#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK I LOVED ANSWERING IT

[crispywizardtale]

[rafedarling]

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐭

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

summary: drew appears on the late late show with james corden to play the infamous game ‘spill your guts or fill your guts’. little does he know, you had previously been on the show and specifically requested he be invited.

warning(s): english is not my native language. mild language, secondhand embarrassment, extreme cheesiness and boyfriend material overload.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @issabellec7

based on this request

“Alright, Drew,” James started, rubbing his hands together.

“First of all, welcome! We are so happy to have you here.”

“Thank you, man, I appreciate it,” Drew said, shifting in his seat.

“Though I gotta say, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

James let out a dramatic laugh.

“As you should! Because, as you saw, your lovely girlfriend Y/N was here not too long ago. And guess what? She personally requested you to be here tonight!”

Drew groaned playfully, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I knew it!”

“And,” James continued, “she also made sure we included dark chocolate, which I assume is some kind of inside joke?”

Drew exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

“Yeah, uh, I hates dark chocolate. Like, passionately. So this is definitely her way of messing with me.”

“Well, my friend, she succeeded!” James laughed.

“Now, let’s get started! First up…”

He gestured toward the table, dramatically lifting the first lid.

James scrunched his nose.

“Oh, this smells absolutely disgusting. So, Drew, here’s your first question: What is the most annoying habit Y/N has that drives you crazy?”

The crowd gasped playfully. Drew tilted his head back, laughing.

“Oh man, I can already hear her reaction to this.”

“Would you like a bite of pickled pig’s feet instead?”

James wiggled his eyebrows.

Drew shook his head.

“No, no, I’ll answer. Uh… okay, Y/N is literally the most perfect human, but if I had to say something…”

He exhaled dramatically.

“She never puts the cap back on the toothpaste. And she squeezes it from the middle instead of the bottom, and it kills me.”

The audience burst into laughter.

“That is valid,” James agreed.

“She’s an amazing actress, but a toothpaste menace.”

James pulled out a glass filled with a murky, grayish-green liquid.

“This is a sardine smoothie. And your question is: What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for Y/N that she doesn’t even know about?”

Drew winced at the drink.

“That looks awful.”

“It is awful,” James confirmed. “So spill it.”

Drew thought for a moment, then smiled.

“Okay. There was this one time when Y/N had a bad day she didn’t say anything, but I could tell. She had this childhood book she lost years ago, so I spent weeks tracking down a first-edition copy. I left it on her nightstand with a note, but I never told her it was me.”

The audience awed loudly.

James clutched his chest.

“That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life!”

Drew shrugged, grinning. “I just love making her happy.”

James lifted the lid, revealing a large, slimy cow tongue. Drew grimaced.

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Then answer this,” James smirked.

“Out of all of Y/N’s past on-screen romantic co-stars, who do you think had the best chemistry with her?”

Drew’s jaw dropped as the audience gasped. “Oh, come on!”

“Answer, or it’s cow tongue time!”

Drew groaned.

“Fine. If I’m being honest… I hated watching her with Jake Gyllenhaal. They just had way too much chemistry, and it made me so jealous.”

James burst into laughter.

“You paused the movie, didn’t you?”

Drew sighed. “Paused it. Left the room. Came back an hour later and still wasn’t over it.”

James lifted the plate.

“Drew, Y/N personally requested the chocolate, but we added wasabi. Your question: What’s the cheesiest thing you say to Y/N in private that you would never say in public?”

Drew groaned.

“Oh no. Nope. I refuse to expose myself like this.”

“You sure?” James taunted.

Drew sighed. “Fine. I call her ‘my little sunshine bean.’”

James lost it. “SUNSHINE BEAN?!”

Drew buried his face in his hands. “I knew this was a mistake!”

James wiped his tears.

“Alright, last one. You have to call Y/N and let her ask you a question. Answer, or take a bite of fermented tofu.”

Drew sighed dramatically before dialing your number.

“Drew?” your voice filled the studio. “Are you on Spill Your Guts?”

The crowd cheered.

“Yeah, baby, I am. And James is making me call you.”

You giggled. “Okay… If you had to get a giant tattoo of my face anywhere, where would you put it?”

Drew groaned as James cackled.

“Fine! I’d put it on my ribs. Right over my heart, happy now?”

You gasped dramatically. “That was actually a really good answer.”

James smirked. “What’s a role you regret turning down or missing out on?”

Drew sighed. “I was this close to being in a Western movie, and I regret not pushing harder for it.”

James lifted the bowl. “If you could travel anywhere right now, where would it be?”

Drew smiled. “Greece. I wanna take Y/N and just disappear on an island for a month.”

James leaned in. “What’s your dream project?”

Drew grinned. “Something I can do with Y/N. Whether it’s a rom-com or an action movie, I just wanna work with her.”

James clapped his hands.

“Drew, you survived!”

Drew blew a kiss to the camera.

“I did it for you, baby!”

[prlssprfctn]

Ever think about how niche and rich Gotham culture must be? (aka i've been going over this whilst writing and needed to share)

Like-

Would gas masks become fashionable?

Would there be even stricter laws about importing certian goods into Gotham or even tracking places that sell them?? (ex Nitrous Oxide, balloons, birds, etc)

Do people rep different Bat merch like a local sports team?

Would people treat the Bats (or other guest vigilantes) like bird watching? (*cough tim cough*)

Is there a weapon/gear drop off service??

Or do people collect that shit

Would there be antidote administration lessons alongside epi pen first aid in schools?

Please id love to hear your thoughts/interpretations because I swear theres so much- (Sincerely, @batfambrainrotbeloved)

this is one of the best asks i had received here. single-handedly. here is what i think:

gas masks are DEFINITELY a part of the local fashion. they have vigilante and rogue themed once also! do you want Batman-themed gas mask? here you go. or Red Robin one? oh, what is it? you want THE special edition gas mask? the Scarecrow THEMED one? don't worry. we have you covered.

i just know that customs house workers are NOT getting paid enough for this shit. they have, like, ridiculous amount of directive about the simplest items, and that's why tourists are skipping this fucking town. i also pretty much need the game in Papers, Please style with customs house in Gotham, lmao—

my personal canon? every vigilante and some of rogues have merch selling in the town; some more popular than others. my personal canon x2? the Crime Alley started to rep their own Red Hood merch, and Jason was flabbergasted. he then visited the owners of the merch, encouraging them to donate this ridiculous amount of money they get for the rest of Crime Alley citizens. once people found out about this? they went even more insane. the selling of Red Hood merch is just OVER the top. (bonus headcanon: sometimes, there is a ship merch, too. like SuperBat stuff. or BatCat. Dick accidentally stumbles on BatJokes when he hunts for SuperBats key chains and calls Jason to ask him to burn this place down.)

Tim was the OG birdwatcher, trust. but also, YEAH. i am pretty sure some people prepare themselves for the night by grabbing binoculars and super-puper rich cams to examine Bats in their natural habitat. Bats know about the existence of these people, but they can't really do anything about it. Tim has a secret Reddit account that is a local expert in their Gotham Birdwatching community, where he is giving advice or just being a condescending asshole to people. Barbara sometimes chimes in this subreddit to add her own thoughts.

Bats suck at keeping their gadgets or broken pieces of inventory, trust. and people...? oh, people collect this shit. it is either freaks, who have their own personal museums for this, or, like, people who sell what they find on Amazon. everyone wants a piece of that to themselves. (bonus headcanon: Crime Alley people keep bringing Red Hood's dropped weapons and gears back, under Jason's door, even though Jason *insists* that he has no connection to Red Hood. uh-uh.)

i always thought police stations, schools, hospitals, and similar public spaces have different antidotes stocked in any case — Bruce Wayne makes sure it does. and yes, i think they have special lessons for different, specific scenarios: what to do once faced with toxins or pollens, how to apply medicine, or what to do if there is none of it. how to act if there are Poison Ivy's plants surrounding you, etc, etc. police officers definitely carry a few antidotes on themselves, just in case people will need it. and, obviously, the same goes for Bats.

[muqingslover]

Hi! If you're open to requests, what would you think the lads men (or just one guy of your choice!!) would do in the following scenario?

They are out with mc when they run into mc's ex, and mc's ex says, "Damn, your taste in men changed a lot" in like a condescending manner. (Or something along those lines)

I hope you have a great time!! I love reading your stories!!

[ Thank you for the request! <3 I did a little of everyone so enjoy! ]

Sylus

"Your tastes sure have changed since the last time I saw you." is the first thing that actually catches his attention during the otherwise boring conversation.

Sylus is not an overly jealous person simply because he is very secure of his love for you and how good he is to you. The only thing your ex does is greatly amuse him because the difference is too great to even be considered fair.

"Naturally. You surely don't expect someone to eat trash forever, do you?" He would answer for you in a smooth voice while he towers over the both of you with that confident expression of his on his face.

He feels almost sorry for you, who had to make do with such men, but, not to worry, he's here now and he's not going anywhere.

Xavier

Taunting his jealous side is the same as playing with fire while knowing you're going to get burn.

"Is that the type of guy you prefer?" He'd ask the second the two of you are alone again. His hands pin you to the closest surface so you're unable to run from the conversation and he keeps his face very close to yours to watch for even the smallest reactions "Do you like him more than me?"

My advice? Say no as quickly as possible and give him a kiss to shush him otherwise you're in for the long, loooooong haul. Xavier is not easily soothed once he's worked up and he WILL hold grudges.

The next time your ex shows up he is quick to cut the conversation before they can even get a good morning in and makes it clear you belong to him now.

Rafayel

"What did you just say?" His head never whipped back faster mans almost twisted his own neck.

Arguably the most aggressive per se because he's SO obvious. To him it's just staggering you ever went out with anyone else, especially a thing like that, and that it's here, again, approaching you. Does it not see him? He's right there for god's sake!

"She's on duty so she can't talk to you right now. Or ever." He'd grab you by the shoulder as he sized the guy up and down with the most condescending and judgmental look on his face before scoffing. what a diva

He'll nag at you later for being "distracted while on the job" and say you're supposed to pay attention to him at all times otherwise how will his dear bodyguard protect him? Please be more mindful!

Caleb

It was a school reunion party when your old high school sweetheart came up to the both of you.

"Oh hey, I remember you! Weren't you the guy who got kicked out for cheating on his graduation exam?" He says with an innocent grin on his face knowing full well the guy is a deadbeat and making sure others heard it too.

It's canon he kept track of all crushes MC had while growing up and I'm sure he goes out of his way to show you their bad points so you won't even consider looking their way.

In some cases, Caleb had to get rid of them by manipulating things behind the scenes if they didn't take the hint and this one was one of those cases.

The guy was struggling with his grades and who is he to deny a helping hand? All he did was slip the sheet of answers to the test without anyone knowing, it's not his fault if the idiot accepted it knowing it was against the rules. Such an angel, isn't he.

This interaction will lead to him being even more territorial around you and he wants you to just stay home with him where it's safe. Pretty please?

Zayne

He will step in if they are bothering you by pretending he needs your immediate help in the office but otherwise Zayne merely listening in the background.

Once they're gone the silence is so loud.

You can basically feel that he's bothered by something, but he won't open his mouth even if you ask him about it because it's 'petty and childish'.

"Are you happy with me?" He'd eventually ask you after stewing in his own thoughts for the day. What if your tastes hadn't changed and you were just too nice to tell him he's not doing enough? That he is not enough.

Please reassure this sweet man that you're happy in the relationship. Especially so if your ex is the type that is super extroverted and easy to get along with since that's one of the points he struggles with the most.

The problem goes away on its own after some good quality time together and affectionate words.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[9:43 pm]

(cw: f!reader, Mark is drunk)

"Fuck yeah! Keg stand champion!" You hear someone yell as you make your way into the crowded living room of the NXT frat house.

You hadn't planned on being here tonight. You had some assignments you wanted to get a jump on, you hadn't been in the best mood all day, and you didn't feel like spending your night around a bunch of drunken, bumbling idiots.

So how did you end up here? Your drunk, bumbling boyfriend fratboy!Mark. Well, not him directly. He'd been a little whiny when you told him you weren't going to come to the party tonight, but he understood your reasoning and didn't push. You'd actually gotten a call from Johnny about 20 minutes ago asking you to come help with Mark.

Mark was a lightweight, like a featherweight even. If he even smelled alcohol, he got tipsy. For the most part, during parties, you put yourself in charge of making sure Mark didn't get too drunk. When he got too drunk he got messy. Without you being there, there was no one to be in charge. You should have guessed you'd be getting this call at some point in the night, but not less than an hour after the party began.

You elbow past some drunk party goers and make your way upstairs toward one of the bathrooms that's always off limits during parties. You knock, hearing a muffled, "occupied! Use a bathroom downstairs!"

"Johnny," you reply, "it's me."

You hear a retch and cringe, listening as Johnny pulls the door open. He let's out a sigh of relief, "I'm sorry, he just wouldn't stop crying because he missed you. I don't know how you deal with this. He's fine with you, right?"

"Of course he is. Thanks for calling, enjoy your party," you nod with a smile.

Johnny leaves you and Mark alone in the bathroom and you take to helping Mark out. You rub his back and give him the water bottle Johnny had left on the counter for him. Mark is groaning the whole time, eyes shut as he curls in on himself. After about 15 minutes you know that he's done.

He's slumped against the toilet bowl when you pat his cheek, "come on, babe. Let's get you back to bed."

He doesn't even open his eyes as he whines, "not goin' to my room wi' you."

"We need to get you to bed, babe, come on," you prod.

His eyes snap open as he lifts his head, "Stop callin' me babe. Look, I have a girlfriend alright. She won't be happy if I bring another girl to my room."

"Mark, I am your girlfriend," you explain.

"No, you're not," Mark shakes his head like a child, "my girlfriend didn't wanna come out tonight, and she said— she said she's not comin' tonight." He's looking up at you with tears in his eyes, "I really miss 'er."

You crouch down beside him, cupping his cheek as you coo, "baby, I'm here. It's me."

"No, you're not you!" He squints at you, rubbing his eyes and grumbling about needing his glasses, "if you're my girlfriend, tell me something only my girlfriend would know."

You stare at Mark blankly, as his girlfriend since senior year of high school, there's a lot of things only you would know. You shrug and answer anyway, "when we lost our virginities to each other you cried."

"My mom knows that too, pick something else!"

"Mark, why would you tell your mom about that?" You ask incredulously.

"She loves me!" He cries, "just like my girlfriend! I miss my girlfriend!"

"Oh my— Mark Lee. It's me, I'm your girlfriend. You text me every time you need to wash your sheets because you forget how much detergent you need, you like it when I kiss below your ear, you keep snacks under your bed for midnight snacks, and you have a crush on the librarian on the third floor for some reason," you list off.

"Oh, my snuggle muffin! It is you! I missed you!" Mark exclaims as he throws himself into your lap, embracing you tightly.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair, "I told you. Can we get you to bed now?"

"You're staying right?"

"Yes, Mark."

[hhughes]

𐔌 　 ⁺　 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𓂃۶ৎ

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 , after some comments were made by quinn's brothers, you get a little insecure in your relationship and he has to reassure you

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. luke!bsf x quinn hughes. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. teasing. flirting. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. I love writing quinn so much😭 this is a repost that’s slightly edited if it looks a little familiar to you. one of my favs things ive ever written to this day so thanks again to the anon who requested it! <333

you and quinn had been dating a few months now. sneaking around behind everyone's backs including luke. your best friend and quinn's youngest brother.

the four of you were sitting in the living room at the lake house, watching some movie. jack and luke were chirping quinn about some actress that he used to have a crush on. going on and on about how he had a thing for older women because he was such a mommas boy.

you laughed along at first, always finding it so endearing to watch the brothers bicker back and forth. even though you've been around to witness it for quite a few years now...it never got old. your smile quickly faded when jack started making comments about how all quinn's relationships with younger women has failed, and that he should go for someone older this time, cause it doesn't seem like the younger girls can handle him.

you know you shouldn't let these comments bother you. it wasn't that serious and it wasn't directed towards you, but it was one of your, if not the biggest insecurity you had when it came to your relationship with quinn. being four years younger than him. not being enough to keep him interested. these comments from two people who probably knew him the best, didn't do anything to reassure you.

"I'll be right back," you whisper, avoiding quinn's eyes as you make your way to the bathroom.

a few minutes later there's a soft knock on the door and quinn enters, when you answer, shutting the door behind him and coming over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder softly.

"what's wrong sweetheart?" he asks you softly, brushing the hair out of your face as he holds you tight. the time he’s had to spent close to you but not allowed to touch you, having taken its toll on him.

"nothing," you mumble and he puts his hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him and pushing you against the counter.

"don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know everything's not okay and even if I didnt this pout is enough to tell me there's something wrong." quinn says, rubbing circles on your hip and tracing your lips with the thumb of his other hand.

"do you think I'm too young for you?" the words fly out before you can stop them and quinn sighs, knowing his brother's comments was the cause of this.

"age is just a number baby," quinn says teasingly, kissing your lips softly and you sigh.

"quinn I'm being serious," you retort, grabbing both of his hands and holding them in yours, the way they were caressing you becoming a little too distracting.

"so am I. I don't care if you're four years younger or four years older or if you were born the exact same day I was. It doesn't change the fact that you're perfect for me. you know how jack is, especially if he's been drinking, he can't keep his mouth shut. if there's an opportunity to chirp me about something, he’s gonna take it. if they knew that we were together, he would be more careful about making remarks like that. you know both of them adore you and would never say anything to hurt you on purpose" quinn says and you bite the inside of your cheek, knowing he was right.

“and besides, those relationships didn’t work out because they just weren’t the right girl for me baby. not because they were younger. they just weren’t you” he says softly, pressing yet another kiss to your collarbone.

"i’m not ready to tell luke yet." you say and quinn nods, expecting that response from you.

"the longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be." quinn replies and you look down, not wanting to argue about this. again.

quinn sighs softly before taking his hand out of yours and cupping your face between his palms, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"god it's torture seeing you all day and not being able to touch you. kiss you." he says wrapping his arms around your waist and just hugging you for a few minutes. you smile a bit, thinking that this is exactly why he was nicknamed "huggy bear". your guy loves hugging.

"I'll sneak into your room tonight. if you think a young girl like me can handle you," you quip and quinn chuckles, knowing you're not gonna let that go for a while.

"I think you can handle me just fine baby" quinn smirks, slapping your ass as you walk past him, and out the door.

𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. thank you for reading and feel free to drop by the inbox and share any and all thoughts <333

[softaestluv]

Breaking Bread

Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather. Your lieutenant who has only spoken a handful of words to you.

Simon Riley who happens to be sat at the only open table in the mess hall.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Sergeant! Reader

Tags: Short n’ Sweet, Fluff, Pining, Angst, Slow burn if you squint, Food as a love language, Eventual romance, Eventual smut, Military inaccuracies

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

on ao3 here!

Simon Riley who you eat with everyday since, becomes a staple piece in your days. A familiar routine that feels anything but.

Unfamiliar, confusing, perplexing because you weren’t exactly sure why Ghost wanted you to sit with him or where you stood with him.

So, you decided standing in the middle of the mess hall, tray in hand, until you find Ghost’s gaze every day was the answer. Wait for his eyes to flick to the empty space in front of him, which they always do; a silent cue for you to join him. And who were you to disobey an order from your lieutenant?

You were a good sergeant, after all.

Found yourself sat across your lieutenant most days. His irises urging you to your ‘seat.’ Greeted him with a soft smile and warm ‘Hi, Lieutenant!’ because you weren’t entirely sure whether he wanted to talk to you or not.

Left the two of you to eat your food in comfortable silence— atleast you hoped it was comfortable for him too. Before you stood up with a sweet ‘Thank you for eating lunch with me, sir.’

He was always there before you, even if you rushed to the mess hall. Always had his food waiting for your arrival, didn’t start eating until you sat with him. Though you were always the first one to stand up to leave, even if he cleared his plate before you had. Waited for you to finish and walk away before he would.

Until one day he wasn’t there, his claimed table empty. You swept your eyes through the room, it would be almost impossible to miss his broad shoulders and skull mask.

You stood there for a few seconds debating if you should sit at the table. What if he never came and you just sat there by yourself? What if he didn’t want to sit by you today?

You had pinched your lips raw in thought by the time a large palm rested on the small of your back. You snapped your head towards the owner; Ghost’s face hovered close as he bent to your height behind your shoulder. Could practically feel his thick chest against your side.

“Comin’?” He asked, breaths shallow like he had jogged there.

He had touched you before, in training, to adjust your position or posture. Ordered you around before moving you on his own accord when you didn’t move fast enough on assignments. You were used to the demanding weight of his palm, but this was different. It was an option, a question rather than a command you had to obey.

“Yeah, uh, yes, sir,” You stuttered out.

Let him guide you to his table— your table?

“Sorry, I didn’t know if you were coming to sit with me or not today,” You explained as you sat down with him.

“Always gon’ come,” He said, had your skin blooming in an unfamiliar warmth, “Man’s gotta eat.”

Dissolved your worries after that, he asked and you answered.

And faithful to his word he was there, even if you somehow arrived before he had— a rare occasion. You sat at the empty table, food untouched, just as he did for you, until he joined you with a deep grunt as an acknowledgment of your presence.

Dinner was different, the spot to the left of him was taken by Soap more often than not. But still, your lieutenant’s eyes ordered you to sit in the empty space in front of him. Soap was confused at first, welcoming of a fellow sergeant, of course, but curious to Ghost’s gaze.

Though dinner was more like you were eating with Soap rather than Ghost. The two of you spoke while Ghost listened— focused his attention on you between bites. Offered nods as responses and smart remarks to Soap’s banter.

Breakfast with Ghost was your favorite. He did not attend most mornings; you assumed this was because he had to wake earlier than you, complete mandatory work sergeants did not have to. So, if you didn’t see him in the mess hall in the early mornings, you were free to sit with the other sergeants. But if you sat at the empty table in anticipation of his arrival— just in case, well that was another story.

When he was there for breakfast, his shoulders slumped like he was still drowsy from lack of sleep. Hummed quietly when you greeted him instead of his usual dissatisfied grunt or silence. Just a little sweeter at breakfast, maybe it was because he got to muse over a cup of his favorite tea or because the hall wasn’t as packed in the mornings. The absence of loud sergeants and privates eased his irritations.

Maybe it’s cause he got to start the day off with his favorite sergeant.

Few words were shared during this time, you could be sitting with a brick wall for all you knew. He was quite the wall, you thought, sinewy and stalwart, stable and resilient. Still, you hid the small smiles that tugged at your lips whenever he was a little tired, when his bricks chipped and gave away in the light of the mornings. Covered your teeth between gulps of coffee so as not to jeopardize the cracks revealed. When he was just a little softer around the edges in his groggy state.

After what seemed to be weeks of silence, you almost didn’t realize he was speaking to you when he broke it one day. Took a couple of seconds of you staring open-mouthed at him like you had imagined the words from his lips as he arched his brow at you.

“Coffee?” He repeated when you did not answer, gesturing to the cup in your hand.

“Oh! Yes, it’s coffee.” You responded.

You thought that would be the end of it, cursing yourself because your response hadn’t really provided him much to expand upon, but to your surprise another low hum came.

“Course it is,” You watched his nose scrunch under the mask, “How d’ya like it?”

You frowned at his disappointed tone, “Three sugars and cream.”

“Too sweet,” He grumbled under his breath.

“It’s perfect, actually,” You retort, and because you feel like you have to validate yourself to him you add, “I drink tea, too.”

He just hums, like he doesn’t believe you or really care for that matter.

“And you?” You ask, slight bite to your words.

“Hhmm?”

“Your cup.” You explain.

“Tea.” Ghost deadpans, like it’s stupid for you to think anything else would be in it.

“No shit,” You remark, earns you a small twitch to the side of his lips, “How do you like it?”

“Wanna taste?” He muses.

You look at him in shock, lips falling open as you paused in hesitation. You didn’t know if he’s just trying to fuck with you or not, tease you for believing he would actually share with you, so you don’t give him a response. But his hands lift the cup to your mouth anyways, decided he was going to press the ceramic to your lips despite a response, and tilts the liquid into your mouth.

You swallow it, but the taste doesn’t quite melt on your tongue, can’t think about anything else but the fact that your lieutenant is feeding you his cup of tea. Can’t think when his eyes stare intently at you over the cup, watching you diligently take a gulp.

“Good?” He asks, gloved thumb catching a droplet from the side of your mouth.

You nod mindlessly, licking the remnants off your lips. His irises follow the movement.

You don’t say anything more— can’t say anything more when your mind was practically malfunctioning on ‘what the fuck?’

The next day at breakfast, two cups were on the table. You looked at Ghost with furrowed brows.

“For you.”

“Coffee?” You asked.

He shook his head, “Tea.”

From that day forward, Ghost had a cup of tea waiting for you, made just how he liked it. But, how exactly that was, you were still unsure. Told you not to worry, he would keep making it for you if you liked.

So, you let him, even if he was trying to convert you to his ways.

Which seemed to change the dynamic between the two of you. In a way you weren’t completely sure meant, but it twirled and took shape of its own. Not without your own contributions, of course. He made you tea, and in turn, you offered him sweets.

Snapped the chocolate bar you had managed to wrangle on base one day, a delicacy truly, and slowly slid it across the table to Ghost’s side. He looked at you with no emotion, blank and straight-faced.

“Sharing my chocolate with you, lieutenant. Milk chocolate,” You explained, putting your finger to your lips while whispering, “But you mustn’t tell Soap; he’ll feel betrayed. Our little secret.”

“I like dark chocolate better.” He rasped.

Had you rolling your eyes, but still he ate it. Watched him peel his gloves off so he could lick the melted chocolate off his thumbs.

And next time you broke it in two; it was dark chocolate.

It became more than just tea and chocolate exchanged between lieutenant and sergeant. You brought him sweets of all kind once a week, found out the anomaly of a man, Simon Riley had quite a sweet tooth.

And it seemed he looked forward to it just as much as you did, blinked at you starry eyed while he impatiently waited to see what treat you brought him that week. Cherry lollipops, blueberry muffins, lemon biscuits, and chocolate cookies. Your lieutenant was seen with a lollipop stick dangling in his mouth more often than not.

Though on weeks you didn’t bring him sweets, he didn’t seem to mind too much. Told him apologetically that you couldn’t manage to get your hands on any treats that week, but he would always shake his head. Calmed your worries with reassurance that it was okay— lunch with you was the treat.

Made something warm burn in your limbs, tangling its talons and webs through your veins, and settling in your core with the deep timber of his voice.

[clockwayswrites]

Tucker/Tim, Yellow, Solstice, Lily @atomicsheepscientist

“Congratulations, Mr. Foley,” Lucius said as he closed the cover on his tablet. “You’ll see the final deposit in your account by the end of the day. Are you sure I can’t convince you to come work for us full time?”

“While I’m still incredibly flattered by the offer, my answer still is ‘not yet’,” Tucker Foley said with a smile. It made the faint green in his hazel eyes stand out all the more.

Not that Tim noticed.

Not that Tim had been noticing over the last eight months that he had been corresponding with Tucker on the project.

“Well,” Lucius said as he stood. (Tim and Tucker followed suit.) “if that changes from not yet to why not, you have my number.”

Tucker reached across the table and offered his hand, which Lucius shook easily. “And I’ll be sure to call if I can. Thank you, really, for this opportunity. I’ve enjoyed the challenge immensely.”

“I could tell. Will you see him out, Mr. Wayne?”

“Of course, Lucius,” Tim said. He knew Lucius would be eager to start planning the manufacturing. And he didn’t mind spending more time with Tucker.

Soon he wouldn’t be able to.

“So,” Tucker said as he turned towards Tim, “I officially no longer work for WE?”

Tim gave a little nod. “As soon as you go past security, your key card will be disabled. Though you’re welcome to keep it as a souvenir.”

“Oh I definitely will,” Tucker said. “This was hands down the most amazing job I’ve had.”

“Yet you said no to our job offer,” Tim pointed out with a little smirk.

Tucker grinned sheepishly and gave a little shrug. It was hard to see on his warm brown skin, but Tim thought Tucker might have been blushing.

“I have a few obligations lined up that I have to take care of first,” Tucker explained, “and one thing I want to do that I really hope goes well.”

“Oh?” Tim couldn’t help but ask. “And what’s that?”

“Well, since I’m not longer under contract with WE, I figured that I needed to at least try my luck.” He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and met Tim’s eyes. “I get that this might be presumptuous, but I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you over these months. Now that I’m out of under the thumb of HR… any chance that if I ask you out on a date, you’d say yes?”

Tim felt like he had gone up the stairs and thought there was one more step then their actually was. “I mean, you haven’t actually asked yet.”

Tucker laughed and Tim couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey Tim, want to go out with me? I heard there’s a really cool photography exhibition in town for this cute guy I know.”

A little bubble of warmth formed in Tim’s chest that Tucker had listened to his blabbering. “I’d love to.”

Tucker's answering smile was almost blinding.

[g0r3wh0rre]

ROMANTICISM HANDLED WITH DISCIPLINE ── 박성훈

your professor catches you reading a not-so-safe-for-school book in the middle of his class. in an effort to make things better, you fear that you may have just made them worse.

⧼ 📜 ⧽ 一 pairing༚ ⸝⸝⸝ professor!park sunghoon ✗ student!fem!reader includes ༚ ༚ ༚ jungwon, jay and jake of enhypen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ༚ ༚ ༚ smut, fluff, porn with plot

warnings༚ ⸝⸝⸝ teacher/student, age gaps, power play, light dom/sub dynamics, dom!sunghoon, masturbation (f. rec), erotic literature, explicit language and sexual content, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, name calling (slut), wet dreams, impact play, oral (m. rec), cumming in pants, facefucking, deepthroat, big dick sunghoon, doggy style, sex on furniture, unprotected sex, creampies, talk of contraception (reader is on birth control), alcohol mentions, drinking and partying, hair pulling, size kink word count༚ 12 . 2 k | ⧼ 🗝️ ⧽ 一 to library༚

[notes.] a rewrite of a rewrite of one of the first ever fics i've ever written! this fic was originally written for soobin of txt, but i took that one down when i decided to discontinue writing for that group. but thanks to my lovely mutuals, they asked (demanded) that i rewrite it for hoon <3 this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. banner done by my beloved mootie @heechwe! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR FRENCH LITERATURE professor embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how painfully, mind numbingly boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely ever deviates from his tight-lipped script, and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

Yet, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you find yourself absolutely obsessed with him.

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, the moles on his cheeks framing his tall nose. The way his thick brow furrows and his lip curls when one of your classmates asks a question that he deems too stupid to grace with an answer. His big veiny hands and how they look shuffling papers and twirling pens, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit frame and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

That was when you found the novel. It was hidden in the romance section of your favorite used bookstore, squished between two old technicolor cover harlequin novels, it’s dark and simple spine juxtaposing against all the bright colors and ornate fonts. It intrigued you enough to pull it from the shelf and look it over, your cheeks heating up as you take in its cover. A headless, well-dressed man sat in a chair with his legs spread invitingly, the smart suit he was wearing disheveled and his undone belt held tightly in his hand, the leather strap resting against his inner thigh. The title Lessons in Attraction was printed where his head would be, vague but provocative enough to make your stomach flip. The man immediately reminded you of Professor Park, from the way he was dressed to the prominent veins in his hands, and when you flip the book over to read the synopsis you understand the connection. It outlines the story of a steamy romance between a strict economics professor and his teaching assistant, an innocent, young virgin who wants nothing more than to please. It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover. You knew just from skimming through the pages that reading it would only do you more harm than good, but you just couldn’t put it down, drawn to the story like an addict needing a fix. You hid it in your stack of textbooks, and you refused to look the cashier in the eye as they checked you out.

At first, you had intended to keep it hidden in your bedroom, only to be read late at night when your roommates were either out or asleep. But as your obsession with your professor continued to deepen, so did your obsession with the novel; soon you found yourself taking it with you everywhere you went, reading snippets whenever you had the chance and quickly shoving back into your bag anytime someone would walk by or glance over at you. Your dreams devolved into graphic, vivid replays of your favorite dirty scenes, with Professor Park in the place of the professor from the story. You wake up hot and bothered every morning, and his class becomes even more difficult with your head now full of illicit, naughty fantasies. Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Professor Park's lectures were beginning to feel more like sick torture— you needed something to keep you distracted before you went insane.

So, against your better judgement, you started to bring the novel to read in class. You sat far enough in the back that you were certain he wouldn’t notice, and your poor classmates were too bored out of their minds to look your way. It was easy to keep it hidden away tucked in your lap, so you could pretend to be writing in your notebook while you read. Something about it excited you, reading about fucking your professor with your real professor standing there in front of you, none the wiser. Being able to admire him as you indulged in your secret desires. If he caught you, you would be humiliated, but you would be lying if you said that the thought didn’t excite you…

"Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

You nearly shoot straight out of your chair, your professor’s sudden call of your name shocking you out of your reverie. You had gotten so absorbed into your novel that you had forgotten to check to see if he was looking your way. “H-huh?”

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Park remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.”

“Oh! No, sir, I’m just…” your startled gaze bounces back to the book in your lap, and you swallow nervously. “Reading.”

“Reading?” Professor Park echoes, raising his brow. “What are you reading? I assume it’s not the textbook, from the look on your face.”

You blanche, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant as you snap the book shut and shove it down into the recesses of your school bag. “It’s nothing!” You reply far too quickly, sounding guiltier than sin.

Professor Park's lips pull into a thin line, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively over your lap.

“Give it to me.” he orders curtly, stretching out his hand.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. “What?! W-why?!”

“Reading anything that isn’t the course material is against my class rules— I have it printed clearly on the syllabus, though with how you can never seem to pay attention I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed it when I went over it at the beginning of the semester. I would recommend looking over it again to see if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. Now, get up and hand me that book.”

The entire class has turned to look at you now too, dozens of pairs of eyes fixated on your every move. The silence is absolutely deafening. Your heart races and your hands tremble as you squirm in your seat, trying desperately to come up with some sort of escape as if you were in a horror movie; you might as well be, because out of all the ghouls and monsters you can think of, this has to be your worst nightmare.

You consider refusing. Technically, Professor Park couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to— hell, you could walk right out of the classroom right then and there if you really wanted to, with both your book and your dignity intact. After all, you were a grown adult paying to further your education out of your own pocket. Trying to confiscate your belongings as if you were a child was borderline insulting.

But you can’t risk your grade over something like this, as embarrassing as it was, and you wouldn’t put it past him to penalize you in some way for defying your orders. You were already struggling as it was, partly because of how difficult the coursework was and mostly because of how you could never concentrate whenever Professor Park was around. To make matters even worse, passing was a requirement for your degree. Getting even more on his bad side than you already were simply not an option.

It takes every ounce of energy you have to force yourself to stand up out of your seat and trudge down to Professor Park's podium, clutching your novel against your chest like you were clutching pearls. He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

You scamper back to your seat, but not before turning back to see Professor Park eye the cover with a startled expression. It would have been comical if you didn’t feel like you were seconds away from throwing up all over your desk.

He places it gingerly face-down on his desk like he was handling a dead fish, and you’re both grateful and horrified that he noticeably avoids making eye contact with you when he steps back up on his podium. “You can come by my office later to get it back, Miss L/N. I have a free period at six.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer glumly, staring at your shoes.

Luckily for you, he dismisses the class only a few minutes later, muttering about something to do with grading papers. You’ve never ran out of that lecture hall so fast in your life.

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Jungwon asks when you walk by him in the hall, looking up from his phone and tugging out his earbuds to cock his head in your direction. “You look live you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You stop just long enough to realize that you were still running, even though you had made it nearly halfway across the building. “I’m so fucked.” You state simply.

“What? What happened? Did you do something to piss off Professor Park again?”

“Yes. No. Kind of?” you cringe inwardly. There’s absolutely no way you’re telling Jungwon about any of what happened; he’d laugh at you to the point you fear you might actually start crying. “I don’t want to talk about it. I gotta go.”

You shuffle away before he can respond, and while you feel bad ignoring him as he calls out to you in confusion, you’re focused solely on finding somewhere quiet and empty to hide out until your next class. And maybe grabbing an iced coffee or something. Just to drown out the tears as you wallow in your own misery.

Against all odds, you manage to make it through the rest of your classes. The wait was almost worse than getting caught, barely able to sit still in your seat as you panic inwardly for hours on end. If it was Professor Park's intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded.

And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

“Professor!” you yelp.

He glances up from your book, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he sends you a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N! You’re just in time. I was just flipping through your book here, it seems awfully… interesting.”

You gulp, your trembling hands clutching the strap of your bag in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Um, sir!” you squeak, rushing to his side to glance over his shoulder at what page he was on, praying to whatever god that will listen that he hasn’t read anything raunchy. “I think it would be best if you, um, didn’t read that…”

“Oh?” He flips the page and quirks his brow, not even sparing you a second glance as he adjusts his glasses, “What do you mean?”

You rack your brain desperately for a good enough excuse, but you can’t think of anything other than just how mortified you were, watching helplessly as your professor’s keen eyes scan over the pages. “Can I have it back now?” you say instead, your voice small and shaking.

“Surely you can wait just a little longer— now I’m dying to know why you don’t want me to read this.” Professor Park's crooked smirk infuriates you.

Was there any possible way that you could talk your way out of this without telling him upfront that what he was holding in his hands was an erotica, one about a teacher and a student no less? You shuffle nervously, stumbling over your words as you try to stutter out something, anything, “You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

He turns his head to look up at you again, the look in his eye sharply changing when he takes in your frightened state, into something you don’t recognize and aren’t sure you like. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m a fan of many different genres of literature, though I’ve never read anything quite like this before. Is it some sort of romance novel? If it is, you don’t have to be ashamed, Miss Y/N. I’m sure many young women such as yourself read these sorts of novels, though I strongly discourage reading them while I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s simply disrespectful. Now, where was I?”

He trails his finger down the page as if he was looking for his place, and you bristle. “Sir, seriously, don’t—!”

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.”  Professor Park begins to read aloud. You barely stop yourself from screaming, instead letting out a sort of pained choking sound. “He stopped to stand behind me, looking down my shoulder as if he were looking over my essay just as I was. I had made three errors in my writing, each one circled in bright red ink. He seemed more upset about it than usual.”

“Professor, please.”

“’Put that essay on my desk.’ he said, so I did.” Professor Park continues, ignoring you. He had gave the professor character a stupid, high pitched voice when he spoke, which would have been funny if you weren’t so humiliated. “’Now bend over with your elbows on my desk, so that you are looking directly at the essay. Keep your face very close.’”

“Stop it! Just let me have it!” You hated to talk to him this way, but if he continued reading any further… it took everything you had to keep yourself from running out of his office and crawling into the nearest ditch to die in.

“That’s not how you should speak to me, Miss Y/N. Now you certainly aren’t getting it back.” Professor Park retorted, his evil little smirk growing even wider. You wanted to hit him, or kick or scream, but you couldn’t do anything except stand there and try your hardest not to cry. “I was puzzled, but I followed his instructions, bending over the top of his desk so that my chest, belly and arms were pressed against the hardwood. My nose was merely a centimeter or two away from the letter, which made it difficult to read. My skirt was starting to… to slide up the backs of my thighs, but I was sure that if I moved to tug it back down, I would just get into even more trouble.”

You grimace when Professor Park's voice broke, his smile slowly starting to slide off his face and twisting into something unreadable. But he did not stop reading. “’Now read the letter to yourself. Read it over and over again.’ My professor said. I read: “In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

You began to feel less like wanting to die and more like you were actually dying. Professor Park stares hard at the pages for a painfully long moment, his ears turning bright cherry red, but to your surprise and absolute mortification, he began to read aloud again. His voice had dropped that cheerful quality, however, sounding winded as if he had been hit upside the head. “At the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he reeled his arm back and spanked me hard. I stopped reading with a loud gasp, shocked— the sting reverberated through my core, fiery hot, and despite my embarrassment I began to soak through my panties. At my silence, I was spanked again, even harder. ‘I said read it.’ My professor reminded me. ‘Be a good girl and follow instructions.’”

Professor Park shuts the book closed abruptly and looks up at you with a very red face and wide eyes. The tears that had been pooling in your lashes threaten to spill down your cheeks, so overcome with fear and embarrassment that your stomach turns like you're going to be sick. That was just what you needed to top off this already life-ruining experience, wasn’t it; vomiting all over your professor after he uncovers your darkest, dirtiest secret.

“This is extremely inappropriate material to bring on campus.” Professor Park finally says, his voice wavering.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that relationship, it’s… wrong. It’s against the university’s code of conduct. I— he could get fired for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this. It’ll put... thoughts in your head that don’t need to be there.”

“…Yes, sir.” Part of you wants to argue with him, remind him that you’re an adult and can read whatever it is that you would like, but you don’t have the strength to.

He sighs heavily, like something important is weighing on his mind, and he hands you back your book before turning back to pour over the scattered, forgotten papers on his desk. “Go home, Miss L/N. And get rid of that book.”

You turn tail and scamper out into the hall, but you can’t help but glance back into Professor Park's office as you leave. He’s hunched over his desk with his elbows resting on the wood, his fingers tangled in his dark hair as he rests his head in his hands. It seems like something is bothering him, something bigger than grading papers or your stupid, silly book.

You don’t stick around to find out what it is.

The next morning, you receive a rather hastily written email from Professor Park telling you that he’s cancelling classes for the rest of the week. He’s come down with a cold, he claims— you and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach know better than to believe that.

You don’t see him until that next Monday, but even then he might as well not have shown up at all. He struggles to get through his lesson plan even more than usual, and he wouldn’t look away from his papers or the projector, even when one of your classmates raised their hand to ask a question. You spent the entire period gathering up the courage to go up to him after his lecture, but when you do he brushes you off with a lame, half-baked excuse about having papers to grade and no time to talk, grabbing his things in a rush and scampering out of the lecture hall before you can call out for him to come back.

The pit in your stomach opens up into a black hole, swallowing up everything except for overwhelming, gnawing anxiety. It’s eating you up inside, manifesting itself in how you’ve chewed your lips until they bled, and then bit your nails down to the quicks— anyone with eyes could see that something was weighing on you, and you became increasingly tired of all your friends asking if anything was wrong, so once you were finished with your classes you took to hiding out in your dorm room curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around you as you sullenly binge-watched a k-drama you’ve seen a thousand times.

While you were more of a homebody, your two roommates were much the opposite. Karina and Giselle loved to go out and party. Tonight was no different, the two of them flittering around the dorm as they got ready to go out to some club, and while they had given up on trying to get you to join them a while ago, something about the way you moped about seemed to reinvigorate Karina’s desire to get you off of your ass and out on the town. She knew you better than anybody, and immediately she could sniff out that something was off.

“Why don’t you come with us? You can borrow one of my dresses.” She offers, rummaging through her collection of high heels. “It’s a Friday night, everyone’s out! We can dance, we can find some boys to take home; it’ll be fun. You look like you need some.”

“I don’t need to have fun. I need to study.” You reply solemnly, scowling, but you make no moves to get up off the couch. It was a shitty excuse even to your own ears; it was obvious you didn’t have any plans to do anything tonight except feel sorry for yourself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She huffs. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Something’s bothering you and you won’t even tell me or Gigi what’s wrong. Don’t you think a drink or two would be good for you? You can vent to us all night, too. I promise we’ll listen.”

“I don’t know if I even want to tell you about it.”

“Why not? We’re your best friends, Y/Nie. You can tell us anything, even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s clearly something serious.”

You peer out from under the blanket to look over at Karina— the worry in her eyes makes your heart sink. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even consider taking her or Giselle up on their offers, but the way you were stuck running circles inside your head was far from normal. “You promise not to laugh at me?” She smiles warmly. “Nope. But I promise I’ll hear you out regardless.”

The loud, thumping bass reverberating throughout the club did very little to help ease your pounding headache. Your temples throbbed with every beat, the pressure so severe it felt as if your skull was just moments away from splitting in two. You don’t think you’ve ever been this uncomfortable in your life; the dress that Karina gave to you was a size or two too small, the shiny fabric so tight around your chest that you gasp for air. It would be difficult for you to breathe even in properly fitting clothes, the air hot and heavy from the throngs of sweaty bodies that surrounded you. You felt claustrophobic, the crowd closing in on you and threatening to swallow you whole— the only place to escape was to the bar, but even there you’re bombarded with flashing lights, deafening music, and the overlapping voices of everyone around you. You have to strain your ears to make out what Giselle was saying, and she was just on the barstool right next to yours.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” She giggles, sipping on a brightly colored cocktail. She had ordered a round of them for all three of you, and the amount of alcohol mixed in them felt like a sucker punch to the face, even with all the sickeningly sweet grenadine the bartender had used to try and mask the flavor. You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

“No.”  you reply honestly.

“You will once you tell us what’s going on with you!” Karina interjects from your other side. “I meant it when I said I wanted you to vent to us, let it all out and give us the tea! Aeri’s dying to know.”

“It’s really embarrassing…” you admit, staring forlornly down at your own drink. “I’d rather just forget all about it.”

“It can’t be that bad. You didn’t drop your pants in front of everyone or anything, did you?”

You cringe. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then it’s nothing you can’t tell us about.” Giselle shoots you a smile over the rim of her glass.

“It’s… it’s about Professor Park.”

“You and Gigi's lit professor?” Karina asks, cocking her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

Your cheeks flush, your drink becoming even more interesting as you avoid looking at either of them in the eye. “Maybe.”

“Ugh, your taste in men is the worst.” Giselle snickers. “I don’t understand why you like him so much. He’s such a dick.”

You fight down the urge to defend him— for some odd reason, you feel a surge of protectiveness over Professor Park, even when you completely agree with what Giselle is saying about him. “Yes, I like him, but that’s not the point. The point is that I totally fucked up and now I think he hates me.”

“What did you do?! Please tell me you cursed him out, he fucking deserves it.”

“No, Gigi, oh my God.” Even the mere thought of doing something like that sends shivers down your spine. “He caught me reading during class.”

“…That’s it? You’re freaking out over that?” Giselle blinks.

“It’s what I was reading that’s the problem.” you lament miserably, gathering your courage with a sip of your disgusting cocktail. “I have this book; it’s about a teacher and a student… getting together, if you know what I mean. It’s really dirty… and he caught me reading it in class. He took it, and then he read it himself right in front of me! He thinks I’m a freak. It’s been two days and he won’t even look at me.”

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

“Why the hell were you reading a smut book in class?!” Karina gasps, her dark glittery makeup making her wide eyes look even wider. “And one about a professor, too— were you trying to get caught? There’s better ways to go about telling him that you want to fuck him.”

“I don’t know— I was bored and stupid, okay?!” You had been asking yourself the same question for days, mentally beating yourself to a pulp every time it crossed your mind. “I thought he wouldn’t notice me since I sat in the back… now he’s going to tell the dean, and I’m going to get expelled, and—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Giselle stops you in your downwards spiral, grabbing your shoulder to ground you. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He’s probably just a prude. If he was going to do something like that, he would have probably done it by now. Plus, I don’t think that’s really something you can be expelled over.”

You lean into her touch, resting your head on her shoulder as she pats your back comfortingly. “He’s mad at me…” you whine petulantly. “I was trying to get that TA position, too… fuck, I’m so screwed.”

“What would he be mad at you for? Being horny?” Karina laughs, “It’s really his own fault for snooping in your stuff.”

“I think you’ll still get it.” Giselle supplies helpfully. “You’ve really got nothing to worry about. Sure, your grade sucks, but I’ve seen the two of you talking in the hallway before— the way he looks at you is insane. And the way he looks at your ass when you leave is even crazier. You just showed him that you feel the same way about him that he does about you.”

“Don’t say that.” You groan. “You think that about every guy I talk to. There’s no way in hell that Professor Park feels anything for me except hatred.”

“If you’re really that worried about it, you can always just apologize.” Karina says, drumming her long nails against her glass. “It might not do anything, but it’ll make you feel better.”

That was the first bit of real advice either her or Giselle had given you in a while, even if it left a bad taste in your mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like that would just make things worse. I need to go to the bathroom.”

You scramble off the barstool in a rush, teetering on your heels— you weren’t even that tipsy, but every step made you feel like a newborn deer. Karina and Giselle watch you hobble away in pity.

You stumble through the crowd in search of a bathroom sign, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies. There’s little room to move around, everyone pressed up against each other dancing, too intoxicated to notice you trying to politely squeeze by. They jostle and knock you around, and you nearly trip over your own wobbly feet multiple times. Your headache grows nearly unbearable, your desperation to find an escape leading you to start pushing people out of the way so you can continue to move forward. One particularly drunk woman nearly knocks you to the ground, and she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder when you shoulder past her roughly. You hate to be rude, but you’re teetering dangerously close to your breaking point. You need to find some peace and quiet, and fast.

But all of that goes out the window when among the countless bobbing and weaving heads, you spot a frighteningly familiar pair of broad shoulders.

“Professor Park?!” you call out in shock, shoving your way towards him. “What are you doing here?!”

Without his suits and big clunky glasses on, you almost don’t recognize him. He was leaning back against the wall with two men who you vaguely recognize as other professors at the university, talking and laughing amongst themselves with beers in their hands. You admire the profile of his strong, angular nose, the way his pronounced collarbones peeked out from the loose linen shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone to show a delicious strip of tan skin. His dark hair, usually gelled back to show his forehead, was left fluffy and untamed, framing his dark, intoxicating eyes. He jumps a little at your voice, turning away from the men to look at you.

His eyes widen sharply, moving slowly from your face down to your chest. They linger there for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he tears them away from you completely, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, um. Hello, Miss L/N.” he covers up his stutter with a weak cough, suddenly very interested in the state of his shoes. You make a quick mental note to thank Karina later for convincing you to squeeze yourself into this stupid dress.

“Oh, this is Y/N?” One of the two other men slurs gleefully, a grin stretching across his handsome face. There was a certain hunger in the way he undresses you with his eyes, scanning you head to toe like a predator. You could tell from his flushed pink cheeks that he was very drunk. “I’ve heard all about you! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Something odd flashes in Professor Park's eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He was far too tipsy to notice.

“You’ve… heard about me?” you cringe, your heart sinking. Out of whatever Professor Park had to say about you, none of it could be anything good.

“Oh, not much, just that you’re one of the brightest students that he’s ever taught.” The other man cuts in, chuckling. He tips his head back and takes a swig of his beer, flashing you his sharp jawline. “One of his favorites to have in class, he says.”

“Such a smart head on those little shoulders! You should consider taking my econ course next year, it’d be a gift to see your pretty face in my class.” The first man adds, his crooked smirk widening.

“Jake, Jay, please.” Professor Park grits out through gritted teeth, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Miss L/N?”

You splutter as your lips refuse to form words. You?! The brightest student he’s ever had?! That was just a complete and utter lie; if it wasn’t for Giselle helping you with an extra credit assignment you had practically begged him on your knees for, you would be failing his class spectacularly. You couldn’t fathom why Professor Park would say something like that to these two men, when nearly every class he was scolding you for being late, distracted, forgetting your deadlines, a combination of all three and more. Not only that, but with what had transpired the other day still fresh and stinging… they had to be saving face or making some kind of sick joke. As you collect your thoughts, you half expect them to start pointing and laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, peering up at Professor Park's blushing face. He avoids meeting your eyes, just like how he did in class.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the start of my weekend?” he retorts, fiddling with the pull tab on his beer. “Clearly, you’re doing the same.”

He spits out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. It stung like an insult. “I thought you said you were busy.” you assert, biting your lip to keep from scoffing. The liquor giving you a little too much courage; he was still Professor Park, even if now standing in front of you he looked like just any other guy.

“I… was.” He mumbles, “And now I’m not anymore. It’s really not any of your business.”

It takes everything you have to keep from blurting out that your book really wasn’t any of his business either, but you manage to hold your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I just— Sir, I need to talk to you.”

 “There’s nothing to talk about.” He says matter-of-factly. It’s far from what you were expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?” you challenge, your annoyance starting to turn sour. “It’s about the other day.”

Professor Park continues to play dumb, though he keeps throwing sidelong glances to his coworkers. “What about it?”

“I want to apologize.” You bite hard on your lower lip. For doing nothing wrong.

Professor Park's eyes snap up to meet yours, inky dark irises wide in shock. “Y/N—”

“Apologize?” Professor Park's friend— Jake, you think— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

All the color leaves Professor Park's face, even the blush that was slowly trailing from his cheeks down his neck. He awkwardly clears his throat and averts his gaze, putting on a show of cupping his ear and pretending to be confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.”

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

It takes you a long time to find your way back to the bar, drunk, defeated, and stewing in your own thoughts. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that Giselle and Karina have been sat waiting for you all this time, but you don’t have it in you to feel happy or grateful as you plop yourself back onto your empty barstool. Their irritation quickly shifts to confusion and worry, both shooting you odd glances as Karina tentatively hands you another cocktail.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

You take a long sip, the disgusting sweetness and the bitter liquor overpowering your senses enough to calm your racing thoughts. “I think I’m going to go and talk to Professor Park tomorrow.” is all you say.

“If you fuck him, please put in a good word for me.” Giselle slurs drunkenly in reply. “I need to pass that fucking class.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Miss L/N?” Professor Park whispers in your ear, his deep voice dripping with honeyed venom. The fabric of his dress shirt ghosts over your back, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He has you trapped against his big wooden desk, bent over it obscenely with your ass in the air as you whimper and squirm. Your skirt and panties pool at your ankles, leaving your most intimate areas exposed for him to view. Your leaking pussy quivered from the icy cold air, your hole clenching desperately around nothing and aching to be filled.

“I’m sorry!” You mewl, voice wavering.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you sorry for?” he presses, so deliciously condescending in the way he feigns ignorance, “Apologize to me properly and tell me what it was that you did.”

“I’ve been bad, sir. I was reading during your lecture, and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you weren’t just reading.” Professor Park scoffs, straightening himself up and off your back. He rounds the desk to circle you like prey, his slow methodical steps echoing throughout the quiet of his office. They echo in your ears and strike a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation in your heart.

“I-I was reading smut and…” your face burns hotter than the sun, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath to will yourself to have the courage to admit what it was you were caught doing. “…And I was touching myself.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” He stops to stand at your side, his mere presence hovering above you enough to make you shudder. “Tell me exactly how you were touching that slutty little pussy.”

His words go straight to your core, making you squeeze your thighs together in need. Just a little friction was all you needed, and the edge of his desk granted a great opportunity… but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t let yourself give in to desperation and grind yourself against Professor Park's desk like a dog in heat. He would notice immediately, and it would only worsen your punishment.

“I was… I was rubbing my clit through my panties.” you admit ashamedly, “Grinding against my fingers. I was going to put one inside but you… you stopped me.”

“I could see your hand up your skirt all the way from the back of the class.” Professor Park spits, his carefully controlled demeanor cracking and his wild, untamed anger boiling to the surface. “It’s like you’re trying to get the two of us caught. You’re lucky no one else was looking… or was that what you wanted? Did you want everyone to see what a slut you are?”

“N-no!” you gasp, but the idea gets you even wetter; you wanted nothing more than for everyone to know that he was much more than just your professor, that he was yours and in turn you were his. “I’m a slut j-just for you, no one else!”

“Fuck, that’s right.” he groans lowly, his voice dripping sex. He picks up a long wooden ruler off his desk, right by your head, and points the tip at the nape of your neck. It ran slowly down the curve of your spine, a ghostly barely-there touch that left a trail of fire erupt across your skin. He stops at the plush swell of your ass, gently caressing your flesh with the cold wood. “You’re all mine. My favorite little student. You just need some discipline to put you back in your place, hm? Show me what a good girl you can be and count for me.”

He rears his arm back, poised and ready to strike. You can hear the ruler whooshing through the air, sharp and fast as he swings his arm forwards—

Your eyes snap open with a gasp. Suddenly, you’re back in your bedroom, curled up safe and sound in your bed, groggy and disoriented as you slowly come back down to reality. While you dreamt about Professor Park often, never had one felt this vivid, this real. You can still feel the echoes of his touch, the phantom pain of his ruler against your asscheek haunting you like a ghost. Your panties are soaked through completely, sticky arousal pooling in the fabric and dripping down your thighs, creating a wet spot on your sheets. You toss and turn to try and go back to sleep, but it’s no use; you’re so horny you can’t think straight, can’t ignore the dull throbbing in your core.

As your hand slides under the waistband of your panties, you decide that enough is enough.

You were at your breaking point. Your life had spiraled completely out of control in the span of just two days, all because your stupid puppy-love crush of a professor had to be nosy about your reading material. He just had to find a way to humiliate you even more than he already did, didn’t he? He could’ve just given you your book back and the two of you could have gone on with your lives. He shouldn’t have even taken your book in the first place! You could have continued fantasizing about him from the back of the class, not a worry in the world, instead of losing precious hours of sleep and mentally beating yourself up.

And after your interaction at the bar, you feel even more ridiculous. If Professor Park truly had the intention of telling someone about what he had caught you reading, wouldn’t he have told the other professors that he was with? And lying to them about you being his smartest student…  you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it. But even if he wants to pretend like none of this ever happened, you just couldn’t.

There was simply no other way for you to get over all of this other than finally confronting him. You needed to make the endless spiral stop, tell him exactly what was on your mind and finally put this to bed. The longer you stew over everything that has transpired, the more your fear and anxiety boils over into anger. This was all Professor Park's fault! You needed to give him a piece of your mind, or you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on.

Professor Park doesn’t answer until after the fifth knock, his face immediately dropping once he swings open his office door to see you standing there in front of him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s. “You actually came over to apologize?” He blurts out before you can even open your mouth, genuine surprise taking over his features. “I didn’t think you—"

“Actually, no, I’m not here to apologize!” you declare, the words spilling out before you gave yourself the time to second guess yourself. You had lied awake until the sun came up thinking about what to say, and you weren’t going to let those wasted hours go to waste. “I’m here to tell you, sir, that going through my book was an invasion of my privacy! And that it’s none of your business what I read! I’m an adult, not a child, and I can do whatever I damn well please!”

Professor Park blinks owlishly, staring at you in stunned silence for so long that your newfound confidence falters and you begin to shuffle nervously.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

“Alright?!” you echo incredulously, your irritation coming back in full swing. “You’ve been avoiding me for days and all you have to say for yourself is alright?!”

Professor Park's eyes flicker around anxiously, and it suddenly hits you that you were yelling at him in a public hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do!” you shriek. This really wasn’t how you were planning on any of this going, but it was far too late to turn back. You open your mouth to continue your rant, face burning hot with unbridled rage, but Professor Park quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you into his office. The sudden act shocked you into silence, your eyes wide and mouth agape as he drags you all the way back to his desk. 

“Listen.” He growls, his voice octaves deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re acting way out of line right now. Don’t you dare ever talk to me like that, you understand me? I’m still your professor, even when we’re not in class. You’re to treat me with respect—”

“Then you treat me with respect first!” you retort, though you do manage to calm yourself down enough to lower your voice. “Playing dumb and refusing to talk to me after humiliating me in front of everyone! What was even the point of doing that? Was it just for your own sick pleasure?!”

“Y/N.” Professor Park sighs, the second time you’ve ever heard him call you by your first name— the first was at the club, but you were far too distracted to dwell on it. “I know you have some sort of feelings for me. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Your entire world comes crashing around you, though you suppose that you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had just let yourself hope beyond reason that he would never pay you any attention.

“What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, you need to stop it. Get rid of the book. I can’t be with you, it’ll never work, okay? I’m your teacher, and ten years your senior. There’s plenty of college boys around campus for you to ogle over instead.”

“You say you can’t but… do you want to?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper.

Professor Park doesn’t meet your eyes. “I could get in a lot of trouble, Y/N. You could too.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You challenge, a hopeful spark igniting in your chest. He didn’t say no… and you may be looking too into things, or just clinging onto hope, but that was more than enough proof to you that your professor was hiding some feelings of his own.

“We can’t do this.” He mumbles, his voice growing wilder, more defiant.

“Sure we can! I’m an adult, you’re an adult… did I scare you away with my book or something? Look, it’s okay if it wasn’t up your alley. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla, Professor. You don’t have to, like, spank me or anything—”

“But I do!” he interjects suddenly, his head shooting up to look at you with wild eyes. His entire face was bright crimson red.

“You… wait, what?” you must have misheard him. That was the only explanation, surely; There was no way he actually—

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I thought there was no way you’d be into anything like that, that I needed to stop thinking about you and move on like a professional, but then you go and pull this, and now I can’t go a single second without thinking about putting you over my knee! It’s driving me insane! I can’t even look at you!” 

“Professor—”

“Sunghoon. God, just call me Sunghoon. I can’t handle you calling me that right now.”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, surely looking like a fish out of water— This was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of your professor’s— Sunghoon's—mouth. Your eyes bulge out of your head, your face burns hotter than the sun… your pussy clenches pathetically. It felt like you were in a dream, almost, which might have been why you suddenly felt so brazen— if you wanted him, and he wanted you, who were you to deny him?

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.”

He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Sunghoon brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same.

“Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to choke out a whiny “Yes, sir, please.”

Sunghoon stutters out an uneven breath, his fingers inching down to the hem of your skirt, teasing the tops of your thighs for just a moment before pulling the fabric up to expose your ass, a noticeable wet spot present on your panties.

“So pretty…” He coos. You can feel his cock twitch against your stomach, those long knobby fingers trailing along the edge of your lacy thong. “Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

You whimper and nod your head— Sunghoon lands a gentle love-tap to the junction of your thighs with an airy chuckle. “Use your words like a good girl.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, anything except truly living through this fantasy come to life— Boring, bland Professor Park, the biggest prude you thought you knew, was just way too good at this, at making your legs shake and your pussy throb all the while barely touching you. In just an afternoon your reality had shifted from thinking that he had to be the world’s biggest loser virgin to thinking that he was even sexier than the professor in your book.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your cunt did. 

You must have stayed silent for too long, because without much warning Sunghoon lands a much harsher spank to the top of your asscheek. “Bad girl!” he admonishes, and you can hear the teasing, rotten grin in his voice “C’mon baby, use your big girl words. Tell me how much you want it.” His hot breath fans over your ear— you couldn’t hold in your moan even if you tried, the broken whine sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears. 

“P-Please, sir… please take my panties off. Please spank me.” you whimper, your face beet red and your pussy drooling— his deft fingers stroke slowly up and down your folds, feeling the wetness seep through the cotton fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“That’s my good girl.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Sunghoon hiss. He admires the slick leaking down your thighs for a brief silent moment, deep breathy voice cooing at the way you arch into him and his touch, before he straightens back up and lands a stinging, eye watering spank deliciously close to your core. You yelp at the sting.

“That’s for being a fucking tease,” he states, soothing your reddening flesh with a soft caress of his palm. “Being so fucking sexy all the time and driving me crazy because I thought I could never have you.”

You hadn’t realized that this was confessional. Shooting him an evil smile over your shoulder, you giggle, “You could’ve just asked.”

Another spank, this time with even more force. Your hips buck with a shrill cry spilling from your open, panting mouth, your eyes watering— you had no idea Professor Park was this strong. He refuses to give you any time to prepare, never warning you when the next hit to your ass will come. “I didn’t say you could talk back to me.” He growls.

You’re on the verge of tears from the red-hot stinging in your ass, but you still giggle at his words. “You’re kinky.”

He just rolls his eyes, spanking you again, albeit a little softer. “And this one’s for being a brat. How about you start counting for me, little girl? That’s one.”

“One?! You’ve hit me four times!” Maybe you were pushing it too far, but it just came naturally to you to fight back, make him work for your submission and obedience. You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your hair and yanks hard, making you gasp loudly and your empty pussy flutter. Leaning down close to your ear, he lets out a warning growl; “I said fucking count.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Torn between bucking your hips into Professor Park's bulge and pushing back into the touch of his hand, you give a quiet, watery whimper of “One…”

The hand holding your hair lets go, your head falling limply over his knee. “That’s my girl.” He coos lowly, stroking your head.

It distracts you enough that the next harsh slap to your ass feels even more intense than any of the others before it. “T-two…”

“That’s for being so fucking disrespectful. And in front of my colleagues too, no less. It’s like you were asking for me to ruin you.” he tsks. “You need to learn to watch your mouth.”

The urge to say something smart tugs at you again, even if just to prove his point, but another spank rains down on your sore, bruising asscheeks before you can seize the opportunity.

“T-three!”

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.” Sunghoon's voice wavers, filling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place— it was extremely difficult to focus on his words when his fingers began to trail down the curve of your ass to your sticky, quivering folds, rubbings the tip of his thumb right over your clothed core. You moan unabashedly, shifting your hips and opening your legs to give him better access to what was peeking out between your thighs.

The fifth spank never comes. He tugs your panties to the side and pushes two long, thick fingers between your folds, stuttering out a low moan like he was the one being touched. He starts a rough, dizzying pace almost immediately, his fingertips searching for that spongy spot inside of you. You grind your hips back against Sunghoon's fingers, a drooling mess against his slacks.

“Pr-Professor…” you whine high in your throat — you want more, want him to speed up, slow down… his touches were driving you wild. You hadn’t been touched like this ever before.

“I told you not to call me that.” He hisses, curling his fingers against your sweet spot and making you keen. “Please, call me by my name.”

“Sunghoon!” you cry out, writhing against him. You felt a passion rising within you like the hottest fire, clouding your brain. You couldn’t think of anything except of the pleasure that he gave you, couldn’t utter out anything other than his name.

“Such a slut, falling apart just on my fingers…” he chucks huskily, enamored with the filthy wet sounds your cunt made and how they echoed through the quiet office. “I’ve thought about doing this for forever, God… you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.”

His thumb, wet from your arousal, comes down to rub tight, delicious circles against your sensitive, engorged clit, your strangled wail no doubt loud enough to be heard from the hallway. The building ecstasy distracts you enough for him to push in a third finger into your tight hole. The stretch burns but you love it, your hips kicking and moans growing louder and louder as he effortlessly takes you apart. 

“...Too much…!” you manage to choke out, digging your teeth into the fabric of Sunghoon's slacks to keep yourself from screaming out in bliss. You felt full to the brim, pushed closer and closer to the edge with every rough flick of your clit and thrust of his perfect talented fingers. He teases a fourth finger around your leaking, stretched out rim, the threat of it alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh baby, if this is too much there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock…” 

The tears that had been brimming in your eyes start to stream freely down your burning cheeks, choked hiccups and sobs wracking your body, but it was the most pleasurable agony you had ever been in. Your hips move with a mind of their own, bucking against Sunghoon's cock, thick and hard as a rock, only seeming to grow bigger and bigger every time you rub against it. You relish the sharp intakes of breath he takes every time you move against him. He was starting to fall apart too, you could tell, his voice sounding a lot less dominating and a lot more whiny and pathetic with each roll of his hips up into your tummy.

“I’m gonna… gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he whines low in his throat, his hand completely soaked in your arousal up to the wrist. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

His fingers dig impossibly and wonderfully hard into your sweet spot, that white-hot band of desire in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust. You wail and sob, your hand reaching back to grab a tight fistful of his shirt sleeve. “I-I-m— ‘m gonna cum!”

Sunghoon's other hand, the one that had been stroking your hair, then comfortingly up and down your back, rises up to smack your ass, the sudden burst of stinging pain making you scream, and for real this time.

 “You gotta ask first, bad girl! Gotta ask for permission b-before you cum…” His voice starts to break, his hips stuttering helplessly— the feeling of his big fat cock grinding hard against you only added to the fire in your belly. 

“Can I cum? Please, sir, can I cum? I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just let me cum!” you had no control over your mouth, hardly any conscious at all— all you could focus on was the tightening in your belly, the way Sunghoon's fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy so good… you were his brainless whore, fucked dumb on his fingers. 

“Shit, go on honey, my good girl… cum all over me, make a mess!” with his permission you let yourself topple over the edge, moaning and whimpering like a whore as you soak your thighs, his hand, his shirt and slacks with your juices. You lay across his lap twitching for quite some time afterwards, your chest heaving like you had just run a marathon… you’d never come before like that in your life, not as hard or for as long. Sunghoon was with you the whole way as you come down from your high, sweet as can be as he coos praises into your hair and pats your back, kissing your head when you raised it to look over your shoulder at him.

Slowly, you realize that you no longer feel his bulge poking at your belly. You release your iron grip on his shirt to slide your hand down his chest and abdomen, all the way down to gently cup his very wet crotch. “Sir…?”

“F-fuck... sorry, baby… couldn’t help it…” he turns his head away from you to hide his glowing red face, but you can see how his blush spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Did you just… cum?” you ask in awe and disbelief, looking down to see a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his slacks. Sunghoon only mumbles in response, refusing to answer or turn back to look at you, his blush growing an even deeper shade of red. It was all the confirmation you needed.

Professor Park came in his pants like a virgin without you even needing to touch him. Something about that alights a blazing inferno in your core, your senses overtaken with need even though you had just had an orgasm yourself.

“I want to taste it.” You breathe out, your overwhelming desire eclipsing any rational thought and taking control of your words.

“Y-you… what?” his head snaps back to you in surprise, his eyes wide and clouded with lust as they gaze headily into yours.

“Your cum, wanna taste it, want it on my tongue…” you’ve never spoken like this to anyone, your voice not feeling like your own— the words spill out from between your lips mindlessly, desperate for more of his brain numbing pleasure as you rub him through his slacks. His cock twitches underneath your fingertips, beginning to harden again from the ministrations. “Can I please suck you off, sir?”

“Fuck.” Sunghoon moans, rough and deep in his chest, the sound shooting straight to your sensitive pussy. “Yeah you can, naughty girl, come on, get on your knees and suck my cock. Clean up my mess.”

Your entire body feels limp and weak, not wanting to cooperate with you as you slide off of his lap to the floor. It takes great effort to get yourself situated, kneeling on the floor with your unsteady hands grasping at his thick thighs. He widens his legs to give you more room to get comfortable, one of his big hands instinctively coming down to tangle in your hair as your own begin to slide up the insides of his thighs towards his straining belt buckle.

Ever so slowly and meticulously you unbuckle Sunghoon's belt, the jingling of the metal buckle as it’s casted aside like music to your ears. You pull his pants and boxers down together in one rough tug, Sunghoon canting his hips to help you guide them down his thighs. His cock springs free and slaps obscenely against his belly, smearing the light fabric of his dress shirt in his thick, viscous cum. You can’t help but stop and stare, enamored by the sheer size of it— nearly as thick as a can and twice the length of one, throbbing veins making your mouth water. Cum still leaks from his angry red tip, fat and bulbous, the entirety of his length wet and shiny down to his heavy, twitching balls and neatly trimmed pubes.

You kiss the tip with a delighted grin, the contact barely-there but enough to make him throw his head back and whimper in delight. Your tongue peeks out from between your lips to slide across his slit, earning a high-pitched needy hiss from the man above you, his long fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you lick down his dripping shaft. His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk. You can’t stop until you lick him completely clean, and even then it’s impossible for you to pull away, the feeling of his weeping cockhead heavy on your tongue far too addicting. Greedily you suck him into your mouth, relishing in the way his girth stretches your lips before swallowing him deeper and deeper until his tip knocks against the back of your throat. You can hardly fit your hands around him, let alone your mouth, fisting what couldn’t fit down your throat as you start bobbing your head. More broken tears collect on your lashes and drip down your wet cheeks, looking utterly ruined and wanton as you gaze up from between Sunghoon's legs into his hazy, unfocused eyes.

The eye contact is too much for him— his eyes roll back in his head with a whimper and his cock twitches violently inside of your mouth, the grip he has on your hair shifting from guiding your head along his shaft to tugging you off him with a sudden and disorienting strength. He pulls you off him with a wet pop, a foamy string of saliva connecting from his shiny cockhead to your needy whimpering lips.

“I’m gonna cum again if you don’t stop,” he pants, gasping for breath, “I gotta fuck that pussy first, little girl, please. Need to feel that tight cunt squeezing around me.”

“D’you wanna cum inside?” you goad, a lustful, mischievous grin overtaking your features, “Don’t worry, Hoonie, I’m on the pill. You can fill me up if you want to.”

Your words make him visibly shake, the nickname making him whimper, what was left of his flimsy resolve crumbling right before your eyes, leaving nothing but primal hunger. “Get on the fucking desk.”

You obey immediately, hardly able to contain your excitement as you stumble to your feet and bend over Sunghoon's big oak desk, wiggling your ass in the air invitingly. Your skirt and panties were still pulled up and pushed aside, exposing your dripping puffy hole for his eyes to feast upon.

“So pretty…” he croons behind you, his hands caressing your hips and waist. They smooth over the exposed globes of your ass, his fingers fiddling with the gusset of your drenched panties. Sheer pink lace that compliments your flushed skin, looks so delectable running through his fingers as he grabs your asscheeks and spreads them wide. “You look so cute in pink.”

he hisses in appreciation at the sight of your dripping hole quivering, sliding a finger down between your pussy lips to circle at your engorged clit. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, accentuating his claim with a flick of his hand— your pussy squelches obscenely, the lewd, pornographic sound making your cheeks flush. “I can’t take it anymore, I have to be inside of you— you can take it, right bunny?”

“Please!” you beg, hardly able to string together a sentence, “Please, sir, put it in, I need it so bad, need your cock—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his cockhead slapping against your entrance, Sunghoon running the leaky tip up and down your slit a few times just to hear your little whimper before burying himself inside to the hilt in one smooth thrust. He rams into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs, his long fat shaft stretching out your hole much more than you could have ever been prepared for. The burn is indescribable, overwhelming every single one of your senses in the best way, your tight gummy walls gripping his cock like a vice as the both of you struggle to adjust.

He's so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s poked through your cervix and into your womb, his big fat mushroom head snug right beneath your belly button. You’re so deliciously full that it makes your head spin, already fucked completely brainless before he had even begun to properly move.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you softly, so gentle compared to how he carved out your insides. In any other circumstance you would find it sweet that he was this concerned, but you were certain that if he didn’t start moving inside of you right then and there, you were going to die.

“More.” you croak back in response. “Give it to me.”

With a winded groan, he relents. He pulls his cock out until just the head was inside of you, giving you not a single moment to prepare before slamming back in with a force that knocks you further up on the desk. The hardwood against your cheek does nothing to muffle your loud, unabashed shriek, so he improvises by shoving two of his thick fingers past your open lips, the musky tang of your own juices filling your mouth when you suck hungrily at the digits. He set up a punishing rhythm within seconds, his hips clapping loudly and wetly against your ass while he muffles your whines and wails. His heavy balls smack against your oversensitive clit with every rough thrust, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. The desk cuts into the skin of your hips painfully, but if anything, it only adds to the burning sweetness building steadily in the pit of your belly.

“F-fuck, I’m close already!” Sunghoon puffs against the shell of your ear, pressing himself up against your back— you’re suddenly thrown back into your dream from the night before, the way the sensations were eerily similar yet nowhere near as good as the real thing. “Gonna cum inside you, is that okay? Wanna see how pretty your pussy looks dripping my cum.”

You can only drool in response, your thoughts fragmented and scattered, babbling desperate nonsense and rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts with a dizzying force. Your body vibrates with liquid fire, heating your puffy cunt and quivering thighs— faster than ever before were you hurtling towards your climax, that familiar tightening in your core growing harder and harder to bear. You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Sunghoon down with you.

Your professor was going to cum inside of you. The fantasies that had haunted you for months truly became a tangible reality. What did you do to make you so lucky?

“This slutty pussy’s sucking me in so fucking tight,” he groans, his thrusts growing sloppier, “Tell me you want my cum, baby, come on. Who’s cum do you want inside of you? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

“Yours!” you shriek with the last remaining bits of your energy, your words nearly incomprehensible to how you sniffled and sobbed around Sunghoon's fingers. “Want your cum— my professor’s cum inside of me!”

You took a gamble, but it was just what he wanted to hear. With one last aggressive thrust, he bottoms out inside of your pulsating cunt, his bulbous cockhead kissing your battered cervix as he cums with a broken cry. The sensation of his sticky, hot seed splashing against your insides is just what you need to tip over the edge yourself, your walls clamping down on him and milking him for all he’s worth as you ride out your own climax with long, surrendering moans. He hisses from the overstimulation, but he makes no movements to pull out, letting himself soften inside of you as you both struggle to catch your breaths. Thick viscous globs of your mixed cum leak out from where you’re connected, dripping down your thighs and Sunghoon's balls to collect in a puddle on the floor.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch as he slowly and carefully pulls out, a creamy, foamy white ring formed around the base of his cock. His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous smile.

You cant help but giggle at him.

“You’re not going to… tell anyone about this, are you?” he asks you anxiously, opening one of the desk’s drawers to retrieve a packet of tissues.

“As long as you explain to me why you told those other professors that I was your best student.” You reply smartly, your grin widening when he scowls.

“It was the only way I could think of how to explain why I talk about you so much.” He admits, a little shy, wiping down the mess between your thighs with a fistful of cheap, scratchy tissues. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather if we continued that charade so it doesn’t look suspicious when I ask you to come to my office every once in a while.”

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

“You technically don’t qualify,” He laughs, “but I thought that was a given.”

“You won’t regret bending the rules a little, I promise.” You tell him with a wink and a smile. The love-stricken grin he shoots back at you in return makes your heart soar.

“I know I won’t.”

[russo-woso]

Scrunchies || Emily Fox x reader

Request | Masterlist | Prompt list

Summary You’d given full responsibility of your scrunchies to Emily and she looks after them with her life, but what happens when Emily loses one of them?

“This one’s my favourite, I’ve had since middle school.” You had told Emily, referring to the scrunchie that ironically had little foxes on it. “I got it soon after I met you because it reminded me of you. It was my little good luck charm when you weren’t around.”

You were sat cuddled up next to Emily on the sofa.

Emily was moving to London that following morning so the two of you were as close as possible - not wanting to be away from each other.

“I want you to take it with you.” You said, Emily looking at you with wide eyes.

You loved your scrunchies and let no body even touch them, sometimes barely letting Emily touch them.

So when the words left your mouth, Emily was stunned.

“Babe, you love this scrunchie.” Emily pointed out

“I know but it’s a piece of me that I want you to have when we’re apart.” You explained

“I’ll guard it with my life.” Emily swore, kissing your head gently as your body melted into hers even more.

“You best do, foxy.”

Emily remembered that conversation like it was yesterday.

She remembered her promise to you and Emily had made a promise to herself that she was going to guard it with her life.

Yet here she was, running around her apartment at 9 o’clock at night, looking for the scrunchie.

You were flying out to England tonight and to Emily’s luck, she’d lost the scrunchie. 

“Less, I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve tipped my apartment upside down and looked all over it, I’ve looked in my car, I looked at training today. It’s no where.” Emily rambled to Alessia over the phone.

“Em, take a breath. Me and Lotte will be there in ten minutes. You go sit down, make yourself a cuppa and we’ll come look for it.”

“You’re a life saver. Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, foxy. See you soon. Hey, em, remember to breathe.”

Alessia and Lotte arrived with high expectations of finding it.

They arrived and was met with a stressing Emily and a very very messy apartment.

Emily wasn’t kidding when she said she’d tipped her apartment upside down.

The three of them searched high and low in every single room until they were sat in the middle of the living room, still scrunchieless.

“It’s gone.” Alessia breathed out, throwing her hands in the air.

“I don’t know what you’ve done with it, foxy, but my god you’d be good at hiding a body.” Lotte said

“What am I gonna do? Y/N’s gonna be so disappointed.” Emily asked, shaking her head in disbelief at the situation she’d found herself in.

As soon as she’d said them words, her phone rang, your name and a pink love heart displayed across the screen.

The three gunners looked at each other, their eyes wide open.

Hesitantly, Emily answered the phone.

“Hi, baby. I’ve just got to airport. My plane boards in an hour and a half. I just wanted to make sure everything was still okay for me to come over?” You said over the phone

“Hi, babe. There’s nothing on earth that would stop you from coming over. Everything’s all good. Just relaxing on the sofa with a cup of tea.” Emily lied, a panicked expression across her face.

“Good. Anyway, I’ll see you and my scrunchie tomorrow. God I’ve missed the two of you. Maybe the scrunchie a bit more. I’m only joking. I love you, em.”

“Love you too.”

“Well, foxy, looks like you’re screwed.” Lotte concluded

“I’m a dead woman.”

Emily couldn’t get any sleep that night.

Her mind was solely focused on where that damn scrunchie was.

She tried her hardest to remember where she’d last had it.

She hadn’t had it for the last week so it had to be a week ago.

She’d been to training - it wasn’t a the training grounds, she’d been to a few shops - it was securely wrapped round her wrist when she’d jumped in the car after shopping, she’d gone to Liverpool for the match against Everton - she wore it for the game but had taken it out when they reached the hotel.

The memories faded into one after that moment, except she remembered one more thing - the scrunchie being on her bedside table at the hotel.

Emily sat up in her bed, realising exactly where the scrunchie was.

She reached for her phone, googling the hotel they’d stayed at last weekend.

Clicking on the number, she waited as the phone rang.

It rang and rang and rang and Emily thought they wouldn’t pick up - despite advertising that they had 24/7 service.

Eventually, the receptionist picked up and Emily let out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, me and my team stayed at your hotel last weekend and I believe to have left something in my room.”

“What room was it?” The receptionist asked

“152.”

“Emily fox?” She questioned, clearly looking at the history of who’d stayed in the room.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“And what do you think you’ve left?”

“A scrunchie with foxes on. It’s only something small but it means a lot to me.” Emily explained

“Unfortunately whatever is found in rooms is thrown out. The only things that are kept are more valuable items.” The receptionist told Emily

Emily’s face dropped. She’d definitely lost the scrunchie now.

“Okay, thank you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“It’s fine. It’s my fault. Thank you again.”

Emily hung up, her phone dropping onto the bed as she thought of how disappointed you were gonna be.

Somehow, Emily got to sleep, dreaming of seeing you but also about your face when she told you about the scrunchie.

“Em!” You exclaimed, dropping your suitcase and running out the terminal to hug Emily. “I’ve missed you so much, baby.”

Emily clung to you, her face buried in your neck as she hugged you for the first time in months.

“I’ve missed you too, babe. So so much.”

You pulled away from the hug, looking into Emily’s eyes before connecting your lips.

“Fuck I’ve missed that. I’ve missed you.” You said, Emily nodding in agreement.

You frowned slightly at her.

You knew Emily like the back of your hand, and you knew exactly when something was wrong.

And you could tell something was wrong with her.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something but please promise you won’t be mad.” Emily begged

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the worst scenarios flowing through your head.

“Em, what’s wrong?”

“I lost the scrunchie. I’m so so sorry, baby. I wore it to the game last weekend and I left it in the hotel in Liverpool and I rang them last night and they said they threw it out. I’m so sorry.” Emily explained, tears welling in her eyes.

Emily expected you to start shouting at her, but instead you just enveloped her in a hug.

“Baby, why are you crying? It’s just a scrunchie.”

“It’s your favourite though.”

“I don’t care if it’s my favourite. All I care about right now is being with you, with or without a scrunchie.” You told her, rubbing her back as she calmed down. “And anyway, I’ve bought loads more for you.”

“I love you so much.” Emily said, hugging you tightly.

“I love you too, em. I love you more than any scrunchie.”

[chleem]

Love Deception III

Series : ceo!drew starkey x assistant!reader

Summary: In order to secure a business deal, you pose as Drew’s girlfriend at an engagement party.

Genre: fake dating, slowburn, age gap (31 & 26), (read at own caution

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work!

⋆.˚ inspired by this tweet!

♡⸝⸝ two | index | four

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Wow, this looks amazing, Mrs Harrington,”

You immediately compliment the food scattered across the dining table, eyes lightening up at the sight of it. You hadn’t even realized you were hungry until you saw how beautifully cooked this dinner was. 

“Call me Lily,” she gives you a wink, her smile warm and inviting. Her eyes flicker between you and Drew as her husband instinctively pulls out her chair, “sit- sit, make yourselves comfortable.”

Your hand reaches to pull out your chair, instead, crashing with Drew’s, whose… surprisingly, doing it for you. 

You quickly retreat, glancing at Drew, hoping to catch a flicker of anything—anything—that might give away what he's thinking, but his expression remains neutral, as always. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, sitting down in your seat. 

“I haven’t cooked this much since Thanksgiving,” Lily jokes, starting to pick up food onto her own plate. “But I just had to for-“

Your eyes begin to scan the table, her voice fading into the background as your focus sharpens. 

Cacio e Pepe. You spot it, one of your favorite dishes—there, across the table. 

On Drew’s side of the table. 

You watch as he serves some onto his own plate, and you contemplate about speaking up. 

“-do you cook at home, y/n?”

The sudden and first question of the evening tears your attention away from the plate of pasta. 

“Oh, uh… sometimes, but just really quick, simple stuff,” you answer, and your eyes land on the seafood risotto in front of you. You’re suddenly torn—your favorite dish is across the table, but this risotto... it's right in front of you. 

Okay. Risotto’s not bad either, right? 

You grab the the communal spoon, and serve yourself a portion of the seafood risotto.

There’s also steak on the table, perfectly seared, and you can’t resist adding a slice of that as well. 

“Simple’s often the best,” James winks over at you, earning a chuckle from his wife. 

You politely smile, preparing to dig into the food on your plate, when it’s suddenly snatched away. 

Your fork hovers mid-air as you blink in surprise. 

Drew’s hand has swapped your plate with his, and now your eyes land on the contents:, the Cacio e Pepe, a side salad, and a slice of that steak. 

You glance up at Drew, but he doesn't look at you, focusing on his own plate. 

But you can see- that little, briefly there, curve of his lip. 

“So, are there anything you two like to do? Like, outside of work?”

You slowly start eating the food Drew swapped with yours, the flavors of the Cacio e Pepe hitting you in unexpected waves of comfort.

“Y/n likes art,” he says, without looking at you. “She goes- visits a new gallery every week.”

You blink, slightly surprised. How does he know that?

You manage a tight smile, turning your attention to the Harringtons across the table as you chew, James laughing softly before chiming in with another question.

“No, no, I meant together,” he corrects, his gaze shifting between you and Drew, clearly intrigued. “What do you two do together?”

Your eyes flicker to Drew once again, seeing the way he pauses. 

You clear your throat, stepping in. Because, that’s your job, right? As his assistant, help him fill in some gaps. 

Including now, as you lie, “Well, we... go on trips.”

“Really? Where do you go?” Lily eagerly asks, before taking another bite of her own food, “Drew certainly doesn’t seem like the type.”

An exchange of soft laughs echo through the table, yourself included. 

“No- no, but we go somewhere- somewhere out of the city,” Drew says, his tone casual, but there's a slight pause as if he's carefully choosing his words. He takes a slow sip of his wine, glancing up briefly at you, "just quiet spots. Y’know, a change of scenery.”

“So…nature? Into hiking?” Lily coos, her voice filled with curiosity.

You look down at your plate, eyes widening slightly. Hiking? 

You’re not exactly an outdoor enthusiast. 

The thought of long trails and bugs isn’t exactly your idea of a getaway, but before you can even formulate a response, Drew answers smoothly.

“Yeah—yeah, but more, uh, calming,” he says, “we like peaceful walks and, uh, places to just… relax.”

His answer is vague enough to keep things believable without making either of you look too out-of-character.

The Harringtons however, seem to buy it, their smiles widening. 

“That sounds perfect,” she says, her tone bright.

You quietly chew on your plate, savoring the rich cuisine that you don’t often get to indulge in. The warmth of the food is comforting, giving you a moment of peace amidst the conversation.

Then, out of nowhere, you hear James’s voice cut through the air, “actually, there’s something we wanna… ask you two about.”

You glance up, sensing a shift in the tone of the conversation. James leans forward slightly, a glint of excitement in his eyes, as Lily’s gaze flits between you and Drew, her expression curious.

You swallow the bite in your mouth, suddenly aware of the tension that seems to hang in the air.

Drew remains composed, but you can tell by the way his jaw tightens slightly that he’s listening carefully.

Oh shit- what are they gonna ask?

It’s not even ten minutes into this dinner, and already, it seems like they’re dropping a huge bomb. 

“We just wanna get this out the way-“

“Before we talk about anything else-“

“Or we get too full-"

“We’ve been thinking for a long time-“

“Always talking-“

“Wondering if you two might be up for it-“

“You wanna say it?”

“You say it-“

“Okay, okay- I’ll say it-“

The back-and-forth between them feels almost scripted, like a scene out of a cheesy rom-com. You half-expect the camera to zoom in on their animated faces, as if this moment is building to some huge revelation.

Your tight smile and slightly widened eyes might just give away how uncomfortable you felt right now. 

“So, every year, we have an annual hunting party,” James starts, and you gulp down the food in your mouth. 

Hunting party? You blink, processing the words. People still do that? People can still do that?…But then again, they were ridiculously rich. Of course they did extravagant things like that.

“Wow- that sounds, amazing,” you hear Drew comment beside you. As sarcastic as it sounds, he somehow makes it come across as genuinely interested.

James nods, continuing, “It’s a tradition we’ve had for years, and we always invite our closest friends.”

“- and we thought it’d be a great fit for you two. A chance to get to know everyone better—and of course, enjoy the outdoors!” Lily practically cheers, clapping her hands in excitement. 

The couple’s smiles felt like as if you were staring directly at the sun.

Oh my fucking god. 

You’re still processing the idea of an actual hunting event. The image in your head involves fancy rifles, a private estate, and people dressed in expensive outdoor gear. 

It’s hard to picture yourself in the midst of all that, but you nod along, trying to mask your surprise. 

You advert to the food, chewing on it intently. 

You really don’t know what to think. A whole day with rich strangers, all while pretending to be Drew’s girlfriend? Definitely not your idea of fun.

It…it sounded like a nightmare. 

Willingly spend time with a bunch of rich people? Yeah- no. 

“Oh, and it’s the whole weekend!” Lily adds, as if it would make the decision better, “so, a little getaway!”

“An island that’s been passed down from each generation,” James chimes in, his tone dripping with pride. “It’s private, of course. No interruptions, just us and nature.”

You nod absently, trying to force the smile back on your face. An island? Great.

Basically no room for escaping. 

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay calm, to play along.

The food seems tasteless now, and you can’t focus on anything else but the suffocating pressure to deliver. 

Say yes? Say no?

But then, you feel the gentle warmth of a hand placed on your thigh.

It’s Drew’s hand, his ring cold against your skin— yet steady, and strangely comforting. 

Almost as if his touch is a reminder that you’re not in this alone…or a subtle cue that you need to hold it together, his fingers gently gripping your flesh.

You look at him, seeing that he’s already staring at you. You see that smile on his face- the one you know can’t be faked. 

“We’ll think about it,” Drew says, his tone polite, turning away from you. "I mean, we’ve got other schedules, and so on.”

His hand remains there, and you feel a sense of reassurance in a moment where everything seems all too wrong. 

The moment you feel that pressure start to lift, Lily and James exchange an almost imperceptible glance. It’s clear they’re a little disappointed, but they don’t push. They simply nod, their smiles tightening just slightly.

“Well, of course,” James says with a gracious wave of his hand. “Take your time. We’ll send over the details. No rush.”

“Thank you, we’ll definitely—definitely try and fit it into our schedule,” Drew smiles, his voice smooth, the professional manner of his never slipping. 

Yet, just like that, his hand slips off your thigh.

The absence of his touch is oddly jarring. For a second, you almost feel a sense of loss, as if the warmth and quiet reassurance he provided had evaporated with his hand.

You shift, feeling self-conscious as you force another bite into your mouth. 

“But, uh, what made you consider us?” Drew asks, his tone light, more jokingly now. He leans back slightly in his chair, his usual confidence returning now that he doesn’t have to answer any more questions about your relationship.

His eyes twinkle with that familiar mischievous and easygoing gleam, but yours twinkle down at his hands, suddenly aware of how his hands look. Or more, the one that was just gently caressing your thigh. 

James chuckles, “want us to be completely honest?”

“Please- of course,” Drew takes a sip of his wine.

You lean back into your chair, letting out a small breath as the energy of the dinner shifts, the spotlight turning back to Drew as the Harringtons continue, clearly amused by the change in tone.

As you take another bite of your food, it suddenly tastes different—like you can finally savor it again.

“We’re getting married. We like to hang out in twos.”

So the rumors are true.

The Harringtons, a newly engaged couple, has become one of those pairs who only seem to socialize with other couples.

“And at the engagement party- we talked about that deal, right?” James continues, a knowing look passing between him and Lily.

The deal! He’s mentioning it!

“Yeah, the deal,” Drew murmurs, more to himself. 

“And we thought, since our main business partner is now a couple, it could be a great chance to make some new connections,” James adds with a smile, his tone light but purposeful, “make some new friends.”

You smile at his words, and you suddenly realize that these people— seem genuinely kind. There’s a warmth in their offer, a subtle understanding that this isn’t just about business.

“So you must excuse the questions we’ve asked about you two—it’s just so sudden,” Lily adds, her tone softening, trying to ease any lingering discomfort.

You could only smile, because it seems like… they also suspect this relationship is fake. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“We also, um, just got together, so we’re still pretty nervous,” Drew lies.

You could feel his glance on the side of your face, and you nod, both of you playing the part, “yeah, we’re still figuring some stuff out.”

The Harringtons nod, almost understandingly at your comment. 

“Well, for us, at home, we also like to keep it ‘no business’ talks,” Lily adds, her tone soft and playful. She gives James a knowing smile, clearly at ease now. “Just a little rule we’ve adopted.”

You’re happy about the subtle shift in topics, moving back to the couple across from you.

“Really? Then what would you guys talk about, or …do?” You ask. 

Lily's smile widens, clearly enjoying the question, and James chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Well, anything but business,” James says, leaning back in his chair. “A tv show, her new nails-“

Lily holds out her hand with a playful twirl, showing off her freshly done nails. They’re painted in baby pink, along with crazily cute and 3D stickers on each finger. 

“These?” She laughs, wiggling her fingers. 

“Oh- they’re beautiful,” you compliment, instinctively reaching your hand out to hers, admiring the detail.

Lily beams, her eyes lighting up at the praise, letting you hold her hand for a few seconds. “I’m obsessed with them right now. James thinks they’re a little too much, but that’s just him.”

Her husband chuckles, shaking his head lightly, as if this is an ongoing debate between them. “They’re... definitely a lot, but hey, whatever makes her happy.”

“What- I think James is a boring old man,” Drew teases, and you turn around, raising an eyebrow at him unexpectedly.

You didn’t see this side of Drew— so at ease around clients. He was always polished, professional, but this playful teasing? It was a side you rarely got to see. 

It threw you off for a second, and you can’t help but glance over at him, wondering how comfortable he really is in this situation.

His grin widens as he catches your look, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

James raises an eyebrow, a bit taken aback, but he laughs it off. “Well, someone’s gotta keep things balanced around here.”

“He’s a boring old man!” Lily loudly whispers to you and Drew, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can’t help but chuckle, glancing over at James, who’s still trying to process the teasing.

You lower your voice, leaning closer to Lily. “I think you’re right.”

“I knew you’d get it,” she says with a wink, before turning back to James, who’s now pretending to be offended.

Your grin widens, playing along, but deep down, something feels off. You’re grinning, but inside, your heart is cringing. This feels way too casual, you think. Too... friend-like with clients.

It’s a strange feeling—being so relaxed in a setting where you’re supposed to be professional. You're used to keeping things composed, especially with Drew, your boss. But here you are, being pulled into this lighthearted banter that doesn’t sit right.

And you feel as if you’re the only one that doesn’t fit in, because well, all three of them have huge, staggering amount of wealth upon them. 

You? You only have staggering amounts of debt, unease, and responsibilities. 

“But seriously though- we also play board games,” James says, bringing the conversation back. 

“..maybe we’re so boring that we need to torture others to eat dinner with us on a Friday,”Lily teases her husband.

You and Drew exchange a polite laugh, and he’s quick to assure them, “no, no, we couldn’t have spent tonight, in any other way.”

“How flattering,” James smiles, clearly pleased with the response. “Then would you two stay later to play a round of Monopoly?”

You laugh, glancing over at Drew, awaiting his call. 

After all, he was the boss, and he decided when the job was done. And in the Harringtons' case, it might be undone for a veryyyy long time.

Drew slides an arm around the back of your chair, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

“Of course,” Drew says, “we’ll definitely, definitely stay for the afterparty.”

The Harringtons smile, as if it’s the best news they’ve ever received. 

The rest of the dinner breezes by smoothly. The conversation flows effortlessly, the awkwardness from earlier fading into the background. The atmosphere feels lighter now, with laughter and casual chatter filling the air. As much as you can’t fully relax, the Harringtons’ warmth and easy-going nature make it a bit easier to play the part, just like Drew so effortlessly does.

By the time dessert is served, you're almost starting to forget that this whole evening was part of a bigger plan. Almost.

——

The car ride home is heavy with silence. 

It’s the kind of quiet that settles in when you realize how far you’ve pushed the boundaries, how much you’ve flirted— pretended to love your boss, all for the business deal.

At least during the engagement party, you’ve drank enough to nap in the car. 

Okay, maybe napping in the car with your boss right next to you was weird too. 

Now? Just a few sips of wine, but still really awake. 

You look out the window, the scenery slowly shifting—luxury to more worn streets, as it leads to your neighborhood. Your home.

This, the scenery outside the exact reason why you always ask to be dropped off at the subway station. 

You didn’t know why, but it was suddenly awkward to be alone with Drew. Maybe it was the pretending, or the touches. But it was a bit suffocating, to be sweet with your boss. 

And just as the station comes into view, you lean forward, telling the driver, “Oh, drop me off here, thanks.” 

It was a phrase that you have stopped saying three months into working with Drew, but now, it has resurfaced again. 

You start to unbuckle your seatbelt, the flickering car lights casting shadows on your hand, when Drew’s hand covers yours, brushing it off gently.

“Just drive to her place,” Drew says, his voice steady.

The driver nods, pulling away from the curb.

“What? No, just pull over-“

“Just sit back,” Drew interrupts.  

You glance over at him, confused, and he’s leaning back in his seat, legs spread out like he’s settled in for a long ride. He’s not looking at you; looking straight ahead and biting gently on his lower lip. 

You hesitate, your hand still half on the seatbelt, but you drop it, sinking back into the leather seat.

You rest one of your hands on the middle seat, and your eyes drift over to Drew’s hand, resting there, palm spread, the ring glistening in the dim light of the car. 

You can’t help but stare, the size of his hand almost too much to ignore. It reminds you of how his fingers felt earlier—strong, sure, and just…Drew. 

Your breath catches, and for a second, you’re suddenly so aware of being in the backseat with Drew. And also this whole…arrangement with him. 

No- no, don’t overthink it. It’s just a job. Nothing more. 

You turn away, focusing your gaze on the streets that become more familiar with each passing block.

Just as the hum of the air conditioning fills the car again, Drew’s deep voice cuts through. 

“That…trip,” he starts. 

You don’t want to look at him. You keep your back leaned against the seat, eyes glued to the window.

When you don’t reply, he adds, “The hunting party?”

Oh shit. 

You totally forgot. You’d gotten so lost in the whole dinner, the board games afterwards, that it slipped through your mind. 

Not looking at him doesn’t last long, though, as you quickly turn around. 

You’re met with those blue eyes of his, the only thing that shines through the dark car.

“Right," you say, voice a little too tight, "The hunting party.”

“..you don’t wanna go.”

“No—no, I do,” you lie, looking ahead, trying to steady your breath. You nod, but it feels stiff, too obvious. You weren’t a bad liar, but somehow, you can’t fake it around Drew. Not entirely. 

“It sounds amazing,” you whisper, trying to sound excited. 

You can feel the weight of his stare burning the side of your face, making your skin feel too tight. The silence stretches for a few seconds, though, felt like eternity. 

You weren’t sure why it was so awkward with Drew now. But it is. 

“…you don’t wanna go,” he repeats again, and this time, you hear the smile in his voice, the slight tease and knowing. “Why?”

Your lips press together, and you instinctively pout, the expression betraying you before you can stop it. You want to say something, anything, to brush off his words, but they hang there, heavy and expectant.

“I want to go,” you mutter, but even you don’t believe it. The pout lingers on your lips, despite your best effort to hide it. 

“Come on, just admit it,” Drew presses, his voice low, almost coaxing, “you promised.”

There it was again. Yesterday, he’d just remind you of the promise you made with him, one of the first conversations you two had. To be fully transparent with each other, for this assistant/boss dynamic to work. 

He didn’t need to remind you for the past year, since, well, it had become a habit, where you spoke your mind without hesitation. 

But, maybe because of your new role, that this might be getting a bit personal. 

Too personal. 

“Fine,” you mutter, crossing your arms, still keeping your eyes fixed ahead, afraid  to meet his gaze. 

How does one rephrase thoughts? To sound more…professional?

“I… I don’t want to be around rich people,” you blur out. 

Somehow, it sounded much better in your brain. 

You could feel your cheeks going red, your lips forming a wider pout, mainly out of embarrassment. 

But before you can retreat into silence, you push forward, desperate to make sense of it.

“It’s an island…and three whole days! That would be…” you glance up to make the calculations in your head, “72 hours! We would have to fake for 72 hours. We couldn’t even get through that dinner- or the one last week!”

“Y/n-“

“I think…the problem might be me, though. I- I don’t think I’m cut out to play your girlfriend. I’m just an assistant-“

“Y/n-“

“And you’re this- CEO, with your perfect suit, life-“

“Y/n,” Drew interrupts, his voice cutting through your ramble, calm but firm.

You freeze, suddenly aware of how far you’ve gone. You didn’t even realize you’d said that much.

In a rush of embarrassment, you bury your face into your palms, your heart pounding in your chest. God, why did I just say all of that?

The silence stretches, and all you can hear is the pounding of your own thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumble through your hands, wishing you could take it all back.

You cringe at how unprofessional that was. 

But then again, Drew did invite you to say everything you were thinking of. 

Then Drew laughs.

It’s that signature deep-throated laugh, the one that rolls out of him effortlessly when he’s genuinely amused, or when he finds something unexpectedly funny.

You don’t know why, but you wanna see it. 

You turn your head over, and sure enough, he is smiling. You could see it; his mouth parted slightly in a smile, and his eyes, even softer in the shadows, crinkling at the corners.

“Sorry- sorry, but, that was cute.”

Your eyes widen at his compliment; it was the second one of the night. 

“Are you saying- saying that you’re not good enough to be my girlfriend?”

You blink at his word choice, eyes widening more, if that’s even possible. 

“To play your girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Drew shifts in his spot, and you can see him spreading his legs further. He leans an arm against the car door, fingertips rubbing the side of his face, as if deep in thought.

“Yeah- I mean, I’m not an actor. I can’t lie.”

“But only you would make sense.”

“That’s a stretch-“

“No, seriously,” he starts, and you could hear the exact moment when his work mode switches on- the voice he uses when he’s persuading investments, all smooth and calculated. 

“You…you’ve worked with me for more than two years. I know you. And I know that- that you know how to read the situation, think on your feet. That’s exactly what- what I need.”

“…besides, didn’t I say this to you the other day?” Drew adds, his gaze softening, a small smile appearing on his lips. 

The memory of a few days ago, when you were in Drew’s office, him asking you to be his fake girlfriend, flashed through your mind. 

“You did—but you saw how we did just then. We were a mess.”

“I- I wouldn’t call it a mess.”

You give him a look, one that mixes exasperation with disbelief. “They said it themselves. They don’t believe we’re together.”

Drew’s answer comes with a pause, his gaze narrowing slightly, “then… then what should we do?”

You know that once Drew asks those words, it’s almost like a test to your role as his assistant. To come up with the best solution, deliver it perfectly, like you always do. 

But, the stakes are higher now, more real than you’d anticipated. The Harringtons, the deal, everything—it’s all hinged on the belief that you and Drew are a couple, and you know that if you’re going to pull this off, things are about to get a lot more complicated. 

Your mind begins to race. You need to convince the world, but convincing the Harringtons is just the start.

The next step—how you make them believe—is suddenly so clear, yet so daunting.

You swallow, trying to steady your breath. “We need…need to practice.”

The car comes to a stop, and when you glance outside, you realize it’s your apartment complex. 

But you don’t make a move to get out. Instead, you’re focused on Drew’s expression. The streetlight outside bathes his face in a soft glow, casting shadows that make his features look even sharper. 

You catch the corner of his lips tugging up into a slight smile.

Why is he smiling? You don’t know. 

“Practice?” He repeats, his voice low, almost as if amused. 

You move uncomfortably in your seat, trying to maintain your usual professional tone, but it's harder now. "Yeah," you say, your voice steadier than you feel, "practice. If we want this to be convincing, we need to be… real.”

"And...practice can help?"

"...yeah."

Drew tilts his head slightly, “how?”

"Small things," you start slowly, "things that couples do. Holding hands, nicknames... I don’t know. Just enough to make it feel natural.”

He’s taking a long time to answer again, and you wonder if this was the wrong thing to say. Was this too much? Too forward? Too unprofessional?

You fidget with your fingers, looking down at your lap again. 

Finally, Drew speaks, and you could hear him moving in his seat again. 

"You sure?"

High risk high reward.

Fuck it.

"Yes."

“Okay. I’ll- I’ll practice with you.”

You blink, your breath catching for a split second. 

His tone is different— it’s almost too calm, too easy. He’s agreeing to this, just like that. And somehow, that makes the situation feel even more intense.

You look back up, your smile briefly there. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Um- so, yes to the hunting party?”

“Uh- yeah, yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll tell the Harringtons tomorrow.”

Drew nods, biting down on his lower lip. 

“Then, um, I should get out now,” you say, clicking your seatbelt off. 

He doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, there’s a brief pause where he seems to reconsider something, but then, as if snapping back to the present, he nods, “yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

You give him a smile, one tinged with nerves, before opening the car door. The cool night air hits you as you step out. 

And you don’t know why, but you do it again; giving a quick wave to the blacked-out windows, even though you can’t see anything inside. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Your feet move before you could even process it, and once you step into your apartment building, the realization hits you at once; 

You’re gonna practice being Drew’s girlfriend. 

Practice. 

…practice. 

Which, is as simple as it sounds, right?

Right?

-------------------------------

word count: 4.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i was smiling like mad crazy when writing this. also, the pics of anya and drew??? so cute tf

and yes, a part of me died at the sag awards when he's no longer blond... but buzzcut ?- classic.

official taglist for this series: @ecstqzy @wheeniemyloove @melvigaristaa @hugheswife @maybankslover @iwannagetdickeddown @lilithblackkk @mattiwe01 @rafeslvttygirl @jessiskindacoolig @suzuki-18

elevator | other | two | index | four

[simpforrooster]

this is so much better.

jake 'hangman' seresin x f!simpsonreader

summary: jake and reader are trapped in an elevator, much to jake's excitement, and reader's demise. t/w: mentions of claustrophobia, on-page panic attack, some fluff. 18+ content mentioned.

“hold the door!!” a southern drawl calls out to you, his handsome face barely visible as the elevator doors start to close.

as you punch the close door button, his strong forearm stops the door, and he runs in.

jake “hangman” seresin feeds you an annoyingly beautiful smirk. you answer with one of your best eye rolls.

“thanks, sugar,” he drawls. his flight suit is unzipped to his waist, showcasing the tight black shirt stretched across his chest.

“in a hurry?” you ask, keeping your gaze straight ahead, watching the numbers countdown.

“i could ask you the same. coulda’ sworn i saw your finger reach for the close door button.” his blonde brow arches up.

god, he’s infuriatingly handsome. and your favorite verbal sparring partner.

“just trying to deliver these reports to, Dad. he left them on the counter and called me in a tizzy,” you reply. “you?”

“oh, i heard you were making an appearance on base and had to see you,” he winks. “couldn’t let the pretty simpson go without a little flirting.”

“don’t call me that,” you say. “hey does the elevator feel like it’s—“

before you can get the words out, the elevator lurches and throws you into jake, the papers you were holding scattered all along the floor. the lights dim out, replaced by a red emergency light.

his strong arms lock around your waist, holding you up. your gaze is locked on his chest where his shirt meets his collarbone. your breaths start to come in short spurts.

“is this a bad time to tell you this is my worst nightmare?” you murmur.

“is this a bad time to tell you i’ve never been happier with the way you’re clinging to me for dear life?” he whispers back, his breath soft on your ear.

for a moment, your fear is replaced with longing. you look up into his green eyes, and he gives you another smirk. you remove your hands from him and try to step back.

he matches your step, not unlocking his arms from your waist. one hand cups your neck.

“your pulse is racing,” he comments. "i didn't know you felt this way about me, simpson." his lip quips up in the corner.

the walls of the elevator feel like they're closing in. in a matter of seconds, you are going to be enveloped between the lacquered wood walls. the roof of the tiny box is joining the walls, ready to squish you into your eternal doom.

"please don't be a smart ass, jake," you managed to say in between your gasping breath.

jake pulls back to take in your features. his green eyes roam over your face. your hands are in fists against your own chest, rising up and down in time if your hyperventalations.

jake reaches for your hands, and you don't fight. he flattens out your fists, enveloping them between his own. realization falls over his beautiful face.

"you're having a panic attack." it's not a question.

in an instance, the jake you know and hate--err, love--is gone. in his place is lieutenant seresin, the aviator with three confirmed kills. the man who is going to rise in rank in no time.

"listen to me, simpson," he says your last name as if he's speaking to your dad, not trying to get into your pants like usual.

his green eyes lock and hold yours. you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

"the walls are closing in. we're going to be crushed," you admit your fears, feeling the tears you've been trying to keep away roll down your cheeks. saying the fear aloud helps you reason with the absurdity of it.

"they aren't," he murmurs, continuing to rub your palms in his. the sensation pulls your thoughts from the elevator, keeping your present with jake.

"the roof too," you whisper. jake shakes his head. there is no sign of the flirty pilot. no sign of raised brows questioning your sanity. lieutenant seresin believes you. he believes this illogical fear.

and he's helping you through it.

"we're stuck," you croak. this time, jake nods. you sink to the floor, and jake goes along with you. he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. reaching over your shoulder, he pushes the call button.

"power outage on base," the collected voice announces. "working as fast as they can. who is in the elevator?"

"lieutenant seresin and y/n simpson."

"noted. hang tight, you two. might be a little while."

a little while. the phrase has your pulse ramping back up. how long is a little while? thirty minutes? an hour? overnight?

as if he can read your mind, jake begins rubbing your palms. you meet his eyes and your breathing starts to steady.

"it's okay. you can be scared. i'm here," he whispers. "you are safe. your biggest enemy right now is your mind."

"i know," you admit. one of his hands lets go of yours to rest on your neck. he slides the hand up to your cheek. immediately, you lean into the touch. he calloused hand rough against your cheek helps to keep you from exploring all the ways this elevator could hurt you. his thumb brushes under your eye, removing a tear.

"i'm sorry," you say, embarrassment replacing some of your anxiety.

jake looks startled. "you have nothing to apologize for." jake looks around the elevator, and in a stage-whisper says, "i used to feel so claustrophobic in my jet."

the admission catches you off-guard. "you don't have to make me feel better, hangman."

he shakes his head. "i'm not. it was a huge thing. i thought i would never make it through the academy."

"but you did."

"i did."

"thank you, jake," you murmur. the serious mask of the lieutenant slips, and your jake is back feeding your soul with that insufferable smirk.

jake's hands are still on your body, and now that you're convinced the elevator is not alive and wanting to crush you, the weight of him fills you with longing.

a longing you have tried to ignore.

jake must sense this too, because he pulls you over to straddle his lap. both hands settle on your face, and yours holds onto his wrists.

"is this how you saw your 'flirting' playing out?" you whisper, leaning into him, stopping millimeters from his mouth.

"did i see the pretty simpson straddling my waist? i can't say i did. i'll admit, i did fantasize about kissing you against the wall." his hands fall to your outer thigh, running his hands slowly up and down them. "this is so much better."

"you fantasize about me?" you ask, your restraint waning.

jake rolls his eyes and slides his hands up to your waist. your body betrays you by shivering under his touch, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. his lips spread into a smile. a genuine smile.

"oh, baby, please." the pet name sends another thrill through you. he's called you baby before. but it's never had the want behind it like it does now. "i know for a second you don't believe i haven't."

his eyes roam your face again, this time, searching for consent. "are you feeling okay enough for me to kiss you?"

"i am dying for you to kiss me, jake," you say. jake's mouth collides with yours in a mixture of relief and wanting. the tension in your bones releases as you press yourself further into him. the groan at the back of his throat causes one of your own to meet it.

jakes hands move to your back, pressing you against him. you are in his lap and still feel like you can't get close enough. his erection presses against his flight suit, a deep flush filling your cheeks.

reading your emotions, he murmurs against your ear, "i can't even attempt to hide what you do to me, but i'm not doing anything you aren't comfortable with."

"i'm certainly not comfortable with the idea of my father pulling the camera footage of his daughter and one of his pilots," you laugh into jake's neck.

"hmmmm," he hums against your ear. "yeah, that'll do it." jake helps you off his lap, and you settle into the side of him. his arms envelope you, pulling you close. "join me at the hard deck tonight? you know, given we're rescued in time to join everyone?"

you answer him with a kiss on the cheek. another wide smile forms, and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

a/n: i hope you enjoyyyyeddddd.

[folkwhoreberry]

Can u make an Oscar x reader story where they’re childhood best friends and reader is like a famous singer or something and they’ve been hinting about their relationship but no one even knew they had a connection

This was super long 😭 sorry if u don’t understand

Steering Hearts

oscar piastri x reader

or... the one where you swear you’ll be moving on with his favourite athlete

word count : 1.7k

warning : reader wrote “good graces” by sabrina carpenter, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : good graces by sabrina carpenter

🐨☘️

sweat dripped down your forehead, but you didn’t mind it, not even one bit.

with the microphone in your hand and the blinding flashes coming from the crowd, chanting your name and lyrics as you sang, how could you?

you stood in a line with your backup dancers, singing your hit song from your latest album, ‘good graces’.

“I’ll tell the world, you finish you chores prematurely,” you sang into the mic as you danced, “break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete.” and that was the line that made the crowd scream. all because of a simple hand movement you did while singing - your free hand moving in circles imitating a steering wheel.

one simple hand movement - and the internet went crazy. because you wore an orange bodysuit while doing so. and lando norris and oscar piastri just so happened to be in the crowd.

an hour later the concert finally finished, you said your final thank yous to the crowd and crew before going backstage, where you were met with your manager and assistant, handing you a bottle of water and a towel to wipe of the sweat.

“you absolutely smashed it out there!” you manager praised you, a big smile on her lips as she patted your back.

you smiled and nodded and response, too out of breath to talk. you leaned against the nearest wall and kept drinking your water, until a familiar figure appeared in the corner of your eyes, along with another person trailing behind them.

“you did amazing, love!” oscar immediately said after coming close enough to you, his arms wrapping themselves around you without caring about the sweat covering you. “aw, thank you, osc.” you responded with a smile. “hey, it’s my nickname for him!” lando said from behind oscar, to which you rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue at.

“you’re tiring, aren’t you?” oscar whispered in your ear, making you hum in agreement. he chuckled, bringing one of his hands up to play with the ends of your hair. “so should we go back to the hotel?”

——————

the next morning was a mess on stan twitter. rumours of you dating the mclaren so-called ‘playboy’ lando norris were circulating all over the internet.

there were pictures of him and oscar going backstage after the show, videos of you smiling and waving to where the two boys were during the concert, sightings of the 25 year old filming you on his phone while you performed, and of course the orange outfit you wore that night, a colour that is often associated with mclaren, lando’s team.

——————

a week had passed since then, everyone somewhat calmed down from it, only sparking when lando was asked about it in interviews.

now, it was the morning of the australian grand prix - the first race of the 2025 season, and also oscar’s home race.

the paddock was full of excitement, reporters walking around with their cameramen and microphones, fans eager to meet their idols, and the drivers just trying to peacefully get from one place to another.

and there was you - walking through the paddock with you manager, just casually talking to her and occasionally turning to wave to a camera pointed at you pf take a picture with a fan.

“miss l/n, miss l/n! is it true that you’re dating lando norris?” one of the reporters asked you, pointing a microphone at you to hear your answer. you just smirked and snickered, ignoring g the question. “then why are you wearing a mclaren jacket?”

they weren’t wrong, you were wearing a mclaren branded jacket, white leather with their logo on the back, which you wore to support you boyfriend of course. you just kept on ignoring the cameras as you made your way to the mclaren garage, which luckily was the first one out of the rest of the teams. you walked inside, where you were met with oscar, who promised you he’ll meet you at the entrance.

“hey there, love. how was the drive here?” he asks you kindly, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you further inside, to the front of the garage. “alright, not too much traffic.”

he hummed in response, leading you to the secluded spot he prepared for you in the back of the garage to watch the race.

“I gotta go get in the car now, darling. cheer for me, yeah?” oscar said with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before he moved aside to take his gloves and helmet, walking to the front of the garage towards the track, where the national anthem will be played before the start of the race.

the race started just minutes later, and your heart was beating with each turn oscar took and each place he gained or lost.

after almost two hours the race ended, and you were happy that your boyfriend ended the race with no missing kind of any serious injuries, not even caring what place he finished in.

you watched oscar’s car roll into the pit lane and saw him climb out. you were glad he was safe, your heart finally settling after nearly two hours of tense turns and overtakes. the mclaren garage erupted in applause, but you stayed in your secluded spot, waiting for oscar to come over.

a few minutes later, you saw him approaching, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel. his smile brightened the moment he spotted you, and you grinned back, leaning against the wall of the garage.

“how was that?” he asked, his voice still a little breathless from the race.

“you were incredible,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I swear my heart was in my throat the entire time.”

he chuckled, pulling you into a quick hug, the scent of sweat and fuel faint on his race suit. “you’re always so dramatic,” he teased, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“I think it’s justified,” you quipped, lightly smacking his chest. “especially after that last turn. I was ready to jump on the track and drag you off myself.”

oscar laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m just glad I didn’t give you another heart attack. next time, I’ll make it easier for you.”

you smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back. “well, go do your interviews, mr. piastri. I’ll be waiting for you back here.”

“yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” he said, giving you a wink before heading off toward the media pen.

you found a spot near a screen in the garage to watch him and lando give their interviews. they stood side by side, casual as always, but you knew they were in for the usual bombardment of questions. sure enough, one interviewer didn’t waste time.

“lando, there’s been a lot of speculation about your relationship with a certain singer. any comment?”

lando smirked and shot oscar a sideways glance. “oh, we’re really doing this again?” he said, crossing his arms and pretending to think. “well, I can’t blame people for talking. she’s a fantastic performer, you know?”

oscar snorted beside him, shaking his head. “he’s full of it,” he added with a grin. “no relationship there, sorry to disappoint.”

they both shared a laugh, shrugging off the question as the interviewer quickly moved on to race-related topics. you had to bite back a smile as you watched the whole thing unfold. the internet was going to lose it - again.

——————

the next day, you had a concert in the same city, and once again, oscar and lando made an appearance. as the show started, the crowd was electric, and the energy only grew when you hit the chorus of your song, ‘good graces.’

“break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete,” you sang, throwing in that same steering wheel motion you did at the last show. the screams from the audience were deafening, and you couldn’t help but grin at the chaos you’d created again.

you stole a glance toward the back of the venue, where you knew oscar and lando were. it was hard to miss them, even in the dim light of the concert hall. oscar had that proud, supportive look on his face that never failed to make your heart swell, while lando - well, lando was grinning like the mischievous devil he always was.

once the concert ended and the cheers died down, you headed backstage. it wasn’t long before oscar and lando followed, dodging a few cameras as they made their way through the halls.

“well, if it isn’t the star of the show,” oscar teased as he approached you, his smile lighting up his whole face.

“that’s me,” you said, still catching your breath from the performance. “did I live up to your high standards?”

“always,” he replied softly, stepping closer to pull you into his arms.

just as you leaned into him, you felt a flash of a camera, and before you could react, oscar’s lips were on yours. it was a quick kiss, nothing too showy, but the click of the camera and the flashing lights around you meant only one thing—the internet was about to go wild.

“oh great, here we go,” lando muttered from the side, raising an eyebrow at the photographers. “guess we’ll be dealing with questions about this tomorrow.”

you and oscar both laughed as you pulled apart, but deep down, you knew this was going to cause another storm online.

sure enough, overnight, the internet exploded with headlines, pictures of oscar kissing you backstage, and a new wave of speculation about your relationship. it was everywhere - your fans, his fans, random gossip accounts.

the next morning, after a quick talk with oscar, you decided it was time to put an end to the rumors once and for all. you posted a simple picture on your social media - one of you and oscar, arms wrapped around each other, lips interlocked, and of course a cheesy caption.

oscar did the same, posting a cute picture of the two of your from a random cozy night-in you had, paired with a caption you made him change three times because of how oscar-ish it was.

the response was instant - fans flooding the comments with excitement, support, and some playful teasing.

lando even chimed in, posting a candid picture of you he took with the caption “wrong papaya mate guys”.

you couldn’t help but laugh as you scrolled through the reactions. it was all out in the open now, and honestly? it felt pretty damn good.

————————————————————————————

a/n : took me so long to write it (two days lol) but oh my godddd am I a sucker for singer!reader it feeds the oc’s in my head

[cuteandhughesy]

auston matthews -

“you’re such a loser”.

“you’re so pretty it pains me” (said to him).

“keep still you little… troll”.

please & thank you. love your work. :)

Drunk In Love | Auston Matthews

summary: your boyfriend has to pick you up from a bar—only to find that you’re sloshed and feeling playful. prompt no. 15: “you’re so pretty it pains me” + prompt no. 28: “keep still you little…troll.”

[word count] 2.1k

warnings: drinking | drunk behaviour | suggestive dialogue

a/n: how is this my first auston work…this man was the reason I started watching hockey in 2016! i’m back to my roots with this one! also this ain’t super detailed because I don’t have the brain capacity for that 😛

🎵 drunk in love by beyoncé & jay-z

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

auston is immediately bombarded when he steps into the club. not only by the overwhelming smell of hard liquor and various sweet floral perfumes, but by jennifer—your red head bubbly best friend who's celebrating her 27th birthday.

he blinks in surprise as jennifer steps in front of him, freckles still visible even under the flashing lights. "i'm sorry," she hisses, looking over her shoulder at what auston can only presume is you, "but she's sloshed." and that confirms his suspicions.

about 20 minutes ago, he answered jennifer's call. he was expecting the worse—you've always been a naturally clumsy person when drinking, and anytime you go out partying with your friends, you're coming home with more scrapes and bruises than you can count. all jennifer really told auston was that you needed a ride home asap, being very vague about the entire situation.

auston put two and two together pretty quickly.

"it's alright," he says, eyes squinting through the dark atmosphere in search of you and the sparkly red top you left the condo in. you're easy to spot, only because you're standing on top of the bar like you're in some cheesy rom com movie, laughing loudly and dancing while everyone cheers you on.

jennifer smiles awkwardly, green eyes darting between you and your less than amused looking boyfriend. auston curses, moving through the sea of bodies until he's at the crowded bar. he gently wraps his hand around you thigh, not hard, but still firm enough to grab your attention.

you look down, and immediately you're beaming at the sight of him. "austonnnnnn," you slur his name loudly, reaching down to steady yourself on his shoulders as he helps you off the table top. as soon as your heels are back on soild ground, you're jumping into auston’s arms—not without almost missing him and falling to the floor if it wasn't for auston's reflexes.

"woah, slow down," he warns lightly, large hands a warm and steady presence on your hips as he steadies you. "hi baby." auston grins slightly, eyes barley visible under the rim of his ball cap. a hiding feature he chose on purpose—auston wasn't really in the mood to wake up tomorrow morning and read a bunch of news tabloids about him picking up his hammered girlfriend at a local toronto club.

"hi." you grin, blinking slowly. auston can feel your heat through hour top-your skin hot to the touch, the affect off one too many shots. the hair you'd previously slicked back into a pony tail is now frizzy and down—eyes glassy and not all there.

auston snickers, already moving you away from the table and back to the direction of the entrance. "are you drunk?" he teases knowingly.

"pssshhh...no!" you decline loudly, shaking your head—but the way you misstep tells a whole different story. you don't even notice that though, too busy looking at your boyfriend with an imaginary lightbulb flickering above your head, "have you come to take a shot with me?" you ask, your excitement obvious.

auston hums, "no, i'm here to bring you home."

"but im not ready to go home," you pout.

"I know, but you can come out next weekend."

his words seem to do the trick, because your face relaxes and your lips form into a lazy grin. "oh yeah," you say matter of factly like it was you who came up with the idea.

"do you have your bag?" auston asks before the both of you can step outside, "where's your phone?"

your small chain bag is slung over your shoulder—which, thank god, because auston did not want to have to search for it in the women's bathroom or under the sticky tables. "my phones under my boob," you say.

he reaches out, fingers sliding under your boob to make sure it is in fact in your top.

it makes you giggle, arching into his touch, completely oblivious. "trying to cop a feel?," you slur, way too loudly for a public space. "you freak."

auston can't help the breathy laugh that leaves him, pulling off your body once he has confirmation that your phone is sitting between your ribs and left boob. "just making sure you've got everything," he corrects your insinuation lightly, wrapping his hand back around your hips. "okay, let's go."

the cold air is a shock after spending time inside the overpacked and overheated club. you instinctively curl into his side, seeking some warmth—no matter how drunk you are, you'll always find a way to get chilled.

as soon as his car is in your line of sight, you gasp, mumbling something incoherent before attempting to run towards the vehicle. you obviously don't get far, not with auston's arm holding you upright, but that doesn't stop you from stumbling on uneven sidewalk—almost sending you to your knees.

it has you giggling but also somehow gasping dramatically all at the same time.

"careful." auston chimes firmly, digging in his back pocket for his keys to unlock the car.

"woah that was scary," you snort, looking up at him with those glassed over eyes he loves. "did you almost trip too?" you ask, dead serious.

auston opens the passenger door, "almost."

"that wouldn't of been good," you slur.

"no, it wouldn't of been." he agrees easily, guiding you into the vehicle, "okay, left foot first babe."

but you're not going that easily. you turn to your boyfriend again, face flashing in fucking betrayal like he just asked you to root for the bruins. "you haven't even kissed me yet," you whine, feet planted on the concrete while your butt connects with the car seat.

he sighs, "let's get in the car first."

"please?" you slur, leaning forward dangerously. auston grips your biceps before you can face plant to the ground, but you're completely oblivious, continuing to beg in a mixture of babbling and slurring, "you're so pretty it pains me! and I need a kiss to make me feel better."

auston takes a deep breath, staring down at you for a beat—seeing if you'll give up. but you don't, continuing to look up at him like he hung the moon and the stars, lips slightly pouted and stained as you wait rather patiently. he sighs again before leaning down and giving you a quick peck.

you beam when be pulls away, bringing your left foot into the car. "you love me," you hum dreamily.

"yeah I do," auston smiles, guiding your right leg inside the car before he leans over your body, clicking the seat belt into place.

you kiss the side of his face sloppily as he makes sure you're buckled, "I love you too."

the 15 minute drive back to your and auston's shared condo is filled with the sound of your voice, singing along to random radio songs in an impromptu karaoke session. anytime you look over at auston and see that he's not singing, you squawk loudly, poking his cheek persistently until he joins in.

thankfully you don't give him too much trouble getting back out of the car, or on the elevator ride up to your floor—the most you do is stumble and talk too loudly, but auston finds it rather funny. you resemble a baby deer, and when he tells you that, you start tearing up about how cute baby animals are.

felix, your shared dog, eyes you both grumpily from his spot on the couch as you pass, clearly upset at be woken up.

auston guides you into the bedroom, helping you kick your heels off while you continue crying, now specifically praising baby horses and their tiny little horse shoes.

he grabs your oversized pyjama shirt, which is actually one of his old men's league shirts that you'd stolen years ago when you first met. auston turns back to you, placing the shirt beside you on the bed. "okay," he starts, "arms up baby."

"why?"

"because you need to get changed," auston says.

you whine, muttering something about feeling tired. regardless you lift your arms, limbs all floppy and heavy as auston attempts taking your sparkly top off.

you wiggle and squirm, laughing as auston's calloused fingers graze against the side of your ribs. your movement makes him sigh, teetering on impatient. "stay still you little...troll."

that gets you to stop moving. "hey! that's mean." you pout incredulously.

"it's not," auston answers easily, pulling your shirt fully off. now free, your phone falls to your lap with a plop. "trolls are cute"

you arms drop to your sides quickly, "no they're not."

"shhh," he teases, pulling off your skirt and tights in one quick and efficient move. "you'll hurt their feelings."

"my boobs are out," you say after a beat.

auston snickers, pushing your head through the stretched neck hole of his old shirt. yeah, they are," he hums, moving to your arm and bending it at the elbow, “hey, put your arms through the holes."

"nooooo," you whine, falling forward to auston’s chest and wrapping your sticky arms loosely around his neck. "I wanna give you a kiss." you mumble, already in the middle of covering his scruff covered jawline in tequila scented kisses. one of your hands sneaks down his body, and before he can even blink, your grabbing his dick.

"jesus baby," his breathe hitches, pulling your hand off his length and putting it back in your lap.

you giggle, "you like that?"

auston shakes his head, putting your arms through the shirt holes before you can grab his dick again. "not tonight, you need to go to sleep."

your face falls. "you don't want me?"

"not when you're drunk."

you scoff, tears pricking your waterline as auston fully pulls the shirt down over your naked body. "you hate me." you state dramatically, arms crossing over your chest.

"not at all," he reassures you softly.

"but you don't want me."

"you're drunk." auston reiterates, which only makes you hum. he can't help the smile that pulls on his face, shaking his head in disbelief at your slurred words and usual drunk shenanigans. "okay baby, let's get you in bed."

the next two minutes are silent as your boyfriend helps you slip under the covers. you sigh happily as the cool sheets envelop around your limbs, head sinking into the fluffy pillow like you're lying on a cloud. auston leaves your lamp on, putting your phone on the beside table—making sure it's plugged in for the morning—before he turns to leave.

but just as his hand touches the door knob, you're whining. "austonnnnnn."

"yes?" he asks, brow quirked.

you make grabby hands at him like a toddler. "come lay with me."

"i'm going to," auston says, "I just gotta take felix out first."

the mention of your dog has you sitting straight up, once again wide awake. auston can't help the way he sighs, falling back against your bedroom door in what feels like defeat.

"can I come?" you ask him, voice full of hope and joy at the thought of running your hands through felix's soft and curly coat. you’ve never wanted to cuddle him more than this very moment.

auston shakes his head gently, "no."

"whyyy?" you whine, lips pouting for the hundredth time tonight. "I love him so much." you admit, voice thickening with emotion as you blink at your boyfriend through the warmly lit bedroom.

he walks back towards you, softly pushing your hair off your face. "I know you do," auston mumbles, thumb stroking your brow bone. "but you're not wearing pants and it's cold outside."

you frown deepens, a single shiny tear falling from your eye and tracing down the round of your cheek. "but," you pause, sniffling gently, "felix will think I don't love him if I don't come."

auston shakes his head, "that's not true." but you only cry more, shrinking in on yourself as sobs wrack through your body. auston coos, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead and then another to your cheek.

even drunk, you don't play about your love for felix.

"how about when I get back I bring him in here for the night?" auston proposes sweetly.

your head lifts, and the sight of your watery eyes have auston pouting. "really?"

"yeah."

and he fully intends on keeping his promise, but 30 minutes later—once the dog has done his business and trotted around the condos front grass—auston opens the bedroom door, only to find you sound asleep.

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

[gf2bellamy]

Okay okay so I was watching episode 6x6 (Devil's Night) and the beginning when Spencer was really excited to share the origin of Halloween and talk about his Halloween plans and everyone just went 🙄 when he invited them mad me so sad - my poor baby just wanted someone to talk to :(

So is it alright if I please request fem!bau!reader just shyly being like "I'd love to come, if that's okay 😊" and he's like 😳🥹🥰 "yeah"

I found a link to that scene if it helps (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrBzi9VBIFw)

halloween — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: some facts abt halloween a/n: thank you so much for your request ( and the link !! ) <3 i hope you like this <3 also this healed something in me bc this scene always made me sad like i'd go with you pookie ☹️

You sat at the conference table, flipping through the file in front of you. Next to you, Rossi sipped his coffee, deep in thought, while Derek leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly twirling a pen between his fingers.

The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper.

Suppressing a yawn, you blinked tiredly at the text on the page.But then—your ears picked up on something, or rather, someone.

Spencer.

His voice carried through the open door and just like that, your mood shifted instantly, a small smile tugging at your lips before you could stop it.

Derek caught the change. From the corner of your eye, you noticed his amused smirk as he tilted his head slightly in your direction.

He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to.

The look alone was enough to say busted. Still, he simply shook his head and returned his attention to his paperwork, letting you off the hook.

Moments later, Spencer and Emily entered the room. Spencer was mid-sentence, his voice animated, eyes bright.

“—it became a little more commercialized in the 1950’s with trick or treat and today it only rivals Christmas in terms of popularity.”

His words tumbled out effortlessly.

As he spoke, his gaze found yours, his expression softening just slightly as he smiled in greeting. You felt your heart stutter in response, but you quickly masked it with a small nod, returning the smile.

Emily, on the other hand, looked less than amused. With a sigh, she dropped into the chair beside Rossi, rubbing her temples.

“All I asked was what he was doing this weekend,” she muttered, exasperation evident in her voice.

You glanced at Spencer, who remained standing, still lost in his Halloween tangent. Your eyes trailed down, taking in his outfit—a soft red cardigan over a crisp button-up.

It suited him, and you had to resist the urge to comment on how ridiculously cute he looked.

Across the table, Rossi, Derek, and you were all watching Spencer with varying degrees of amusement. His hands gestured slightly as he spoke.

“You know, I'm toying with the notion of either going to the Edgar Allan Poe puppet theater or the reenactment of a 19th-century phantasmagoria,” he said, sounding excited when naming those two events.

As he talked, Garcia swept into the room in a burst of color, her outfit an explosion of orange hues. Your gaze flickered to her for a brief second, a smile forming at the sheer Garcia-ness of it all.

Rossi, however, had no interest in indulging Spencer’s train of thought. He raised a hand in protest, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know.”

You frowned at his answer, turning back to Spencer with genuine curiosity. “I do,” you chimed in, tilting your head slightly as you watched him.

“Phantasmagorias are these amazing pre projected go shows invented in France where the showman attempted to spook the audience using science magic.” Spencer explained, his voice picking up excitement.

His eyes lit up as he emphasized the words science and magic, his enthusiasm practically infectious.

And if you weren’t already hopelessly smitten, well—you were pretty sure you had actual heart eyes by now.

Spencer met your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, his confident rambling faltered. A faint blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks as he registered the way you were looking at him. But, ever Spencer, he pressed on, his hands moving expressively as he spoke.

“And it just so happens that I have an extra ticket,” he said, nodding slightly, his voice just a touch more careful now.

You weren’t oblivious—you could practically feel the impending remark forming on Derek’s lips or the teasing smirk playing at Garcia’s expression. Rossi looked thoroughly unimpressed, as if this entire conversation was a waste of his time. The disinterest from the others was obvious, and you knew exactly where this was going.

So, before anyone could ruin the moment, you spoke up.

“I’d love to join you,” you said, your voice warm.

The room—somehow, impossibly—grew even quieter.

Spencer’s wide eyes locked onto yours, his lips parting slightly as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “Really?” he practically whispered.

You nodded, offering him a warm smile. “Sure. It sounds fun.”

For a second, Spencer just stared at you, as if trying to determine whether or not you were joking. When he realized you were serious, his lips curled into a small, almost shy smile. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his cardigan, and you could see the gears turning in his mind—he hadn’t expected this.

Garcia’s eyes flicked between the two of you, a knowing grin slowly spreading across her face. Derek, meanwhile, chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

Spencer, still looking a little shocked but undeniably happy. “O-okay,” he stammered, clearing his throat. “Uh, great. I mean—yeah, it’ll be fun.”

“Well, pretty boy, looks like you’ve got yourself a date,” Derek teased, his tone light but clearly pleased.

Spencer’s face went an even darker shade of red. “It’s not a—” He stopped himself, glancing at you quickly before deciding not to finish that sentence. Instead, he cleared his throat and adjusted his cardigan, trying to regain composure.

You just smiled to yourself, finding his flustered reaction entirely too adorable.

Maybe this Halloween was going to be more fun than you thought.