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pucksandpower · 2 days ago

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Rumour Has It

Franco Colapinto x Princess of Norway!Reader

Summary: you’ve never heard of Franco before and Franco has certainly never heard of you … but when gossip magazines decide to set you two up, Franco realizes that he wouldn’t mind making the rumors a reality

“Have you seen this?” Noora says, bursting into your study with a tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes wide and frantic.

You look up, half-expecting the sky to have fallen or for Oslo to be under siege. “Seen what?”

Noora slams the tablet down on your desk, and your face is met with a tabloid headline in bold, obnoxious letters: Norway’s Princess Caught in Secret Romance with Argentinian Racing Prodigy Franco Colapinto!

You blink at the screen, then back at Noora, and then at the screen again, as if maybe the headline might rearrange itself into something more sensible. “Sorry, who?”

“Franco Colapinto!” She says, exasperated. “The Argentine driver — the rookie! In Formula 1!”

You tilt your head. “I don’t know who that is.”

Noora gives you a look that’s somewhere between sympathy and horror. “Okay, well, apparently you’re dating him. And half of Norway seems to think so too, thanks to this article.”

“Dating? Noora, I’ve never even heard of him, let alone met him! And this … this is nonsense!” You shove the tablet back at her, feeling your cheeks flush. “How did this even happen?”

Noora sighs, sliding the tablet away. “It’s the internet. They don’t need facts to build a story — they just need a blurry photo and a wild imagination.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply. “And why didn’t anyone tell me sooner? It’s not like we don’t have a whole team for this.”

“Well, to be fair, it only surfaced last night,” she says, crossing her arms. “But now it’s all over social media, and your name is attached to his. People are actually talking about you two as if you’re the new royal couple.”

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. You’ve spent years cultivating a careful, respectable image — a modern princess who’s still traditional enough to respect the expectations placed on her. And now, you’re supposedly dating a race car driver?

“What exactly are they saying?” You ask, your voice quieter, laced with dread.

Noora hesitates, but you give her a pointed look until she relents. “They’re saying you met him at some secret event in Monaco and that you’ve been hiding your relationship to avoid the media frenzy. Apparently, he’s been visiting Norway on his off-days just to see you.” She snorts. “It’s absurd, really. But people are eating it up.”

You stare at her, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “This cannot be happening.”

“Oh, but it is. And the comments …” She trails off, biting her lip.

“Out with it, Noora.”

She sighs. “Some are saying it’s refreshing that you’re dating someone so … I don’t know, normal. But others …” She winces. “Others think it’s irresponsible. That you’re … well, neglecting your duty for some glamorous fling.”

You take a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “Neglecting my duty,” you repeat, more to yourself than to her. “Because I’m apparently sneaking off with some Formula 1 driver I’ve never even met.”

“I know,” she says, reaching out and giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “But it’ll pass. A few days, maybe a week, and they’ll have moved on to the next scandal.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to imagine it blowing over. “And what if it doesn’t?”

“Then we get PR involved. Make a statement, deny everything.” She pauses, eyeing you with a wary smile. “Or, you know, we could just arrange a very public appearance with you and someone else. Nothing quashes rumors like a little royal romance with a suitable partner.”

Your eyes snap open. “Noora.”

She grins, unphased by your glare. “What? It’s an option.”

“I’m not going to parade around with someone just to make the tabloids happy,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Well, that leaves us with the boring option: addressing it head-on, squashing the rumor, and hoping it dies quickly.”

“That will just make it worse,” you sigh resignedly. “The press will think any denial means we have something to hide.”

Noora nods, still eyeing you cautiously. “You could always lean into it a little — make it sound mysterious.”

“Mysterious?” You echo. “No, Noora. I want it gone. I don’t even know this man!”

“All right, all right,” she concedes, hands raised in surrender. “But you know, you could at least look him up.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because people are going to be asking questions. You’re the Princess of Norway. If they think you’re dating him, it would help to know who he is.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she’s already pulling out her phone. “Just … humor me, okay? It’ll take two seconds.”

She taps her screen, and suddenly a series of photos pops up — images of a young man with dark hair and a serious expression, usually in some variation of a racing suit, often holding a helmet. He’s smiling in one photo, a faint smirk in another, but the confident gleam in his eyes is unmistakable.

“He’s twenty-one,” Noora says, scrolling through some text. “Started karting young, worked his way up. Got his big break with Formula 1 this year.”

You try not to look interested, but it’s hard to ignore the pictures flashing by. He has a kind of easy charisma, that much is obvious.

“And look,” she adds, holding up a picture of him on the track, eyes focused, mouth set in a determined line. “He’s pretty talented, apparently.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to look away. “None of this matters. Because I don’t know him, and I’m certainly not dating him.”

Noora smirks. “Doesn’t matter. The media thinks you are, and as far as they’re concerned, that makes it practically true.”

You groan, sinking back in your chair. “So what do I do?”

“For now? Sit tight, let PR work their magic. But you might want to brush up on your Formula 1 knowledge, just in case anyone asks.” She grins, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Wouldn’t want you to sound unprepared.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for the tablet and skimming the article’s ridiculous details. “He brought me roses on the first date?” You mutter, incredulous. “We had a secret dinner at a villa on the Côte d’Azur? Do they just make this up?”

“Pretty much. And it’s only going to get worse if people keep sharing it.”

You rub your temples, trying to banish the lingering image of Franco’s cocky smile from your mind. “Fantastic. Just what I needed — a fake romance with a twenty-one-year-old race car driver.”

Noora pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Could be worse.”

“How, exactly?”

“It could be real.”

***

Franco is hunched over his phone, scrolling mindlessly through his notifications as he waits for his PR briefing to start. The Williams headquarters is bustling this morning, and he barely notices when the door opens until Abbie, his PR officer, strides in, her expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Franco, we need to talk,” she says, folding her arms.

He glances up, one eyebrow raised. “Am I in trouble already? That’s got to be a record.”

Abbie sighs. “No, you’re not in trouble. But you’re in … let’s call it a situation.” She pulls up a chair across from him, lowering her voice as if sharing state secrets. “Have you seen the news?”

“Can’t say I have,” he replies, half-interested. “What, did Carlos suddenly decide to retire and I get to keep my seat for next season?”

Abbie doesn’t laugh, which is a bit worrying. Instead, she hands him her phone, showing a screen filled with a tabloid headline. Princess Y/N of Norway in Secret Romance with F1’s Newest Rising Star, Franco Colapinto!

His brows furrow as he reads, slowly, taking in the headline, the photos, the fabricated “romantic details.”

“Wait … I’m dating a princess?” He says, breaking into a grin. “And nobody thought to tell me?”

Abbie sighs. “Apparently. They’ve got edited photos, fake details — everything.”

He leans back, intrigued. “Princess Y/N,” he muses, tapping his chin with a thoughtful smirk. “Of Norway?”

“Yes, of Norway.” She leans in closer, her expression serious. “This has gone viral, Franco. Everyone’s talking about it.”

He can’t resist; he grabs his own phone and taps out “Princess Y/N of Norway.” The first few links are about her background, her position in the line of succession. “So, she’s next in line to be queen or something?”

“Second in line,” Abbie corrects. “After her father. She’s a pretty big deal over there.”

Franco’s eyes sparkle with interest. “Second in line. And she’s what … like, forty?”

“Not even close,” Abbie says, exasperated. “She’s around your age, I think. She’s twenty-something.”

Franco looks at her, skeptical. “Twenty-something? And a princess?” He scrolls through images of palaces, state functions, and some photos of you smiling politely at dignitaries. She’s dressed elegantly, impeccably, not a hair out of place.

Then, finally, he finds one candid shot, and he stops scrolling. You’re laughing in the photo, a little windswept, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, your smile bright and entirely un-royal. He smirks.

“All right, all right,” he mutters to himself, still looking at the photo. “She’s pretty cute.” He taps back to the headline with a glint of amusement in his eye. “But still not a MILF.”

Abbie groans. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugs, still looking delighted. “Come on. You know my type. I like them older. But …” He trails off, grinning wider. “I could certainly do worse.”

“You’re not actually considering this, are you?” Abbie says, horrified. “Franco, this is a fake rumor. You’re supposed to be distancing yourself from it.”

“Oh, I know. I know.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “But it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Me, a royal boyfriend?” He leans back, arms crossed, still smirking. “I’m almost flattered.”

Abbie sighs and taps her own phone, clearly typing something in response to the rest of the Williams PR team. “Look, flattered or not, you need to be careful. She’s a public figure. If you say the wrong thing, it’ll just fuel the fire.”

“Oh, please,” he says, waving a hand. “What are they gonna do? Put me on trial?”

“Maybe not you,” Abbie replies, giving him a warning look, “but she has an image to protect. This isn’t just gossip for her — it’s her whole life.”

He lets out a low whistle, thinking. “Must be hard, huh? Everyone expecting you to act a certain way. Not much room for fun.”

Abbie eyes him, her expression softening a bit. “I’m sure it is. Which is why we need to treat this carefully.”

Franco glances back at the photos, his smile fading a bit as he considers. He may not know you, but he can picture the situation well enough: the relentless tabloids, the public judgment, all the expectations.

“All right, fine,” he says, finally. “What’s the plan?”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll be working with her team to prepare a statement. The usual ‘there’s no truth to these rumors’ line. But until then, keep it low-key.”

He raises a brow. “Low-key? Since when have I ever been low-key?”

“Then try for once.” She gives him a pleading look. “It’ll help her out. Trust me.”

Franco nods, though there’s a spark of amusement still flickering in his eyes. He can’t help it — he’s never been one to turn down a little excitement, and this whole thing is exactly that. He glances at Abbie. “So … if someone were to ask about it …”

She narrows her eyes. “Franco. Don’t even think about it.”

He chuckles. “Relax. I’ll be good.”

But as he heads back to the simulator, he can’t resist a smirk.

***

The meeting room is far more understated than you would’ve expected for something of this scale, tucked away in a discreet corner of a private suite in a London hotel. But it’s neutral ground, and it’s quiet, and no one outside this room will ever have to know about this awkward collision of worlds.

You’re early, of course. You’ve been pacing for the last ten minutes, scrolling through every frantic email your team has sent since this ridiculous rumor broke, trying to make sense of the tabloids’ spiraling narrative.

Franco arrives with a small entourage, though it feels like the entire room shifts the moment he steps in. He looks relaxed, perfectly at ease — too at ease. He catches your eye almost immediately, smirking as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this absurd situation to unfold.

“Princess,” he says, as if the word is a private joke just for the two of you. He holds out his hand, that ever-present glint of mischief in his eyes.

You don’t take it, instead clearing your throat and nodding a polite, “Mr. Colapinto.”

He drops his hand, unfazed. “Mr. Colapinto? Ouch. I thought we were past formalities, what with the whole secret romance thing.”

You stare, unamused, but he only laughs, taking a seat at the conference table across from you. He leans back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair, entirely too comfortable.

Abbie enters behind him, followed by Noora and two more of your advisors, who exchange a brief look with you before giving Franco a wary glance. The room feels divided: your side tense, professional; his side relaxed, as if they’re here for afternoon tea.

Noora clears her throat. “Thank you all for coming. We’re here to discuss … the situation between Her Royal Highness and Mr. Colapinto.”

Franco raises his hand like a schoolboy. “Just Franco’s fine.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I think it’s important that we treat this with the gravity it deserves.”

“Right,” Franco says, his tone playful. “Like a royal summit.”

Ignoring him, you turn to Noora. “What’s our best option? A joint statement? Something definitive?”

Noora nods, producing a folder from her bag. “Yes, we think a mutual statement from both parties would be the most effective way to dispel the rumors. The tone should be clear, respectful, and leave no room for interpretation.”

Franco grins at you. “So, no room for romance?”

You bite back a sigh. “Exactly.”

He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand as if studying you. “Pity. I thought we made a pretty good pair.”

You shift in your seat, folding your hands tightly in front of you. “This isn’t a joke. It’s an issue of public perception, protocol-”

“Protocol,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “Can’t say I’m big on protocol. Haven’t you heard? I’m dating a princess now. Practically makes me royalty, right? Protocol doesn’t apply to me.”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Protocol applies to everyone.”

“Boring people,” he counters, grinning wider. “Which, by the way, you are not. I don’t buy it.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “I don’t think you understand the stakes here.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. But, come on …” He gestures to the small group of advisors around the table. “Look at this! Two teams acting like we’re two PR disasters waiting to happen … it’s ridiculous. You would think we were in the middle of an international scandal.”

“We are in the middle of an international scandal,” you say, exasperated. “People think we’re dating. It’s a breach of public trust for both of us-”

He snorts. “You’re talking like I’m some kind of international criminal. Come on, Princess. It’s just a rumor.”

“It’s more than that,” you insist, struggling to keep your voice steady. “This rumor reflects on me, on my family. On Norway.”

He watches you, head tilted, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “And do you care?”

You frown, feeling that flush creep back to your cheeks. “Of course I care.”

“No, I mean, do you care about it — us? I mean, the rumor?”

There’s something disarming in the way he says it, like he’s testing you. You can’t help but hesitate, your well-rehearsed words slipping just out of reach.

“It’s my duty,” you finally say, straightening your shoulders, “to uphold my family’s reputation.”

He doesn’t seem impressed. Instead, he shakes his head, a bemused smile on his lips. “You’re so serious. Makes me think I really did pick the right princess.”

Noora coughs, clearly eager to refocus the meeting. “Let’s discuss the actual statement, shall we?”

You nod, relieved to move on, but Franco holds up a hand, eyes still locked on yours. “I just want to say, for the record … I don’t think I’d mind the rumors, if they were true.”

There’s a moment of silence, thick and uncomfortable. You can feel the curious stares of your team, the surprise on Noora’s face, the quiet snickers from Franco’s side.

“Mr. Colapinto,” you say carefully, “this is neither the time nor place for that kind of … remark.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Who decides that?”

Noora jumps in. “We do. And as such, we have a preliminary draft we’d like to review with both of you. It’s brief and to the point, which is important.”

Abbie leans in, already reading over the statement. “The recent reports of a romantic relationship between Princess Y/N and Franco Colapinto are entirely false and without merit. Both parties are focused on their respective roles and responsibilities and have not been involved in any way that would support these rumors.” She looks up, pleased with herself.

You give an approving nod, glancing at Franco. “Short and factual. Perfect.”

Franco frowns, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a little … cold, don’t you think?”

“That’s the point,” you say flatly. “We’re supposed to be shutting down the rumors, not fueling them.”

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes gleaming. “How about something more like … while I have great respect for Princess Y/N and have enjoyed our time together, I can confirm that we are, unfortunately, just friends?”

You look at him, horrified. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.” He gives you a devilish grin. “It’s all about the narrative, Princess. People want romance, intrigue. You’re literal royalty — give them a little fairytale.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and it takes everything you have not to snap back at him. “This isn’t some soap opera, Mr. Colapinto.”

“Franco,” he corrects, eyes still dancing with mischief.

Noora clears her throat again. “I think it’s best we stick with the original statement.”

He gives you a mockingly solemn nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

You give a small, exasperated sigh, looking back to Noora and Abbie. “If we’re all agreed, can we proceed?”

Abbie glances between you and Franco, as if gauging the tension in the air. “Yes. We’ll finalize the statement this evening and have it released tomorrow morning.”

Franco pushes back his chair, rising to his feet. “Well, I suppose that settles it, then.” He glances down at you, his gaze lingering a bit too long. “Shame, though. This could’ve been fun.”

You fold your arms, giving him a pointed look. “We have very different definitions of fun.”

“Clearly,” he says, his smirk deepening. “But tell me, don’t you ever get tired of all this?” He gestures around at the meeting room, the stacks of paperwork, the solemn faces of your advisors. “The rules, the protocol. Doesn’t it get … dull?”

You purse your lips, resisting the temptation to give him a real answer. “It’s my duty.”

He tilts his head, his expression softening just slightly. “I get duty. But where’s the fun?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. And for a second, just a second, you wonder if he has a point.

Franco’s gaze sharpens as he watches you struggle to respond. And then, to your utter shock, he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours. “Here,” he says, with that sly, teasing smile.

Before you can pull away, he lifts your hand, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate gesture. His eyes hold yours as he brushes his mouth over your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make you feel the heat creeping up your face.

“I promise,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, “the next time I kiss you, Princess, it’ll be somewhere much more pleasurable.”

You pull your hand back, heart pounding, but he only grins, unbothered, and gives you a playful wink.

“Until next time, Your Highness.”

***

The bar is dimly lit, tucked away on a quiet street where no one knows who you are and, more importantly, no one cares. It’s the perfect place to slip away from the weight of your title, from the headlines, from the rules and the statement that your team is probably drafting up at this very moment. For once, you just want to sit here, nursing a drink, and pretend you’re anyone else.

The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it’s a welcome distraction. You let out a breath, easing back against the bar, feeling some of the tension in your shoulders release. For the first time all day, no one is watching, no one is whispering. You’re just … here.

Until a voice slides into the quiet like a warm breeze. “Didn’t think I’d find royalty in a place like this.”

You don’t even need to look to know it’s him. You don’t turn, but your grip on the glass tightens as Franco slides onto the stool beside you, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not bothering to mask the exasperation in your voice.

“Me?” He says, all innocence. “Just having a drink. Same as you.” He signals the bartender. “Tequila,” he says, then nods at your glass, smirking. “And whatever she’s having.”

You sigh. “Of all the bars in London, you had to pick this one?”

He grins, shameless. “Maybe I just have good taste.”

You roll your eyes. “Highly doubtful.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Come on, Princess. I know you’re thrilled to see me.”

“Thrilled isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

He leans in, his voice dropping low enough that it feels like a secret. “What would you use, then?”

You pause, taking a sip of your drink as you consider. “Mildly inconvenienced.”

He laughs at that, a warm, genuine sound that catches you off guard. You try to keep your face impassive, but there’s something disarming about his laughter, something that makes you wonder why it feels like he’s always able to unravel you with so little effort.

“Fine,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar, mirroring your posture. “Then I’ll just sit here, mildly inconveniencing you until you admit you’re enjoying yourself.”

You scoff. “That’s not going to happen.”

His whiskey arrives, and he raises his glass, clinking it lightly against yours. “Care to bet on that?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you always think everything’s a game?”

“Only when it’s fun,” he says, his gaze dropping to your lips. There’s something undeniably bold about the way he watches you, something that sends a little thrill down your spine despite yourself.

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “What exactly do you think you’re doing here?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he says, his voice turning softer, more intimate. “I’m trying to get to know you.”

You snort. “Get to know me? I’m pretty sure you just want to use this as an excuse to fuel the rumors.”

“Maybe the rumors are more interesting than you think,” he counters smoothly, sipping his drink. “Or maybe I’m just curious.”

“Curious?” You echo, lifting an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About what a princess does when no one’s watching.” His eyes flash with that familiar glint, and he gives you a lazy, unapologetic smile. “And so far, you don’t disappoint.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”

“Oh, I don’t need to try,” he says, his voice soft but self-assured. “I just do.”

You shake your head, determined not to let him win this little game. “I don’t think you’re as irresistible as you think you are.”

“Maybe.” He tilts his head, studying you with an infuriating level of focus. “But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your retort dies on your lips as his hand moves closer, resting just on the edge of the bar, fingers inching toward yours. It’s subtle, but it sends a pulse of awareness up your arm, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, the warmth radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as it lingers on you.

You straighten, clearing your throat. “So what’s your endgame here, Franco?”

“No endgame,” he says easily, but there’s a promise in his tone, a flicker in his eyes that makes it hard to believe. “Just wanted a drink with a pretty princess.”

You almost laugh. Almost. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Is that why you’re smiling?” He asks, leaning closer.

You hadn’t realized you were. You quickly straighten your face, but he’s already noticed, that knowing smirk widening as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Relax, Princess. You’re allowed to have fun, too.”

“Define fun,” you say, though you’re painfully aware that you’re actually enjoying this little back-and-forth. It’s dangerous, exhilarating — two things you never let yourself indulge in.

“Fun?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Fun is you, sitting here, pretending you don’t like me, while secretly hoping I’ll keep talking.”

You roll your eyes. “Delusional.”

“Maybe,” he says, and his hand moves again — this time, resting casually on your thigh under the bar. The touch is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch, enough to make you momentarily forget the carefully constructed boundaries you’ve set.

“Franco,” you warn, though your voice is less steady than you’d like.

He raises an eyebrow, his fingers tracing a slow, almost absentminded circle against your leg. “Problem?”

You don’t answer, but he takes your silence as permission, his fingers edging just a little higher, teasingly close, as if he’s daring you to stop him. And you should. You know you should. But for some reason, you don’t.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me to stop, Princess. And I will.”

Your mind races, every sensible thought colliding with the thrill that’s building inside you. You swallow, feeling the weight of his gaze, the heat of his touch.

“Why would I tell you to stop,” you say quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper, “if I don’t want you to?”

He grins, satisfied. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Before you can respond, he’s closing the distance, his hand slipping higher under your dress, his thumb brushing slow circles that make your heart race. It’s reckless and wild and nothing you’d ever thought you’d do — but in this moment, it feels impossible to resist.

The next few minutes are a blur of whispered words and stolen glances, your resolve slipping with every soft touch, every cocky grin he throws your way. You barely register the decision to leave the bar until you’re outside, standing on the quiet street, the night air cool against your flushed skin.

“Your place or mine?” He asks, his voice a playful drawl.

You hesitate, a thousand reasons to walk away tumbling through your mind. But when you look at him — at that unrelenting confidence, the challenge in his eyes — you feel your control waver. Just this once, you tell yourself. Just this once, you’ll let yourself break the rules.

“Yours,” you say, surprised at the steadiness of your voice.

He doesn’t waste a second, taking your hand and leading you down the street, his grip warm and solid, grounding you even as your heart races. You follow him, pulse pounding with each step, until you’re standing outside his hotel room door, the reality of what you’re doing hitting you in a rush.

But then he’s looking at you again, that mischievous smile softening into something more intimate, and your doubts fade. He opens the door, and you step inside, feeling as though you’re crossing some invisible line.

The room is dim, the city lights casting a faint glow through the windows. He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, almost reverent, and for a moment, you see a different side of him — something softer, deeper.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. But instead of answering, you lean up, closing the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that’s tentative at first, then deepening as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

And for the first time in as long as you can remember, you don’t think about duty, or protocol, or anything else. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the quiet thrill of finally letting go.

***

francolapinto

Liked by f1wagupdates, royalwatchers, and 714,925 others

francolapinto all the rumours are true

View all 3,816 comments

pintobean everyone called me crazy for believing the articles but look who’s laughing now!

coca-colapinto because as much as i love franco, there’s no way i was about to believe he could’ve pulled a whole ass princess

pintobean this is a lesson not to underestimate his rizz

coca-colapinto please never say that unironically again

f1wagupdates pray for their PR teams, whatever they’re earning is not nearly enough 🙏

gridgossip franco had exactly nine races to turn the paddock upside down and boy did he not disappoint

f1wagupdates who needs an f1 seat in 2025 when you can have a throne?

***

The morning arrives far too soon, sunlight streaming through the hotel curtains and casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. You barely have time to blink yourself awake when a loud, frantic banging rattles the door, shaking you out of the haze of last night.

Franco groans beside you, his arm lazily draped over your waist. “You expecting someone?”

You’re too comfortable, too wrapped up in the warmth of his skin and the lingering bliss to even think straight. “Not … exactly.”

The pounding persists, and then voices — urgent, unmistakable voices — filter through the door. “Franco! Y/N! Are you in there? It’s urgent!”

Your eyes widen, a flash of panic cutting through the sleepiness. Franco doesn’t seem fazed. He barely lifts his head off the pillow, his hand lazily running down your spine as he mutters, “They’ll go away.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” You push yourself up slightly, glancing over the bed, finding discarded clothes and a vague sense of regret somewhere on the floor. The pounding grows louder, and finally, Franco sits up, rubbing his eyes, his hair adorably disheveled.

He stretches, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “What do you think? Just a few more minutes or …”

“Open the door!” Comes a familiar, exasperated voice from the hallway. You recognize it immediately — Noora.

Franco’s eyes meet yours, amusement glinting there. “Looks like we don’t have a choice.”

Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants from the floor and slipping them on with a casual ease that only makes your heartbeat quicken. He tosses you a smirk over his shoulder before heading to the door.

As he opens it, a whirlwind of people floods into the room — Noora, Abbie, and a few more members of both your PR teams, all of them looking like they’re seconds away from losing their minds.

“Oh my god,” Noora gasps, her gaze darting between you and Franco, her face turning several shades of pink. “This … this is-”

“Completely reckless!” Abbie finishes, giving you a look that’s half shock, half scandalized admiration. “What were you two thinking?”

Franco crosses his arms, unfazed. “Good morning to you too.”

One of Williams’ other PR officers steps forward, looking ready to faint. “Franco, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Those photos … your Instagram …”

Franco grins, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What, people are talking?”

“Talking?” Noora squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual. She glares at you, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “This is a disaster! Do you understand what you’ve done to our schedule, our statement plan? And the … the-” Her gaze flickers to the faint marks on your neck, and her knees buckle. Abbie reaches out quickly, guiding her to a chair.

“Maybe we overreacted,” Abbie mutters, though she doesn’t take her eyes off you. “Or maybe we didn’t react enough.”

You feel a rush of heat flood your face as everyone’s gaze lands on you. Franco catches it and gives you a cheeky wink, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s created.

“Look,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “maybe we got a little carried away, but it’s … it’s not like we did anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Noora says, her voice faint as she studies the marks on your neck again. “You … you have no idea how this looks, do you?”

Franco, completely unfazed, strolls over to the mirror above the dresser. He takes a long look at his own reflection, tilting his head to admire the scratches and darkening bruises scattered across his skin. “Looks like a good night to me.”

Your PR teams collectively groan, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. Franco catches your eye in the mirror, and the mischievous spark there makes it impossible not to crack a smile.

“Franco, this isn’t a joke!” One of his managers snaps, practically pulling at his hair. “Do you know how many calls we’ve received since you posted those photos?”

Franco shrugs, giving them a lazy grin. “Then turn off your phone. Worked for me.”

Another round of exasperated sighs fills the room, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for your PR team. Not enough, though, to actually feel bad.

Noora steps forward, hands on her hips, looking at you with an expression that’s somehow both sympathetic and stern. “Your Highness, this is … unprecedented. We need to issue a statement immediately, clarify this situation-”

“Or not,” Franco interrupts, his tone far too nonchalant. He turns away from the mirror, crossing his arms. “Honestly, I think the people like a little mystery, don’t you?”

Noora gives him a look that could wilt flowers. “This isn’t about what the people like, Mr. Colapinto. It’s about protecting reputations.”

“Oh, so we’re doing that now?” Franco glances at you, his smile playful. “Funny, last night I didn’t get the sense that the two of us in this room were all that worried about reputations.”

Your face flushes, and you shoot him a look that’s half reprimand, half reluctant amusement. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Who said I was trying to help?”

Abbie lets out a long sigh, rubbing her temples. “Can we at least agree that this … whatever this is, stays here? Quietly?”

Franco raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a smirk. “You hear that, Princess? Quietly. Doesn’t sound like much fun to me.”

You swallow, trying to ignore the way his gaze makes your stomach flip. “Maybe some things should be quiet,” you say, though your voice sounds unconvincing even to you.

Noora, still looking a bit wobbly, clears her throat. “Please, can we just … make a plan?”

Franco sighs, feigning disappointment. “Fine. Make your plan. But don’t expect me to follow it.”

Before anyone can respond, he gives you one last smirk and strides over to the door, pulling it open. “In fact, I think it’s about time we had the room to ourselves, don’t you think?”

The PR teams exchange panicked glances, but they don’t have much choice as Franco gives them a not-so-subtle wave toward the exit. Noora opens her mouth to protest, but Abbie gently ushers her toward the door, casting one last look at you that’s a mix of concern and reluctant approval.

“We’ll be in touch,” Abbie says, but there’s a hint of resignation in her tone, as if she knows that whatever control they thought they had is slipping fast.

Once the last of them has been herded out, Franco shuts the door with a decisive click. He turns back to you, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and before you can process it, he’s crossing the room, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “I think we gave them quite a show.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. “We? That was mostly you.”

He laughs softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t exactly object.”

You’re about to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His hands find your waist, and suddenly you’re being guided backward, the mattress hitting the back of your legs as he eases you down. His gaze is intense, his smirk fading into something more serious, more intent.

“Franco,” you murmur, but the way he’s looking at you steals the rest of your words.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to the corner of your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “We’re not done yet, Princess.”

Your heart races as he shifts, his hands warm against your skin, his weight pressing you back into the bed. And as he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both playful and possessive, you realize that whatever the consequences, whatever scandal might follow … right now, none of it matters.

Right now, there’s only him, the quiet thrill of his touch, and the feeling of finally — finally — giving in.

***

The night sky over Las Vegas glitters with a million lights, bright enough to drown out the stars, as the drivers’ parade winds down the track. The grandstands are packed, the excitement in the air palpable even before the race has started.

Franco is perched atop the back of a bus, arms folded, his easy smirk in place as he surveys the flashing cameras and cheering fans. Beside him stands Lewis Hamilton, calm and collected as always, with that practiced smile of someone who’s done this a thousand times.

Franco nudges Lewis with his elbow, grinning. “So, you know we’re both basically royalty now, right?”

Lewis chuckles, giving him a sideways look. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”

Franco shrugs, looking as if he’s contemplating something serious for a split second, then tilts his head. “Well, you’ve got the knighthood, Sir Hamilton,” he says, drawing out the words with an exaggerated British accent. “And I’ve got, well …” He grins, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. “The princess.”

Lewis laughs, a rich, full sound. “Ah, I see. So you’re actually out here trying to one-up my knighthood?”

Franco clutches his chest dramatically. “Exactly. I mean, not to make it a competition, but I’m basically a prince now. Which, if we’re being technical, puts me a bit above you in rank.”

Lewis lets out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, man. I’m a knight, not a court jester.”

Franco raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. I’m sure knighthood’s very nice, but I think there’s something to be said for having a princess.”

Lewis shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “So it’s true, then?”

For the first time, Franco’s smirk softens into something else, something quieter. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen with an expression that’s unmistakably fond. He’s not looking at Lewis now, or at the cheering fans, or even the flashing cameras around them. His gaze is locked on his phone, where an image fills the screen.

It’s you, cozy on the couch with your Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in your lap, a warm blanket wrapped around you, hair falling casually over your shoulder. You’re looking straight into the camera, a relaxed smile on your face, and there’s an almost surprising intimacy in the photo — the kind that doesn’t come from a staged royal portrait but from a simple, real moment. It’s the type of photo someone only sends to someone they care about.

Franco doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at the image, his thumb tracing lightly over the screen, as if he’s savoring the private moment before he has to lock his phone away for the race.

He nods, almost to himself. “Yeah. It’s true.”

Lewis studies him slowly, an almost invisible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think I’d see the day,” he murmurs, a touch of amusement there. “Guess you’re growing up, huh?”

Franco finally looks up, chuckling. “Speak for yourself, man. I’m still a kid at heart.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow. “A kid at heart who’s dating a princess? That’s a combination I didn’t see coming.”

“Neither did I, to be honest.” Franco leans back, stretching his arms out along the edge of the bus, still clutching his phone in one hand. “One minute, I’m just minding my business, and the next … boom.” He snaps his fingers. “The entire world decides we’re dating. Didn’t even know her name before then.”

Lewis chuckles. “And now you’re on your phone looking at pictures she sent you. You’ve come a long way.”

Franco glances down at the picture again, a private smile playing on his lips. “Guess I have.”

The parade continues, the roar of the crowd swelling around them as they pass another section of the grandstand, but it all feels distant. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence, and Franco finds himself thinking back over the past few weeks, the whirlwind of rumors and statements, and then … the quiet moments that somehow followed.

Lewis studies him, eyes narrowing in that perceptive way he has. “So … you and her. Is it, like, official?”

Franco lets out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? This is Her Royal Highness we’re talking about. There’s no ‘official’ until we’ve been courting for at least a year. There’s procedure and … what’s the word she loves to use? Protocol.”

“Protocol.” Lewis grins. “That sounds … exactly like what you hate.”

“Oh, believe me.” Franco laughs, shaking his head. “She’s been trying to teach me, but I don’t think I’ve followed protocol a single time. I mean, she actually tried to tell me what utensils I should use at dinner. Like, why does it matter?”

“Didn’t go well, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve decided that those tiny forks are optional.” Franco sighs, pocketing his phone. “But that’s her. She takes it all so seriously. Makes me want to take it seriously too, in some strange way.”

Lewis tilts his head, watching him. “I get that. That’s what happens when someone really means something to you.” He pauses, as if weighing his words. “So, she’s watching tonight?”

Franco nods, a flash of pride evident in his smile. “She sent me this right before we went out for the parade.” He taps his pocket, where his phone is hidden now. “Said she’d be watching. Don’t know how she manages to get away with it, with her schedule planned out months in advance, but she’s … creative.”

Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “The lengths you two go to. Like some kind of fairytale romance.”

The bus they’re on takes another slow turn around the parade route, the lights of Las Vegas casting a surreal glow over the scene. The streets are packed with fans, all of them waving and shouting, and Franco finds himself wondering if you’re watching this right now. He imagines you, curled up on the couch with that fluffy little dog of yours, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Franco smiles. “Yeah, I guess it really is.”

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pathologicalreid · 2 days ago

Text

falling flat | s.r.

in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to the reaper, car trouble, blood, tetanus vaccine, kindergarten teacher!reader, flirting, protective!spencer, takes place following 5x22 "the internet is forever", hastily edited word count: 1.87k a/n: rahhhh an old prompt from may 2024 that ended up working for a margovember request rahhh.

The absolute last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a flat tire. You weren’t entirely helpless until your tire jack broke, sending metal flying everywhere and cutting your hand open.

You slumped down next to your car, pulling your phone from your pocket before calling the first people you could think of. Every single one of them ended up going to voicemail. Some of them didn’t even let it get past the first ring before declining your call—traitors.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you thought of Spencer. He had a PhD in engineering, but you weren’t entirely sure that would come in handy in this instance. It was late, almost midnight, and you weren’t even sure he’d answer.

At this point, what choice did you have?

As the phone rang, part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer. When he asked you about it the next time you saw him, you’d wave it off as a butt dial and he’d be none the wiser.

“Hello,” he said through the phone, leaving your plans quashed.

This was awkward, you had been on four dates with the guy over the span of two months, and now you were calling him in the middle of the night. “This isn’t a booty call,” You blurted, cringing inwardly and banging your head back on the passenger door of your car.

Spencer laughed lightly, “I didn’t think it was, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked, his job had a lot of long hours, and you didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up on sleep. If he was even home, “Wait, where are you?”

There was a rustling on his end of the call, “No, I wasn’t asleep, I’m at work. We just got off of a case.”

You let out a sigh of relief, at least you weren’t being a total nuisance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just… my tire blew out on the highway and my jack broke and no one else is answering their phone,” you told him, verging on rambling.

“You’re kind of cutting out, where are you?” He asked, he sounded concerned, and if there was a moment where you weren’t sure you still had feelings for him, it was fleeting.

Looking to either side of you for a mile marker, you stood up, looking at the ground so you didn’t step on any metal, “I don’t really know. There aren’t any signs, I’m somewhere on 28, I think?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “Do you have your location on your phone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I have enough service to check it,” you said, all you could see were trees.

You could hear him talking to someone, holding the receiver away from his mouth, “That’s fine, I’ll have someone look, just stay on the phone.”

It would seem that dating someone in the FBI does have its perks, “Oh, cool.” You overheard Spencer explaining your situation to someone, hearing the other person in the room say something about Reid’s girlfriend and you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you were very unofficially official.

“Hey, I’ll be there in half an hour,” An elevator dinged in the background. “Is that alright?”

You hummed, leaning your hip against the front of your car. “I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Another ding of the elevator, “Will you do me a favor?”

In exchange for this? You’d do just about anything within the realm of legality, “Name it.”

“Get in your car and lock the doors,” he responded. “Turn your hazards on because right now you’re a sitting duck. If someone doesn’t see your car, they could hit you.”

As a favor, he was asking you to make sure you’re safe, “Okay, I’m getting in now, should I leave the car running?”

You heard the sound of a car lock disengaging through the phone, “As long as the cooling system on your car is in good shape, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave it running while you wait. Just remember what I told you about the hazards.”

Nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you, you got in the car, turning the key in the ignition before pushing the button for your hazard lights, “Okay, I’m in the car.”

“I can’t drive and be on the phone at the same time, but I’ll be there soon. Don’t unlock the doors for anyone except for me,” he told you, and you thanked him for his help before hanging up and settling yourself in your driver’s seat.

You pulled the hoodie you kept stashed in your car over your head, your school mascot—a panther—proudly displayed in the front, and made sure your car doors were locked. If you said you weren’t a little unnerved, you’d be lying to yourself.

Spencer had a worrisome job; it was something you were aware of before he ever asked you on that first date. It became alarmingly obvious to you when he revealed that he’d been shot a few months prior, which was an appropriate second-date conversation with an FBI agent. It made sense to you that he’d be concerned about you, in your idle car, on the side of the road, but you wondered if there was a case that he was thinking of. Someone with a flat tire who had met an untimely demise.

Shuddering, you turned up the heat in your car, flipping through radio stations until someone knocked on your window. You jumped at the noise, hitting your head against the roof of the car before looking outside to see Spencer. Sighing in relief, you unlocked your car door, and he opened it for you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your head alright?”

You peered up at him, casually leaning over your car door. “You cut your hair,” you observed. You’d seen him just last week, where his hair still touched his shoulders, and now it was considerably shorter.

Self-consciously, he reached up a hand and thumbed one of the tendrils, “Yeah, it just got too long—and heavy.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, your head bobbed, “I like it. Did you do it yourself?”

“You can tell?” He asked, following you around the back of your car to your busted tire. Spencer sets his tire jack down before looking back at you, putting his hands on his hips.

Grinning at him, you shrugged, “I teach kindergarten, I’m basically a professional at noticing DIY haircuts.”

On a towel that you had previously set out, the two of you sat along the side of your car, and you tried to ignore the fact that Spencer still had his weapon holstered. It made sense, he’d come straight from work, but you wondered if there was a reason he didn’t leave it in his car. “Where’s your lug wrench?”

“I can change it myself,” you insisted, “I just needed a different car jack.” You gestured to the pieces of yours that were now all over the side of the road.

Alarm flashed on Spencer’s face, “Nothing fell on you, right?”

You shook your head, “No, just a cut from the metal.”

Holding out your hand, you let Spencer take a look at the cut on your palm. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Blinking rapidly, you frowned at him, “Uh, when I was in college?”

“That might need stitches,” he responded, letting you take your hand back. “I’ll change your tire, I don’t want you using that hand for anything,” he informed you, pushing the hydraulic jack beneath your car.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you watched him take your old tire off, muttering under his breath about how your old jack was practically an artifact, seeing how it literally fell apart under pressure. “How was your case?” You asked softly, fully aware that you were likely opening a can of worms by asking about work.

Spencer’s movements faltered slightly at your question, “It’s closed. We were in Boise,” he answered tactfully, leaving out any case details and cluing you into the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. “What are you doing out here?”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands and watching him work, “I had a meeting with the other schools in our conference. It’s annual, and this year they happened to pick the school furthest away from mine.”

“Well, I suppose it worked out well that your tire blew out so close to me, then,” Spencer said, swapping out the busted tire for the donut and looking over at you. There was something nervous in his eyes, and you didn’t know if it was related to work or you.

Humming, you tried to watch the tire rather than just watching him, “Is there something bothering you?”

He was tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, “Are you driving home after this?”

You furrowed your brows, “Yeah, where else could I be going?”

“It’s almost a two-hour drive to your place from here,” he reminded you, his tone laced with concern. “You won’t get home until almost one in the morning,” the displeasure in his voice was plain, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. “Plus, you really shouldn’t travel that far on a spare tire, they’re not made to travel far distances.”

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you let your shoulders slump forward, “So, what do you suggest I do? Get a hotel?”

Spencer mumbled something inaudibly, trying to finish tightening the bolts on the tire before sighing, “You can stay with me,” he blushes, a swipe of pink across his cheeks.

Your lips parted in surprise, “Uh, I don’t… I’m not…” you faltered. Utterly failing to come up with a good enough reason to tell him no, “I don’t want you to feel inclined. This isn’t what I was looking for when I called you for help.”

He let the car down, staying quiet while the two of you cleaned up, and Spencer swatted your hand away when you tried to pick things up. “So, you can come back to my place tonight. My work-issued first-aid kit has your name all over it,” he told you, eyes flickering down to the cut on your hand.

“Okay,” you breathed, unable to conjure a reason to refuse his hospitality.

He was grinning at you, hair just barely brushing his eyebrows, “So tomorrow, maybe we can get coffee and drop your car off to get a new tire?”

You smiled back at him, “That sounds great, date number five.”

“You know where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you’d been to his place once to pick him up, “Hey, Spence?”

He turned around, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He looked ready to respond to you, but you pressed your lips to his before he had a chance to speak.

You kissed him softly, whispering against his mouth, “Thank you for coming.”

He chuckled lightly, gently resting a hand on your waist, “Thank you for calling.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margovember #kindergarten teacher!reader

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chosok-amo · 2 days ago

Text

THE CLOWN HAS BEEN FOUND s. gojo

★ sum. the baggy clothes, the glasses, the book, the brain— sum : a nerd, that’s what you are. a center of attention, but not because of how beautiful and popular and everyone wants to date you— no, but because you are a loser. and the popular boys have a bet who’s get to sleep with you first and pop the cherry.

warning. college au, ōral ( m & f receiving ), fingēring, dirty talk, hair-pulling, bit name-calling, petnames, praise, cherry pop mentioned, unprotected sēx.

the four of them—geto, gojo, toji, and sukuna—sat sprawled out under the big willow tree on campus, a prime spot they’d claimed as their own. the tree’s branches hung low, providing shade from the afternoon sun, and it seemed to be the perfect place for them to lounge around, their laughter and conversation echoing through the quiet space. they were the popular boys on campus, infamous for their looks, athleticism, and wealth, and equally notorious for their cocky, careless attitudes—a magnetic combination that somehow made them both admired and hated.

they were deep in some joke, laughing obnoxiously, when toji’s gaze drifted, his laughter fading as his eyes settled on something—or rather, someone—in the distance. his smirk widened as he cocked his chin in your direction, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“look at her,” toji muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. the way he said it held a certain bite, like he’d just stumbled upon something amusing.

the other three followed his gaze, their eyes landing on you, sitting off to the side with a thick textbook open in your lap. you were tucked into yourself, shoulders hunched slightly, completely absorbed in whatever you were reading. your clothes were baggy, drowning your frame in layers that did little to give away any shape. the oversized hoodie practically swallowed you, sleeves pulled down almost to your fingertips. your glasses kept sliding down your nose, and every now and then, you’d push them back up absently, clearly too lost in your book to notice much else.

“oh, the classic nerd look,” sukuna sneered, his eyes narrowing as he looked you over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “cute,” he added mockingly, though there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he found the whole thing entertaining.

gojo let out a low snort, shaking his head as he took a long drag from his cigarette, smoke curling around him in lazy spirals. he leaned forward, one arm bracing against the grass. his eyes still on you, but there was a mocking amusement dancing in them now. he exhaled slowly, a smirk pulling at his lips as he glanced over at sukuna, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“what’s this, sukuna? into the nerdy type now?” he taunted, tilting his head as he raised an eyebrow. his tone was layered with mockery, his smirk widening as if the very idea was too ridiculous to believe. “thought you had a thing for a girl with big tits.”

sukuna rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn’t waver. “naaah, not my type,” he shot back, his gaze flicking back to you briefly before he shrugged. “just saying she’s… amusing. probably jumps if someone even looks at her.”

“oh, definitely,” geto chimed in with a chuckle, folding his arms as he looked you over with a lazy curiosity. “bet she’s terrified of guys like us.”

toji laughed, shaking his head as he looked back at the others. “please, she’d probably faint if you even said hi.” they all shared a laugh, a mixture of arrogance and amusement, reveling in the thought. to them, you were just another quiet, unassuming girl in a sea of faces, someone they could easily overlook—or mess with, if the mood struck.

gojo snickered. “hell, she probably doesn’t even know we exist,” he taunted, his smirk growing ever more patronizing as he puffed out another plume of smoke. “probably spends her nights in her room, surrounded by books and stuffed animals. bet she’s never even been to a party.”

geto chuckled, leaning back with a mocking smile. “oh please, she’s probably never even been kissed.”

toji smirked, adding to the barrage of mockery. “god, she’s probably never been touched by a guy either, huh?” he chimed in, his words dripping with lewd undertones. he took another drag of his cigarette, then glanced back at you, eyeing you up and down again, his smirk widening into a leering grin. “bet she’s a complete virgin.”

there was a collective burst of laughter from the three of them, their voices loud and harsh in the otherwise peaceful afternoon air.

sukuna, his smirk still firmly in place, leaned back against the tree, his arms crossed. “yeah, she’s probably saving herself for her dream guy,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “probably wants some perfect fairytale romance. what a joke.”

toji let out a low, dark snicker, his gaze flickering back to you as his smirk widened into something almost predatory. he leaned forward slightly, the cruel glint in his green eyes sharpening as he watched you, completely oblivious to the way they were talking about you.

“oh, please,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mock amusement. “give me an hour with her, and i’d pop that cherry first,” he said, his scarred lips twisting into a wider smirk, a glimmer of cruelty evident in his gaze.

the other guys laughed again, their voices mingling in the harsh, arrogant way only they could manage. for them, it was a game—a chance to mock and taunt someone so outside their world.

geto snort, “yeah, right.”

gojo chuckled, his smirk widening as he took another casual drag from his cigarette, shaking his head at toji’s words. “big talk, man. you are too scary, let me take the ‘pop’,” he said, his voice laced with a mischievousness.

sukuna let out another sharp huff of laughter, his gaze trailing over you disdainfully, his smirk a mix of mockery and condescension. “yeah, good luck with that,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “bet she’d faint if you even came close to her.”

but toji didn’t seem worried, his smirk only growing wider, a cruel gleam in his eyes as he continued watching you, a dark challenge present in his expression.

“oh, i’d get her,” he said, his voice oozing a dangerous sort of confidence. his eyes darkened, his smirk turning almost feral as he looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers idly.

“she wouldn’t even know what hit her.”

sukuna raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, matching toji’s dark energy with a glint of excitement in his own crimson eyes. he crossed his arms, tilting his head with a look that practically dared the others to take him up on his idea.

“let’s make it interesting, boys,” sukuna drawled, his tone laced with twisted amusement. “how about a little wager? who’s gonna get to pop the cherry first?”

the idea hung in the air, laced with a sense of cruel playfulness. the others exchanged looks, smirks widening as they took in the challenge, their gazes flickering back to you as you remained completely unaware, hidden in your book and blissfully out of earshot.

gojo’s smirk only widened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the idea. he took another puff from his cigarette, eyeing sukuna with amusement, clearly intrigued by the proposal. “a wager?” he asked, his voice tinted with a hint of curiosity. “what’s the prize?”

geto chuckled, the idea clearly appealing to him as well. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he chimed in. “i’m in,” he said, his smirk mirroring the others.

sukuna shrugged, an amused gleam flashing through his crimson eyes as he glanced over at you, still utterly engrossed in your book and completely unaware of the bet unfolding among the boys. his smirk deepened as he looked back at the others, his tone casual yet laced with dark amusement.

“anything you want,” he replied smoothly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. he paused, his gaze flickering back to you for a brief moment before adding, “but there’s one condition—whoever wins has to take a photo as proof.”

the challenge hung heavy in the air, each of them exchanging glances, their smirks widening in unison. the thought of the twisted little game gave them all a sense of cruel excitement, feeding their arrogant thrill as they eyed you once more, already imagining how they’d play this out.

gojo let out a low snort, his smirk growing into a smirk of his own. he took another draw on his cigarette before tilting his head slightly, his expression shifting into one of agreement. “deal.” he said, his tone laced with a hint of determination.

geto chuckled softly, his eyes flickering to you once more before he nodded his agreement. “i’m in,” he added, his smirk mirrorring the others, clearly liking the idea of the bet.

toji chuckled, a cruel gleam appearing in his green eyes as he looked at the others, the idea of the bet stirring something wicked inside of him. he leaned back, his smirk growing wider as he nodded. “i’m in,” he echoed, his voice lower than before, filled with an almost excited tension.

it had been a strange week, to say the least. the four most popular boys on campus—geto, sukuna, toji, and especially gojo—had suddenly taken an interest in you, a stark contrast to the way they’d mostly ignored you before. they’d pop up in places they normally wouldn’t be, go out of their way to hold doors open or throw you playful smiles, and act… almost charming. but you weren’t buying it, especially not gojo’s relentless attempts to convince you to tutor him. every time he begged for your help, you’d shut him down without a second thought.

today was no different. you were tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, lost in your studies, when you heard the sound of a chair being pulled out beside you. you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. with a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and refocused on your notes, determined to ignore him.

“oh, come on,” gojo drawled, leaning in close with a pout as he rested his elbows on the table, clearly unfazed by your cold response. “i really need help, you know. i’m hopeless without you.” his tone was dripping with exaggerated desperation, but there was a playful glint in his eyes as he watched for any reaction.

you kept your gaze fixed on your book, trying to block him out. “then maybe you should try actually paying attention in class,” you muttered, flipping a page, hoping he’d take the hint and leave you alone.

but gojo just leaned closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost persuasive tone. “come on, i’ll owe you one. just one study session. i’ll even buy you coffee,” he offered, flashing you his signature charming smile, like he thought that was all it would take to wear you down.

“not interested,” you replied flatly, turning another page without looking up. you could feel his gaze on you, persistent as ever, but you were determined not to give him the satisfaction.

gojo’s smirk widened, his eyes narrowing slightly. he leaned even closer, his lips almost at your ear, as if daring you to ignore him. “come on, please?” he begged again, his tone dripping with fake desperation, his voice low and tantalizingly close. “just one little tutoring session. i’ll do anything.”

you froze, your pen pausing mid-word as the warmth of gojo’s hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers grazing just under the hem of your skirt. his touch was light, teasing, and you could feel your heart race at the audacity of his move. irritation flared within you, but when you turned to him, ready to give him a piece of your mind, you were met with that damn smirk of his—a look of pure, unbothered confidence.

his face was so close that you could feel his breath, warm and steady, as he whispered, “please?”

his voice was soft, almost seductive, and despite the irritation simmering beneath your calm facade, you could see the glint of amusement in his narrowed blue eyes, fully aware of the effect he was trying to have on you. your eyes narrowed, meeting his challenge, and you gave him a cold, leveled stare, unfazed by his proximity.

you lifted a brow, voice cool as ice. “is this your idea of begging, gojo?”

his smirk didn’t waver; if anything, it grew wider, clearly thrilled by your reaction. “i can be very persuasive,” he murmured, letting his fingers ghost over your thigh, just enough to keep your attention.

he leaned in even closer, his smirk widening further. his lips grazed your ear as he spoke again, his voice low and smooth, like silk. “and i can be very convincing,” he whispered, his hand sliding further up your thigh, leaving a trail of heated tingles in its wake.

you inhaled sharply, his breath hot against your skin as his words lingered in your ear, and you could feel your resolve slipping, his touch relentless and daring as his hand slid further up your thigh. the warmth of his fingers, the confidence in his voice—it was infuriatingly hard to ignore, and you could tell he knew it, that smirk of his only growing as he watched your reaction.

you turned to him, catching his gaze, meeting his smug look with one of quiet defiance. the words were barely a whisper as you muttered, “fine.”

his eyes lit up, triumphant, as if he’d known all along you’d give in, but you held his gaze steadily, a hint of warning still lingering there. “just one session,” you clarified, your voice firm, trying to reassert control even as you felt a flicker of warmth in your cheeks.

gojo’s smirk deepened, seemingly satisfied with your response. his hand paused, still resting on your thigh, his fingers gently caressing the soft skin, sending chills through your body.

“just one, huh?” he echoed, his voice low, thick with satisfaction. he leaned in closer, his breath hot on your neck, his lips practically grazing your skin as he spoke again. “don’t worry, i’ll make it count.”

he paused, his fingers tracing small, slow circles on your thigh, the gesture almost innocent, yet the meaning behind it clear. he looked at you, his gaze almost challenging, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes as he noticed your slight shiver at his touch. he leaned in further, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

“my place or yours?” he purred, his tone dripping with suggestion, his hand gradually making its way higher up your leg.

and that’s where you are . . .

gojo smirks down at you, his eyes roaming over your nerdy appearance hungrily, knees on the floor inside his dorm room. “thanks for coming to tutor me today. i really appreciate it,” his voice drips with false sincerity as he palms himself through his jeans.

“i’ve been struggling with this subject and i’ve heard you’re the best at explaining things.” gojo leans back on his hands, spreading his legs wider to give you an even better view of the bulge straining against his zipper. “why don’t you come closer and we can start going over the material? i’m all yours, baby.” his thumb pinch your chin, the soft pad of his finger trailing off your skin before slipping past your swollen lips into your mouth.

he chuckles softly, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you squirm. “aww, what’s wrong? you look nervous. there’s no need to be shy around me.”

you swallow hard, your heart pounding in my chest as you kneel before gojo, feeling small and insignificant compared to his tall, muscular frame. your glasses slip down your nose slightly as you gaze up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“oh, um, t-thank you gojo-kun,” you stammer out, your voice quivering slightly. you shift nervously on your knees, very aware of how vulnerable your position makes you feel. and when gojo’s thumb pushes past your lips, you instinctively close your mouth around it, sucking lightly from habit before realizing what you were doing. a deep blush spreads across your cheeks.

“i’m just a bit overwhelmed, to be honest,” you managed to murmur, voice muffled by his thumb.

gojo’s smirk widens as he feels your warm, wet mouth envelop his thumb. he slowly pumps the digit in and out, mimicking a lewd act. “mmm, don’t be like that, cutie. i promise i won’t bite... much.” he winks salaciously.

his free hand reaches out to cup your burning cheek, calloused fingers brushing over the delicate skin. “you’re so cute when you’re flustered like this. it’s adorable how innocent you are.” gojo leans in closer, his hot breath fanning over your face. the musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils.

“tell you what, why don’t you put that clever tongue of yours to good use and help me relax a bit before we dive into studying?” his thumb presses deeper into your mouth insistently.

you whimper softly as gojo’s thumb invades your mouth more insistently, your tongue automatically swirling around the invading digit. your mind races, trying to process the sudden intimate contact and the heavy implication behind his words.

“i’m not sure if this is appropriate, gojo-kun,” you manage to say around his thumb after pulling back slightly, your voice muffled. “we should focus on the tutoring session...”

despite your weak protests, you can feel your body reacting to gojo’s proximity and touch— a traitorous heat pooling low in your belly, your cunt starting to clenching around nothing in your skirt. you squirm uncomfortably on your knees, hyper-aware of your submissive posture before him.

“what exactly did you have in mind?”

gojo chuckles darkly, amused by your feeble attempt at protest. he grips your hair, tugging your head back to expose the slender column of your throat. “oh, i think we both know this is exactly what we came here for, isn’t it?”

his other hand moves to palm his aching erection through his jeans, the thick outline unmistakable. “i had something much more... educational in mind than boring textbooks.”

gojo leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers huskily, “why don’t you be a good girl and put those pretty lips to work? show me what that smart mouth of yours can do besides spouting facts.” he uses his grip on your hair to guide your face towards his crotch, rubbing your cheek against the prominent bulge.

gojo groans softly as he feels your soft cheek pressed against his throbbing erection. he grinds subtly against you, seeking more friction. “fuuuck, you feel so good already. i bet these nerdy little lips will wrap around my cock perfectly.”

with his other hand, he starts unbuckling his belt, the metallic clink seeming obscenely loud in the quiet room. he pops the button of his jeans and slowly drags down the zipper, letting them gape open to reveal the waistband of his boxers straining over his massive bulge.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” gojo growls possessively. “by the time ’m done with you, the only thing you’ll be able to think about is choking on my dick.”

the idea was overwhelming— the thought of ruining you and winning the bet performed a cloud in gojo’s head. you gasp sharply as gojo forces your face against his clothed erection, the heat and hardness searing into your cheek. your eyes widen at his crude words, a shiver running down your spine— equal parts fear and reluctant excitement.

“g-gojo-kun, please...” you whimper, your voice high and thready. “we shouldn’t... i-i’ve never...”

despite your halfhearted protests, you find yourself leaning into his touch, nuzzling almost imperceptibly against the thick ridge of his cock. the scent of his arousal is dizzying this close, musk and sweat and pure male essence flooding your senses. trembling fingers come up to tentatively brush against his hipbones as his zipper lowers with agonizing slowness.

gojo smirks cruelly as he hears the tremor in your voice, relishing how easily he can affect you. “shh, it’s okay baby. i’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he croons mockingly.

he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slowly peels them down, freeing his enormous, rock-hard cock. it springs out, slapping against your cheek with a meaty thwack. the thick shaft pulses with need, the flared head an angry purple and leaking copious amounts of precum.

you let out a choked moan as gojo’s huge, throbbing cock slaps against your cheek, leaving a smear of sticky pre-cum on your soft skin. your eyes widen in shock at the sheer size of him, intimidated but undeniably aroused.

“open wide, nerd. i’ve got a big load for you,” gojo taunts crudely. he fists his hand in your hair again, using his grip to angle your face towards his weeping cockhead. “stick out that clever little tongue. i want to see you worship every inch of my big, fat cock like the desperate slut you are.”

“oh god...” you whimper, your tongue darting out to unconsciously lick your lips. the salty-sweet taste of his essence explodes across your taste buds, making your head spin. with trembling hands, you reach up to grasp his muscular thighs for support as he forces your face closer to his imposing manhood. your glasses fog up slightly from your quickened breathing. “i’ve never done this before,” you admit in a tiny, scared voice.

gojo grins wickedly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic lust as he sees the fear and reluctant desire warring in your expression. “that’s alright, that’s why i’m here, you’re about to get the fucking of a lifetime to your virgin pussy,” he grunted.

he rubs the swollen head of his cock all over your face, smearing your cheeks and lips with his slick precum. the musky scent fills your nostrils, making your head swim with overwhelming pheromones. “open up, baby, take my cock like a good girl. promise it feels good, do you trust me?” sweet, his honeyed voice suddenly heavy with sweetness.

but despite that, he thrusts his hips forward, pushing the broad tip past your lips and onto your tongue. he groans at the wet heat engulfing him, head just a beat throw back before snapped, eyes lock with your lips taking the half of his cock. “fuck yes, that’s it. wrap those pretty lips around me.”

you let out a muffled yelp as gojo suddenly pushes past your lips, his thick cock stretching your jaw painfully wide you almost sure the edge of your lips stretch open. your eyes water as he hilts himself inside your virgin mouth, the bulbous head hitting the back of your throat. you gag reflexively, throat spasming around his girth.

“mph!” you try to pull back but his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place. tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you struggle to accommodate his impressive size. your small hands come up to weakly push at his thighs, overwhelmed by the intrusion.

after a moment, you force yourself to relax your jaw, breathing heavily through your nose. you start to experimentally suckle at the head, your tongue swirling clumsily around it. the taste of his skin and the musky scent flooding your senses is dizzying.

gojo throws his head back with a deep groan as your inexperienced mouth envelops him, your tongue clumsily lapping at his sensitive flesh. the sight of your stretched lips wrapped around his thick cock, tears glistening on your flushed cheeks, is incredibly erotic.

“that’s it, take it deeper,” he growls, fisting his hand tighter in your hair. with a sharp thrust of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat. your nose presses against his pelvis as he hilts inside you, cutting off your air supply completely.

“that’s good baby, goood job,” praise after praise fallen from gojo’s pretty, pink lips. he holds you there, savoring the feeling of your constricting esophagus fluttering around his cock. after several long seconds, he finally pulls back, allowing you a gasping breath before plunging in again.

gojo sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with deep, powerful thrusts. each snap of his hips drives his thick cock into your throat, forcing you to swallow around him. drool escapes the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin as he uses your mouth mercilessly.

“you’re doing so well for your first time,” he praises mockingly, voice strained with pleasure. “such an eager little cock sleeve, aren’t you? born to choke on a cock.” he pulls out abruptly, his spit-shined cock bobbing obscenely in front of your face. gojo smacks the heavy shaft against your tear-stained cheeks, smearing them with your own saliva mixed with his precum. “strip,” he commands gruffly, releasing his grip on your hair.

gojo looms over you, his chest heaving with exertion and arousal as he watches you intently. his eyes rake over your disheveled form, drinking in the sight of your reddened cheeks, puffy lips glistening with spit, and the way your glasses sit askew on your face.

“come on, slowpoke. i want to see every inch of the body hiding under those ugly clothes,” he growls impatiently, one hand coming down to roughly palm himself through his open fly. the other reaches out to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging insistently. but, instead of slipping out of your ‘ugly’ clothes, you stand there, eyes widened innocently the way you look up to him.

“don’t make me rip them off. you wouldn’t want me to damage your precious belongings, would ya?“ a wicked smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, eyes glinting with mischief and barely restrained hunger.

you tremble under gojo’s hungry gaze, acutely aware of how debauched you must look— face flushed, glasses fogged, lips swollen and slick with spit. with shaking hands, you reach for the buttons of your shirt, fumbling to undo them one by one.

as more of your creamy skin is revealed, gojo’s eyes darken with undisguised lust. he licks his lips, watching avidly as you shrug the garment off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. underneath, you wear a plain white lacy bra, the fabric straining slightly over your bust.

next, you stand on wobbly legs to shimmy out of your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles before stepping out of it. your panties match your bra, simple cotton with lace. “gojo-kun..” you murmur, hands hovering over your bra and panties, hiding yourself.

gojo’s heated gaze roams hungrily over your newly exposed body, lingering on the swell of your breasts straining against the delicate lace of your bra. he steps closer, crowding into your personal space until the hard planes of his body press against your softer curves.

“fuck, you’re even hotter than i imagined,” he rasps, calloused fingers trailing up your sides to cup your tits possessively. never in a million years had he found a loser nerd like you could be this hot, and it seems like his cock agrees with the way it’s twitching. he squeezes the soft mounds, thumbs flicking over your nipples through the thin fabric until they pebble beneath his touch, pushing a breathless gasp out of your throat.

with a wicked grin, gojo reaches behind you and deftly unclasps your bra, tossing it aside carelessly. cool air hits your bare skin, pebbling your nipples further as they’re bared to his intense scrutiny.

“perfect.”

gojo hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs in one swift motion. the flimsy material catches on your knees briefly before falling to your ankles, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

he takes a step back, drinking in the sight of your naked body with an appreciative hum. his eyes linger on the cute, neat patch of curls crowning your mound, the slight flare of your hips, the gentle swell of your ass. “goddamn, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs reverently.

without warning, gojo drops to his knees in front of you, large hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart. he leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your most intimate parts. “i bet this sweet cunt tastes divine,” he growls, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, painfully slow stroke.

you can’t help but let out a startled moan as gojo’s warm tongue drags along your most intimate folds, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. your knees buckle slightly and you have to brace yourself against the wall to keep from collapsing under the intensity of sensation.

“g-gojo-kun!” you gasp, fingers tangling in his silver hair as he laps at your slit like a man starved. his tongue delves between your lower lips, seeking out your entrance and circling it teasingly. you squirm against the invasion, thighs trembling with the effort to hold still.

gojo chuckles lowly, the vibrations making you shudder. he seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. “ah! ahh!”

gojo moans into your pussy as you grind against his face, his tongue delving deep inside your fluttering walls. he laps at your juices greedily, the obscene slurping sounds filling the room. “mmm, you taste even better than i imagined,” he growls, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “so fucking sweet.”

his hands grip your ass, kneading the supple globes as he eats you out with single-minded focus. he alternates between thrusting his tongue in and out of your clenching hole and flicking the tip rapidly over your throbbing clit. the lewd wet noises echo off the walls, mingling with your needy whimpers and gasps.

“oooh! m-my god!” you writhe helplessly against gojo’s relentless assault, fingers digging into his silver hair as waves of overwhelming pleasure crash over you. your hips undulate shamelessly, grinding your aching core against his face as he devours you like a man possessed.

“that’s it, ride my tongue,” he grunt, the words muffled against your soaked folds. you throw your head back with a keening cry as gojo works you over with his skilled tongue, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. your fingers tighten reflexively in his hair, tugging sharply at the silvery strands.

“ah! g-gojo-kun!” you gasp brokenly, toes curling against the cool tile floor. your inner muscles flutter wildly around his invading tongue.

gojo growls into your pussy, the sound sending delicious vibrations through your core. he doubles his efforts, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard while simultaneously thrusting two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your spasming channel.

“g-gojo-hng!” you sob brokenly, hips continue to roll shamelessly against his face. you mewl helplessly into the filthy kiss, when gojo’s tongue dominating yours as he claims your mouth thoroughly after he stands abruptly.

you can taste yourself on him, the musky flavor making your head spin with renewed arousal and it sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through your veins. his hand slides up to palm your breast roughly, calloused thumb scraping over your sensitive nipple.

when he finally breaks away, you’re left panting and dazed, lips kiss-swollen and tingling. gojo grins wolfishly down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. “god, so fucking beautiful when i’m ’bout to ruin you,” he promises darkly, voice rough with desire. “by the time i’m done, all you’ll be able to think about is my cock splitting you open."

his hand slides down your body to grip your thigh, hoisting your leg up to wrap around his hip. the new position leaves you feeling deliciously vulnerable, your slick folds rubbing directly against the rigid length of him.

gojo’s heated gaze rakes over your flushed form, drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. he licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste of your essence still coating his tongue. “fuck, you look good enough to eat,” he growls appreciatively, palming himself once again, smearing his precum all over your thigh, the biting lips to stop the moaning betraying his own desperate arousal.

with a few quick movements, gojo shucks off his shirt, revealing the lean lines of his torso. his pale skin is littered nothing but softness. he kicks off his pants next, leaving him fully naked now.

slowly, torturously, gojo sinks into your welcoming heat inch by excruciating inch. gojo grunts as your slick folds slide along his shaft, coating him in your essence. your slick walls stretch deliciously around his girth, molding to every ridge and vein. by the time he’s fully seated, you feel impossibly full, stuffed to the brim with hard, throbbing cock.

“fuuck!” he snarls, eyes squeezing shut at the exquisite sensation of your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. he holds himself there for a moment, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion. “p-pussy sooo-shit! good.” the feeling of your gummy walls suffocating his cock almost making gojo’s feel bad for using you as a bet, but fuckkk! you feel so good.

you let out a strangled moan as gojo hilts himself fully inside you, stretching you wider than ever before. your slick walls flutter and clench around his thickness, trying instinctively to accommodate the sudden intrusion. the sensation borders on painful but the dull ache only serves to heighten your pleasure, stoking the flames of your arousal higher.

“ah! s-so biiig,” you whimper breathlessly, fingernails raking down gojo’s back. your hips twitch restlessly, torn between the urge to pull away from the intense stretch and the primal need to take him deeper. gojo groans at the feeling of your scorching heat enveloping him so completely. his pelvis presses flush against yours, ensuring that not an inch of space remains between your bodies.

gojo once again, groans deeply as your velvety walls ripple along his length, the exquisite sensations threatening to undo his control. he wants nothing more than to rut into you mindlessly, chasing his own pleasure. but he forces himself to hold still, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“shit baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained with barely restrained lust. “so fucking tight...” he rolls his hips experimentally, pulling out just an inch before sinking back in. the drag of his thick cock against your sensitive nerves makes you both gasp. gojo sets a slow, deep rhythm, letting you feel every inch of him as he strokes your inner walls. his hands roam your curves possessively, mapping out the dips and swells of your body.

you arch into gojo’s touch, craving more of his addictive caresses. your nails score down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. the sting only seems to spur him on, his thrusts growing harder and faster as he chases his own pleasure.

“too muuuch,” you cry, tossing your head back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him deeper. “hurt, ah! too big.”

gojo snarls, the sound feral and hungry. he leans down to capture one pert nipple between his teeth, biting down just shy of too hard. you yelp at the sharp jolt of pain, cunt clenching rhythmically around his pistoning length.

gojo grunts as your inner walls clamp down around him like a vice, the added pressure sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. he knows he should probably slow down, give you time to adjust, but the way you’re writhing beneath him is just too enticing.

“you can take it,” he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly brutal thrust.

once again, gojo snarls against your breast, tongue flicking out to lave over the abused bud. “don’t worry baby, i’ll make it feel real good,” he promises, harmonizing his words with a particularly vicious thrust. the blunt head of his cock kisses your cervix, making you see stars.

your slick walls spasm wildly around his girth, fluttering and clenching as if trying to push him out even as your body betrays you, hips rolling shamelessly to meet each punishing stroke. the wet slap of flesh echoes obscenely in the room, mingling with your wanton moans and gojo’s animalistic grunts.

gojo lets out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as your slick walls ripple around his thickness. “fuck, your pussy is milking my cock so good,” he grunts, hips snapping forward almost violently. one large hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. “come on, baby. squeeze this cock just like that,” gojo urges gruffly, increasing the pressure on your clit. “gonna fill this pretty cunt up real soon.”

you throw your head back with a guttural moan, fingers tangling in gojo’s hair as he works you closer to the edge. your thighs tremble, muscles quivering with the strain of holding yourself open for his relentless assault. sweat beads along your brow, plastering strands of hair to your face.

“please,” you keen desperately, unsure what exactly you’re begging for anymore. more? less? harder? faster? all you know is that yo’'re teetering right on the precipice, balanced precariously between agony and ecstasy.

gojo grins wickedly, sensing your desperation. he leans in close, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises. “that’s it, cum for me baby. gonna pump you so full of my seed, you’ll be dripping for days.”

but before you reach that peak, that climax you desperately need, gojo abruptly stops moving. hands trailing down your tights before throwing your body to his bed. a gasp of surprise tears from your throat, followed by a whimper— a subtle sign of protest.

gojo chuckles darkly, reveling in the delicious sight of you sprawled out before him, flushed and panting. he takes a moment to admire the view— your chest heaving, breasts bouncing with each labored breath, the glistening evidence of your arousal painting your inner thighs.

gojo smirks down at you, taking in your confused expression with a glint of mischief in his eyes. he trails a finger down your sternum, circling one dusky nipple teasingly for a second. “what’s wrong, baby?” he coos mockingly. “didn’t get your fix?”

he shifts slightly, the movement causing his half-hard cock to brush against your thigh. you shudder at the contact, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you. gojo hums approvingly at your reaction, leaning down to nip at your jaw.

“mmm, look at you,” he purrs approvingly, trailing a finger through your slick folds. “all spread out and ready for me. such a goood girl.” without warning, gojo flips you onto your stomach, hauling your hips up until you’re presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. he runs a proprietary hand over the curve of your ass, squeezing roughly. “this ass though... fuck, i could play with it all day.”

gojo’s eyes rake over your prone form appreciatively, drinking in the delectable sight of you splayed out before him. he takes his time exploring your curves, fingers tracing idle patterns across your skin. when he reaches the swell of your rear, he gives the supple flesh a firm squeeze, kneading the plush globes like dough. this might be the first and the last time he has you in his bed, might make it memorable.

“such a perfect little peach,” he praises huskily, spreading you wide to expose your most intimate parts. cool air wafts over your heated flesh, making you shiver. gojo hums in approval at the sight of your dripping cunt, flushed and swollen with need.

he leans in close, hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. “look how wet you are for me,” he murmurs, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. you let out a soft moan, squirming under gojo’s intense gaze. his rough hands map out every dip and curve of your body, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever they touch. you arch into his caress, silently begging for more.

when he finally reaches your aching core, you buck your hips eagerly, desperate for friction. “please,” you whimper, voice high and needy. “i need—”

gojo cuts off your pleas with a sharp smack to your rear, the stinging impact making you yelp. “ah ah, none of that now,” he tuts disapprovingly. “you don’t get to tell me what you need, understand? it’s an honor y’know, for me to take your virginity, so you don’t get to tell me what you need.”

he punctuates his words with another firm swat, watching with rapt attention as your skin blooms pink under his palm. but even so, gojo couldn’t stop the spinning from his head, the sigh of you, the feel of your cunt tightly grip his needy cock making him all desperate and losing his shit to you, a fucking nerd all out of other girl.

gojo grins wickedly, clearly enjoying your predicament. he traces a finger through your soaked folds, gathering some of your essence on his digit before bringing it to his lips. he makes a show of licking it clean, savoring your unique flavor with a satisfied hum.

“mmm, you taste divine,” he purrs, voice dripping with lust. “like the finest nectar.”

gojo lines himself up with your entrance once more, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your slick opening. he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your entrance before pulling away again. your walls flutter around nothing, trying desperately to draw him in deeper.

“beg for it,” he demands huskily, giving your rear another firm smack. “let me hear how badly you want this cock.“ he grabs your hip, fingers bent to your flesh the way he drags you to the edge of his bed and your feet touching the cold tile.

his one arm sneaking down to your thigh, lifting it off the floor while the other hand relentlessly teases your needy cunt with the swollen tip of his cock— kissing your clit.

you writhe beneath gojo’s ministrations, a litany of needy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. “please,” you beg shamelessly, too far gone to care about dignity. “gojo-kuuunn . . i need you inside me, filling me up. i can’t take it anymore!”

your hips buck frantically, seeking friction against his maddening teasing. you’re so empty, aching to be stretched and filled by his thick length. gojo just chuckles darkly at your desperation, continuing his torturous game. his chest raining with pride and happiness for taking your virginity, him, not another man. him.

“oh? and why should i give you what you want?” he taunts, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance without pushing in. “maybe i like seeing you like this— alllll spread out and begging so pretty for me.”

gojo leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, teasing kiss. “you taste sweet when you’re desperate like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, tongue flicking out to lick at your lower lip. “makes me want to devour you whole.”

he pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions. “but since you asked so nicely...” with a slow, deliberate push, he sinks into your heat, groaning at the velvety tightness enveloping his cock.

gojo pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried deep within you. then, with a gentle roll of his hips, he begins to move, setting a slow, sensual rhythm. he savors each drag of your slick walls along his shaft, relishing in the exquisite sensation of taking your virginity. his hand leaving another handprint on your ass, digging his dull nail into the skin.

a gasp tears from your throat as gojo finally sheathes himself fully inside you, the stretch both painful and exhilarating. you cling to the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as you acclimate to the foreign intrusion.

but as he starts to move, long, languid strokes that fill you to the brim, you begin to relax into the pleasure. a low moan escapes you, vibrations humming against gojo’s lips before your head falls to his bed. “ahh... yes... just like thaaat...”

your hips start to rock in tandem with his, meeting each thrust with eagerness. the sensations build rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. you can feel every ridge and vein of gojo’s cock as it slides against your inner walls, sending jolts of electric pleasure through you.

“more,” you breathe out, voice ragged with need, causing the man to leave your reddened ass to find your hair and take a fistful of the locks while the other arm tightens around your thigh, making a perfect symphony the way he pounds into you from behind.

gojo’s fingers dig into your scalp, tugging roughly at your hair as he pistons into you with reckless abandon. the bed creaks and shifts beneath the force of his thrusts, a rhythmic beat that echoes the pounding of your hearts.

gojo growls in approval, the sound muffled against your ear as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his hips snap forward with renewed vigor, driving into you with a primal intensity that steals your breath away. the force of his thrusts sends the headboard thudding against the wall, a rhythmic beat that echoes the pounding of your heart.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he grits out between clenched teeth, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he uses it to pull your head back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. “i can feel every inch of you milking my cock. this cunt feels like heaven, fuuuck.”

gojo’s words are punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, the obscene sound only serving to heighten your arousal. his fingers tighten in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. the slight sting only serves to heighten your arousal, your body craving more of his dominance. gojo's other hand grips your thigh firmly, holding you steady as he pistons in and out of you with relentless precision.

your mind goes blank, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of gojo’s possession. every nerve ending is alight with sensation, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. you can feel yourself teetering on the brink, precariously close to the edge.

a hoarse cry spills from your lips as gojo hits that spot deep inside, the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes your vision blur and toes curl. “ahhh! oh god, right there!” you wail, hips bucking wildly to meet his punishing pace.

a sharp cry tears from your throat as gojo’s grip on your hair intensifies, the pain mixing deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. you arch your back, offering yourself up completely to his dominating touch.

“yes, oh god, just like that!” you moan, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “fuck me harder, gojo-kun!”

gojo’s eyes flash with triumph and possessiveness at your wanton cries, his grip on your hair and thigh tightening reflexively. he slams into you with renewed ferocity, the force of his thrusts rattling the bed frame and sending the headboard crashing against the wall.

“that’s it, scream for me,” he snarls, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he leans in close. “let everyone know who’s fucking you senseless.” gojo’s free hand snakes around to cup your breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers. the dual sensations of his ruthless pounding and the pleasurable tug on your sensitive bud send you spiraling closer to the edge.

as if sensing your impending climax, gojo redoubles his efforts, pistoning into you with wild abandon. your world narrows down to the searing heat of gojo’s body, the relentless thrusts of his cock, and the intoxicating scent of sex that fills the air. you’re lost in a haze of pure, unadulterated pleasure, every fiber of your being focused on chasing that elusive peak.

the pressure builds and builds, coiling tighter in your core until you think you might burst. gojo’s harsh commands and the brutal pace of his fucking only serve to heighten the tension, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

with a keening wail, you finally tumble over the edge, your orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. your inner walls clench around gojo’s throbbing cock, rippling and fluttering as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

“fuck, fuuck! gojo-kun! ’m cumming, cumming!”

gojo lets out a guttural roar as he feels your pussy clamping down on his cock, the vice-like grip triggering his own release. with one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his seed erupting in powerful spurts as he fills you up.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he chants, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his climax. his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his climax. gojo’s grip on your hair and thigh remains unrelenting, holding you in place as he marks you as his, claiming you utterly and completely.

overwhelmed by the intensity of your shared orgasms, you collapse onto the mattress the heartbeat his grasp on you loosened, your body still trembling with aftershocks. gojo’s continued pulsing inside you, coupled with the warmth of his release coating your insides, leaves you feeling utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

as your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become aware of gojo’s hands gentling their hold on you, his fingers stroking soothing patterns on your skin. a soft, contented sigh escapes your lips as you melt into his touch, basking in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

he leans forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed against your back. his breath is still a bit ragged, but you can feel his strong, steady presence behind you. for a few moments, all you hear is the steady, calming sound of your combined breathing, the only indication that both of you are slowly recovering from the intensity of your shared passion.

after a few moments, gojo breaks the comfortable silence, his voice low and still slightly husky. “you okay?” he murmurs, his lips brushing gently against the shell of your ear.

his hands slide down your sides, gently encircling your waist, his touch tender and light. the weight of his chest against your back is reassuring, and you can still feel the heat of his body radiating through your clothes. he shifts slightly, his chin resting on your shoulder, and you can practically feel his intense gaze on you, as if he’s silently assessing how you’re feeling.

a soft smile curves your lips at gojo’s gentle inquiry, your body relaxing further under his comforting touch. “mhm, i’m good,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly to rest against the soft material of his blanket. “just... really sated right now.”

you let out a contented little sigh, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the intimate closeness of his body pressed against yours. slowly but surely, the feeling of his softened cock slipped out of your cunt, taking all of your cum and his down to your thigh and floor.

gojo chuckles softly in response, hearing the hint of satisfaction in your tired voice. he plants a soft, feather-light kiss on your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment. “that’s good,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of pride, “i’m glad i exhausted you that much.”

he pauses for a moment, his hands gently rubbing your sides, before speaking again. “need anything? water, a towel, or just... rest?” he asks, his tone genuinely concerned.

you let out a soft sigh, the tension of the past moments slowly melting away as you murmured, “just rest.” your voice was quiet, tired, and gojo, ever attentive, hummed in agreement, his lips brushing softly against your cheek in a gentle kiss.

“say no less,” he whispered with that same reassuring tone, his arms immediately wrapping around you. he shifted you both onto the bed, pulling you into his embrace and letting you rest your head on his chest. his warmth surrounded you, grounding you at the moment, his heartbeat steady beneath you.

gojo made sure to cover both of you with the blanket, tucking it around your bare body with care, his movements slow and deliberate. despite the weight of the earlier events, his presence was steady, a soft contrast to the tension you’d felt before. outside of the bet, outside of the teasing, the games, and the complexities of it all, he seemed intent on giving you comfort—giving you the space to just rest, without further complications. his fingers gently traced circles on your back, a quiet reminder that, at this moment, there was nothing but a reason you were on his bed simply because of a bet— the bet he’s going to win.

gojo held you close, his arms encircling your body snugly under the soft warmth of the blanket. he continued tracing light circles on your back, the soothing repetitive motion a silent reassurance of his presence and care.

his chest rose and fell in a steady, calming rhythm, and you could feel the faint thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. his body offered a solid, comforting presence, grounding you in the aftermath of the eventful night.

gojo remained silent for several minutes, simply holding you close, his touch gentle and nurturing. after a few moments, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “get some rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

he shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that both of you were more comfortable. his arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest, a silent promise of protection and comfort.

you simply nod.

gojo feels your nod, his lips curving into a small smile against your forehead. “good,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low.

he lets out a deep, content sigh, his body relaxing further into the bed, his arms still holding you close. his breathing slows, a steady, measured rhythm that seems to lull you into a sense of peace and security. the room is enveloped in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

gojo’s gaze softened as he looked down at your peaceful face, the soft rise and fall of your chest the only movement in the stillness of the room. he stayed like that for a while, just watching you, making sure you were fully asleep, your breathing steady and relaxed. he could feel the weight of the day, the tension from earlier, and he knew you needed this rest, even if you didn’t quite realize it yet.

once he was certain you were asleep, gojo's fingers slid beneath the pillow, pulling out his phone with careful movements. his smirk returned, a wicked gleam flashing in his eyes as he unlocked the screen and opened the camera. he took a quick snapshot, the sound of the shutter a soft click that was barely audible in the quiet room. his eyes flicked down to the picture, his smirk widening as he admired the photo of you, completely unaware, asleep in his arms.

“this is mine,” he muttered quietly to himself, the excitement of the bet reigniting within him. he knew he was going to win, and as much as he enjoyed this rare moment of calm with you, there was no denying the competitive streak that ran through him. he tucked the phone back under the pillow, settling back into the warmth of the bed, still holding you close, but his mind already racing ahead to the next step in his game.

gojo’s gaze remains fixed on you, admiring the innocent, vulnerable expression on your face as you sleep. he takes several more moments to just watch you, his gaze flickering over every detail of your face—the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the slight part of your lips as you breathe in.

he lets out a soft sigh, his fingers gently tracing your skin, his touch almost reverent. “god, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs quietly, the words slipping out involuntarily.

gojo’s eyes lingered on your peaceful, sleeping form, an unsettling mixture of admiration and satisfaction bubbling inside him. every detail of your face seemed to draw him in, each soft breath you took making his heart twist. he couldn't help but trace the curve of your cheek with his finger, as though savoring the image of you in your most vulnerable state. god, you're beautiful, he thought, the words slipping from his lips in a quiet murmur, but they were tinged with something darker.

as much as he tried to shake it off, a faint flicker of guilt gnawed at him. just a tiny sliver, a whisper in the back of his mind, reminding him of the bet, the cruel game he was playing with his friends. was this really what he wanted? to use you like this, to take advantage of your innocence, your trust, all for the sake of proving something to them? the thought scratched at his conscience, but it was fleeting, quickly drowned out by the more dominant, selfish part of him.

he couldn’t help it—he wanted to win. he wanted to show off, to prove that he was the one who’d conquered you first. the idea of rubbing it in toji, geto, and sukuna’s faces, seeing their reactions when he revealed that he was the one who’d claimed you, made his chest tighten with dark satisfaction. the guilt? it was easily buried beneath the hunger for victory.

monday couldn’t come soon enough.

sukuna leaned back, crossing his arms with a sly smirk as he glanced at gojo. “you’re so damn stupid,” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “just get to the point, genius. we’re here to talk about the bet, not hear you babble on like an idiot.”

the mention of the bet caused a shift in the group. toji’s smirk sharpened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he leaned forward, clearly ready to pounce on whatever gojo had to offer. geto, normally the calmest of them, looked intrigued, his gaze steady and expectant. sukuna’s own smirk widened into a mocking grin, savoring the thrill of competition, ready to lay down his own proof and claim victory over the others.

he let the tension build, basking in the eager anticipation hanging thick between them. then, without further ado, sukuna reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and casually waving it in the air. “alright, boys. one... two... three,” he counted, then turned his screen toward the group with a triumphant look. displayed was a photo of you lying next to him, fast asleep, vulnerable and unguarded. sukuna’s smirk grew wider, reveling in the victory he thought was his.

as sukuna’s countdown reached three, he confidently pulled out his phone, an air of smug triumph around him as he turned the screen to reveal the photo of you, asleep in his arms, your peaceful face nestled against him. for a brief moment, he savored the victory, certain he’d be the one to claim the title. but as he looked up, expecting awe and frustration from the others, he found something else entirely.

geto’s face, usually so calm, had twisted into a look of sheer confusion, a frown creasing his brow as he looked down at his own phone, then up at sukuna, and back to his phone again. in his hand, on his own screen, was the exact same photo—down to every last detail. his jaw clenched, and he turned the phone towards sukuna without saying a word, letting the image speak for itself.

toji, who’d been leaning back with a predatory smirk, felt his confidence waver. he, too, checked his phone, and the smirk fell, replaced by a dark scowl. “what kind of joke is this?” he growled, his fingers gripping his phone tightly, a mix of anger and disbelief in his eyes as he flashed the identical photo.

and gojo, who’d initially met sukuna’s countdown with smug amusement, suddenly felt the blood drain from his face. he looked at his own screen, the same picture staring back at him, taunting him with an illusion of victory. his lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced at each of the others, his usual cocky grin now replaced with a frustrated grimace. “so… none of us won anything, huh?” he muttered bitterly, his voice low, laced with irritation.

a tense silence settled over them, their expressions twisted with disbelief and anger. each one felt the bitter sting of having been outsmarted, the pride and triumph they’d anticipated now twisted into something sharp and uncomfortable.

sukuna clenched his jaw, the victory he’d tasted turning to ash. “this is ridiculous. how the hell—” he began, but was cut off by toji’s dry, humorless laugh.

“guess none of us were as clever as we thought,” toji muttered darkly, his voice edged with anger and annoyance.

sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his pride deeply wounded. “tch,” he scoffed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “so we all lost? pathetic.” they sat in a tense, silent circle, each stewing in their own frustration and realizing they’d been played.

gojo let out a frustrated sigh, the realization of the situation sinking in. none of them had won, and worse, they'd all been tricked. he glanced again in your direction, a mix of irritation and confusion on his face. the realization that you, sweet and innocent as you seemed, had somehow outsmarted them all was a pill too hard to swallow.

“well, this is just great,” he muttered, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “we’re all idiots.”

the four men turned, spotted you a few benches away, looking completely at ease, chatting with none other than nanami. his composed, polished demeanor stood out even in the crowded cafeteria, and as you held your phone up to show him something, you looked every bit like you were sharing a private joke. they saw your face light up with that familiar, radiant smile as nanami rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, his expression softening in a way they rarely saw.

then, to their surprise, nanami sighed, pulling his wallet from his pocket and handing you a couple of bills. your smile grew even bigger, the kind of delighted, unguarded grin they’d each hoped to earn themselves. from a distance, they couldn’t make out what you were saying, but the playful exchange and easy familiarity between you both were clear as day.

their eyes widened when nanami leaned down, just slightly, his hand resting on your shoulder as he pressed a brief but gentle kiss to your lips—completely unfazed by the cafeteria full of students. the kiss was neither rushed nor hesitant, just natural and unapologetic. as he pulled away, he sent a pointed, almost warning glance in their direction, his gaze cold and unyielding, as if daring any of them to even think about challenging him.

you turned then, catching their gawking stares and raising the cash in your hand with a sly grin that practically dripped with triumph. they could only sit in stunned silence as you waved the money at them, your expression smug and knowing. your gaze lingered on them for a second longer, a little glint of mischief in your eyes, before you turned your attention back to your phone, completely unfazed by their reactions.

the four men sat there, speechless, their jaws hanging open in shock at the scene unfolding before them. they’d expected you to be meek and naive, unaware of their little bet. instead, here you were, giggling with nanami, a man known for his aloofness and strict nature, casually taking money from him in exchange for a kiss. your confident wave and smug smile only added to the shock.

toji was the first to snap out of it, his eyes narrowing as he watched you with a mixture of anger and surprise. “what the hell was that?” he sputtered, his voice strained.

sukuna’s face contorted with pure disbelief, a rare look of complete shock crossing his usual smug features. he couldn’t believe that the girl they’d all so casually thought they were playing had flipped the entire game on them. his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he muttered under his breath, “unbelievable… she played us.”

toji, on the other hand, looked downright irritated, his expression darkening as he watched nanami give you that casual, easy kiss. his pride stung, and he forced out a low, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “so much for thinking she’d be easy to handle,” he growled. “guess we’re the ones who got handled.”

geto was silent, his usual calm mask slipping just enough to reveal the flicker of surprise in his eyes. he prided himself on being perceptive, but seeing you there with nanami, openly flaunting the victory they thought was theirs, left him speechless. his lips curved into a grudging smirk, though, as he muttered, “gotta hand it to her… didn’t see that coming.”

gojo felt his face flush with a mix of frustration and lingering embarrassment. he leaned back, running a hand over his face and letting out a soft, defeated chuckle. “well, this is just fantastic,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he watched you wave the money with that smug smile on your face. “we’re all idiots, and she knows it.”

the four men sat there, each lost in their own thoughts, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. they’d underestimated you, treated you like a naive little toy to be won, but you'd turned the tables on them. and the fact that you’d done it so effortlessly, with such a casual smirk on your face, only added to the collective sense of shock and irritation.

gojo, in particular, couldn’t shake off the burning sense of embarrassment. you’d made him look like a fool, and that stung. him, who was never one to be outplayed, felt a strange mix of anger and admiration at your audacity. it was both aggravating and irritating, but there was an undercurrent of grudging respect. you’d made all of them look like morons, yet there was something about your confidence, the way you casually took nanami’s money, that he couldn’t help but find intriguing.

gojo clenched his jaw, his own competitive nature burning within him. “that smug little…” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

geto shot him a bemused smirk, sensing the competitive fire flaring up in his friend. “looks like you’ve met your match, genius,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “and judging by the look on your face, you’re not handling it too well.”

lost in a whirlwind of shock and confusion, they barely noticed you approaching until you were standing right at their table, an amused, knowing smile on your lips. with a graceful, almost lazy flick of your wrist, you dropped a small stack of polaroids onto the table, each one falling face-up, showing exactly what they dreaded to see.

each photo captured the same damning image: them, fast asleep, completely unaware, while you sat on their waist, looking down with a mocking pout. your lips jutted out in an exaggerated, fake crying face, as if mourning their obliviousness. their faces, peaceful in sleep, were juxtaposed with your taunting expression, turning the tables in a way none of them could have expected.

toji’s eyes went wide as he flipped through the pictures, his smirk quickly fading to a tight-lipped grimace. sukuna’s jaw clenched, a flush of irritation darkening his cheeks as he processed the fact that you’d played him, all of them, so perfectly. geto let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head, unable to hide a mix of amusement and frustration at your brazen boldness.

gojo, usually quick with a snappy comeback, could only stare at the photos, stunned into silence. he glanced up at you, his gaze a mix of admiration and disbelief. you’d outwitted them, effortlessly.

you leaned in slightly, resting one hand on the edge of the table, flashing them a wicked grin. “hope you enjoyed your little nap, boys,” you teased, your tone sweet but dripping with smugness. with one final smirk, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving them speechless, the photos in hand as a constant reminder of the game they’d lost to you.

#suki.☆#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo satoru #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #anime smut

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likeamaya · 2 days ago

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am i the only one strangely fond of these two bonding?

i just didn’t expect them to interact but it makes so much sense?

they are both two brilliant, talented guys. one coming from a place of wealth and opportunities, the other familiar with death and destruction only. two sides of the same coin.

also, i kind of want someone more mature to be there for ekko.

both him and powder lost everyone when they were children. but while she had silco before (not a good father figure but still one) and now sevika, ekko had nobody.

he had to grow up fast and learn how to live on his own. he turned out into a good, strong, clever boy. he is a leader and a defender and he’s more than capable of taking care of himself by now.

but he is in fact so young still. his father figure died when he was just a kid and no one ever filled that hole.

so, to have jayce interact with him, sharing his knowledge with him and being humbled by ekko, who shows him the brutal reality the people from zaun are forced to live in is kind of heartwarming.

i don’t know, i am just a softie when it comes to mentor/mentee-father/son-older brother/younger brother dynamics and i’ll hold tightly onto every little moment lmao.

can’t wait to see more of these two :”)

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 #arcane vi #arcane jinx #jinx #jayce talis #ekko #ekko arcane #caitlyn kiramman #vi and jinx #viktor arcane #jayce and ekko #vi x caitlyn #jayce x viktor #sevika #i only had ekko and jayce bonding for three minutes but if they don’t become family i will end myself

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ellecdc · 2 days ago

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The Bolter

Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]

prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant

CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it

“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends.

“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.

“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter.

“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.

“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?”

“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on.

“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.”

“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.

“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”

James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue.

“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.”

Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.

“She’s…okay?”

Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”

“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.”

“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.”

“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself.

And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else.

“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it.

“Right.” Sirius offered shortly.

“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”

“Sirius-”

“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden.

James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”

Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again.

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time.

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat.

“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.

“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”

“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes.

“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.

“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding.

“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”

“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?”

“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face.

“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”

“Yes you are.”

“-I just want you to stay.”

“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”

“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes.

“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.”

“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly.

“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”

Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently.

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him?

You loved him.

You were in love with him.

You loved him enough to let him go.

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property.

And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant.

You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.

But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either.

You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too.

You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could.

You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew.

You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war.

You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed.

You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way?

You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war.

You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames.

You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.

How could you have gone so long without this?

“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?”

“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney.

“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.”

You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”

“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.”

“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly.

“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”

“Killarney.” Lily answered for you.

“I love Killarney!”

“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway.

“No! But I love it there! I just know it!”

“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.

“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-

“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you.

“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”

“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.”

“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers.

“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.

He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by.

You had to look away.

“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.

“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.

“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson.

“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.

“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan.

“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.”

“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room.

Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well.

You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.

You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance.

“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then.

“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.

“How far along are you?”

You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you.

“How do you-”

“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”

You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.

“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you.

“Remus-”

“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew.

Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”

“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.

“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.”

“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.

“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”

“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?”

“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”

“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s true, Y/N.”

“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.”

Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.”

You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.

“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house.

“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds.

“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”

Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?”

You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.”

“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”

“You look tired.” You amended.

“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence.

“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”

“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you.

“Sirius, I-”

“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”

You nodded your head yes shamefully.

“Did you read them?”

You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.

“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”

He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”

“You left.” You finished for him.

“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.

“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”

“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.

“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”

“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.

“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”

“I came back for you.”

“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror.

“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”

“Because I’m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”

“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”

You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.

“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”

“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor.

“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.”

“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.”

“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.

“Like hell.”

“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.

“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.

“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?”

“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.

“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.

“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.

You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump.

“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.

“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender.

“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.”

“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him.

“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”

“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.

“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him.

“I thought I killed you!”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically.

“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before.

“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.

“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.

“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”

“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.

“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”

“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.

“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.

“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.

“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy.

“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”

You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.”

“Does it have a picket fence?”

“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.

“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.

“You’d probably hate it.”

“Are you there?” He asked quickly.

“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.

“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.”

The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet.

“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.

“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”

“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”

A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand.

“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.”

“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.”

“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”

“But?”

“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”

“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”

“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”

Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you.

“Please bring me home?”

James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not.

His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.

Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months.

But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…

…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.

911 notes · View notes

beenbaanbuun · 2 days ago

Text

guard dog w/ jeong yunho

pt2

you live in a shitty apartment in a shitty neighbourhood surrounded by shitty neighbours who seem to make it their life’s work to make your life a living hell

the guy that lives across from you is an aspiring dj, emphasis on aspiring

unfortunately with him working the late shift at his supermarket job, it means he likes to practice late into the night

after the first 5 noice complaints, you just gave up trying to get a decent night sleep; part of you thinks he carried on just as one giant ‘fuck you’

the family that live upstairs aren’t great either

the son—timmy? tommy? who cares—thinks it’s fun to sit on the stairs with his buddies and smoke anything they can get their hands on

your air freshener is the only thing keeping you from losing your mind at them! well, that and the fact that quite frankly him and his friends terrify you

they watch you carefully as you make your way down the stairs, pushing through their congregation with a tight lipped, overly polite smile on your face

usually they don’t say a word, giving you little more acknowledgment than a hum as you thank them for barely making enough room for you to push through them

they make you nervous, you can’t deny that, and half of you thinks that’s the whole point

it’s like it’s some sort of strange power play to keep you from complaining to his parents, or worse, the landlord

not exactly a threat, but not not one

maybe it’s those nerves that made you open up to your friend one day

you’d met up with him at a local cafe, offering to pay for his coffee if he gave you half of the sandwich he’d brought with him

“they just spook me a little, y’know?” you mumble as a few crumbs topple over your bottom lip and onto your chin, “it’s a group of 10 over-grown teenage boys; it’s fucking intimidating!”

mingi just nods along, a small frown on his face as he listens to you complain about your living conditions for what seems like the millionth time

he gets it; moving is expensive, especially in the city, and you need to stay relatively close to where you work since you don’t have a car

it doesn’t mean he has to like it, though

“what about a guar—”

“a guard dog?” you cut him off, “mingi, we’ve had this conversation so many times before!”

it’s the truth; it seems like every single time you see him he brings up the same suggestion; scary dog privileges can get you very far in life according to you friend

“too mentally ill to look after another life, sure,” he reiterates the same point you make every single time, “but what about a hybrid?”

again, it feels like you’re in a constant loop of deja vu, destined to relive this conversation over and over again until you can finally afford to move out of that shit hole

“i can’t aff—”

“—afford a hybrid, yeah i know,” you roll your eyes as he finishes your sentence; jesus, he’s annoying, “but what if i told you i knew a guy?”

it sounds suspicious, but you won’t lie and say you’re not a little curious

perhaps you’re just a little too nosy to not lean in a little closer with a brow cocked a question of ‘who?’ primed on your tongue

“can’t say,” is all mingi says, “he doesn’t like people poking around in his business.”

he says it so nonchalantly as if he’s not your best friend who’s just announced that he knows someone who is almost definitely into some dodgy shit

you’d be a bad friend if you didn’t ask at least a few questions, but before you can even open your mouth, mingi beats you to it

“£200 will get you a hybrid though,” you almost choke on the sandwich at the price; this is some seriously dodgy guy if he’s selling hybrids for that little, “£300 if you start laying down preferences.”

“mingi,” you begin, about to beg him to get out of whatever business he’s getting himself involved in

“i’m assuming it’s a no?” he raises an eyebrow; you don’t even have to nod for him to understand your answer

he concedes, throwing his hands up in surrender like he always does whenever you have this conversation

still, the smirk on his face as the conversation moves onto something else doesn’t fill you with the upmost confidence

a week passes by rather quickly; you work, you come home, you go about your evenings as normal, you sleep

nothing seems any different, and why would it? nothing about your life ever really changes without some sort of built up or expectation

and then your doorbell rings

you assume it’s just your neighbour again, around at yours to ask you some sort of stupid question that could easy be solved using a single braincell and google

you trudge to the door with a sour look on your face and a bitterness already growing on your tongue, just to swing it open to see… not your neighbour

not anyone you recognise for that matter

your gaze travels up from the chest you stand eye-to-eye with, traipsing lazily over the defined muscles on his neck before reaching his face

a jaw set in stone, two steely brown eyes and a pair of jet black dog ears are what immediately catch your attention

that and the fact that he’s very handsome; so much so that it takes everything in you not to stare at him with your mouth wide open

“are you going to let me in?” he says as if the hybrid’s arrival at your door was at all expected by you

“who are you?” is the only response you can

“your guard dog,” he replies, and just like that everything clicks into place

mingi, that bastard

“but i didn’t pay for a guard dog,” you argue, hoping that it’ll be enough to make him go back to whatever creep it is that mingi has gotten involved with

“well, someone did.”

he looks bored as he uses a hand to push you aside and steps past you into your tiny apartment, as if this is just another day for him

maybe it is; you don’t know much about hybrids, but you’ve heard enough stories to know just how many of them go through life without a permanent home

they’re tossed from pillar to post as if they’re not conscious beings with minds and lives of their own

it’s sad, the fact that they can be so easily tossed aside by so many people

it’s even sadder to find yourself relating to that feeling

you shut the door, twisting the lock with a finality that you’re not sure you understand

“what’s your name?” you ask as you turn to face him

“yunho,” he sighs

it’s a pretty name, you think to yourself

one that you wouldn’t mind saying over and over again for the… foreseeable future…

seriously, fuck song mingi

“well i’m—”

“i know your name, puppy,” your mouth snaps shut at the authority that laces itself into his words, “it’s all i’ve heard for the past few days.”

you zip your mouth shut, something in your brain warning you not to speak out of turn

something in your brain seems to forget that this is your own home; surely you can speak whenever you want to

“i wasn’t sure what to expect, but you seem to fit the bill,” dark pupils land on your body, dancing up and down your form before finally meeting your eyes, “a pretty thing like you in a town like this? i’m shocked you’re still in one piece.”

“how dare you, i—”

“where am i sleeping?” he cuts you off like your complaints are little more than the stubborn words of a child

it irritates you to no end, and yet you can’t find the words to fight back

there’s just something in his eyes that has you convinced that maybe you’re not the one in charge here

“the couch,” you point to the ratty leather thing, feeling a slight twinge of guilt that it’s the only thing you have to offer

he takes a glance at at for just a second or two before shaking his head

“no,” he replies, “you have a double bed, right?”

“a double—” your eyes go wide, “you’re not sleeping in my bed!”

“yes, i am,” he insists, condescending and annoying. you hate him already, “because i’m certainly not sleeping on that thing, puppy.”

it doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s yet to use your name, instead sticking to that godforsaken nickname

if you thought it would make a difference, you might say something about it, but the stubborn arsehole has already shown enough of himself to make you understand that it would do very little

“the floor is available,” you spit, venemously

“and yet it tempts me even less than the sofa,” he smiles sarcastically and it boils your blood, “you’re just gonna have to get used to sharing.”

he takes a few paces forward until you’re having to crane your neck to look him in the eyes

you can practically feel his breath dancing across your cheeks as he lets out a low chuckle, a darkness washing over his face as he studies you

“you’re gonna have to get used to a lot of things now that i’m here,” warmth spreads across your cheek as his palm moves to cup it, “but that’s okay puppy, i can be patient while you learn.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #yunho x reader #yandere ateez #yandere yunho

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 days ago

Note

heyyy so like you are the only creator i fllw that can maybe write this...uhm like sukuna and insecure!reader that start making out and it gets heated and then sukuna takes readers shirt off and then his but when he wants to pull down her pants she stops him bcz she is insecure of her stretch marks but then he reassures her and they do it😭 I hope you will maybe write this and didn't have a stroke trying to understand this request 💓

- love anoo (i LOOVEE your work)

Unwavering

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, insecure!reader, soft!Sukuna, trueform!sukuna, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, mdni, NO PROOFREAD SORRY IM TIRED.

An: I think this is a stupid cute idea 🥹 Thank you for trusting me and requesting anoo!! I really appreciate it 🫂

Sukuna’s a patient man. He had waited over a thousand years to execute a failing plan to take over the world. Now that he’s lost, he’s decided to take up other avenues in his life.

Learning to simply… live was hard. Sukuna’s a determined man. He needs to have a goal in mind in order to function. Whatever meaningless hobby he took up, he tried being the best at.

With his newfound free time, he also decided to try to live the slow life. He took meaningless trips to coffee shops, and he tried not to think about murder when everyone screamed and ran away from him. Maybe it was his 7’3 stature… maybe it was the extra set of arms… maybe it was the tattoos.

Everyday he was reminded of why he didn’t live this life in the first place. Humans do not accept him. They do not want him in their society. He was willing to bet that they’d almost rather him play the villain… Then, they could all shamelessly hate him.

Though, there was one human who didn’t run. The nervous barista gave him a shaky smile, and she politely asked for his name.

Sukuna was taken aback. This tiny mortal wants to know his name? Knowing someone’s name in the heien era was a privilege — not a right. He grew up and lived in a time before social media and phones. If you wanted to know someone’s name, you had to ask them for it, and they had to be willing to oblige you in an answer.

With your cute demeanor, Sukuna was willing to oblige you with his name. “It’s Suk-“ He stopped himself. That was a name that struck fear into people’s hearts. He didn’t want to be associated with that fear anymore, and the thought of frightening you actually brought him no joy. “Ryomen.”

You gave another shaky smile before you carefully etched his name into the side of a cup. For you, this interaction was terrifying, but you couldn’t afford to quit in this economy. So, you were serving a monster. No big deal.

“I like that name.” You complimented. It’s often a compliment you give patrons when you’re nervous… or when you’re trying your hand at flirting. Either way, you look back up at him, trying not to focus on the extra set of eyes. “What can I get you?”

Sukuna felt a weird shiver going up his back when you complimented him. Perhaps this was your cursed technique? Were you a sorcerer pretending to be a barista, so you could spy on him? The shiver wasn’t necessarily unpleasant… just unfamiliar. He didn’t hear much compliments from anyone besides Uraume, and Uraume’s doesn’t count. They compliment him for everything, including the way he breathes. He finds it annoying.

“It’s custom to give your own name when someone else has graced you with theirs.” He grunted, coming off much more gruff than he intended. He just wanted to know your name.

“Oh…” Your voice was soft, and you gaze away from the behemoth in your lobby. Was this some sort of trick? Some old myths and legends say that a name holds power. Would he be able to kill you if he knew your name?? You glance back over at him, noting his large muscled and incredibly toned chest that his kimono didn’t bother hiding. He was so fucking big. Your thoughts were completely baseless. If he wanted to kill you, he simply just could — regardless of knowing your name. “It’s yn.” You finally answer.

Sukuna nodded. “That’s a good name.” He realized that his compliment didn’t sound as personable as yours. It’s his first time though… He’s sure that he’ll figure it out.

“Thank you..” You respond as you started to contemplate what exactly your life had come to. You were having a semi-pleasant interaction with a monster at your job… Do you get paid enough to deal with this? “So… Ryomen, what can I get for you?”

Sukuna felt another shiver. He liked hearing your voice say his name. He wanted to hear it again and again. He wanted his name to fall from your lips like a mantra as he made love to you.

Shaking away those pestering thoughts, he finally gets to the task at hand. “Yes.. what is this.. coffee that you mortals speak of..?”

Oh boy.

*** *** ***

After explaining to the very skeptical monster what coffee was, you served him a cup with very little milk and sugar. Sukuna was delighted by the taste, and he was delighted with your company.

He made it apart of his routine. He woke up, took care of himself, got dressed in whatever Uraume had picked out from his closet, and he set forth to your coffee shop, where he’d hang around for hours — scaring away every potential customer.

He asked you all sorts of things, and you two got to know each other better. It was an unlikely bond.

It took him forever to finally kiss you. Scared of running off his one and only human companion — his first chance of living the slow life, he wanted to make sure you absolutely were ready and wanted that sort of relationship with him.

It led to some rather funny moments of you trying to kiss him, him getting confused and flustered, leaving you to feel rejected.

But when he finally did kiss you, Sukuna felt a sort of hunger that he hadn’t felt in his years of living. Sure, he has had sex before, mostly out of sheer boredom. Immortality isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

But this, this was different. This was lust, longing, yearning. He wanted to make you feel good. He needed to show you how… happy you make him.

He had you sat upon his lap as he chased your lips with feverish kisses. Today would be the day. He’s going to finally indulge himself in your warm embrace and allow himself to enjoy on of the most human of pleasures: connection.

His hands were slowly rubbing your hips — trailing them up and down, feeling the beautiful curvature of your body. He loved every ditch and mound. He loved how you just fit against him.

His hands finally take a chance, and he slips them underneath your shirt. The skin-on-skin contact is nearly dizzying, and he feels almost embarrassed for letting a little bit of steamy foreplay get him so riled up. He can’t help it though, not when your lips taste so sweet.

Your shirt is promptly slipped up over your head, and he discards it to the side. His oversized palms slide up your tummy to your chest where he carefully grasped at your breast, groaning into your mouth as he feels the fullness and weight in his hand.

Though, despite his lust clouded brain, he didn’t miss the way your stomach flexed and tensed under his touch. Assuming you were just a big ticklish, he decided to ignore it.

His lips trail down to your neck, where he’s making mark after mark on you. Every mortal who dared to step foot in that coffee shop should know you’re not on the menu.

“Ryo.” You gasp his name so sweetly while your jaw tilts back ever so slightly. He’s never been a witness to something so pretty and pure.

His teeth go to nip at your neck, and his hands slide to your back, so he can free you from this contraption that dares to keep your beautiful breasts from his reach.

After a moment of trial and error (and a small giggle from you), Sukuna finally unclasps your bra, and his mouth waters when he’s graced with the sight.

He doesn’t take a moment for granted. Living the slow life would need to wait for a moment while he chases this euphoric feeling you give him.

His hand rests underneath the globe, and he flicks his tongue out over your nipple. For a moment, he wonders if his ministrations are more for you or him. His answer comes to him in the form of a breathy whine from you.

Clasping his mouth over the swollen bud, he uses his hand to toy with your other one. Your hands are entangled in his hair, weakly tugging as you let out those frantic whines.

He switches sides, paying an equal amount of attention to your other breast. He’s subtly experimenting with your body, trying to determine which of his tongue movements do you like the best based off the sounds that fall from your lips.

Licking and gentle sucks seem to be the winner. Personally, Sukuna would like to try biting, but you had let out this pained hiss when he tried. He quickly went back to his more gentle, loving licks.

By this time, his cocks were throbbing in agony. He can’t remember a time where he’s been this hard and hadn’t already decided to promptly handle it himself.

His hands fall to the waistband of your legging that hug around your hips, and he notices you tensing and arching away from his touch once more. He pulls away from your nipple with an obscene ‘pop’.

“Do you have a secret wound that you are not telling me about?” He finally prompts you, hands moving to your back where you seem more comfortable with him touching.

You shift just a bit in his lap from the sudden discomfort of the conversation. You figured this would come up at some point, but you didn’t know how he was going to handle it. Debating on lying to him and saying you are wounded, you actually end up deciding to tell the truth.

“It’s not that. I just…” Your eyes try to find anything else in the room other than him to focus on. “… don’t know if I am ready for you to see me like this.”

Sukuna’s face relaxes, and he sits up to eye you. “That’s an interesting choice of words, princess.” He casually notes before his hands go back to idly rubbing on your waist. “If you’d like to stop, you can just come out and say that. I think I can surprise you with my patience.”

You give him a small appreciative smile. Despite the coldness of his sharp facial features, Sukuna can say somethings that just instantly warm you to him. “It’s not that I don’t want this because I really do… Can we.. just maybe turn the light off when we…?”

His eyebrows furrow. If you wanted this, why did you seem so cautious. Then, it hits him. It must be his face and extra appendages. With the lights off, you can pretend that he’s another mortal man… that is very large and muscular.

“I don’t think dimming the lights will erase an extra set of eyes and arms, but I will do it to ease your worries, princess.”

Your eyes widen, realizing Sukuna had taken your request the entirely wrong way. “What-? Nononono- I don’t want to hide you.” You quickly scramble to get the words out, and Sukuna seems surprised when you cup his jaw so lovingly. “You’re perfect. I’m trying to hide myself from you.”

Sukuna blinks a few times, taken aback by your admission. “Why would you punish me that way?” He asks, not able to fathom why you would hide the most perfect thing he’s ever seen from him.

You’re rendered completely silent. Truthfully, you know why you don’t want him seeing you naked. You’ve seen the sight before… the purple and blue stretch marks that litter your lower tummy and inner thighs. You don’t want to tell him what’s making you so shy to the idea because then he’ll only notice it more. Plus, anytime you’re honest with yourself about the insecure thoughts, it feels like you’re one of those girls who fish for compliments.

Sukuna, while not very emotionally intelligent, is able to see the emotional turmoil you’re going through. His hands slowly move from your hips to your cheeks, and he holds your face to maintain eye contact with you.

“Do you know how long I’ve been alive?” He asks. His tone is warm and even. His red ochre eyes resting upon yours.

“No, I don’t.” You answer truthfully. You knew he was immortal, and he had lived a long life already. You just didn’t know how long that was.

His thumb tenderly strokes your cheek as he admires you. “I’m older than soap.” He quietly laughs. “I promise you… I have seen some things that you couldn’t fathom. Across all my time on this horrible planet, I have been with curses and mortals alike, and trust me mortal women put curses to shame when it comes to what’s downstairs.”

You let out an appreciative laugh, easing up in his lap. His lips crack into a small smile — glad he’s able to provide you with some comfort.

His hands engulf your cheeks. “You are the prettiest thing these hands have ever touched. Nothing about you could turn my gaze away. You have my word.”

“Besides, I think you may be a bit more put off by what my clothes are hiding.” He adds, piquing your curiosity.

“Oh? Is that right?” You ask with a cheeky smile that makes Sukuna’s chest feel all warm.

“If you’d like..” His voice feels like velvet across your skin. He speaks in a purr. “I can show you.”

Your mind goes completely blank, but you nod slowly, encouraged by his words. His lips reconnect with your neck, kissing right below your ear, and he moves his hands to your hips, guiding your movements to slowly grind against him.

You’re able to feel just how well endowed he is through the thin fabric of your leggings and panties. Every inch slides against you — rubbing and bumping against you in just the right way.

It quickly derails into another needy makeout session — as if you two are horny teenagers chasing each other’s lips.

This time, Sukuna undoes his own robes first. His philosophy is that once you see that he has two cocks instead of one, you’ll feel comfortable enough showing whatever you’re so afraid of.

Your eyes widen, and your head tilts a bit, causing Sukuna to chuckle. “Told ya I would win.” He smirked proudly.

“How am I…?” Your voice trailed off, not even knowing what to say — too embarrassed to ask how you’re suppose to take all that.

“Slowly and with a lot of prep.” He gives you a toothy grin, showing off his fangs. “Now…” His hands slowly dipped back down to your hips and the waistband of your leggings.

You tense up involuntarily, but you nod slowly, giving him permission. Sukuna lifts you off his lap, and he carefully lies you on your back against his bed — treating you like you’re fragile.

Once your leggings are discarded, your eyes avoid his — too scared of what he’d might think. You don’t even look down to see what you look like in this position, knowing you’d just end up turning yourself off if you saw the marks on your thighs and tummy.

Sukuna’s eyes rest upon your pretty cotton panties that are soaked and sticking to your cunt. His mouth waters from the sight, and he tests his luck, slowly removing your panties from your body.

Your pussy looks even more delicious than he could’ve imagined. His cock literally twitches from the sight before he gets on his knees at the edge of the bed, and he pulls you by your hips down to where he can get a good smell of your arousal.

He groans from your scent, imagining just what you’re going to taste like on his tongue. He wonders if you’re more of a moaner or a crier, but he snaps his thoughts back to your earlier hesitancy.

“What was there to be nervous about, princess?” He asks as his fingers can’t resist touching you. He teases your clit gently as he waits for an answer.

“I-“ You stifle a small whimper as you feel his fingers graze against you gently. After a beat of silence, you finally speak back up again. “It’s just… the stretch marks.” You mumble quietly.

Sukuna furrows his brow, and he looks down to where your inner thighs are, and he looks at your tummy. “What about them?” He bluntly asks.

You shift uncomfortably, wishing you could wipe his memory of it entirely. “I just don’t like how they look is all.”

Sukuna’s thumb slowly applies pressure to your clit, and he starts to rub in loose circles. “That’s stupid. Everyone has them.” He replies bluntly, his more rough around the edges nature coming out as he listened to you.

A small muffled whine comes from your lips, and you arch your back as you feel his ministrations. “What?” You ask, not able to grasp what he’s saying.

Sukuna smirks as he sees you start to lose track of the conversation. He leans into your cunt before letting out a warm puff of air from his mouth. He loves watching how your entrance tries to clench around nothing. It’s cute seeing how your soaking wet pussy thinks it’ ready for him.

“I said that’s dumb. Everyone had stretch marks. It’s a part of growth.” He reasserts as he looks back up at you.

“You clearly haven’t seen girls on the internet.” You mutter, but your attitude is quickly dispelled whenever Sukuna lightly spanks your cunt, causing for a wet slapping noise.

“No. I haven’t. I have no interest in looking at something fake.” His eyes glare at you before he leans in and gives your swollen clit a kiss. His tongue darts out, and he laps at your puffy folds. A groan escapes from his mouth from your taste, gently vibrating against your cunt before pulling away and returning his thumb to your clit. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed over such trivial things. The marks just show that you have grown, and everyone grows. That’s it.”

You try to think of a rebuttal, but your mind is so cloudy with lust that you can’t think of one. Your hips lift from the bed with a small whine — no longer wishing to focus on your insecurities. You even look down, not caring if you’re going to see the stretch marks. Your eyes meet his, and you give him a pitiful gaze.

Sukuna instantly chuckles as he knows what you’re wanting. “We’ll come back to this, princess.” He hums before he dives back in, gently kissing and suckling on your clit. If his eyes weren’t closed, he’s sure they’d roll back into his head from how sweet you taste.

When he feels your hands grabbing onto his hair, he lets out a small smug laugh before lapping at your cunt with his tongue. The wet sticky noises fill the room along with your moans and whines.

Sukuna begins to wish that he was blessed with two tongues like he was given two of every thing else, and that’s when he remembers…

His mouth is focused on your clit, licking, swirling his tongue around, gently kissing. He brings his hand below his jaw, and he presses it against your opening.

You’re briefly confused, but you don’t question him since he’s making you feel this damn good with his mouth. Your confusion is quickly whisked away when you feel a second tongue delving deep inside you.

“Fuck-!” You moan before quickly jerking your hips up, but his other set of hands holds your waist down while he enjoys his meal.

Sukuna’s such a genius. With this technique, he can make you feel twice as good, which means you get twice as wet.

His tongues work together, lapping and plunging to drink the most nectar from you. Your poor thighs are already shaking, and you’re a squirmy thing when you’re getting close.

Sukuna doesn’t seem to mind though. He’s so lost in your perfect cunt that anything besides the word “stop” would fly right over his head.

“K-Kuna… mmnnf! I’m gonna…. ah, gonna cum.” You warn, feeling that pit tightening in your stomach. He pulls you down onto his mouths harder, frantically devouring you as he hasn’t had his fill yet.

“Cum for me.” His words are deep and raw with desire. He pulses his hand tongue in and out of you quickly until he feels the way your sloppy walls constrict around him, making small squelching noises as you find your orgasm.

“Fuck-! Shiiiit~” You whine as your hips try to lift up, trying to escape all of the stimulation.

“Thaaat’s it.” He purrs as he watches his hand mouth do all the work. His chin is absolutely covered in your juices but he doesn’t seem to mind.

When your body relaxes, and you’re panting against his bed, Sukuna promptly removes his hand mouth before plunging two fingers deep inside your wet heat.

His fingers are so thick and long. He’s literally a monster. Taking two of his fingers is like taking four of your own. The stretch burns but in the best way possible.

“Ah-! W-wait.. too much!” You whimper, leaning your head back with a quiet hiss.

“Really? I think you can handle it.” Sukuna taunts with a small smirk before carefully pumping his fingers in and out. Your pussy is still so soaked, fluttering around his fingers to cause wet mushy noises. “I’d say she’s enjoying it.” He adds with a smug grin, referring to how noisy your cunt is.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to cope with how sensitive you are right after finishing so hard on his hand and mouth, but your eyes snap right back open when you feel his oversized palm grab onto your chin.

“Ah, ah, I want you to look at me, pretty girl.” He teases with a toothy grin. “Look at who you’re letting get you off.”

“Fuck..” You whimper as you try to lean up to kiss him, but Sukuna leans back and rejects you. He’s still such an asshole.

“You’re not getting out of looking at me.” His fingers start to piston harder, curling upwards until his bumps against that special spot that makes you see stars.

Your eyes cross as you grab at the sheets. No one had ever made you feel this good, not even you could when you touch yourself.

Sukuna’s just content drawing orgasm after orgasm. He loves watching you let go of all that worry you had, letting you focus on some of your most primal desires, and it does things to him knowing that you’re comfortable to do this with him — comfortable letting him see this side of you.

His cocks are still rock hard, pressed against his stomach as he feels how tight you are wrapped around his fingers. “You’re going to feel so good wrapped around my cock.” His voice is a low growl, fingering you harder as he thinks about what it’s going to be like to finally fuck you.

Your pussy is sobbing all over his fingers, damn near coating his hand in your arousal. He’s bullying your g-spot again and again, fucking directly into it to make you whine and cry out in pleasure.

“Yeah? You like that idea? How badly do you want me to fuck you?” He taunts, feeling the way your walls are constricting around his fingers. He can tell you’re getting close again.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, throwing your head back against the mattress. Your skin feels like it’s vibrating as your pleasure starts to build once more.

“That’s not an answer.” Sukuna’s other hand swats at your bottom, causing for a slapping noise to echo in rhe room.

“Badly! B-badly… please fuck me. Please!” You whine as you’re on the brink of an orgasm.

Sukuna’s fast. He removes his fingers, but before you have time to react, one of his cocks is sliding in, replacing that empty feeling.

Even with all that prep, it’s a tight squeeze, making even Sukuna growl. “Fuck. How can you be this tight?” His hands grab onto your hips as he buries himself to the hilt.

Your back is arching off the bed, letting out silent screams that come out as whiny mewls. The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Your spongy walls start to clench around him, pulsing as another orgasm is pulled from you.

Sukuna’s stuck in an awkward position as he’s too tall to fuck like this, besides he doesn’t want to move to ruin your orgasm, so he stays leaning over you as your body comes undone beneath him.

“Beautiful.” He groans, admiring your raw beauty as you cum on his cock. He’s truly never seen anything like it. You’re such a beautiful mess.

Your breath is shaky as you slowly come down. Sukuna sits patiently waiting for you to calm. His hips are beckoning to move, but he sits still, letting you get use to the feeling of being so full.

“Ah… hah.. fuck.. s’kuna..” Your voice is breathy, filled with utter need that makes his cock twitch inside you.

“Up you go.” He murmurs as he wraps his monstrous arms around you, lifting your body with absolute ease. He’s able to maintain full control over your body as he eases you down onto his cock carefully.

Your body is shaky, and covered in a sheen of sweat as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging his body to yours closely. You two are connected in every way.

His lips press sweet kisses to your cheek and neck, gently nipping at your skin to give him something to focus on so he doesn’t absolutely ruin your cunt immediately.

It doesn’t take long before you’re squirming in his arms, trying to get whatever friction you can out of him. He chuckles lowly, “Careful princess. Don’t hurt yourself.” He purrs directly into your ear, breath brushing against you.

He slowly picks you up, until just his tip remained inside, plugging your tight cunt before he lowers you back down onto him like you weigh nothing.

“Mmm fuck… such a perfect cunt.” He growls before picking you up once more and lowering you back down. He loves the way your soft body feels against his, and you’re so warm. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

“Goood girl..” He praises in a soft whisper. He’s not use to giving out compliments still… but he’s getting better. He’s been learning by watching your reactions, and this is by far the one that makes you blush the most.

“Mmph~ Kuna… so deep..” You whimper into his neck. He continues to move you up and down his cock, using you like a perfect little fleshlight.

The sound of wet squelches and clapping stays consistent throughout the room, and his other cock throbs from neglect - a pearl of pre-cum leaking out.

“Gotta give both of them attention, baby. I’m greedy.” He growls before slides all the way out of you, and he pushes his other cock inside instead.

They feel almost identical, except with different curvature. He was a little more forceful now, jerking your body up and down his length aggressively.

Your clit rubs against his pelvis, creating for the perfect friction. You grip at his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as it’s all just so much.

Your thighs were trembling, and you let out every cry of pleasure that bubbled in your throat. No way to try to gain any control in this situation — you’re forced to just take it and cope with the stimulation.

Sukuna grunts and growls with each thrust. One of his other hands that aren’t holding you up reaches up to grasp your hair, and he pulls it back — forcing you to look him in the eye while he fills you so full again and again.

Your mewls and cries only fuel the more primal side to him. His mind is cloudy — chasing that high, wanting to spill himself so deep inside you that you feel him for days to come.

He yanks your hips up, and he takes a moment before he carefully sinks you back down on both his cocks. Both of them are slick from your arousal, but you’re still so tight.

“S’kuna~! Wait- nnngh… fuck I can’t!” You cry out, holding his gaze with bleary eyes from overstimulated tears.

“Shhh.. you can take it.” He mumbles lowly. “You wanna make me proud, don’t you? Take it…”

It feels like he’s splitting you apart while he tries to push deeper. Your entire body is trembling against him, let out pained whimpers as well as pleasurable cries because the stretch feels so good.

He gives your poor cunt just a moment to adjust before he starts bouncing you along both his cocks. The way your drooling cunt clenches around him, smushing his cocks together while he ruts upwards into you, making him grunt with pleasure.

You’re a whimpering mess in his arms, already embarrassingly close to your third orgasm while both his cocks are kissing your cervix so deeply — both leaking with an unnatural amount of pre-cum to make sure your pussy stays nice and lubricated for them.

His hand pulls your hair again, forcing your eyes back up at him. “Look at me.” He growls in a demanding tone, “Look at me while I breed this cunt.”

All 5 of his red eyes focus on you — completely enamored by your beauty. Lost in the haze and heat, only a couple words could fall from his lips. “So pretty…”

As if on cue, he feels your gummy walls squeeze around him, and tears fall from your eyes as your brought into another soul-crashing orgasm. His hands continue to bounce you up and down, riding you through your orgasm before he pushes himself in so deep. He swears he can feel your womb.

Both of his cocks pulse inside you, pumping your abused cunt so full of cum that it seeps from the edges of your entrance while he’s still plugging you.

“Oh gods-! F-fuck…” You whimper as it’s so hot. Like, it’s genuinely so warm in your pussy — you’re almost worried. “Why..” You manage to pant out, trying to ask him why it feels like that.

“Shh.. shh.. I have no explanation for you, princess. It just feels that way.” He speaks lowly as he slowly sits on the bed, still holding your body in his lap.

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, and he feels your heart beat against his flesh. As he holds you to him, he wonders that if he had a heart, would it be in sync with yours? Would you two beat as one?

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #fanfic #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk smut #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk ryomen #ryomen x reader

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godsfavdarling · 2 days ago

Text

waiting for the day to end

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You and Spencer come back to his apartment, and your boyfriend’s drunken state brings old wounds to the surface. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, panic attack, drunk Spencer, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic, no y/n a/n: I'm imagining later seasons Spence but I am not gonna yuck anybody's yum!

You smoothly place the keys in the lock of his apartment and quickly turn them twice to unlock the door. The dark room abruptly brightens when you flick the light switch on.

Spencer, who has been leaning against the wall near you, stumbles into the room right behind you.

The door slams shut behind him, the thud reverberating through the room.

You flinch, spinning around at the jarring sound.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, a bit unsteady.

He throws himself onto the armchair with a heavy sigh, his head lolling back as he closes his eyes.

You murmur under your breath, “I’ll get you some water,” and head toward the kitchen, your heels clacking against the floor.

In the quiet, you take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before filling two glasses of water.

When you bring them back, you hand one to Spencer, urging him to drink. He gulps it down immediately, nearly draining the glass in one go.

You’ve never really seen him like this.

Spencer rarely—almost never—drinks. But tonight, it’s obvious just how far gone he is. He’s coherent enough to hold himself up, and his words still make sense, but you can tell he isn’t fully present.

He was already fading hours ago, just an hour into dinner at Rossi's when his team had convinced him to relax and celebrate Garcia’s birthday with a few drinks.

Now, he’s staring off into space, eyes glassy, a faint smile still lingering from whatever joke had last drifted through his mind. You swallow, feeling the anxiety tug at you.

You felt it early on. But you tried to ignore it.

Spencer was different.

He was responsible and careful. He liked being sober and in control. He was someone who avoided excess.

He was not a drunk.

You knew all this and tried to stay rational.

After his third drink, though, all that rationality flew out the window. With the last gulp of his third drink, you decided to excuse yourself, claiming you weren't feeling well, and spent most of the evening outside. The poker game was so intense that no one really questioned you or bothered to check on you.

You had thought, knowing Spencer’s sharp observation skills, that he would come find you shortly and ask what was wrong. He always did. He could always tell when something was off and always wanted to know. But tonight, he didn’t.

You waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, hoping he’d realize and come find you, that he’d be his usual self. But as the laughter and clinking glasses carried on from inside, you realized he was somewhere you couldn’t reach him tonight.

As you watched him now, slouched in the armchair with you far away from him sitting on the edge of the couch, your heart ached.

This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. He was lost in his thoughts, barely acknowledging your presence. You handed him your glass of water, and he took it with a mumbled "thanks", sipping it more slowly this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit clearer but still distant. “Yeah, just... tired,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, but the anxiety still sat inside you.

Stop!

Spencer is not him!

He is nothing like him!

You keep staring at him, fidgeting with your fingers and the hem of your black velvet dress, feeling helpless as you try to guess what he wants.

Is he going to stay here for a while? Does he need more water? Is he going to shower, or maybe just head to bed?

Finally, Spencer glances up, his gaze focusing on you as if for the first time tonight. His brows knit together as he notices the anxious look in your eyes.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.

You swallow, feeling a rush of emotions you’ve been holding back all evening. He’s looking at you now, really looking, like he usually does, but something about his unsteady, drunken state makes you hesitate.

He’s here, yet somehow not fully here, and you’re not sure how to answer.

You force a smile, shrugging as if it’s nothing, but your heart pounds. "Just… tired, I guess."

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you know he sees through your answer, even in his state.

Now he sees.

He’s silent, watching you with a slight frown like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You glance away, twisting the hem of your dress tighter.

"Maybe you should get some rest," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. You try to keep the tremor out, but it’s there. A lot of it.

He’s never seen you like this—not this vulnerable, this close to tears. You’ve not been dating that long. A lot of things are still unknown, unsaid, unshared and the toxic, drunk but highly functioning, unpredictable boyfriends have not yet come out in any conversation.

"I’ll be fine," Spencer mutters, rubbing his face with one hand as he sinks further into the chair.

His words are gentle, but they’re not the reassurance you’re aching for.

You wish he’d tell you he’d never do this again, that he understands why this is hard for you. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, distant and hazy.

A lump forms in your throat as the silence presses down on you. You stand up, needing some distance, and force a tight smile. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll go… take a walk or something."

As you turn to leave, Spencer reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but unsteady. "It’s like 2 AM. You’re not going anywhere alone."

You stop, frozen, a tightness forming in your chest. You want to say it’s fine, that you just need space, but the words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. Instead, he continues, unaware of how badly his presence is affecting you right now.

“Let’s take a walk together. It’ll help,” he offers, his voice tinged with concern, though still a little slurred.

You turn sharply, frustration and something darker bubbling up in your chest. “No!” you snap, louder than you intended, the word echoing in the quiet room. You instantly regret it, but the hurt is too raw, too overwhelming. You try to swallow the sudden surge of emotion, but it’s too much.

You finally realize that his hand in on your arm, and the realization hits like a cold wave. You feel an intense rush of discomfort. You don’t want him near you right now.

The feeling of his fingers on your skin, even though they’re meant to comfort, feels wrong.

You can’t breathe. You can’t handle his touch, not like this, not after everything that’s happened. You jerk away, backing up, your heart hammering.

Without a word, you turn and storm toward the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and lean against it for a second, trying to steady your breath.

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the anger and fear swirling inside you until you can hardly tell the difference between the two.

It’s not his fault, you think, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside your chest.

He’s just drunk, he’ll be sober soon, but... why does it still feel so wrong?

You press your hands to your face, feeling the tears already starting to form.

I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to let this take me back. I can’t let it.

Your thoughts race, but you force yourself to focus, turning the shower on. The sound of the water helps.

You quickly but clumsily step out of the dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the tiles.

You step under the hot spray, closing your eyes, letting the warmth soothe the tension in your muscles.

Just wash it off, just wash it off, you tell yourself as if the water could cleanse more than just your skin.

You’re lost in the sensation of the water for long minutes when there’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door.

You freeze. Your heart skipping a beat.

“Hey… uh… I really need to pee,” Spencer calls out, his voice even softer than before.

You swallow, fighting the panic rising in your throat, and quickly shut off the water. You wrap a towel around your body and open the door just enough for you to slip past him. Without a word, you go into the bedroom and gracelessly put on one of the shirts you left in his drawer.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be fine, you think, climbing into bed, curling up under the covers.

You just want this day to end. You need it to end.

Then it hits you—you’re in his bed.

You stand up and then sit again on the edge.

You should go home. You should be in your own bed. You want to get up, gather your things, get dressed, and leave, but you're paralyzed. You're overwhelmed. You can’t breathe. You can’t move.

Then Spencer walks into the room, his gaze landing on you. As if he can read the turmoil in your mind, he says softly, "It's late. Stay here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll take the couch."

You don’t say anything, unable to find the words.

He pauses, watching you for a moment, before quietly pulling his pajamas from the closet and heading into the bathroom.

You just need to sleep. You’ll sleep it off, and when you wake up, things will make sense again. Maybe Spencer will apologize.

Apologize for what?

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’ll be sober. Everything will go back to normal.

But sleep doesn’t come. The bed feels cold, and the silence in the room is suffocating. You can’t shake the thoughts in your head.

What if he doesn’t remember?

What if he won’t leave it and you’ll have to explain and he’ll be angry?

Why are you angry?

Why are you upset?

Just as you're about to give up on sleep altogether, you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Spencer slips into the room quietly, his footsteps hesitant. He walks to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying anything at first.

"Are you asleep?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle, almost too careful. You feel his gaze on you, even though you’re facing the window, your back to him.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t want to talk to him right now. You don’t want to explain why everything feels broken. You don’t want him to ask.

But you can feel him there, his presence.

Finally, he speaks again, his voice low but steady. “Please... can we talk? I don't wanna go to bed with you upset and angry.”

You don’t move, staring into the dark. You wish you could say the right thing. You wish you could fix it, but all you feel is a dull ache in your chest, and the thought that maybe nothing will ever be the same again.

Spencer’s hand reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he hesitates for a moment before gently moving toward you. "Hey, I—" His voice cracks, and you can hear the sorrow in it, the regret, the helplessness.

But as his arms come closer, something inside you recoils. You can’t have him near you right now. Not like this. Not when everything feels so wrong.

You flinch, turning away from him instinctively, the words coming out before you even have a chance to stop them. “Please don’t touch me.”

The words hang between you like a heavyweight.

Spencer freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air, and for a second, everything is still. You can hear his breathing — shallow, uneven — as if he’s trying to understand, trying to process what just happened.

You don’t want him to feel hurt, but you can’t help it. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve, and his touch, even if it's meant to comfort, feels suffocating.

“Okay,” Spencer finally says, his voice small, resigned. He pulls his hand back slowly, as though giving you space to breathe.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice distant now, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I just... I’m not sure what happened. I know hurt you. I don’t know how but I’m sorry.”

The silence lingers, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping itself around both of you. Spencer hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say next. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t lift yours.

Finally, he clears his throat softly.

“I’ll... I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, his voice gentle and careful like he’s trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

“It’s okay. If you want to talk... or anything... just come and tell me. I’ll be here.”

You don’t say anything. You still don’t look at him. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the aching honesty of it.

If only his words, his willingness to be there even when you’ve pushed him away could make things better.

But you don’t answer him, because you don’t have the strength to. You don’t know what to say.

Spencer sighs quietly, almost like a final surrender, and then you hear his footsteps moving away from you.

The door opens and closes softly behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence of the room once more.

Spencer’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t bring comfort. Not yet.

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #tw: alcholism

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beloveds-embrace · 19 hours ago

Note

The Sandman clip/ tiktok audio of "you came" "you called" just screams ex boyfriend/husband TF141 when you call them late at night because some creep is following you home or you're in trouble

WAIT YES YOU ARE RIGHT

It’s almost an instinct to call him first before anyone else, even after breaking up/divorcing. You tell yourself you can’t be blamed- he is a military man and despite all the hurdles that left your relationship in shambles, he was dependable when it came to safety.

And right now, walking slowly to your home with a fan following you- that man had to be kicked out of your workplace, you can remember him- you need his safety.

Something in your heart twinges when he accepts your call on the first ring. Some things truly never change, do they?

“He- hey,” you whisper immediately, and now that someone is here to hear you, the fearful tears build up in your eyes and you are sure he can hear the shakiness in your voice. You don’t give him a chance to say anything for now, though. “I- I know that we- we are not together anymore but… god, I’m so sorry, someone is following me and I didn’t know who else to call, I’m so sorry-”

“Where are you?”

You tell him where you are right now, steps carefully slow but not too slow so your stalker doesn’t know that you are aware of him.

“Stay on the phone for me, yeah?”

“Okay,” you are still whispering, gulping. “Okay. Thank you. I’m so sorry again-“

“Stop apologizing.” His voice is softer now, compared to before. “I don’t mind. Never will. I’ll be right with you in a minute, alright?”

And true to his words, he does come to you soon, throwing his arm over your shoulder and glaring right at your stalker. You can’t see his face, but you know his glare has always made him look so scary. But once the stalker is gone, and you two are left alone while he leads you home, you can’t help but break the silence.

“…you came.”

He looks at you, the glare softening immediately. So many things unsaid, so much that had gone wrong and right in your relationship…

“You called.” Is all he says in reply, still holding you right against him.

No other words are needed at this moment. Though your heart, traitorous thing it is, wonders if it’s not too late to try again. Your mind vehemently disagrees and states he likely holds no feelings for you anymore.

His arm remains wrapped around you and he even covers you in his jacket.

…perhaps it doesn’t have to end this way.

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brattyspence · 3 days ago

Text

virginia is for lovers | s.reid

summary: model!reader accidentally exposes their relationship through a soft launch instagram post

tags: model!reader x spencer, penelope included <3, smau

a/n: this is kinda short n pointless but i wanted a reason to write reader tweeting abt spencer and its been in my drafts for weeks so

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

Spencer had worked hard to keep you a secret.

Not because he wasn’t thrilled to be in your life, because he really, really was. Historically, things had a tendency to go south as soon as word got out, especially when it came to his personal life.

You had met in a bookstore. It was a short interaction; you were busy debating which translation of The Stranger was most appropriate to read. You must have been standing in the aisle of the bookstore a little too long, holding two copies side by side, when he had offered his two cents on the matter.

Typically, you weren’t one to entertain conversation in public. Nine times out of ten, you’d get one word in before the inevitable “Please can I take a picture? I love your blog so much!”, but this was different. You weren’t even sure he had even seen your face before he started talking to you. He wasn’t initially trying to hit on you, either. He was genuinely excited that someone was willing to listen to him ramble about the differences between the Ward and Guilbert translations, so when you responded in such a way that asked him to continue on, he was surprised.

That day, you’d left the store with four more books than intended, and a single bookmark where he had written his phone number after you asked for it. He had asked you for your name; a confirmation that he actually had no idea who you were.

The rest was history. You saw him whenever possible, spent nights on the phone together, and flew across the country often just to see him. You loved having a relationship that didn’t need to be public, but you were also excited to share bits of it with the world.

It was late at night, and he was sitting at his desk in the bullpen, trying to finish the last of the paperwork he’d been assigned, when he heard commotion from Penelope’s office. He figured it was nothing new; probably just some news about the royal family or one of the real housewives again, but she’d thrown her door open in such a way that it garnered attention from everyone in the office.

“Spencer Reid,” She gripped her phone and rushed across the room with determination. “Do you have something you want to share with me?”

He looked up from his paperwork, furrowing his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“Why are you on my Instagram feed?” She placed her phone on his desk in front of him.

“I’m not on instagram,” he replied.

“Oh, but you are,” she said. “You are such a little liar. I can’t wait to tell Derek about this.”

She pushed his paperwork aside, plopping her phone down in front of him. It was a slideshow on instagram. A photo of the most recent bouquet he bought for you. A few from the museum you’d visited together, including several where his hands or shoes were visible, but nothing that really pointed to him. He could almost make the argument Penelope was mistaken, until the last photo, which included just enough of his apartment to confirm her questioning.

“You said you were seeing someone and I thought… someone from a chess tournament, or maybe… oh, I don't know. Literally anyone else? But you bagged a model?”

“I-” he sighed. “How did you find her?”

“I didn’t find her, Spencer. I’ve followed her for years! I see her posts all the time. I can’t believe you.”

He scrolled down.

liked by @jjareau and others

@yourusername: virginia is for lovers :) posted 12 hours ago

↪ @randomuser1: GIRL STOP TEASING WHO IS HE

↪ @randomuser3: i’ve been trying to figure it out since that tweet last month 😞

↪ @randomuser2: this is the sweetest soft launch i’ve ever seen <3

↪ 12k comments

He clicked onto your profile.

@yourusername

5.2M Followers

Followed by @jjareau, @emp.sergio and more

“You’ve got to see her Twitter, lover boy. She’s been gushing about you.”

“Oh, god,” he groans. So much for privacy. He lets her take the phone back, redirecting his attention to your Twitter page. She scrolls back to June before handing it over, letting him read in chronological order.

June 10

@yourusername: hot girl summer is officially over. just asked a man for HIS number.

June 25

@yourusername: is it offensive to men if you call them pretty? bc this man is rlly pretty

@yourusername: update: apparently it is not :)

July 30:

@yourusername: good morning text + picture of a dog that he claims reminded him of me???? gonna ask for his hand in marriage

August 15

@yourusername: up til 2 bc hes explaining quantum mechanics to me 🧚🏻

@yourusername: embarrassed to say that form of dirty talk worked on me

August 20

@yourusername: oh btw im a girlfriend now!

↪@yourfan1: look u long enough wtf girl

↪@yourusername: dw im locking him down 🫡

↪@yourfan2: thats OUR man now 💘

“Oh, wow.”

She takes the phone back. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Or me? Oh, this is great news. You’re bringing her to Rossi’s next, week, right?”

“I- Pen, I have no idea.” He laughs. He watches her type away on the device aggressively. “Are you texting everyone?”

“Yuh-huh. I need to call JJ, like… yesterday. And this isn't the end of this conversation!” She darted back into her office quickly, letting the door fall shut behind her.

He decided his remaining paperwork could wait. He packed his things up in a hurry, and decided to head out of the office, dialing your number on the way out.

You picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” you started. “How was work? Are you heading out?”

“Yeah,” He started. He pushed through the glass doors of the office, staring towards the stairwell. “It was… busy. I just had a really interesting conversation with my coworker.”

“Mhm…” You had been lounging in your hotel room waiting for his call. “About..?”

“You, actually.” He replied. “She follows you on instagram. Apparently most of the office does. She showed me your post today.”

“Oh,” you replied. “Oh god, Spence. I’m sorry. I didn’t think… anyone would be able to tell who you were.”

He laughs. “Yeah, well… I work with some… characters. It’s totally fine, though.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, anxiously.

“Yeah. It was cute,” he replied, smiling to himself as he exited the building. “Tasteful.”

“That's what I wanted,” You reply.

“I thought Twitter was much more interesting, though.”

You froze, cringing. “Oh, god. Tell me you didn't read all of it.

He chuckles. “I skimmed it.”

You groan.

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #my things!#model!reader #spencer reid #spencerreid #fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #smau #penelope garcia

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imaginaryf1shots · 2 days ago

Text

Heatstroke | Max Verstappen

WC: 2.6K

Max x Platonic!Driver!reader, Grid x Driver!reader

Summery: When you made the switch to Formula 1, no one told you how bad the Qatar GP can be

Warning: Heatstoke??

Masterlist

Max Masterlist

y/n y/f/n, is a name that’s been making headlines for months now. When the rumours first started everyone thought they were just, that, rumours. But in F1 rumours don’t just come out of thin air, especially ones like this. Red Bull is changing their line up and they’re bringing in a female? A woman whose already in her mid-20s. A NASCAR driver, a runner up for the drivers’ championship three times. Not many switch from other series to Formula, the other way around. Yes. So, it’s a rumour everyone presumed.

But why are there photos of you in Milton Keynes? Why is Max suddenly following you on Instagram? Why is your NASCAR team not posting you on their social media anymore? How come it’s already the winter break and no confirmation on who will be take the empty seat in the Red Bull team?

You ignored your social media, since someone leaked your move from NASCAR to F1. You stopped caring a long time ago, stopped looking a long time ago. A long life in motorsports taught you not to care. The life of a female in motorsports is not easy even now in the 21st century. Female fans have it hard, female presenters have it hard, female mechanics have it hard, and certainly female drivers have it hard. But it only made you stronger and your skin thicker.

When Red Bull finally announced that you’d be the one driving for them in the new season, they were met with both positive and negative response. You’re an enigma coming into the sport. No one’s seen you in a Formula 1 car before, or a car in the feeder series. But you did start in karting and your records are still unbroken.

While everyone was enjoying their winter break, you spent it training in the gym, on the sim, and in previous F1 cars. No time to spare, to get you ready for the new season. A season Red Bull has high hopes for.

You were able to meet Max a few times since you joined the team, but he was mostly off enjoying his break. Only by the time the preparations for the new season that he’s actually got to know you. Surprisingly to many, you and Max got on well with each other. Max instantly took a liking to you, you may be not that much younger than him, but he saw you as a younger sister. Max also did his homework while he was on vacation and watched many of your races in NASCAR and he was impressed, he couldn’t wait for you to race in F1. Like his team, he thinks your experience will bring in a fresh eye to the sport and to the team.

The pre-season practice was the first time you met the rest of the grid. Everyone has been pleasant and nice; Lewis Hamilton had a long talk with you about your experience in motorsports as a female and he shared some of his challenges being the only black man in the history of the sport. It was such a long and deep talk; the 7 times world champion gave you his number and promised to chat more later.

Max pulled you to the talking circle he was having, he was talking to Lando, Carlos and Charles. You loved how much he tried to include you in on everything, make you feel welcome.

It was the Qatar Grand Prix, a race almost everyone hated, just for the fact that it’s one of, if not the, hottest races on the calendar. You had no idea how hot it could get, but the team tried to pred you as much as they could. FP1-3 were hard when you were doing long runs, it got hot in the cockpit. You’re thankful they decided to not have a sprint this year. You had no idea how you’ll manage in the actual race. Water was your friend since FP1.

“How do you handle all that heat?” You asked Max, as you laid on a sofa on the side of the debriefing room, he was on a chair as if he wasn’t just in the car melting.

“Lots of water and eat whatever I’m given.” Max said sipping on his cold-water bottle. “Didn’t you train for the heat after the last race?”

“I did, but it’s still nothing like the real thing.” You mumbled, Max patted your knee in sympathy.

“Hey, you did good though, starting P2 tomorrow.” Max tried to cheer you up, you gave a weak smile.

“Okay, everyone here?” You sat up from the sofa and moved to your chair for the meeting.

The race was too long in your opinion, definitely one of the hardest races you had to do in your career. How can it be so hot at night, the humidity was killing you.

“No one said it’ll be this hard before I joined.” You complain through your radio, something you don’t usually do, since the media likes to call you whiney and used as an excuse as to why women shouldn’t be in Formula 1.

“Thought you might change your mind.” Your engineer teased and you sighed.

“I might’ve.” You joked back, knowing you wouldn’t, sweat was dripping everywhere. “How many laps left?”

“16, hang in there and drink water.”

“You mean tea, it’s so hot, still don’t get why you couldn’t throw cold water on me.” You had a gap between you and George Russel in P4 behind you and you were closing in on Lando in front of you. You were getting closer lap after lap. He undercut you earlier in the race and now you’re 2 seconds behind him.

“Maybe next time… gap to Norris 1.4.”

The next 5 laps were hard, you managed to overtake Lando, but it took so much out of you.

“Okay, just keep your head down.” Your race engineer said, and it took a few seconds for you to register what he was saying and a few more to answer him.

“Okay.” Your voice was breathy and weaker than earlier.

“Almost there.” He encouraged you; you hummed and did your best to keep the lead you have on Lando now, you’re in clean air, no car in sight in front of you.

“How many laps?” You asked but stopped talking as you felt like you’d throw up if you talked more.

“2 more, drink water even if it’s hot.”

You didn’t respond, there was no more water, it was too hot, but you drank and sweated everything already. The last lap felt so long, your car slowed down just slightly, but not enough for Lando to catch up with you.

“Well done y/n, that’s P2!” Your engineer cheered and you smiled weakly proud of yourself for finishing the race.

“Yay.” That was the weakest yay you’ve ever said. The in lap seemed like it took so long. Max and Lando were already parked. You closed your eyes and rested your head back, you had zero energy, moving seemed like torture. You slowly opened your eyes and took out your wheel placing it on the car.

Max after celebrating with the team, turned to look at you, only to see you still in the car. He frowned and moved back to where your car is parked next to his. He could see you moving a little which gave him little comfort.

“Hey, you, okay?” Max had removed his helmet already, his face was flushed red.

“Too tired.” You mumbled and Max strained his ears to hear what you said.

“I’ll help you out.” Max said he reached into your car and unbuckled your seatbelts. “Can you stand?”

You gave a weak nod and put your hands on the sides of the cockpit and tried to pull yourself up, but your legs were shaky, Max placed his hand on your waist to try and steady you.

“Get her a cold water.” Max told one of the Red Bull mechanics that came for the car, you leaned on the halo pretty heavily, Max put his other hand on your waist as well when you lifted your leg to hop over. You placed on of your hands on Max’s shoulder and moved your legs over the halo, before you just sat down on the car, placing your feet on the ground, this took more time than it needed to and much harder than it should’ve. “Raise your head.”

Max leaned down and unbuckled your helmet before he slowly removed it. Your balaclava was next, putting them beside you he could finally see your flushed face, loose hair sticking to your skin. The mechanic opens the bottle for you, and you take it gratefully from him, the cold water is a shock to your skin, but it offered a much-needed reprieve from the heat. You sipped slowly, feeling better now that you drank cold water. Max was watching you with hawk eyes.

“Come on we need to get weighed.” Max told you after you drank most of the water bottle. You nodded, and turned to put the wheel back in but max took it from you and hocks it back up. Your focus isn’t really that good at the moment, so you don’t notice Max walking behind you, ready to catch you if you stumble. You’re too tired to run to your team, but while Lando gets interviewed you walk up to them, you get patted on the back softly. It’s obvious how much this race had taken out of you. You’re still flushed, and sluggish.

“y/n, welcome to Qatar.” Jensen said once you stood in front of him, you offered him the best smile you could, but it wasn’t that big. “First season in Formula 1, you’re second in Qatar how would you rank this week amongst the ones you’ve done so far?”

“Uh, hardest, definitely the hardest.” You answer, all the lights shinning and the screens around aren’t helping with the heat.

“But you did amazing over taking Lando and getting second place, did you expect this coming into the weekend?” Jensen asked feeling sympathetic towards you.

“Well, um, I expected to do well before the race, during the race I wasn’t so sure, but I knew I just had to push through it for the team.” You said and the team cheered you on, you felt like they were farther than they were, your hearing coming and going. Jensen asked you his last question before you were free to go. You felt like your body was on auto piolet. Moving away from the cameras and in the direction of the cool down room. Once you were next to a wall you leaned on it, your trainer was by your side in a second.

“You need to sit down for a moment.” He told you, and in the middle of the hallway he helped you down, you just did as you were told. He unzipped your suit and pulled it down to your waist. Somone handed him a water bottle, he put some on his hand and patted your cheeks to cool you down. “We need an ice vest.” Someone rushed away, you just closed your eyes head on the wall. “Here, drink more.”

You sat there for a minute, before Max rushed over, he just finished his interview.

“Are you okay? Is she okay?” Max asked you before turning to your trainer, he crouched down to your height to have a closer look. “She should head to the medics.”

“No, no, it’s alright, I just needed a moment.” You said opening your eyes to look at your teammate.

“y/n, don’t p-“

“I’m fine, Max, I swear.” You say and put your hands on the floor and push yourself up, you lean on the wall for a moment, before you give Max a pleading look, he sighs and gestures for you to move in front of him. You walk into the cooldown room, and Lando is sitting alone.

“What? Did you have the debrief or something?” Lando asked jokingly, he had a cold water bottle pressed to his face.

“Yeah, talked about how to take you out of the race next time.” You joked and sat on the floor, not even trying to sit in your chair.

You didn’t slip your suit back on for the podiums, leaving the top part hanging by your waist. Your movements were still slow, but you managed to smile and celebrate a little with the other two drivers. You were the first person off the stage and instantly a cooling vest was slipped over your head, you were still hot. Max ran down the stairs after you.

He saw you stumble a little, you had to go to the medical centre. Max knew you well enough to know that if he asked you, you’d brush it off. But he got what he wanted one way or another. So, the reigning world champion came up behind you and just scooped you up. You gasped and wrapped your arms around his neck instantly.

“Max! what are you doing?”

“Taking you to the medical centre, and no you’re not fine.” You looked at your trainer over his shoulder, but one look at him and you saw that he agreed with Max.

Let’s say Max was right, you had a heatstroke and were on the verge of passing out. You missed the debrief much to your displeasure. The doctor gave you a list of things to do and not to do with your trainer by your side. The moment you were in your hotel room, you rushed to the bathroom to shower. The cold water feeling amazing on your skin, the AC was on. You just wore a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts to bed. And sleep you did. You really needed that sleep.

You woke up the next morning to knocking on your door, you groggily got up groaning as you did. Opening the door, you saw Max and Kelly. They’re both in casual clothes, smiling at you.

“Hey, what’s up? It’s too early.” You greeted them opening the door more for them to enter.

“It’s past 12.” Max informed you.

“Oh.”

“How are you feeling?” Kelly asked you and placed her hand on your skin to see if you’re still radiating heat or not. Max had informed her of your state last night, and from the glimpses she managed to see of you she knew you were feeling the heat.

“Better.” You smiled at her kindness, since you and Max have gotten close, you and Kelly also have formed a friendship.

“We ordered room service to your room.” Kelly told you; you thanked the couple. You threw on an oversized shirt on top of your clothes before you joined them, they had the small sofa for themselves, so you took the comfy armchair. “You did amazing yesterday, y/n.”

“Thank you, wish I felt as good as I did.” You complained and sighed.

You three talked about everything and nothing in particular. When the food arrived, you knew that Max has spoken to your trainer, because it was all the foods that the doctor suggested for you to eat. You drank to glasses of juice and a bottle of water as well. Keeping hydrated was on the top of the list.

“Who are you going back with to the UK?” Max asked, he would’ve loved if you’d moved to Monaco, but after joining the team you moved closer to the factory in the UK.

“Oscar and Fernando has to go to the factory so we’re taking his jet.” You informed him and he looked satisfied with your answer.

“Just take care of yourself.”

“Sure, dad, I will.”

“Hey!”

Main Taglist:

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . @lilypat . @directioner5life .

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classyrbf · 18 hours ago

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CAN U PLZ DO BABY DADDY SUKUNA AND SURUGU TOO?? (i love u)

THAT'S JUST MY BABY DADDY! #3 — GETO + SUKUNA

SYNOPSIS...geto and sukuna being annoying baby daddies that still make their way into your pants

INFO...sukuna x fem!reader, geto x fem!reader, p in v, sloppy kisses, baby daddy drama (yk the drill), jealousy, alcohol mentioned, possessiveness, choking, spanking

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thanks for the request anon (i love you too)

part 1 part 2

SUKUNA

you finally got your daughter down to sleep, placing her stuffie beside her, shutting her light off and walking out her room. Just as you were getting ready to wash the dishes, your doorbell rang, an annoyed sigh leaving your lips. “Who the hell is ringing my doorbell so late?” You stomp over to the door. “Who is it?” You call out.

“Ryo!” No one other than your baby daddy. As if you weren’t already annoyed, you roll your eyes and open the door to see him standing there. His eyes rake over your body as if he didn’t see you just an hour ago when he dropped his daughter off. “I left her blanket at my place. Thought I bring it back.” He stepped into your house without hesitation.

“Damn, well come on in,” you scoff, shutting the door behind him. He tosses the blanket on the couch. “She’s sleeping, so don’t wake her.” You walk towards the sink, turning it on.

He hums in response, walking around your house, seeing how tidy you keep it, remembering all the moments you two shared before breaking up. He ever so carefully walks up behind you, leaning against the counter. He just looks at you, smirking to himself. “I can feel you staring, weirdo.” You glance over your shoulder.

He laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Can you blame me?” He exhales, stepping closer and closer until he’s inches away from you. His hands reach out and snake around your waist, startling you. “How’ve you been?” He asks, his sultry tone sending chills down your spine.

You shake your head at his weak attempt to get in your pants. “Leave me alone, Ryomen.” You nudge him with your elbow.

“Come on! I know you’re not getting good dick anywhere else. When was the last time we did it, huh? A month?” He questions. You groan in annoyance, turning the sink off and drying your hands on the towel.

“That was the final time.” You stare at him. “We promised no more after that.”

“You really think I meant it? Think a promise is gonna keep me away from you?” He cages you in between him and the counter.

“I’m not just some girl you’re gonna fuck when you wanna get your dick wet.” You push him away from you and walk over to the couch to grab your daughter’s blanket. “Find someone else.”

He laughs at your stubbornness, trailing behind you. “You know no one tastes or feels as good as you. Why do you think I keep coming back, hm?” He narrows his eyes at you.

“Ryomen, I’m not doing this shit with you tonight. Get your dick wet somewhere else,” you say, annoyance in your tone. His warm hands find your waist once again and he’s pulling you closer to him. His soft lips kiss down your neck and back up towards your jaw.

“Just once more. I swear that’ll be the last time,” he whispers. And you don’t know if he casted some type of spell on you or something because within the next five minutes he was in your bed.

Your knees were pushed to your chest, a long whine leaving your lips every time he hit your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “Feel so fucking good around me,” he grunts, pressing his forehead against yours. “That’s right, lemme look into those eyes, show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re clinging onto his biceps, nails leaving crescent marks in his skin the harder and faster he goes. God, you hate to admit how good it feels. How good he feels. “Mmmm, Ryo. Fuck!” You moan, your jaw slack as pushes his cock deeper.

“Can feel this pussy squeezing me. You gonna cum, baby? Yeah? Yeah?” He coos, a smug smile on his face as he pushes your legs farther. “There you go, baby. Yes, cum all on my dick. Goddamn.” He watches your eyes roll back, a soft cry leaving your lips, your body shaking.

“This…this is the last time!” You manage to speak, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Shut up.” He kisses you sloppily, swiping his tongue against yours, continuing to pound your poor cunt. He knows this won’t be the last just as much as you know. You’re only saying it to make yourself feel better about cumming on his dick so easily.

GETO

after a stressful week, you were finally able to go out and have fun with your best friend, Shoko, while Utahime offered to watch your daughter for the night. It felt good to get out, drinking, dancing, a change of scenery compared to being cooped up in the house all day. You’re swaying your hips to the music, taking shots and you can already feel the regret coming next morning.

“Hey!” Shoko shouts. “I think Suguru is here!” She looks in the direction where he’s sitting.

“What?” You lean in closer towards her.

“Suguru! He’s here!” She points towards the crowd and to where the seating area is. You follow to where to points and see Suguru talking to some random girl on his lap, laughing his way into some mediocre sex.

“So what?!” You shout back, shrugging your shoulders. “He probably doesn’t even know I’m here! Fuck it!” You smile at Shoko, grabbing her to dance.

“I’m gonna go grab another drink!” She lets go of your hand and walks towards the bar.

You’re too tipsy to even care, in your own little world, dancing and eyeing all the handsome men around you. “Excuse me?” You feel hands on your waist and turn to see a tall, muscular man looking right at you. “Sorry, I just wanted to say you’re beautiful. I saw you dancing from over there!” He points to his seating lounge. “Wanna come sit?”

“Thank you!” You smile, placing your hand on his broad chest. “I’m here with my friend. Can we wait for her—oh there she is. Shoko!” You wave her over and she hurries through the crowd. “He invited us to sit with him, come on.”

“Fuck it, I’m down.” She sips from her drink.

The man grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd of people. It felt good to sit after standing in heels all night. After settling down you could finally get a better look at the man, noticing his sharp features and the scar on the corner of his lip. How handsome he was. What you didn’t notice was how closely Suguru was watching you, eyeing your every move. He took notice of the way your hand ended up on that guys thigh, how easily you laughed at his jokes.

“I’ll be back, gonna grab us some shots.” The girl got up from off his lap.

“Yeah, you do that.” He said without moving an inch, so fixated on you and you only. He couldn’t deny how good you looked tonight. Hands and toes freshly did, your hair in a style he’s never seen, and that dress that hugged your body so tight, showing off every curve you had. Without hesitation, he got up from his seat and walked over.

Shoko looked behind her just in time, eyes wide before immediately turning to face you. “He’s coming over.” She tapped your leg.

“Huh?” Your brows creased.

“Suguru!” She yelled in a whisper. “He’s walking over—heyyyy!” She smiled up at him.

“Hey, Shoko. Hey, y/n.” He greeted you.

You ignored him, sipping from your glass, hugging against the man who you knew as Toji, his arm wrapped around your waist. There was an awkward tension in the air, Shoko clearing her throat as she smiled.

“Y/n, can I talk to you really quick?” He stood in front of you now. “We’ll just be five minutes.” He looked at Toji, grabbing you away from him.

“Ugh, what do you want? Do you have to ruin every fun thing I do?” You follow him into the bathroom. He locks the door, standing before you, looking into your eyes. “What, Suguru?” You fold your arms over your chest.

He knows he’s tipsy, and so are you but he can’t deny what he’s feeling right now and from the looks of it, he can tell you’re feeling the same exact way. “You piss me off. But fuck, you look good doing it. Hugging up on that random ass guy, touching him.” He grits his teeth.

“Don’t be a hypocrite. I saw your little girlfriend sitting on your lap earlier. Where is she now?” You raise a brow.

“She’s a random girl. Don’t even know her name. Why? You jealous?” He walks closer towards you, closing the gap.

“Are you?” You retort, never breaking eye contact with him. There’s several seconds of silence besides the blaring music in the background, until his lips are suddenly on yours, stealing every breath.

Minutes later, you’re bent over the bathroom sink, your skirt bunched up at your waist while he pounds into you. His hand is wrapped around your throat as you grip the sink, feeling like your legs were about to give out any second. “Sugu…fuck!” You whimper. His hips slam against yours, your body jolting forward.

“That’s right, pretty. This is my pussy. Look at how well she’s taking me,” he chuckles, looking down at the way his cock disappears inside of you so effortlessly. “My god.” He lands a few harsh slaps on your ass.

You’re reaching out, pushing back on his stomach in attempts to get him to slow down, feeling like you were going to crumble beneath him. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” You cry. “You’re so fucking deep!” You gasp.

“Yeah?” He pulls you flush against his chest, nibbling on your earlobe. “That’s just how you like it. Deep and slow, hard and fast. I know all the ways to make you cum,” he whispers. He grips your throat tighter. Plap! Plap! Plap! “Better hope your new boyfriend doesn’t realize how long you’ve been gone. Don’t want him to get suspicious.”

Your body convulses as a harsh orgasm takes over you. “Ah! I’m cumming!” You whine before your jaw drops. Geto can feel your pussy fluttering around his cock, making it hard for him not to cum inside. But, now that he thinks about it…that wouldn’t be all too bad.

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto x reader smut #geto suguru x reader smut #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #jjk x reader smut

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runariya · 1 day ago

Text

Beyond Probability JJK (m.)

summary: Matching with an idol? Unlikely. But with a 99% compatibility? Beyond probability. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolvers, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: fluff, fluff, a bit of self doubt, fluff, fluff, explicit sexual content, shower sex, unprotected sex, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4k

a/n: It’s a rly cute and short oneshot, light and mainly fluff, nothing too deep, no big words etc this time. Just had to get it out of my system since the idea’s been on my mind for months now (unedited bc I fell ill halfway through writing it 🤒)

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

Your biological clock’s ticking—has been for some years now—and even though you’re only now nearing 30, you’re painfully aware that the life you pictured as a kid might never come true.

It’s not like you’re unstable in who you are or what you’re doing. You’re fairly successful at your job, you’ve got your own place, and you’re more social than most people these days. Still, you’re only what most would call average-looking, and even though you’ve got a good career, you’re too soft to keep it up forever. You picture yourself more as a loving wife and mother than a corporate boss bitch climbing the ladder of success.

That’s also why your dating life has been rocky all along. Men see what you put out there, but they don’t like who you really are or what you want from life, which has left you single for most of it.

So, when a new project starts—after the K-pop industry finally acknowledges that idols need partnerships and a life of their own, and fans finally understand that these people are human too, that they deserve to experience love and happiness like everyone else—you decide to take your chances too.

Funnily enough, all the labels have teamed up, hiring not only the best scientists and psychologists from Korea but from around the world to create a program that can find ideal matches for their idols. Sure, science shouldn’t determine who you fall in love with, but… what if it could?

After being pre-selected—just to confirm you’re not some crazed fan—you’ve spent over two weeks going through tests. Recorded interviews, personality assessments, even physical evaluations… now you’re staring at your company’s computer screen, listening to Dr. Song explain the results through the phone.

“Ninety-nine percent?”

“Yes. The chances of such a high compatibility score are next to impossible. We see it as a perfect match and would like to introduce you to your match.”

“Sure, of course.” Even though your voice is steady, you can feel your nerves flaring up like never before.

“Is tomorrow at 8 p.m. alright for you?”

“Yes, that works for me.”

“Perfect, we’ll see you then.”

Well, joke’s on you, you didn’t expect this outcome.

Meeting an idol feels surreal, and the closer you get to 8 p.m. the next day, the more you can feel the anxiety and doubts inside you rising. Every last detail in Dr. Song’s calm, clinical rundown replays in your mind, the ninety-nine percent match, the endless rounds of testing, the surreal realisation that, somehow, all those numbers and algorithms miraculously spat out a name next to yours.

You want to trust that there’s a reason for this, that somehow science isn’t just working with chance, but the tension of actually meeting someone this special is so overwhelming you barely notice yourself entering the lab building until you’re standing outside Dr. Song’s office.

“Right on time,” she chirps, giving you an approving nod. She seems to sense your nerves, and as she leads you down a hallway you’ve never been before, she gives you a reassuring smile. “I know this is all a lot. But he’s likely feeling the same way. The tests told us that he’s, well, quite like you.”

Her words would make you laugh in any other situation, though disbelief and a strange kind of comfort floods through you still. Like you. An idol, standing here in a lab somewhere to meet some random stranger, feeling just as out of place as you. You’re not sure of that but still like to think it must be true.

You don’t have time to process it fully before you’re led into a quiet room with yellowish walls so plain they almost blur in the corners of your vision, a low, comfortable couch and a couple of chairs standing there and none of the lab equipment that surrounded you in the testing rooms all those weeks ago.

And then you spot him, sitting on the couch, alone. He stands the second you walk in, hands half in his pockets, a slight, almost unsure smile grazing his lips as he glances down at you. He’s got that casual look about him, the same dark eyes you’ve seen a hundred times on a screen that somehow feel warmer and more human here.

He looks not quite better than he does on screen, but not worse either. Somehow, he’s realer, if that’s a word—close enough that you can see the little flecks of colour in his irises, the slight tension in his posture, the faintest trace of nerves hiding under his composure.

“Hi.” Jungkook’s voice is lower, softer than you expect from an idol. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jungkook.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m ___.” There’s a pause, and you can tell he’s just as unsure what to do with the space between you two as you are. The click of the door makes you turn around briefly, only to realise Dr. Song has left you both alone. “This is, um, weird, right?”

He nods, a quick, breathy laugh breaking through. “Very. I mean, this isn’t exactly a ‘normal’ kind of meeting, right?”

His words are awkward but disarming, and suddenly, you’re aware of all the tiny, meticulous details of him that somehow make him feel more relatable than his polished, on-screen persona. The way his hand keeps moving to rub against his thigh or abs, his tongue playing with his lips and piercing ever so slightly—everything about him is familiar but also somehow close enough to feel completely new.

“I don’t think I was ready for this,” you admit. You aren’t really talking to him but more like letting your own thoughts slip out in the safest way possible, like saying it makes it feel less absurd.

“Honestly, same.” He laughs, and you think there’s a light flutter in your chest now. “I kept thinking about this whole ninety-nine percent thing. Like… how does that even work? Isn’t it supposed to feel, I don’t know, obvious? Like you know the moment you see someone?”

You nod, understanding exactly what he means, and somehow you move on autopilot, walking towards him and sitting down on that couch with him beside you. It feels like you should both somehow know, like there’s a sign or an instant connection, something that would make all of this feel simple, easy. But it’s just the two of you in a quiet room, barely knowing each other, held together by nothing but a number on a report.

“Yeah, that’s so wild. I didn’t think I’d have a match, this close to a hundred even less. Might be a glitch if our score is this high.”

Jungkook nods with sparkling eyes, seemingly relieved by your honesty and humour. “Yeah, I get that. I kept thinking about it too. Wondering if maybe the tests were wrong, or maybe I was just…thinking too much.” He lets out a sigh, his gaze meeting yours for a long, meaningful second. “But I think maybe this is about finding out, right? Not having it all make sense right away.”

“Hm, makes sense.” You giggle, because what else can you do in the presence of him.

The two of you sit there in a momentary silence, as if testing each other, feeling out the small boundaries that keep you both distant.

“So, what did the report tell you about me?” You ask the question half-jokingly, trying to break the quiet, but also curious. You want to know what he knows, how much of this supposed ninety-nine percent compatibility is actually something that either of you feel.

He lets out a silent breath, looking down as if slightly embarrassed. “Honestly, not as much as you’d think. They told me you were kind of… soft-spoken but resilient? And that you have a job that’s, uh, stable and…” He trails off, the tips of his ears slightly pink, like he’s embarrassed to keep going.

“And?” You can’t help but push further—not maliciously, just way too curious and playful for your own good. Jungkook’s expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised, and then to a look that’s just as playful.

“And that we’re, apparently, very much sexually compatible.”

Really, you should be the one feeling embarrassed or shy now, but you can’t help the laugh that slips out. You know exactly what he’s hinting at—your report clearly showed the same.

“Well, it might be not wrong. And they told me…” You pause, realising that you barely remember the details in the face of the reality in front of you but alas. “They said you’d be a good match because, I think, there was something about humour?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Humour? Never heard of it.” And it makes you laugh all over again. “I feel like they just told us things we’d want to hear, to make it seem easier and normal.”

His words hit close to home, but they’re strangely comforting in the way he says them. You reckon, he’s just as bewildered by this as you are, maybe even more so. And somehow, in the middle of all the awkwardness, you find yourself genuinely smiling at him, naturally gravitating towards him, finding that there’s a softness and reassurance in his gaze, a gentleness that cuts through your nerves like a knife through melted butter in the sun.

You start talking more freely after that, exchanging stories that are too mundane to make sense in any real context but feel right here. You tell him about your last trip to the beach, how you got sunburned and spent the whole evening sitting on your balcony, nursing it with iced water and aloe, wishing for a helping hand that you didn’t have. He laughs, nodding along as if he can picture it exactly and tells you about how he tried to make pasta he ate in Italy for the first time a few months back and ended up burning the whole batch, because no one was by his side, so badly his kitchen smelled like smoke for days.

The more you talk, the more you notice the little things about him that aren’t so polished, aren’t so perfect, and make him feel more human and real than anyone you ever met. He has a way of listening, eyes intent on yours, like he’s trying to pick apart every word to understand it better. When he laughs, it’s with his whole face, even body, not the careful, composed look of an idol but a natural, carefree laugh that makes you feel like maybe he’s as relieved as you are to be here, to have someone he doesn’t have to impress.

At some point, you both lapse into a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts but somehow still connected. The tension from earlier has faded away, replaced by a soothing aura you know you don’t want to miss for a day in your life.

Eventually, Jungkook glances over at you, his eyes sucking you in without much resistance. “I kept thinking this would feel forced, you know? Like we’d be sitting here, struggling to find anything in common.” He leans back, drapes his arm around the back of where you’re sitting, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “But… it doesn’t feel that way. You feel… I don’t know, right?”

The slight flutter in your chest has now swelled into a full-blown hurricane, and you’re not sure if it’s that ninety-nine percent compatibility causing it. But you don’t let yourself think too much—not when you’ve both been inching closer with each word, not when you take a chance and lean in, resting your head against his side. Especially not when his arm settles directly over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, his other hand finding yours, fingers intertwining just to see how it feels.

“Yeah, it feels right. I really like this.”

As you absently play with his fingers, breathing in his scent for the first time and deciding it’s like heaven, you let yourself trust science. Because this feels like exactly where you’re meant to be.

While the first meeting with Jungkook went better than you’d ever hoped, you’re painfully aware of your overthinking nature. Overthinking in a way that makes it painfully clear there are countless women out there who, on the surface, would seem a better visual match for him than you.

Overthinking to the point where you wonder why Jungkook would even need matchmaking when he could so easily choose a partner on his own. It’s also why staying focused at work isn’t exactly easy today, knowing that soon his label will be sending a car to pick you up for your next meeting with him.

You understand the precautions they’ve taken and completely agree it’s better to meet in a private, safe space rather than making headlines this early on. That’s why, as the tinted car arrives, you feel a bit more at ease than you have all day.

Soon enough, you’re driving down the path to the label’s underground garage, and while you fix your makeup real quick, the car comes to a stop. The driver nods and guides you towards the lift, where the lights are dim and everything has this quiet, professional atmosphere you’ve only seen on screen.

You try to take it all in, letting your thoughts settle just a bit more as you follow through to the hallways upstairs, past doors labelled with room numbers and studios, and then finally, you’re outside the door to Jungkook’s studio, right where you’re supposed to meet.

Your heart beats a little faster as you hear Jungkook’s familiar voice call out, “Come in,” and when you open the door, you find him leaning casually against the chair before his equipment with an easy smile that somehow manages to be both happy and slightly flirty.

Again, Jungkook’s dressed just like uniquely him, with a few silver rings glinting on his fingers. And while you didn’t think he’d even get up to greet you, he steps forward and embraces you in hug so tight, it leaves you drowning in him.

“Hey,” he greets with that disarming grin, eyes boring into you, taking in your formal work attire, as he gestures to the coffee set up besides his laptop. “Hope you don’t mind the casual vibe.”

You laugh a little, settling onto the free chair beside him, feeling a bit strange but somehow not. “I think it’s perfect. And to be honest, I don’t think I’d cope well with the whole five-star dining treatment and whatnot.”

He laughs, nodding in agreement, taking your purse from your hands and draping it casually over the back of his chair. The fact that he’s still so attentive, even though he’s clearly in his element here but completely relaxed, is rather fascinating and pulls you in even more.

Like the day before, talking with him comes easy, and while there’s nothing groundbreaking in your conversations, every word feels meaningful in the bigger picture.

Eventually, you feel yourself relaxing like you were at home by your own, getting comfortable enough to let out the thoughts that have been swimming in your head since last night. “I’ve thought a lot about how all of this could play out,” you admit, taking a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words, though knowing there won’t be any wrong words when talking with Jungkook. “And honestly, I’m not really interested in taking things public if they did work out. I know that’s probably strange to say, but I’m not cut out for the spotlight.”

He tilts his head, watching you thoughtfully. “No, it’s not strange at all. I get it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you go on, “I just want something real. A partner who’s loyal, someone who’s there because we get each other, not because we’re some public ‘it’ couple, parading around every chance we get. Does that sound crazy?”

He shakes his head, while he swings from one side to the other. “Not at all. That actually sounds perfect to me.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes you feel, for the first time, like there’s some truth to your report. “The whole ‘idol’ thing is just a job. It’s not who I am, not at the core. And having someone who sees it that way, is what I want too.”

It elates you to know that you could have something like this, with him, someone you could genuinely share your life with.

Then, in a thoughtful voice, he asks, “What do you want for the future? I mean, outside all of this.”

You take a breath, feeling a little nervous but wanting to be honest. It’s not like it’s news to him, seeing that this information’s written in the report he was handed. “I want something traditional. A home, a family, maybe staying home with kids, having that steady, grounded life. It sounds simple, I know, but it’s what I’ve always pictured.” You look up at him, expecting maybe a hint of judgement, but instead, you find him nodding, his eyes lighting up like a candle in the night.

“I don’t think that sounds simple at all, but meaningful.”

A shy smile forms on your lips as you add, “Sometimes I feel like people don’t see that side of things anymore, you know? Like everyone’s so focused on careers and success and everything else… and I get that, I do, but I’ve always just wanted something steady. Something I can hold on to.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers like second nature intertwine with yours, and the gesture is so simple yet so heartwarming that you feel like squealing out of happiness. “That’s exactly what I want too.” It’s nothing new to you too, but him saying that, seeing the honesty in his eyes, is better than any data shown to you. “I want that sense of home.”

You feel yourself falling a little harder, a little faster, and maybe that scares you a bit. You’ve seen the kind of attention he gets, the kind of girls that throw themselves at him, and it’s hard not to let those doubts creep in. Especially now. “I know this probably sounds insecure,” you start awkwardly, glancing away, “I think, I don’t know, maybe I’m not the kind of person someone like you would go for. I mean, you could have anyone, and not just because you’re an idol.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. And while his mouth opens to say something, the pull against your hand surprises you as much as him settling you in his lab. “Hey, don’t think like that. I’m here because I want to be. And trust me, I’m not looking for ‘anyone’. I’m looking for someone who gets me. And that someone is you, no?”

The look in his eyes is so genuine, so unguarded, that it’s hard to keep your heart from doing all sorts of stunts. He’s not the polished idol right now; he’s just Jungkook, being flirty, being compassionate, being so him, sitting in a cosy studio with his tattoos, his piercings, his moles, his beautiful smile, his whole presence more comfortable and inviting than you could have imagined.

And as he sits there, looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, you realise that you definitely don’t have to doubt this. Maybe it’s okay to let yourself believe that he’s here because he wants to be, that he’s falling for you irrevocably just as you’re falling for him.

“Sooo… that means?” You know you need to be brave now, because if this isn’t a dream, you’d never forgive yourself for not taking the leap.

“That means, if you want to, I’d love to have you as my girlfriend.”

“Isn’t it a bit rushed?” You don’t actually think so, but you still need to be sure.

“I’m all in if you are. I don’t want to waste any more time, and even though it’s just a report, I can feel there’s real truth behind it.”

Fast forward seven months, and you find yourself pressed against the shower wall like you do every night. But this time, it’s different—just hours ago, you made your first public appearance on a music show with Jungkook, just because you both felt ready, where he was not only nominated for Best Singer of the Year but won as well.

“Koo, right there, right there.”

It still amazes you how his cock seems to find your g-spot as soon as he enters you, though you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Yeah? Right there, hm? Or is it…” he trails off, shifting his hips ever so slightly, making you realise he’s actually hit the centre point of your g-spot now, his hard, unrelenting thrusts pushing you over the edge without warning.

“Oh my goooddd,” your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open against the cool shower wall, as your cunt keeps gripping him even though it’s already creaming around his cock.

“Good girl, keep going, love. Show me how many you can take tonight.”

There’s nothing you can do, not that you’d want to do anything other than let him rearrange your insides. Especially not when his tattooed hand finds its way from the back of your hair to your jaw, tilting your head to the side, giving you the perfect view of his upper body—rivulets of water cascading down his chiselled form, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed.

He’s the epitome of perfection. Not just a ninety-nine percent but a hundred.

His eyes, though hooded, bore into your soul as his hips pick up the pace. It’s this connection you share with him make being with him feel so special.

“Koo…”

“I know, love, just a bit more. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yes,” you moan, because hell, you can. “Yes, for you…ah, winning the trophy.”

Even though you shouldn’t feel his cock twitch with the pace he’s set, you do, realising instantly what he needs tonight.

“Best singer, Koo…fuck…best boyfriend, only fucking me when, hmm, the whole world wants a piece of you.”

“Only you. Always you, ___, love.” You think you catch him licking a drop of saliva from his lips as he stares down at where your bodies connect, sending another wave of arousal from your stretched-out hole.

“You’re so big.”

“Just for you, fuck, squeeze a bit more.”

It’s not that you did it on purpose, but when his hand shoots down to your clit, circling it just right, your body responds as though it’s never felt this good, soaking him even more and gripping him tight as a vice.

“Like that, love, like that.” Jungkook grunts and pants, holding you harder, tighter as his cock seems to swell even more, pumping frantically in sync with your impending second orgasm.

When Jungkook can’t hold back any longer, it’s all you need to let go too, the rush flowing through your veins just as fiercely as the love you feel for this man.

After some time, Jungkook pulls out, helping you straighten up and lean against his chest under the stream. His veiny hands trail down your body, washing away his release dripping out of you, as he plants kisses along the side of your face.

When he’s had enough, he, like always, turns you, brushing the wet strands of hair from your face. And as you do the same to him, captivated by how content and in love he looks, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world when, for the first time, Jungkook declares his feelings.

“I love you, till the day I die, ___.”

“I love you too, and beyond.”

Because this, because having Jungkook calling you his, is beyond probability.

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀 If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

permanent taglist: @runariyaluvr , @kookiewithluv , @closer-to-jungkook , @dreamcatcherluvr , @blueofocean, @https-mei, @xsyruhh , @nemelkawar , @joonlover1207 , @elinaki92

#fic: beyond probability #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts army #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jjk x reader #jungkook #idolverse #Jungkook idolverse #Jungkook smut #bts smut #Jungkook fluff #bts fluff

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scorpiosbite · 2 days ago

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the first time drew saw actress!reader.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── when drew was forced by madelyn to come watch this new show with her and the rest of the cast he didn’t expect to have his heart captured by the mesmerising woman on the screen.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in 2023 during the filming of obx 4 which is when game of thrones started airing in my timeline also actress!reader is anywhere between 19-22 years old.

drew was sprawled across the couch in his hotel room, aimlessly scrolling. after a long day of filming under the hot and heavy sun of morocco, he had no intention of doing anything that required effort. his plan was to simply scroll until his eyes got heavy and he knocked out, but knowing his insomnia that wouldn’t be until the early hours of the morning.

glancing at the time displayed on his phone ten pm it read, he let out a heavy sigh, though his body ached with exhaustion, his mind would not shut off. but before he could put down his phone and try to force himself to sleep, a knock sounded on the door “yeah?”

“drew! its maddie.”

“maddie?” he spoke softly, what’s she doing up at this time. usually she was asleep the moment she got back to the hotel. “come in, its open.”

she came tumbling through the door, coming to a stop in front of the couch where he laid. drew couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched her. “what’s up?”

“drew! you gotta come watch this new show with us!” her hands were placed on her hips as she looked down at him.

drew sighed, a noise of exhaustion. “i can’t be fucked getting up, cline.” her face scrunched up, ready to dispute him.

“drew you have to! the last episode of season one just came out and i watched the first episode when it aired and it was so good that i stopped watching so that we could binge it all when the season finished!”

recognition sparked on his face. “wait is this game of thrones? i remember you saying how good the first episode was, like two months ago.”

madelyn’s face grew excited at the fact that he remembered. “yeah! please please, you have to come watch it, jd, bailey, chase, laci, rudy and austin are already in my room waiting.”

drew mulled over the idea for a moment. either he could rot in his room until his call time tomorrow or hang out with his friends and possibly watch a good show, if maddie’s high praise was anything to go by.

“yeah, alright let’s go.” he stood up from the couch, stretching his arms and grabbing his phone to follow maddie, who was already halfway out the door, unable to wait any longer.

when they arrived at her room, the first episode was already lined up on the screen, the hbo logo blaring in the dark room. drew greeted everyone and then took a seat on the spare love seat by the window. “you guys get forced too?” he questioned.

“yup.” jd breathed out. “nah i’ve been wanting to watch this, i remember hearing about it when they started filming, it’s supposed to be like super graphic and vulgar.” madison commented. “shit, really? i know nothing about this show, other than the fact that cline can’t shut up about it.” austin added. chuckles sounded across the room, and madelyn yelled from the kitchen where the popcorn she was making turned in the microwave. “y’all are about to thank me!”

drew simply sat in silence, with the amount maddie was praising this show, his skepticism grew, no way this show was that good. someone pressed play as soon as madelyn was seated, he didn’t see who. the intro song of the show blasted through the room and drew settled back into his seat.

“yo, pass me the popcorn?” chase rolled up the back and chucked it across the room from where he was sat, drew caught it with ease.

he couldn’t lie, the show was good, fifteen minutes in and he was hooked. and just when he thought that it couldn’t get better, you came on the screen.

“holy fuck who is that?” jd’s voice rang out, but drew felt as though his voice came from somewhere far away. he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. “she’s beautiful right?” madelyn sighed out. mummers of agreement sounded from the people sitting in the room. “her name’s y/n y/l/n.”

“y/n” drew repeated to himself softly, almost as he was testing the feel of your name in his mouth. rolling the syllables on his tongue, in that moment he decided that no other word would ever compare to the way your name felt on his lips.

dressed in a flowing dress with daring cuts exposing your seemingly soft skin, he wondered what would it feel like if he ran his palms along the smooth expansion. your hair sliver, long and loose to play visenya targaryen, the last targaryen, the daughter of rhaegar targaryen and elia martell. drew felt as though no one had ever looked more stunning in the history of the world.

“drew? you all good man?” someone asked, he didn’t know who, he couldn’t hear or think of anything beyond you and the performance you were giving. “i think starkey’s got a crush.” rudy sang out, and the rest laughed. but drew couldn’t care less, too busy watching you.

they watched two more episodes and as the third episode came to an end drew finally broke out of his trance. while the rest occasionally made comments during the show drew could not tear himself away from the screen, afraid that if he looked away he would miss you.

“i gotta hand it to you, cline, i’m hooked. that shit was amazing!” carlacia grinned. “i fucking told you guys!” she retorted back. “but aside from that, starkey? what did you think?” she smirked at him.

“yeah, that was good.” drew’s body tingling “that’s it? just good? you don’t wanna talk about the moon eyes you were making every time visenya came on screen?” drew cheeks tinged pink. “yeah, she’s pretty.” “aye, shot your shot man, she’s so fine.” madison teased.

as drew made his way back to his room he looked at the time, two am, damn he didn’t even realise time had passed that quick. sliding into his bed after taking a quick shower, he couldn’t help himself but run a quick search of you on google. “fuck.” the soft curse slipping from his lips, just when he thought you couldn’t get hotter, he saw pictures of you, not in costume, naturally a brunette, he was so fucked. fuck it, he quickly searched up your name on instagram.

you were laying in bed scrolling through instagram when a notification popped up.

drewstarkey started following you. follow back?

first one, do you like it? if you do i’ll keep writing. reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated.

#drew starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe smut #rafe x reader

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ktownshizzle · 2 days ago

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Love & Lullabies | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af

Word count: almost 6k

Posting date: November 12, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look.

It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer.

You still did it, though. Both times.

Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.

Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.

Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)

When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.

“So, you know Yoongi, right?”

You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”

“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”

Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something.

You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag.

God you’re literally already about to break.

“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”

He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”

The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”

Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction.

Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.

You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”

“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”

“And his wife?”

Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”

“Baby mama?”

“Out of the picture.”

You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”

Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”

You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.

“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”

You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.

Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.

But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?

It’s probably a terrible idea.

Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on…

You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.

The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.

You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.

Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.

Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi.

He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.

It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.

Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.

You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.

“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”

You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.

You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude.

“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.

“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.

“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.

From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.

The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s…Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.

“Oh, hi.”

There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”

You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”

The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”

You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.

The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect.

After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.

The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.

This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him.

Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.

But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.

“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets.

“You haven’t told me his name.”

“Haneul.”

“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.

He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”

He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.

You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities.

While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.

For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?

You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.

On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.

“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”

He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.

After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.

Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.

“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.

“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.

You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.

“Silver moon?” you asked.

He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”

Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.

“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”

“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.

The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.

The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.

As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.

On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul.

One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.

“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.

You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”

The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen.

A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.

Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.

Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)

There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.

Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.

“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.

Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.

You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.

And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.

When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.

God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.

Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.

You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.

Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.

You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.

Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…

Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.

You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.

But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.

At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.

Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.

But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.

Your tummy suddenly feels funny.

You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.

Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it?

You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.

You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted

That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.

After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.

And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.

And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious.

You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.

You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.

What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?

You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers.

What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service…

Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.

Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.

“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”

There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”

“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”

Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”

“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”

Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”

You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”

You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”

Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”

“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.

You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.

Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.

You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi—whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.

“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.

“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”

You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.

You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl

His response is instant.

Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.

This asshole.

You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”

Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”

“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.

“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.

“There. Now we can eat.”

Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.

It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.

“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.

“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”

He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.

“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”

“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”

“Hell no.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”

“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”

“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”

He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Yoongi?”

He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”

“Oh my god.”

“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.

“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”

“Done.”

“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”

He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”

Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.

“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.

“All the members?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.

“Including you?”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.

“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.

Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.

“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”

He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.

“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.

His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.

“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”

He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”

“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”

As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.

You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:

If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth:

You were not Namjoon’s girl.

And he actually had a chance with you.

Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!

Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.

Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼