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gojosconsort · 14 days ago

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hate how good you fuck // satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ satoru gojo, the hockey hotshot, and you, the pretty figure skating queen, have been rivals for years—his flirty taunts drive you crazy. but when your partner gets injured, guess who’s suddenly your only option on the ice?

𓂃୨ৎ pairing. afab!reader x ice hockey player!satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ warnings. mdni. enemies to lovers (kinda), fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering, changing room fucking, risk of being caught, size difference, teasing, praise, messy sex, mirror, creampie, mutiple rounds and positions

“watch where you’re going, princess,” satoru calls, his voice dripping with that infuriating smirk as you nearly collide with him outside the college ice rink, your skates slung over your shoulder. his white hair’s a mess under his cap, fully dressed in his hockey gear and blue eyes glinting like he knows he’s getting under your skin.

you’re the campus darling—figure skater, straight-a student, the girl everyone wants to be or be with—and satoru, star of the hockey team, never lets you forget it. “maybe if you didn’t hog the rink, i wouldn’t have to,” you snap, brushing past, ignoring his laugh, “damn, you’re hot when you’re mad.”

he’s been like this since freshman year, always at the rink when you practice, tossing compliments that feel like taunts: “looking good out there, princess,” or “bet you’d fall for me if you tried.” you hate how it flusters you, how he’s always there, stick in hand, watching your spins with those stupid, piercing eyes.

you’re not just some popular girl; you’re a national-level figure skater, and your partner, choso, is your ticket to the upcoming intercollegiate pairs competition. satoru’s just a distraction, a thorn in your side, and you tell yourself you despise him.

but today, everything changes. you’re mid-practice, choso lifting you for a twist, when he stumbles, knee buckling, and you both crash to the ice. pain shoots through your ankle, but choso’s worse, clutching his leg, coach rushing over.

“sprained, maybe torn ligament,” the medic says later, and your heart sinks—competition’s in six weeks, and choso’s out. you’re sitting on the bleachers, icing your ankle, when coach approaches, looking grim. “we need a replacement, and fast. you’re our best shot at nationals, but you need a partner.”

“who’s left?” you ask, dreading the answer. coach hesitates, “gojo. he’s the only one with the skill.” you laugh, bitter, “satoru? the hockey clown? no way.” but coach is serious, “he’s not just hockey. he was a competitive figure skater before college, junior nationals level. he’s your best option.” you’re stunned, picturing satoru’s smug grin, but coach insists, “meet him tomorrow. no choice.”

next day, satoru’s waiting at the rink, no hockey gear, just a fitted black sweater and skates, looking… different. focused. good.

“so, princess, ready to dance with me?” he teases, but there’s an edge, like he’s daring you to underestimate him. you cross arms, “don’t call me that. and don’t screw this up.” he smirks, “wouldn’t dream of it, hotshot.”

you grit teeth, hating how he makes “hotshot” sound like a caress, but when you hit the ice, he’s… good. terrifyingly good. his edges are clean, spins tight, and he glides like he was born on blades, not a puck in sight.

training’s hell. satoru’s a paradox—cocky off-ice, all “look at you, miss popular, melting the rink,” but precise on it, catching you in lifts like you weigh nothing, his hands firm, warm through your costume. you’re smaller, maybe a foot shorter, and his height makes throws effortless, but his teasing never stops.

“c’mon, you can moan louder than that when you land,” he quips after a rough jump, and you shove him, “shut up, gojo.” he laughs, “satoru, please. we’re partners now.” you roll eyes, but your cheeks burn, and you hate how his voice lingers.

weeks pass, and tension shifts. you’re syncing, moves fluid, his hands guiding you in spins, your bodies brushing in ways that spark—his breath on your neck, fingers grazing your waist. you’re practicing a side-by-side lutz, and he’s close, whispering, “you’re too stiff, loosen up,” his hand on your hip, lingering. “stop flirting,” you snap, but your voice wavers, and he grins, “who’s flirting? just helping my partner.”

you want to hate him, but you’re starting to… not. he’s still a tease, but he’s there early, lacing your skates when your ankle’s sore, taping your wrist after a fall, muttering, “can’t have you breaking, princess.”

one evening, the rink’s empty, music off, just the scrape of your blades echoing in the dim, frosty air. you’re alone, wrestling a triple salchow, your nemesis jump. you’ve been at it for an hour, frustration knotting your chest, each attempt ending in a wobbly landing or a near-fall. you curse under your breath, pushing hair from your face, ready to try again, when satoru glides in, unannounced. he’s in a plain hoodie, skates silent, blue eyes catching the rink’s faint lights, softer than you’ve ever seen.

“you’re overthinking,” he says, skating close, stopping a breath away. “it’s not math, hotshot. feel it.” you frown, “easy for you to say,” but he doesn’t tease, just holds out a hand, steady, calloused from ice hockey. “c’mon, like this.”

you hesitate, then take it, his grip firm, warm through your chilled fingers, grounding you. he pulls you gently, skating backward, guiding you slow, deliberate, across the ice. “don’t force it,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “let your body move.” his voice is soft, almost hypnotic, and you follow, mirroring his glide, your blades carving smooth arcs, his hand anchoring you.

he adjusts your posture, a hand brushing your waist, light but deliberate, “hips loose, not stiff.” you try to focus, but his touch, his nearness, makes your pulse jump.

you skate together, slow circles, his grip steady, guiding you into a single salchow, then a double, his voice coaxing, “there, that’s it, now push.” you land it, clean, and he smiles, “see? you’ve got it.” you’re breathless, not from skating, but from him. “why do you always tease me?” you ask.

he pauses, blades still, hand tightening on yours. “’cause you’re you,” he says, voice quieter, “all fire and ice, untouchable. makes me wanna… get close, break that wall.”

your heart skips, his words stripping you bare. “you’re close now,” you whisper, and he steps nearer, ice crunching, his height towering, breath visible in the cold. “yeah,” he murmurs, “too close,” blue eyes raw, searching yours, like he’s seeing past your popularity, your armor, to the girl who’s scared to fall.

you’re still holding hands, bodies inches apart, the rink’s chill fading against the heat between you. his thumb brushes your knuckles, slow, deliberate, and you wonder if he’ll kiss you, if you want him to. you’re not enemies, but you don’t admit it. competition nears, your sensual routine demanding trust.

during a late practice, satoru’s lifts are flawless, his hands steady, guiding you through a triple twist like you’re weightless. but you fumble a throw salchow, misjudging the edge, and your body twists awkwardly, crashing hard onto the ice with a sharp gasp, pain flaring through your hip and ankle.

you hiss, curling into yourself, the cold biting through your leggings. satoru’s there in a heartbeat, sliding to his knees beside you, panic flickering in his blue eyes, usually so smug. “shit, you okay?” he asks, voice low, urgent, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch you.

“fine,” you mutter, trying to sit up, but the pain makes you wince, and he’s not buying it, his brows furrowing. “don’t bullshit me, hotshot,” he says, softer now, one hand gently pressing your shoulder to keep you still. “stay down a sec.” you glare, hating the vulnerability, “i said i’m fine, gojo,” but your voice lacks bite, and he shakes his head, “no heroics, we need you in one piece.”

before you can protest, he scoops you up, effortless, his arms strong under your back and knees, carrying you to the rinkside bench like you’re something fragile. you’re smaller against him, your head brushing his shoulder, and despite the pain, your cheeks burn at how close he is, his cologne—crisp, like winter air—filling your senses.

he sets you down gently, kneeling in front of you, eyes scanning for damage. “where’s it hurt?” he asks, hands already moving, careful, to your ankle, fingers brushing the skin above your skate. you flinch, more from his touch than pain, “hip and ankle, not bad.” he frowns, “not bad my ass,” and unlaces your skate with ease, slipping it off, his touch so soft it’s almost reverent.

“satoru, i can—” you start, but he cuts you off, “shut up and let me help.” it’s not mean, just firm, and you’re too stunned to argue, watching him roll your legging up, exposing your ankle, already swelling slightly.

he grabs an ice pack from the rink’s first-aid kit, wrapping it in a towel, and presses it to your ankle, his large hands steady, holding it in place. “keep this on,” he says, eyes flicking to yours, checking for compliance, and you nod, biting lip at the cold.

his fingers linger, brushing your skin, and you notice how big his hands are, dwarfing your ankle, making you feel delicate in a way that’s new, unsettling. he shifts to your hip, hand hovering, “can i check here?” you nod, and he presses gently, testing for tenderness, his touch clinical but warm through your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine. “just bruised, i think,” he murmurs, more to himself, but his hand stays.

“you didn’t have to carry me,” you mumble, trying to reclaim some control, but your voice is soft, and he smirks, though it’s gentler than usual, “wanted to, princess. can’t have my partner breaking.” you roll eyes, “i’m not your anything,” but the words lack heat, and he chuckles, “keep telling yourself that.” he adjusts the ice pack, his fingers brushing your calf, and you’re hyperaware of every touch, the rink’s chill fading against the warmth of his proximity.

he sits beside you, close, shoulder brushing yours, and grabs a water bottle, handing it over, “drink, you look pale.” you take it, sipping, and he watches, quiet now, no teasing, just concern. “you scared me,” he admits, voice low, almost shy, and you blink, “scared you? mr. invincible?” he laughs, soft, “yeah, well, you’re kinda important.” your heart does a flip, and you look away, “don’t get sappy, gojo.”

“satoru,” he corrects, tilting your chin back with a finger, his touch light but electric, forcing you to meet his gaze. he’s closer than ever, and you’re frozen, breath catching. “say it,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw, “satoru.”

you swallow, “satoru,” voice barely a whisper, and his lips quirk, “good girl.” the air shifts, heavy, his face inches from yours, eyes dropping to your lips, and you’re leaning in, drawn, his breath warm, mingling with yours—

a rink door slams, a janitor’s voice echoing, and you both jolt, pulling back, hearts pounding. he clears his throat, “uh, better check that ice,” standing, but his hand lingers on your shoulder, squeezing, “rest, okay?” you nod, flustered, “yeah, okay.” he smirks, “don’t fall for me too hard, hotshot,” and you scoff, “in your dreams,” but as he skates off, you’re not so sure.

final practice, you nail the routine—spins sync, lifts soar, his hand catching yours mid-air like it’s fate. you’re panting, faces close, and he murmurs, “we’re gonna kill this.” you nod, “damn right,” and he grins, “that’s my girl.” your stomach flips, and you don’t correct him.

competition day, arena buzzing, you’re in a glittery costume, satoru in sleek black, hair tamed. backstage, he’s quieter, “nervous?” you shrug, “you?” he smirks, “nah, got my lucky charm,” nudging you. you roll eyes, but smile, “don’t mess up, partner.” he winks, “never.”

the ice is yours. music begins, and you’re fire and ice together—his lifts make you fly, spins mirror-perfect, your hand in his like it belongs. you feel the crowd, the judges, but it’s just you and satoru, his breath syncing with yours, his hands strong, guiding, teasing even now with a whispered, “lookin’ hot,” mid-spin. you hiss, “focus,” but laugh, and he chuckles, “always.” the final lift, he throws you, catches you, dipping you low, faces inches apart, and the crowd roars as music fades.

scores come—first place. you’re screaming, hugging him, and he lifts you off your feet, spinning, “told you we’d kill it!” you’re laughing, “you’re not half bad, gojo.” he grins, “satoru. and you’re fucking incredible.” you’re too happy to argue, letting him pull you close, his warmth sinking in.

“admit it, princess, you’re totally into me now,” satoru gojo teases, leaning against the changing room locker, his white hair still damp from the rink, blue eyes glinting with that infuriating, irresistible mischief.

the competition’s over, your first-place medals heavy around your necks, the arena’s buzz fading, leaving just you two in the cramped, fluorescent-lit room, costumes half-unzipped, skates off. you’re sitting on a bench, peeling off your glittery tights, and you scoff, “in your dreams, gojo. you’re still a pain in my ass.”

he grins, stepping closer, towering over you, his sleek black costume clinging to every lean muscle, making your stomach flip despite yourself. “oh, c’mon, hotshot, i saw you blushing out there, all pressed up against me in that dip,” he says, voice low, playful, but with an edge that sends heat up your spine.

you stand, barely reaching his shoulder, and poke his chest, “i was acting, you idiot. we’re partners, not lovers.” his smirk widens, “acting, huh? so why’s your face red now?”

you roll your eyes, turning to grab your bag, but he’s faster, grabbing your wrist gently, spinning you to face him. “satoru—” you start, but he’s close, too close, breath warm, eyes dropping to your lips. “you like me,” he murmurs, and before you can deny it, he kisses you, soft at first, testing, lips warm and sure, stealing your breath. he pulls back, smirking, “should i stop?”

you glare, “no,” and yank him down, kissing him harder, desperate, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. he groans, surprised, then dives in, kissing you deep, tongue brushing yours, hands sliding to your waist, gripping tight, pressing you against the locker. it’s messy, urgent, your lips crashing, teeth grazing, his hands roaming, one slipping under your unzipped jacket, warm against your bare back, making you gasp into his mouth.

you’re drowning in him—his cologne, his low chuckles between kisses, the way he’s both gentle and demanding, tilting your head to deepen it. “still denying it?” he whispers against your lips, nibbling lightly, and you huff, “shut up,” kissing him again, fingers in his hair, tugging, earning a soft moan.

the changing room feels smaller, hotter, the world narrowing to his lips, his hands, the way you fit against him despite your height difference. “fuck, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and you laugh, breathless, “you’re one to talk.” he grins, pulling you closer, “bet i can make you worse.”

“you’re all talk, gojo,” you shoot back, tugging at his sleek black costume, but your voice is shaky, betraying the heat pooling low in your belly. “all talk? oh, princess, you’re gonna eat those words,” he says, and before you can retort, he sinks to his knees, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your sparkly skirt higher.

the cold bench bites into your skin as you sit, legs parting instinctively, and his fingers hook your panties, tugging them down with a smirk, “look at you, already so ready.” you hiss, “satoru, the door,” glancing at the unlocked entrance, but he shrugs, “let ‘em walk in. i’m busy.” his nonchalance sends a thrill through you, and you’re bare now, skirt bunched at your hips, pussy exposed, slick glistening under the harsh lights.

he looks up, eyes darkening, “fuck, you’re gorgeous,” voice rough, no trace of his usual teasing lilt. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, and you flush, hands gripping the bench, “stop staring.” he grins, “can’t help it, hotshot,” and leans in, breath warm against your folds, making you shiver.

his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit, light, barely there, and you gasp, “oh, shit!” head falling back, the locker rattling behind you. he hums, pleased, and licks again, slower, a broad stripe from your entrance to clit, tasting your arousal, sweet and heady, his tongue curling, savoring every drop.

“so fucking wet,” he groans, pulling back to watch your pussy clench, slick dripping onto the bench, and you whimper, “shut up, just—do something.” he laughs, “bossy, huh? love that,” and dives in, no more teasing, mouth relentless, sucking your clit softly, then harder, tongue flicking fast, precise, driving you wild. his lips seal around you, pulling gently, and you moan, loud, “satoru, fuck!” hands flying to his white hair, tugging, earning a muffled growl that vibrates through you, sending sparks up your spine. he’s messy, slurping, licking through your folds, tongue circling your entrance, dipping in just enough to make you buck, desperate for more.

“taste so good,” he mutters, and you’re trembling, thighs shaking, trying to close them, but his hands hold you open, fingers digging into your skin, bruising. “stay still, princess,” he orders, and you try, but it’s hard when his tongue’s relentless, flicking your clit, then sliding down to tease your hole, pushing in, fucking you shallow, slick coating his chin, dripping to the bench. you’re a mess, moaning, “satoru, please,” hips grinding, chasing his mouth, and he smirks against you, “so needy, look at you.”

he pulls back, blowing cool air on your pussy, making you whine, “don’t stop!” and he chuckles, “patience, hotshot.” his fingers trace your folds, one slipping inside, slow, stretching, curling to hit that spot, and you gasp, “fuck, right there.” he adds another, pumping steady, deep, while his tongue returns to your clit, licking fast, syncing with his fingers, building you up, pressure coiling tight.

“satoru, gonna cum,” you moan, voice breaking, and he growls, “do it, cum on my face,” sucking hard, fingers curling. “satoru!” you moan, pussy gushing, soaking his mouth, fingers, bench, body shaking, vision white, tugging his hair, riding the waves as you cum.

he doesn’t stop, licking through your orgasm, overstimulating, tongue relentless, fingers still pumping. “too much,” you whimper, pushing at his head, but he grabs your wrist, pinning it, “you can take it,” voice mean, eyes glinting. he slows, kissing your inner thigh, nipping lightly, leaving marks, and you’re panting, dazed, cum sticky on your skin, his face glistening. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, standing, pulling you up, and you’re wobbly, leaning into him, kissing him, tasting yourself, moaning into his mouth, messy and desperate.

“need you,” he growls, shoving his costume pants down, cock springing free—thick, long, tip red and leaking, veins pulsing. you lick lips, “fuck, satoru,” and he smirks, “like what you see?” you nod, “want it,” and he lifts you, effortless, pinning you against the locker wall, cold metal biting your back, his hands under thighs, spreading you wide.

“so fucking needy,” he teases, rubbing his cock through your slick, coating himself, teasing your entrance, “beg, princess.” you glare, “just fuck me, asshole,” and he laughs, “that’s my girl,” thrusting in, slow at first, stretching you tight, making you cry out, “fuck, s’big!”

he pauses, letting you adjust, forehead against yours, “you okay?” voice softer, checking, and you nod, “yeah, move.” he does, pulling out, slamming back in, deep, filling you, pussy clenching, slick and cum easing the stretch. “so tight,” he groans, thrusting steady, hard, wall rattling, skin slapping, your moans loud, echoing, “satoru, fuck!” his hands grip tighter, bruising, lifting you higher, angling deeper, hitting that spot, making you see stars. “look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, but it’s laced with teasing, “thought you hated me, huh?”

“shut up,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, loving his cock, his voice, his fucking smirk. “make me,” he taunts, fucking harder, faster, locker banging, your pussy soaking him, dripping, smearing between you, down his thighs, to the floor. “gonna cum again,” you moan, head thrown back, and he grins, “already? greedy little thing,” one hand sliding to rub your clit, fast, sloppy, and you’re screaming, “satoru, fuck!” pussy pulsing again, cumming hard.

he doesn’t slow, “fuck, that’s it,” thrusting through your orgasm, relentless, cock dragging, overstimulating, making you whimper, “satoru, can’t.” he growls, “oh, you can,” and keeps going, harder, deeper, wall creaking, your body pinned, helpless, his. “so fucking good,” he groans, thrusts sloppy, losing rhythm, and you feel him twitch, “gonna cum,” he warns, and you moan, “inside, please.” he curses, “fuck, you’re killing me,” and cums, hot, thick, filling you, spilling out, dripping down your thighs.

he holds you, panting, foreheads pressed, your legs weak, cum trickling, sticky, warm. he kisses you, softer, slow, tongue lazy, and you melt, hands in his hair, tugging gently. “you like that, don’t you?” he teases, lips brushing yours, and you laugh, breathless, “it’s not bad.” he grins, “one more, then?” he pants, still hard inside you, voice rough, eyes glinting with that sadistic tease you’re starting to crave.

you’re dazed, cum trickling down your thighs, body trembling against the wall, and you blink, “what?” he grins, wicked, pulling out slow, making you whimper at the loss. “oh, you heard me, hotshot,” he says, grabbing your hips, spinning you so fast you yelp, “satoru, what the—!”

he sits on the bench, still slick with your cum, and pulls you onto his lap, spinning you to face away, straddling him reverse, your back against his chest, legs spread wide. “ride me,” he orders, voice low, hands guiding your hips, his cock nudging your entrance, already hard again, tip brushing your swollen folds.

you moan, “satoru, i can’t,” body spent, but he nips your ear, “oh, you can, princess, and you will.” his hands are firm, lifting you, teasing your pussy with his cock, making you shiver, want pooling despite exhaustion.

“look at yourself,” he murmurs, tilting your head toward the full-length mirror across the changing room, your reflection a mess—skirt bunched, costume askew, thighs glistening with cum, face flushed, eyes glassy. “fuck, you’re so hot,” he groans, and you see it too, your body trembling, pussy hovering over his cock, his hands gripping you, possessive. you meet his gaze in the mirror, blue eyes burning, and you nod, “okay,” voice small, but you want it, want him, this reckless, messy heat.

he lowers you, slow, cock sliding in, stretching you again, and you moan, “fuck, satoru,” watching in the mirror as your pussy takes him, inch by inch, his thick length disappearing inside you, slick and cum making it glisten. “that’s it,” he praises, one hand sliding to your pussy, fingers parting your folds, exposing where you’re joined, “look at how you take me, fuck.” you gasp, seeing it—his cock buried deep, your pussy stretched, dripping, his fingers spreading you open, clit swollen and pulsing.

“ride,” he says again, and you do, lifting, slamming down, moaning, “s’too much,” but it’s not, your hips moving, fucking yourself on him, watching in the mirror as his cock slides in and out. “so perfect for me,” he groans, other hand on your hip, guiding, bouncing you, skin slapping, wet sounds filling the room. his fingers rub your clit, slow circles, then fast, and you’re whining, “satoru, fuck!” head falling back, but he tilts it forward, “keep watching, princess, see how you fuck me.”

you do, mesmerized, your pussy clenching, gushing, his cock disappearing, reappearing, slick and cum making every thrust messy, dripping, pooling beneath you. “love this,” he mutters, fingers spreading you wider, “love how my cock looks inside you, so fucking tight.” you moan, “satoru, gonna cum,” hips frantic, riding harder, mirror showing your tits bouncing, his hand on your pussy, his eyes locked on yours. “cum, hotshot,” he growls, rubbing your clit faster and he’s not stopping before he fills you up again, making a mess out of you.

later, you’re panting, trembling, collapsing against him, cum trickling, mirror reflecting your wrecked state. he kisses your neck, soft, “still hate me?” you laugh, breathless, “yeah, but i like that.” he grins, holding you close, “good, ‘cause i’m keeping you, princess.”

#—amy writes : satoru gojo ★#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujustu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #divider by cafekitsune

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desperate-gay · 14 days ago

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Doghouse

Alexia Putellas x fem!reader

summary: your girlfriend’s competitiveness is something you both adore and despise

a/n: i apologize for being so inactive recently! hopefully i’ll be better!

“Bebé, por favor. You can’t even walk!” Alexia calls out as she watches you limp toward the training center.

“And whose fault is that?” You angrily snap back without breaking your slow but determined pace.

The Catalan groans at your stubbornness before jogging up with her training bag in hand, but as soon as she’s side to side with you, she freezes in her tracks from one warning glare from you.

Alexia falls in step behind you like a scolded puppy, her eyes fixed on the way you wince with each step, guilt twisting in her stomach knowing she’s the reason for your pain.

Neither of you says another thing. Alexia’s too afraid that if she opens her mouth again, you’ll end up breaking one of her legs.

You’re not just upset because of the shooting pain in your leg. What really stings is knowing this injury will sideline you for who knows how long, causing you to be ruled out of matches and stuck in rehab. You’ve felt on top of your game these past few matches with Barca, finally proving your worth on a team of world-class players.

You shake your head at the reminder, knowing the more you think about it, the more upset you’ll get. Though you’ll be working with the physio now, you still need to stop by the locker room to grab a few things and change into your training gear.

“Woah, where’s the fire, chica?” Patri chuckles as you rush past her as best you can.

“That would be a pretty dim fire, especially with that limp.” Mapi teases, pointing at your leg as you basically hop away.

Ingrid smacks her girlfriend’s shoulder, warning her to tread lightly after catching sight of the scowl that hasn’t left your face since you walked in. The rest of the locker room turns as they hear their captain stumble in behind you, visibly disheveled.

“Things get too rough last night?” Cata asks suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows with a big cheesy grin stretched across her lips.

You huff out a small laugh, one no one can quite tell is a warning or genuine, until you finally speak. “Actually, only one of us was allowed in our bed. And it’s going to stay that way for a while.”

“I said I was sorry.” Alexia mumbles with a small pout. Normally, her timid English would have made you swoon, but not this time.

“Wow. Sorry just magically fixed my ankle!” You exclaim sarcastically, making a few of the others quietly cackle as they watch their usually stern captain turn shy under your glare.

“All right, you two. What’s causing trouble in paradise?” Ingrid asks, walking over and planting herself between you both, arms on her hips like a mother who just caught her kids sneaking into something they shouldn’t.

“She caused this!” You declare, gesturing to your injury.

“It was an accident!” Alexia insists.

“Oh, sure. I warned you your competitiveness would come back and bite you in the ass, but instead, it came for me! Idiota competitiva.” You mumble the last part under your breath, but your girlfriend catches it, making her narrow her eyes at you.

“Trouble in paradise indeed.” Frido whistles as she folds her shirt before smirking at Ingrid, knowing she is going to have to try and help mend the situation between her friends.

Alexia walks over to her cubby, stripping out of her casual clothes and into her kit. Everyone can tell the situation is hitting their captain hard just by the way she angrily shrugs the black shirt on with a few huffs here and there.

“What happened?” Ingrid asks sternly, her tone leaving no place for argument.

You let out a sigh before readjusting yourself so your leg is slightly elevated by your bag. “Irene and Lucia wanted a few hours to themselves, so Alexia and I offered to take care of Mateo for the time being.”

Alexia’s eyes trail over to you as you speak while she continues getting ready for training. The guilt still lingers in her gaze which you can feel from across the room.

“We decided we would play outside in our backyard, and of course Ale wants to play football. Worse comes to worse, Alexia tackles me the wrong way, causing my ankle to twist!” You explain, your tone starting calmly but rising with every word as the memory fuels your frustration.

“It was in the moment! I didn’t want you to score.” Alexia jumps in defensively.

“We were playing with Mateo with a kids goal!”

“Still!”

“We were taking turns shooting penalties which were three meters away!”

The Catalan bites her lip before looking away, attempting to avoid the glare from you and the shocked yet amused smiles from all of her teammates around her.

“You injured your girlfriend from playing with Mateo? All because you didn’t want her to hit the back of the net?” Pina asks, nearly choking on her own laughter.

“No era mi intención! It just happened.” Alexia mutters, tying her cleats aggressively.

“Yeah, there’s no fixing this. Alexia, you’re in the dog house.” Ingrid sighs, walking off and back to her cubby.

Alexia’s mouth drops open in disbelief as the usually steady and determined midfielder gives up on her completely, leaving her to fend for herself.

She glances around for support, but everyone else is either smirking or carefully minding their own business, not daring to step into the line of fire.

She waits a few minutes, eyeing you cautiously. She knows that retelling the story only stirred up your temper more. Every time you replayed the moment in your head, your frustration had grown, and Alexia had the common sense to let the storm pass before trying again.

Before the team is called out onto the pitch, your girlfriend cautiously approaches you, her eyes immediately drawn to your injured ankle—shoeless, likely because even the pressure of fabric was too much to bear.

“Mi vida? Please look at me.” Alexia practically begs, her voice gentle as she stands just in front of you, waiting.

But you don’t. Your eyes stay fixed on the floor, on your bag, anywhere but her face

“Amor?” Alexia calls out softly again before crouching down to your eye level so you have no choice but to look at her. “I am really really sorry. Lo siento mucho.”

“You’re an ass.” You finally mutter, eyes meeting hers for a split second.

“Soy un imbécil.” Alexis agrees without hesitation, nodding solemnly.

“And mean.”

“Really mean.” She echoes quickly, earning the tiniest twitch of your lips.

You let out a small huff, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding her eyes once again. Alexia hesitates for a moment before gently placing her hand on your knee, so when you don’t pull away, she takes it as a good sign.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than puppy eyes for me to forgive you, you know?” You warn, though your hand quietly slides over hers, making her eyes widen in hope.

“I’ll do anything to get in your good graces. Baths, massages, cooking, and anything else you want. Por favor no te enfades conmigo.” Alexia pleads, voice soft and filled with regret.

“I’m still upset.” You admit, your tone quieter. “But I’ll accept your apology.”

Alexia lights up instantly, her smile wide and semi-relieved. She rises on her knees, leaning over to place a sweet kiss to your cheek, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead her face hovers close to yours, taking in the soft smile etched on your lips, allowing the tightness in her chest to clear up.

Your girlfriend leans in slowly, testing the waters and once your eyes flicker down to her mouth, she takes it as an opening to lean in and finally attach her lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

The team has already trickled out and onto the pitch, leaving this private moment between the two of you. After a few minutes of slightly making out, you both pull away with plump lips and soft smiles.

“Maybe when we get home I can take you to bed and make you feel better elsewhere.” Alexia smirks as she whispers huskinly against your lips.

“Funny. You’re still banned onto the couch until further notice.” You smirk right back before placing a quick peck on her cheek and hopping up onto your feet.

“Wha— Not even for sex?”

“Not even if the world was ending.”

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #woso #lgbtq

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prettygirl-gabi · 1 month ago

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One-on-One

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Coach’s Daughter)

Fandom: WNBA: Dallas Wings

Summary: they say shooters shoot…

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin ,@issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

If you’d told seventeen-year-old me that someday Paige Bueckers would be standing across from me in a Dallas Wings practice jersey, spinning a ball on her finger, grinning at me like we shared some inside joke—I would’ve laughed.

And probably cried.

And then immediately passed out.

Yet here I am.

And it’s somehow worse than I imagined, because she’s real, she’s even more beautiful than a screen ever showed me, and she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

It had been a normal first day of practice—rookies meeting vets, drills, intro speeches—and I’d just been here to help my dad, Dallas Wings’ head coach Chris Koclanes, with welcoming the new players.

You know.

Like a normal, functioning adult who wasn’t crushing like a giddy teenager.

And maybe it would’ve stayed innocent if Arike hadn’t cornered me at the Gatorade table.

“You’ve got it bad,” she said in that sing-song voice that meant trouble.

I groaned. “Don’t.”

“She’s looking good in Dallas gear, huh?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Well, either you make a move before practice ends or I will.”

I blinked. “You’re bluffing.”

She smirked. “You know I’m not.”

And that’s why I’m now standing at half-court, holding a basketball, heart pounding loud enough I’m convinced Paige can hear it.

“You sure about this?” Paige asks, tossing her towel onto a bench. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye, like she’s very much enjoying this.

“Scared?” I tease.

She snorts. “Of you? Never.”

I spin the ball once on my palm. “First to eleven. Ones and twos. Loser…” I pause, letting it hang dramatically, “…has to buy dinner.”

“And if you win, you’re buying dinner?”

“Nope. If I win,” I say, walking backward toward the three-point line, “you give me your number.”

She raises an eyebrow, but she’s smiling. “Confident.”

I shrug. “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

Her laugh is low, a little breathless. “Alright, coach’s kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Paige checks the ball and immediately fakes left, drives right, and lays it in.

“1-0,” she says, grinning, jogging backward.

“You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already trying to embarrass me,” I say, checking it back.

She shrugs, playful. “Gotta set the tone early.”

I fake a stepback, blow past her, and hit a quick floater off the glass.

“1-1,” I say, smug.

“Ooooh, we got a game,” Arike shouts from the sideline, recording it on her phone.

Over the next few minutes, it’s back and forth.

She calls out my lazy defense.

I chirp her about missing an open three.

We’re grinning the entire time, bumping shoulders, getting a little too close for it to just be casual competition.

At 7-6 her, she leans in during a dead ball and whispers, “You know, if you wanted my number this bad, you could’ve just asked.”

I nearly travel.

“You’re cocky,” I say, shaking my head as I check the ball.

“And you’re adorable,” she says easily, clapping her hands for the pass.

I nearly pass out.

We battle until it’s 10-10.

Game point. Winner takes all.

We’re both sweating, a little out of breath. She’s bouncing on her toes, her eyes locked on mine.

“You ready to lose in front of your dad?” she teases.

“You ready to explain to the whole team how you got cooked by a ‘retired’ player?” I shoot back.

Her grin is everything.

I jab step, fake right, crossover left—

and pull up for a jumper just inside the arc.

Swish.

I throw my arms up as the small group watching cheers.

“Let’s goooo!” Arike yells, jumping around like a fool.

I turn to Paige, who’s standing with her hands on her hips, smiling like she just lost on purpose.

“Hand it over, Bueckers,” I say, wiggling my fingers for her phone.

She pulls it from her waistband and tosses it to me.

As I type my number in, she leans in close enough for me to smell her vanilla body spray.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Only if you’re into that.”

Her laugh is soft. Secret. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Later, after the gym clears out, I stop by my dad’s office.

He’s behind his desk, tapping on a laptop.

“You heading out?” he asks.

I nod, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, gonna show Paige around. Deep Ellum, maybe Bishop Arts.��

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing for a second too long.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. “You had that look on your face. The one from sophomore year, when you thought she liked one of your Instagram posts.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “Just don’t break my rookie’s heart, alright?”

I pause, the humor fading slightly. “What if she breaks mine?”

He looks at me for a long moment. Serious. Dad-mode activated.

“Then I’ll bench her.”

We both laugh, the tension breaking.

“Go,” he says, waving me off. “But be home by midnight or I’m calling Arike to find you both.”

I salute him dramatically and jog out before I can combust from second-hand embarrassment.

We end up at a taco truck in Deep Ellum, sitting on the curb with greasy napkins and lime wedges everywhere. It’s casual and easy—until Paige turns to me, holding her drink.

“So… your dad kinda let something slip yesterday,” she says, tone light.

My stomach drops. “Slip, like what?”

She bites her straw to hide a smile. “At the rookie press conference. After he introduced us to the staff. He was talking about you, to me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh God. What did he say?”

“He said—” she pauses for dramatic effect, “—‘She’s been a fan of yours for a long time. Could practically write a dissertation on your highlight reel.’”

I groan and hide my face in my hands.

“Yup,” Paige says, laughing. “So I knew.”

“You knew—this whole time?!”

She nods, sipping casually. “And I still let you think you were being subtle.”

I groan again.

“But,” she says, nudging my knee with hers, “I thought it was cute.”

I peek out between my fingers. “You don’t think I’m, like… a weirdo?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But in a good way. Honestly? I think it’s kinda hot that you risked public humiliation for my number.”

I blink. “You think I’m hot?”

She smirks. “Don’t push your luck, coach’s kid.”

I laugh, bumping my shoulder into hers.

We sit there for a while longer, just…talking. About Dallas. About her adjusting to the WNBA. About me adjusting to not being an athlete anymore.

It feels easy. Natural. Like it was always supposed to happen.

And when she walks me back to my car, she lingers for a second, eyes flickering to my mouth before she says, “Let’s do this again.”

I grin. “Wasn’t planning on stopping.”

She slides her hand into mine briefly—barely a brush of fingers—and it’s the best first almost-date of my life.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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lupinqs · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ━━ All-Consuming

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 8.8K

❀ ━ warnings: minor injury, smut (oral, fingering)

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: so sorry for the long ass wait i hope it’s worth it

PAIGE SITS at the edge of the bench, her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, watching warmups like she always does. Except today, something feels… different. Heavier. Shittier. She’s got her legs tucked up close, arms wrapped tight around them like it might somehow make her smaller, invisible. Which, obviously, it won’t. Especially not here. Especially not in fucking Knoxville.

The arena is loud. Like, obnoxiously loud. Tennessee fans are built different with their petty signs and cowbells and perfectly orchestrated chants. They’ve got nothing but time and resentment for UConn. Paige usually feeds off that. Normally, she lives for it. The noise, the hate, the pressure. It lights her up. Brings out that twisted little competitive streak in her that wants to drop thirty just to silence them. But she’s not lighting anything up today. She’s just sitting here. On the bench. Like she has been for what feels like her whole damn life now.

She’s in her warmup gear. Got the game day braids in. The slick, tight ones that Jo helped her do this morning, even though they both knew Paige wasn’t playing. It’s stupid, really. But the braids make her feel like she might be. Like if she looks the part, maybe she’ll feel the part. She doesn’t.

She hasn’t played in a Tennessee game since her freshman year. She sprained her ankle that night. Her sophomore year—busted knee. Now, junior year—busted ACL. It’s like the basketball gods personally circle this date on the calendar every season and go, not you, girl. And maybe that shouldn’t bother her as much as it does, because the players don’t really care about this rivalry like they used to—none of them were around for the Pat vs Geno era. They’re just here to hoop, not carry the burden of the past. But it does bother her. Because there’s still something about this game that stings extra when she’s on the sideline instead of the floor.

She swallows hard. Tries to blink fast enough to chase away the burn in her eyes, but the tears push their way through anyway.

Her knee feels like it’s mocking her, even when it’s behaving. Her fingers twitch with phantom plays—passes she’ll never throw, shots she won’t take. Her teammates are out there running drills, laughing, locking in. And Paige is just… not. She’s on the outside of her own life, watching someone else live it. It fucking sucks.

She sniffs quietly, looking down at the floor like that’ll hide the way her eyes are glassy and red. She wipes at her cheek with the sleeve of her shooting shirt, hating how it comes away wet. She’s sure some ESPN camera’s trained on her right now, too. She can already imagine Holly Rose narrating it: “Paige Bueckers, emotional on the sideline today. The UConn star still working her way back from injury.”

She rubs at her eyes harder, hoping maybe if she scrubs hard enough, the ache will go away too. It doesn’t.

Then—quietly, gently—Jo drops down on the chair beside her.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just leans in close, knee bumping Paige’s. It only makes Paige’s throat tighten even more. Because Jo’s supposed to be warming up. She’s playing today. She shouldn’t be over here. But she is.

Jo’s pinky finds Paige’s without making it obvious, just a light brush where no cameras can see. Paige doesn’t move. Doesn’t look up. She can’t yet. But her heart softens immediately. She squeezes Jo’s pinky lightly with her own, quick and small, like she’s sorry for making her come over. Jo doesn’t let go.

“You okay?” Jo murmurs, barely audible under the roar of the arena. Her voice is low and sweet and careful in that way she always uses when Paige is pretending everything is fine.

Paige nods, a pathetic little dip of her chin, and then—just to betray herself—another tear slips out. She catches it with the back of her hand and lets out the tiniest laugh, all self-deprecating and bitter. “I’m just bein’ dramatic,” she mutters.

Jo’s already shaking her head. “No, you’re not,” she says, like it’s fact, not up for debate.

“I’m crying on the bench, Jo.”

“You’re crying because you love the game,” Jo says simply. “That’s not dramatic. That’s just… being human.”

Paige finally looks at her then, eyes stinging, throat thick. And Jo’s not teasing or smirking or trying to make her laugh, not yet. She’s just looking back at her like she sees everything Paige is trying to hide and she’s not scared of it. Paige swallows again, and it catches in her throat. She hates how raw she feels right now. Hates how easy Jo makes it for her to fall apart.

Jo bumps her knee again, softer this time. “You know,” she says, glancing casually toward the court, “I heard this team has a really cute assistant coach. Blonde. Kind of annoying. Always got her hair braided in a way that might make her go bald one day.”

Paige snorts, even though the wetness still clings to her lashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Real menace. Probably got a wicked crossover if she’d ever show it.”

Paige swipes at her cheek again, this time with a ghost of a smile. “I’ll look out for her.”

Jo grins. “You better. She’s hot. I’m trying to impress.”

Paige laughs and it feels like something breaks loose in her chest. Something heavy, something sharp. She exhales long and slow, the way Jo’s presence always makes her do. Jo gives her pinky one last squeeze before she stands back up to rejoin warmups.

By the time the game begins, Paige’s chest doesn’t feel quite so hollow. It starts off hot, fast-paced, high-scoring, kind of chippy. She’s leaned forward on the bench now, elbows digging into her thighs. Her knee bounces involuntarily every few seconds—nerves, adrenaline, phantom muscle memory. She can’t stop tracking every movement on the court like she’s still part of it. Still running, still cutting, still calling plays. Her brain is sprinting at full speed even if her body isn’t allowed to.

Jo’s hooping. Like, really hooping. Which isn’t surprising, since she’s been doing that all season.

She’s shooting lights out from three, and every made basket has the Tennessee fans shutting up a little more. Which Paige finds deeply satisfying. Every time Jo hits, steals, assists, Paige lets herself cheer a little louder, lets herself grin a little wider, even if her chest still aches some from earlier. Jo’s got that look tonight—laser-focused, completely locked in. That stupid wrist flick of hers is crisp, and every time the ball leaves her hands, Paige already knows it’s money.

Aaliyah’s dominating the paint, as per usual. Lou’s curling off screens and hitting daggers. Nika’s orchestrating it all, finding every pocket, every backdoor cutter, every mismatch. It’s beautiful basketball. And it’s theirs.

And Paige wants to be out there so bad it physically hurts.

But she’s happy, at least, that they’re winning. They’ve been leading basically the whole time—not by a massive margin, but enough that the pressure hasn’t really shifted back in Tennessee’s favor. The game’s exciting, but not panic-inducing. The kind where if they just keep doing their jobs, they’ll be fine. It’s that rare sweet spot between competition and control.

It’s the beginning of the fourth, and UConn’s up by ten. Jo comes flying off a pin-down, catches the ball on the wing, rises up, and—bang. Fifth three of the night. Paige whistles through her teeth, claps hard, smacks the padded bench emphatically. She’s about to turn to Ice to say something cocky when—

She sees it.

It’s small. Barely anything, really. Jo comes down and her right foot hits kind of… funky. Paige can’t tell at first if it’s a slip or a twist or just one of those weird stutters. But Jo’s face—only for a second—tightens. She winces a little, and she kind of hops out of it awkwardly before jogging back on defense.

And Paige can see it. It’s not dramatic—Jo doesn’t limp or fall or cry out. She wouldn’t anyways. Jo’s built out of grit and stubbornness and whatever else makes people keep going when they probably shouldn’t. She’s still moving. She’s in position, she’s talking on defense, playing through it. But she’s also shaking out her foot every couple seconds. She’s flexing her ankle just slightly when the ball isn’t near her, just enough for someone who’s really watching to notice.

And Paige is watching.

She sits up straighter. “Yo,” she mutters to no one in particular, eyes still glued onto the brunette. “She landed weird.”

Ice glances over at her. “Huh?”

“Jo. That last three. Her foot twisted or sum. She’s not moving the same.”

Geno glances over at Paige, having heard her observation. He gives her a look and she just nods toward Jo on the court. His gaze shifts back to the game, and Paige watches him squint. The blonde watches Jo again. She can tell it’s nothing major. Not a full-blown injury, probably not even a bad sprain. But Paige knows this girl. She knows her tells. And she knows that if someone doesn’t make her come out, she’s gonna push it until it does get bad.

When Aaliyah picks up a foul on Rickea Jackson, sending her to the line, Geno turns to the bench and waves at Ines. Ines stands, heads to the table, checks in.

Jo comes out.

Paige tracks the girl as she jogs toward the bench, and it’s—yeah. It’s more than clear now. That little limp in her gait, the slight hitch with every step. It’s not dramatic or anything, not a collapse-to-the-floor situation, but it’s there. Definitely there. She wears a half-smile as she walks, slapping palms with the girls down the bench. When she high fives Paige, the blonde wants to grab her and stop her, asking what exactly’s wrong. But she doesn’t. She lets her go to the end of the bench, where she reaches Janelle.

Paige watches as Jo leans in, says something low that Paige can’t hear from this far down the bench. But she sees Jo’s face. The way she scrunches her nose, nods slightly, like she’s trying to downplay it but also knows it’s enough of a thing to need attention. Janelle nods, wrapping an arm lightly around Jo’s back, guiding her behind the bench and toward the tunnel.

Paige lets out a long sigh, biting at the inside of her cheek. It’s not that she didn’t think Jo was hurting. She knew that. But there’s something so much worse about seeing her go back there. It’s probably the trauma—because this has been the story the whole season. Like a sick little cycle of setbacks. Injury after injury. Some minor. Some not. Aubrey’s back. Azzi’s knee. Caroline’s head. Dorka’s thumb. Nika’s concussion. Ice’s knee. And then there’s Paige, the original disaster from the summer with the torn ACL. It’s like the basketball gods are allergic to this team being fully healthy.

A few minutes pass. Paige tries to watch the game, but she finds herself glancing back at the tunnel more often than not. Thankfully, it’s not long before Jo and Janelle are coming back out. The aforementioned is walking slower than usual, but she’s walking. Her step isn’t as light as normal, and there’s still that noticeable limp as she makes her way toward the bench. The ankle’s wrapped now, a large bag of ice securely fastened to it.

Jo approaches the seat next to Paige, where Ines was sitting before checking in. As soon as the freshman is sat, Paige is already leaning in. Not too much—she’s trying not to look all dramatic and clingy about it, especially not with Holly Rowe lurking somewhere behind them and probably reporting every breath she takes—but just enough that their knees touch, and Paige can catch her expression.

Jo isn’t wincing, doesn’t really look all that uncomfortable, and Paige stares at her profile for a second longer than necessary, trying to scan her for signs. Pain. Frustration. Panic. But Jo just looks… fine.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, nudging her shoulder. “You good?”

Jo turns her head and smiles a little, like she already knew Paige would ask that the second her ass hit the bench. There’s something about her smile—lazy and a bit crooked, like she’s tired but trying to reassure her anyway—that actually works. Paige breathes out without realizing she was holding it in.

“Yeah,” Jo replies. “She thinks it’s just a minor sprain.”

Paige nods slowly, eyes dropping to Jo’s ankle, the wrap snug around it, tight but not panic-inducing. That’s ironic, she thinks. She sprained her ankle here her freshman year, too. Tennessee’s cursed for her personally, and now maybe for Jo, too. This court just has bad vibes, Paige decides.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, a little quieter this time, like if she lowers her voice enough, the answer might change.

Jo shrugs, the ice rustling against its wrap. “I’m okay, P,” she says.

And Paige wants to believe her. She really does. The logical part of her brain—the part that’s spent more time in trainers’ rooms and rehab facilities than on the court the past two years—tells her that if it were worse, Jo wouldn’t be out here. Janelle wouldn’t let her. She wouldn’t be smiling, or sitting next to Paige looking more at ease than not.

Paige leans back a little, rests her forearms on her thighs, and watches the game continue in front of them. Lou’s still hot, draining another corner three like she’s trying to set the arena on fire. Aaliyah’s muscling her way through the paint like a freight train. The bench goes wild. The fans boo. Paige doesn’t flinch. She’s still half in the game, sure, but she’s half in her head now too, hyper-aware of Jo next to her, the way her foot bounces slightly even with the ice on it, the way her fingers keep tugging at the hem of her jersey like she’s trying to shake off leftover adrenaline.

Paige wants to teach over. Grab her hand. Touch her knee. Something. Anything. But the cameras are always around, and so are the coaches, and their teammates. They’re not supposed to know about anything between the two of them, so Paige has to pretend like her entire world doesn’t shift when Jo’s hurt or limping or even just vaguely not okay.

“You sure?” Paige whispers, not looking at her this time. “You’re not, like… bullshitting me?”

Jo snorts. “When do I ever bullshit you?”

“Literally every time you say you’re fine,” Paige shoots back, side-eyeing her.

Jo laughs again, a breathy little thing that makes Paige’s stomach ease just slightly. “It’s just sore,” she says. “Janelle said I probably tweaked it when I landed weird, but there’s no real swelling. I’ll be alright.”

Paige nods again. Jo sounds sincere right now. She looks it, too.

The buzzer blares for a timeout and the team on the court jogs to the bench. Jo sits forward a bit, yelling out something at Lou, clapping hard with her free hand. Paige watches her carefully, the way she grits her teeth when she claps too hard and how she subtly tucks her foot under the chair, out of view.

Paige wants to drag her back to the locker room and wrap her in bubble wrap and make her sit still. She wants to ask Janelle again herself. She wants to ask Geno. She wants to do something because she’s feeling kind of helpless, and she’s really tired of that particular feeling lately. Watching games. Watching her girl—Jo limp. Watching, always watching. Never doing.

But Jo’s here, and she’s beside her. And Paige doesn’t miss the way Jo leans into her a little now, their shoulders pressed together, their knees already touching.

So Paige doesn’t say anything else. Just lets herself sit here, heart still uneasy, but warmed slightly by Jo’s closeness. It’s not ideal. None of this ever is. But it’s enough for now.

“IT DOESNT EVEN HURT. Chill, please,” Jo says, chuckling lightly, trying to brush off the overprotectiveness in Paige’s eyes. She shifts her ankle a bit, feeling the wrapped bandage around it. Yes, it’s sore. But she’s dealt with much worse. It’s just a minor tweak, nothing that’s going to stop her from playing or hurt her in the long run.

Paige has been acting like she broke it, though. Since the moment they got to the hotel—where Paige immediately switched key cards with Dorka, Jo’s real roommate who’s unfazed at this point—her eyes have been wide, her hands hovering nervously, like she’s about to jump up at any moment to get more ice or do something else to “help” that she thinks might make a difference. It’s cute, and Jo finds it endearing. But it’s gotten to a point.

Paige’s face softens, the concern still there but less sharp now. She takes a slow breath and finally shifts, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and Jo can see the indecision in her eyes. Paige’s always been the type to jump into action, always thinking of ways to fix things, but sometimes, all Jo needs is space to just be for a second. So she waits.

Finally, though, Paige lets out a little sigh, the kind that says fine, whatever, and slowly lays down beside her. She curls up next to Jo, her head finding its way to Jo’s neck, nuzzling into her warmth. For a moment, it’s like everything in the room fades out. It’s just them, in this quiet little bubble that’s theirs, and Jo finally feels herself exhale fully.

“I am chill,” Paige mutters into Jo’s neck, her voice barely above a whisper but still so Paige—a little stubborn, a little sweet, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as Jo. Jo can’t help but smile at the sound of it.

“Uh-huh, sure,” she teases softly, the words slipping easily from her lips. Her fingers reach up to gently brush through Paige’s ponytail, not in a hurry, just slowly tracing the strands as they settle in. Paige huffs out a small laugh, her breath warm against Jo’s skin.

“Shut up,” the blonde murmurs, though there’s not an ounce of bite to it. She’s relaxed, melting into Jo’s side, and Jo feels contentment wash over her. This—this is what she’s been wanting. Not for Paige to keep hovering and fussing, but for them to just be close. To just be together, even in silence.

Jo lets out a slow breath, the weight of the day finally starting to lift. The game, the ankle, the worry over whether she’ll be able to play Villanova on Sunday—it all fades when Paige’s hand drapes over her stomach. That small, steady pressure from Paige’s fingertips is enough to remind Jo that everything’s fine. It’ll all be fine.

And then the older girl shifts again, her body rearranging itself to settle against Jo more comfortably. A second later, Paige’s chin is resting on Jo’s chest, and she looks up at her, their faces mere inches apart. Jo’s breath hitches a little, caught between amusement and something deeper, something softer. Paige’s eyes are playful now, and then she grins—stupidly, the kind that always makes Jo blush.

“You’re pretty,” Paige says, the words simple but wrapped in so much warmth.

The way she says it, with that lazy smile and the softness in her voice, it feels like everything Jo wants to hear but still never quite expects. Jo feels heat crawl up her neck, a flush that spreads quickly, like wildfire. She almost doesn’t know how to react, so she does what feels natural—she pushes Paige’s face away lightly, but the movement is gentle, like she’s holding onto something delicate. “Shut up,” Jo mumbles, the words more out of embarrassment than anything else.

Paige, of course, isn’t fazed. She just shakes her head, her hair brushing against Jo’s skin as she does.

“Uh-uh,” she replies softly, almost a challenge, like she’s determined to get Jo to give in to whatever it is she’s thinking, whatever little game she’s playing right now. Before Jo can say anything else, Paige reaches for her head, grabbing it gently but insistently. She brings it up to her lips, pressing a light kiss to Jo’s knuckles. The feeling and the way the blue of Paige’s eyes roam Jo’s face sends something through the younger girl’s chest, something that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

Jo’s mouth goes dry. It’s stupid how much Paige affects her, how easy it is for her to forget about everything else when the blonde looks at her like this.

And then Paige is leaning up, her lips finding Jo’s. Jo exhales softly into it, a slow sigh escaping her lungs like relief. Her hands slide around Paige’s neck almost instinctively, fingers curing in the fabric of her t-shirt like she needs something to hold onto—like if she lets go, it might all vanish.

Paige’s weight settles more fully on top of her, slow and careful. She’s still being cautious, keeping her right side angled away so she doesn’t press against Jo’s ankle. One of Paige’s hands lifts up to cradle Jo’s jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone. She leans in further, nose nudging Jo’s, slipping her tongue between the brunette’s lips. Jo’s heart is loud in her ears, thumping like it’s trying to break through her chest, and her lungs are full of Paige’s breath and her mouth is close as it can possibly get, and Jo sorta forgets how to function.

Then Paige makes a soft sound—a little sigh, a little hum—and Jo feels her stomach flip. She tightens her grip around Paige’s neck, pulling her in closer. A shared breath of want curls hotter between their mouths. Jo’s fingers thread into Paige’s ponytail, the soft strands sliding between them like water. Paige’s hands slide down her sides, fingers slipping under the hem of her hoodie, thumbs brushing skin.

Jo gasps, barely audible, and Paige kisses her again like she’s chasing that sound.

And Jo doesn’t really know how it turns into this—messier, hotter, hungrier. When it stopped being soft and started being the kind of thing that makes her pulse trip in her neck and her stomach tighten. She doesn’t even care, honestly. Paige is on her, pressed flush against her like she’s trying to crawl into her skin, and Jo would let her. Would unzip her whole body and say here, take it if that’s what Paige wanted. Her brain is continuously short-circuiting and her mouth is the only thing truly working right now, still chasing Paige’s like she can’t get enough. Because she can’t. Not even close.

It’s sloppy. All teeth and tongue and misaligned breathing. Paige tastes like toothpaste and something sharp that might be need, might be want. Her hands are everywhere. Raking up under Jo’s sweatshirt, dragging across her stomach like she owns it, fingers digging into Jo’s ribs. The younger girl doesn’t even try to keep still. She tugs at Paige’s ponytail with one hand, not hard, just enough to make tilt her head the way she likes. Paige groans into her mouth and Jo swears she feels it in her spine.

The heat crawls up Jo’s neck, under her ears, blooming like wildfire in her chest. She wants. She wants. More than she ever has. It’s like something broke open in her, some seal that’s been holding back the rawness of it. It’s not like this is new. They kiss. They sleep in the same bed. They’ve been toeing every line for months now, orbiting each other like idiots, letting their bodies say what they won’t let their mouths admit.

But they’d had limits. Unspoken, invisible boundaries they don’t cross. Like, for example, sex—and anything that comes close it. Because they’re best friends. Or more than best friends. Or something tangled in the middle that’s never made sense when Jo’s really let herself think about it.

But right now? Jo doesn’t want those limits. She wants to shatter them. Burn them down and pretend they never existed. Because Paige’s fingers are curling against her ribs and her mouth is warm and perfect and Jo feels like she’s going to lose it.

It’s then that Paige’s hand reaches for her hoodie, tugging just slightly—not enough to remove it, but enough to ask. Enough to test. Jo stills for half a second, kiss faltering, breath catching in her throat. Her heart’s thudding so loud it’s embarrassing.

Jo pulls away from Paige’s mouth, lips swollen and chest heaving. Her voice is so wrecked it barely sounds like her own when she says, almost in a whimper, “Fuck, take it off.”

There’s a beat. Just one. Paige blinks, and Jo can see the way it hits her—how her eyes flash and her mouth parts like she wasn’t expecting to hear it, like maybe she thought Jo would stop her. But Jo doesn’t backpedal. She just looks at her, breathless, and waits.

Paige doesn’t hesitate again.

Her hands are on the hem of Jo’s sweatshirt immediately, slipping back underneath, palms warm and steady as she pushes the fabric up and over. Jo lifts her arms, and then it’s gone, tossed somewhere off the side of the bed, forgotten. Paige sits up a little, hovering above her, eyes scanning slowly—not with hunger exactly, but with something closer to awe. Like Jo’s some sort of painting she’s never been allowed to stare at this long.

Jo swallows. Her skin prickles. She’s not wearing a bra. She feels exposed.

“Joey,” Paige breathes, like she forgot how her lungs work.

Jo exhales a laugh. Shaky. Nervous around the edges. “Stop looking at me like that,” she mumbles, grabbing at Paige’s shirt now too, tugging it. Paige just grins, and then takes the liberty of lifting her own arms and taking the shirt off, leaving her in just her sports bra. Jo exhales another shaky breath.

Paige leans back down, slotting her lips against Jo’s again. Her skin is warmer than Jo’s and the brunette shivers a little.

Maybe she’s a little nervous. Not like scared-scared, not in a bad way. But there’s a fluttery sort of tightness low in her stomach, like something big’s about to happen and she doesn’t really know how to brace for it. Like her whole body is buzzing with something like readiness.

And, yeah, it’s kind of scary. Because she’s done this before. Not this. Not with a girl. And not with Paige. Jo’s had sex before, of course. With Asher, who was always so familiar and known. And Paige is familiar, too—in every way except this one. But, Jo supposes, it’s about time.

And Paige is everywhere now. Not all at once, but in that slow, agonizing way that seems almost like she’s memorizing every inch of her, one kiss at a time. Her mouth moves from Jo’s lips to her jaw, trailing heat as she goes. Jo tilts her head back automatically, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. Paige’s tongue flicks out, ghosting along the edge of her skin like she’s tasting, not just kissing.

She continues down Jo’s throat, just under her jaw, then lower, letting her lips drag. She’s so deliberate about it, so unhurried, like she’s not trying to get anywhere quite yet. Like this is the destination.

And Jo just… lets her. Arms loose around Paige’s shoulders, her ankle forgotten, her brain melted. For once, she’s not overthinking. The only thing her mind can conjure up is now. The warmth of Paige’s breath. The gentle scrape of her teeth. How safe Jo feels under her.

When Paige mouths at her collarbone, Jo has to bite her lip to keep from gasping. It’s not even that’s intense—just a kiss, just lips, just Paige—but it still makes her hips shift, her core tighten. Paige feels it. Of course she does. She hums against Jo’s skin like she’s proud of herself.

“Okay?” Paige murmurs, lips brushing against the top of Jo’s chest now, hand sliding up Jo’s torso.

Jo’s voice comes out breathy and more higher-pitched than normal. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘M good.”

And it’s true. She is. She’s good. She’s more than good.

Because Paige is cupping her tit now, her thumb brushing across the skin like she’s trying to soothe Jo’s heartbeat, not rile it up. But it’s not working—Jo��s heart is slamming. And then Paige kisses over it, warm and open-mouthed, and Jo’s done.

She makes this tiny sound—somewhere between a breath and a moan—and she feels Paige smirk against her chest, the smug little shit. But Jo can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed. She just cards her fingers back through Paige’s ponytail, breathing through her mouth now.

The blonde’s mouth closes around one of Jo’s nipples, her tongue swirling. She palms at the other one slowly, rolling the bud between her fingers. Jo lets her eyes flutter shut, just feeling.

Paige keeps going, and Jo’s getting dizzy in that warm, liquidy way, like she’s not even in her body anymore, like her bones are soft and her skin is buzzing and her brain is just static and Paige. Paige, Paige, Paige.

Paige shifts a little. She kisses Jo’s sternum before ducking further. She trails her mouth down Jo’s ribs, across her stomach, slow, like she’s trying to dial everything down to just sweet and careful. And Jo knows it’s on purpose. She knows Paige is setting that pace for her. Because she gets like this sometimes—amped up, nervous, overthinking even when she’s dying to just feel something. And Paige knows that. She knows her. So, instead of rushing, she’s soft. She’s steady. She’s Paige.

Jo feels the bed shift under her as Paige scoots down, her hands dragging gently along Jo’s sides, not trying anything—yet—just touching, holding. Comforting. Her lips brush lower, ghosting the line of Jo’s hip, her breath warm and maddening right at the waistband of Jo’s pajama shorts.

Paige pauses. “D’you want—?” she starts, voice low and quiet and curious.

But Jo’s already nodding, already lifting her hips a little, like yes, God, yes, just do it. The words don’t come out, but she doesn’t have to say anything—Paige reads her face like it’s nothing. She lets out a soft laugh, not mocking, just amused, like okay, okay, I got you, and then she presses another kiss right above the shorts before hooking her fingers into the elastic.

Paige pulls them down slowly, like she’s unwrapping something delicate. Jo’s underwear comes with it, and—surprisingly—she doesn’t even really care about being fully naked. Not when it’s Paige. Not when Paige is being so fucking gentle about it, like every single part of Jo matters.

She tries to keep her breathing even, tries not to fidget or think too hard. Her ankle twinges a little when Paige moves the fabric past it, but Paige’s hands are immediately there, holding her calf, guiding her foot carefully out of the shirts. She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t forget. And once they’re off—tossed somewhere onto the floor—Paige leans down and presses the lightest kiss to Jo’s ankle.

Jo swallows hard. Her throat feels tight.

Paige continues kissing up her leg, slow again, lazy, like she’s got nowhere else to be—which, she doesn’t. Her lips are warm and soft and just a little wet. No feels them drag across her knee, specifically across the scar from her own ACL surgery, then the inside of her thigh, and her whole body shuddered. She bites her lip and grips the hotel sheets, just barely keeping herself grounded.

Paige’s mouth trails over the soft skin of Jo’s inner thigh, her hand resting on Jo’s other leg. The brunette can feel how careful she’s being—like she’s trying to make sure Jo never once feels unsafe or uncomfortable. And that matters—to Jo, it really, really does.

Jo breathes out, unsteady, one hand still tangled in the sheets, the other reaching down to run through Paige’s hair. She can feel the blonde’s breath on her aching and waiting pussy.

“P,” she whispers.

She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say with it Just hi. You. Me I’m here. I want this. I want you. All of it, unspoken, right there in her voice.

Paige looks up at her, her eyes so soft and blue and perfect that it makes Jo’s stomach clench. “Still okay?” she asks, quiet. It’s different—she’s always so loud.

Jo nods. Too fast, probably. “Yeah,” she says quickly. “Yeah, I just—” She trails off, because she doesn’t really know what she’s trying to say. She’s not scared. She’s just… overwhelmed. In a good way. Like her body is still catching up to what her heart already decided forever ago: this is safe. This is right.

Paige just smiles. A little smug, but mostly sweet. She kisses the inside of Jo’s thigh again, before trailing her mouth once more—to the final destination. Paige leans in and blows very lightly on Jo’s clit. A shaky breath escapes Jo’s nose as she bites the inside of her cheek. And then finally—finally—Paige’s lips make contact.

The blonde presses a kiss there before her tongue peeks out, sliding along Jo’s slit, between her folds. Jo’s fingers dig into the mattress and her thighs try to shut involuntarily but Paige just holds them open, getting into her rhythm. She hums a little against Jo, as if satisfied, her tongue moving up and down slowly, swirling around her clit and then flicking.

And Jo thinks she’s maybe going to actually lose her mind. Like, fully. Brain melting, spine liquefying, soul leaving the building. All because of Paige.

Because Paige is there, and she’s not being even remotely shy about it, all confidence and experience and Jo’s never felt anything like this. Not even close.

Sure, she’s had it done before. By Asher. Who… tried. Sort of. On good days. But it never felt like this. It never made her toes curl or her vision blue or her body tense the way it is right now. There was always this weird pressure with Asher, like she was supposed to be reacting more than she was. Or that she was reacting wrong. She never told him that. Didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness, because things were always supposed to be so perfect between them. But there were plenty of times where she just stared at the ceiling while he ate her out or fingered her or even fucked her and she would just think about her math homework or the her latest in-game turnover.

But this?

This is not that.

This is Paige knowing—despite never having done it with Jo—exactly where to touch her. Exactly how much pressure to use. Exactly what pace to go. Exactly when she should lean down and slip her tongue inside and thrust a couple times before pulling it back out and sliding the juices along Jo’s clit. It’s unfair, honestly, how good Paige is at this. Jo wants to laugh about it, but she can’t even breathe properly, so instead she just digs her fingers deeper into the sheets and lets her head fall back into the pillow.

The way Paige is holding her thighs, steady and secure and strong, like she’s not going anywhere—that alone is doing something feral to Jo’s brain. But the way she’s using her mouth, her tongue, her lips? Like she’s actually wants to be here? Like Jo tastes good and Paige can’t get enough of her?

It sends a jolt through Jo’s chest. Because it’s not just the physical part—it’s the feeling of it. The way Paige hums softly like she’s content. Like this isn’t a favor or a performance or a box to check off. It’s Paige being Paige. Careful. Patient. Stupidly hot in that way that makes Jo want to scream into a pillow and then, like, marry her or something, God.

She closes her eyes and tries not to think too hard. Which is difficult because she always thinks too hard. About everything. Especially this. Especially now.

Because it’s not just that Paige is eating her out like she’s her last meal, making her feel fucking incredible—it’s that she’s letting her feel that way. Letting her fall apart and not feel stupid or self-conscious or like she needs to perform in return. And Jo can just lie here, all shaking limbs and flushed skin and half-whispered gasps, and Paige is content to be the one in control. To be the one taking care of her.

And Jo—Jo loves being taken care of. She never says it out loud, but she does. She really does.

Especially by her.

She risks a glance down, her vision a little blurry from how hard she’s breathing, and she sees Paige looking up at her, eyes half-lidded, mouth glistening with her slick, hands still steady on her hips.

Jo thinks she could cry. Or cum. Or both.

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles, barely able to get the words out. Her voice is so wrecked she almost laughs at herself. “You’re… mhm, stupid good at this.”

Paige doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch. But she does smile a little, and Jo feels the smirk against her cunt. It’s dumb and cocky and the exact kind of Paige she always pretends to roll her eyes at but secretly adores.

When Paige takes Jo’s clit into her mouth and sucks hard, Jo’s hand flies up on instinct, finding Paige’s hair again and tugging. Not too hard, just enough to say don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

Paige definitely gets the message. Because she sucks harder and then, all of a sudden, two of her long fingers are sliding inside Jo, stretching her out. Jo hips jerk upwards in response—sharp and uncoordinated, her breath catching in her throat like it’s trying to make up its mind between a loan and a full-body sigh.

Paige’s fingers pump in and out of Jo’s cunt, her tongue still messily sliding through Jo’s folds. Jo lolls her head to the side, eyes squeezing shut, and lets herself feel. The tension curling low in her stomach. The heat building between her thighs. The way her fingers twitch like they’re searching for something to hold onto that isn’t Paige’s hair or the sheets or her own sanity.

Paige pulls her mouth away, still thrusting her fingers, leaning her cheek against Jo’s thigh to watch. Jo watches as the blonde’s eyes flit between the way Jo’s cunt sucks up her fingers and up to Jo’s face.

“Hey,” Paige murmurs, voice low, warm. “You’re good, ‘kay? I gotchu.”

Jo nods, or at least she thinks she does. Her head twitches anyway. She’s not sure her body is even hers anymore. Everything feels hot and electric and floaty, and the pressure in her gut when Paige curls her fingers inside before slowly pulling them out and then thrusting them back in hard has Jo choking out the blonde’s name. She’s never felt like this before. It’s so different and so much better and she doesn’t know how she ever went without it.

“That’s it,” Paige says gently, encouraging. She presses a sloppy kiss to Jo’s thigh, lips still sticky and leaving a residue behind. “Doin’ so good for me. So pretty. C’mon, baby.”

And that—the word, the tone, the way Paige has never said that before but it still slips out like it’s the most natural thing in the world—unlocks something.

Jo lets out another whimper, thighs clenching tighter, hips bucking before she can stop them. Her entire body jolts in time with the pace of Paige’s fingers, and she feels the rush come crashing in, fast and unstoppable.

“Shit—Paige—fuck—” she gasps out.

Paige keeps going, faster, harder. She keeps missing the inside of Jo’s thigh, whispering something that Jo can’t even make out over the roaring in her ears. Paige curls her fingers one last time—and then it all snaps.

When it’s over—when her body finally goes lax, her arms flopping back into the bed like she’s just run a marathon—Jo lies there in stunned silence. Staring up at the ceiling, her chest still rising and falling too fast, her thighs feeling sticky, her cunt throbbing, her mouth parted but empty of words.

Paige rests her chin gently on Jo’s hip and looks up at her, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips shining, eyes so soft and full of something Jo’s learning not to be so scared of.

“You okay?” she asks, lips curling up.

And Jo, still panting, still trying to make sense of everything, doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have words yet. Doesn’t even really have thoughts yet, not anything coherent. So instead of answering, she just reaches down and grabs at Paige.

The blonde, of course, goes with it. No hesitation. She crawls up the bed until they’re face to face, her body draped over Jo’s. Their lips meet again, slow for a second, just a soft press. Jo can taste herself on Paige, and it’s weird and good and makes her heart pound even faster. There’s something about it that flips a switch in her, ignites this new kind of fire in her chest that she didn’t even know she had the energy for.

And then she’s moving—fast. One sharp inhale and she’s flipping Paige onto her back, catching the surprised squeak out of her mouth mid-kiss. Jo ends up on top, straddling her with still-shaky limbs and adrenaline pumping through her blood. When she pulls back to look down at her, Paige is grinning.

That fully, gummy smile—the one she only does when she’s really happy. The one Jo adores.

Paige is staring up at her like she’s the best surprise she’s ever gotten.

Jo looks down at her, breath catching again, but this time for a totally different reason. Her body’s still trembling a little, but not really from her orgasm anymore, just from want.

“Why the fuck was I ever dating a boy?” she asks, genuinely baffled, blinking down at Paige. The thought of Asher now, who she’d been so obsessed with her entire life, seems just incredulous now. So dim compared to Paige.

Paige snorts, eyes crinkling, shaking er head. “Beats me.”

Jo lets out a laugh—one that might be a little too giddy—but then she’s already leaning down again, kissing Paige. This time, it’s not slow. Not careful. It’s fast and messy and full of new urgency.

Paige responds immediately—gripping Jo’s waist, then lower, hands landing firmly on Jo’s ass, squeezing. Jo grins against the older girl’s mouth, biting at her lower lip. Her hands roam across Paige’s stomach, feeling the firmness of her abs, before reaching up.

The brunette pulls back just enough to tug at the hem of Paige’s sports bra. “God,” she mutters, “take this off—”

Her hands are there, fumbling a little because she’s still shaky and a little overwhelmed, but Paige doesn’t laugh or tease. She just sits up a bit, helps her out, eyes never leaving Jo’s.

And when the bra’s finally off and Jo sees her—really sees her—she stares. And then leans down to reattach their lips again, telling Paige, “You’re so pretty.”

That seems to do something to her, and she pulls Jo against her harder, so their bare chests are flush against each other. Her tongue tangles with Jo’s and the brunette moans a little into her mouth.

At this point, Jo isn’t even really thinking anymore. Not in the way that counts. Her brain’s gone nicely quiet, like someone hit mute on all the noise she usually lives with. Right now, there’s only this: Paige, flushed and beautiful and real beneath her. Paige, who just made her feel fucking perfect. And Jo wants to make her feel that, too.

She wants to return the favor. Not because she feels like she has to. Not because it’s expected. Just because she wants to.

So, she reaches down, her fingers brushing along Paige’s lower stomach. Paige doesn’t even say anything, just meets Jo’s eyes and lifts her hips. She helps Jo slide her sweatpants and boxers off in one smooth motion. She doesn’t make it a big thing, doesn’t look nervous or self-conscious—just kicks them off with that stupid confidence that she somehow always has.

Once they’re off, Jo leans back down and kisses Paige hard. Their mouths crash together, open and desperate, all lips and tongue and shaky exhalations. It’s sloppy.

They kiss until Jo feels dizzy again. Until Paige is clutching at her back like she doesn’t want her to go anywhere, ever. Until Jo’s lungs feel like they’re caving in from how badly she wants to be closer.

Jo’s hand moves again, slower this time. Down Paige’s side. Over her ribs. Across her stomach, which is warm and tense and fluttering under her palm. And down. Just enough.

She pauses against Paige’s lips, heart pounding in her throat, and asks in a whisper, “Can I?”

Paige breaths hard against Jo’s mouth. She nods once, then says, completely breathlessly, “Only if you want to.”

And Jo does. She really fucking does.

So, she kisses Paige again and slowly slips her fingers between her thighs.

And she kind of has no idea what she’s doing.

Okay, that’s not totally true—she sort of knows. In theory. Like, she’s not walking in completely blind here. She’s fingered herself before. But this is different. This is Paige. This is the first time she’s ever done this with a girl. All she really has to rely on is instincts and the wild, overwhelming need to make Paige feel as good as she made her feel.

Jo keeps her hand steady, even though her brain is no longer quiet, back to doing backflips. Her fingertips are already slick, and the heat radiating off Paige’s body is unreal, almost feverish. Every tiny sound Paige makes—the hitched breath, the muffed moan, the soft, whispered “fuck” when Jo does something right—sends a jolt down Jo’s spine.

“Right there,” Paige says, breath ragged, voice cracking, when Jo presses her fingers deeper, hitting that gummy spot inside. “Just—yeah, like that.”

Jo nods, kissing the side of Paige’s throat. She shifts her hand slightly, curling her fingers the way Paige guided her, and—

That gets a reaction. Paige arches, hips twitching, and her hands scramble for something to hold onto—Jo’s shoulder, the sheets, whatever. Her fingers dig in.

Jo almost forgets how to breathe. Her heart is hammering in her chest. Not just because Paige is clearly into it—which, thank God—but because of how natural it feels. Not easy, necessarily, because she’s still very much learning, still kind of terrified of doing it wrong—but right. Right in that deeply weird way where something you’ve never done before just clicks into place.

It’s strange. Not in a bad way. Just… strange, realizing how different this is from anything she’s done before. With Asher, everything always felt so scripted. Rushed. Weirdly, kind of detached, too. Like she was there but not really there, going through the motions, wondering if it was supposed to feel better, if she should have enjoyed getting him off more than she did.

But Paige? Here, right now?

It’s all-consuming.

Jo stares—watches the way her sharp jaw clenches, the way her bare chest rises and falls unevenly, the little crease between her brows when Jo hits the right spot again. Paige is so in it, so present. Jo isn’t used to how much Paige is giving her right now—how vulnerable she looks, and how safe Jo feels holding her like this.

“You’re doin’ good,” Paige mumbles, breathless, her arm sliding around Jo’s back again, pulling her closer. Her short nails dig into Jo’s spine. “So good.”

Jo’s stomach flips. It’s stupid how much that means. How warm it makes her feel. She pumps her fingers, a little faster.

“Yeah?” she asks. She leans down, kisses along Paige’s collarbone because she needs something to do with her mouth.

Paige nods, palm pressing harder against Jo, head tilting back. “Mhm. Like, real good.”

Jo grins against her skin, a little proud and a lot relieved. Her fingers keep thrusting, falling into a rhythm that matched the stutter of Paige’s breath. It’s a little bit trial and error, but she’s getting the hang of it. And Paige is being so patient, so kind. Still giving her those little instructions when she needs them—a whispered “softer” here, a breathy “deeper” there. Not demanding, not condescending, just guiding.

And she’s so pretty like this. Skin flushed, lips parted, ponytail all messed up. Jo leans down and kisses her again and Paige kisses her back like she needs it, like kissing Jo is the only thing keeping her here. Her cunt tightens around Jo’s fingers, and Jo feels a thrill shoot through her when Paige moans into her mouth.

She can feel Paige getting close—the way her hips jerk, how her pussy pulses, her breath getting shallower. And Jo wants to see it. She pulls back just enough to look down at her, to take it all in.

Paige’s eyes flutter open. She looks up at Jo with blown pupils and eyes full of need. “Joey—fuck, don’t stop,” she groans, almost begging.

Jo doesn’t. Of course not.

She keeps her pace steady, watches every second of it—the way Paige’s back arches, the way her cunt swallows Jo’s fingers, the way her mouth falls open and the soft, broken sounds she makes as she gushes against Jo’s hand. It’s by far the most attractive thing Jo’s seen in her entire life.

Paige goes still for a moment, then slumps back against the mattress, blinking like she’s trying to remember how breathing works.

Jo pulls her fingers out gently. She wipes them on the edge of the blanket, not bothering to care about the mess. She just wants to look at her. At Paige. At her best friend, who’s actually a lot more than that.

Paige finally turns her head to look at her. She’s still catching her breath, cheeks red, lips kiss-bitten. “Shit,” she says, voice hoarse.

Jo lets out a short, breathless laugh. “Yeah.”

Paige shakes her head before tightening her grip on Jo’s back, saying, “C’mere.”

Jo goes, meeting Paige halfway, kissing her. It’s slow, lazy, lips dragging against each other like neither of them is in a rush to come back to reality. Jo’s hand rests on Paige’s side, fingers moving without thought, tracing the soft, warm dip of her waist. Paige’s skin is damp and flushed beneath her.

Jo feels really good. Like her whole body’s buzzing from the inside out. Like something just cracked open inside her and let in fresh air for the first time in a long time.

Paige’s mouth is at her jaw now, a quick nip of teeth before she kisses her way back to Jo’s lips. Jo smiles against her, dazed and stupidly content. She doesn’t want to move. She doesn’t want anything to change.

But then Paige is suddenly pulling back, jerking upright like she just remembered something extremely important. Jo blinks, caught off guard.

“What?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

Paige’s eyes go wide. “Your ankle, bro!”

Jo stares at her, confused for half a second before it hits her—right. Her ankle. Her sprained ankle.

She rolls it, and yeah, it definitely twinges in a way that reminds her maybe throwing herself around the bed wasn’t the smartest decision she’s ever made.

“Oh,” she mutters, pressing her lips together. “Ow.”

Paige is already moving, gently pushing at Jo’s shoulder so she’ll lie back flat. “Joey,” she says, and her voice has this exasperated fondness in it that makes Jo want to grin and roll her eyes at the same time.

“I forgot!” Jo says, both defensive and sheepish. “You were—we were—I forgot!”

Paige shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. She’s not mad. Not even really worried, just Paige-level concerned, which usually means she’s about to fuss over Jo like someone’s grandma. “You’re so stupid,” she says, laughing under her breath.

Jo hits lightly at her arm, but doesn’t actually argue.

Paige leans down, pressing her lips to Jo’s forehead with this stupidly gentle kiss that makes Jo’s heart go inside inside her chest.

“I’mma go get more ice,” the blonde says, already halfway off the bed.

But just as her feet hit the ground, she stops like she forgot something, turning back around. She crawls back over and kisses Jo again, quick and sweet. Like a reflex. Like she needed to. And Jo’s not expecting it, so her breath catches for the smallest second—and then Paige is already up, grabbing at her clothes so she can go out in the hall.

Jo lies there for a second, dazed and blinking at the ceiling. Her whole body feels warm and worn-out and achy in a good way. The bed still smells like both of them, sweat and perfume and arousal.

She exhales slowly.

Yeah, she’s in so deep.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wbb #dallas wings #wnba #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #wnba x reader #wlw smut #wlw #nobody gets me

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holysainz · 2 years ago

Text

silly season - lando norris

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

warnings: innuendos

summary: fans get a glimpse into your relationship on a stream

You walk into Lando’s gaming room, a cup of hot chocolate topped with tiny marshmallows in hand. His back is to you, headphones clamped over his head, eyes focused on the screen. Lando is always in his element when he's streaming — it’s a joy to see. But today, you’ve been the one tasked with interrupting him. Not that you mind, of course.

“Got your hot chocolate, sweetheart,” you startle him, setting the cup down beside him on the desk. You look at the screen, recognizing the familiar game of F1 2023. “Who’s winning?”

“Verstappen. But it’s just a virtual race,” Lando chuckles without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Ah, so you admit you’re losing?” You tease, earning a playful glare. You laugh at his mock annoyance, then start to saunter out of the room.

Before you can make your exit, however, Lando grabs your wrist, pulling you back. “Wait, I need you.”

You spin around, your eyebrows raised in surprise. His words hang in the air, and for a moment, a suggestive smirk plays on your lips. “Really, Lando? On a live stream?”

His cheeks flush as he quickly shakes his head, his laughter joining yours. “Not like that, you minx! I need you to stay here and distract the competition with your terrible driving.”

“Ah, so that's how it is,” you retort, grinning at his playful sidestep. “I’m your secret weapon now, am I?”

With a chuckle, he grabs the spare controller, throwing it to you. “Only the best for Team Norris.”

“Well then, prepare to lose!”

What you don’t realize is that Lando’s stream is live, and all his fans are eagerly watching the banter unfold.

Lando chuckles, setting up the second controller. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

The race starts and immediately, it’s a comedy of errors. You’re not very good at the game to say the least and you crash into a wall within the first thirty seconds.

“Hmm, you do know the point is to avoid the walls, right?” Lando teases, his fingers moving deftly over the buttons of his controller.

You shoot him a feigned glare, and he laughs, his attention fixed on the screen as he smoothly overtakes one of the opposing cars. “Maybe you should stick to delivering hot chocolate, love.”

“No way,” you say stubbornly. “I’m going to beat you at your own game, Norris.”

“Ah, spoken like a true underdog!” He laughs, and the sound of it makes you grin, even as your car crashes into another wall.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the screen, Lando’s fans are loving every moment. Their favorite F1 driver showing his fun side, coupled with your charming wit, is an unbeatable combination.

The chat box fills with amused comments:

‘OMG, she’s hilarious!’ ‘Lando, you’re losing your touch!’ ‘Can we have her on every stream?’

Laughing and teasing each other, you keep trying to maneuver your car with minimal success. You playfully jab at Lando’s concentration, saying, “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be good at this?”

“I am good!” he protests, “Just not when you’re trying to distract me.”

“Oh, am I a distraction, Norris?” you ask, raising your eyebrows suggestively. “Is it because I make your gear stick shift?” The playful innuendo makes Lando choke on his laugh.

“A very attractive distraction, yes,” he responds, and it’s your turn to blush.

The comments explode:

‘Did he just—‘ ‘They are too cute!’ ‘I can’t even.’

Eventually, Lando wins the game, but not without a few crashes of his own. As you watch the virtual champagne spraying over his character, you say, “Well, you won. But I’d like to see you do this in real life.”

Without missing a beat, Lando responds, “What, win a race or put up with you?”

“You better keep it clean on the track, Norris,” you retort, giving him a sly wink. “Because the way you’re driving here, you won’t be able to handle the curves!”

You gasp dramatically when he laughs at your comment. “Lando Norris! I’ll have you know I’m a delight to put up with.”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Yes, you are. You’re my favorite distraction.”

With that, Lando ends the stream, laughing at the barrage of comments from his fans. You sit there with him, sharing in his laughter, completely oblivious to the fact that you were just part of an international live stream.

But you don’t care. All that matters to you in that moment is Lando’s laughter, the warmth of his arm around you, and the joy of sharing these simple, perfect moments with him. And if his fans loved it too, well, that was just an added bonus.

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devdozes · 3 months ago

Text

♥Snack-a-roo

idk man sst sucks and im sleep deprived as fuck Mydei is a simp, reader is cool archer and mydei is pathetic boxer

The breezy evening air was thick with focus as you stood at the archery range, steadying your breathing. Your fingers curled around the bowstring, muscles taut as you pulled back the arrow, eyes locked onto the target ahead. You had been practicing for hours, perfecting your aim for an upcoming competition. The world faded away, leaving only you, the bow, and the target.

But then, just as you steadied yourself for the release, a shadow moved into your peripheral vision.

"Tch—" Before your brain could fully register the interruption, your fingers had already let go of the string.

The arrow cut through the air with lethal precision, slicing past the approaching figure, missing by mere centimeters.

A deep grunt reached your ears as Mydei, clad in his usual workout gear, stood frozen in place. His golden eyes widened slightly, but his face quickly settled back into its usual grumpy expression. The arrow was embedded in the target just behind him, so close that if he had moved even an inch forward, it could’ve been a very different story.

You simply smirked, lowering your bow with a slow, deliberate movement. Your voice was steady, dripping with something between amusement and warning.

"Mydei, consider this a warning."

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, trying to look unimpressed. "Tch. You should watch where you’re aiming."

You tilted your head. "Or maybe you should watch where you’re standing."

He rolled his eyes, looking away with a muttered, "Whatever."

On the outside, Mydei kept up his usual gruff, unimpressed act. But inside? His heart was racing.

You were just so… cool. The way you didn’t even flinch when the arrow nearly grazed him, the way you just smirked like you had everything under control—it was unfair. He was supposed to be the tough one here, but every time he watched you shoot, he found himself hopelessly drawn in. Not that he’d ever let you know that. No way.

You had no idea that Mydei, the grumpy boxer, had a massive, and i mean gigantonomosorous however u spell that word 😒 unspoken crush on you.

Settling onto one of the benches, Mydei pulled out his phone, his fingers idly scrolling the screen. Or at least, that’s what it looked like. In reality, he barely processed a single word, too distracted by the way you seamlessly pulled back the bowstring, hitting target after target with pinpoint precision.

Beside him, Aglaea sat with her legs crossed, watching the practice session with mild interest. "You’re staring too much," she muttered under her breath.

"Shut up," Mydei grumbled, not looking up from his phone.

Aglaea smirked but said nothing more.

On the range, you weren’t alone. March 7th and Acheron, your teammates, were also practicing, adjusting their stances and exchanging tips between shots. March pouted as one of her arrows barely grazed the bullseye. "Ugh, how do you make it look so easy?"

You chuckled, knocking another arrow. "Hours of practice. And maybe a bit of natural talent."

March huffed. "Show-off."

Acheron, ever quiet and composed, merely adjusted her stance and fired another shot, the arrow landing cleanly in the center. "Just observe and improve," she remarked simply.

Mydei, from his seat, snuck another glance at you. The way your eyes glowed with determination, the faint smile of satisfaction every time you hit your mark—it was unfair how effortlessly cool you were.

He sighed, slumping back against the bench. "Tch. Annoying."

Aglaea snorted. "Yeah, real annoying how you can’t stop watching."

Mydei scowled but didn’t respond. He just hoped no one would notice how red the tips of his ears had become.

As practice continued, you took a short break, stretching your arms. Mydei immediately looked away, pretending to be absorbed in his phone.

March plopped down beside Aglaea, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Hey, Mydei, why are you even here? I thought you didn’t care about archery."

Mydei barely glanced up. "I don’t."

Aglaea smirked. "Oh, he’s just here for moral support."

March blinked, then gasped dramatically. "Wait. Are you here to support [Y/N]?"

You, who had just taken a sip of water, nearly choked. "What?"

Mydei immediately stiffened. "No."

March wiggled her eyebrows. "Suuure."

You waved a hand dismissively. "As if. He almost walked straight into my arrow earlier. Doesn’t seem like the supportive type."

"Exactly," Mydei muttered.

Aglaea leaned back, amused. "And yet, he’s been sitting here for over an hour, watching."

Mydei shot her a warning glare. "I said, shut up."

You simply rolled your eyes, standing up and grabbing your bow again. "Alright, enough chit-chat. I still have a few more rounds to practice."

March laughed, nudging Mydei with her elbow. "Guess you better keep ‘supporting’ then."

Mydei groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate all of you."

Aglaea grinned. "No, you don’t."

He definitely did. Or at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. Because when he saw you nocking another arrow, looking as focused as ever, he knew that no matter how much he tried to ignore it, his stupid crush on you wasn’t going anywhere.

Grumbling, he got up, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading outside. "I’m getting some air."

Instead of just wandering, Mydei made his way to the vending machine. He stared at the selection for a moment before sighing and picking out the snacks he knew you liked. He didn't even know why he was doing this—maybe because watching you practice so hard made him want to do something, even if it was as simple as this.

Once the machine dispensed the snacks, he grabbed them and made his way toward the locker rooms. His steps were swift, calculated. No one could see him do this. He checked both sides of the hallway before stopping in front of your locker. He knew exactly which one was yours, not that he’d ever admit to memorizing it.

With a quick movement, he slipped the snacks inside, making sure they were positioned where you’d see them first thing. Then, without wasting another second, he turned on his heel and walked off, acting as if nothing had happened.

By the time he returned to the range, he was back to his usual scowl, sitting down in the exact same spot and pulling out his phone again, as if he had never left. But this time, there was a faint, almost undetectable hint of satisfaction in his expression.

And you still had no idea who had been leaving the snacks.

im high and I need a gun asap

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #fanfiction #fem reader #hsr fanfiction #fem y/n #hsr x you #honkai star rail fanfiction #mydei x reader #mydei honkai star rail #mydei x you #mydei x fem reader

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goldfades · 6 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/goldfades/768009162138517504/title-luke-hughes

What about luke’s reaction? coming into the room after the boys told him he was wrong at practice or something, maybe he saw the comments?

it’s a little past eight when you hear the front door slam. you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone with a smug grin on your face. the video you posted earlier is still blowing up, comment after comment pouring in. your favorite so far might be the one that reads “he’s so confident it’s actually heartbreaking”—but there’s stiff competition.

the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway makes your ears perk up, and you sit up straighter just in time for luke to appear in the doorway. he’s still in his practice gear, hair damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed pink, but his expression is what gets you: somewhere between confusion, betrayal, and... is that a pout?

“you,” he says, pointing at you with the kind of dramatic flair usually reserved for soap operas. “you set me up.”

you blink innocently, setting your phone down. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

luke steps further into the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “don’t play dumb. the guys wouldn’t shut up about your video during practice. jack kept reading the comments out loud! ‘cuticle pusher means nail thingies? HAHAHA.’ do you know how humiliating that is?”

you’re already biting your lip to keep from laughing, but when he mimics jack’s voice, the dam breaks. you burst into giggles, doubling over as luke groans loudly.

“it’s not funny!” he protests, though the way his ears turn pink suggests he’s more embarrassed than actually mad. “i was so proud of myself, and you—you let me think i was getting them all right!”

wiping a tear from your eye, you manage to catch your breath long enough to speak. “okay, okay, listen. it wasn’t my fault you were so confident! i mean, ‘tight lines’? really?”

he groans again, flopping onto the couch next to you with a dramatic sigh. “i knew something was off when you said i got ‘halo eye’ right. but you were so convincing!” he shoots you a look, half accusing, half amused. “you’re evil. actually evil.”

you snicker, nudging his shoulder. “oh, come on. you were having fun.”

“yeah, until i realized you were setting me up for the internet to roast me,” he mutters, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “look at this—this one says i belong in a museum for confidence alone.”

you glance at his screen and can’t help but laugh again. “they’re not wrong.”

he groans, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and sinking lower into the couch. “i’ll never live this down.”

“oh, stop being dramatic,” you tease, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you made people laugh, and isn’t that what really matters?”

he’s quiet for a moment, then tilts his head toward you, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “did i at least look good in the video?”

you grin, reaching up to ruffle his curly hair. “you always look good, lukey. even when you’re confidently getting everything wrong.”

his laugh rumbles under your ear as he finally relaxes, letting himself sink into the moment. “you better watch your back, though. payback is coming.”

“oh, i’m shaking,” you say with a smirk, already planning the next video in your head.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nhl imagine #nhl #nhl fic #hockey #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hockey fic #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes blurb #new jersey devils #nj devils #hughes brothers #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #njd

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theroguebanshee · 4 months ago

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Tactaload Flash-5 Stock: The Revolutionary Shotgun Upgrade You Can’t Ignore

Tactaload Flash-5 Stock at SHOT Show 2025: Revolutionary Shotgun Upgrades SHOT Show 2025 was packed with exciting innovations, and Tactaload once again delivered with the Flash-5 Stock and their all-new shotgun forend. The Tactaload Flash-5 Stock remains one of the most innovative shotgun upgrades available, offering fast reloads and integrated ammo storage. This year, they’ve expanded their…

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redocity · 4 months ago

Note

Hi, I was wondering if I could request a buck x reader fic where they are like enemies to lovers with a Kiss With A Fist by Florence + The Machine kind of vibe?

(Also just wanted to say that I love your fics)

FIRE AND FURY — E.BUCKLEY

you hate each other so much that you just can’t stay away from each other.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 1.1k | fluff? | masterlist.

a/n — florence + the machine absolutely bangs

You hate him.

Not in the passive, vaguely irritated way one might hate an early alarm clock or a slow driver in the fast lane. No, you hate Evan Buckley with the kind of passion that sets cities ablaze.

And the worst part? He hates you just as much.

Every shift at the 118 feels like a battlefield when he's around. The sharp remarks, the constant one-upping, the way your bodies always seem to gravitate toward each other—not in longing, but in challenge. It's not just competition; it's war.

You're not sure when it started. Maybe the moment you first met him, all smug grin and reckless arrogance, like the universe had birthed him just to piss you off.

Or maybe it was that time on a call when he pulled you away from a collapsing structure before you even realised the danger, holding onto you like you were something fragile—like you needed saving.

You don’t.

But he treats you like you do.

And you treat him like he’s nothing but an impulsive idiot with more bravado than brains.

“Try to keep up, Buckley,” you sneer as you race toward the firetruck, both of you scrambling into your gear as the alarm blares through the station.

“Funny,” he shoots back, tugging on his jacket. “I was just about to say the same to you,”

It’s always like this. Always sharp edges, always bruises beneath your words.

And yet, somehow, neither of you step away.

—

The call is brutal. An apartment fire, flames licking the sky, smoke thick in the air. You push forward with your hose, moving fast, clearing rooms, ensuring no one’s trapped. The heat is suffocating, sweat slicking your skin beneath your gear.

“We’ve got movement in the next room!” Buck's voice crackles through the radio.

You move without hesitation, kicking down the door just as he does the same from the opposite end. There’s a child in the corner, coughing, barely conscious.

“I’ve got her,” you say, but Buck is already moving.

“No, I’ve got her.”

You glare at him, but there’s no time for an argument. Instead, you both work together, lifting the child carefully, guiding her out. The moment you’re clear, the ceiling gives way behind you, flames swallowing the space where you stood.

For a brief second, you both just breathe.

Then you round on him. “I told you I had her.”

Buck steps closer, too close. His face is still streaked with soot, blue eyes burning. “And what if the ceiling had collapsed sooner? You ever think about that, or are you too busy trying to prove something?”

Your hands clench into fists. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

His lips curl into something infuriating. “Could’ve fooled me,”

Before you can stop yourself, you shove him. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to release some of the fire in your veins. But Buck? He just laughs.

That only makes it worse.

“God, you are such an asshole.”

“And yet, you keep coming back for more,” he taunts, voice low.

You don’t realize how close you are until you feel his breath against your skin, heat radiating between you that has nothing to do with the fire. For a second, neither of you move. Neither of you look away.

Then Bobby calls your names, and the moment shatters like glass.

You step back. So does he.

Nothing happened.

Nothing except everything.

—

Days pass, and the tension only builds. Every interaction is sharper, every touch—accidental or not—lingers just a second too long. You know it’s dangerous, this thing between you, whatever it is.

But that doesn’t stop you from provoking him.

And it sure as hell doesn’t stop him from pushing right back.

The breaking point comes on a night shift. The station is quiet, the others asleep. You should be, too, but instead, you’re standing in the dimly lit kitchen, nursing a bottle of water like it’s something stronger.

Then Buck walks in.

You don’t look at him, but you feel him.

“You ever get tired of pretending?” His voice is rough, although softer than usual.

Your grip tightens around the bottle. “Pretending what?”

“That you don’t feel it,”

The words steal your breath.

Because of course you feel it. You feel it every damn second.

Still, you scoff. “You’re delusional,”

He exhales sharply, stepping closer, close enough that your arms brush. “Am I?”

Your pulse pounds. You should walk away. You should.

Instead, you turn to face him, eyes locking onto his. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You are,”

And then you shove him.

Hard.

He stumbles back, but the smirk on his lips only grows. “You really wanna do this?”

“Do what?” you taunt, stepping forward again. “Kick your ass? Always,”

His laughter is low, dangerous. “Sure that’s all you wanna do?”

Before you can answer—before you can even think—he reaches for you. Not rough, but firm, gripping your wrist and tugging you flush against him. You gasp, more in shock than anything else.

“Let me go,” you grit out, though you make no move to pull away.

“Make me,”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

There’s a moment of pure, charged silence.

Then you do something reckless.

You surge forward and kiss him.

It’s not sweet. It’s not slow. It’s a collision—teeth and heat and hands grasping at fabric. His grip tightens on your wrist before sliding to your waist, pulling you even closer. You fist your hands in his shirt, tugging, biting at his lip just to make him groan.

And god, that sound.

You barely register when he pushes you back against the counter, when his hands roam, when yours do the same. It’s fire and fury, the same way you fight, the same way you’ve always been.

It’s addicting.

Then, as suddenly as it started, you both break apart, gasping.

You stare at each other, chests rising and falling in sync.

“That was—“ Buck starts, but you cut him off.

“Shut up.”

And then you pull him in again.

Because, really, this was inevitable.

You’ve spent so long fighting each other.

It only makes sense that you'd end up burning together.

#9 1 1 #evan buckley #9 1 1 fanfiction #evan buckley x reader #buck x reader #oliver stark #evan buckley fluff

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bingusmode · 1 month ago

Text

Lessons in Sniping

Blue Sniper x Reader

“Reload!”

With swift hands, Assist passed fresh ammo to Sniper. Mindful of the hot shells that were scattered on the floor.

It wasn’t always that Sniper needed her help, more often than not, he tended to send her off to the classes that needed more help. But today was an exception. Today he was shooting off with the Blue Sniper.

Up in their perch, Assist was relatively sheltered. Staying clear of the small opening Sniper was shooting out of. She remained still when a bullet wizzed by her, hitting a thankfully empty jug.

“Reload!”

Once again, she passed over the ammunition without complaint. Whatever competition he had going on with the Enemy sniper she wasn’t interested in. She would rather be doing her actual job on the field instead of being cooped up in the snipers nest.

Assist waited for the next reload command, instead she heard a heavy thunk.

On the floor was Red Sniper, a bullet hole lodged firmly in the center of his forehead.

“…fuck”

She belly slid over to his side, kicking his body away from the sniper rifle as she got into position.

This was a problem, if she didn’t hurry, then Blue Team would take the perch as their territory, along with the horde of med packs Red Sniper kept in there. Assist locked in her ammo and focused the sights on the rifle. Through the glass she could see Blue Sniper packing up his equipment.

Per her job description, Assist had to have a rough knowledge of her each of her teammates weapon of choice. Just in case they died and couldn’t afford to lose the support. This was the first time she actually had to put that into action.

Rolling her shoulders and steadying her breathing, Assist lined up her sights and pulled the trigger.

Blue Sniper reacted immediately, rolling out of her sights and grabbing his own gun.

Her fingers weren’t as deft as Red Snipers, but she managed to reload quick enough to fire another shot. All she had to do was fend him off until someone that wasn’t her took him out.

She barely dodged the shot he took at her, using the chance to fire another shot at Blue Sniper, knicking his cheek.

“Yes!”

Just one more placed to the left, and she would be safe.

Blue Sniper reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the blood starting to drip down.

“Well I’ll be damned,”

He reloaded and looked through his scope, it was cute how excited she was. He had the pleasure of tracking her throughout matches, always made for an easy kill. He was gentleman though, gave her the proper respect that came with his job. Always giving her some warning that he was there before moving in for the kill.

This time however, was the first time she caught him off guard.

His finger hesitated on the trigger, moving his barrel down a millimeter before taking the shot.

Pain exploded through Assists shoulder, making her drop the rifle.

Blue Sniper lowered his barrel, maybe this was enough to scare her off and have her running to her teammates. Would be a shame to take her out when she just got her first hit with a sniper rifle.

He peered through his scope and saw she was doing just that, gearing up to flee the perch and find help.

“Atta girl,” he almost put down the rifle but saw a shimmer behind her. Blue Spy uncloaked behind her with his silencer pressed to the back of her head. Within a moment, Assist was sent back to respawn.

Blue Sniper scowled, damn Spy had ruined his day when it was just getting started.

After that, it was a quick match, Blue winning another victory that week.

Most of their team was gathered in the small kitchen of Blues’ base. Sniper making himself a small batch of coffee. Spy was seated at the table, flipping through his magazine.

“It’s not like you to miss your shots”

Sniper glanced at Spy, he saw the shot Sniper put in Assists shoulder.

“Accidents happen mate, would have got her on the next one anyway”

“That’s not what it looked like to me,”

Spy set down his magazine, reaching for a cigarette and his lighter.

“Are you going soft Sniper?”

“You would know what going soft is at your age Spy”

Spy rolled his eyes, Sniper poured himself a healthy cup of coffee. Leaving some aside for the rest of his tea.

“Perhaps you’re right, maybe your aim isn’t what it used to be”

Sniper rolled his eyes, not taking Spy’s bait.

As he walked out of the kitchen, Spy eyed him with suspicion.

Assist emerged from respawn with a gasp, the dull ache from the back of her head slowly ebbing away.

She wasn’t in the worst shape compared to her teammates, in fact she probably walked out unscathed compared to their last moments on the field.

“How’d you go?” Red Sniper asked from across the room, an ice pack resting on his forehead.

“Blue Spy got me in the back of the head”

Sniper hummed and tossed her a spare ice packet

“Made it a decent bit without me, took some shots?”

“Yep”

“Missed?”

“Yup, caught Blue Sniper in the cheek though”

“Not bad”

Assist took a seat next to her previous battle partner and watched as the others got their bearings.

“Guess it’s time to work on your aim then,”

“For what? It’s not like that’s gonna happen again”

Sniper gently shoved her shoulder

“Don’t say that, never know when you gotta take a shot again,”

“Not with your gun, I don’t plan on repeating this process”

Assist leaned back in her chair, shifting her train of thought from her teams loss to how to avoid being cooped up with Sniper in the next fight.

Blood blinded her vision, Assist used her shirt to clear her eyes. This fight was worse than the previous week’s battle. Her team lay dead on the field, Assist lept over Red Heavy’s body, booking it to one of Snipers nests. He had to be still alive, or that was Assits hope. Opening the hatch with her good arm, her stomach sank seeing Red Sniper face down on the floor. A butterfly knife lodged firmly in his back.

“No. No no no…”

She was the last red team member left, with a majority of Blue Team alive. She didn’t stand a chance, and some of Blue Team could be especially cruel in dispatching the last Red Member standing.

Assist struggled to lift the sniper rifle, her mangled left arm could barely form a fist, let alone lift the heavy gun.

She couldn’t go down without a fight though, she wouldn’t.

“I’m so sorry Sniper, I’ll never turn down your shooting lessons again.”

Dragging herself to a corner, she sat down and slowly started to reload the gun with bent fingers.

Someone banged against the hatch, Assist struggled to rack back the ammo as the intruder broke the lock.

Blue Sniper burst through the hatch, swearing as he did so.

“Bugger, these things are always stuck-“

He slammed the door shut and adjusted his hat, freezing once he saw the barrel of a rifle pointed at him. He wasn’t focused on that though, but the very injured girl sitting behind it.

Assist gritted her teeth and moved her finger to rest on the trigger

Blue Sniper dropped his rifle before she could pull.

“Easy easy, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

“Bullshit!”

“Look, my hands are empty, I’m unarmed, see?”

Blood started to drip down into her eyes again,

“I’m not gonna hurt you Sheila-“

“Why not?”

“I have standards, wouldn’t be honorable to kill you now”

Her arms simply couldn’t hold up the rifle any longer, they were too tired and too broken.

The rifle clattered to the floor, leaving her defenseless.

Blue Sniper approached carefully, taking slow, deliberate steps.

Assist flinched and closed her eyes once he reached behind his back, preparing for the worst.

She heard a gentle click and felt something soft on her forehead.

Opening her eyes again, Sniper was much closer now, kneeling down infront of her with a fresh med pack opened.

“I told you I’m not gonna hurt you,”

“You only kill me when I’m in fighting shape?”

“Only right to give you a chance to fight back, hold that there,”

Assist held the gauze to her wound, her confusion was doubled when combined with her pain.

“You don’t apply that rule to the rest of my team”

“The rest of your team are buggers, I was raised to know that women deserve a certain amount of respect.”

Assist didn’t know how to respond to that, He leaned back on his heels and started to tape her fingers together.

“You’re the last one left,”

“I know,”

“Spy is trying to hunt you down,”

“Why not tell him”

“I told you, I’m not gonna kick you while you’re down…and I thought we might have a little fun”

“Fun?”

Assist sat up, the med pack slowly taking effect and healing her wounds. Once her hands were somewhat fixed, Sniper gently pushed the rifle into her grasp.

“I’m gonna teach you how to shoot”

“What?”

“You’ve got a decent shot, but you need some refinement.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on the “you teaching me how to kill you” part”

As her wounds healed, so did her firey attitude.

Blue Sniper gestured to her dead teammate on the floor

“If he keeps getting taken out while you’re helping him, I’d rather you have a way to defend yourself.”

And maybe he thought she was cute and he was tired of her getting taken out early in matches by Blue Spy. Not like he would tell her that now when her team was dead and she was backed into a literal corner.

“Are you gonna sit there or are you gonna give yourself a fighting chance?”

Assist considered her options before moving to the small window looking over the field, Sniper closely following her.

“Go on and set up your sights and get comfortable,”

He watched as she set up, struggling to focus on her form rather than how good her ass looked in her pants.

Gently he adjusted her form, pulling her shoulders back, changing her grip, and adjusting her angle.

He was resting against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder

“Atta girl, now follow your target, even out your breathing,”

Assist lined up her shot

“Good, now put your aim just a tad ahead and pull”

He felt the recoil through her shoulder and watched as Blue Spy went down. A smile creeping up on his face.

“You’re a natural,”

Assist turned ever so slightly, now her face just inches away from his”

“Well, I have a good teacher”

He could feel the tips of his ears warm up, threatening to spread to the rest of his face.

He didn’t get a chance to make a move, within a second. Assist had plunged her jack knife into his chest.

Confusion rushed to his mind, and then pride. Assist had defended herself, securing a Red Team Victory. Just what Sniper was trying to teach her.

Gently, she lowered Sniper to rest on the ground while she stood up. Making sure she wasn’t causing him additional pain.

“I know that’s not a proper thank you, but you can get me back on the next time.

“I’ll hold you to that,”

Specs of blood dotted his lips, his vision growing darker at the edges.

“I look forward to it,”

With all the grace and gentleness she could muster, Assist placed a soft kiss to his lips. Making sure his last moments on this battle field were sweet and soft.

The next battle she would wait in the same snipers nest, waiting eagerly for her Sniper so she could thank him again.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #sniper x reader #sniper team fortress 2 #sniper tf2 #tf2 sniper #finally finished this #I promise I’m not dead #just busy

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boredpotate · 5 months ago

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Happier Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Arcane or any links. I only own the concept idea for this story.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to fix her timeline, but has unforeseen consequences.

Reader Pov.

I'm in a clear white space with blue pulsing light that that endlessly spread throughout the whole space. Up, down and around. I don't know how I got here, but a little ways away from me I see someone. A hooded figure with some kind of staff.

"Hello?" I call out and the figure turns to me, though I can't make out a face under the hood. A sharp pain suddenly goes through my skull and I black out.

My eyes shoot open and I feel my body being shaken on the bed again and grunts that I know only one little girl makes. I turn my head and see Isha trying to shake me awake, which makes me smile and forget about the weird dream.

"Five more minutes," I grumble and turn over to the other side, making Isha climb onto the bed and shaking me more to wake up. Her little grunts and hums insisting that I wake up for the day, "*sigh* Okay, I'm up. I'm up." I say as I sit up and get a morning hug from Isha. Her hug being much tighter than before, since her body has become much more healthy during this passing month. Along with more energy to run and jump around.

After separating from the warm hug, Isha hops off the beg and grabs my shoes and leg brace for me as I scoot over and swing my legs over the side. She helps me get my shoes on and put on my leg brace; tightening the lower straps while I tighten the higher one's before holding my hands and helping me stand up. The cane no longer needed now that I have enough strength in the rest of my body to balance myself, but my braced leg still not fully recovered, but getting better. I let out a big stretch and groan before putting on my gear. Isha almost immediately tugs on my hand after I'm ready and heads towards the bedroom door. Always acting like she's my nurse or caretaker ever since she started getting healthier.

What has felt like a little over a month has been nice. Therapeutic in a way. It felt like home again. Having talks with Vander, Silco and Benzo. Getting to know the older Claggor and Mylo and what their interests are and bantering like old times. Talking with Sevika, Vi and Cait about their work and learning that Vi and Cait moved into their own place; even getting invited for tea sometimes. Though most of my time was significantly spent with Powder, Ekko and Isha in Powder's lab. Surprisingly the same one Jinx had but a vastly different mood in it. Though more bright colors have been brought into it thanks to Isha and Powder's drawings and decorating together; creating a strange, but nice, mix of themes.

Mostly Powder, but with a touch of Jinx.

Both Powder and Ekko invited me in to help them with their project for the Innovator's Competition, in fact it felt like they insisted on it with Isha either pulling or pushing me to the lab with them. If I remember correctly it's some kind of chem energy cell that lasts longer and outputs more power. I couldn't do much on the research or figuring out how it works, but I could help with more labor tasks just like old times and Isha seemed to love learning from them. Besides that they would plop me into one of the bean bags or couch and let me watch them at work. Occasionally playing with Isha when she get's bored of waiting to continue working. I didn't mind; it felt nice not being alone. We eventually got the damn thing working, but they still need to run some tests.

Anyway, Isha drags me out to the bar where I see the boys with Powder sitting at their usual table and Vander getting the bar ready for the day while talking with Benzo. He turns to Isha and I as we sit at the bar. Opting for two tall chairs with backs to lean on instead of the regular stools.

"Rise and shine. Today's gonna be a big day," he says before heading to the back and coming back out with two plates of food, "Here, eat up. It's still warm." he says as he sets them down for us. Isha immediately stuffing her face, which makes me slow her down before enjoying my own.

"So, how many people are you expecting tonight?" I ask curiously as I eat my breakfast.

"Quite a lot. There's gonna be a whole party goin' on here along with the competition. Music and dancin'. Y'know Gert, right?." He asks, making me smirk.

"Of course. The girl Mylo has a crush on~" I say out loud teasingly as I glance at him. He flips me the bird as a response and I giggle before I turn back to a chuckling Vander.

"She has a band called "The Chem Sisters". They're gonna perform tonight, and Heimerdinger said he might play some toons too. Said he was working on some bar songs."

"Ha! Can't wait hear those!" Benzo says with a laugh.

"Hey I never asked, what's the big deal about the competition anyway? Is there some big prize?" I ask and I am greeted with Powder sitting next to me and scooting closer.

"Yes and no." she says as she steals some food off my plate. I give her a glare before poking her arm with my fork, making her laugh as Ekko comes up to sit next to Isha. Scooting his stool closer and laying and arm across Isha and I's seats, and I feel his arm brush against my back.

"There is a trophy for the winner, but it's mainly to catch the eyes of investors. Get them to invest in you or your invention, or at least have eyes on you to invest in for future projects or something." Ekko explains for me.

"Ooooh, so the real prize is just getting the spotlight in front of the investors?"

"Yup. The top three are likely to get more eyes on them and if your invention works and you get your bag, that's when you can start taking off in life. Or at least that's the idea." Powder says as she leans her head on my shoulder and letting out a sigh. A normal occurrence from both her and Ekko whenever we hang out somewhere. Ever since that one night we accidentally fell asleep in a pile in Powder's lab after losing track of time and spending all day working.

'It actually wasn't that bad. Best sleep I ever had in fact.'

For some reason, I spot a look from both Vander and Benzo. Their eyes going between Powder and Ekko, and I glance over and see Ekko shifting and adjusting in his seat; avoiding eye contact.

"Something wrong?" Powder asks sounding a little nervous, but is acting casual. Leaning more into me.

'Did they do something?' I wonder before looking at Vander and Benzo. The both of them having slightly narrowed eyes before glancing at each other, then looking back at us.

"Nothin'."

"Yeah, nothin'. Don't worry 'bout it." Benzo says as Vander moves and leans over to him and they start having a hushed conversation. Making me even more confused.

"What was that about?" I ask both Powder and Ekko.

"I dunno." "No clue." They both say with shrugs.

'Clearly I'm not gonna get an answer. Better just drop it.' I thought before I put whatever that was aside and finish my breakfast.

"So, you and Isha gonna join us again?" Powder asks, making Isha tug on my sleeve.

"I know, I remember Isha. Don't worry," I say to her before turning back to Powder, "I promised Isha I'd take her out for some ice cream today and get her an outfit for the party tonight, if she didn't have another paint bomb accident." I say making Powder stiffen before sitting up.

"You-You're going alone?" Powder asks with concern clearly in her voice.

"No. I going with Isha. But yeah, besides her it might just be the two of us."

"But what if you two get lost or something?"

"I think we'll be fine. It shouldn't be too hard to find our way there."

"What if you get hurt?," Ekko asks which makes me look at him in confusion, "Zaun is more safe than ever, but that doesn't mean there isn't any bad eggs stills around. Your leg still isn't fully healed, so if something goes wrong, you might not be able to get away." he explains his worries, but I still feel confused about their concern.

"You're not wrong, but what are the chances of something really bad happening that I'll need to run away? There's a bunch of enforcers on patrol too." I say to try to reassure them, but fail based on their conflicted looks.

"We can go!," I hear Claggor call out and we turn to look, "Mylo and I aren't doing anything today, so we can go with you. We could use a break after spending so much time on our plants." he explains and I see Powder relax a little out of the corner of my eye.

"Are you sure? You don't need to do any finishing touches on your plants or anything?"

"No. The samples from the tree and the plants really helped out a lot into understanding how to get them to grow and still produce air. We already spent the past few days running tests, so we're pretty much ready for tonight's competition."

"There we go. That solves it." Powder says before going back to her relaxed posture leaning against me again and I glance over to Ekko to see he also relaxed. I hear a chuckle from Claggor and glance back to see Mylo shaking his head.

"And people say I'm stupid," he says to Claggor sounding perplexed before turning back to us, "So what are we doing? I wasn't listening."

"We're gonna get clothes for Isha for tonight, then get her some ice cream. Maybe one of those big cones with three scoops." I say, which makes Isha excited; bobbing in her seat.

"You think we spoil her too much?" Ekko asks as Powder picks more food off of my plate.

"Definitely," I pinch Isha's cheek because she's being too adorable, "but she's our spoiled kid, so who cares." I say before pulling in Isha for a quick tight hug, then once again catch Vander and Benzo giving a skeptical look our way before turning back to their conversation.

"A-Anyway, we better get the energy cell ready. Right, Ekko?" Powder says as she stands up from her seat.

"Yeah. You two stay safe out there." Ekko says quickly as he stands up and they both go speed walking out of the bar. Clearly in a rush.

"Well. I'm done, what about you?," I ask Isha and she nods her head before hopping off her seat, "Alright. You two ready to go? Or you need to get breakfast too?" I ask Claggor and Mylo.

"Nah, we got something on the way here this morning." Mylo says as they get up from there table.

"Alright. Vander, we're heading out. We'll be back before the competition starts." I say as we head towards the doors.

"Stay safe out there."

"Bye!" I say and Isha gives him a wave before we all head out for the day.

Vander Pov

"She has got to be the most clueless person I've ever met." Benzo asks after we watch them leave.

"No kiddin'. I mean, I knew they spent a lot of time together. Never thought they'd get like that though." I say, as I look at him disbelief and remembering Powder leaning against Y/n and Ekko having an arm out behind her and Isha being protective, "I know those kinds of looks Benzo. You saw that too right?"

"Thought my glasses might have been playing tricks, but you're right. Those two lovebirds are usually always with themselves in that lab of hers; never seen them bring anyone else with them in there that much," he says as I refill his drink for him and filling a glass for myself, "I'm wonderin' if they both know what each other's feelin'."

"They most likely do if you ask me. After that "she's our kid" comment those two looked more red than a tomato." I say with a chuckle at the image.

"I see why they would. Have you seen those four goin' out around town? Only a month and they're already actin' like a small family they are. I heard the rumors, but thought that's all they were." Benzo says before drinking from his glass.

"You're not alone. I only found out about it when Gert asked me one time during her shift, thought she was joking till I started really taking notice of those two's behavior around Y/n. It's pretty obvious now. Especially after that; never saw Powder get that comfy with anyone but Ekko," I say before taking a sip from my own glass, "So, what's your opinion on it?"

"Y'know me Vander, if they want to and Y/n is fine with it, then I don't see a problem with it. It's not like we haven't met anyone before who had some "friends"."

"That's different. What those two got goin' for her is more than just wantin' a "friend" Benzo. They want her heart."

"Hah! That's pretty obvious. They're already rasin' a kid with her. We better be careful, or else next week they'll be married. Wouldn't mind her as a daughter-in-law though. She fits right in around here." Benzo says, making me chuckle at the idea.

"I wouldn't mind either."

Ekko Reader

"Well it looks stable, power is going through fine, no leaks and not overheating. I think this baby is ready," Powder says after checking off a list of precautions we're taking. I watch her from her workstation as she examines the power cell and can't help but admire the look in her eyes. The passion behind them, "You're staring again."

I snap out of it and fumble with a screw driver I was holding as she laughs.

"U-Uh sorry. Can't help it sometimes." I say as she walks up and wipes some grease off my face before she leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek

"You're cute when you try to flirt," She says as she sits on the chair for her workstation and stretches, "I wish Y/n and Isha were here. We would be celebrating together." she sees with a fond look in her eyes and I can't help but do the same.

"It feels like somethings missing without them."

"Yeah," she says, obvious that her mind is wandering before blinking out of the trance she was in, "By the way, should we talk about that? Y/n, I mean. Y'know?" Powder asks, the first time either of us have actually addressed this topic about her.

'It's pretty obvious.'

"I mean, if you want to. We can. Only if you're ready though."

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

".......Tomorrow then?"

"That sounds good." I say with some relief in my voice. Too much on my mind today to really talk about this.

"So, I guess we're finally done. Investors are gonna eat this thing up, so be ready to feel like eye candy to them." she says with a satisfied smile. I can't help but feel conflicted as I glance between the energy cell and Powder, not wanting to ruin the moment.

".....Hey, I uh, I wanted to actually ask you something." I try to start off, but she is already giving me a skeptical look.

"Yeeeaaaaah?"

"I-I was thinking. Maybe we can present it together, as partners?" I ask her and I already see the hesitance on her face, "I wouldn't have been able to do this without you, and you seem to really like doing this. If we were to present together-"

"Ekko. I just.... I just don't know, okay?," she says as she starts to close in on herself before shaking her head and standing up, "I'm going to get ready. You should too." she says before she starts to leave.

"Powder!," I call out to her, but she doesn't stop, "Damn it."

Reader Pov

"Look at you. You look great Isha," I say as she wears her new frilly dress I got her. We got back awhile ago to prepare for the party for the Innovator's Competition and because the sun was getting low. Isha immediately wanted to go put on her dress; dragging me upstairs without giving me a chance to say hi to Ekko at the bar or bye to Claggor and Mylo before they left to get the plant they chose to show off for the competition, "Ready to show off to people?" I ask and she nods her head before holding my hand and we make our way back down to the bar.

As we walk down the stairs and I look over the people that have arrived a little early for the competition I hear Vander call out to us over all the noise.

"Now who let a princess in the bar, huh?" he says making Isha smile brightly and laugh a little while I also see Benzo and Ekko smile at her from there seats. We reach the bottom of the steps and I help Isha up onto a seat.

"Aw, she looks lovely," I hear from behind and turn to see Silco.

"Silco! You made it!" Benzo says as he claps a hand against Silco's shoulder.

"I wouldn't miss such an important event. Plus, we have royalty visiting." he says as he gestures to Isha with a slight bow, and Vander pulls out a coloring book and crayons from behind the bar for her.

"Get over here. I'm gonna need help serving tonight." Vander says, making Silco chuckle and he ruffles Isha's hair before heading behind the bar with Vander.

I smile at the two before noticing Ekko looking down and I get a look from Benzo. He nods towards Ekko, before moving over to Isha and asking her about her coloring book while I take his seat next to Ekko.

"What's got you so down in the dumps? Something happen to the power cell?" I ask, a little worried about all the hard work he and Powder put into it going to waste.

"No. That's not it. It's just..... I made Powder upset." he says and I give him a skeptical look.

"You didn't say something stupid did you? Did you say "Yes" when asks if she looks fat in a dress? You always say "No". It's not an actual question, Ekko" I ask jokingly which makes him chuckle and nudge my leg a little with his.

"No! Not that. At least I don't think I said something stupid," he says now making me look at him in genuine confusion. He turn on his stool to face me directly and I do the same, "Look, I know we've only known each other for little over a month, but we spent a lot of time together. You..... You see the same thing that I do in Powder, right? When she works? And focuses in on an idea?"

"Oh, yeah! Of course! Passion in her eyes, fully invested on the task, prodigy, genius, talented and a whole lotta potential. You both are the same like that..... except Powder has a habit of biting her lip when she's in her work trance," I finish before looking at Ekko and he stares at me in silence, "What?"

"U-Uh sorry. But yeah, yes! Exactly! I asked Powder if she would present the power cell with me as partners, so that maybe she would start pursuing her passion, but she didn't want to. It's not just this either. She has always been hesitating on pursuing a dream or passion and I don't know why. I know she can be great, an-and I'm not saying I don't like her now, it's just I know she has this passion that she loves and can pursue. But-"

"She's holding herself back for some reason?"

"Yes," he says with a sigh and takes a few breathes before hesitating to look back at me, "I know this might seem like a weird thing to ask, but d-" I cut him off by with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll talk to her." I say which makes him smile before surprisingly he gives me a hug.

"Thank you." he says and I gladly return the hug even tighter.

"It's fine. As long as you don't mind keeping watch of princess over there." I say as I point a thumb over my shoulder towards Isha.

"It would be an honor, but I don't really know where Powder went. I haven't seen her since she walked off."

"I'm sure I can find her." I say as I stand up and head back up the stairs, already having an idea of where she might be.

'There was always a certain spot she liked to go to.'

I make my way up and up through doors and more stairs leading to upper levels of Zaun. I see and hear more people making their way to The Last Drop for the event. I get to look out over Zaun, the higher I go the more of Zaun and Piltover I get to see before finally reaching that special place I have engraved in my head. Powder sitting by herself at the edge in a new outfit and her hair down.

"Powder?" I call out to her and she turns around. I see she applied makeup and her new outfit in full. A nice jacket with a white dress making a simple, but very good combo.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" she asks sounding confused as I walk closer to stand nearby, not wanting to invade her space since she might still be in a bad mood.

"Looking for you. Ekko said you were upset." I say, which makes her slightly sad before turning back forward to the beautiful view of our home.

"You didn't have to come looking for me. It wasn't anything bad."

"I know, but I wanted to find you make sure you're okay and..... maybe talk about something?" I say that last part with a little hesitance, which makes her sigh.

"Why?," she asks, still looking forward at the view, "Why does everyone keep pushing me on this? What's wrong with just staying where I am?"

"Because then you'll be stuck Powder. You'll be stuck while the world moves on and regrets build up," I say to try to reach out to her, "We all care for you, and we all know you have a gift. I know that may sound weird since we only met like a month ago, but I've seen the way you work with Ekko. You love inventing and working in that kind of stuff. What's holding you back?" I ask, genuinely curious on the reason.

She stays silent for a few second before I finally hear something.

"I'm scared."

"Huh?"

"*sigh* I'm scared." she says, now making me perplexed at that answer.

"Scared? You? What could you possibly be scared of?" I ask with a short laugh at the idea.

"My-......Myself."

That freezes me in place. My feet feeling rooted in the ground at that answer. At Powder being scared of herself. Just like before. Before she became Jinx.

"W-What?" I ask, trying to control my breathing and ignore the old memories resurfacing again.

"All my life, ever since I was young I always found a way to just mess something up," she says my eyes widening at her words. At their similarity to what she said to me before, "It's like I was bad luck or something. I go on a job with my siblings, it goes wrong. I try to invent something, it doesn't work or ends up hurting someone. What if..... what if I mess up again?"

"But, you were young then Powder. There's nothing wrong with failing; we're all supposed to fail and learn from them to get better. It shapes us. Makes us stronger." I say to try and reassure her, but I don't seem to reach her.

"I-I..... I don't know," she says as she stands up, "Maybe I'm just a jinx."

Jinx. That damn word echoes in my head. Memories of a young Powder crying and blaming herself for the deaths of Vander, Mylo, and Claggor. Believing herself to be destined to hurt everyone close to her. To never know peace or happiness.

'No! Not again!'

Powder turns around and walks past me to leave, but I grab her arm and turn her back around to stop her.

"No!," I say letting my emotions get to me as she stares at me in shock, "You listen to me, Powder. You have the making of greatness inside of you, but you gotta push for it. You need to leap! Charge down the path you want in life and let nothing get in your way," I take a step back and gesture towards the city with my arms, "and when the time comes in life for you to really test your inner iron and steel and show the world what you're made of. I-I can only hope I get to be there that day Powder. Catching some of the light shining off of you," I say as I look up at the stars starting to shine in the night sky, "You may not believe in yourself Powder, but I do," I say before turning back to look at her with tears running down my eyes and cup her face with my hands gently, "You're gonna rattle the stars one day. I know it."

I stand there in tears and see her eyes water before she shoots forward and embraces me into a close hug. I hold her close to me, hearing her sniffles and labored breathes. I take in the moment and just hold her close to me, feeling my shirt get wet from her tears.

We stand there for what feels like forever in each other's embrace, before I feel her pull away but still hold on close and I see her makeup streaking down her face, so I wipe them away with my sleeves.

"You-You're makeu-"

"Shut up." she says before I feel her grab my collar and pull me into a deep kiss her arms wrapping around my neck. My head blanking for that moment not knowing what to do as I feel her explore me deeply before pulling away. Then I start to panic.

"Wha-!" I go to yell, but she puts a finger over my lips.

"Ekko knows," she says, making my brain even more fried than it was a second ago and based off her laugh it shows on my face, "C'mon, I'll tell him about this tonight and we can talk about it all tomorrow. I just really needed that." she says before dragging me back down the stairs and leading me to the bar while I'm left with no words.

'What the fuck.' Is the only thing I have on my mind as we arrive back at the bar. All the sound and music not registering as Powder puts me on a bar stool.

"You're back!" I hear Ekko yell out and I turn to see him and Powder hug and kiss. The kiss brining back memories from just a few minutes ago and Powder gives me a wink, confusing Ekko and making me blush.

"I want to talk to you for a second." Powder says to him before pulling him off to somewhere as I stare at the bar counter; still processing what the fuck just happened.

"You okay?"

My head shoots up and makes eye contact with Vander and I immediately start to panic again.

"U-Uh u-um, ye-yeah. I'm fine. I just....," I say as I stare at the back door of the bar that I know leads to the alley, "I just need a breather from all these people. Be right back." I say before quickly rushing off towards the back door, and step outside for fresh air.

I take some deep breathes of the cool fresh air of the night.

'Calm down. Just breathe and calm down.'

I slowly steady my breathing before looking back at the door and consider going back in, but back out and instead head down the alleyway.

'I need to walk. Get my mind off of, whatever the fuck just happened.'

I thought before walking down the alleyway towards the main street which looked much more busy and crowded tonight.

"It really is a par-"

I'm cut off by a sudden force of pain to the back of my head and falling to the ground; my helmet rolling away from me. The world goes blurry and my head dizzy as I reach for my gun, but my hand is stomped on and my gun is taken from me.

"Got you now. Bloodhound," I hear someone say before I feel my multiple footsteps and my hands be tied behind my back and my mouth gagged, "I think it's time for payback gang." they say before I feel myself be picked up. Too light headed and dizzy to fight back.

'Help.'

Hope you enjoyed. Sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

#arcane au #yandere arcane #yandere arcane x reader #yandere claggor #yandere ekko #yandere mylo #yandere powder #yandere silco #yandere vander #yandere vi

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binniesbooks · 11 months ago

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ahh hi my fayebae(idk is this cute?if its not I can think of another one)

anyways i thought real hard and long for this(while eating ice cream since its so hot here rn) but here's my idea!! gyu and reader are school rivals of a certain sport(u can choose the sport), let's just say boys and girls are both on the team!

they are pretty popular/well known (cos it looks like one wrong move and they would rip each other throat's out) but also cos they are both captains of their own school team!

but what others don't know, is that the whole tension and rivalry that they put on, is just an act. behind close doors well, one can say they are more than friends 🤭 seeing that after every game. they are both nowhere in sight.

(honestly dont mind switch between gyu and reader?? but u can choose who would take the lead n such idm!!) like it'll be hawt ughhh please ofc include smut!!(gyu eating out reader if possible I'm on my knees😳n anything else that is pleasurable for both of them heheh) everything else is up to u!!🤍

idk if this is any good cos this is like my 2nd ask of a fic to anyone T-T I rlly hope this inspires u <3

• LOCKED AND LOADED

BG 001 .F23 2024

wc 3.8k

pairing rival(?)!beomgyu x fem!reader

warning cursing, unprotected sex, oral sex, cum playing, dangerous activity(gun holding) (tell me if I missed anything)

faye's note dedicated to my one and only dearest Beomgyu's kitten, @babymochibeargyu here you goooo! I'm sorry for the delay, I feel bad omg. But here's a little TMI, I rewatched one of TODO episodes for this kkkkk! Plus I did my own research tooooo! But, okay, I know there's no Olympics likes this but just imagine. Omg. Kkkkk bye!

Btw, I feel like I'm being surrounded with bamtoris 😋 ❤️

2024 Campus Olympics

"And...they're out!" The crowd roared from cheers and disappointment coming from the bleachers as the big screen showed the "GAME OVER" sign.

"We have our semi-finalist! Ladies and gentlemen! ELITE EAGLES!" The crowd roared once again at the announcer's statement. You heard the deafening sound as you and your teammates stepped out from the range. The air was thick with competition and excitement.

This sport has been ongoing for years now. The sport that requires skill, accuracy, precision, and speed, is a shooting game. However, the guns used in this competition are nerfed, to lessen the power and accidents that may happen. You and Beomgyu's school had been the biggest rivals in this sport. Making it the spotlight and main event of the Camp Olympics.

"Now! Who will be our champion of the year?! Will it be the ELITE EAGLES?" the crowd cheered again, "Or our defending champions, the ALPHAS!" The crowd grew louder, you glanced at the other side of the entrance of the range. And there he was, standing all proud with a smirk plastered on his face, it was no other than your only rival, Beomgyu.

You clutched at the nerfed gun you were holding as your teammate were fixing their protective vests and head gears.

"This will be the game of the century for both of these teams! For the past 2 years, they have scored 1-1 so far, who will conquer this time?" The commentator announced. You could practically feel the stretch of the veins in their neck with the way they shouted.

It's been two years since you joined this sport, you were still a sophomore at that time. And this time, it was your last and final year to play, craving for the victor's crown. Beomgyu had been your rival from the start, making it his last and final year to play too.

Beomgyu turned his gaze towards yours, grinning at how you were practically boring holes in his head. As you line up in front facing each other's team, the fiery stare and sharp remarks on the field had all the students buzzing, and it seemed like a single misstep would ignite a full-blown feud.

"Go Eagles, we soar, we flight! United and bold, in the heart of fight!"

"Who's got the power, the strength, the drive? We are the Alphas, we thrive, we thrive!"

The cheer squad from both teams were doing their best to boost their player's determination. Showing off their respected school representative animals from banners to mascots, cheers to flaglets. The rivalry, driven by pride and competition, garners attention from everyone as both teams relish in the spotlight. The tension is palpable, with the upcoming round heightened by mutual taunts and challenging glances, fueling their status as competitors.

"Players! Lock and Load!" the rumbling sound of cheers and shouts envelops the field.

2022 Campus Olympics

"Y/n, you should definitely join, I swear it will be worth it." Yeonjun, your president of the photography club recommended joining the Lock and Load sports club. He used to be the team captain but since he and the members were about to graduate, he needed to keep the club alive. Persuading you to join and be the captain of the team.

"Jjun," his face crumpled at the name, "I really can't do that, prez. Look, I'm already in this photography club, I can't manage my time. " You sighed.

"Says the one who can stay up all night to watch her favorite movies but can't even accept her president's slash friend's request." He yapped and yawned.

"Fine!" You stomped your feet, "If you were not just my president and one of my dearest friends, I wouldn't have considered your request at all!" You crossed your arms, pouting as you hear his light laughs envelope the room

"We have a new champion! Ladies and gentlemen! Elite Eagles!" Your crowd cheered on you. This annual event is a big event for your schools. And you felt the proud look from the participants of your school. Being the champion in this sport was a normal occurrence especially when Yeonjun was still the captain. So as you turned to him, his smile was the brightest you had ever seen.

As you turn to the other side, you see your opponent's team. You can't see any disappointment in their eyes, but their aura practically screams revenge. Their team captain caught your eye. He's tall and looked like he had a pleasing personality the way he was talking to his teammates. Well, that's what you can see.

As your two teams gathered up in front for a handshake to show sportsmanship, you hesitated at the way he was smiling at you. You raised your hand to shake his, but you feel strange.

"Congratulations." The word rolled out of his mouth so smooth and sweet yet full of threat. Your skin crawled at how cold his palm was. You immediately pulled back your hand as you felt an electric sensation radiating off of him through you. A palpable tension between you ignited when both of your eyes met, frowning faces as if about to kill each other. -- That's when everybody knew, you would be the biggest rivals of this sport.

"I told you, you can do it!" Yeonjun said as he ruffled your hair while walking with your team. "All of you, you did well too, I knew you could do it." Greeting the group made them cheer and thank Yeonjun, for the support he gave and the persuasion he did.

"Are you coming?" One of your teammates shouted outside asking you if you would go with them to celebrate, but you're still not finished taking a bath to remove the sweaty scent that makes you feel icky. "I will! But go ahead, I'll catch up later." You confirmed. You heard the door closed. It was really good to have such a facility that caters for your annual school events. The big field could accommodate all of the participating schools for the event, and the participants' team themselves had their own rooms to stay in. You were more than happy, you got to experience using these athlete's rooms plus you even won the championship of Lock and Load.

You were about to leave when you stopped in your tracks as you saw someone standing leaning on the wall in the hallway. He's wearing your opponent's uniform.

"Hey there. Come with me for a while."

2023 Campus Olympics

"They're three points left behind with 2 minutes remaining! Will Alphas catch up or will they be the ones to win the championship?" The roaring crowd ignites the desperation of both teams to win.

With a ten-point difference, Alphas won the game. The victory wasn't supposed to be theirs but their captain changed plans last minute. The prideful face of Beomgyu shined bright as he walked out of the range. His grin grew wider when you were in his sight. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and turn your back to him. This rivalry between the two schools will get bigger, given the fact that you two will be playing your last games next year. The score tied at 1-1, the next annual event will be the tiebreaker.

"It's fine really. We do lose too, even before." Despite being a graduate student, Yeonjun still gives his full support to the Elite Eagles' Lock and Load team, patronizing them, especially at this event, he is also the acting coach of the team as of now. Besides, he was the reason why your school has its own team for the Lock and Load sport. He tried to cheer you up, tapping every slumped shoulder of every player.

You forced a smile at him, trying your best not to look too bad. "I have an idea. I'll buy tonight's dinner for you guys. I can't look at your droopy faces." He volunteered, gathering some "Coach, you don't have to" and "Hyung, you don't have to" as answers. "No, I insist."

When your fellow players got up to head to the accommodation room, you stayed behind at one of the benches for players near the range. Yeonjun sat beside you. "Don't be so disheartened. You know, there's still one more year for you. I know you'll make it." He ruffled your hair, giving you a bottle of energy drink.

"Replenish your energy. Then come over to the team dinner." Maybe Yeonjun felt that your silence had screamed that you wanted to be alone for a while. He put his hand in his pocket as he walked away.

"Come out. I know you're there." The same person from the opponent's team, leaning on the post not too far from where you are sitting, is hidden away from eyes that can see both of you.

Present

Your team ran through the course, earning points at each shot. For the past years, you have Beomgyu as an opponent, you could say that you can read his plans and movements. Allowing you to move and think faster than him. His teammates were quick, but you and your teammates trained yourself to be wary and not let your guard down.

"This is an interesting and intense game of the century!" You almost scoffed at the figures of speech the announcers had been using in their comments.

"Shit, that was a close call!" You muttered as you hid yourself on a stack of sacks, you were almost hit by his teammate. "Attention eagles! I can see their position from here. E7, proceed under the truck, someone's behind the wall. E5, someone just ran near your position. E6, remain seated, they might see you. Others, stick to the plan, be careful!" You quietly talked to your teammates as you distributed their tasks.

All 8 members of each team can earn points as much as they can, each shot is equivalent to a certain point depending on what part of the body the bullet hits. The suit and protective vests that the player wore had built-in sensors, that whenever an opponent’s bullets hits it, it would automatically count as a point.

It's almost the end of the round, and with 9 minutes remaining, the score was 88-67 with your team at the lower end. You're frustrated-- Beomgyu irks you so much. With 8 minutes remaining, you kept on shooting at any opponent that came your way. You did not camp anymore. Moving from one place to another. 7 minutes remaining, the crowd became louder. Your mind is blurry to think of a strategy. 6 minutes remaining, your teammates are trying to reach you but to no avail. 5 minutes remaining, you don't have much time left, you can't just remain still. 4 minutes remained, and you dashed to the opponent's base aiming for their captain, receiving a few glancing blows in the process. 3 minutes remaining, you covered yourself near the metal wall. 2 minutes remaining, the score ascended to 112-103, but still, your team was at the lower end.

The firing from others has ceased, probably killing the 2 minutes remaining to save energy and steady the scores. You roamed your eyes through the opponent's base. No captain in sight. "Shit, am I too late?" You muttered, slowly walking to search for him. You were about to step out of their base when you heard someone.

"Hands behind your head." The voice commanded. Fucking hell, you're doomed.

....

Both teams step out of the range with loud cheers from the crowd.

"We almost did it. We were so close."

"Man, that was close."

"This is my last year already."

Clear disappointment, was what you heard.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The game of the century has now officially ended! Our champion! No other than..." Your ears practically ring with the announcer's shouting voice.

"ELITE EAGLES!" Your team cheered as much as the crowd did, jumping and shouting their lungs out.

You turn to Beomgyu, one of his hands in his pocket, and the other still holding the gun. He smiled at you, mouthing a 'congratulations'. You nodded before you were called to line up and shake each other's hands.

"The annual Campus Olympics has officially ended. This is your official commentator of the year's event, Kim Jun-soo, signing off."

"Woah! How did you do it, captain? I thought we were going to lose!" Your teammates were overjoyed, but still not over the fact that you won.

"See? I told you, you can do it. And look you actually did!" Yeonjun placed his cap on your head. "Nice job, team captain."

"I..thank you." You were out of words -- no, you were out of this world actually.

"Hey, dinner is on--"

"Coach, the organizers gave me a stub. Dinners are on them for both teams." Yeonjun was cut off by one of your teammates.

Hearing the free dinner, Yeonjun cheered with your teammates. Free dinner = not a single cent to be spent.

"See you later then, rest for now, we still have plenty of time," Yeonjun announced.

...

"Hey move over, the seat is empty." Bickering can be heard from the next table in the restaurant reserved for the players. Yeonjun sighs, for three consecutive years, you haven't attended the team dinner. You are, again, not in sight.

"By any chance, have you seen Captain?"

"Oh yeah, Beomgyu is not here again. I wonder why the seat's empty."

"How many years has it been? 2?"

"Three years. He did not attend any single team dinner at all."

"Forget it, eat to your heart's content. He might not just wanna attend."

Yeonjun's head snapped at what he had just heard. Alphas and Elite Eagles have been rivals for so long. You and the other team's captain have been rivals for three years. And neither of you has attended team dinners for three consecutive years too. Was something going on? Or was he just overthinking it?

"Gyu... Beomgyu..." You whined.

"Shhh, stay still." He whispered.

"Ahh... Beomgyu..." his name rolling off your tongue so sweet it makes him feel tingly.

Your grip on his hair tightens a little bit, "More... I want more..." Your words are shaky and needy.

Beomgyu held your thighs to keep them steady, lapping at your sweet wetness. "Why are you so needy right now?" He asked sucking at your clit. Your back arched at his action. "I...I want more, please... I want you." He pulled back a little bit, just a few inches away from your dripping cunt. His hot puffs of breath make you shiver and whine for me. "N-no teasing..." Your legs felt weak. Shaking. Trembling. "But I love you being so needy, captain. I like seeing you squirm under me." Your hand clasped your mouth, refraining from moaning, the term captain gives butterflies to your stomach.

"Captain, just so you know, I love how you moan my name, I love how you make that face when you cum. I love it when you whine and whimper." His eyes are fixed on you while he's kissing your inner thighs. He watches the rising and falling motion of your exposed chest.

"Now, say my name again, will you?" He uttered, getting ready to dive in you again.

His hot and slippery tongue licked a stripe on your cunt, making your back arch once again as you gripped tightly on his sheets. "Beomgyu... Cap..captain Gyu.." you yelped, "I'm gonna cum.. please.." he likes this so much. He likes it when you beg for him to take care of you.

"Let it out, captain." He smirked as he continued tongue fucking you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you quivered as you reached your high. Beomgyu's bed was a total mess, from your thrashing, from your sweat, from your squirming.

"This never changed, you always taste good, captain. Ever since we were young." He grasped your waist to pull you closer, sucking your remaining cum from the intense orgasm he gave you. He sat down on the edge of the bed, just to rest for a while, but he did not expect what you were about to do.

You crawled down on him, between his legs. You look up at him as you lay your cheek on one of his thighs. He smirked at your quirks. He grabbed a gun from his table drawer. Pointing it on your temple. Your eyes flutter at him as he smiles sweetly at you. "Do it for me, yeah,?" He motions at his belt. Beomgyu owns a licensed gun, it was your gift when you two just turned 18. Probably the reason why he joined lock and load.

You carefully unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants agonizingly slow. The cold muzzle kissing your sweaty temple. You were still staring at him, he was biting his lips, abs clenching at the sight. You pumped him a few times causing him to groan at your work.

"Careful, Captain. Fuck." One hand still holding the gun pointed at you, another gripping at the sheets.

You spit on his cock, a makeshift lube, as you bobbed your head carefully. His breath was shaky and hot. Lips were now red at how he occasionally bit them from the sensation.

Your tongue prodded at his tip, trying to lick his slit.

"Ahh, fucking shit, y/n.." His hips were thrusting up to your mouth.

"Do it again. Fuck, do that again." He commanded when you stop licking his slit. One more move and he will fall from the bed.

You took him whole --that's when he lost it, he holds your head with both of his hands, still clutching onto the gun.

He was fucking your throat, your gag reflex kicking in, "Shit, god damn it y/n, I'm sorry!" Despite the apology, his movement did not stop one bit, if anything, he even moved a bit rougher.

"C-can I cum in your m-mouth?" His words fumbling, the muscles of his legs tensing. "P-please tell me if I can. I-i'm... Shit. Ahh! I'm close.." he stammered.

You hummed, causing him to lose himself at the resonance. His cock throbbed inside your mouth as white spurts of cum painted your mouth.

He quickly tossed the gun on his bed as he pulled you up to straddle him. One hand resting on your hand, the other on your chin. "Open your mouth." You opened your mouth, very carefully, not wanting to spill his milk. He pressed his thumb on your tongue, playing with his cum, as he let it spill out, trailing down to his hand.

"You always make me horny." He licked his thumb before pulling you to a fervent kiss. You started grinding on him as he kissed you with so much longing. He easily slipped inside of you with your slick still dripping on your thighs, causing you to gasp allowing him to fuck your throat with his tongue. You started to roll your hips in a circular motion causing him to curse. "Are we doing it raw again, captain?" You asked, but he dodged your answer with another question.

"Captain, I-I just came. How could you?" He wrapped his arms around your waist. You stilled before pulling away, "The stunt you pulled is dangerous," you pouted, "What if you suddenly killed me? I bought that for you as a souvenir when I went to the States. I did not expect it to be used against me." You crossed your arms. He planted a sweet kiss on your lips, "Rule number 2, firearms should be unloaded when not actually in use," he shrugged, "The magazine ain't intact." He added.

Your mouth gaped, you were dumbfounded, all this time your heart had been racing thinking about the danger that might actually happen. But in fact, it was actually unloaded.

"Damn you! I was scared to death! I thought --"

"You thought? You thought what?" He cuts you off when he starts thrusting, stretching you out. You hid your face in the crook of his neck.

"Wow, that's cheating, making an excuse to moan on my ears." His moves were unchanging, deeply thrusting in your sloppy cunt.

You can't help yourself but moan, not when he's gripping your waist to push his girthy cock deeper on you.

"Captain... Captain, you're hitting the right s-spots..." You moaned as you stayed glued to his sweaty body.

"I-i'll pull out. I'll pull out c-captain." His words stuttered as his moves also stuttered.

"Don't, please Gyu. I want you to cum inside, I'm on the pill." You buried your face more in his neck, embarrassed hearing yourself begging him to cum in you.

"How can I say no when you're c-clenching on my c-cock. Shit, I'm close." He huffed. You clenched more, you want him so much. You're desperate to feel his warm cum filling you up.

"C-captain, c-can I rub my..." You're too shy to finish your sentence, but he pulled the words out of your mouth when he started moving his fingers on your clit in a circular motion."Captain! Captain, fuck! Oh god!" You were both ecstatic rushing to chase your highs.

He restrained your hands behind your back as he started moving harder, abusing your stretched cunt. You moved closer to him, to his ears, moaning at it purposely, pushing him to the edge as he spilled inside you.

He continued fucking you and rubbing your clit despite the fact he had reached his own orgasm, overstimulating himself. "Fuck it fucking h-hurts! Fucking hell!" You can't hear any words from him other than his resounding curses until you are squirting on him. He was chasing his breath as he laid his forehead on your shoulder.

"I love this so much... I love you... You're so hot squirting on my cock.. sexy." He muttered. You pulled him into a hug, slight movements causing the both of you to wince. I love you too, Captain.." You whispered.

All you can hear in the room is the ticking of the clock, the thumping of your chest, and the heavy pants and breaths coming from both of you.

"Why did you do it, Gyu?" You look at him, eyes searching for answers. He just smiled.

"Hands behind your head." It was Beomgyu. You're doomed.

"Hello there, Miss Captain." He clicks his tongue as he stares at you. "You really wanted to win, yeah?" He added.

"Ah-ah! Do not move! Give me your gun." He commanded making you flinch, you glanced at the timer on his suit, less than one minute remaining. You handed him your gun and placed your hands behind your head again.

"Do me a favor." You looked at him confused, "What favor?" 30 seconds remaining.

"Call me captain." Short, yet precise words.

"What?" Your eyebrows furrowed.

"I said, call me captain." 20 seconds.

"Look, I don't know what-"

"Call. Me. Captain. Right now." His voice was full of authority. 10 seconds remaining.

3... "Captain!"

1... "Bang!" You flinched at what you've heard, he pulled the trigger! Beomgyu fucking pulled the trigger.

But it wasn't his gun, it was yours, and the muzzle was pressed on his headgear.

10 points were added to your score, a headshot is equivalent to 10 points. The score ascends to 102-113.

@binniesbooks 2024

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