#I COULDN'T STOP LAUGHING THINKING ABOUT THIS

[subshine-thoughts]

"It'll be fun," he said. "A relaxing day by the lake, making sure we soak up the summer sun. I'll even pack us a picnic."

So you went, because why wouldn't you? He's your childhood best friend, after all. Of course you trust him. And spending a day away from civilization sounds like just the thing to relieve your stress.

So you go, spending the drive to the lake laughing and listening to the joint playlist you two have been building for years. You're having such a good time that it doesn't occur to you how far out in the middle of nowhere this lake is.

The morning is perfect. You both read under the sun, camped out on an oversized blanket. When your stomach growls, he reaches inside the picnic basket and pulls out your favorite type of sandwich and a bottle of water.

You think it's thoughtful. He even thought to open up the cap on the bottle so you wouldn't have to struggle with it.

Everything is going fine, and you're about to suggest doing this again before summer ends when a sudden wave of sleepiness hits you.

Must be from the sun, you think tiredly as you lay back down and close your eyes.

"Tired already?" your friend asks teasingly.

You can barely manage to nod in response. Just so tired.

You drift off to the odd sensation of breath against your ear and your friend whispering, "Don't worry. I'm gonna take care of you."

When you come to, still drugged and only half-conscious, almost all your clothes are off. You feel wet in between your legs, and your nipples feel sensitive, like they do after you've played with them for a long time.

Your best friend is dragging his lips down your thigh. You try to reach for him, but your hand is too heavy.

You drift off again.

This time, you wake to the sensation of being filled. You're a little more aware now, but still too sleepy to put together a coherent thought.

All you know is you're fully naked now, laying on your back with your legs spread, and your best friend is slowly sliding in and out of you.

When you moan, a sound of confusion mixed with pleasure, he smiles down at you.

"I'm sorry, princess. I just couldn't help myself."

His voice pulls you back to a more wakeful state, and you realize with horror what's happening. You try to struggle, but you're still so weak. He pins you down easily and picks up the pace of his thrusts.

"No, don't do that. I know you want this. Can't you feel how wet you are for me? How perfectly I fit inside you?"

To prove his point, he pushes deep inside you and holds himself there. You whimper and shake your head. All those years of trust, broken in a single afternoon.

"It's okay. You'll see it soon enough."

You should kick, or cry, or do anything to get him to stop. You should scream, even though there's no one around for miles.

But all you do is lay there while he continues thrusting inside you.

He leans down and kisses you, and despite your fear and your hurt, you kiss him back. You spread your legs open more for him so he has even better access to you.

They're automatic actions, your body responding to the stimulation.

At least, that's what you tell yourself as he comes inside you and then flips you onto your stomach for another round.

And when he nudges your legs open, you let him, lifting your ass into the air so he'll have an easier time violating you.

[inkedinshadows]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[allfearstofallto]

"Aren't you Going to Finish That Thought?"

Wanderer x Fem! Reader

Pure fluff, hurt and comfort

AN: Super super self indulgent fic. Just something I needed as a D1 yapper

“And when you dig the hole, it has to be very shallow, because the roots continue to grow down faster than-” you stop yourself, a hint of embarrassment on your face. You're talking too much. Again. Blabbing on and on about something or other that no one cares about, filling the silence with your annoying voice.

You always talked to Wanderer. You'd seek him out wherever he went just to sit and chat with him. Although, chatting meant he'd actually respond, he never said much back. Instead he'd have his nose in his book or his eyes focused on what was happening out the window, typically it was the sunset. You felt your heart sink at the realization. He was ignoring you. Telling you that you were bothering him with actions rather than words.

“You talk so much,”

“Don't you ever shut up?”

“Not everything needs to be said,”

You mentally cringed at the words that suddenly filled your brain. All things that'd been said to you, all things that people you considered friends or loved ones thought about you. They could say it as a quip or with a playful smile on their faces, but you know that every joke has a bit of truth behind it. They meant it, even subconsciously. And maybe he felt the same way.

You silenced yourself. That familiar lump was forming in your throat, the one that meant you'd possibly cry if prodded the wrong way.

“Aren't you going to finish that thought?” Wanderer had finally looked up from his book. Pretty blue eyes now focused on you with a questioning gaze. His words startled you, seeing as he only spoke so often. You assumed he was being sarcastic again, but he wasn't wearing that smirk that he always did when saying something snarky. He truly meant it.

You shrugged your shoulders, trying to give him a weak smile that wasn't very convincing at downplaying your sudden lack of confidence, “I just- thought I was talking too much,” words spoken with a bit of sorrow behind them. Stammered out forcefully while you still resisted the urge to cry.

“Who said that?” His question had a bit of a bite behind it. A touch of anger in it. For a moment, you feared that he was angry at you, but his eyes had a certain softness to them when he looked upon your face.

“I don't know. Everyone?”

He clicked his tongue, “Am I everyone?”

“I don't-”

Wanderer cut you off before you could finish a self deprecating thought, “I was listening. I'm always listening. Don't you think I would've told you if you were bothering me?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

“When have I ever been nice?” he asked, but there was a softness to his voice that you realized only you had ever got the pleasure of hearing. Whenever you eavesdropped in him speaking to anyone else, he sounded annoyed, furious even that they'd dare approach him. But never with you.

His question makes your heart beat quicken and your eyes foggy with tears. You shrugged, shook your head, but didn't say anything else. You couldn't. Unless he wanted to console you as you sobbed.

“Now finish what you were saying. About the flowers, right?” Wanderer tried to mask that softness in his voice by sounding butter again, but you could hear through it.

With a laugh, you started up again, watching as his eyes fell onto his book. If you looked closely, really really closely, you could see a little smile playing at his lips.

[cressidagrey]

Schrodinger's... Girlfriend? - Chapter 9: Of Bombshells and Big Disclosures

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Original Character

Summary:

Oscar Piastri’s love life is the talk of the F1 world—mainly because no one’s ever seen his girlfriend. Does she exist? Or is she just a figment of his imagination? Detective Lando Norris to the rescue!

Warnings: 

I don't think there are any?

“How did you even manage this?” Oscar asked her, as he lead her back to the McLaren Garage. “I thought you were going to write another final next week.”

“So did I,” Vanessa said with a snort. “Until the professor figured out that he got the date wrong on the syllabus…I wrote it on Friday already.”

It had been quite annoying, because orginally...Monday had been supposed to be the date...And that had messed up her study planning... but oh well.

 If she was only going to get a 94 instead of a 99, she was going to survive it. 

“So I thought…hey…I can make it to the race…2 hours later I had a flight booked," she told Oscar with a grin. Like there had been anything that would have stopped her from finally getting to see her boyfriend race from somewhere else other than the comfort of her couch.

Oscar squeezed her hand tightly.  “Thank you for coming,” he told her and she squeezed his hand right back.

“So, show me where the magic happens,” she teased him.

The next ten minutes was an absolute whirlwind of introductions around the McLaren garage, between engineers, strategists and mechanics, before Oscar pulled her into his driver’s room.

She had seen a lot of these throughout the last months, though she had always been on the other end of a facetime call.

Oscar closed the door behind them and grinned as Nessie looked around the room, eyes darting around the place, taking in his suit and helmet on the desk, before her gaze landed back on him and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She stepped closer to him and his arm wrapped around her back, tugging her closer against his chest.

“You have no idea how good it feels to have you here in person,” he murmured, his hands sliding down her sides, pulling her even closer against him.

She hummed softly as her head leaned against his shoulder, her face nuzzling against his neck. “Maybe I have a little bit of an idea,” she murmured against the skin, her lips brushing against his neck. “But it’s definitely much better than watching you through a screen.”

His hands slid beneath her top and onto her bare skin, fingertips drawing lazy circled onto the small of her back. “Much better,” he agreed with a low groan, one hand going up to grab the back of her head and tilt her face upwards for a proper kiss.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling into the soft curls at the nape of his neck when she stepped as close to him as she could get. She sighed softly against his lips when they parted for a breath before she kissed him again, lips opening eagerly to deepen the kiss.

God, she had missed him.

Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers tracing his muscles through the thin fabric of his polo shirt. There was no doubt in his mind that he had missed her just as badly as she had missed him.

She pulled back, slightly breathless. “So how long until the race?” she asked him.

“Another 2 hours or so,” Oscar answered, chasing her lips for another kiss. “Lando is probably busy taking a nap right about now, otherwise he would have already come out screaming about you being real after all.”

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "He still thinks I am some sort of elaborate joke?” Vanessa asked curiously.

Oscar just sighed. “Who knows what is going on in that head of his,” he said with a long suffering sigh. “But I do know that he will absolutely flip out, when he sees you in person.”

“Can’t wait to see his face," she told him, her mouth already curving up into a smile just picturing the scenario that was about to unfold as soon as Lando found out about the fact that she was actually there in person. 

And Nessie got to see that earlier than they both thought.

A few minutes later, she sat cross legged in the corner of the sofa, while Oscar was shifting through stuff on his desk… And in walked Lando Norris, without even bothering to knock...or glance in her direction. His mind was clearly focused on whatever racing question he had for Oscar. “Osc, I’ve been thinking-”

Vanessa couldn’t help it. She leaned back against the sofa, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Lando,” she said, her voice cool and calm, “you don’t seriously still believe I’m not real, right?”

Lando froze in place, mid-sentence, eyes wide as he whipped around, scanning the room in disbelief. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His gaze landed on Vanessa, and it was as if the world stopped.

The high-pitched noise that came out of his mouth was enough to make Oscar nearly drop the stack of paper in hands in shock. Vanessa couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, because that had been exactly the reaction she had hoped for.

“AHHHHHH!” Lando screamed, stumbling backward in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

“Surprise," Vanessa said with a grin, her voice filled with amusement, clearly enjoying the absolute shock on Lando's face.

In one swift movement, Lando collided with a chair, falling backward into it with such force that it tipped over. He scrambled to his feet, half-hysterical, his voice rising in panic. “OH MY GOD, SHE’S REAL! SHE’S REAL!”

Watching Lando flail about like that was enough to send Vanessa into hysterical giggles, and she was pretty sure that the sound of her giggling was only adding to Lando’s already panicked state.

Oscar, on the other hand, had slumped against his desk, his entire body shaking with laughter at the sight of Lando, absolutely losing it over Vanessa’s existence.

“Lando, I told you she exists,” Oscar finally said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Lando practically scrambled towards him, grabbing onto his arm and shaking it as if his life depending on it. “She’s right THERE,” he shrieked, pointing at Vanessa frantically. “SHE IS!”

Vanessa couldn’t help another fit of giggles. “I am, indeed,” she said in a calm voice, still leaning back in the sofa, clearly enjoying herself.

Lando gaped at her, his eyes wide with astonishment, before whipping his head around to fix Oscar with a look that was a mix between shock and disbelief. “Why the hell is she here?”

Oscar couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. “What do you think? To see me.”

Lando spluttered, still clinging onto Oscar’s arm, his mouth working soundlessly. “But she’s— she’s—” he sputtered out, unable to finish a single sentence as his gaze wandered from Oscar to Vanessa and back, his mind clearly at war with what he was seeing.

“A living, breathing human being,” Vanessa filled in, her voice dripping with amusement. “Not a white whale...not a mannequin...not imaginary either."

Lando let out a strangled cry, his grip on Oscar’s arm tightening, as if he was afraid she was going to vanish into thin air any second now. "You’ve been dating her...this whole time...and she is just…here?” he managed to sputter out.

Oscar snorted, clearly enjoying Lando’s reaction a bit too much. “See? I told you I wasn’t messing with you. You really should’ve believed in the ‘white whale,’ mate.”

Lando, now starting to laugh at himself as the tension eased, shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life. I screamed when I saw you. I thought I was going to pass out.”

Vanessa chuckled, crossing her arms as she shook her head. “You’re not the first person to be a little shocked by me.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Lando replied, finally getting to his feet, his face flushed from the whole ordeal. “I’m just... still processing it.”

Oscar clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “No worries, mate. Just be glad you didn’t faint or something. That would’ve been a bit more embarrassing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando muttered, rolling his eyes but still laughing. “I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?”

“You’re going to hear it forever,” Oscar said with a grin.

“Oh, absolutely,” Vanessa joined in, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “This is prime material for future jokes and jabs."

Lando groaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “You two are going to be the death of me, you know that, right?”

"Oh, come on, Lando," Oscar said, his tone almost mockingly cheerful. "We're just keeping you on your toes. It's all in good fun, mate."

"It's very nice to meet you though," Vanessa said brightly. "I have heard a lot about you, Lando."

Lando's expression turned from one of mock despair to a genuine smile at her words. "Yeah, likewise," he replied, his voice still tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "Sorry about, you know, the whole..." he trailed off, waving.

"Making the whole internet think I didn't exist or that I was Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster?" she asked drily. "Don't worry, I found it quite amusing."

Lando winced with an embarrassed grin, his cheeks flushing once more. "Yeah, that," he admitted sheepishly. "It was all a bit ridiculous."

She shrugged, a bemused smile playing at the edges of her lips. “I’ll admit, it was rather funny seeing everyone online debating my existence."

[ateezscupid]

can you write smth with sub mingi and a curvy reader, and like he picks her up and she tenses and gets all awkward and insecure and he basically just reassures her?💕

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST mingi w/ body worship ♡

"I'm home-!" Mingi yelled, dropping his bag by the door. You came scurrying around the corner, holding your arms out with a cheeky smile.

"Min!" you squeal, throwing your arms around his neck. He laughs, returning the embrace before setting you down gently. "I missed youuu!"

"Aw, really? How much?" he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and giving a playful squeeze. You pretend to think hard, your eyes squinting as if the answer is just out of reach.

"Well, let's see… a lot!" You giggle, feeling the warmth of his smile against your cheek.You pull away and tilt your head, pulling at his hoodie. "But you smell like garage."

"You love it." he chuckled, out of nowhere deciding to lift you up. You yelped, a bit -- surprised. He's never tried to lift you before, and the thought of him doing so always lingered in your mind but you never actually asked him to. You kind of assumed he wouldn't be able to because of your weight. But here you are, off the floor, your legs dangling as he swings you around in a circle.

"What-?" he noticed the hesitant look on your face. "Did I do something wrong?"

"N-No! It's just.." You gulp, trying to find the right words without sounding too overwhelmed. "It's just that… I didn't think you could lift me." A blush creeps up your cheeks as you admit your doubt.

Mingi's smile widens, a glint of pride in his eyes. "You're not that heavy," he says, spinning you around one more time before carefully setting you down.

"You don't have to lie. I know I'm heavy, I just -- you never tried to do it before and I didn't know what to do!"

"Well I thought you just didn't like being picked up," Mingi said, his eyes searching yours for a hint of truth. You couldn't help but laugh at his innocence, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

"Maybe I just didn't know how to ask," you confessed, playing with the strings of his hoodie. "But I've always wanted you to."

"And now I did and you're happy so I'm definitely going to do it again." He said, grinning. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he tickled your sides, making you squirm and giggle.

"You're adorable," Mingi says, his grin never faltering as he watches you try to regain your composure. He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the living room, his grip firm but gentle. You follow willingly, feeling lighter than you have in a while. The TV is on in the background, playing a show you both enjoy, but he quickly mutes it with the remote.

"I mean, I don't get why you're insecure. You're really fucking hot," Mingi says, his voice sincere as he sits you down on the couch. He plops down next to you, his hand resting on your thigh.

You roll your eyes, but the blush doesn't leave your cheeks. "Thanks, but you know it's not just about that," you murmur, looking down at your lap.

"I know but have you seen yourself? You're gorgeous," Mingi insists, gently lifting your chin with his finger so that your eyes meet his. His thumb brushes away a stray hair that's fallen across your forehead, the gesture surprisingly tender. "I mean, not to sound like a pervert, but I've had to stop myself from staring at you sometimes."

"Really-?" You whisper, your voice quivering slightly with disbelief. "So, what do you do when we have sex? Close your eyes?"

"Obviously not. But you see how I like you sitting on my face," Mingi teases, his voice dropping to a murmur. You slap his chest playfully, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pleasure at his words. The tension in the room shifts, the air thickening with something unspoken.

"What! Your thighs are so fucking soft. Imagine having them around your head," he says, his voice taking on a more serious tone. You laugh nervously, trying to break the tension that's starting to build between you.

"You're a freak." You giggle, trying to push him away, but his hand remains firm on your thigh. "But a charming one."

"And you loveeee it. I'd do whatever you ask. If you want me to pick you up, carry you, whatever the case may be - just ask. Please. I'd do it in a heartbeat." He leans closer, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. You can feel your heart racing, and your palms start to sweat.

"I'm-- okay, I just changed my underwear. Give me a break," you retort, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays your excitement. Mingi laughs, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand still resting on your thigh.

"You're gonna have to change them again!" he jumps up, pulling you up and lifting you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. You shriek with laughter as he starts to walk down the hallway, your body bouncing slightly with each step he takes.

[heartsriki]

ALWAYS YOURS, NEVER MINE ⌇늦은

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader (?) — featuring.. riki & jay word count: 3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ pt. 2, angst, high-school au!, gut-wrenching angst like trust, love triangle, crying, lots of selfishness coming from won, hurt no comfort..., one-sided love.

synopsis — why did jungwon hide rikis love letter to you? (PLEASE READ PART 1)

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊there were a lot of questions/asks for explanations from pt. 1 so here it is! guys lowkey started tearing up I'm so sorry jungwon biases... I couldn't help myself again...

5 months before…

Today was Jungwon’s worst day possible. He hadn’t done as well as he wanted on an important test—not a failing grade, but not perfect either. On top of that, he left his stuff somewhere and couldn’t remember where.

Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but right now, he felt helpless. Resting his head on his desk, he let the frustration settle in, feeling like he was slowly being submerged in water—until he felt a slight tug on his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head, only to see you, your hand still hovering above him. You flinched at his movement, clearly not expecting him to be awake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep, and your hair just looked so fluffy—” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other.

Jungwon just stared at you, silent.

You took his lack of response as a reason to keep going. “Anyway—I found this bag and recognized the name. Here you go!” You slung it over the back of his chair, grinning.

He glanced at the bag before looking back at you. You knew him? He didn’t know you.

The silence stretched, and you hummed, shifting awkwardly. He still hadn’t said thank you. You were about to excuse yourself when you caught a glimpse of the paper under his arms.

“Hey, a 75? That’s great! Man, I barely got a 65—you’re so smart. You wanna study sometime?”

Jungwon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the classroom door swung open.

“Y/N! We need you in the student council room—the boys are fighting again!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Without another word, you gave him a small wave, flashing a pretty smile before running off.

Jungwon raised his head, staring at the spot you had just been. “A 75 isn’t even good,” he murmured, resting his head back down. “What a weirdo.”

Yet, despite himself, he kept thinking back to that moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort. He also didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if he had really lost his stuff.

Days passed, and while he didn’t speak to you much, he saw you everywhere. Then, one day, as he strolled through the library, he spotted you working at the front desk.

He lingered behind a shelf, watching as you glanced around before sneaking to the back of the library.

Curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

Turning the corner, he caught you opening a small box, slipping a piece of paper inside. When you turned around, both of you flinched.

“Jungwon? What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? What’s in the box?”

Quickly, you stretched your arms out, blocking him. “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon smirked, trying to peek past you. “If it’s nothing, let me see.”

Before you could stop him, he had already snatched up the paper. You groaned, covering your face as he read it.

“You were embarrassed over cussing someone out for wearing the same headband as you on picture day?” His grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I talked about wearing that headband for weeks…” you mumbled, looking away.

For a moment, he stayed silent. And then—he burst out laughing. Full, unrestrained laughter—the kind he hadn’t had in ages.

From that day on, he stayed by your side.

Jungwon was well-known around school. Girls found him handsome, even flirted with him, guys thought he was pretty damn good at sports and cool to hang out with. But because of that pedestal, few ever approached him as a true friend.

You didn’t seem to care about all that.

Instead of just waving at him in the hallway, you ran up to him to rant about your day. Instead of borrowing a pencil and ignoring him for the rest of class, you swapped desk numbers just to sit beside him. Instead of leaving him alone when he shut down, you stayed. Always.

You became his best friend. And he was yours. Thats all he ever needed.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

February rolled around—the month of love. The halls were littered with Valentine’s posters, the air buzzing with excitement.

Jungwon didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d just hang out with you that day.

But when he sat down next to you in class, you were grinning at your phone, giggling.

He smiled. “What’s got you so giddy today, huh?”

You turned your screen toward him. “I got Riki’s contact today… look!”

Jungwon’s smile faltered. He glanced at the name on your screen. Ah. Right.

He forgot about your tiny crush on Riki.

Nodding, he turned to the window, pretending it didn’t bother him. But the dull thump in his chest told him otherwise. I guess you’ll be busy that day. How lame.

Later that day, he was on the soccer field when his phone vibrated. Seeing your name, he grinned stupidly and opened the message.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Jungwon stared at the screen.

Riki? Well. It was about time. He had been into you without a doubt.

Scoffing, Jungwon typed back.

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Jungwon frowned. You could be so oblivious sometimes. To more than one person.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

Setting his phone down, he exhaled sharply. He had a weird urge to see you. Maybe you wanted to talk about it.

He sighed, packing up his things and heading toward the library.

As he neared the back entrance, he spotted Riki slipping out. Their eyes met for a second, but neither spoke.

There was something in that look. Knowing.

Jungwon clenched his jaw and walked past him, slipping inside unnoticed.

Then, his eyes landed on the box.

For a split second, he hesitated. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

Glancing around, he reached inside. There were a lot of letters. But he found Riki’s almost immediately—a pink envelope decorated with tiny white hearts, his name written neatly on the front which was uncommon for love letters being left vulnerable in a box.

Jungwon stared at it. “What an idiot.”

Without thinking, he plucked it from the box, turning it over in his hands before slowly opening it.

Inside, a note.

Hey, I don’t really know how to start this. Okay, so… I think you’re really annoying. But for some reason, I like how annoying you are. You’re incredibly nosy, but I don’t mind when you peck at my life. I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I know how I feel now. I like you. A lot. Too much, actually. If you feel the same, then… I don’t know. You’ll know what to do. You always do. — N.R.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his temples.

If you knew about this, you’d be over the moon.

And yet—before he could stop himself—he shoved the letter into his bag.

Why?

He convinced himself it was to toy with you. Something deeper inside knew other wise.

When Jungwon saw you through the student council door, scanning through all the love letters, he felt a soft pang in his chest. You were looking for Riki’s… he knew it.

When he entered, he played it off—laughing, smiling—knowing he had the one thing you had been waiting for this entire year. But when the opportunity came to fess up, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

When Riki stepped in, both Jungwon and Riki locked eyes. It didn’t even last a second, but the way he looked at him… he knew. He definitely knew that Jungwon had grabbed the letter.

Jungwon excused himself, whispering, “Good luck,” into Riki’s ear. A small part of him meant it. It was more for you.

He walked slowly to the locker room, overthinking about you and Riki. Overthinking about you and himself. What is this? It hurt. It hurt so much.

He was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. It was Jay, another friend of his.

“Hey man, where’s your girlfriend?” Jay asked with a knowing grin.

Jungwon blinked, still walking toward the locker room. “Girlfriend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay sighed, glancing around before looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb. You know I’m talking about Y/N. Did you confess yet?”

Jungwon stopped, causing Jay to stumble a little. Jay looked at him, puzzled.

Confess. Did he like you? Is that what this is?

That’s what he thought about for the rest of the day.

He liked you.

He liked you.

He liked you. You. You. You.

He fumbled on the field, spaced out during conversations, and excused himself from after-practice hangouts.

When he got home, he immediately went to his room, throwing himself onto his bed and sighing at the ceiling. The moment of peace was interrupted by a vibration in his right hand. He brought his phone up to his face and saw your contact. You always called him after his practice.

He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“AHHHHHHH, Wonnie! You won’t believe it! He likes me back! Isn’t that crazy? For some reason, his love letter went missing—some weirdo took it. But he confessed to me!” you squealed from the other line.

He smiled a little at your happiness, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “That’s great Y/N… You guys dating now?”

“Actually, we’re taking things slow. He blabbed about needing to take care of something first.”

That made Jungwon sit up. “Take care of something?” he asked.

“Yeah. No clue, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting long enough—I can wait a little bit more.” You smiled to yourself.

Jungwon thought. Riki didn’t need to take care of something. He needed to take care of someone.

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Jungwon said, trying to sound reassuring.

You sighed at his words. “Thanks, I feel like the happiest girl in the world.”

Jungwon didn’t respond to that. “I’m pretty tired from practice. Talk to you later?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Wonnie! Of course—sleep well, alright?”

“…You too.”

And with that, he hung up.

Jungwon stared at his phone, the call screen fading to black as the weight in his chest settled in. His fingers curled around the device, gripping it tighter than necessary.

He likes me back!

Your words replayed in his head over and over, each time pressing harder against the part of him that had only just realized the truth.

He liked you.

And now, he was too late.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed before running a hand down his face. The ceiling blurred in his vision as he lay back down, feeling—what was this? Emptiness? Regret?

He wanted to be happy for you. He was happy for you. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends did. They supported each other, no matter what.

But then why did it feel like his heart was being squeezed in a way that left him breathless?

Riki still hadn’t officially asked you out. That was something, right? But Jungwon knew it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

He needed to take care of someone.

Jungwon scoffed to himself, letting his arm drape over his eyes.

Riki knew. He definitely knew.

And now, Jungwon had a choice to make.

Does he let this be? Pretend his feelings didn’t exist, swallow them whole, and stand by your side like he always had?

Or does he do something about it?

His fingers twitched at the thought, but deep down, he already knew his answer.

Jungwon had never been the type to back down from a challenge. But this—this wasn’t some game. This wasn’t a competition he could win just by trying harder, running faster, pushing himself more.

This was you.

And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

“Pass it!” Jungwon yelled across the field.

He had been practicing all morning, through breaks, and even during lunch. Soccer was his escape—the only thing that drowned out the noise in his head.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted a figure standing by the benches near his stuff.

Riki.

He stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady. His expression was unreadable, but Jungwon knew exactly why he was here.

Jungwon hesitated for only a second before calling for a break. With a deep sigh, he jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead before sitting down on the bench. He didn’t look at Riki, just grabbed his water bottle and took a sip.

Riki sat beside him, wasting no time.

“Do you know what happened to my letter?”

Jungwon glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the field. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” His voice was flat, expression unreadable.

Riki exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as if he expected that response. “Why?”

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the answer to that too.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The distant shouts of players and the sound of cleats against the field felt worlds away.

Finally, Jungwon sat up, patting his thigh before standing. “Is that it? I’m pretty busy.” He nodded toward the field, crossing his arms.

Riki stood too, this time meeting Jungwon’s gaze head-on. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“However you feel, take it out on me. Not her, she cares for you.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw.

Riki let the words linger before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jungwon watched him go, fingers tightening around his water bottle. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before kicking the bench. It barely moved, but it was enough to make his frustration bubble over.

Why did Riki have to say it like that? Like he was some selfish idiot who didn’t already know that? Like he didn’t already hate himself for it?

With a forced breath, he shook his head, pushing everything down, just like he always did. He had a game to focus on.

Without another glance at the benches, he jogged back onto the field, forcing himself to get lost in the only thing that still made sense.

A week after that encounter with Riki, Jungwon found himself in your room. He was doing homework while you sat beside him, pouting at your phone. He glanced at you and smiled.

“What are you grumbling about?” he asked.

You sighed, putting your phone down and continuing with your work. “It’s nothing…”

Jungwon raised a brow. He had never seen you this down before. “What? Tell me. You always tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed.

Pouting, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Riki… It’s been about a week, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Do you think he ghosted me?”

Jungwon stiffened. He had overheard from some guys that Riki had gotten into serious trouble with his parents and now had to work overtime at his part-time job. He sighed, looking at you. You were so obviously heartbroken. Should he tell you?

Or should he be selfish?

This was his chance. He could win you over. He could show you that he was here. That he would always be here.

He gulped, staring back down at his work. He was selfish—just for a moment. But then, he heard a broken sniffle come from you. His eyes snapped to you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, a fake smile on your face as if pretending everything was okay.

His heart dropped. Did Riki really mean that much to you?

Jungwon quickly moved next to you, guiding you to rest your head on his lap. Your cries softened as he gently patted your head, just like he always did.

He looked down at you—your eyes shut, your breathing slowing, the tension in your body fading. And then, softly, he spoke:

“I overheard that he got into some pretty big trouble and is working overtime at his job. He probably didn’t want to trouble you with that stupid mentality of his.”

Your eyes shot open. You turned your head, looking up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

In an instant, you shot up, grabbing your jacket and shoes. “Gosh, that jerk. Where does he work? I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Text me the address?” you said, pacing around the room.

Jungwon watched you, unable to find the right words. He wanted to stop you.

Before you could rush out the door, he stood up and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, confused. “Wonnie? What is it?”

“I—uhm.”

This was it. He should tell you now. If he didn’t, it would kill him. But as he looked at you—eager, desperate to see Riki—he exhaled and let go.

“Take your umbrella. It’s raining.”

You smiled, running past him to grab it. “Thanks! Leave whenever you want! And don’t forget to take some leftovers home!”

And just like that, you were gone.

Jungwon stood frozen, staring at the empty space you had just occupied. Slowly, his eyes wandered around your room.

The walls covered in posters. The notebooks scattered on your desk. The lingering scent of your perfume.

It was all so familiar.

His mind filled with memories—the time you both got front-row tickets to your favorite band and shouted while holding hands, the nights he stayed up to bring you food when you were sick, the first time you hugged him while crying into his chest.

And yet, despite all those moments, despite everything he had done for you… he never came to terms with his feelings.

A tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He wiped at it absently, staring at his damp fingers in disbelief.

Then, without warning, the tears came faster.

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop them, but his chest tightened, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, hands gripping the fabric of his pants as silent sobs racked his body.

It was too much.

The love he had buried.

The longing he had ignored.

The pain of watching you run to someone else.

He had lost you.

And the worst part?

You were never his to begin with.

[kamisobsessed]

I Don't Get Jealous

Summary: Takes place in S4E6 "Poetic Justice" when Tim takes Officer McGrady out on patrol, he meets McGrady's daughter Ashley who invites Tim over for dinner to thank him for taking her dad back out on the streets. Tim eventually agrees to go, but runs it by you first. Then after they find the treasure, the station celebrates Jerry's retirement. Tim does Jerry's end of watch and Ashley thanks Tim again. You are standing nearby talking with Harper and Chen, but you see Ashley flirting with Tim and you don't hesitate to stop it. (I am so bad at summaries)

Some other background info: You and Tim are engaged, you're a metro sergeant/metro liason at mid-wilshire, he's an LAPD sergeant at mid-wilshire. Ashley is obviously clueless to your relationship, you don't really show your relationship at work.

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Metro Sergeant!Reader, no use of y/n.

Warnings: jealousy, fluff, kind of implied possible smut at the end?, follows the plot of S4E6

A/N: My first Tim Bradford fic! Also, I hate Ashley and hated her and Tim's relationship so I had to go with this prompt from @reignsboy19, "Y/n being a badass and shutting down Ashley who was trying to flirt with Tim (her boyfriend) and Tim just being proud of her and everyone else just laughing at her jealousy" though I changed it up a little. Hope you enjoy!

[This is not proofread or edited, I'm too busy for that, I just wanted to post this]

****************************************************

When Sergeant Grey told Sergeant Bradford to talk Officer Jerry McGrady into retirement, Tim thought it would be easy. Until he had to actually talk to McGrady about it. Instead of discussing retirement, Tim asked him to go on patrol with him.

You always made sure to see Tim before he goes out on patrol, so you were waiting by the doors to his shop when you saw McGrady coming over with war bags and gear.

"Officer McGrady, no kit room duty today?" you ask him.

"Nope, Sergeant Bradford asked me to ride with him today," he says.

You raised your eyebrows and held back a chuckle, "oh really?" you say.

"Yep! It's truly an honor! I'm glad to be able to hit the streets again," he says.

"Well, you be safe out there Jerry," you say with a smile.

"Will do!" He says, and he went into the garage to set up the shop.

Tim came over after talking to Grey.

"I thought Grey told you to talk him into retirement?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow at him with a smirk.

"I told Grey I got this, he'll be thinking of nothing but retirement after today," he says.

"Right," you chuckle, knowing Tim just couldn't bring himself to rip the bandaid off.

He just grinned a little shaking his head, "Don't you have some metro op to do or something?" he asked.

"Nope," you smile. He just playfully rolls his eyes and opens the door to the garage.

"Be safe out there sarge," you say to him.

"You too, sarge," he says with a small smile looking back at you before the door closes.

-

You were in your office at the station when Tim knocks and walks in.

"Hey, how was riding with Jerry, he retire yet?" You ask him.

"Not yet, turns out he may be of some help on the treasure hunt case," Tim said, "But, once that is over, I'm sure he will retire," He says.

"Right, I'm sure," You respond sarcastically.

"Are you judging my ability to make someone leave the job?" Tim asked, "Should I remind you when I was your T.O., you almost washed out on day 2," he says.

"That's not the same, I was a rookie, I wasn't on the job for multiple decades like Jerry," you say.

"After this treasure hunt thing, I know Jerry will be ready to retire," he says.

"Okay, I believe you," you chuckled, "Now what has you in my office Sergeant Bradford?" You ask him, "Not that I don't like seeing my favorite person," you smile.

"Jerry and his daughter, Ashley, invited me over to have dinner, a thank you for me getting Jerry back on the streets. I said yes, just wanted to let you know," he says.

"I'm sure Jerry will like that," you say, "I'm gonna be late getting home anyways, have so many reports to catch up on, this treasure hunt has the city going mad," you sigh.

"Well, I'll see you at home later then," he says coming over to you and leaning down to give you a kiss.

"okay," you say giving him another quick peck on the lips.

"I love you," he says before he goes to leave your office.

"I love you, too," you say back before he heads out.

-

Tim was at dinner with Jerry and his daughter. Jerry was sound asleep on his recliner and Tim was helping Ashley clean up.

"You know, riding with you today was the highlight of dad's year," Ashley says, "Hell, his last 5 years."

"Yeah, I don't get it. Most cops who stay on the job this long, they don't have anything else waiting for them, but I'm sure you'd love to be able to spend more time with him," Tim says.

"Mm, because I've got nothing going on in my own life?" Ashley snaps back, jokingly.

"No, no. That's- that's not what I meant," Tim says defensively with a chuckle.

Ashley laughs, "Relax. It's a joke," she says. She lets out a sigh "No one ever gets my jokes," she says.

"I guess I'm just used to jokes being funny," Tim jokes back, "I guess that's why I got confused," He says and they both laugh as she throws a towel at him playfully.

Ashley sighs, "Honestly, I think my dad regrets not retiring 15 years ago when he was still on the street," she says looking over at her dad, "Like all his buddies did."

Tim understood and he looked over at Jerry who was softly snoring in the chair.

-

The treasure hunt case was finally closed. Jerry McGrady was officially retiring.

Tim had called Ashley to come to the station for when he and Jerry got back. Then he had Harper gather everyone at the station.

"Alright folks, attention please," Harper announced, "Turn your hand packs to the district channel," she says.

Lucy goes over to Ashley and Jerry, "I need to borrow your dad for a second," she tells Ashley and Ashley nods.

You stand next to Nyla as the station gathered around looking at Tim who was standing on the platform of the staircase.

"Control, 7-Adam-100," Tim spoke into his radio, his voice echoing out of everyone's radio pack in the station, "I am privileged to announce the retirement of Officer Jerry McGrady, badge number 9944. After 43 years and 9 months of service, this concludes his final shift," he continues, "Officer McGrady, you, sir, are End of Watch," Tim says, "Congratulations!"

Everyone cheers and applauds for him. Jerry just looks around, letting out an emotional sigh.

"It's been an honor serving this great city all these years," Jerry says, "so, take care if her now that I'm gone."

Everyone cheers and applauds for him once more.

People go up to Jerry to give him hugs and congratulations.

You went over to him and gave him a hug, "Congratulations, Jerry, we'll miss you around here," you say.

"Thank you, sergeant, I'll miss you all, too," he says.

You stand there with Nyla and Lucy as they talk, but you don't listen as you watch Ashley go up to where Tim is on the platform of the stairs.

"That was really beautiful," She says to him, "Dad won't forget it, and...neither will I," she smiles at him.

"It was my honor, your dad is a hell of a guy," Tim says.

"Maybe you could...stop by the house sometime, see how he's handling retirement," Ashley says.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Tim says.

Nyla and Lucy both see you looking at Tim and Ashley.

"Oh, someone's getting jealous," Nyla says.

"I don't get jealous," you said, "I'll just...be right back," you say and you walk away toward the stairs.

"She's definitely jealous," Nyla says.

"I think it's cute, she and Tim never show any affection at the station, they're both so professional," Lucy says.

"Maybe, you and I could grab dinner sometime?" Ashley asks Tim.

"Oh, I- um..." Tim says flustered, but you come up behind him.

"Ready to head home babe?" You ask Tim, you look at Ashley, "oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," you say.

"Uh Ashley, this is my girlfriend," Tim says introducing you "She's the metro liason sergeant."

"Oh, hi, it's nice to meet you," Ashley says, "I better go find dad, thank you again for everything, Tim," she says.

Tim nods, "it was my pleasure," he says.

She just nods and awkwardly smiles at me as she goes down the stairs.

Tim turns to you with a smile on his face.

"What?" You ask him with a chuckle.

"You're pretty cute when you're jealous," he says.

"I- no, I wasn't jealous, I just- she- she tried asking you out," You say, fumbling over your words.

"I was going to turn her down, you know," he says.

"I know you were, I was just-" you say but he cuts you off,

"Jealous?" He asks, smirking at you.

"Shut up," you say nudging him playfully and you both laughed.

"Let's clock out and head home and relax, yeah?" he says taking your hand.

"Yes, sir," you say with a grin as you walk with him down the stairs

"Watch it, or we'll do more than just relax," He says lowly so only you hear as he smirks at you.

"Is that a promise?" You say back.

"Hmm, maybe," he says with a wink.

****************************************************

A/N: My first Tim Bradford fic! Idk, I'm kinda proud of this. I took a LOT from the show obviously, but I saw that prompt and had to write it. So glad he and Ashley broke up...otherwise we wouldn't get Chenford. And I swear if Chenford doesn't get back together in season 7...Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading :)

Tags: @justwhisperingfantasies

[milessunflowers]

poly!charles/oscar trying to convince reader to stay in their respective garages and then the reader ends up in like aston or something instead for funsies

(whiny!charles + pouty!oscar perhaps 👀)

vinnie you amazing genius you. for purposes, reader is gonna be lance's brother bc i love lance

oscar piastri x male!stroll!reader x charles leclerc

synopsis: your boyfriends fight over you so much and which garage to go to, you decide to ditch them both and stay in your brother's garage

author's note: I FORGOT ABT WHINEY CHARLES AND POUTY OSCAR OMG. next time, next time they will watch reader go to one of their teammates garages and whine 🤭. feel free to keep requesting!

finally you went to one of the races

and that's the first mistake

of course, you loved your boyfriends

BUT GOD DAMN IF THEY DON'T STOP FIGHTING

seriously, it was getting out of hand

they kept going back and forth over which garage you should go to

you were thinking of switching each day of the race weekend

but they didn't seen to care

and then the games happened

each of your boyfriends tried to convince you to stay in their garage

oscar took you out on a date to your favorite nonpopular spot (of course with charles too, they had to one up each other after all and you guys love each other)

charles took you out on a boat for the day, with a nice quiet day (oscar came along as well, absolutely loving it)

both dates ended up in small bickering between them two

while you found it adorable, you decided to head to the shops to grab a few things you wanted before heading home

you weren't hurt by their bickering and ignoring, in fact it gave you the chance to come up with your own plan

they continued to take you out, trying so hard to convince you

you had already made up your mind on which garage you would be staying at

come race day, you had your pass but not for either of their garages

nope you were headed to the aston martin garage

you gave your boyfriends a cheeky grin before entering your brother's garage, immediately hugging lance

they were shocked

they forgot about lance in the midst of acting like teenagers trying to impress someone

they were defeated

lance and you were laughing together

it was nice seeing you guys reunited

i guess they couldn't stay too upset

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile

[iamquiantrelle]

THE NEW WAG IN TOWN (chapter 1)──iamquaintrelle

# pairing: william saliba x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# wc: 11.2k

# tags: @formulafortyfour @kennasutopia @saleeba @anifffff @jessnotwiththemess @irishmanwhore @snowseasonmademe @oceanfanatic06 @ibouchouchou @haartemis @judectrl @peyiswriting @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @sucredreamer @eriks-girl

# summary: yasmin thought that dating wilo would stay private - until someone caught them at tesco and posted it online. now she's gone from quiet grad student to arsenal wag overnight, with thousands of new followers and wags begging her to join their brunches. all she wanted was to finish her degree and date her defender in peace, but as the spotlight grows brighter, she wonders if their private world can survive in this public circus.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ masterlist

Three days had passed since a Dairy Milk craving changed everything. Three days of Yas's phone vibrating itself into oblivion, of her twist-out staying in a messy pineapple because clinical rotations were kicking her ass, of trying to pretend she wasn't all over Arsenal Twitter because she'd dragged a sleepy Wilo to Tesco at midnight. The TikTok was everywhere now - her 5'5" frame drowning in his Arsenal hoodie while his 6'4" self reached for top-shelf chocolate, both of them clearly caught up in their own little world until a fan's "Can I get a picture?" turned into way more than they'd bargained for. The original tweet sharing the TikTok already had more than 50k likes: "SALIBA GOT A GIRL?? Caught at Tesco late night shopping 👀 Who is she??" and it was only getting worse.

At least she had Jamie, her clinical partner at King's College London's PT clinic, to keep her sane through it all. Jamie, who was currently failing to hide her grin while updating patient charts.

"Your boyfriend's coming in for his knee check today, right?"

"Stop calling him that at work," Yas hissed, but couldn't help smiling. The whole thing was still wild to her - meeting Wilo four months ago at Dishoom, that Indian spot all her classmates insisted she try when she first moved from Chicago. She'd been struggling with the menu (why were British-Indian portions so different from American ones?), and this tall guy with the deepest French accent she'd ever heard offered to help. She didn't even realize who he was until her friend kicked her under the table and frantically texted "THAT'S WILLIAM SALIBA" while Yas was busy trying to understand his accent.

She was checking her schedule when Wilo appeared in the doorway, and honestly, it should be illegal how he managed to make ducking through standard-sized doors look graceful. His training gear hung perfectly on his frame, and Yas had to remind herself that she was a professional who definitely wasn't thinking about how that same frame had been pressed against her in the Tesco snack aisle three nights ago.

"Bonjour," he said softly, his accent thick as honey as he sat on the treatment table, those long legs dangling. "Comment ça va?"

"English in the clinic, remember?" she teased, going through her standard range of motion checks. Her hands stayed steady even when his skin was warm under her touch. She'd practiced these movements hundreds of times, but somehow they felt different when it was Wilo watching her with those dark eyes. "How's the knee feeling after training?"

"Better with your exercises," he replied carefully, concentrating on each word in that way he did when he wanted to make sure she understood. His accent always got thicker when he was trying his hardest with English, and god help her, but it was adorable. "But you… are you okay? These past days…"

"I'm fine," she assured him, testing his knee stability and definitely not thinking about how her tiny hands looked against his leg. "Just focusing on my patients. And trying to keep up with your accent when you talk too fast."

"Me?" he laughed, the deep sound filling the small treatment room and making her fingers tingle where they pressed against his knee. "You are the one speaking like…" he paused, reaching for his phone to translate something, and she had to bite back a smile at how predictable he was.

"No phones during treatment," she reminded him, gently pushing his hand down. "Now tell me if you feel any discomfort here…"

Jamie wasn't even pretending not to watch them from the charting station anymore. Yas could feel her friend's amused gaze as she went through the motions - professional PT student Yasmin, definitely not thinking about how this same man had sleepily followed her to Tesco just because she'd played the girlfriend card. Her hands stayed clinical and precise while Wilo watched her with that soft look he got whenever she went into healthcare mode, the one that made her heart do stupid flips in her chest.

"Flex and extend for me," she instructed, her professional tone slipping when he purposely moved extra slow, those dark eyes twinkling. "Stop being difficult."

"I am following instructions," he protested, his accent getting thicker with amusement, wrapping around the words like warm chocolate. "You say slow and controlled, non?"

"I didn't say glacial," she muttered, but her hands were gentle as she checked his range of motion, careful with this man who could body strikers on the pitch but acted like her PT sessions were torture. "How was training this morning?"

"Arteta made us…" he paused, frowning as he searched for the words, and she had to resist the urge to smooth the crease between his brows. "Comment dit-on… extra drills? Because Luton Town this weekend."

"You better not be overworking this knee before a match," she warned, pressing slightly on a tender spot that made him wince. His leg was solid muscle under her hands, a reminder that for all their playful moments, he was still one of the Premier League's top defenders. "See? Still tight here."

Jamie's poorly hidden laugh echoed from the charting station. Everyone at the clinic had seen the TikTok by now but watching them here, you'd never guess they were trending. They were just... them. Yas with her clinical precision masking how her skin tingled wherever they touched, and Wilo with his accented teasing that got thicker whenever he was trying not to smile.

"Your stability's better," Yas noted, switching to her assessment voice even as his warmth seeped through her professional walls. "But you need to ice after training, I can tell you haven't been."

"Too cold," he complained, and the way his accent wrapped around those two simple words shouldn't make her stomach flip like that.

"Too bad. Doctor's orders."

"You're not doctor yet."

"Almost. Now do your hamstring stretches and stop arguing with your PT."

Jamie's pager went off like a lifeline through the tension that was building in the small room. She threw Yas a knowing look before heading out to help with exercises in the main room, leaving them alone with all their unspoken moments.

Wilo waited until the door closed, that heavy silence settling between them. "Gabriel keep asking about you. Want to know if you're coming to dinner at his place tomorrow."

"I have clinic notes to finish," Yas said, focusing on stretching his hamstring and not on how his muscles flexed under her touch. "And that thing with your knee isn't going to document itself."

"I tell him you're busy being smart," he smiled, then winced when she hit another tight spot. "Aïe! Doucement..."

"Baby," she teased, even as her hands gentled automatically. "And here I thought defenders were supposed to be tough."

"Only on pitch. Here?" He gestured to the treatment table, his dark eyes dancing. "I am delicate patient."

Before she could process it, his arm was around her waist, pulling her between his legs where he sat on the table. Even sitting, he was nearly at eye level with her standing. "You sure you okay though? No crazy people following you to work?"

"I'm fine," she said, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism even as his hands settled on her hips, warm through her scrubs. The clinic suddenly felt too small, too warm. "The school's pretty good about security."

"Mm," he hummed, accent getting thicker as he leaned closer, and god, he knew exactly what that did to her. "Maybe I should come to more... what you call them? Clinical hours?"

"Pretty sure that's not what you meant," Yas laughed, not needing any translation app to catch his tone. Her hands rested on his shoulders, forgetting all about PT protocols. "And you're supposed to be doing your exercises—"

Her words cut off in a yelp as he squeezed her ass, the sound hanging in the air just as Jamie walked back in.

"Dr. Morris wants us to– oh!" Jamie stopped short, fighting a grin as Yas jumped away from Wilo, her face burning. "She needs us to shadow her on a shoulder manipulation."

"Coming!" Yas said quickly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, straightening her scrubs with as much dignity as she could muster. "Behave yourself and ice that knee."

Wilo just grinned, all innocent eyes and devastating smile as he slid off the table. "Bye Jamie," he called out, throwing Yas one last look that promised this wasn't over before ducking out the door, taking all her professional composure with him.

"So," Jamie drawled as they headed down the corridor, her voice dripping with amusement. "That's what professional PT looks like these days?"

"Shut up," Yas muttered, adjusting her scrubs and trying to will away the heat in her cheeks. "We were just–"

"Just doing some hands-on therapy?" Jamie wiggled her eyebrows. "Very hands-on from what I saw."

"I'm not above tripping you in front of Dr. Morris."

"Worth it. Also, you've got a little…" Jamie gestured to her own lips, and Yas quickly wiped away the ghost of her goodbye kiss, shooting her friend a death glare that only made Jamie grin wider.

The rest of her clinical hours dragged by in a blur of patient assessments and charting, her phone occasionally buzzing with texts from Wilo - mostly French words she had to Google Translate, each one making her bite back a smile. By the time she finally finished her notes, the London evening had turned that particular shade of grey that meant rain was coming.

Her phone lit up just as she was packing up.

"You still at clinic?" Wilo's accent was somehow even deeper over the phone.

"Just finished. Why?"

"Look outside."

She peaked through the clinic windows to find him leaning against his Range Rover in the parking lot. A few students were trying (and failing) to subtly take photos, but he seemed focused only on watching the clinic door.

"You're supposed to be icing that knee," she said as she walked out, trying to sound stern even as her heart did that stupid flutter thing once more.

"I did ice." He pushed off the car, closing the distance between them in those long strides of his. "For ten whole minutes."

"That's not–" but her professional PT lecture was cut off as he pulled her into him, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other settled on her waist. She had to tilt her head all the way back to look at him, and his eyes were soft as they traced over her tired features.

"You look exhausted, mon cœur."

"Clinical hours are no joke." She let herself lean into him just a bit. "Not all of us get to play football all day."

His laugh rumbled through his chest where she was pressed against him. "Non? You want to try defending for Saka this weekend?"

"I'd rather do another eight hours of charting."

That earned her another laugh, and then he was bending down to press his lips to her forehead. "Come, I take you home. Maybe stop for more chocolate?"

"Don't even joke about Tesco runs right now," she groaned, but let him guide her to the passenger side, his hand warm on her lower back. "I still can't believe that girl posted the video."

"Mm," he hummed, helping her up into the seat even though they both knew she didn't need it. "But now I can do this whenever I want, non?" And he leaned in to kiss her properly, slow and sweet, before pulling back with a grin. "No more hiding in snack aisle."

"You're impossible," she muttered, but she was smiling as he closed her door and rounded the car to the driver's side.

The Range Rover hummed quietly through London's evening traffic, some French rap playing softly through the speakers. Yas had gotten used to Wilo's driving habits by now - how his huge frame somehow managed to look graceful even behind the wheel, one hand on it while the other alternated between the gear shift and her thigh. He drove like he played, confident and smooth, those long fingers tapping against the leather steering wheel to the beat.

She was half-dozing, lulled by the warmth of the heated seats and the familiar mix of his cologne with that fancy car freshener he used, when she realized they weren't heading toward her flat and was rounding the corner to his building.

"What are you doing?" She turned to find him wearing that particular expression she knew too well - the one he got when he thought he was being slick, the one that usually preceded with her scrubs ending up on his floor.

"Taking you home," he said innocently, but his accent had that particular thickness to it that had nothing to do with language barriers.

"I don't live here, Will." But they both knew she had more clothes in his drawer than she'd admit to, and her favorite coffee mug had somehow migrated to his kitchen cabinet.

"Sometimes you do…" he smirked as he pulled into his private parking spot. "And I figured we could… finish from what happened at clinic?"

"I'm still on my period, or did you forget the main reason we even visited Tesco in the first place?" The same Tesco run that had blown their private bubble wide open, though looking at him now, with that glint in his eye, she could almost laugh about it.

"A little blood–"

"Don't you even dare," she threatened, pointing her finger at him which he playfully tried to bite, earning himself a smack on the chest. "You're gross."

"I'll just put down a towel. The least I could do since you got the period," he huffed, and she realized with a start that he wasn't entirely joking. Ever since they'd made things official, he'd been more… careless. Dropping comments about knocking her up - which, okay, was hot as hell in the moment, but outside the bedroom? Major yikes.

"William, no babies until a ring is on this finger and I'm finished with my program." She waggled her bare ring finger in front of his face for emphasis, trying not to think about how his eyes tracked the movement. "We're too young to even talk about babies anyways. Like what is the reason?"

"We'll make pretty babies," he said with that devastating smile of his, the one that made her forget she was supposed to be the responsible one here.

"No shit."

"But?" His eyes were twinkling now as he killed the engine, the sudden silence making everything feel more intimate.

"But you know the rules. No more talk about this please. You're giving me a migraine."

"You know what could help with migraine?" He was fully grinning now, one hand already reaching for her seatbelt while the other played with the ends of her twist-out.

She couldn't help but scoff at him, even as her body betrayed her by leaning into his touch. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Impossible? Non," he murmured, his accent getting impossibly thicker as he leaned across the console. "Just... what you say? Determined?"

"That's one word for it," Yas muttered, but didn't pull away when his fingers traced down her jaw. "Will..."

"We don't have to do anything," he said softly, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. "Just... stay. Watch a film. Let me make you dinner."

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean let me watch you struggle with UberEats for twenty minutes?"

"So mean to me," he pouted, but his eyes were dancing.

"No I’m not."

"Come on, mon coeur." His hand had moved to the back of her neck now, playing with the hairs that had escaped her pineapple. "Your flat is cold and empty."

"Because someone keeps stealing my hoodies."

"You steal mine first!"

"That's different," she protested, even as she was already reaching for her bag. "I look cute in yours. You stretch mine out with your giant... everything."

His laugh was deep and warm in the confined space. "Giant everything, eh?"

"Don't make me hurt your knee again," she threatened, but they both knew she was going to follow him upstairs. She always did, especially when he looked at her with those soft eyes that made her forget about clinical hours and Twitter drama and everything else.

"You wouldn't," he said confidently, finally pulling back to get out of the car. "Who else let you practice your PT stuff?"

"I have other patients, you know."

"Oui, but are they as pretty as me?" He was already at her door, opening it with that stupidly charming grin of his.

"You're so–" but her words cut off as he helped her down, using their height difference to pull her flush against him. Even after months, it still made her breath catch, how easily he could maneuver her smaller frame.

"So what?" he whispered, bending down so his lips brushed her ear. "Tell me, docteur."

Yas immediately stepped away. "Annoying."

The private elevator ride to his penthouse was torture - not because of the height (though Yas still wasn't used to the way London sprawled out below those floor-to-ceiling windows), but because Wilo had her pressed against the mirrored wall, one huge hand spanning her waist while the other played with her edges.

"You're messing up my hair," she complained halfheartedly, tilting her head back against his chest.

"It's already messy," he murmured, accent thick with suggestion. The elevator dinged open to his floor before she could reply, and he guided her out with that hand still firmly on her waist.

His penthouse was exactly what you'd expect from a 23-year-old footballer - all clean lines and modern furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city lights coming alive in the dusk.

"You really need to do your dishes," she said, trying to maintain some semblance of responsibility even as he walked her backward toward that ridiculous couch.

"Later," he promised, those dark eyes fixed on her in a way that made her forget about dirty dishes and clinical notes and everything that wasn't his hands sliding down to her hips. "First..."

"Will," she warned, but her body was already betraying her, melting into his touch. "I told you–"

"Just kissing," he assured her, but that smirk said otherwise. "Unless..."

"Don't even finish that sentence."

Her warning lost some of its effect when he stepped closer, backing her up against the back of that massive sectional. The city lights sparkled behind him through those floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows across his features that made him look unfairly gorgeous. Sometimes she still couldn't believe this was her life now - Arsenal's star defender looking at her like she hung the moon, all because she couldn't figure out Indian food portions four months ago.

His hands found her waist again, and the height difference meant she had to tilt her head all the way back to maintain eye contact. That soft smile he reserved just for her played at his lips, and really, clinical notes could wait, right?

"Fuck," Yas breathed as his lips found that spot behind her ear, his hands steady on her hips. "Will, I swear to god–"

"What?" he murmured against her skin, all fake innocence even as he guided them down onto the sectional. "I'm being good."

"You're being something," she managed, but then he was kissing her properly, and honestly, clinical notes could wait. Her fingers found their way into his hair as he settled over her, careful to keep most of his weight on his forearms.

"Still have headache?" he teased between kisses, and she could feel his smile against her lips.

"Shut up," she groaned, tugging his hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying."

"Mm, but you like it."

"Sometimes I don't know why."

His laugh rumbled through his chest where it pressed against hers. "Because I'm your favorite patient."

"You're my most difficult patient," she corrected, but then his mouth was back on her neck and she lost whatever else she was going to say. Her nails scraped lightly against his scalp, earning a low sound that she felt more than heard.

"Will," she warned as his hands started wandering. "I told you–"

"I know, I know," he sighed, pulling back just enough to look at her with those dark eyes. "Just kissing. But tomorrow..."

"You're impossible."

"You keep saying this word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

She blinked up at him. "Did you just quote Princess Bride at me?"

His grin was devastating. "Maybe I pay attention when you make me watch your American films."

"Oh my god," she laughed, shoving at his chest. "Get off me, I can't believe you just–"

But he was kissing her again, swallowing her laughter, until she finally pulled back with a sigh. The look in his eyes was nearly enough to make her forget about her cramps. Nearly.

"Fine. Go get the towel."

His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Really?"

"Before I change my mind." She could already feel herself blushing at how eager he was about this whole situation.

"I can't wait to cum inside you," he breathed against her neck, and she actually had to pause, her hands frozen where they'd been playing with his hair.

"What the fuck, bro?" She squinted at him, torn between laughing and being genuinely concerned about his sudden breeding kink. But he was already jumping up from the couch with entirely too much enthusiasm, nearly tripping over his own long legs in his haste.

She could hear him rummaging through his linen closet, muttering in rapid French that she was pretty sure she didn't want translated. This man really was going to be the death of her - all 6'4" of pure ridiculousness, Arsenal's fearsome defender reduced to excitedly hunting for towels.

"I'm ready, sweetheart!" his voice called from somewhere down the hallway a few seconds later, accent thick with anticipation.

Yas shook her head, fighting a smile as she got up to follow him. These football boys really were something else. She started undoing her scrub top as she walked toward his bedroom, wondering how exactly this had become her life - sneaking around with William Saliba, letting him convince her into period sex just because he looked at her with those puppy dog eyes.

"The things I do for you," she muttered under her breath, but she was smiling as she pushed open his bedroom door.

The morning sun filtering through Wilo's floor-to-ceiling windows was entirely too bright, and Yas's lower back was complaining about last night's activities. She could hear him in the kitchen, his deep voice rapping along to some French song while pots clanked suspiciously.

"Never again," she groaned into his ridiculous Egyptian cotton pillows. Her scrubs from yesterday were scattered somewhere on his bedroom floor, mixed with the towel that was definitely going straight into the wash.

"Mon coeur?" His voice carried from the kitchen. "You want eggs?"

"I want ibuprofen," she called back, finally dragging herself out of bed. She pulled on the pajamas she'd left here last time after their little fun - one of his old Arsenal training shirts that hit mid-thigh and some shorts she'd had to tie extra tight to stay up.

The shower in his ensuite was heaven, hot water beating away the soreness while she tried not to think too hard about last night. The sound of Wilo's terrible singing mixed with the smell of what she hoped was breakfast and not another kitchen disaster.

His expensive body wash made her skin smell like him, and she couldn't help but smile at his array of hair products. For someone who kept his hair cropped short, he sure had a lot of opinions about conditioning.

"Is something burning?" she called out as she wrapped her hair in one of his towels.

"Non! Maybe. Come see!"

God help her, she actually loved this ridiculous man.

Yas padded into the kitchen after pulling on another one of his t-shirts and a pair of leggings, finding Wilo attempted to flip an omelette, his large frame making the spacious kitchen somehow feel smaller. He was shirtless, just wearing low-hanging sweats, still rapping along to whatever French artist was playing through his expensive sound system.

"You better not mess up my eggs," she warned, leaning against the counter.

"Non, non. I am professional." He turned to grin at her, and her breath definitely didn't catch at how his eyes darkened seeing her in his shirt. "Sleep good?"

"You're not slick. And we're never doing that again."

"But–"

"Never. Again." But she was fighting a smile as she stole a piece of bacon from the plate next to him. "I can't believe you convinced me."

"I am very convincing," he smirked, then cursed as some egg stuck to the pan. "Merde–"

"Move," she hip-checked him away from the stove. "How are you this bad at cooking when you live alone?"

"I have you now," he said simply, but the way his hands settled on her waist from behind made it sound like so much more. "And UberEats."

"William."

"Mm?" His chin rested on top of her head, and she could feel his smile.

"You're distracting me from saving your breakfast."

"Good. Maybe we can–"

"If you suggest what I think you're about to suggest, I'm burning your omelette on purpose."

"I was just going to say maybe we can have breakfast in bed," he protested, but his hands were wandering again.

"You're the worst liar." She expertly flipped the omelette with one hand while swatting his wandering fingers with the other. "Don't you have training?"

"Later." His lips found that spot behind her ear. "Arteta won't mind if I'm little late."

"Arteta absolutely will mind." But she was already tilting her head to give him better access. "Will, the eggs–"

"Let them burn."

"I'm literally holding a hot pan right now."

He reached around her to turn off the stove, then spun her to face him in one smooth motion. Sometimes she forgot how strong he actually was until moments like this.

"No more period sex," she said firmly, even as her hands settled on his chest.

"But–"

"But nothing. My back is killing me."

His grin was absolutely wicked. "Worth it."

"I hate you."

"Non, you don't." He bent down to kiss her, morning breath and all, and okay, maybe she didn't hate him that much. "You love me."

"I love when you're not burning breakfast," she corrected, pushing him away. "You're going to be late." Yas plated the rescued eggs while Wilo scrolled through his phone, still pressed against her back.

"Bukayo just texted. Practice pushed thirty minutes." His accent was muffled against her neck. "More time for–"

"More time for you to actually eat breakfast." She twisted out of his grip, grabbing both plates. "And I need to go home and change before clinicals."

"Skip them."

"Some of us can't just tell our boss we're taking a personal day." She settled at his massive kitchen island, watching him pout as he finally let her go. "Besides, don't you have that big Luton Town match this weekend?"

"Oui, which means I need my PT check today too…"

"Your knee is fine. Jamie can do your check."

The look of betrayal on his face was almost comical. "You would let another woman touch me?"

"I would let another PT student assess your perfectly healthy knee, yes." She took a bite of eggs, raising an eyebrow at him. "Unless you're saying you only come to the clinic to see me?"

"Maybe."

"That's unprofessional."

"Says girl wearing my shirt."

"Speaking of which," she glanced at her phone, "I really need to go home and change."

"Stay," he said, suddenly serious. "Just… five more minutes."

"Five minutes won't get me to clinic on time," she said softly, but shared her eggs with him anyway when he opened his mouth expectantly. "You're like a baby bird."

"Your baby bird," he grinned, then disappeared down the hall to deal with their mess from last night. She could hear him humming as he tossed the towel and her scrubs in his washer.

The drive to her flat was quiet, London morning traffic crawling by while some French podcast played softly through the speakers. His hand found its way to her thigh, thumb rubbing absent circles.

"About Gabriel's dinner…" he started.

"Will–"

"Just think about it? And maybe…" he glanced at her quickly before focusing back on traffic. "Come to match this weekend?"

"They'll take pictures," she said quietly. "I'll be all over Twitter again."

"So? Let them." His accent got thicker, more urgent. "I want you there. Want to see you in stands."

She played with his fingers on her thigh, considering. "Maybe. If I finish my coursework."

His smile was brilliant. "A year left, non? Then you're properly doctor."

"Doctor of Physical Therapy," she corrected automatically, but she was smiling too.

"Still doctor. Still proud of you." He lifted their joined hands to kiss her knuckles. "My smart girl."

The Range Rover purred to a stop outside her building, morning sun catching on the tinted windows. Wilo killed the engine but kept his hand on her thigh.

"Give daddy kiss," he grinned, waggling his eyebrows in that ridiculous way that shouldn't be attractive but somehow was.

"Don't get punched in the face today," she said, gathering her bag from where it had fallen between her feet. Her scrubs from yesterday were safely in his washing machine, which meant she'd have to see him again soon. Not that either of them was complaining.

"Kinky," he smirked, and the way his accent wrapped around the word made her cheeks heat.

She rolled her eyes but leaned over anyway, meaning to give him a quick goodbye peck. His hand caught the back of her neck though, fingers tangling in her hair as he tried to deepen the kiss. She could feel his smile against her lips when she pulled away laughing.

"Go to work, you menace."

His eyes stayed on her as she climbed out, that dark gaze following her all the way to her building's entrance. She could hear his music start up again - more French rap that she'd probably find herself humming later during clinic hours. Her face hurt from smiling as she headed inside, already thinking about his match this weekend and how public their little bubble was about to become.

The doorman pretended not to notice her obvious walk of shame, but she caught his knowing look. At least she wasn't in yesterday's scrubs - small mercies. Her phone buzzed just as she reached the elevator:

"Miss you already x"

Impossible man.

Her flat felt extra quiet after the morning at Wilo's. She pulled on her dark blue scrub set, the material still crisp from its last wash. Her hair was a mess from last night, so she opted for a slick bun, carefully laying her baby hairs with edge control before grabbing her white clinic shoes.

The kitchen was looking sad. She'd been putting off grocery shopping, caught between clinicals and trying to keep her relationship private. Fat lot of good that did now.

Her phone buzzed while she was staring into her empty fridge:

"Check your Monzo x"

She clicked the notification to find £500 from 'william s.' had landed in her account. They'd fought about this before - she hated feeling like a WAG, and he hated seeing her struggle when he could help. But right now, with three weeks until her next stipend…

"You don't have to do that," she texted back.

"Buy food. Doctor needs eat."

"*future doctor"

"Same thing. Get snacks too."

Her tube ride to the clinic was crowded as usual, London's morning rush pressing in. A teenager across the car was watching Arsenal highlights on his phone - there was Wilo, all graceful power as he tackled some striker. Hard to believe that was the same man who'd been whining about eggs this morning.

Another text:

"Think you wearing my shirt to clinic?"

"Think you should focus on training."

"Think about you instead."

Impossible man. But she was smiling as she swiped through to her grocery delivery app. Maybe she'd order something nice for dinner - she had the money now, after all.

The clinic was already buzzing when she arrived, her ID badge swinging against her dark blue scrubs as she made her way to the staff room. The dual-degree PT program at Northwestern University and King's College London was no joke - three years of intense study, clinical rotations, and practical exams. Sometimes she still couldn't believe how perfectly everything had aligned. A PT student specializing in sports medicine dating a Premier League defender? It was practically cheating when it came to understanding athletic performance and injury prevention.

Wilo's knee might be technically fine, but having access to an elite athlete's biomechanics was invaluable for her studies. She'd basically written her last case study about his post-match recovery routine (anonymized, of course). Her professors had been impressed with her detailed analysis of high-level football injuries - if only they knew she'd gathered that data between kisses and training sessions.

Her phone kept lighting up with Instagram notifications. She'd always kept her account private, just study updates and occasional selfies documenting her natural hair journey. The few photos she had with Wilo were deliberately subtle - his hand in frame during dinner, maybe, or just their shadows on a walk. Most of her posts were about PT school: her notes laid out perfectly, advocacy for more Black women in sports medicine, the occasional stress-relief dance video in her scrubs. But now everyone wanted in, wanted to see Saliba's girl, wanted to analyze every post for hints about their relationship.

"Ready for rounds?" Jamie appeared at her elbow, already pulling up their patient list on the clinic's tablet. "You look tired. Late night with tall, dark, and French?"

"Long night of studying," Yas lied, ignoring another wave of follow requests. An Arsenal fan account had somehow found her private profile and shared her handle. Her follower count was still at 900 but there was nearly 15,000 pending requests in just three days.

The Luton Town match loomed in her mind as she checked their first patient's chart. Wilo wanted her there, and part of her wanted to go - wanted to support him properly, not just catch highlights on her phone between patients. But the cameras, the attention, the scrutiny… she hadn't signed up for that part. Being a WAG meant being perceived, being judged. Her entire career could get overshadowed by who she was dating. One wrong outfit choice and she'd end up on some Daily Mail sidebar.

Her phone buzzed again - another text from Wilo, this time a photo of him pouting at training. Arteta's tactics board was visible in the background, and she quickly typed back: "Delete that before you leak the whole game plan."

His response was immediate: "Only leaking my heart to you x"

God, this man was going to be the death of her professional reputation, but as she slipped her phone away and grabbed her first patient's file, she couldn't help but smile. Let them talk - she had clinicals to focus on and a doctorate to finish.

Her first patient was an elderly man recovering from hip replacement. As Yas guided him through his exercises, she caught glimpses of people walking past the clinic windows, phones raised. Word must have gotten out about where Arsenal's new WAG worked.

"My granddaughter says you're dating that French boy," Mr. Peters said as she supported his weight during gait training. His knowing smile reminded her of her grandfather back in Chicago. "The tall one who plays defense?"

"Focus on your steps, Mr. Peters," she managed, grateful her dark skin hid most of her blush. The last thing she needed was her patients gossiping about her love life.

Jamie appeared like an angel in blue scrubs, tablet in hand. "Dr. Morris wants us in Room 3. ACL reconstruction needs assessment."

In the quiet of the hallway, her phone lit up with Wilo's name:

"Gabriel asking if you vegetarian. For dinner."

"Focus on training," she typed back, trying to ignore how her stomach flipped at the thought of meeting his teammates properly.

"Focus on answering question. He cooking."

She paused at the supply cabinet, fingers hovering over her phone. Going to Gabriel's meant officially entering the WAG circle. Dinner parties, couple photos, Sunday brunches - the whole circus she'd been avoiding. No more hiding in Wilo's kitchen or sneaking kisses in PT rooms.

"Tell him I eat anything," she finally replied, then added, "But I haven't said yes yet."

"But you will," came his immediate response, followed by that damn smirking emoji that she could picture perfectly on his actual face.

Room 3's patient was already waiting, and she tucked her phone away with a sigh. Time to be Dr. Robinson (almost), even if her Instagram kept lighting up with notification after notification.

The ACL patient turned out to be a Chelsea fan, which was almost a relief. He was more focused on his knee than trying to get Arsenal gossip, and Yas lost herself in the familiar rhythm of assessment and treatment. This was her world - proper form, careful touches, the satisfaction of watching someone heal under her guidance.

Her phone stayed quiet through lunch, which meant Wilo was probably actually focusing on training for once. She picked at her sad vending machine snacks in the break room while Jamie scrolled through Twitter.

"Oh my god," Jamie snorted, turning her phone screen. "They're trying to figure out where you got your scrubs from. Apparently you're starting a WAG fashion revolution."

"They're literally standard issue scrubs."

"Tell that to ArsenalWAGStyle. They want to know if the color is 'midnight navy' or 'classical blue'."

Yas dropped her head onto the break room table with a groan. "I have three more sets exactly like this one. They're just… blue."

"Wait till they see you at the Luton Town match."

"Who says I'm going?"

Jamie just looked at her. "Girl, your man just got exposed. You really think you can keep hiding?"

Her phone chose that moment to light up again:

"Miss your hands on my knee x"

"That's so unprofessional," she typed back, but she was smiling.

"Come inspect it at Gabriel's tonight?"

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Jamie was right - she couldn't keep hiding. And maybe… maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being properly part of his world.

******************************************************

Gabriel Magalhães' townhouse sat in one of those stupidly expensive London neighborhoods where every building looked like it belonged in a period drama. Yas had done her best with what she had - her curls were actually cooperating for once, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and the Meshki jumpsuit she'd scored on sale hugged her curves in all the right places. The square neckline showed just enough skin to be dinner-appropriate while still letting her feel like herself.

Clearly Wilo approved, given how his hand hadn't left her ass since they'd stepped out of his car. His fingers kneaded appreciatively as they waited at Gabriel's door.

"Mon coeur, tu es si belle ce soir," he murmured in her ear, voice dropping low. "Je veux te baiser… si serrée pour moi… faire te jouir…"

She only caught 'fuck', 'cum', and 'tight' in that string of French, and honestly, she was grateful her language skills weren't better. But before he could get any filthier, the door swung open.

Gabriel stood there grinning, all six foot three of him making Yas feel even tinier than usual. The boys did that complicated handshake thing all footballers seemed to know instinctively.

"Ayy, my brother!" Gabriel pulled Wilo in for a quick hug before his eyes landed on Yas. "She's so short!"

Yas frowned. Of course, that would be the first thing another giant footballer noticed.

"But good job Wilo, she's pretty," Gabriel continued with a wide smile. "Nice to meet you, Yasmin." He extended his hand.

"Yas is fine," she said, shaking it and trying not to feel like she was being assessed.

The living room was filled with the sound of multiple conversations in various accents - Portuguese, French, English all mixing together. Bukayo was sprawled on one of Gabriel's expensive armchairs, his girlfriend Tolami perched comfortably in his lap. She brightened when she saw Yas.

"Finally! Another normal-sized person," Tolami called out, extracting herself from Bukayo to come say hi. She was wearing the kind of outfit that probably cost more than Yas's rent, but her smile was genuine. "I'm Tolami. Please tell me you're as tired of looking up at these giants as I am."

"God, yes," Yas laughed, instantly warming to her. "My neck hurts half the time."

"You get used to it," Tolami grinned, then dropped her voice. "Saw that Tesco video. Welcome to the madness."

Wilo's hand was still possessively on her lower back as more introductions were made. Gabriel's wife kissed both her cheeks, speaking rapid Portuguese that Gabriel had to translate. Ben White's wife, Milly, gave her a knowing look that said 'we'll talk later.'

It was surreal, standing here in her sale-rack jumpsuit while these women wore designer everything. But Tolami grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the kitchen.

"Come on, help me get drinks. These boys can entertain themselves for five minutes."

Wilo's protests were drowned out by Bukayo's laugh. "Let them bond, bro. You can survive without touching her for two seconds."

Gabriel's kitchen was all sleek marble and stainless steel. Tolami hopped onto the counter like she'd done it a hundred times before, watching Yas look for wine glasses.

"Other cabinet," she pointed. "So, PT student? That's different. Most WAGs are like… influencers or something."

"I'm not a WAG," Yas said automatically, then caught Tolami's raised eyebrow. "I mean–"

"Girl, your man's hand hasn't left your ass at all. You're a WAG." She grinned. "But like, a cool one. With an actual career."

"Trying to have one, anyway." Yas found the glasses. "How do you deal with all the attention? The Tesco thing is driving me crazy."

"You get used to it. Plus, Bukayo's worth it." Her smile went soft. "Like how Wilo looks at you when you're not watching. Man's got it bad."

"We've only been together four months–"

"Please. I saw him checking his phone all through training today. Saka says he won't shut up about you."

From the living room, they could hear the boys arguing about the Luton Town match. Wilo's deep laugh carried through, followed by what sounded like Bukayo doing an impression of him.

"They're like children," Tolami rolled her eyes fondly. "But they're our children. Speaking of…" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Heard Wilo's got baby fever?"

Yas nearly dropped the wine bottle. "How do you know about that?"

"Bukayo says Wilo's been googling baby names during team lunch." Tolami swung her legs, designer heels clicking against the cabinets. "Like, French-American baby names specifically."

"I'm going to kill him."

"It's cute! Saka's the same way sometimes. Think it's the age - they're all getting to that settling down phase."

"We've barely settled into dating publicly," Yas muttered, pouring the wine maybe a little too generously. "I've got a year left of my program, I can't be thinking about–"

"Ma chérie!" Wilo's voice carried from the living room. "You get lost?"

"Your man's getting separation anxiety," Tolami grinned. "But seriously, stick with me. These WAG events can get intense, but we normal girls have to stick together."

"I heard there's like… brunches? And stuff?"

"Oh honey." Tolami hopped down, grabbing the other wine glasses. "Wait till you see the group chat. But don't worry - I'll help you navigate. Just… maybe wear something Arsenal-colored to the Luton match? The fans eat that shit up."

"I haven't said I'm going yet–"

"Your man's starting defender and you just got exposed. Trust me, you're going." She started toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and heads up - some of the other WAGs might be a bit… much. But they mean well. Usually."

They walked back into a heated debate about the Luton Town lineup, Wilo and Bukayo arguing in that mix of English and French they seemed to slip into during training. His eyes found her immediately though, that soft look crossing his face before he made grabby hands for both her and the wine.

"Come, mon coeur," he said, pulling her down next to him on the couch. She ended up practically in his lap, his arm curling possessively around her waist while Tolami resumed her position with Bukayo.

"You good?" Wilo murmured against her hair, somehow making those two words sound filthy in his accent.

"Behave," she whispered back, very aware of how his fingers were playing with the hem of her jumpsuit.

"Never."

Gabriel emerged from somewhere with plates of food that actually looked edible, his wife trailing behind him with more wine. Ben White was telling some story about training that had everyone laughing, but Yas was distracted by the way Wilo's thumb was drawing circles on her hip.

"You're not subtle," she muttered as everyone else focused on serving food.

"Don't want to be," he replied, pressing a kiss below her ear that definitely wasn't dinner-appropriate. "Want everyone to know–"

"If you two are done being horny in my living room," Gabriel called out, "food's getting cold."

Yas felt her face heat as everyone laughed, but Wilo just grinned, completely unashamed. "Can you blame me? Look at her."

"Oh my god," she groaned, hiding her face in his shoulder while Bukayo made gagging noises.

"Young love," Milly sighed dramatically. "Remember when we were that bad?"

"We still are," Ben winked, and everyone groaned.

Dinner with footballers was apparently a loud affair. Gabriel's food was surprisingly good - some Brazilian dish he'd learned from his mom - and the conversation flowed easily between match tactics and relationship gossip. Yas found herself relaxing despite Wilo's wandering hands.

"Yo Yas," Gabriel grinned over his wine glass, "did Wilo tell you how hard he was stalking your Instagram after you accepted his follow request?"

Wilo stopped mid-bite, shooting his friend a betrayed look.

"We caught him during training," Saka added. "Looking at videos of you bending people at the clinic."

"I was... researching," Wilo defended, accent thicker with embarrassment.

"Researching for what?" Tolami teased.

"For... football reasons," he muttered.

Yas raised an eyebrow at him. "Football reasons?"

"Your form is very... professional," he tried, but his hand was creeping up her thigh under the table.

"You're such a stalker," she said, but she was fighting a smile.

"Only for you, mon coeur."

"If you two start making out at my dinner table," Gabriel warned, "I'm spraying you with water like cats."

"Speaking of clinic videos," Tolami smirked, "there's a new one of you circulating."

Yas froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"Some patient recorded you doing his knee assessment," Bukayo explained, scrolling through his phone. "Got like fifty thousand views already."

"That's literally against HIPAA," Yas groaned, but Wilo was already leaning over to look at Bukayo's screen.

"You look cute in this one," he said, then pouted. "But why you never touch my knee like that?"

"Because you're not actually injured."

"Could get injured. Just for you."

"William Saliba, if you deliberately hurt yourself–"

"There they go again," Gabriel sighed dramatically to his wife. "This is why I seated them at the end of the table."

"It's sweet," Milly argued. "Remember when you used to get all possessive like that?"

"I still am," Ben protested. "Just last week–"

"No sex stories at dinner!" Gabriel threw a napkin at him. "We have rules!"

"Rich coming from Mr. 'Let Me Show Everyone My New Hickey' last season," Bukayo called out.

"That was different–"

"How many strikes is that for the swear jar?" Tolami asked innocently. "Because I'm pretty sure talking about hickeys counts."

"There's a swear jar?" Yas whispered to Wilo.

"Oui. Gabriel's wife’s idea. I owe…" he paused, counting in French under his breath. "Maybe two hundred pounds?"

"How–"

"You make me curse a lot, mon coeur."

By the time they said their goodbyes, Yas had three new numbers in her phone and an invite to the WAG group chat. Tolami hugged her tight, whispering something about shopping for the next match that made Wilo's wallet probably cry in advance.

"That wasn't so bad," she admitted as they walked to his car, his hand somehow finding its way back to her ass.

"Non? Ready for more then?" His voice had that dangerous edge to it. "Starting with getting you out of this jumpsuit..."

"Will, I told you - no more period sex."

The look he gave her screamed 'challenge accepted' more than any words could, and she knew she was in trouble.

*******************************************************

Saturday felt surreal. Yas stood in front of her mirror, heart racing as she adjusted the Arsenal jersey with SALIBA stretched across her shoulders. The black jeans hugged her curves perfectly, and the heeled boots added enough height that maybe she wouldn't feel completely tiny next to the other WAGs. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking as she touched up her edges, making sure they laid just right.

Being at the Luton Town match meant no more hiding. No more pretending she was just another PT student. Everyone would know exactly who she was - William Saliba's girl. The thought made her stomach lurch. Her phone had been blowing up since she posted a mirror selfie that morning - her first public acknowledgment of dating Wilo. The comments were mostly supportive, but she'd already muted her notifications twice.

A knock at her door made her jump. "Ready babe?" Tolami's voice called through. "Car's waiting!"

Just seeing Tolami's familiar face helped settle her nerves. She looked effortlessly gorgeous in her own Saka jersey, designer bag hanging from her arm.

"The first match is always the scariest," Tolami assured her, linking their arms together as they headed toward the car. "Wait till you see how many blogs analyze your outfit tomorrow."

"That's not helping."

"Just wait - you'll be getting free clothes offers by Monday. Though that jersey..." Tolami grinned wickedly. "Wilo's definitely going to lose focus during warm-ups when he sees you in that."

They made their way through the VIP entrance at Emirates Stadium, past security and up to the family section. Phones turned their way, whispers following their path. Yas caught fragments of conversation - "Saliba's girlfriend" and "the one from the Tesco video" - but Tolami kept her moving, chattering about some drama with another WAG's Instagram story.

The family box was intimidatingly posh, all plush seats and champagne service. But as they found their spots, Yas couldn't help but smile at the mix of accents around them - Portuguese, French, English all blending together just like at Gabriel's dinner.

"Think it's too much?" Yas tugged at the jersey hem nervously. "The whole... branded girlfriend thing?"

"Girl, please. Watch - he's going to spot you during warm-up and completely forget about football. Plus," Tolami lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Saka says he's been insufferable all morning, checking his phone to see if you'd posted any hints about coming."

Below them, the players were starting to file out for warm-ups. Yas's heart definitely didn't skip when she spotted number 2 jogging onto the pitch, his tall frame unmistakable even from this distance.

It happened during stretches. Wilo's head turned toward the family section like he could sense her presence, and even from this distance, she could see the moment he spotted her. His whole body froze mid-stretch, those dark eyes locked on her in his jersey.

"Told you," Tolami whispered, nudging her ribs. "Look at his face."

Wilo had completely forgotten about his warm-up routine, earning a shove from Gabriel to keep moving. But his eyes kept finding her between drills, that devastating smile making her cheeks heat even from fifty yards away.

Her phone buzzed:

"You wearing my name."

"Focus on your warm-up."

"Can't. Too busy thinking about taking that jersey off later."

"Saliba!" They could hear Arteta's voice carrying across the pitch. "Less texting, more running!"

But Wilo was still grinning, jogging backward so he could keep looking up at her. He pressed his hand to his heart, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like 'mon coeur' before Gabriel physically turned him around.

"God, you two are disgusting," Tolami laughed. "I love it."

The stadium hummed with energy as Yas tried to focus on breathing. From the family section, everything felt more immediate - each tackle, each sprint, each time Wilo went up for a header. She'd watched plenty of matches on her phone between patients, but this was different. This was real.

Ben White's wife - Milly, she'd learned at dinner - leaned over during a water break. "The first match is the worst. I threw up before mine."

"I almost did," Tolami agreed, squeezing Yas's hand. "But look at our boys now."

Ødegaard broke through in the thirty-fifth minute, a beautiful shot that had the stadium exploding. She spotted Wilo lifting their captain in celebration, his smile brighter than the stadium lights.

During halftime, she checked her phone to find she'd gained another ten thousand follow requests. The camera had caught her a few times, apparently - her in Wilo's jersey, cheering with Tolami. Twitter was already analyzing her outfit, her hair, her friendship with Saka's girlfriend.

"Ignore it," Tolami advised, passing her a water bottle. "Focus on the match. Though that clip of Wilo staring at you during warm-ups is kind of cute."

When Daiki slotted in the second goal after halftime, Yas was ready for it. She screamed with Tolami as the Japanese midfielder was swarmed by his teammates. The rest of the match was a defensive masterclass - Wilo and Gabriel keeping Luton from any real chances. Her PT brain couldn't help but admire his form, the way he used his height to his advantage.

2-0. Her first match as an official WAG, and they'd won. The final whistle had barely blown before her phone started buzzing with notifications.

"He's looking for you," Tolami nudged her, and sure enough, Wilo's eyes were already on their section. That soft smile spread across his face as he tapped his heart.

Milly was saying something about celebration dinner plans, but Yas was distracted by her phone lighting up:

"Dinner to celebrate? Or straight home to take that jersey off?"

"Behave," she typed back. "You have press duties."

"Worth being late to see you in my name."

"Your man's whipped," Tolami laughed, reading over her shoulder. "But seriously, you coming to dinner? Traditional after home wins."

Before Yas could answer, another text:

"Please come? Want to show you off properly. My girl in my jersey x"

*******************************************************

The restaurant in Mayfair screamed old money, all crystal chandeliers and waiters. She felt slightly underdressed in Wilo's jersey, even after tucking it into her jeans, but the team had a regular private room here after home wins, somewhere they could be loud without bothering other diners.

Wilo hadn't stopped touching her since they sat down - hand on her thigh, playing with her curls, finding any excuse to lean into her space. The win had him buzzing with energy, though his eyes kept dropping to his name stretched across her chest.

"To clean sheets!" Gabriel raised his champagne glass, and everyone cheered. The conversation flowed between match analysis and relationship gossip, but Yas noticed Wilo getting more restless with each passing minute.

His hand crept higher on her thigh under the table. "You look so good in my jersey," he murmured in her ear, low enough that only she could hear. "Can't stop thinking about–"

"If you finish that sentence in public, I'm never wearing it again."

Across the table, Bukayo was telling some story about training, but Wilo wasn't even pretending to listen anymore. His fingers traced patterns on her leg that made it hard to focus on her own food.

"You're not even listening," Bukayo laughed, throwing a napkin at him. "Bro's too busy staring at his jersey."

"Can you blame me?" Wilo didn't even look away from Yas, his accent getting thicker the way it did when he was worked up. "Think we'll skip dessert. Need to see how that jersey looks on my floor."

The boys erupted in whistles and catcalls, Gabriel yelling something in Portuguese that made his wife laugh. Even the other WAGs were giggling now, used to these displays of footballer dramatics.

"William," Yas hissed, mortified but also fighting a smile. "I swear to god–"

But before she could finish, he'd scooped her up and thrown her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing, one hand firmly on her calf to keep her steady. The champagne was definitely hitting her now, blood rushing to her head as she dangled over his shoulder.

"Put me down!"

"Non." His satisfaction was clear in his voice as the team hooted louder. She could feel his laugh rumbling through his chest where she was pressed against him.

"Go make that baby, Wilo!" Saka called out, earning himself a smack in the arm from Tolami.

"I hate all of you," Yas declared to the upside-down crowd, catching glimpses of amused faces and raised champagne glasses as Wilo headed for the exit.

"No you don't," he said cheerfully, not even slightly winded from carrying her. "You're wearing my name."

The last thing she heard before they left the private room was Tolami's voice: "Twenty pounds says she's pregnant by Christmas."

Wilo finally put her down when they reached his car, but kept her pressed against the passenger door. The London night was cool against her flushed skin, his jersey riding up where his hands gripped her waist.

"You're impossible," she breathed, but tilted her face up to his anyway.

"Says girl wearing my name." His accent was thick, wrapping around the words like honey. "Know what that does to me?"

"The whole restaurant knows what it does to you."

His laugh was warm against her neck. "Don't care. Want everyone to see."

The drive back to his place was torture - his free hand on her thigh, her body still buzzing from champagne and victory celebrations. London streets blurred past as he took corners maybe a little faster than usual.

"Careful," she warned when he nearly missed a light. "I need you in one piece for your next match."

"Then stop looking like that in my jersey."

"It's just a shirt, Will."

The look he gave her clearly said it wasn't just a shirt, but he managed to get them back to his building without breaking any traffic laws. Barely.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, he had her backed against the mirrored wall, hands reverent on the number 2 stretched across her chest.

"My girl," he murmured. "In my name."

"Your girl needs to breathe," she laughed, pushing him back slightly. "And a shower."

His grin was devastating. "Can I shower with you?"

"Impossible man."

Wilo just smirked, because they both knew the answer. The elevator dinged when they got to his floor and when he unlocked his front door, he didn’t even let her step away, hands already slipping beneath the hem of his jersey to help her out of it. She let him, raising her arms so he could strip it off, leaving her in just her underwear. His fingers traced over her skin, his gaze darkening as he drank her in.

"You gonna stare all night or actually help me get clean?" she teased, though the way her breath hitched betrayed her.

"Can’t help it," he murmured, tossing the shirt aside before unclasping her bra. "You’re too damn pretty."

Her stomach fluttered at the way he said it, so effortlessly, like it was just a fact. His hands were warm as they skimmed her sides, down to her hips to pull off her underwear before he guided her toward the bathroom.

"Still on your period?" he asked, voice casual as he reached for the light.

She hummed. "Barely. It’s light."

"Great." His eyes flashed as he grinned.

The way he said it sent a rush of heat through her, but before she could respond, he was already reaching for his own clothes, stripping off his hoodie and t-shirt in one smooth motion. She had to take a second to just… appreciate.

Because, damn.

She would never get used to how fine her man was. The way his muscles flexed as he unbuckled his jeans, the sharp cut of his abs — it was almost unfair.

He caught her staring as he stepped out of his boxers, smirking as he grabbed a shower cap and pulled it over her head with practiced ease. "Like what you see?"

"Obviously," she shot back, rolling her eyes but smiling.

The shower steamed up around them as he turned on the water, the low hum of the spray filling the space. He kissed her then, slow and deep, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. A quiet moan slipped past her lips as he squeezed, kneading them like he had all the time in the world.

"Come on," he murmured, guiding her under the stream. "Let me take care of you."

The warm spray cascaded down their bodies, steam curling around them as Wilo ran his hands down her back, over the curve of her hips, before gripping her ass. He pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her neck, his breath hot against her damp skin.

"Been thinking about this all night," he murmured, voice thick with want.

She shivered as his hands spread her apart, his fingers trailing between her thighs, teasing her entrance. Even with the shower running, she could hear how wet she was for him.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his other hand coming up to grip her waist.

"Yes," she breathed, pushing back against him, her body aching for more.

A low groan rumbled from his chest. "Yeah? Then bend over for me."

She let him guide her, turning her around, her hands pressing against the cool tile wall as he nudged her legs wider. The marble bench was just the right height, and when he ran his fingers through her folds, she gasped, arching into his touch.

"Still so tight," he muttered, positioning himself at her entrance. He dragged the tip along her slit, teasing, making her squirm. "Always so good for me."

"Will," she whined, trying to push back onto him.

"Patience, love." His voice was deep, teasing, but when he finally pushed in, it was anything but gentle.

The stretch of him burned in the best way, and her mouth fell open on a moan as he bottomed out, filling her completely. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, holding her in place as he pulled back just enough before slamming back in.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel perfect, always so perfect for me."

Her nails scraped against the wall as he set a relentless pace, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through her spine. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the shower, mixing with their heavy breathing, her soft cries, his low grunts.

"Regarde-toi, bébé," he rasped, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. "Tu aimes ça, hein? You love it when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes — fuck, yes," she gasped, her thighs shaking, struggling to keep herself up as the pleasure built inside her.

Wilo let out a low, dark chuckle, his large hands gripping her hips before delivering a sharp slap to her ass. The sting sent a shudder through her, making her clench around him.

"Merde," he groaned, squeezing the flesh before giving it another slap. "Throw that ass back on me, bébé. Show me how bad you want it."

She obeyed, pressing back against him, meeting each of his thrusts with desperation. His grip tightened, one hand slipping up to wrap lightly around her throat, tilting her head back so he could press a messy kiss to her cheek.

"Look at you," he murmured, his breath ragged. "Taking all of me, like a good girl, like this pussy was made for me."

Her walls fluttered around him, and he hissed through his teeth. "Fuck — you gonna cum for me?"

She nodded frantically, moaning as he reached between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles that sent her spiraling.

"Come on," he urged, his thrusts turning erratic. "Cum for me."

With a sharp cry, she shattered, her body clenching around him, dragging him into his own release. He groaned, spilling into her, his forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder as he shuddered through the aftershocks.

For a moment, the only sound was the steady stream of the shower and their ragged breathing.

Then, Wilo chuckled, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Tolami might be onto something, you know."

She let out a breathless laugh, still coming down from the high as Wilo slipped out of her, his hands smoothing over her hips before giving her ass a playful squeeze.

"And what exactly is she onto?" she asked, turning her head slightly to look at him.

His grin was all mischief as he spun her around, pulling her into his arms. "That you might be carrying my baby by Christmas."

She rolled her eyes, resting her palms against his chest. "You really think you're that good?"

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her temple before trailing his lips down to her neck. "Babe, I just fucked you so good you didn't even care if I had a condom on."

Her breath caught. He was right.

"We need—"

"Relax," he murmured, nipping at her jawline. "I'll get you Plan B later tonight."

That didn’t stop the tiny flare of panic from creeping up her spine, but when his lips found hers, soft and slow this time, it melted away just as quickly.

"I wouldn’t mind it though," he admitted against her lips. "Getting you pregnant."

Her heart stuttered at the confession, at the way he was looking at her — like he could already see it.

"Wilo, we cannot—" she started, but he just kissed her again, deep and lingering, as if sealing the thought between them.

"We can talk about it later," he said, reaching for the body wash. "For now, let me clean my girl up."

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully but let him lather her up anyway, his hands gentle as they roamed her body. His fingers traced over the bite marks on her shoulder, the bruises forming on her hips from his grip.

"Did I go too hard?" he asked, voice softer now, more careful.

She shook her head. "No. It was perfect."

His smirk returned, a little smug, a lot satisfied. "Damn right it was."

She swatted at his chest, and he just laughed, wrapping her up in his arms again as the hot water cascaded over them.

..................tbd

[insidekatmind]

High p1- Pope Heyward

You had always been the quieter one in the group. You and Pope, two of the most withdrawn people. He had always kept his distance, and you, being the new person, didn’t know just how much you could really connect with everyone yet. You didn’t smoke or drink much—just a little here and there, but nothing too crazy. Pope was the same. You both had your own quiet worlds, separate from the noise of the party.

Kiara, the girl who seemed to light up the whole group, had always been the one Pope adored. You could tell, even if he never said it out loud. But something had shifted in him recently, something you couldn’t quite figure out. He didn’t look at her the same way anymore. It was like there was some invisible wall between them, and neither of them could break it down.

One evening, everyone gathered around the usual bonfire. It was dark, the flames crackling, and the air was filled with the familiar hum of laughter and conversation. But Pope wasn’t there. He hadn’t shown up. You were left to the sidelines, unsure if you should be a part of the chaos or just remain a quiet observer.

JJ, always the one to get people involved, noticed you sitting alone and, with a mischievous grin, offered you some weed. Normally, you would’ve turned him down, but that night was different. Maybe it was the loneliness, maybe it was the pressure of fitting in. You didn’t even think twice before you agreed. The moment it hit you, everything felt different. The laughter around you was louder, everything seemed funnier, and the world took on a hazy glow. You were completely high, acting silly and laughing at things that made no sense at all. You felt light, free, and for the first time, you weren’t holding back.

Then, like a ghost out of the past, Pope showed up late. He had his usual look of calm composure, his hoodie and jeans, like he didn’t care about the chaos around him. But when he saw you, something flickered in his eyes. His gaze shifted from the group to you, and the shock was visible on his face. You were completely out of it, giggling uncontrollably at something someone had said, completely unaware of how absurd you must have looked.

Pope didn’t say anything at first. He just walked over to you, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. You, still caught in the high, gave him a goofy grin.

“Didn’t think you were the type to join in on this kind of fun,” Pope said, his voice dry but not unkind. There was a hint of mockery in it, but it was warm, almost teasing, like he was trying to gauge if you were still the same person he thought he knew. “Didn’t expect you to be the party animal.”

You snickered, barely able to form a coherent sentence. "I… I didn’t expect it either… but… it’s not so bad," you managed, your voice a little too high-pitched as you laughed.

Pope chuckled softly, shaking his head, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes. Maybe it was amusement, or maybe a touch of sadness—something you couldn’t quite read.

You smiled amusedly as you twirled around while showing off your little white dress. Pope's eyes followed your every movement, watching as you twirled around in your little white dress. He had to admit, it looked great on you, and he was struck once again by how different you were when you were like this—giggly, carefree, so unlike your usual quiet, reserved self.Pope felt a pang in his heart, a sudden realization of just how much he loved your laugh, the way you seemed blissfully carefree. He found himself wondering just how often he *got* to see you like this.

You giggle, stopping by touching your head because it was spinning. "Pope, it's beautiful, it turns everything around" you say amused.

Pope watched as you stopped giggling for a moment, touched your head as if you were dizzy. Pope couldn't help but chuckles a little as he said, "Well, that's what weed does to you, it makes the world look a lot prettier."He took a step closer to you and leaned against a tree, his eyes still locked on you. "You're having a lot of fun, huh?" he asked, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You lean into him, laughing and resting your head on his chest. You were so short compared to him. Pope's eyes widened when you leaned into him, resting your head on his chest. The sudden closeness caught him off guard, but he found himself quite enjoying it. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his hand resting against the small of your back, just holding you there."You're awfully giggly tonight," he said, his voice a little lower, his tone a little softer. "Can you even walk straight?"

Smile amused. “No I don’t think so” you murmur into his chest. Pope chuckled, feeling your words against his chest. You were so honest, so open when you were high. It was almost endearing. He kept his arm firmly around you, supporting your weight as if you were going to fall over at any moment.“Well, that’s not good,” he teased. “How am I supposed to get you home in this state?”

You look at him with your cute little doe eyes. "I don't want to go home, I want to have fun" you say placing your hands on his shoulders. Pope looked down at you, his expression a mixture of amusement and affection. Your cute little doe eyes were looking up at him with a pleading expression, and he was struggling to resist the urge to give in to whatever you wanted."You’re going to regret this tomorrow, you know" he said, his voice a mix of warning and humor. "But fine, let’s have fun… within reason."

You smile sweetly and hug him. “Thank you, thank you,” you say enthusiastically. Pope let out a sigh, pretending to be exasperated, but in truth, he was finding it all quite endearing. You were all over the place, and he couldn’t help but enjoy every second of it.

“You’re welcome,” he said, returning your hug and giving you a small smile. “But no more weed for you, okay?”You giggle in amusement in his embrace. “We’ll see,” you hum and try to drag him to the lounge chair.

Pope couldn’t help but chuckle at your determination despite your current state. He let you drag him by the hand towards the lounge chair, his mind a mix of worry and amusement.“Hey, take it easy,” he cautioned, sitting down on the lounge chair and pulling you to sit on his lap.

You smile and lean into him putting your arms around his shoulders as you look up at the stars. Pope's heart skipped a beat as you leaned into him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. He could feel your warmth against his chest, and he instinctively placed an arm around your waist to stabilize you.

Pope followed your gaze upwards, looking at the stars that were twinkling in the night sky. He couldn't help but smile at your fascination, your face glowing under the starlight."You really like the stars, don't you?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

You turn and look at him and nod, smiling softly. "Yes". Pope was caught off guard by the sudden shift in your attention, your smile and the look in your eyes. In that moment, he forgot all the reasons he was trying to keep his distance, all the reasons he was trying not to get too close.

He found himself looking at you, his gaze roaming over your face as if he was seeing you for the first time. In the soft light of the stars, you looked softer, more vulnerable—yet undeniably lovely.“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You smile softly while blushing. "Thanks, you too" Pope's heart skipped a beat, his mind trying to process what had just happened. Did you just call him beautiful? He was caught off guard, a mixture of surprise and disbelief on his face.

He was used to being the one to express admiration, to give compliments, not receive them. But there was something about your sincerity, your gentle voice as you said the words, that made him feel fluttery, as if his heart was in his throat.“You really mean that?” Pope asked, his voice a little hoarse.

You nod, smiling softly and hugging him. Pope felt a warmth spread through him as you nodded and hugged him. He held you close, his arms wrapping around you in a protective yet tender embrace.“You really are something else,” he said, the words coming out a little gruff as he tried to keep his emotions in check. Pope could feel your heart beating against his chest, and he realized how much he liked having you like this, close, vulnerable, in his arms.

They sat like this for a moment, your head resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. The sounds of the party around them faded into background noise as they were lost in their own little world.Pope took a deep breath, the scent of your hair filling his nostrils, the feeling of your body against his strangely comfortable. He found himself looking down at you, his eyes tracing your features.“You know, I’ve never seen you like this before,” he said quietly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You look up at him with those big doe eyes, your expression a mix of innocence and vulnerability. In that moment, you were the complete opposite of the quiet persona he knew. You were open, carefree, uninhibited—and it was utterly captivating.Pope found himself struggling to keep his thoughts straight. He had to remind himself that you were high, that you weren’t your usual self. But it was impossible to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his chest, the way his body ached to pull you closer.

He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself, but the words that came out were a little huskier than intended.“You’re so…” he trailed off, struggling to find the right word to describe how you were making him feel in this moment. “Free.”

You smile softly at his words and look at his lips. Pope felt a tingle go through his body as he noticed your gaze drifting to his lips. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, his heart rate increasing at the unspoken implication.He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to your face, his own gaze lingering on your lips. The idea of closing the gap between them suddenly seemed incredibly appealing, but he forced himself to resist. You were high, he reminded himself. He couldn’t take advantage of you in this state.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said quietly, his voice a little strangled.No matter how much he was struggling to keep his composure, there was no denying the desire that was building within him. The way you were looking at him, the way that your body was pressed against his, it was driving him wild.

"Why not?" You whisper softly. Pope felt his resolve crumbling, your soft whisper and the way you were looking at him stirring something within him that he couldn’t ignore. He wanted—no, needed—to touch you, to pull you even closer than you already were.

He swallowed, his throat becoming dry. “You know why,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You’re high. I can’t… I shouldn’t—”

You silence him by kissing him softly.

Continue…

[metranart]

My one and only wants you, so he’ll have you (Part 13)

(Sukuna centric chapter)

ft. Sensei! Gojo Satoru, sensei! Suguru Geto, reader insert, slight! Megumi x reader, slight! Sukuna x reader..

Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto happily married, you, their lovely student and the cause of their ragging temptation. The problem: their son, Megumi, your best friend.

𖦹 Warning tags: Sukuna centric in this chapter. Gojo x Reader x Geto, threesome, married couple, Suguru and Gojo happy married couple, polyamory, Teacher-Student Relationship (everyone is an adult).

-

"...If I recall correctly, you and I have some unfinished business, pookie."

Ryomen Sukuna.

You had no chance against the King of Curses, much less now that he came to collect. The way he licked his lips made your skin crawl, his grin sharpening when you gulped hard.

“Oh, I see,” he smirked, “you actually thought I would forget,” his tongue tsked, head slowly denying. “I haven’t stopped thinking about our ‘deal’, not even for a single second.” The words were stitched against your cheek, still being inside his possessive embrace allowed him to abuse the closeness with borrowed lips. Kissing each word against your soft skin. “I want what you promised me for my silence…” an impertinent hand slid unceremoniously under your skirt, those sharp black nails leaving a red trace on the tender skin of your inner thigh in their path, “so… spread these pretty legs for me.”

Your breath caught inside your lungs, today was pay day, and you weren’t ready.

It didn’t matter how much you pushed against him, desperately searching for a glimmer of breathing room, it was like trying to move a freaking wall. The more you tried the more he stuck to you. His amused features almost unbearable.

With a desperate growl, you slapped a hand against his mouth and felt the sharpness of his canines as he laughed at your pathetic attempt. Was this your attempt to escape? Your fight or flee response? Such laughable actions.

"Are you suddenly shy, pretty?" his mockery deliberately accurate to bruise your pride, your cheeks painted but the curse couldn't identify if it was anger or shame, ".... it's not that I don't find your pathetic resistance adorable, but unfortunately, I have not a minute to spare, so..." he gestured with his fingers, spreading out the index and middle for you to imitate with your legs and your head shook out of your control.

"It doesn't have to be there," you tried not to make it sound like a pitiful plea, "...I agreed to let you put your cursed seal on me, Sukuna-...but you can put it on my arm, or my ankle-"

"It has to be hidden so he doesn't destroy it..." Sukuna explained with a hint of apathy, before his tone sharpened with mockery at your amusing confusion, "...you know, your six-eyed lover."

Gojo, you thought, but soon a more alarming thought invaded your mind, something you should have questioned before even making the deal, but at that moment you were so desperate to keep your skeletons inside the closet, out of Megumi's sight, that you were careless and stupid...your lips trembled, and the obvious question you hadn't asked came urgently out of your mouth.

".... What’s the seal for?"

Sukuna smirked, your eyes flicked from his eyes to his mouth, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his smile, indicating the information was irrelevant to you, he didn't have to tell you since you owed it to him, but just for the fun of it.

"It gives me control." 

Was all he said.

"-control over me?"

That smile twisted his mouth again, his silence frustrated you, and you seeped, glancing away from him as the reality of what you have accepted finally set in.

"That's for me to know," he muttered, "and for you to find out."

Before you could protest, his attention shifted to maneuvering you through your fighting, a shot of adrenaline pumped through you, maybe, you landed a few blows but regardless of your effort it felt like caresses to him. Those little hands of yours grabbing his wrists without success while he calmly lifted your skirt and slid two fingers under the straps of your panties, his sharp eyes ogling you as he -without breaking a sweat- rolled the fabric down your thighs despite your protests. Wicked attention drinking in your every expression.

"S-Sukuna... please-"

"We made a deal, princess." Sukuna reminded you, "I did my part, now behave like an adult and spread your legs for me."

Right then, you were grateful to be alone with him, the position he had you in was going to take a toll on your self-esteem. Curled up like a ball between his strong thighs, one strong arm around enough to immobilize you, while his other hand waited for your defeat. You had two choices before you: You, could fulfill your part of the deal and spread your legs…. or you could keep fighting and have him spread them for you.

Sukuna smirked pleased, and somewhat amused when resignation took you and you obeyed. When you came to terms with your own choices. Even he must admit, it tasted like glory, that without even having to insist, your body relaxed against his.

"Good girl." He praised, and his free hand appeared in front of your face, "open up."

After a scarce second od hesitation, you did, and his index and middle fingers breached your wet cavity. "Lick them," your tongue reluctantly obeyed, and Sukuna snickered low, this time deigning to give an explanation. "My fingers need to dwell deep inside you for the seal to… endure."

Despite your furrowed brow, your tongue glazed his digits and once your saliva coated each patch of skin, you watched in anguish as his hand travel down, sliding under your skirt, between your legs, up, up, where he greeted your bare pussy by tracing your slit, warm and dry. Not for long.

"Dammit, if we had more time-” the growl he emitted sounded too lewd for your taste, “-I would dethrone Gojo Satoru from your mind." 

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his smirking lips made an amused picture of his otherwise calm face and that flustered look of discomfort on your face, instead of amusing him, sent delicious shivers down his spine.

With a frown you kept your knees spread, as he explored, parting your folds playfully, making a V-shape of your slit with two rough fingers, enjoying the feeling of control before finally sliding his digits inside you. You mewled like a wounded cat and Sukuna held you tighter to him, his warm breath against the shell of your ear, his pleased growl tattooing itself on your brain.

"Relax for me, girl..." Your knee twitched, which he took as encouragement to keep going despite your loyalty to silence. His fingers crawled deeper until was knuckle deep, and there you felt it, heat, agonizing heat that felt inappropriately amazing. You end up biting your lip and soon, heard him snicker. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

The shape of his dick more noticeable against your ass by the second and you swore you could feel it throb under you. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought he was prone to fuck you. But apparently not. 

“…...—Damn this brat and his quickness to recover.” 

The King cursed under his breath and somehow, you knew he was referring to Yuuji, his vessel. Yuuji’s sudden unconsciousness granted Sukuna this slip, quick slip that now he was regretting for not being longer.

“Spread wider, princess.” 

You glanced up at him, nevertheless, did as instructed and not a minute after, his thick, thumb pressed against your clit, which was already swollen just from the residual sensation of his cursed energy, his rough pad against your bundle of nerves almost made you cry out, almost.

Sukuna shut his eyes in concentration, mocking grin pressed against your feverish cheek, trying to find the perfect pace for you—apparently his was too soft for your likings. Fuck, you were turning out to be more entertaining that he expected.

He made his thumb vibrate, easily breaking the, hard-earned, calm rhythm of your breathing, you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling around his pants, and yet, another twitch in your leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver.

"You're close, I can feel it."

You felt his toned stomach shudder beneath you with the motion of your coming orgasm, and fleetingly considered inching a bit closer to him, maybe rubbing your ass against his hardon: If Sukuna came, would Yuuji wake up?

You took the chance, and smeared your ass hard until you heard him grunt and breathe more stiffly than before. A sudden kiss hastily came to tame you, an impossibly soft and tender smooch, came from this monster accompanied by a vivid threat. 

“I know what you're thinking... it might work," Sukuna conceded, but all hope faded away when you felt him smirk against your ear, "but what's worse: me, finishing my seal on you while making you have the most glorious orgasm of your pathetic existence or you, waking the brat while you are half-naked, him, shirtless and you at the verge of cumming inside his arms?"

That stopped you cold and with a macabre snicker, and a faint ‘smart girl’ he picked up speed. The adrenaline of being discovered putting more heat into you, as Sukuna made a purposeful attempt to drag his thumb down hard on your swollen clit with every jerk of his hand.

He had you singing pretty in mere seconds. The King of curses actually preferred you like that, all giddy and needy, even he admitted that nothing, absolutely nothing, turned him on more than watching a female come undone under his masterful touch. 

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes drifting closed again, finally satisfied with your body response. “Just like that.”

Sukuna trapped his lower lip between his teeth just imagining how much fun it would be to see you go stupid on his cock. If only he had more time, but the brat was promising to be a party pooper.

Your pitiful and embarrassed moans made the King of Curses chest tight with excitement, as your legs fidget, out of the most sublime pleasure. Shit, he loved to see his lovers fight before submitting. Actually, lived for the moment when he witnessed her mind go slack, giving in to him—

Ryomen Sukuna was big in control, so much, that his own arousal was wetting the inside of his pants by now but was able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving your needs and his plans.

“Aww, you like when I apply more pressure here, don’t ya sweet thing?” 

At some point your hips stuttered up to start meeting his fingers, fucking yourself in a much slower rhythm than he was fingering you. Sukuna had to use all his remaining will power to not bend you like a pretzel, then and there, and fuck the living out of you. How dare you drive him this needy with just some lazy pumps up into his fingers?! You, damn minx!

Instead, he snarled, low and deep, frustratingly digging his teeth against the line of your tense jaw, other hand hot on your breast. “No one's ever fingered you properly, I can tell-”

Your moans rose in volume to your horror, and Sukuna got a little lost in the moment, loving the feeling of overpowering you so completely, having you so willing just for him. Now, he understood Satoru Gojo, he still thought poorly of him, but… now he almost felt sorry for the bastard as well, since your mere existence felt like lust embodied. Not being able to touch you must feel like torture to him.

It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan. “—What do they call you?”

Sukuna ought to know, he had never paid you attention but now he couldn't look away, he wanted to know more, everything about you.

Babbling out a name, his name, your name? probably not.

“Try again.” He insisted, it was not usual for him to be this gentle while looking for answers, but he did it. He spared you more than a thought, more than a gasp, he felt hypnotized by the way you were coming undone. 

“Those pretty tears pricking your eyes, FUCK! —” 

Sukuna was forgetting his own schemes. The more he pressed his fingers against the inside of your stomach, that hidden button inside every woman that turned them into putty, the spot of pleasure swirling inside your gut. Hell, you couldn't even complain anymore, being so far gone—

“Fuck,” Sukuna sounded vaguely amazed, pleasantly thrilled at how well your body accepted him, “this slutty little pussy’s squeezin’ my fingers so tight. Sucking them in—”

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was driving you crazy with just his fingers and his sporadic kisses, but your body was betraying you, it had taken his side. Sucking his fingers and throbbing your walls around them, making you cum, one after another, after another. You were already a fucking squirting mess, sliding down your thighs and between your ass, so immersed in this sinful pleasure, that Sukuna had to use another method to get your attention again.

The King of curses smacked your throbbing clit as he bullied yet another finger inside you, smirking wildly at the fucked-out whine that fell from your lips.

“I asked you a question-….” Sukuna grunted displeased, “give me your name, princess… you still know how to speak, right?”

That infuriating smirk on his face, coupled with the way he squeezes another orgasm out of you is too much, if you were honest, you refused to give him your name, you wouldn't, at least you would keep that.

“Stubborn little thing, time's up.”

His fingers come out of you and the sound was too vulgar, that frustrating sucking sound, like a suction cup being pulled from a pane, your greedy pussy annoyed by the absence of his fingers and be forced to having to squeeze the cold nothing. 

A feral grin spread on Sukuna’s face while admiring his work of art. 

You, collapsed on yourself, sweaty and flushed, still spasming at the memory of the ravishing orgasms. Trying with all you might to calm your breathing and the excited beating of your heart. Almost didn't notice Sukuna crouching down, ogling you, thoughtfully analyzing you, drinking up every last sensation you have to give him, leaning down and uncovering your shoulder, to press his teeth into it. Your pained growl was expected, amusing him to no end, making him even more proud of his mischief.

"A souvenir of our meeting for your beloved Satoru Gojo, (Y/N)."

Your eyes widened in surprise that he knew your name, the amusement on his face nothing new as he held your ID between his fingers.

"(Y/N)(L/N), such a pretty name." It sounded more like a taunt coming from him, ".... by the way—"

He crossed his fingers, and an almost withering heat coiled inside your own body, it was scorching and unusually painful, leaving you numb for an instant. A bright light with a strange symbol traced itself across the skin of your tummy.

"The seal is activated."

Sukuna cocked his head to the side giving you one last look before spinning on his heels and saying.

"The brat is about to return; you have mere seconds to make yourself presentable... I recommend you use them.... (Y/N)."

He took a couple of steps, giving you some distance before Yuuji slowly took over, you quickly stood and fixed yourself as best you could, watching in despair as the tattoos abandoned Yuuji’s skin. You buttoned your shirt, fixed your hair and clothes, but you still felt exposed-....and that's when you noticed, where were your panties?

COMING SOON PART 14....

➡️🔞👀 NSFW art sneak peek

➡️ FULL NSFW ARTWORK OF THIS STORY

@dazzlingakaashi @bambiimani111

[rose-in-blue]

"Any Time, Mon Cher"

Alastor x reader

Warnings/tags: fluff, Alastor being smarmy, reader being awkward, an aggressive amount of commas and parenthesis, deer kink(?), slightly suggestive, Alastor isn't repulsed by touch at least not from (Y/N), cursing, thoughts in italics, the hotel has a kitchen?

A/n: this is my first time posting fanfic, so please go easy on me, guys! let me know if I made any errors in the comments <3

1176 words

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“I seriously can’t believe you, Alastor!” you shouted, for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“I really don’t see the problem here, dear,” he said, slightly more passive aggressive than normal.

You two had been fighting for the last 10 minutes or so, standing in the small kitchen of the Hazbin Hotel. While your fight had started with a simple argument over a slight misunderstanding, soon the gates broke and the flood began— every single thing that Alastor had done that ticked you off just rushed out in a wave that you couldn't seem to stop.

“Argh, you’re just… the… the worst!!” you screamed into his face, lacking better words. 

Alastors eyes narrowed, shit-eating-grin strained slightly, ears flicking back for a brief moment. You barely caught the change in his eyes or smile, but your eyes darted up at the movement from his fluffy, red and black ears.

You’d never admit it, but ever since you’d arrived at the hotel, you’d had a bit of an obsession over the Radio Demon. He was aggravating and full of himself and bitchy and narcissistic, but something about him always seemed to make your heart beat a little faster. Especially his more… deer-like features.

Antlers, ears, (speculated) tail— you were fascinated by it all. All you wanted to do was run your hand up the back of his ears, tangling in his hair, while you lay, gasping, helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy…

You blinked, realizing that you’d been staring for a few moments too long. Alastor noticed, of course. Smiling wider, he decided to have some fun with it.

“Really, darling? In what ways am I…” he flicked his ears backwards, then forwards again, “the worst?”

You blushed, eyes never breaking from his ears. “Uh, well, I… for starters…” you trailed off.

“...Yes, dear? I’m listening.” His left ear flicked to the side.

“Oh, well, you know…” you desperately tried to gain control of the conversation, looking into his eyes again. “You’re incredibly full of yourself.”

“Oh, really, (Y/N)? And you’re so humble?” He grinned impossibly wider, ears flicking in every which way.

“Well, ya know, I…” Get a hold of yourself, (Y/N), you thought, eyes trying to focus on anything else but the demon in front of you. “I’m not an asshole about it.” Fuck, why did you say that?!

Alastor threw his head back and laughed, his ears finally stopping. You pouted, hating to be the butt of whatever sadistic joke you were to him. “Really? Is that what you think of me?” he asked, still laughing.

“I… I mean, I…” What did you mean? Sure, Alastor could be shitty at times, but he seemed to have a soft spot for you… at least, that’s what you thought. You didn’t really know anymore.

He bent at the waist, face drawing closer to yours, and it seemed as if he read your mind. “What did you mean, sweetheart? I’m listening.” His ears shifted back (purposefully, of course– he just loved to see you squirm). That was the final breaking point for you.

“Oh, fuck you, Alastor!” you turned your head away, suddenly very aware that your back was now firmly pressed against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to try, dear.”

HE DID NOT JUST—

You blushed, and your eyes flashed to his instantly, because there was no way in hell that he just said that.

The smirk that played across his face told you that he had indeed just said that.

“I…I…I-I,” you stammered, not quite able to process it. His smirk grew, especially after his ears twitched to the front again and your eyes followed every movement and his eyes followed yours.

Changing the subject (thank Satan), his smile shifted to a kinder one, eyes looking up to where his ears stood, then back at you. "Would you like to touch them, darling?"

You were silent for a moment, taken aback. "What-- I'm sorry?"

You heard him, of course, and he knew that, so he continued. "As long as our little argument is over, that is." He reached down and took your hand, eyes never breaking away from yours. "As much as I love our friendly banter, it hurts me so much to see you so angry at me."

You didn't know what so say for once, so you just let him bring your hand to to the side of his temple, almost touching his hair.

"...I..." Honestly, you were surprised you got that much out.

Still smiling, his eyes stared into your soul. "Use your words, dear."

Well, there was no going back now. You threw all your embarrassment out the window and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, Alastor, I do."

Alastor smiled (you could swear there was kindness behind it), bowed his head, and pressed your hand to the base of his ear.

You almost gasped. The hair (hair? fur? hair-fur?) was soft, softer than you'd imagined. Your fingers gently danced up and down his ear, and then moved over to caress his antlers.

Meanwhile, hidden from you, Alastor's face was a mess of emotions. Every bone in his body screamed at his to leave, to vanish, to get away from the danger that physical contact might bring. His eyes flashed into radio dials, then back again. However, within only a few seconds, he relaxed into your touch, letting out a soft exhale.

You were enthralled with his ears and antlers, so much so that you brought your other hand up to the back of his head, unintentionally pulling him closer to you. Alastor stepped forward slightly, swallowed his pride, and trailed his hands up the sides of your thighs to your waist, while your fingers kept toying with his hair.

Alastor, head still lowered, shifted enough to where he could look up at you. Finally, finally you were able to stop looking at the top of his head (satiated for now), and stared deep into his crimson eyes. (Were his pupils more dilated than normal?)

Slowly, he stood up straight, eyes still fixated on you. Your hands fell from his ears to his hair, and then to his chest. You seemed even more aware of the counter behind you, especially as Alastor took another small step toward you, almost pressing into you, hands tightening on your waist.

"Thank you," you whispered, almost inaudibly, head reaching up slightly.

"Any time, mon cher," he whispered back, as his head lowered.

At that moment, Charlie burst into the kitchen. Immediately, you spun around to face the sink, while Alastor shadow-traveled a few yards away to the fridge. "Alright, you two! I hope you're ready for some group exercises!" she bubbled.

You cleared your throat, blushing (grateful that she didn't see the almost-kiss). "Of course, we'll be out in a minute!" you assured the princess.

"No, no, right now! Let's goooo!" she dragged you out of the kitchen.

Before you passed the now open doorway, you caught Alastor's eye.

He smiled at you.

You grinned.

"Any time, dear," he whispered once more as you disappeared. "Any time."

[stariekis]

He was a fairy.

pairing : uni stu!jungwon+ uni stu!fem reader . genre : fluff . cw : none i think . wc : 3.2K + text

check my other works ₊⊹⁀➴ masterlist

— synopsis : your boyfriend has a pretty big surprise to you, what if he changed his hair color without telling you ?

— uri's note : oh i'm so back guys ... what a better way to start posting again than making a blonde won au my shayla💔 i'm obsessed i swear :| n e ways i really hope you like this as much as i like it <3 love u all

When you got home after class you saw that your boyfriend Jungwon texted you not so long ago. You answered as soon as you entered the dorm.

You put your phone down and run to your bathroom to get ready. A surprise? What could it be.. Jungwon has always had a pretty big mouth and he was never able to keep any secrets, at least not from you.

And not only that but he also planned a whole picnic date for you, today was going to be and interesting day to say the least.

You choose to wear something comfy for the picnic; some baggy jeans and one of your jungwon’s hoodies. "Well, how do i look ?" — you asked your roommate. She looked at you and mouthed a silent ‘you look pretty’, you smiled at her compliment and hoped that Jungwon would think the same as her.

You took your keys, your bag and exited the dorm for the second time today. But this time you were actually happy to do that.

You reached the park near your school, where Jungwon told you to meet him. You sat on one of the benches and waited for your boyfriend to appear.

Not much time passed when you felt a pair of arms hugging you from behind, followed by a silent ‘hi baby' and a kiss on the cheek. Once he let go of you you turned around to look at his pretty face, the same one you've been missing the whole day.

"WHAT THE FUCK JUNGWON?" — You jumped on your seat, hands covering your mouth. You thought your eyes popped out of your skull.

So that's the surprise. He changed his hair color. His hair was now. Blonde.

He laughed at your reaction, he didn't think that you would react like that at all. Standing now in front of you he took your hands and made you stand up facing him, your face still reflecting pure shock. "So you don't like it ?" — He pouted, his hands resting around your waist as he pulled you towards him.

You touched his hair, admiring how incredibly good he looks. "Jungwon — you gulped — This is the hottest you've ever looked in your life" — As soon as those words leave your mouth he started laughing again and, taking your face in his hands, he kisses you.

"I'll take that as a yes" — He said as he pulled away. After that he took your hand and guided you to the spot he chose for your picnic date. As you walked there you couldn't stop looking at him. He looked ethereal, like a fairy, he was actually a fairy. You swear you just fell in love with him allover again.

Once you both settled everything down it was almost time for the sun to set. The rays of the sun reflecting on his face, you swear he couldn't get any prettier, but seeing him glowing like this proved you wrong.

You were able to take your gaze away from him for a second just to find a pretty little blue flower next to you. You took it and while looking at it an idea crossed your mind. "Baby — You called him. His head turned to look at you, a smile adorning his face making you melt at that same spot. Come here" — You patted the spot next to you. He got up and sat down right next to you, the closer the better, his shoulder even brushing again yours.

You took the small flower and decided to put it in his hair. He smiles at you while you did that. If you think he is pretty he feels like the luckiest man ever every time he sees you, thinking about how he managed to date someone as magical as you are.

Once you're done you pull away, admiring his face. "You are the prettiest boy I've ever seen in my life, my pretty boy" — You said while caressing his cheeks that were now tinted with a light pink blush. "I told you i'll call you that" — he smiled at your comment while shaking his head.

After that he finally decided to close the small distance between you, kissing you softly. He pushed you gently making you lay completely in the blanket he placed under you both without breaking the kiss.

He pulled away, for your dislike. Resting his forehead on top of yours not wanting to be completely apart from you he whispered a small ‘i love you’ to which you answered the same way as him.

You both laid there, the sun was nowhere to be seen now and the sky was now decorated with tons of stars that reflected in his pretty eyes. This day couldn't end better than this.

tag list : open . send an ask !

[krillbeans]

That Butler, Earl Phantomhive's silly rabbit

[mr-hopkins]

Weekend Distractions with Sunghoon 🌶️✨

Synopsis: While you're working on the weekend, a needy Sunghoon returns from the gym. Having the energy to do much more than to distract you from your work.

The soft glow of your laptop screen illuminated the dimly lit living room as you typed away, trying to finish some last-minute work before Monday. It was the weekend, but your mind was already occupied with deadlines. You barely noticed the front door unlocking until the sound of footsteps echoed through the apartment.

Sunghoon had just come back from the gym, his black hoodie unzipped, revealing a sweat-slicked tank top clinging to his toned body. His hair was slightly damp, sticking to his forehead, and there was a restless energy about him as he dropped his bag by the door.

Read the rest below 👇🏻

"You’re still working?" His deep voice broke the silence, laced with something you couldn’t quite place—something dark, needy.

"Yeah," you murmured, barely sparing him a glance as you continued typing. "I’ve got a long day tomorrow, so I just want to get ahead."

You felt him before you saw him. The heat of his body radiated behind you as he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your ear. "You always say that. When’s the last time you took a break?"

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard when his hands slid down to your shoulders, kneading them lightly. His touch was warm, firm, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Sunghoon—"

"You smell too good," he interrupted, his voice a low growl. His lips brushed against your neck, and suddenly, work was the last thing on your mind.

"Did the gym make you this needy, or is it just me?" you teased, tilting your head slightly to give him more access.

He chuckled, dark and low. "A little bit of both. I couldn't stop thinking about touching you the entire time I was working out." His hands trailed down your arms, resting on your wrists before gently closing your laptop. "You're done for the night."

Before you could protest, he was pulling you to your feet, his eyes dark with desire. You barely had a second to react before he crashed his lips against yours, deep and hungry. His hands gripped your waist, pressing you flush against his body. You could feel every ridge of his muscles, the way his breath hitched as you slid your hands under his hoodie, tracing his abdomen.

"Bed," he murmured between kisses, his fingers already tugging at the hem of your shirt. "Now."

You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss. The moment you hit the mattress, he was on you—desperate, needy, yet so incredibly careful with the way he touched you.

It was rough, passionate, and filled with whispered praises and deep, breathless laughter. His hands claimed every inch of you, his lips never straying too far from your skin. He took his time, despite the urgency, making sure you felt every bit of him. Such nights were a bliss to be with him.

When it was over, you lay in his arms, your chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath. He brushed damp strands of hair from your face, his touch now featherlight.

"You okay?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You hummed in contentment, snuggling closer. "You’re such a menace. But yeah… more than okay."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Menace, huh? You weren’t complaining earlier."

You swatted his chest playfully, making him laugh as he pulled you closer, draping the blanket over both of you. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, soothing and grounding.

"You’re staying here all night," he said, voice firm but affectionate.

"As if I’d want to move," you mumbled against his skin, pressing a lingering kiss to his collarbone. "But just so you know, I still have work tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes and pinched your waist lightly. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll just have to make sure you sleep well so you’re ready for it."

His grin was pure mischief, but the way he kissed your temple was nothing but sweet.

[makeyoumine69]

Disco Heaven

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Sub!Patrick Bateman x Dom!Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Patrick, after enduring restless nights consumed by obsession, finally meets the woman who has captivated his thoughts. Blinded by his own arrogance and misplaced confidence in his charm, he is unaware that the plan he has devised will unravel in ways he could never have foreseen and, in a twist of fate, ultimately turn against him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Smut, femdom, oral sex (reader receiving), obsession, humiliation, degradation, coming in pants, nipple play, finger sucking, teasing, hair pulling, Patrick is touch deprived, dirty talk, pet names.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 5.8k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: Lady Gaga—Disco Heaven✨

𝐀/𝐍: Hello dear people! I hope you like this one, I had a lot of fun writing it!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST].

How could he be so lucky to meet you at the Palladium Club when he thought he would never see you again? It was a fucking miracle. And although he hadn't liked McDermott's idea of coming here at first, it was definitely worth it now.

The flashing lights illuminating the dance floor made it hard to recognize any more familiar faces in the crowd of people moving to the catchy rhythm of another Bananarama song called Cruel Summer. Bateman couldn't say that it was his jam, but it was pretty exciting to see an uncountable number of girls dancing next to each other, their dresses too short to hide much, only making everything more alluring to his prying eyes as he stood at the bar with a glass of some tasteless drink in his hand.

Well, everything seemed to be perfect tonight except the alcohol.

The split second Patrick spotted you, he knew that you recognized him too and he liked that even more than he could imagine because it fed his ego that you remembered him. Could it mean that you were thinking about him the way he was? 

Bateman smiled at his own delusional theories, but he did not really call himself delusional, on the contrary, this man could swear to God that he believed in his own irritability—no woman could reject him, the word 'no' simply did not exist in his realm. And this belief was so strong and vivid that Patrick had no doubt that you would be his next victim to fall for his charming charisma, his boy-next-door vibe, and his masterfully curated facade of a gentleman.

"What are you staring at, Bateman?" Craig's slightly provocative voice was barely audible over the loud music, but it was enough to make Patirkc flinch in genuine surprise. "Oh, I better ask who?"

McDermott stood next to him, smoking a cigarette and waiting for him to answer. Bateman took a moment to scan the dance floor again to make sure you were still there, and when he did, he turned to face his colleague—a friend, perhaps—before gulping down his cocktail, only to cringe at the bitter taste.

"I think I saw someone familiar." Patrick gave Craig a toothless smile, unable to hide the thrill in its timbre.

"How could you see anything in that fucking mess of limbs and sweaty bodies?" McDermott asked, following Bateman's gaze, now scanning the dance floor as well.

A mess of limbs and bodies.

That single phrase, cut out of context, struck a chord in Bateman's head like a drumbeat playing exclusively for him, and no one could hear it. For a fleeting moment, the two men stood in silence, not talking or drinking, just watching people having their moment, throwing themselves into the flame of music and passion.

"Do you think these chicks might have a condom?" Craig laughed at the absurdity of his question but never stopped staring at the group of girls closest to the bar, they were good looking, not hardbodies but pretty enough to be fucked. "I'm getting bored."

"Then why do you care about fucking condoms?" Patrick replied nonchalantly and put the empty glass down on the bar with a thud. "Are you afraid of catching dyslexia like Bryce?"

"Oh, fuck you, Bateman." McDermott took a long drag on his cigarette, blew out some smoke, and considered ordering himself a drink, but then he remembered Bateman's disgusted face as he finished his own drink. "As soon as Bryce gets back from rehab, we should have a party at his summer house in the Hamptons, and no faggots are invited."

The men exchanged eloquent glances before bursting into laughter, though Patrick's was not really genuine - it was more like he was trying to fit in, rather he really enjoyed Craig's shitty attempts to sound funny. But all that fell away when Patrick realized that he had lost your silhouette somewhere among the dancing people—for a moment he felt nauseous—his forehead immediately became slightly sweaty.

No fucking way he could lose track of you. No fucking way!

But on the other hand, what if this was another beautiful illusion that had been chasing him since the first day he met you in that damn restaurant where he had dinner with Courtney? And good Courtney, who was so reckless and clumsy that she somehow managed to spill her drink on your impeccable outfit—did he really call anyone but himself impeccable? Impossible.

Sheer panic clouded his anxious mind, McDermot's presence was nothing but an annoying bug, Bateman's slightly dilated eyes searched desperately for your elegant figure, literally praying for another miracle. Surprisingly, when he turned a little to the side, he saw you moving toward the small dance platform, and as you stepped onto it, the crowd consisted mostly of the men gathered around it. And Patirck could swear that all of them were trying to peek under your skirt—just the thought of it made his blood boil.

Fucking morons!

Yet the man never said it out loud. Patrick allowed himself to watch you so closely, as if this dance was for him and him alone, as if the two of you were the only ones in this club. The playful grin on your pretty face was like a burning sun—so painful to look at, but at the same time so glorious and wonderful. If only he could find you and kidnap you right in front of the greedy crowd of perverted men. As if Bateman was not one of them, oh no, his depravity was different. Exclusive. The man was so zealous in his belief that he had the right to be a horny animal and a cruel monster because he was so fucking rich, even though the constant pain he suffered from wouldn't stop even for a day. His life was both his blessing and his person. A golden cage covered with blood.

All these philosophical thoughts were just a backdrop. As if hypnotized, Patrick still watched you dance, every sway of your hips mesmerizing him, and when another girl rose and joined you on the platform, he felt himself so fucking hard that he almost chewed on the inside of his cheek. The imagination of this sick man was so powerful when it came to imagining two beautiful girls worshipping each other, their petite bodies rubbing against each other as they played with their pussies with pure abandon.

Fuck yes, yes, that was what he lived for.

And then Bateman suddenly felt too worked up—he could barely keep himself from exploding in his pants—thank God Craig was gone. Maybe the best option now was to just leave the club and go back to his apartment, masturbate and let off some steam, because Patrick was afraid that he would completely lose control and snap at someone right there in the club. He closed his eyes for a second and imagined himself getting his hands on the girl dancing next to you while you watched him grab her breasts and then suck on her nipples until they swelled. Holy shit, this man was literally obsessed, and he wanted you to be the same. 

Obsessed, obsessed, obsessed. 

Pathetic.

As soon as the music changed abruptly, the people around you started clasping hands and cheering the DJ as your "performance" slowly came to an end, he could tell by the way your movements became slower, less plastic and less energetic. Even though the girl next to you didn't end up kissing you as the man had imagined, he was satisfied just thinking about it. 

A little later, you gracefully stepped down from the platform to the floor to give another girl a hug and a light peck on the cheek. Patrick was literally stalking your every move, the way you were gossiping with other chicks, laughing heartily, and when you started to walk away, he could swear that he caught your gaze as you looked directly at him. And the eye contact was so intense that Bateman was left breathless, literally clawing at the bar to regain control. But then you dared to wink at him before turning on your heels and walking off in an unknown direction.

What was that but an invitation to follow you?

Patrick didn't even think twice before he left the bar and walked across the dance floor—the thrill of the chase set all his nerve endings on fire—he could feel the smell of blood in his nostrils, but he never forgot to keep his mask of a charming man. 

The music only seemed to get louder as he made his way to the VIP area. The VIP area consisted of several private little rooms where special guests could find some privacy for all sorts of things like sex, doing some drugs, or maybe...for a kill? 

Standing right next to the corner, the man looked over to remember which room you were in, but then he noticed a tall, rather bulky guy standing right next to the door. Who was it? Your boyfriend, a bodyguard? Bateman couldn't really decide which was worse, his mind was busy plotting what to do next and he even considered just leaving the club because this guy alone was literally ruining all his plans.

In the end, the risk took over and pushed Patrick to go around the corner to the private room where he would finally have a chance to get to know you better. At first, he considered ignoring the weird-looking man and pretending he was your friend or something. But as he approached the door, the guy turned out to be even bigger than he looked - he was much taller than Bateman and more muscular, which made Patrick feel uncomfortable. Sweating a little, Bateman started to say something, but the stranger just clasped his hands together and nodded, stepping aside, no longer blocking the way.

Okay, now it seemed so wrong, but it was too late to think about it.

Too-fucking-late.

It didn't take long for Patrick to enter the room, which was so dark because of the dim purple light. But that was enough for him to recognize your form sitting on the small plush couch on the other side of the room.

"Well, hello-hello," you murmured, stretching back in your seat, your voice enough to send shivers down his spine. "Aren't you curious?"

"Me?" Patrick hummed back before glancing at the small floor lamp next to you that made this room look so ominous and... intimidating. "Darling, you worked your ass off all night to get my attention. I'm flattered, really." Bateman chuckled and leaned against the wall, casually shoving his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. "But what is this?" He grimaced and held out his hands. "Are you a psychic or something?"

This little outburst of his almost made you laugh. Almost.

"No, I'm not a psychic," you replied, sitting close to the edge of the couch, genuinely interested in how far this man could go. "I doubt you know who I am. That's not really important. What is important is... did you satisfy your obsession by coming here?"

Confused, Patrick narrowed his eyes, which were as dark as the surroundings. Your question left him confused and he was on the verge of hysteria. But it was he who came here, he wasn't forced to, but why did he feel so... trapped?

"Hey-hey, hold on," he chuckled nervously, not really expecting you to act like this. "You wanted me to follow you."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Bateman let out a muffled gasp, his boner still stiff and yearning for release like a caged fire. "Because our meeting that day was no coincidence...I knew it. This interest is mutual-"

"I don't even remember your name," you suddenly cut him off, crushing his ego like a freight train might crush a small car on its way. "I don't even remember if I asked you one."

Leaning against the back of the couch, you smiled wickedly as you noticed the small glimmer of weakness in his brown eyes—the most delicious delicacy you could find these days, the broken ego of the yuppie. But besides all that, this man was handsome, it was hard to deny that, but his tactics to break you down, his assertion of control and his attempts to overpower you were simply pathetic to you. 

Embarrassed, Patrick nervously fixed his hair and then his red tie, his hands were visibly shaking and that prompted you to turn on another lamp, much brighter than the purple one—you wanted to see him blush in front of your eyes.

"But... I think I remember yours," Bateman added soon after, his cheeks truly flushed and the sight of it stirring something wild in your gut. "I hope you weren't upset about your dress."

"Oh, no, not at all," your smile grew wider and wider, and as you flew one leg over the other, you did not notice the way he was sizing you up. Literally taking in everything with his greedy eyes. "So what's your name?"

"It's Patrick, Patrick Bateman."

"Good," you really liked that name, it sounded solid, but in reality you didn't give a fuck. "So let me explain something to you, Patrick. I know that most guys like you only see women as fuckable pieces of meat," a short pause made the frown between his prominent eyebrows grow even deeper. "That since you're so rich, all women should fall to their knees."

Swallowing hard, Bateman stood still against the wall, his breath hitching in his chest, though he tried to look confident—in control of the situation—you couldn't blame him for being delusional. It amused you.

With a wry smile, the man finally decided to come closer, but not too close. "That's a valid point," he muttered, pacing since he couldn't stand in one place. "But not all men are like that."

You could barely hold back your laughter. 

"Oh, I know," your voice rang in his head so loudly that he had to clench his teeth. "But the truth is, I personally don't care about money, about wealth—all of that is boring to me, simply because," you faked a thoughtful expression, as if it was such a complicated conclusion. "My daddy is going to be president one day. Everybody knows the White House belongs to him. That's all."

And that was such a painful blow to his gut, you knew it, you could smell his frustration. Whenever some smug bastard like Bateman tried to impress you with his 'high social status', it was such fun to see their arrogant faces turn into a look of shock as they were literally speechless. But still, they didn't know anything about you and your family. For example, today you literally ran away from the charity dinner to have some fun at the club with some of your 'friends', in other words, just a bunch of people who followed you like a tail just because you were rich and influential. 

In the wake of the too-long silence between you two, Patrick let out a thoughtful hum, as if the cups on surreal weights were swaying from side to side inside his head, leaving the man perplexed in the complexity of his next decision.

"Do you think your father will protect you?" The man suddenly asked, and to be honest, the question was quite intriguing. 

This was what you had expected from him.

Thrilled, you smiled and crossed your arms over your chest. "And you... do you think you can protect yourself?" Bateman furrowed his brow but didn't answer, pretending not to understand the point of your question. "Do you think you can protect yourself from your obsession?"

After a short pause, Patrick burst into nervous laughter before he could say anything in his defense. "You're really funny. I always said that a good sense of humor is an underestimated trait in women."

He thought he was so smart—smarter than all the men who had been in the same situation before him, trying to show their dominance, not really understanding that only strong individuals could admit their weaknesses—that was such a cliché in today's society. Too bad for him that he still assumed that such tricks could work on you.

You shifted your legs to open them a bit, pretending that the whole conversation bored you, so you yawned loudly and stretched your arms out so that your breasts were on full display for him to see. You wanted to ask him some complex questions that would roast his brains, but seeing him so tense made you want to spare him a little.

"What do you want out of life? You seem to have everything and yet you decided to follow me here. Why?"

Bateman grinned in return, his face still tinted red even though the purple light had turned it a dark pink. "I could ask you the same question."

Spreading your thighs even wider to make sure he could see your black panties, you watched him gulp, his Adam's apple twitching so tantalizingly that you decided to go further and rake the hem of your dress to tease Patrick even more, and when the man finally surrendered, his eyes glued to your barely covered slit, you knew the trap he was setting for you had backfired in the most unpredictable way.

"Is this what you want, Patrick?" You murmured, fluttering your eyelashes as the most innocent creature on this planet.

The man didn't answer at first, fighting the urge to just snap at you here and now, but something still held him back. "Huh, you're not an easy one, are you?"

With a sly grin, you ran one of your hands along your chest, 'accidentally' bruising your nipple before tugging on one of the straps of your dress to slide it down a bit, revealing one of your tits. And that scene left him drooling as he was about to grab his hard groin at any moment.

"I can give you what you want if you can offer me something... special," you crooned, continuing to play with your taut nipple, twisting it between your fingers. "What do you say?"

Stepping even closer, Bateman approached your seated form so that you could see the huge bulge in his pants—at least nature had given him something to make up for the lack of brains—you stopped yourself from staring at his crotch as he continued to speak.

"Well, if you decide to spend some time with me, you won't forget it, baby," he grinned and glanced at the seat next to you, but you immediately put your hand there, implying that it wouldn't work that way. "I promise you."

"Nah," you replied casually, letting go of your little tip but only pulling up the skirt of your dress until it was cramped around your waist. "This is so boring! Always the same! Tell me this," you looked up at him before holding out a hand and taking small steps with your fingers along his hard groin. "Have you ever considered exploring something else? Because... I can't imagine that you don't get bored of the same thing. All those easily accessible chicks with low expectations... See, I can have you today and tomorrow I won't even remember you because I'll have another guy... maybe even with the same name as you," you giggled as you felt him twitch under your touch, his breathing becoming more audible. The sexual tension in the air coaxed you to switch to a whisper. "So the thing is, you can impress me, but not with the things you used to impress the other women, but with... devotion, dedication and submission. Because I find that really exciting."

With that, you sprawled across the couch with your legs spread, your underwear slightly wet from the thrilling game the two of you were playing. Bateman hesitated, but then he lunged at you in quick motion, and you managed to lift your leg at the last moment, almost sinking the sharp stiletto into his chest.

Furious as ever, the man tried to pull your leg up. "You bitch," he hissed in desperation as the memories of sleepless nights jerking off to the thought of you washed over him like a waterfall. "You think I give a fuck about your old man?" Patrick clenched his jaw but still did not do anything that could hurt you. "I don't fucking care if your father is Ronald Reagan himself!"

Bateman was about to lose control at any moment, so you used that for your own advantage and kicked him in the chest with all your might, almost threatening him. "That guy out there is my bodyguard and he has a fuckin' gun, a real one! And believe me, he won't hesitate to rip your ass apart if I tell him to!"

Another shock wave went through Patrick's system, turning everything in his head upside down. Stunned and lost, the man gasped for breath, and nevertheless he seemed to believe your words—he took them seriously.

Your breathing was as rapid as his, as you were still lying on the soft furniture, but your look was a bit disheveled. "I'm telling you for the last time, we play by my rules, or we don't play at all," you declared, slowly sitting back down. "And it's never too late for you to leave...no one is holding you here, you know."

Inflamed and annoyed, Bateman gave you a scornful look before turning and heading for the door, only to pause beside it as a genius idea dawned in his mind. What if he could trick you into thinking you were in control? So that when you lost your attention, he would cut you to pieces? That was not bad, not bad at all. Patrick smiled to himself, so damn proud of his own smartness that he saw himself as nothing but an evil genius.

As soon as you noticed the change in his demeanor and the man came back to you in several large strides, you couldn't help but smile broadly, especially when you saw him loosen his tie and brush off some sweat from his forehead.

"So are we cool, baby?" You asked him playfully, and before he could answer, you stood up to face him, pulling down the top of your dress to expose your heavy breasts.

The way your tits bounced a bit as you undressed was delicious, Patrick was literally on the verge of collapsing if you decided to touch his dick again.

"Yeah," the man finally replied before licking his lips briskly. "We're cool."

"Good," you walked closer to him, your hands never ceasing to caress your heavy breasts. "Now get on your knees for me."

The boiling, unbearable rage coursed through his veins, but he submitted to your will, kneeling gracefully before you, his brown eyes consumed by the darkness of their pupils as you hovered over him, only to lean down and press the soft mounds of your tits against his beautiful face, now so flushed again.

"Suck them," you commanded, biting your lower lip as he looked up at you in utter disbelief. "You've probably waited too long for this. Am I right, Paddy? I will call you Paddy because I really like it."

As much as he wanted to say that he hated any distortion of his name, the man simply couldn't pronounce a word when you were standing over him, the weight of your breasts felt so heavenly on his face and it seemed that his will to struggle for his dignity had fallen to his most basic desires. And there was nothing Bateman could do about it.

With an almost primal growl, the man obediently took one of your hard nipples into his warm mouth and sucked on it so greedily that you thought he was going to bite a piece of your flesh, so you had to claw a little at his scalp to make him be gentle.

"God, you're so fucking thirty for my tits!" You whimpered softly, burying your hand deeper in his brown hair, which looked so messy and chaotic now.

Panting, you let him wrap his arms around your hips and pull you closer to his face, but then you pulled away only to have him latch his lips around your other nipple—Bateman used everything he had, his tongue, a little bit of his teeth—you were soaking wet and it seemed that what was going on was not enough.

As you pulled your swollen peak out of his mouth, Patrick let out a small but loud gasp of frustration. "Are they natural?" 

Holy hell, that question alone almost made you fall to the floor, but instead you just smiled and looked down at your hard nipples, now wet with his saliva. "And what do you think?"

With that, you lifted the hem of your dress once more to place your leg on his shoulder, and the man wasted no time peppering your elegant leg with little kisses, nuzzling against your soft skin and moving higher until he grazed your inner thigh, but not daring to go any higher. Instead, he watched as you slipped your finger under the lace of your wet panties, and when you touched yourself with a lewd moan, Bateman had to cling to his hips as his orgasm loomed over him like an inevitable sin. Breathing heavily, you rubbed your swollen clit several times, covering your fingers with your flavor, before pushing them into his mouth and he gladly took them, sucking your taste off them and still yearning for more.

"Starved Paddy," you grinned, stroking his burning cheek as he pecked at your mound—his hot breath wafting around your core felt amazing. "You want me to use your face?"

Fidgeting on his knees, Patrick nodded and gently grabbed your ass, ready to dive between your legs and literally drink you dry—the wicked glint in his hazel eyes was a sight you would probably never forget. So Bateman was right about one thing—you would indeed remember him as an arrogant yuppie you had brought to his knees. And the feeling was absolutely delightful, even better than you expected.

"What are you waiting for?" Patrick's gruff voice brought you back to reality.

Oh man. Was this man really that desperate? 

You hummed and tilted your head, admiring his completely ruined appearance and yet there was so much more to come. "I want you to beg me," you suddenly demanded, literally hooking your leg around his neck, feeling the smooth fabric of his collar brush against your skin. "Come on Paddy, beg for my pussy."

Bateman took a nervous gulp, his face so red and sweaty, and you knew he was struggling between his own desires and the bruised ego it would all cause if he just gave in. Was he willing to pay that price to get what he so desperately wanted? Out of all the women, Patrick was unlucky to set his eyes on you, thinking you would fall for him the moment you met, but now that he realized you were not that easy, it seemed to excite him even more. Well, at least you liked to think so.

Patrick's heavy breathing was so warm against your mound as he pressed his face into it, nuzzling it, then kissing it, licking your skin here and there until he finally raised his eyes to you, his parted lips so red and glistening with your wetness.

"Please," the man purred, reluctantly at first, the stray strands of his brown hair scattered across his tense forehead. "I... I want... that little pussy of yours."

"Uwu," you smiled in awe. "That's so sweet of you," without any further hesitation you moved your soaked panties to the side and presented yourself to him and he couldn't take his eyes off of you, licking his lips in anticipation as he watched the soaked material of your underwear brush against your swollen clit, your oozing folds looking so damn delicious. "Cleat it up, baby."

To your surprise, Patrick didn't snuggle up to you the moment you allowed him to—the man decided to start with small, kitten-like licks along your pussy lips, savoring the taste of you with soft groans and the vibration they caused felt electric.

"Mhmmm...yes," you moaned into your palm, not wanting anyone to hear you, even though the music was quite loud. "Just like that...you're such a good boy."

As time went on, Bateman's actions became bolder as he watched your reaction all the time and the sight of him on his knees looking up at you was so fucking hot. The red tie was swung carelessly to the side and now lay on his shoulder as you grinded on his face, getting more and more heated up, and at one point you heard him moaning into your cunt as you pulled on his hair pretty hard. But you didn't care. And you couldn't really care, not when his mouth felt so good on you, when he sucked your little tip with inhuman ferocity, leaving out slurping sounds, and the next second he was already lapping at your cunt like a dog. And his tongue, fuck, his tongue was made for that.

"Oh-fuck," you cursed, pushing his face closer between your legs and holding him by the back of his head. "You know how to go down on a woman...do you like the taste, Paddy?"

Desperately gasping for air, Patrick tilted his head back for a moment with his eyes closed tightly—his whole look was so fucking ruined and messy—Bateman was glorious in his submission, though he would probably never admit it.

"Yes," he breathed out, licking his wet lips, catching the beads of your juices with his tongue. "I like it."

With these words the man dipped between your thighs again and this time you knew that you couldn't hold back any longer as the tight knot in your core pulsed like a bomb. And Patrick could tell by the way you clung to his head, leaning on his shoulder as your legs began to tremble, and as you climaxed he was still swirling his tongue around your feverish clit to prolong your bliss, not really realizing that he was about to explode as well. But what could he do? Bateman held himself back for too long, and as he lived through your orgasm with you, the man suddenly froze and grabbed your ass with all his might, as if you were his lifeline. It was a fucking disaster, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself from cumming in his pants, still on his knees.

The musky, intoxicating smell of sex filled the small room, making it difficult for both of you to come to your senses, but eventually you were the first to push him away from you as the last aftershock of your orgasm faded. On your weak legs, you stepped away from the kneeling man, who didn't move as if chained to the floor, but that didn't bother you anymore. You straightened your dress and ran a hand over your slightly sweaty face before you snuggled back into the couch.

Utterly humiliated, Patrick tried to clear his mind to solve the fucking problem he had gotten himself into—he still had a designer handkerchief somewhere, and luckily his jacket was quite long, so he could hide his wet pants. But the thought of what had just happened could never be erased from his mind. 

Degraded, disgusted and completely abashed. That was how he felt.

"So," you suddenly began to speak, breaking the silence. "I hope you satisfied your obsession with me a little."

Fumbling for the pack of cigarettes in your purse, you frowned when the man either didn't move or didn't say anything. It was getting on your nerves, but you weren't going to tell the bodyguard to throw Patrick out—there was something oddly appealing about the fact that Bateman still couldn't pull himself together after everything was over.

"You'd better leave before you make trouble for both of us," you added in a stern voice, but then you smiled at your viscous idea and the next second you were already pulling down your panties to throw them in Patrick's face. "Here, so you have something to jerk off with."

But the man didn't even react when your wet underwear hit his tense face—he just watched it fall indifferently, only to take it later and hide it in his jacket pocket. And his pettiness was both breathtaking and frightening. Yet you didn't know about the chained beast inside of him that Bateman was somehow holding back, but still, the images of him stabbing you with the fucking stiletto of your shoe were so vivid. But if he was going to kill you here and now, what was the point of the game? 

Avoiding looking in your direction, Patrick could only say: "When can I see you again?"

Again?

Shocked, you grinned, but then looked at him with feigned concern. "Are you crazy? Was that not enough for you?"

"Was it... enough for you?" He muttered back and slowly started to get up, surreptitiously searching for the handkerchief.

You took a moment to consider this sudden...proposal? Because to you, his words sounded like a business deal, and that was kind of interesting. "Did you say you work on Wall Street?"

"I didn't say that," he replied, pressing a soft piece of cloth to his flustered face. "But I really work on Wall Street."

With that, Bateman handed you his business card, and when you looked at it, you saw the text Pierce & Pierce printed in a nice font. "Pierce & Pierce? Never heard of it."

Frowning, Patrick wanted to say something, but then he felt the slipperiness between his legs—it felt so fucking disgusting that he wanted to rip off his clothes and go naked, because it would be better than that.

"You know, my father worked on Wall Street too," you muttered thoughtfully. "Before one day he decided to become a fucking politician. My mother was so crazy in love with him that she forgave him everything and now... it all ended with my dear daddy having a new young wife. A model or something," the man listened to you without blinking. "This world sucks so much!" You giggled hysterically and waved your hands in despair. "Listen, if one day I don't know what to do... I'll call you. Until then, don't even try to find me. Do you hear me, Paddy?"

Bateman couldn't remember how he left the private room, how he found his way to the bathroom and waited for everyone to leave so he could clean up a little. The man didn't feel comfortable in his own skin anymore, he could barely keep himself from smashing the mirror with his fist every time he looked at his reflection. And all because he was afraid—afraid to admit that he might like the things you were doing to him. It was contagious to his ego and the perfectly curated concept of the ultimate yuppie he always wanted to be. But what could he do now when his body betrayed him?

There was no escape, only agony.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞