyfriend of yours doing?" This catches Hotch's attention now as he joins in the conversation.

You laugh, "I mean... it is a bit of fun really but I don't think it's anything serious." you shrug, telling them the truth.

"I never did like him really," Aaron shrugs, smiling at you and you laugh shaking you head. "Believe me, I know you didn't."

"I think you should see how it goes," Beth says and shrugs and everyone looks confused at one another, considering all she knew about him was that he was a bit of 'fun'.

You laugh awkwardly, looking at Aaron who furrowed his brows slightly but brushed it off.

After dinner, everyone joins on the backdoor porch, sitting on the luxurious garden furniture. You were sat with Emily and JJ, observing the way Beth was practically all over Hotch.

"I really don't understand your relationship with her." Emily says bewildered.

"I genuinely can't tell if she wants to see me falling over and failing and honestly, I sort of feel the same to her." You say looking at them both now. "I'm trying to be nice but I think i really dislike her... like come on, the new hair?"

"It's a bit of a coincidence considering the fact that her man fancies the shit out of you and suddenly dresses, acts and now looks like you," Emily shrugs casually and JJ hits her playfully but has a serious tone when scolding her.

"What do you mean?" You ask furrowing your brows and laughing, "Aaron doesn't like me in that way babe."

"For profilers, you are both in extreme loss of social awareness," Spencer walks past as says, taking a seat next to Emily. "Around 85-90% of people can be considered to lack a significant social awareness because they don't fully understand their own self-awareness, for example-"

"What Pretty boy is trying to say pretty lady, is that you and Hotch are in love but you don't see it yet." Moran waltzes in and states, bringing along a gushing Garcia and Rossi.

"Aaron's happy. I want him to be happy and I truly think he is with Beth." You state, diverting the conversation. Beth and Aaron walk over after that comment and you smile at them.

"Beth, I'm having a party for new years round mine... you should come." you offer kindly, wanting some peace considering she is dating your best friend.

"I don't really do parties." She retorts.

"Come on, it will be good to put your hands up a bit, have a little dance." You offer with a smile and she smiles awkwardly in return.

"I think i'll leave that to you babe." She smiles passively agressive at you. "I'm in a happy relationship."

You furrow your brows, "What's that got to do with anything?"

Everyone is watching the two of you bounce against one another now, flicking their heads like they're watching a tennis match. You're even sure you saw Rossi pass Emily a handful of popcorn.

"It means, I dont go whoring around babe." She smiles patronisingly and everyone looks shocked.

"Beth-" Aaron tries to step in.

"No- Aaron, I can handle this, thank you though." You say kindly to him, looking back to Beth. "No wonder you're so tight Beth, because I'm having a party? How am I a whore?"

"That's the type of party I see you throwing," she shrugs.

"That's an orgy babe," you retort, "Clearly you're opinions are too fixed to comprehend that not everyone's actions are centred around male validation."

She scoffs, "You're a fine one to talk like that. Clearly it's something you crave if it's all you look for in my boyfriend, hear that, mine. It's why you can't get in your own loving relationship babe."

You actually laugh in her face, the others trying to bump in but you stop them. "Girl, you're so confusing sometimes. I genuinely can't tell what I have done to give you the impression that I would 'steal' your boyfriend, whether I liked him or not, you should one have trust in him to not do that to you- which Aaron by the way, clearly would never do, and two, I am not the type of girl to go after another girl full stop. Whether it is her or her man, you don't do that as a woman, babe."

"Oh and you're so perfect aren't you?" she shoots back.

"Perfect enough to tell you that you don't have to change your appearance to look like me because you believe that your boyfriend is in love with me." You state quieter, knowing everyone had concluded that, but wanting to keep her confrontation private.

"You're a self centered bitch, you know that?"

"You know, we are totally different after all. You need to berate other women to feel good about yourself and I do not. Please, do yourself a favour and work on those thoughts. Be kinder to yourself and you will feel less worried about these things." You state directly.

"Aaron, we're leaving." she gets up angrily, walking to the door.

"No, Beth. You're leaving." He says crossing his arms and moving besides you, placing his hand on your shoulder in support. "I think you made a decision for me."

————————

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Spicy Noodles Challenge

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: paige being a tease, Paige almost losing her life.

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem reader x Azzi Fudd

Fandom: UConn's Women's basketball

Summary: spicy ramen and sheer willpower

TikTok Live was rolling, the ring light illuminating my face as I stared at the terrifyingly red bowl of noodles in front of me. Aubrey and Caroline sat beside me, all of us mentally preparing for what we were about to endure. The rest of the UConn women’s basketball team was gathered around us, off-camera but fully invested in our suffering.

"Alright, y’all," Aubrey said dramatically, looking at the screen. "We’re doing the spicy noodle challenge, and I already know I’m not making it out alive."

"Me either," Caroline added, shaking her head. "Why did I let y’all talk me into this?"

I scoffed. "Y’all got nothing to worry about. I have a reputation to uphold."

The comments were already flying in.

@p.y.aluver: "Y/n's about to humble everyone."

@UConnsfavtoy: "Paige and Azzi gon’ clown her if she starts crying."

@Purplepaigepurples: "Why do I feel like Aubrey is gonna tap out first?"

Paige and Azzi were standing behind me, flanking either side like my own personal hype squad—and personal menace squad. Paige rested her chin on the top of my head, peering down at my bowl.

"You sure about that, babe?" she teased. "‘Cause that looks lethal."

Azzi smirked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Don’t get cocky now. You know you can’t handle spice."

I nudged her off me. "Y’all are so fake. Where’s the encouragement?"

Azzi patted my back. "You got this, baby."

Paige shrugged. "Yeah. You got this, but if you cry, just know I’m laughing."

KK Arnold snickered from the side. "You already know Paige and Azzi about to be the worst cheerleaders."

"I am offended," Paige said dramatically. "I support my girl in every way."

Azzi nodded. "Yeah, we just support her… with a little bit of clowning included."

Aubrey clapped her hands. "Okay, okay, less talking, more suffering. Let’s go."

We counted down together.

"Three… two… one—go!"

I took my first bite, and immediately, I felt the heat punch me in the throat. The spice didn’t creep up—it attacked. My tongue burned, my lips tingled, and my throat felt like I had swallowed actual fire.

Beside me, Aubrey was already gagging. "Nah. Nope. I’m out."

Caroline had taken one bite and was chugging her water like her life depended on it.

I powered through, despite my taste buds screaming at me to stop. My eyes watered, my nose was already running, and I could feel Paige and Azzi watching me, waiting for me to break.

"You good, baby?" Azzi asked, rubbing my back.

I nodded, swallowing another bite. "Yup."

Paige tilted her head. "Are you crying?"

I shot her a glare. "No."

The comments were going crazy.

@paxazxyn35: "Y/N IS STRUGGLING OMG LMAOOO."

@aubreyslefttoe: "Paige just wants to see her suffer 💀"

@ynrealluver: "Aubrey is already gone, Caroline is barely hanging on, but Y/N IS STILL FIGHTING."

Azzi handed me a napkin as I sniffled. "Babe, your nose—"

I wiped my nose quickly, taking another bite even though my throat felt like sandpaper.

"She’s fighting for her life," Ice Brady laughed.

"Ice, be useful and get me some milk," I croaked out, voice slightly hoarse.

Paige raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you need something?"

I exhaled, trying to cool my mouth down. "Yes, I need milk, now."

Paige smirked, holding up a glass of milk she had magically produced from somewhere. "I’ll give it to you… but you gotta kiss me for it."

I stared at her, deadpan. "Paige. Madison. Bueckers, if you don’t hand me that damn milk—"

Azzi, bless her soul, grabbed a different glass from the side and handed it to me before I committed a crime. "Here, baby."

I immediately chugged the milk, sighing in relief as the burn subsided slightly.

Paige pouted. "Wow, Azzi. You’re ruining my fun."

Azzi rolled her eyes. "You were gonna ruin your own fun when she knocked you out on live."

I slammed my glass down dramatically, after regaining the ability to truly speak. "I WIN. I FINISHED IT ALL."

The team burst into cheers and laughter, clapping for me.

"A TRUE CHAMPION," Aubrey declared, even though she had up two minutes ago.

Caroline wiped her own watery eyes. "I don’t know how you did that."

"Sheer willpower," I said, sniffling.

Paige kissed the top of my head. "Proud of you, baby. Even though you look like you just fought for your life."

Azzi cupped my cheeks, looking at me with faux concern. "Do you regret it, though?"

I leaned into her hands, sighing dramatically. "Yes."

Paige and Azzi both laughed before kissing me on either cheek at the same time.

"Never doing that again," I mumbled, still sniffling.

The chat was blowing up with laughing emojis and comments, but the best part? The stolen kisses, the teasing, and the way my girlfriends never let me suffer too much.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[pricegouge]

this time you can thank woolie and stelle for this one

part three of the honey series

font

gaz x f!reader

cw: f!reader. microphilia, objectification, exhibitionism. dubcon kinda but everyone is into it. MDNI

kyle had asked for dinner and a show, but it's hard to command a room at your size. harder still when you're trapped in a drink dispenser.

men stop occasionally, only usually taking notice of your presence after reading the card set beside your display, and then only usually if they were alone, no one to distract them. they'd hit the tap, sway idly, cast about for some sort of entertainment while the liquid bubbled around you, a series of temporary vacuums which made your ears thrum. eventually their eyes would land on the placard - fairy fresh honey, for your enjoyment - and they'd look to the dispenser with renewed interest, delighted even further when they caught the double meaning.

from your perch atop a raft of orange slices, you've been charged with keeping yourself entertained all night, a constant source of sweetener to make the punch more heady and saccharine by the hour. it was an easy task from the safety of your container. guests were permitted to look but not touch, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't do anything for you. you liked the attention, liked seeing the repeat customers getting more and more intoxicated as the night went on - with your taste, with the sight of you; it didn't matter much. just more kindling for the heat that burned within you. sometimes, they'd go and fetch their friends to share in their new-found treasure, a ring of guests looking on and cooing at you as you kept yourself teetering on that constant edge, teasing you to tip yourself over and give them what they wanted. their faces were refracted and distorted through your container, voices muffled, but it only added to it all, made them unreal and nonthreatening.

but kyle had said you couldn't, that you were to save yourself for his drink later, his 'nightcap', after everyone went home. he'd come by every now and again to sample the punch, make sure it wasn't overly sweet. he'd wink at you when he found you were behaving for once and reward you by being gentle when he'd have to top off the dispenser, a ladle kept down by surface level to ensure the drink mixture wouldn't splash too much as he poured it in. your little raft would float back to the top easily each time and then kyle would lean close to press a kiss against the sticky crown of your head and you'd start all over, skin abuzz with his touch.

but as the night drags on and little twinkle lights replace the sun, your bubble grows cold and your pleasure grows sparse. you tap on the glass as kyle passes with a tray of finger foods and he frowns at you for a moment before processing the ice still floating around in the punch, the warmth of the day having died off enough that they haven't melted in a timely manner. he nods and holds up his finger. wait. you're still pouting about it when he gets back and he laughs as he scoops you up in a cup, lets you hide low beneath the rim as he walks around saying good night to everyone.

outside of the protection of your container, the guests take on a bit of a beastly quality. you see more fairies, worn like lanterns on the hips of their companions, or decorated in jewels and chained to their throats like necklaces. you've always known you were lucky to have been found by kyle, but you gain a new appreciation for that when you see one poor soul clenched between the teeth of a rather grisly looking man, her face twisted in some bad mixture of pain and pleasure. some of them see you, dare to ask kyle for one last taste. you sink further into the cup each time, eyes burning as you stare up at them through the murkiness of the sugary punch. you wish kyle would put his hand over the cup like a lid but you know he likes showing you off too much and he never does, lets you flounder under each stranger's gaze as he takes too long to deny them.

but eventually everyone does leave, and kyle retreats inside where he places you on the counter in the kitchen and tells you to stay in your cup.

"don't worry, you'll be warm enough soon," he promises, then goes about getting the kettle on. he showers you in praises as he waits for it to warm because he doesn't play fair, tells you how well you did for him and how everyone talked about you. says you looked so cute on your clever little raft. he kisses your forehead again and grins when he sees how it makes your wings flutter.

he doesn't let the kettle come to a boil, stops it just before it can and pours some water on his wrist to make sure it's not too hot. his tea bag goes in before you but you're quick to follow, loosing a deep sigh as you're lowered into the welcome heat. you loosen up as the tea steeps, tacky, sugary residue left over the punch sloughing off in iridescent swirls across the surface as the water slowly darkens to his preferred level. you hadn't realized how sore you were until right then, the balance of having to keep your raft level while actively fidgeting on it all day having left your core a little overworked. kyle lets you steep just as long as the tea itself, cooing at you all the while just to watch you squirm.

but eventually it's enough and you grin when he goes to fish the bag back out, bare finger dipping into the mug alongside you. not even bothering with pretenses, it seems.

"c'mere," he mutters, but it's not the tea bag he goes searching for. you dodge him a few times, more out of playfulness than a genuine desire to deny him. kyle isn't fooled. he grins as he corrals you against the wall of the mug, the base of his forefinger pressed against your chest to keep you place as his finger tip slips lower, wedges itself between your thighs to force you straddle it. already you're leaking, muted gold ink swirling into his favorite nightcap.

"that's it, luv," he jostles his finger gently, encouraging you to ride it. he always takes good care of his fingers for you but in the heat of the tea his skin feels even softer, a pillow to rest your abused cunt on. when you rock forward, you can feel the hard ridge that makes up the inner hinge of his first knuckle. "one last show for the night, hm? just for me, so make it good."

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 3

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky was putting his lunch in his lunch box when a rumble of footsteps came thundering down the stairs and he looked up as Y/N burst into the kitchen looking frazzled.  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” She asked him incredulously.  “Where are the kids?”

“On the bus,” he answered nonchalantly.

“What?” she sputtered.  “H-how…what do you–”

“They got themselves ready, lunches packed, homework done, and I made sure they were out of the house on time,” he said, smirking at her.  He grabbed a plate of food next to him and slid it toward her on the island, accompanying it with a mug of her favorite drink.  “I wanted to let you sleep.  Now sit down and relax.”

Y/N stared at him, the surprise evident in her expression.  She glanced at the plate of food then slowly walked over to the island, pulling out the stool chair and sitting down.  She grabbed the toast and took a bite.  “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky smiled.  He rounded the island and stood next to her, his fingers pulling her chin to make her look up at him.  “We need to talk about what happened last night,” he said, and her eyes fluttered in sadness.  “But, not right now.  I’m about to leave for work, but I want you to take today to do nothing.”

“Nothing?” Y/N frowned.

“Absolutely nothing,” Bucky nodded.  “Don’t you dare cook or clean, just rot on the couch and get caught up on your shows.  I’ve already got dinner set up for delivery later.  And we’ll have a good, long conversation about everything over ice cream.”

Y/N still looked surprised, but a small, happy smile crept up on her lips.  “Sherbet ice cream?”

Bucky huffed a laugh.  “Whatever my pretty mama wants,” he said.  

***

That night after the kids went to bed they sat on the couch downstairs, a gallon of rainbow sherbet ice cream between them that they took bites from as they talked about everything.  Bucky felt like they had come to a good understanding with each other, and they agreed to actively work towards reigniting their marriage.  

“Well, I have a work party next weekend that you can come to,” Bucky said.  “We’re celebrating that presentation going well and getting that client.”  He hadn’t told her about the bonus yet, wanting to keep it a surprise.  

“Oh you know I’m not a huge fan of work hangouts,” Y/N waved him away.  “As much as I love Steve, it’s just a lot of awkward moments for me being the odd one out on everyone’s work inside jokes and what not.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky smiled and nodded.  “Then how about the next day?  We’ll go out together, just the two of us.”

Y/N smiled.  “That would be nice.”

“It’s a date,” Bucky smiled back.  

***

That next Friday he found himself in a bar downtown.  He felt too old to be there, just keeping a watchful eye on the younger employees as he nursed his one and only beer for the night.  He and Steve took the time to catch up with each other, since they were both married, family men who didn’t get to hang out as often as they used to or would have liked.  Steve stood from the small table they were at to get himself another drink.  Bucky finished his beer, setting the bottle aside when someone else sat in front of him.

“Hey boss,” Natasha greeted him with a flirtatious smile.

Bucky inwardly groaned, but politely smiled.  “Nat,” he greeted her.  “Hope you’re having fun with the rest of the team.”  He had to tread carefully with her.  Natasha was young, beautiful, and had made it clear a while ago that her conversations with him were her attempt at flirty banter, sliding in sexual innuendos and compliments towards him.  He’d tried ignoring it, not playing into it with her at all, but she was nothing if not persistent and ambitious.  That was what made her a great part of the team.  He just wished she would take the hint.

“You look ridiculously hot, as usual,” Natasha said, maneuvering herself to sit closer to him, leaning forward on the table to show off her cleavage.

“Oh, um, thank you,” Bucky said, trying to lean away from her.  “You look nice.”

“Just nice?” Natasha laughed teasingly.  “Looks like I’ll need to up my game next time.”

Bucky’s lips tightened as he tried to subtly look for Steve to save him.  “Well, I don’t want you to waste your time with me—”

She reached a hand out and slid her fingers across the back of his hand.  “Oh there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, sir,” she purred.  

Bucky pulled his hand away and frowned.  “Nat, I’m not sure how else to say this without it sounding mean, so I’m just going to say it.  I’m married.  Happily married–”

“No you’re not,” Natasha smirked.  “You’re having marriage problems.”  She leaned forward again so she was close to his ear, the alcohol on her breath making him scowl.  “I can help you feel better.”

Bucky pushed away from her.  “Where did you hear I was having marriage problems?” he asked angrily.

“I could just tell,” Natasha shrugged.  “And Peter likes to gossip.”

Bucky rolled his eyes then closed them as he rubbed his face, and she took the opportunity to corner him against the wall, her hand holding the back of his neck and pulling him forward, kissing him right on the mouth.  Bucky froze in shock for just a moment before he pushed her away and stood.  “What the fuck was that?” he yelled.

“Hey, woah, what’s going on?” Steve asked, finally coming back over to the table with a new beer in his hand.

“She just fucking kissed me!” Bucky replied, wiping his mouth.

“Natasha,” Steve groaned, looking at her with deep disappointment.

“What?” she pouted.  “I’m drunk.”

Bucky shook his head incredulously as Steve sighed.  “Okay, it’s time for you to go home,” he said, pulling her up by the arm.  “I’m calling you an Uber.  And we’ll be having a discussion with HR on Monday.”

“What?  No!  I’m not ready to leave!” Natasha whined, pulling against his hold as he directed her toward the front door.  Bucky stood there in shock until Steve came back a few minutes later.  

“She’s gone,” Steve said.  “I’m sorry, Buck.  I knew she was flirtatious with you, I just didn’t think she’d do something like that, even while drunk.”

“Y/N,” Bucky whispered, his eyes wide as he looked at Steve.  “I have to tell her, Steve.”  Steve’s eyes widened with him.  

@cjand10 @sebastians-love @sherwoodforesttales @shanksstrawhat @sagexsenorita @abaker74

[lucysarah-c]

I'll just say, I may be here posting about Mounting Spring, asks etc... But I'm cooking... I'm cooking something everyone asked me for lol

“I like this! This 3D flower pattern is so on trend right now.”

Levi’s eyes were glued to the screen as a freshly painted nail was shown up close.

“Oh, hi! Thank you,” her voice popped up again, and like an animal in pure confusion, he tilted his head to the side.

What are those things popping up? He was completely lost.

“Isn’t it too late for coffee?” she read aloud before grabbing her cup and taking a sip from the straw. “There’s no such thing as too much black or too late for coffee. Plus, it’s girls’ night! What’s a girls’ night without iced coffee or a glass of wine?”

This feels wrong now, Levi thought, taking a sip of his own drink, lazily sprawled on his bed. But when she started showing off her pajamas, that’s when he lost it.

Holy shit... it’s the little shorts doing it for me.

“This is why kids these days have their eyes glued to this shit,” he muttered, almost offended— as if his own mouth wasn’t slightly open and his eyes weren’t stuck to the screen as she vibed to the song playing in the background.

“Have you ever tried… this one?” She winked at the camera, arm in the air, hips moving in a way that Levi quickly guessed was meant to simulate riding. Over the kitchen island.

…I’m definitely not better than a 12-year-old boy.

The chat flooded with messages about how much they loved the song.

Whose song is this?

“Oh! I love that! Ugh, my heart is divided, I want all of them to win! Birds of a Feather is so good, but Hot to Go?” she gushed, listing more names Levi didn’t recognize.

Who are those?

“And the dance?”

What trend? What song? What dance?

Levi felt lost. Completely lost.

“Oh, thank you for the donation! Here, a heart for you!”

She pressed two fingers together in the shape of a heart. Levi tilted his head again, frowning.

How the hell is that a heart?

But before he could keep questioning his entire existence—or, perhaps, his age—her expression shifted. The usual bright smile faded as she read something from the chat.

“Look, if you’ve got a problem with me, just keep scrolling, buddy. Can an admin ban him from the stream, please?”

That made Levi do the exact opposite. He scrolled up through the rapidly moving chat until he found the comment in question. Some idiot had said she owed it to him if something happened because of what she was wearing and doing on screen.

“What’s your fucking problem, dude?” Levi whispered, clicking his tongue. “If a woman has never even touched you, don’t say it so loudly.”

His fingers moved on their own, pressing the guy’s username, looking for a way to reply—until he suddenly let the phone drop onto his chest and stared at the ceiling.

“I need to calm down,” he muttered. Being in this live stream was already too much for him. Getting into an online argument was not the way to go.

How long had he been watching? He wasn’t sure. But in that time, he’d learned that ASMR meant tapping on objects with freshly done nails and whispering, that people voted on live which designs she should do next, and… a whole lot more.

“Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know. That’s me, espresso…”

She sang along to the music, and he felt hypnotized.

“…Did I just spend two hours of my life on this?”

The “Love ya!” came through the speakers as she blew a final kiss before ending the live.

“For fuck’s sake…” Levi muttered, almost offended. “You can’t be that stupidly cute.”

Maybe pop songs were popular for a reason. Maybe that’s why Levi never downloaded any apps on his phone or used it for anything beyond strictly necessary texts. Because explain to him why the hell he was humming at work.

“Since when do you know Sabrina Carpenter?”

Hange appeared out of nowhere, catching him off guard.

Levi had to come up with an excuse. Fast.

“What? Is it illegal for me to know new songs?”

“No…” Hange dragged the word out, squinting at him in suspicion. “But since when do you?”

“Give me a break. I’m not that old. I can get to know new artists,” he brushed it off while brewing himself a tea.

Hange let it slide, but their mind was already working, scheming. They kept talking, mostly about work. But as Levi finished his tea and was ready to leave, Hange casually dropped:

“Espresso?”

Levi frowned. “What?”

Hange repeated the question immediately, as if he hadn’t heard them the first time. But of course, he had.

“Fuck no. You know I hate coffee. Black tea,” he grumbled.

To his shock, Hange chuckled, shaking their head, biting their lip as they held back a knowing smile.

“Aww, Shortie… don’t give yourself away.”

“Huh?”

“Espresso. That’s the song you were humming.” Their grin widened. “I’m starting to think you’re not just listening to new artists—you’re watching new people.”

Levi stiffened.

And for the first time, he couldn’t hide the subtle embarrassed blush creeping up his face.

“Get off my ass,” he muttered, already walking away.

But Hange wasn’t done.

“And I think it might be Erwin’s cute little influencer friend!”

I won't say anything else, let the readers figure it out.

[00valentina-writes00]

Abby with an older reader perhaps? I’ve seen a couple older abby x reader fics but i don’t think i’ve seen one where it’s the other way around 🤔

✞⛧ Three Dates Minimum ✞⛧

Warnings: age gap, drinking, flirting, suggestive themes, persistent pursuit, mutual teasing, slow burn, tension, implied smut but no actual smut

Setting: A normal AU, modern-day setting. You meet Abby at a bar you frequent after work.

Word count: 6.2k

The hum of the bar wraps around you like a familiar coat—low conversations, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the dimly lit room. It's the same as always. The end of another long day, another well-earned drink in hand, another moment to yourself before you return to whatever waits outside these walls.

You lean against the polished counter, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your glass. The ice inside has begun to melt, condensation beading against the smooth surface, but you're in no rush. This is routine. The weight of the day lingers in your shoulders, but your posture remains composed—years of knowing exactly who you are and what you want evident in the way you carry yourself. You're dressed well, sharp yet effortless, a presence that stands out without trying. And if the looks you occasionally catch from strangers are anything to go by, it's a presence that commands attention.

Someone else has certainly noticed.

You feel it before you see it—eyes on you, persistent and searching. You don't react immediately, letting it simmer for a moment, drawing it out like a game you haven't quite decided to play yet. But when you finally lift your gaze, it's met with striking blue.

She's been watching you.

She's seated across the room, surrounded by friends, though it's clear her focus isn't on them. Her body is turned just slightly in your direction, posture relaxed yet attentive, like she's trying not to be obvious but failing miserably. A drink sits idle in front of her, fingers curled around the glass without much thought.

And then there's her.

It's impossible not to notice the way she takes up space—not just physically, though God, that's part of it. Broad shoulders, thick arms crossed in a way that only accentuates their definition, the lines of muscle cutting sharp even beneath the dim lighting. She's built like someone who knows how to hold her own, someone who's fought for everything she's ever had. It's in the rough edges of her, the weathered freckles that dust her tanned skin, the faint scars on her arms and face that whisper of past battles.

Her blonde hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, a few strands falling forward, catching in the light when she tilts her head slightly—like she's trying to gauge whether or not she's been caught.

She has.

You arch a brow, lips quirking in amusement as you hold her stare. Most people would look away, flustered under the weight of being seen. Not her.

No, she smirks.

And fuck, if that doesn't make things a little more interesting.

You take a slow sip of your drink, considering. She's younger than you—clearly—but not in a way that screams immaturity. There's a certain confidence in her, something bordering on cocky but not quite tipping into arrogant. It's charming, in its own way.

And then, after another lingering moment of hesitation, she moves.

You don't miss the way her friends exchange looks as she pushes up from her seat, nor do you miss the subtle roll of her shoulders before she makes her way across the bar. There's a self-assuredness in her stride, a deliberate kind of slowness, like she knows eyes are on her but only cares about one particular gaze.

Yours.

She stops just short of your personal space, close enough for you to take in the way she smells—faint hints of salt and leather, something clean but unpolished, like she's spent all day on the move.

"You always drink alone?" she asks, her voice rough in a way that suggests she's used to barking orders but is trying to sound casual.

You huff a quiet laugh, setting your glass down. "You always stare at women from across the bar before working up the nerve to talk to them?"

Her smirk widens, but there's something sheepish in the way she glances down for half a second, like she knows she's been caught. "Only when they look like you."

Smooth.

Your amusement flickers into something else, something sharper, more intrigued. You lean back slightly, taking her in now that she's up close. There's a rawness to her, a strength that's not just physical but intrinsic. You can see it in the set of her jaw, in the way her hands flex like she's used to gripping something solid—weights, weapons, people.

Still, she's waiting for a reaction, and you're not one to give an easy win.

You tilt your head. "And how do I look?"

That catches her off guard for half a beat. She exhales through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck, fingers brushing over the faint scar near her jaw. "Like you know what you want."

Your lips twitch. "And you have a thing for that?"

There's no hesitation this time. "Yeah."

The weight behind the admission, the way it sits in the space between you, is enough to make your stomach tighten.

Interesting.

You pick up your glass again, swirling the liquid inside, feigning a nonchalance you know she's already seeing through. "I don't usually entertain women who don't introduce themselves first."

Abby exhales a quiet chuckle, like she's both impressed and slightly exasperated. "Abby."

You hum, letting the name settle. It suits her—strong, no-nonsense, but with just enough softness beneath it.

"Well, Abby," you say, watching the way her throat bobs when you say her name, "I appreciate the effort, but I don't make it easy for people who want my attention."

She lifts a brow. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

Abby shifts her weight, studying you like she's considering her next move. Then, with a slow, deliberate ease, she rests an elbow on the bar beside you, leaning in just slightly. Not enough to crowd, but enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of her, the solid presence of her body so close to yours.

"I like a challenge," she murmurs.

Oh, she's good.

You fight the urge to smirk, instead letting silence stretch between you, letting her sit in the anticipation. And when you finally lean in just the barest bit, close enough that your breath ghosts over her cheek, you can practically hear her inhale.

"Then you'd better bring your best, sweetheart," you murmur. "Because I don't waste time on half-hearted attempts."

Abby swallows hard.

And you know, in that moment, that she's completely hooked.

———

You're not easily impressed.

People come and go in this bar, lingering long enough to swap half-hearted conversations and meaningless glances before disappearing into the night. You've been coming here for years, watching the ebb and flow of unfamiliar faces. Rarely does anyone manage to hold your attention past a single encounter.

But Abby Anderson keeps showing up.

At first, you think it's just coincidence. A passing flirtation she'll forget about the next day. She's younger, after all. Attractive, sure, but still that rough-edged kind of bold that suggests she doesn't take rejection personally. You assume she'll move on, find someone easier to win over.

Except she doesn't.

The first time you see her after your initial conversation, she plays it casual. No immediate approach, no shameless staring like before. She takes a seat across the bar, just close enough to be within your periphery, her broad frame unmistakable even when she's trying not to be obvious.

You're amused, but you don't acknowledge her right away. Instead, you sip your drink, letting the anticipation settle between you, waiting to see if she'll make the first move.

And she does.

A fresh drink slides into place beside yours. You glance up just as the bartender nods toward Abby. She raises her glass in silent acknowledgment, watching you with that same cocky smirk, blue eyes sharp beneath the dim lighting

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

You pick up the drink, considering. Then, deliberately, you turn slightly in your seat and lift the glass in return, mirroring her gesture.

Abby grins.

That should've been it. A single attempt, an unspoken challenge, a playful exchange that would end the moment you walked out the door. But the next time you show up, she's there again.

And the next.

And the next.

At first, she pretends it's happenstance. A small, innocent shrug when your eyes meet, like she just happens to be here on the same nights you are. You know better.

The thing is, she's charming in a way that isn't suffocating. She doesn't push, doesn't bombard you with attention or force herself into your space. Instead, she lingers just enough to make you notice, always finding some excuse to interact.

One night, it's another drink sent your way. Another, she casually takes the seat beside you, pretending to be caught up in something on her phone while you finish your own drink. Sometimes, she just watches, waiting for you to acknowledge her first.

And maybe it's the effort, or maybe it's just the way she looks at you—like she's trying to memorize every detail, like she's fascinated by the simple fact that you exist—but you find yourself enjoying the game more than you expected.

You start to expect her.

And you hate to admit it, but you like it.

——

Tonight, she's there again.

The moment you step inside, your eyes land on her without meaning to. She's easy to find, her presence commanding in any room she enters. The low lighting does little to soften her features—her sharp jawline, the way her cheekbones catch the dim glow of the bar's neon signage.

She's dressed the same as always. A black tank top, exposing the sheer breadth of her shoulders, cargo pants tucked into worn combat boots. Her arms are crossed, biceps flexing just slightly with the movement, and when she lifts her drink to take a sip, your gaze follows the curve of her forearm, the rough scars cutting through freckled skin.

She's strong. And she knows it.

The realization settles in your stomach like heat, slow and simmering.

But when Abby notices you, there's no immediate cockiness. Just a flicker of something unreadable in her expression, something quieter than the usual bravado.

And then she stands.

You're already moving toward the bar when she steps into your space, close but not intrusive, like she's testing whether you'll brush past her or acknowledge her presence.

"Was starting to think you were avoiding me," she says.

Your lips curve slightly. "That would imply I had a reason to."

Abby huffs a small laugh, shifting her weight. "You're not gonna make this easy, huh?"

You tilt your head, amused. "Would you want me to?"

She shakes her head, rubbing a hand over her jaw. "No," she admits. "I think I like the chase."

That catches your interest. You study her for a long moment, watching the way she holds herself—strong, steady, but with a subtle restraint, like she's still figuring out how far she can push.

"You've been persistent," you note, leaning against the bar. "Showing up here every night."

Abby doesn't deny it.

Instead, she shrugs. "Maybe I just like the drinks here."

You give her a look.

She grins, dropping the pretense. "Alright. Maybe I just like you here."

It's a simple confession, but there's weight behind it. Not in a way that feels suffocating, but in a way that feels... genuine.

For the first time, you let your gaze soften slightly, your usual amusement giving way to something more curious.

"What do you want, Abby?" you ask, voice quieter now.

She doesn't answer right away. She exhales, rubbing the back of her neck like she's gathering her thoughts. Then she meets your eyes, expression earnest.

"I don't know yet," she says. "But I know I don't want this to be nothing."

It's the first time she's hinted at anything more than just a casual flirtation.

That surprises you more than anything else.

You glance down, considering. Then, with deliberate ease, you pull your phone from your pocket and hold it out.

Abby stares for a beat before realization dawns.

The grin that spreads across her face is nothing short of victorious.

She takes your phone, fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long, and you pretend not to notice the warmth that lingers.

As she types in her number, you catch the way her hands move—strong, steady, calloused in a way that speaks of years of work.

When she hands it back, there's a glint of something teasing in her eyes.

"Guess I finally won you over," she murmurs.

You hum, tucking your phone away. "I wouldn't get ahead of yourself just yet."

Abby laughs, shaking her head. "Nah," she says, stepping back with a confidence that's more controlled than before, more assured.

"I think I'm exactly where I need to be."

———

The moment your phone buzzes, you already know who it is. The message is quick and lighthearted, carrying the energy of someone still high on their victory.

"Guess I finally got your number, huh? Should've gotten it sooner, but hey, good things come to those who wait 😉"

You lean back against your kitchen counter, phone still in hand, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you read the message. Abby's persistence has been undeniable, and tonight—despite all her flirting and teasing—something about her feels different. You still don't know if it's because of the way she looks at you with that gaze that's both raw and intent, or because of how she keeps pushing, but there's an edge of realness to this that wasn't there before.

A small part of you wants to play along, give in to the playful back-and-forth that's been building since the first night she approached you at the bar. But something else inside you—the one that's seen it all before, dealt with enough to know better—holds you back.

You sigh and type back a message, the words coming easily, almost naturally.

"Just so you know, I'm not interested in a fling. If this is just some older woman fantasy for you, let's stop now."

There's a beat of silence, your thumb hovering over the screen as you wait for her reply. It's not that you don't enjoy the tension between you, but you're not here for casual games. You don't have the time, the energy, or the interest in something fleeting.

When your phone buzzes again, it's a surprising shift in tone. No flirty emojis, no lighthearted remarks. Just a straightforward message from Abby:

"That's fair. But if I'm being honest, I'm not just looking for a quick night. I'm not that kind of person, and I'm not going to treat you like one. So how about this—let's go out. Just us. No games."

You blink at the text, trying to figure out whether she's being sincere or just responding to your boundary because she's determined to get a reaction. But there's something about her words—the lack of hesitation, the seriousness— that hints at something more genuine.

You sit with the message for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. You don't have time for games. You don't have time to let yourself get pulled into something that's just going to burn out as quickly as it started. But Abby... Abby's different. The kind of different you can't ignore.

"Three dates," you type back, the words coming quickly as you set the line in the sand. "Minimum. If you're serious, you'll wait. No sex until we've had time to get to know each other. That's the deal."

You don't expect her to reply immediately, but when she does, it's almost immediate.

"Three dates. I can do that. Don't worry, I'm in this for more than just a casual fling. I'll make sure you see that."

You let out a breath, staring at the screen. For the first time, you wonder if you might be in over your head. But then again, there's a part of you that's intrigued by her confidence, by the sincerity you've started to feel in her words. Abby doesn't strike you as the type to back down from a challenge. And you have a feeling you're about to find out just how far she's willing to go.

—

The first date is set.

It's simple enough—a dinner reservation at a quiet restaurant downtown. Nothing too flashy, no grand gestures, just a chance to talk. You told Abby you weren't looking for a whirlwind romance, but you also weren't going to sit around and wait forever.

When you see her walk through the door, your breath catches in your chest. She's dressed differently than usual—no tank top or cargo pants, just a button-down shirt that emphasizes her shoulders, paired with dark jeans and boots. The shift in attire only highlights her commanding presence, and for a moment, you're struck by how striking she is. How... real.

Her freckled face is a little more polished than usual, though you can still see the shadows under her eyes that speak to her hectic life. She's trying—trying to show you that she's here for more than just a fleeting moment. You know it the second your eyes meet.

She doesn't speak right away, but the smile on her face is wide, genuine. "Hey."

You return it, feeling your own lips pull up in response. "Hey, Abby."

As you walk to the table, you're aware of the way people glance in her direction. Abby stands out—her athletic, muscular frame a stark contrast to most of the others in the restaurant. You don't mind it, though. It only reinforces how different she is from anyone you've ever met.

Once seated, you both order drinks, and the conversation starts easily enough. At first, it's the usual small talk—how's work going, what's new, what's been keeping her busy. But it quickly deepens, as if she's holding nothing back.

"I've been training a lot lately," Abby says after a few sips of wine. "Trying to get stronger. I'm in a weird place right now—feels like everything's constantly moving, but I'm not sure where it's going."

You nod, leaning back in your chair as you look at her. "I get that. Life's always in motion, but it's easy to get caught up in the rush. Sometimes, you just need to slow down and focus on the things that matter."

Abby meets your gaze, her blue eyes steady. "Yeah. I'm not used to slowing down, though. It's easier to keep moving."

You smile a little. "You don't have to slow down, but you do have to know when to focus."

She watches you for a long moment, her fingers tapping the edge of her wine glass. "And what about you? What do you focus on?"

You pause, considering. "I focus on what I can control. The rest... I just let go."

The conversation lingers there, unspoken truths passing between you as you both take in the weight of each other's words. It's different from any date you've had before—more mature, more grounded. You realize you like it. Like her.

When the evening winds down, Abby insists on walking you home. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, she says. You don't argue, though the truth is, you're starting to feel a different kind of connection with her—one that isn't based on fleeting chemistry or easy attraction. It's something more.

At your doorstep, she stops, giving you a long look. "So... what now?" she asks, a hint of vulnerability in her voice that's completely at odds with the strong, tough persona she projects.

You smile, tilting your head slightly. "We go on two more dates. That's what comes next."

Her lips twitch. "Fair enough."

And then, to your surprise, she leans in, her presence overwhelming in the quiet of the night, her hand brushing your arm as she whispers, "Three dates. I'll make sure you won't regret it."

You stare into her eyes for a moment, feeling the promise behind her words. "We'll see, Abby. We'll see."

——-

The days between your first and second date stretch out in a strange, anticipatory silence. It's as if the air is thick with unspoken words, with each interaction between you and Abby carrying a weight of its own.

You're not sure what you were expecting from Abby after your first night together, but you definitely didn't expect how easy it would be to fall into a rhythm with her. Her determination to prove herself, to show that she's not like the others, is clear, but there's something else that lingers too—the softness that you get glimpses of when she lets her guard slip. The vulnerability in her eyes, the way she looks at you when she thinks you're not paying attention.

When you confirm the second date, a casual coffee meet-up, there's a tension in the air that feels just as electric as the first time you saw her. You're still cautious—still setting boundaries, testing her intentions. But part of you can't help but wonder what's really underneath that tough exterior of hers.

Abby arrives at the café right on time. You spot her immediately as she walks in, her presence filling the room before she even says a word. Her broad shoulders and athletic frame are impossible to miss, especially in the light of the morning sun. The simple T-shirt and cargo pants she wears seem effortless, but there's something about her that makes everything she wears look like it was made for her body—like she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but somehow, it fits her.

When she spots you, she gives a quick smile, her blue eyes lighting up just a fraction before she makes her way over.

"Hey," she greets, her voice low but warm.

"Hey," you reply, standing to greet her. The small exchange is a quiet one, but it feels more comfortable than before. More natural.

You sit across from each other, the clink of cups and the low hum of conversation from other patrons forming a soft backdrop to your words. The initial awkwardness between you both fades quickly, and soon you're talking as though you've known each other for years.

"So, tell me about your job," Abby says, her gaze intense as she takes a sip of her coffee. "What do you do exactly?"

You hesitate for a moment, but her genuine interest makes it easy to share. You talk about your work, the challenges you face, the things you're passionate about. It feels good to speak openly to someone who isn't just listening for the sake of small talk. Abby actually listens—there's a depth to her focus that you didn't expect.

She nods, her expression thoughtful. "Sounds like a lot of responsibility. Must be a good challenge, though."

You laugh lightly, shrugging. "Yeah, it can be. What about you? What keeps you busy?"

Abby's smile falters for a moment. There's a flicker of something in her eyes—something that almost looks like hesitation, but then it's gone as quickly as it came.

"Training," she says, her voice steady but a little quieter than before. "I work with a lot of people... helping them get stronger. Whether it's physical or mental, I guess I'm all about pushing people to their limits."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "You're a personal trainer, then?"

She shakes her head slightly, leaning forward. "Not exactly. I've worked with people in the military, too. Taught them how to survive, how to fight when everything falls apart. Not much room for weakness in that line of work."

The admission surprises you, but there's no judgment in her tone. Just a quiet certainty that speaks volumes about her past.

You try to imagine Abby in that world—leading people, training them to push beyond their limits—and you find yourself thinking that maybe she's not as hardened as she lets on. Maybe there's more to her than the tough exterior she wears so proudly.

After a beat, she shifts the conversation back to you. "You still haven't told me what you do when you're not working."

It's a simple question, but it makes you pause for a moment. You're so used to talking about work, about responsibilities. But in this moment, sitting across from Abby, you realize you've never really taken the time to think about yourself outside of those roles.

"Well, I guess I like to read," you finally admit, giving her a small smile. "I've always been into books. And I like to spend time with friends—nothing too crazy, but... I like having a good laugh."

Abby grins, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You don't strike me as someone who just goes with the flow. You're more of a planner, aren't you?"

You laugh, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugs casually. "You just seem like you know exactly what you want. Not like me. I'm more of a... take things as they come kind of person."

You can tell she's not just talking about coffee or plans for the day. It's almost as if she's letting her guard down, just a little bit.

There's a shift in the atmosphere between you both, a subtle change in the dynamic. The more Abby shares, the more you realize that the woman sitting across from you is more than just the intimidating figure you first saw at the bar. There's a gentleness to her, a thoughtfulness you hadn't expected. It's an unexpected layer of complexity, and you find yourself wanting to know more.

The conversation continues, winding its way through various topics—light and easy at first, but with more depth as the minutes pass. You find yourself relaxing, laughing at Abby's dry sense of humor and her occasional self-deprecating remarks.

When you finally finish your coffee, Abby looks at you with a certain intensity, as if she's trying to gauge something. "So... what's next?" she asks.

You smile, feeling the tension in the air shift again, but this time, it feels more like curiosity than uncertainty.

"We'll see," you reply, standing up from the table. "I said three dates, right? This is just the second one. We'll see what happens on the third."

Abby nods, her eyes never leaving yours. "I can wait."

——

Date three comes quickly, and this time, it's Abby's turn to plan the evening. You're curious to see how she'll handle it. There's a palpable nervous energy in the air when she arrives at the restaurant, looking more put-together than usual. She's dressed in a fitted button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her forearms, strong and defined. Her jeans are dark, tailored just enough to highlight her legs without feeling too formal.

You don't think it's possible for Abby to look even more imposing, but somehow, she does. She's trying to impress, you realize, and that thought fills you with a strange mix of anticipation and intrigue.

She greets you with a quiet smile, and for the first time, you see a hint of nervousness in her eyes. It's small—almost imperceptible—but it's there. You're not sure why it catches you off guard, but it does. Abby, the woman who radiates confidence in everything she does, is nervous.

"Hey," she says, her voice a little lower than usual. "Glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss it," you reply, your voice teasing but sincere.

You both settle into your seats, and the evening unfolds with a comfortable ease. Abby leads the conversation, but this time, it's not just about her life or her past. She asks about you more, delving deeper into your thoughts, your values, your dreams. The tension between you both shifts again, like the pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together.

As the night progresses, you catch her staring at you—often. Her gaze is intense, and when she catches you looking back, she quickly looks away, the corners of her lips curling into a small smile. It's as if she can't believe you're actually giving her a chance, like she's still surprised by the fact that you're still here.

The chemistry is undeniable, and as the meal comes to an end, Abby's posture shifts, her muscles tense with the unspoken desire to lean closer, to close the distance between you. But she doesn't. She waits, her gaze lingering on yours, her body barely held back from moving closer.

You can feel the tension building, feel the pull between you both. She wants to kiss you. You can see it in the way she watches you, the slight shift of her gaze toward your lips before she quickly looks away again.

You hold back, not ready yet to let things go that far. But Abby... she's patient. And when she leans in to say goodbye, the closeness between you both is electric.

"I'll see you soon," she says, her voice low and serious.

You nod, heart pounding in your chest. "We'll see."

And just like that, the tension lingers between you both, a promise, a challenge, a question. You can feel the next step on the horizon, and for the first time, you're not sure which way it's going to go.

——-

It's been a month since your first night at the bar with Abby, and the quiet tension that's built between you over the course of three dates finally comes to a head. There's something undeniably magnetic about her—something that pulls you in and keeps you on edge. She's unlike anyone you've ever met before, and as much as you've tried to keep your guard up, you can feel the walls crumbling bit by bit.

Abby has been patient. Almost too patient. She's let you set the pace, taken things slow the entire time, but every time you've seen her, that intensity in her eyes hasn't wavered. It's as if she's waiting for the right moment. And tonight, you have a feeling that moment has finally arrived.

She texts you earlier in the day, suggesting a low-key night at her place. A horror movie, some drinks, maybe a little takeout—just the two of you, away from the crowds and expectations. You're relieved by the simplicity of it all. No pressure. Just the opportunity to relax, to see where things go without all the outside distractions.

By the time you arrive, Abby's already waiting for you. The door is cracked open when you knock, her voice calling from inside.

"Come on in, you're not late."

You step inside, the dim light of her apartment welcoming you. It's cozy, though you can tell she doesn't spend too much time making it look pristine. The place is functional, with a few personal touches—a photo of her with a group of friends on the wall, a worn-out couch that has seen better days, but it feels... real.

Abby is lounging on the couch when you walk in, the glow of the TV screen flickering against her face. She's in a loose t-shirt, one of her old band tees that's faded from years of wear, and sweatpants that hang comfortably off her hips. Her blonde hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, a few stray strands falling out of place.

"Make yourself at home," she says, her voice relaxed but still holding that edge of authority that seems to follow her everywhere.

You nod, taking a seat next to her. The space between you is a comfortable distance, but it feels charged, the unspoken tension from earlier dates still hanging in the air. Abby picks up the remote, clicking through options, before finally settling on a horror movie you both agreed on.

She leans back, her leg casually brushing against yours, and the simple contact sends a shiver up your spine. You glance over at her, catching the slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she catches your eye. There's something in the way she looks at you—soft, teasing, but there's also a rawness there that makes you wonder just how much she's holding back.

"I hope you're ready to be scared," Abby says, her voice low, but the challenge in it is unmistakable.

You laugh, not at all intimidated. "I've seen worse."

She raises an eyebrow, as if she's doubting your bravado. "We'll see."

The movie plays on in the background, but you can't focus. Every time Abby moves, every time she shifts on the couch, it feels like she's drawing you in closer without even trying. Her scent, a mix of the outdoors and something distinctly Abby, fills your senses. Her presence—her warmth, the strength of her muscles beneath that worn t-shirt—keeps pulling you closer, as if her very being is magnetic.

You're hyper-aware of her every movement now. The way she occasionally shifts, her bare foot brushing against your leg, the way her breath hitches during particularly tense scenes, even the way she rolls her shoulders back, stretching slightly.

You're starting to realize something. Something you hadn't allowed yourself to acknowledge before tonight.

Abby is more than just some cocky woman in it for a good time. There's a depth to her, a quiet sincerity that shines through the cracks in her tough exterior. She's not playing games with you. She's not trying to chase an older woman fantasy or take advantage of some power dynamic between the two of you. No, there's something real here.

Your heart races, and you catch yourself staring at her again. Her blue eyes flick to you at the same moment, as if she's been waiting for you to finally notice what's been right in front of you all this time. The silence stretches between you both, thick with anticipation, but neither of you says a word.

Then it happens.

Abby's hand—strong and calloused from years of training—finds its way to your leg, her fingers lightly brushing against your thigh. The touch is small, almost accidental, but it's enough to send heat flooding your body. She leaves her hand there, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You hold your breath, afraid to move, afraid that any shift will break the fragile moment between you.

And then she does it.

She leans in, just slightly, her face inches from yours. Her breath mingles with yours, warm and inviting. There's a soft smile on her lips, something playful but also full of meaning. "So, are you going to keep pretending you're not into me, or are we going to do this?"

You can feel her body shift closer to yours, the subtle pressure of her weight against your side. Your pulse quickens, your hands trembling slightly, and you don't even think before you close the distance between you.

You kiss her.

It's slow at first, tentative, as if you're both trying to gauge what the other wants. Abby's lips are warm and firm against yours, tasting like the remnants of the beer she'd been drinking earlier. But when she deepens the kiss, when she pulls you closer, your heart races even faster.

Her hands find their way to your body, tentative at first, as if she's waiting for permission. But the way she touches you, the way her hands roam over your back, pulling you closer as if she can't get enough, tells you that she's not holding back anymore. She's all in.

The kiss intensifies, the heat between you both becoming almost unbearable. Your hands tangle in her hair, the strands soft beneath your fingers, and for a moment, everything else fades away. There's only Abby. Only her warmth and the electric charge that courses between you both.

When you finally pull away, gasping for air, you're both left breathless, staring at each other.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Abby mutters, her voice low and rough, her lips still hovering close to yours.

Then her eyes soften, the playful edge fading just a little. "I told you I wasn't here for a fling. I'm not just trying to get a quick thrill. You're... different. I want more."

You blink, stunned by the sincerity in her voice. For the first time, you see the real Abby—no masks, no walls. Just the woman who's been patient with you, who's respected your boundaries, and who's finally letting herself be vulnerable.

"Good," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Because I want more too."

And just like that, you realize that Abby's not here for a fleeting moment. She's here because she's genuinely interested in you. She likes you. Not just as some older woman fantasy, not just as a passing fling, but as someone she sees something real with.

The weight of that realization hits you hard, and you find yourself smiling—genuinely. Abby is exactly who you thought she was, and more. You're not sure where this is going, but you know one thing for certain: there's no turning back now.

The kiss resumes, this time with a sense of urgency. Abby pulls you closer, her hands finding their way beneath your shirt, her fingers warm against your skin. You let her guide you, let her show you just how much she's been holding back.

There's no rush. There's no need to hurry. Tonight, you both have time. Time to explore, time to finally give in to the chemistry that's been building between you both for weeks.

[golden-loona]

tick-tack [j.j.k] | one shot

summary: you've never felt the need to change for someone until now, but will jungkook like your new version?

pairing: jungkook x oc

words: 6,076

inspired by "tick-tack" by illit

"tick tack, ti-tack, thump

it's noisy, my heart"

•

the air in the cafe is bright and bubbly, walls painted in bright pastel colours, stickers of drawings and names of previous customers cover one of the walls. music plays gently over the radio, the only other noise being chatter amongst you and your friends. you're in your element and you love being in it. brown sugar milk tea and tapioca, your usual order when you aren't feeling adventurous. less ice of course, so you get more drink than you do ice. you naturally twiddle the charms hanging from your shoulder bag between your fingers as you and your friends converse about campus gossip. who recently hooked up with who, who recently got in a fight, all the usual stuff. 

"love your skirt, by the way" your friend yeji compliments you, you smile softly and look down at the pink pleated, plaid skirt you're wearing. its as if cher horowitz and the plastics did a clothing line collab, your wardrobe is one all the girly girls die for. "on god, where did you get it? I need it!" hana says with a slight pout, you chuckle softly and sip your tea, "it was a gift but i'll find out!" you were always a girls girl and you still are. that's what your friends like about you, your loyalty and honesty. 

"thought we'd find you in here," the voice of hana's boyfriend rings out as the door of the bubble tea shop swings open. namjoon steps inside with his friends, your eyes naturally search for _him_ and when they find him, tick-tack-tick. your heart thumps for jeon jungkook. he's a computer science major, a total geek but also an utter god (to you anyway). you quickly look away, not wanting to be obvious with your stare. the four boys namjoon, jungkook, taehyung and yoongi all sit down with you and your friends. it's usual for your friend groups to mix, directly at the hands of namjoon and hana's relationship and god everyday you thank hana for being with joon, you wouldn't get to even look at jungkook if it wasn't for her. 

quietly fixing your blush cardigan, you smile politely at jungkook. of course he sits next to you, why wouldn't life just make things harder for you? you pray to god he doesn't hear the way your heart ticks in your chest, that would be a tough explanation. the groups chatter amongst each other while you silently sip your drink, suddenly its harder to formulate words with jungkook around. what if you fuck up? what if you make a joke and it doesn't land? god fucking forbid. 

"are you guys going to jackson's party?" taehyung asks as he sips yeji's drink, she kisses her teeth and lightly slaps his arm in protest. "of course we are, who isn't?" your friend jia remarks, which to be fair is very true. who doesn't go to jackson wang's parties? everyone pretty much crowned him the king of campus and honestly he deserves that title, he throws the best parties. "are you going, y/n?" jungkook directly asks you, your chest flutters hearing the way your name falls from his lips. you stutter, "i- um, yeah," you nod your head awkwardly and already want the ground to swallow you up, "of course i'm going," jungkook smiles and internally chuckles at the way you stutter. 

the truth is, jungkook knows you like him. well everyone knows, its not hard to tell and you're not exactly subtle. the way you look at him when he enters a room like he saved the world from a pandemic, the way your words fumble and your lips numb when he speaks to you, the way you become rigid when his finger so much as brush your skin. you almost had a panic attack a month ago when he took your jacket off for you. you feel you've gotten better at hiding it, brushing things off in a playful way. simply laughing or smiling at him politely. "you look nice," jungkook says nonchalantly, you almost choke on tapioca but quickly hide it by sipping your drink. "thanks- thank you," you reply quickly, blush pinking your cheeks. jia gives you a knowing smirk, knowing exactly what you're thinking and feeling. your friends know better than anyone how you feel for jungkook and its the worst thing in the world but also the best. they give you advice, they wingwoman you but they also tease you to high heavens. 

"it's loud, my heart"

jackson's party is on friday, as usual. the end of the week and of course every friday is a cause for celebration, no classes yay! you decided to try out a new colour today, instead of your usual pink-themed dresses you opt for a lilac bodycon dress, a cream chunky cardigan over the top to keep you warm. once again, your friend groups mingles into its way with jungkook's. you can't help but notice the way he's distracted by another woman, you know her, haseul. she's older and is a lot more.. mature than you are for sure. dressed in neutral colours, her hair is a sleek black compared to your dyed muted pink hair. she looks more grown up, more sophisticated and you can't help the pang in your chest when he settles his hands on her waist, whispering flirting lines into her ear. you pull away from the group and get yourself a drink, yeji follows out of pity. "sorry you had to see that," she apologises, you shake your head. "he's single, he can do what he wants," you defend him and you hate yourself for it, you wish you were haseul right now and it sucks. "not drinking tonight?" yeji asks, watching you pour yourself some fanta orange, you shake your head. "not in the mood for it," you admit before bringing the cup to your lips, yeji nods in understanding. "you can be our ride home then?" she cheekily remarks, hoping you'll agree and of course you do. jealousy sits unkindly in your chest and your head swirls with insecurity, is haseul his type? or is she just a one off? you sincerely hope it's the latter.

the night ends when you all find hana in a bush, completely and utterly off her face. "how many vodka cranberry's did you even have?" you hold her up, namjoon holding her on the other side. "i need to get her home, can you give us a ride?" namjoon asks politely and you nod, "of course i can," you and namjoon struggling to get hana to the car when jungkook spots you, rushing over to help being the gentleman he is. "jesus christ, hana" jungkook grumbles, you nervously chuckle and quickly move to open your car. namjoon and jungkook slide hana into the backseat, namjoon joins her and you close the door. "would it be cheeky for me to ask for a ride too?" jungkook hesitantly gives you a playful smile and you giggle, shaking your head. "get in." 

the drive to namjoon's apartment is comfortable, sort of. jungkook is in your passenger seat and you feel exposed to him in a way you never have before. your car is the perfect picture of you. a pink steering wheel, plushies dotted around the car, a strawberry air freshener, pink interior lights and seat covers, lipgloss and pink water bottles dotted around. its the essence of you and despite your vulnerability in the moment, jungkook actually appreciates it and finds it endearing. namjoon sits in the back with hana, she's flopped onto him and drunkenly murmuring incoherent words. 

you drive quietly and jungkook grabs a plushie thats sitting atop the dashboard, "you have so many of these," he observes. you smile and gently nod your head, "i have more at home," you admit. jungkook chuckles softly and shakes his head, "you're like a child," the words echo in your ear. he said it playfully but, is that why he won't pick you? because he views you as immature and childlike? "i guess so," you awkwardly respond, gulping harshly. you stop outside namjoon's apartment, jungkook helps him lift hana out the car and up the stairs while you wait at the curbside for him. his words continue to rewind and play in your head, your insecurities coming to the surface. it makes your head spin slightly and you suddenly dislike everything about yourself. 

you're pulled from your thoughts when jungkook gets back into the car with a hefty sigh, you smile politely, "ready?" jungkook tiredly nods his head and buckles his seatbelt. for jungkook, the silence is comfortable. but for you? the silence is just absolutely deafening. it makes every word floating in your mind louder and louder. "you look nice," jungkook breaks the silence with his usual compliment, your glossy lips curve into a light smile. "thank you," you mumble softly, eyes on the road. your heart thumps with a slightly erratic rhythm, tick-tack ti-tack.

that night, you get home and all your plushies get swiftly abandoned into a closet. you empty your car of plushies and your bed looks lost without them, the sheets looking a little too vacant. but its for the better, right? keep the childish stuff in the closet, crumple up all the playful doodles. will he like you then? are you less immature? going to bed without at least one plushie on your bed is lonely and you feel slightly cold, but thats just growing up isn't it? worried sighs leave your chest as you attempt to sleep, the constant questions whirling around in your head. you feel a heavy tightness of doubt in your chest, are you really doing this for you? or are you doing this for jungkook? after all, maybe he'll like you now.

•

you and your friends have a habit of having random picnics on the quad, its not even planned it just happens. you all lay out on a blanket and share food, until the boys all invade and suddenly there are no chips left? classic taehyung. you decided to change up a little bit today, taking the cute keychains and small plushie off your handbag and opting for more muted pinks with your clothes, wearing a pair of flared leggings instead of your usual skirt. jungkook lays down on the blanket next to you and you smile softly, ignoring the way your heart ticks in your chest. he looks up at you and a small smile reaches his eyes, you instantly set yourself into a cooler mode. attempting to calm your racing heart, forcing yourself to relax instead of being rigid.

"how are you still hungover?" yoongi remarks, hana pouts and holds her head. "shut up," she groans, the group chuckles lightly. "she drank enough for like 10 people," you joke softly, earning more laughter from the group. you see jungkook's chest shake with a slight chuckle and it makes you smile, you love making him laugh. 

the sound of a shutter opening echoes across the quad and jia automatically stands to her feet, "coffee vans open, who wants?" everyone lists off their orders and she rolls her eyes, you shake your head. "thank god you're not a coffee person, y/n" jia bows with her hands together playfully, "you're very welcome," you mock salute and jia laughs as she steps away toward the coffee van. you remain quiet as the group converses, "i didn't know you weren't a coffee person," jungkook mumbles softly, you hum in response trying to keep your cool. "i prefer tea," you speak sweetly, he smirks, "bubble tea?" jungkook hits the nail on the head and wow he knows you so well, you nod with a slight chuckle. "you look better in a skirt, by the way," your heart stops at his words and you swear you need a doctor, where is the medicine cabinet? should you call an ambulance? holy fuck.

"here, losers" jia returns with cup holders full of coffees and she's joined by.. haseul. of course, of all people haseul had to come and join you all. jungkook sits up and begins conversation with her, it stings. honestly you'd rather be stung by a bee than have to watch this conversation, you can see why he'd like her though. she's beautiful, sophisticated, mature, grown up. everything you think you lack. she's well-spoken and her voice is soft on the ears, another thing you lack. you're playful, slightly loud and not as articulate as she is. you note her sense of fashion, neutral colours and clothes that compliment her body. black flared trousers with a long sleeved beige t-shirt that flows over her wrists. it makes you feel sick, is this what you need to become? is it truly time to ditch the pinks and pastels? 

"i like your hair," haseul compliments you, pulling you away from the whirlwind in your head. you exhale and smile gently, "thank you." haseul nods in response and continues to admire the soft muted pink of your hair, the way it falls on your shoulders, "it wouldn't suit me, i'm too grown up to do that now," haseul comments with a light chuckle, the group laughs with her and you feel an epic halt in your chest. the laughter is innocent and playful but the comment cuts like a knife and you feel suddenly out of place. too grown up. too grown up for pink. "i like your hair, y/n" yeji says sharply, "it suits you," you smile gratefully at yeji. she's always been protective of you and the way people comment on you, like an older sister you never had. you remain silent for the rest of the break, the comment really doing a number on your self esteem. maybe it is time to ditch the pink. 

here you are, in your bathroom at 9pm with a dark brown box dye in your hand. you've been hesitating for 20 minutes now, convincing yourself that this is the right thing to do and you're definitely doing it for yourself, not so jungkook will like you. "time to grow up," you mumble to yourself as you open the box. you sadly look at your reflection, basking in the last moments of having your hair this colour. you run your fingers gently through your hair one last time before gloving your hands and beginning to paint the dark brown dye into your hair, there's no going back now.

your friends are astounded when you walk into the bubble tea shop a few days later, their jaws dropping. you're dressed differently too, in a pair of washed out jeans and a white cropped t-shirt (albeit, it does have hello kitty on the front), your go-to blush chunky cardigan warms your arms. "girl- what? what the fuck happened to the pink?" hana asks confusedly, you sit with them at your usual table and shrug, "i'm over it." if their jaws could drop any more, they would. jia leans forward, brows raised. "excuse me? over it?" she remarks and you nod, digging into your bag for your phone. they all exchange looks like you've grown a second head and realisation hits yeji, "wait.. is this because of that dumb bitch haseul?" fuck, of course she would hit the nail on the head. 

"no, this was not because of haseul," you lie, avoiding the gaze of your friends. her name on your tongue tastes bitter and the insecurity of even thinking of her sits in your chest. "don't let a comment from a random girl make you change yourself," yeji tells you gently, patting your knee. you shake your head, "its just time to grow up," you say dismissively with a slight firmness to your tone, your stomach churns as you say it. your hand tightening on your phone. who are you trying to convince? the girls once again exchange looks and jia sighs, hana hesitantly sips her drink. they know there's no getting through to you once your mind is set on it, no matter how much sadness sits in your eyes. you twirl your hair between your fingers softly, the dark locks swiftly weaving in and out, a lump forms in your throat and you can't help but miss the pink.

"will you like me?"

jungkook very swiftly moved on from haseul and started seeing another girl called yumi. you know her too, a business major around the same age as you. once again she's a girl who seems more mature and sophisticated. a good head on her shoulders, a soft tone when she speaks and she's beautiful. of course jungkook would go for her, looks like he has a type and you don't fit into it, not yet. she joins the group for lunch at the bubble tea shop, you sit down next to taehyung after receiving your order of strawberry milk tea.

"are you sure you don't want anything?" jungkook politely asks yumi, she laughs lightly and shakes her head. "boba? that's too childish for me," she remarks and jungkook chuckles in response. his reaction hits your chest and suddenly you have no appetite for strawberry milk tea. the word "childish" continues to echo in your mind, its all you hear lately and it makes you think thats all jungkook sees you as. childish. 

"well i think it's god's gift," jia says with a gentle smile before sipping the taro milk tea she holds in her hands, her comment eases the tension in your chest and you feel slightly better. yeji too gives you a reassuring smile from across the table and pops the straw into your drink for you. minutes roll by, the group swept up in heavy conversation. gossip flies back and forth across the table, the occasional debates here and there. "why aren't you drinking your bubble tea?" taehyung whispers, you look to your full plastic cup. the strawberry milk tea remains untouched, your tongue craves the taste but your insecurities scream "no!" its too conflicting. "you can have it if you'd like, i'm not thirsty anymore" you slide the cup over to taehyung and he nods, pausing for a second before grabbing it and sipping through the straw. concern holds in his eyes as he watches you. hana catches the interaction but remains silent, not wanting to make you the centre of attention during a moment of potential vulnerability.

the conversation is slowly wrapping up outside, jungkook's hand sits perfectly on the curve of yumi's waist and it makes your chest tight. you swiftly flip your dark brown hair over your shoulder and gently fix your fringe, hana and namjoon chatter with each other and you remain quiet. "are you okay?" hana asks quietly, you pause and look at her before nodding. jungkook joins the four of you and he's alone, "yumi took a cab," he tells us with a sigh. the air feels awkward, to you anyway, like you don't know what to say or do. hana and namjoon say their goodbyes and disappear, leaving you with jungkook and honestly fuck you hana for doing so.

"so you.. ditched the pink?" jungkook asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice, "yeah, i decided it was time for a change," you lie again. you miss the pink, you miss putting your hair in cute hair styles and people saying you look like you belong in an anime, you just miss it. "thats a shame, pink suited you," jungkook voices his thoughts honestly, because truth be told he loved the pink, you looked cute with pink hair. you almost want to slap yourself, suddenly wishing you never dyed your hair in the first place. he liked the pink? you can't believe he liked the pink! no, this was for the better. jungkook likes grown up girls and pink hair is not grown up, no more childishness.

"what kind of me do you like?"

on monday, you ditch your usual bubble tea and go to the coffee van. jia has to do a double take, "y/n? you don't like coffee," she says confusedly, you shrug in response, "i do now." yeji and hana watch from the group's regular spot under the big tree on the quad and they are just as confused as jia, you order a flat white and don't bother with sugar. sophisticated girls drink plain flat whites, don't they? you and jia join yeji and hana on the blanket under the tree, "girl, what are you doing?" hana says curiously, you sit on the blanket and sip your coffee. you grimace because what the fuck? people genuinely drink this and like it? disgusting. being sophisticated is hard work. "what do you mean?" you respond, the bitter taste on your tongue making you shudder. "first your hair then your clothes and what, now you're drinking coffee?" yeji lists off and you lowkey hate your friends for being so observant, "don't think we haven't noticed the lack of plushies too," jia adds and you roll your eyes. "i'm just maturing thats all," you remark, the nausea in your stomach says no, you don't want this. 

"if this is all for jungkook i swear-" you interrupt hana with a shake of the head, "no, no, no." she sighs frustratedly, "we get that you like him, y/n," yeji begins before sipping her coffee, "but you shouldn't have to change for someone's attention," the other girls hum and nod their heads in agreement with yeji, it makes you question yourself and your choices. you're definitely doing this for yourself too, not just for jungkook. it's time to begin being more mature, begin being more serious. "how are people supposed to take me seriously if I'm dressed head to toe in pink? or with hello kitty on my bag?" you question firmly, they go silent at your words and you feel slightly guilty for snapping, you don't mean to snap at them but the ever mounding pressures of your insecurities weighs heavily both in your mind and on your chest. "we're just concerned, honey," jia says gently, you nod and sip your drink again. god this is awful. 

"we're going to jackson's party tonight, coming?" yeji swiftly changes the subject and you silently thank her, wait- a party on a monday? "it's monday, yeji" you remind her and she shrugs, "i'm in the mood for a drink and dance," hana says with a yawn. "you're always in the mood for alcohol," jia remarks and you all chuckle amongst yourselves. "jungkook will be there," yeji teases and you kiss your teeth, "shut up," your cheeks tint slightly and the thought of seeing jungkook again makes you feel a rush through your veins. will he pay attention to you this time? will he notice you?

•

the party is as wild as jackson's friday parties usually are and considering its a monday night, you're surprised. for the first time you completely ditch any pink clothing, opting for a black long sleeved, bodycon dress. no cute chunky cardigan this time. you look very different, not as cute and more mature. finally. you still haven't seen jungkook yet and hana can see the disappointment in your features, "he'll be here," she reassures you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. music blares through the speakers and you sip red wine from a solo cup, this is what grown ups drink isn't it? it's not awful so you aren't complaining. "hey everyone," that familiar voice makes your ears ring and your heart thumps loudly. tick tack, ti-tack.

you politely smile as jungkook greets the group, he looks slightly sweaty and you thank the universe for making him exist. "hey- you look.. different," jungkook observes, checking out your outfit. you smile politely, "thank you, you look handsome," you say confidently, he nods slowly and then returns to his friends. disappointment sits in your chest and you wonder if he genuinely noticed you or was just being polite. are you not interesting enough for him to talk to? are you too forward? you gulp the rest of your drink, letting the taste settle on your tongue. a familiar face settles next to jungkook.. yumi. the self esteem you built up from looking in the mirror earlier tonight comes crashing down in an instant, you could never meet his standard and it kills you. yumi is everything jungkook wants, polished, confident and effortlessly beautiful. suddenly you don't feel so mature anymore, you feel small. 

•

you return home early from the party that night, tears sting the corner of your eyes as you gaze at yourself in the mirror. who even are you anymore? you feel lost in your own body, staring at the reflection of someone you don't recognise. you're struggling to convince yourself this is for the better, the internal insecurities have amounted too much and you no longer think you can conquer them. the same way you can't conquer jungkook's high standard, you're slowly beginning to accept that you'll never reach it. no matter how many ladders you use. your heart ticks away as tears stain your cheeks, tick-tack tick-tack ti-tack. like a clock. every moment passes and you can't stop crying. who are you now? the girl who loved wearing pink, drinking bubble tea and kept hello kitty plushies on her bed? or this new version, lost, empty and chasing something out of reach?

"which version of me do you like?"

that night was a struggle, but you're determined. one last try at being "mature." you decided to switch up your personality slightly, being less jokey and playful, instead opting to be more serious and less chatty. your friends decided to gather at the bubble tea shop and you arrive with an americano in hand, setting with them in your usual spot. "no boba again?" hana notices, your hand tightens slightly on your cup and you feign a smile, nodding. the girls engage in conversation, you remain quiet, just responding with body language. you keep a good posture instead of slouching, something you mentally noted both haseul and yumi doing. the girls joke about something and the lack of laughter or usual funny comment that comes from you makes them notice and they notice hard. 

"what's up?" jia asks you gently, sipping through her straw, you shake your head softly, "nothing, why?" yeji snorts in response, knowing you're lying. "you're being just.. off?" hana is gentle with her words and you're grateful for it, but you can't help wanting them to stop poking and prodding you like a baby. "is this about jungkook again?" hana adds, you shake your head as you sip your americano, letting the bitter taste melt in your mouth. "you've changed, y/n" jia says softly, the words hit you harshly and you feel a slight pang of guilt. you don't know whether to take it as a compliment or criticism, "i'm just growing up" you say in a small voice, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. the words feel different on your tongue- like a lie you're struggling to convince yourself of. you don't want them to worry about you, not after you worked so hard to change.

the conversation quickly changes and you're grateful, the girls make occasional jokes and you want to make a funny sarcastic remark but the words stay stuck in your chest. the will to be your old self feels foreign and it sends your mind into a whirlwind of doubt, are you doing the right thing? you're snapped out of your thoughts by the store bell ringing, jungkook and his friends step through the door and you smile politely. namjoon gives hana a swift kiss and the boys all sit to join you. you once again remain quiet and poised, watching the conversation. you feel out of place, like you're spectating your own life. "hey, you okay?" jungkook asks you quietly, your heart pounds slightly and you nod. "you're just.. usually chatty and stuff so," jungkook says, his voice slowly drifting off, he looks disappointed and you feel like an idiot. yumi and haseul were both not chatty and only spoke when spoken to, why doesn't he like it when you do the same? what are you doing wrong?

"are you girls going to hoseok's party tonight?" taehyung asks while he scrolls through his phone, your friends all give a chorus of agreements and you stay quiet. "y/n?" jia awaits your answer and you shrug, "think I might skip out" you reply softly, the girls look at you confused and you give them a hardened look as if to not comment on it. yeji doesn't get the memo, "you always come out with us, why not?" you sigh at her words, mentally trying to come up with an excuse but you struggle to find one. "i uh- have plans," you lie, jungkook is disappointed but he doesn't make that obvious. you get up from your seat a few minutes later, claiming you need to go home. 

yeji follows you outside, "not so fast," she says firmly. "you need to spill and you need to spill, now," she orders and you exhale harshly, not wanting this conversation. "you're changing y/n and its not nice to see, you know that right?" yeji adds, all you can do is nod, the lump in your throat is too big for you to even conjure up words. "no boy deserves this amount of change, you deserve to be love for who you are," you hate that yeji can see right through you, she always has done and as much as you finally feel seen, you feel exposed too. "the real me isn't enough," you say sadly, holding the emotion tight in your chest. your words shatter yeji's heart, she wishes you would just go back to being yourself. "i'm growing up now, yeji" you say with a sigh, you want to believe your own words but its hard when you feel like you're losing every piece of yourself in the process. "time to put down the pink." yeji shakes her head, "i feel like i don't even know you anymore," now the tears glass your eyes, even your own friend doesn't recognise the person you've become and it absolutely breaks you. you want to defend yourself, to tell her that this is all for the better.. but even you don't know anymore. 

you watch as yeji returns inside the bubble tea cafe and you feel like an absolute outsider, watching your friends all converse with no care in the world. your eyes land on jungkook and the insecurities surface again, you'll never be good enough for him. not even after changing yourself enough to potentially lose your closest friends. not even after changing enough to potentially lose your sense of self. 

"will you like me?"

you attend hoseok's party after all, dressed in neutral colours, not a hint of pink. soft glowy makeup and your dark brown hair straightened down your back. life now feels like an outer body experience, you're lost and there's no map to show you the way back. you grab yourself a drink, tequila. that should settle the anxious thoughts in your brain. you spend some time alone, people watching, when your eyes land on jungkook and yumi. so tequila didn't fix the insecure anxiety, great. 

"hey y/n," taehyung greets you and you smile gently, "hi tae," you respond. he stands next to you and follows your gaze, "you really like him, hm?" taehyung asks, your body naturally nods, you can't stop yourself from being honest about your feelings for him. "he'll never like me though," you murmur self-consciously, taehyung raised an eyebrow and smirks slightly, "you sure about that?" his question has your stomach churning and you don't know if its a good thing or bad. "what's that supposed to mean?" you ask, thoughts race in your mind and you feel like your body is floating. “find out for yourself,” taehyung tells you with a smirk before leaving you alone again. 

the interaction with taehyung and the affects of tequila give you enough courage to approach jungkook, and yumi of course. you smile gently, “hey jungkook,” his eyes lighten as they land on you, “you came! thought you had plans?” jungkook remarks. you shake your head and swirl your drink gently in your hand, you notice the way yumi’s eyes scan your body and it makes you feel more insecure than ever. “turns out i’m free,” you lie, he smiles brightly and sips his drink, going back to conversation with yumi. you stay, listening to their chatter and attempting to join in, but you struggle. the words stay stuck in your throat. you see the way jungkook looks at yumi as she talks, the way his eyes gaze at her lips. your heart thumps anxiously in your chest, tick-tack ti-tack. 

“i need some air,” you suddenly announce before abruptly leaving the pair, your breath stutters and finally the pressure of your insecurities crush you. you stand outside hoseok’s house and inhale the fresh air deeply, jungkook’s joins you outside and the unspoken words sit heavily in the air. “are you okay?” he asks hesitantly, you’re dismissive and don’t respond. which is weird for you, especially when it comes to jungkook. “you’ve not been yourself lately,” jungkook comments, a chuckle leaves your lips and you swallow harshly. “you noticed?” you say bitterly, jungkook’s senses the heaviness in your voice and licks his dry lips, “of course I noticed.” 

“what version of me do you like, jungkook?” you ask suddenly, he’s confused and words refuse to formulate in his mouth. “I changed myself for you, jungkook. I changed the way I dress, the way I talk, the things I drink,” you list off, you don’t mean to vent but it’s all coming out like word vomit now, and there is no stopping you. “I see the girls you like and I just thought.. if I could be like them, you’d look at me the way you look at her,” your voice breaks as you speak, truthfully you feel embarrassed but you can’t stop the words from flying into the air. your hands tremble softly with the course of adrenaline, the confession lingering heavily in the air. 

“i’ve always looked at you, y/n,” jungkook says softly, your heart races. tick-tack. “what kind of me do you like?” you mumble, all you want is to be enough for the man standing in front of you. that’s the only thing that swirls around your mind in circles. “the real you,” jungkook sighs, stepping closer. he runs a hand through his hair and looks at you with soft eyes, “the real me?” you echo is words in a whisper and he nods. “the you that drinks bubble tea like water, the you that keeps hello kitty in her car, the you that wears pink like its a religion, the you that makes sassy comments,” jungkook names one thing after the other so clearly, like it all lives in his head. you feel your chest stop, your heart still beats quickly but you ignore it. the insecurities still linger in your mind, despite his words. 

“why didn't you say anything, jungkook?” you question him, the heaviness of your feelings for him linger in your words. “i didn’t know you changed for me, y/n,” jungkook remarks, he’s right. he never knew, it’s not fair to claim he’s wrong here. “you knew I liked you though,” a slight pout graces your lips when you speak and his face falters, he nods softly, “yeah, i did,” jungkook admits, a guilty pause follows, "i've always known." your heart hurts slightly, he really did know all this time. you feel like an absolute idiot. 

“why didn't you tell me?” your voice is small when you speak, barely above a whisper. jungkook simply shrugs and you honestly want to shake him, “you’re an idiot, jungkook” you add, he chuckles softly. “I thought you already knew,” jungkook says, making you want to smack your head against a wall. he steps closer to you and gently brushes some of your hair behind your ear, “i miss you in pink.”

your heart pounds. tick-tack, ti-tack, tick-tack, ti-tack.

golden-loona || 2025