#and probably literally just looks at her with a smirk

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | friendly interactions... or not

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : meeting your friends who they seemingly get along with...kinda...not...really?

୨ৎ : genre : comedy (angst if u squint) / slight beef ୨ৎ : word count : 3008

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun and unhinged i loved being able to create different personalities for the friends and everything LMFAO // oscar's was my favorite one to write i love it...

ʚ・max verstappen

you’d warned them ahead of time.

“he’s not rude, he’s just… quiet. and blunt. but like, in a sweet way. sometimes.”

that did not stop your friends from collectively side-eyeing you like you���d announced your boyfriend was a literal dragon.

“max verstappen? that max?”

“i just feel like he’d roast me for my driving.”

“do you think he even knows how to have small talk?”

you rolled your eyes. “he’s literally so normal. you’ll see.”

they didn’t believe you until thirty minutes into girls’ night, when max wandered in after his workout, sweat-tousled and comfy in joggers, and waved like he didn’t just walk into a room full of skeptical women.

“hi.” he looked between all of them. “you’re the ones who always send her those weird memes, right?”

cami gasped. “wait… you read our group chat?!”

you groaned. “max!”

“i didn’t scroll,” he said, completely unbothered. “i just saw the one where someone said ‘he probably dreams in dutch and drs.’ that was funny.”

syd choked on her drink. “…that was me.”

max turned to her, expression dead serious. “you’re not wrong.”

you covered your face. “this is going horribly.”

“no it’s not,” he said, crossing the room to kiss your forehead like it was nothing. “your friends are funny. i like them.”

that was the turning point.

thirty minutes later, max was sat between cami and val on the couch, holding one of their iced coffees like it was a fine wine, eyebrows furrowed.

“so you’re telling me,” he said, gesturing at syd’s phone, “this guy left you on read for four days, but still viewed your story?”

syd nodded. “yup.”

max shook his head. “he’s done. block him.”

“oh my god, you do get it!” she laughed.

“i’m not heartless,” he mumbled, cheeks slightly pink. “people just need to stop wasting her time.”

you leaned in from the kitchen. “should i be worried you’re starting a girl gang without me?”

he grinned. “we’re gonna get jackets made.”

later, as you walked him out so he could head back to the hotel, max laced his fingers through yours and said, “your friends are cool. i thought they’d hate me.”

you smiled up at him. “they thought you’d hate them.”

“that’s stupid.”

“they also thought you’d be scary.”

he stopped, leaned in close. “do i scare you?”

you laughed. “only when you’re behind me on track in karting.”

he smirked, kissed the tip of your nose, and said, “tell them i’m free next friday. i’ll bring snacks.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“i’m warning you now,” you said as you opened the front door. “don’t act weird.”

“you’re dating lewis hamilton,” mariah whispered like you’d just casually admitted to dating royalty.

jess widened her eyes. “do we call him sir lewis? like—is that a thing?”

you didn’t have time to respond, because lewis walked in holding a box of vegan pastries and a bottle of wine, dressed in cozy neutrals and smelling expensive.

“hi, beautiful,” he said, kissing your cheek like nothing else in the room mattered. then he turned to your friends with a megawatt smile. “you must be the infamous trio. i’ve heard so many stories.”

nina blinked. “from her?”

he nodded, handing her the wine. “and i remembered all your names. don’t quiz me though. it’s been a long day.”

mariah snorted. “okay, i like him already.”

fifteen minutes in and they were obsessed. not just because he was lewis hamilton, but because he was soft-spoken, asked thoughtful questions, and had the kind of eye contact that made people feel seen.

jess: “so… do you ever get nervous before a race?”

lewis: “not as much now. i get more nervous when she’s watching.”

mariah: “why?”

lewis: smiles “because i care what she thinks.”

meanwhile, his hand never left yours. fingers brushing yours under the table. knuckles against your thigh. every now and then he’d look over at you with this quiet little smile, like you were some kind of calming center.

when you got up to grab more ice, you heard nina whisper:

“dude. he hasn’t stopped looking at her all night.”

jess added, “he gave her the softest little smile when she laughed at that dumb joke. i almost cried.”

mariah leaned in. “okay, no, but that man is in love. like, core memory level in love.”

you froze in the kitchen doorway. “he’s right there.”

“we know.” jess whisper-yelled. “and he doesn’t care. he’s a certified loverboy.”

when he finally left, he gave them all warm hugs and said, “thank you for loving her. it means the world.”

and before heading out, he turned to you, cupped your face gently, and murmured, “text me when you’re home, okay? sleep’s always better when i hear from you.”

when the door clicked shut, mariah flopped on the couch like she’d run a marathon. “girl. i can’t even be fake salty. he’s so in love with you it’s romantic comedy level ridiculous.”

ʚ・george russell

you knew george was a bit territorial.

not in a scary way — more like the gentleman version of a cat that rubs his head on you to claim ownership. he’d do things like put his hand on your back when someone complimented you. or slide closer when you talked to strangers in the paddock. but this? this was new.

“wait… who’s micah?” george asked as you grabbed your bag.

you blinked. “micah? my best friend?”

his brow furrowed. “you said you were going out with friends tonight, not… guys.”

you laughed. “babe, literally every friend i’m seeing tonight is a guy.”

his jaw did a subtle tighten. “right.”

when you got to the rooftop bar, george was civil. polite. british, even.

but the grip on your waist tightened just a bit when luca hugged you. and he didn’t laugh when micah said, “god, you’re so hot when you parallel park.”

george just said, “she’s hot doing anything,” with the fakest smile you’d ever seen.

you tried not to laugh.

halfway through the night, you leaned over and whispered, “you good?”

he smiled. “of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

you gave him a look.

he exhaled. “you didn’t tell me all your friends were dudes. i’m just trying to… assess.”

“assess what?”

“if i need to fight anyone.”

you snorted into your drink.

the turning point came when micah and luca started arguing over whether george clooney or paul mescal was the superior white boy crush.

micah went, “listen, i’d let paul ruin my life but george is my tax bracket soulmate.”

and luca added, “you’re forgetting dev patel exists, which is crazy because i would risk it all.”

george blinked.

then turned to you, slowly. “i’m sorry. are they all—”

“gay?” you said, trying not to wheeze. “yes. every single one of them.”

“oh.” he sat back in his chair. “oh.”

you leaned in, grinning. “were you feeling threatened?”

he cleared his throat. “i was… aware.”

“they all follow you on instagram, george. they send your shirtless pics in the group chat with heart emojis.”

micah shouted across the table, “he’s on my lockscreen!”

george turned red. “i—really?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” luca deadpanned. “it was a joke. you were standing next to lewis.”

later, on the uber ride home, george had his arm slung around you, looking appropriately sheepish.

“i really thought luca was into you.”

you laughed. “he literally helped me pick your birthday gift and called you ‘delicious.’”

“i wasn’t listening. i was too busy panicking.”

you kissed his cheek. “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

he kissed the top of your head. “i’m also lucky your friends are hot and unavailable.”

“micah’s still flirting with you.”

george shrugged, smug now. “he has taste.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

when you told your friends you were bringing carlos to the group dinner, the reaction was immediate.

“wait—like carlos sainz?”

“the spanish one?”

“the one with the hair?”

“bro. he’s hot but does he talk?”

you laughed. “he’s so normal, guys. you’ll see.”

carlos showed up exactly two minutes early with a bottle of wine and a handmade bouquet he’d “accidentally” picked up on the way because he “thought it looked like something you'd like.”

immediate chaos.

“oh, he’s dangerous,” said tiff, already hiding behind her wine glass.

your bestie eli raised an eyebrow. “he’s not allowed to make eye contact with me. i’m weak.”

but then he spoke.

“so,” carlos started, standing there with his hands awkwardly folded in front of him, “who is in charge of… uh… the vibes?”

there was a beat of silence. then eruptive laughter.

“you mean like the playlist?”

“no, i think he meant the vibes.”

“oh my god he’s an actual golden retriever.”

“no, he’s like a very polite tourist.”

you couldn’t stop laughing. “carlos, baby, just sit down.”

to be fair, he tried.

he listened to the conversations, nodded thoughtfully, smiled politely.

but then he pointed to amara’s glass and said, “you drink that very fast. is that normal?”

she blinked. “…it’s a margarita, carlos.”

“oh. i like tequila. but not margaritas. they’re… too horizontal.”

everyone paused.

“too… horizontal?” eli echoed.

carlos nodded. “too flat. i like drinks that have… structure.”

you whispered, “i have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“he’s handsome. let him be strange,” tiff murmured.

but then he helped clean up the dishes without being asked. offered his jacket to eli when they stepped outside. complimented. tiff’s nail color in a way that wasn’t creepy, just genuinely curious. when amara made a joke, he laughed even though he clearly didn’t get it — just because everyone else was laughing.

by the end of the night, your friends were perched on the couch, dissecting him like an art exhibit.

“he’s awkward. but like… warm awkward.”

“like golden retriever professor awkward.”

“like if a sexy man had the brain of someone who collects model trains.”

you threw a pillow at them. “he’s just spanish!”

carlos poked his head in from the kitchen. “who is spanish?”

eli grinned. “you are.”

carlos blinked. “…yes. i know this.”

in the car on the way home, he leaned into you, a little sheepish.

“they laughed a lot.”

“with you,” you said quickly. “not at you.”

“…i was strange, wasn’t i?”

you kissed his cheek. “you were perfect.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

“okay. i need you all to be normal.”

you stood at the kitchen island while your three closest friends — maya, bri, and jade — collectively ignored you in favor of speculating about your boyfriend.

“i just feel like he’s intense,” bri said, sipping her wine.

“he’s monegasque,” jade replied like it explained everything.

maya added, “i bet he’s one of those guys who listens too closely and then says something super personal and makes you cry. in a good way.”

you groaned. “you guys are insane. he’s literally just charles.”

and then he walked in, hair a little windswept, cheeks pink from the cold, carrying pastries and wine with the proudest smile.

“hello,” he said. “i brought snacks. and the red wine that she said tastes like… uh… the floor?”

you winced. “i said it tasted earthy.”

he kissed your cheek. “same thing.”

to your surprise — and theirs — he fit in immediately.

and not just like, polite boyfriend sitting quietly kind of fit in.

like, full-on engaging, bantering, storytelling with hand gestures and wild facial expressions kind of fit in.

“and then,” charles said, wide-eyed, “i realized the bike i had taken was not my bike. it was—how do you say—locked to someone else's bike. so i am dragging two bikes across monaco like a thief.”

jade was crying. “did no one stop you?!”

“they stared! i waved and said, ‘it’s okay, i am very sorry!’ which is not helpful if you look like a criminal.”

bri gasped between laughs. “you’re unhinged.”

charles shrugged. “it is not my fault all bikes look the same.”

but what really got them wasn’t just the stories — it was how he looked at you.

when you got up to get more drinks, his eyes followed you automatically. when you sat back down, he rested a hand on your knee like it grounded him. when you laughed, he smiled like it was the only sound that mattered.

at one point, when you reached for the wine, he gently pulled it back. “drink water first,” he said softly, like it was second nature. “you get headaches.”

later that night, when he went to take a call from his brother, your friends immediately rounded on you.

“okay. i get it now,” maya whispered.

“he’s funny,” jade added, stunned. “like. actually funny. and kind of chaotic?”

“and so in love with you,” bri finished. “like, if you asked him to move to the moon with you tonight, he’d be like, ‘yes, let me pack my helmet.’”

you tried not to blush. “he is a little awkward sometimes.”

“he is, but in a hot way,” maya said. “like… emotionally available french cartoon character energy.”

you nearly choked.

ʚ・lando norris

“are you sure he’s ready for this?” you asked as you poured drinks.

your best friend zara smirked. “is he ready, or are you scared we’ll like him more than you?”

“both,” added amina, already plotting.

and then, of course, lando showed up five minutes early with takeout, a mischievous smile, and a hat too big for his own head.

he looked around the room. “so. you’re the ones she keeps texting during our dates.”

“depends,” zara said. “are you gonna give us something to talk about?”

lando blinked. “that sounds threatening.”

“good. you’re learning.”

they clicked immediately.

amina asked about his sim setup. zara grilled him about his spotify playlists. jules challenged him to mario kart and then screamed when he barely won.

and the whole time, lando kept up effortlessly — tossing jokes, throwing fake shade, and flashing you the smuggest grin every time he got a laugh.

“oh, so you think you’re funny now?” you teased.

“i know i’m funny. ask your friends,” he said, sliding closer.

zara leaned in. “he is. unfortunately.”

at one point, the conversation somehow devolved into an argument about cereal rankings.

“frosted flakes are top tier,” jules said.

lando gasped. “that’s so vanilla of you.”

“sorry, mr. i-buy-fancy-cereal-in-monaco,” jules shot back.

amina whispered to you, “i get it now. he’s just one of us in a more expensive hoodie.”

you smiled. “i told you.”

but it wasn’t just jokes.

it was the way lando would pause mid-story to rub your back. or how he leaned over to top off your drink without asking. or the moment you yawned and he whispered, “want me to wrap it up?” against your shoulder.

zara caught it and mouthed he’s obsessed with you across the room.

when he left that night, jules dabbed him up like they’d been boys for years.

“you’re alright, norris. for a mclaren driver.”

“i’ll pretend that didn’t hurt,” lando said dramatically.

zara hugged you and whispered, “he can stay.”

amina added, “but only because he beat me at uno.”

later that night, you were scrolling through your phone when lando texted: your friends are chaos and i love them. also, zara’s playing it cool but she’s totally a fan. i saw the twinkle. also also. you looked stupid pretty tonight. thanks for sharing your people with me <3

ʚ・oscar piastri

you’d prepped him on the way there.

“they’re loud. you’re not. please don’t shut down.”

oscar glanced at you from the driver’s seat. “i don’t shut down. i just… conserve energy.”

you laughed. “whatever you call it, try not to look like you want to leave the whole time.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the faint smile.

the moment you walked in, your best friend dani narrowed her eyes.

“that’s him?” she mouthed.

you nodded, and she replied with a very slow, hmm.

you sighed.

oscar stood next to you like a polite guest at a wedding, smiling faintly, hands in his pockets.

“you alright?” you asked, low.

he nodded once. “i just feel like i’m being judged.”

you smiled. “because you are.”

to his credit, he tried.

made small talk. laughed (softly) at jokes. asked how everyone knew you. but dani wasn’t biting. she stayed suspicious, arms crossed, watching him like she was waiting for a slip-up.

meanwhile, your friend luke — loud, dramatic, and a certified flirt — came up behind you and slung an arm over your shoulder.

“hey, sunshine. you look hot.”

oscar’s eyes did a slow blink.

you didn’t catch it — but dani did.

later, while you were grabbing drinks, dani cornered oscar in the hallway.

“so. what’s your deal?”

he blinked. “my… deal?”

“you like her?”

oscar’s brows lifted slightly. “very much.”

“then why do you keep glaring at luke like you want to run him over with a scooter?”

oscar blinked again. “because i do.”

dani paused.

“…okay,” she muttered, then turned and walked off — almost smiling.

back in the kitchen, luke was showing you something on his phone when oscar came up behind you and casually slid his hand around your waist.

you leaned into him instinctively.

“having fun?” you asked.

he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “loads.”

luke looked between you two. “oh. so you do like her.”

oscar blinked. “why does everyone keep asking me that?”

later that night, when you were saying your goodbyes, dani pulled you aside.

“i still think he’s too quiet,” she said, eyes narrowed. “but. he passed.”

you grinned. “he grew on you?”

she shrugged. “he has some personality. i just think he’s got trust issues.”

you blinked. “based on what?”

she looked over at oscar — who was very subtly glaring at luke again. “…girl. he’s five seconds from growling.”

in the car, you nudged him.

“hey. be honest. you hate luke, don’t you?”

oscar didn’t look away from the road. “he’s too friendly.”

you tried not to smile. “you mean he called me hot.”

“he also winked.”

“he’s gay, oscar.”

oscar blinked. “…is he?”

you burst out laughing. “you are so bad at this.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[prettydaisygirl]

Can I make a request for Streamer!James who discovered that some people in his fandom are hating us, plssss I'm so obsessed with him 😩

Hiii, my love! Thank you so much for requesting this! I've been trying to figure out my next idea and this was perfect! I am literally so in love with streamer!James, I would do anything for himmmmm. Hope you enjoy <3

streamer!James Potter x fem!superfan!reader who is getting hate for dating James ✿ 1.4k words

cw: fem reader, marauders as live-streamers, online bullying/harassment, reader is getting disgusting messages/comments, James is sooooo loverboy, James-centric

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

previous part

You haven’t been in James’ chat for at least three of his streams now.

Not that you have to be, and James knows with the time difference and the increasing busy-ness of your schedule that you might not make every single stream. But you usually try not to miss more than one, and you’ve been quieter in DMs too. You’re usually always in his chat, always enthusiastic, always sweet and wonderful and sending him pictures that have him tripping over his words and drooling.

The boys have noticed your distance too.

“Trouble in paradise?” Sirius asks just after James clicks ‘end stream’, coming into his room without permission. James swivels around in his chair to face his best friend, a look of slight panic on his face.

“Do you think she’s mad at me? Did she say something?” James scrambles for any kind of information or explanation, but Sirius just smirks at him, leaning against James’ desk.

“Why’re you asking me? Ask Rem,” Sirius pushes his hair behind his shoulder dramatically as James darts out of his gaming chair and across the common space to Remus’ bedroom. He opens the door without knocking, much like Sirius did. The other man is still on his computer, downloading his VOD to work on a video, probably. Remus gives James a knowing look as he turns around.

“What did she say?” James asks, leaning against Remus’ desk, causing his little figurines and stacks of books and papers to rattle. “Did I say something wrong?”

Remus sighs, rubbing at his temples with his fingers. “Why would you assume she told me? You’re her boyfriend.”

James tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at Remus, who sighs and gives in.

“I don’t know why she isn’t coming to stream,” Remus shakes his head, his voice raspy as he pulls up his DMs with you. You and Remus have become quite close friends, though you don’t talk to him nearly as much as you talk to James, obviously. “She told me people have been messaging her since she surprised you at the convention.”

“Yeah, I know, people love us!” James beams, thinking about all of the love and support you and Prongs have gotten since announcing your relationship last month. A super fan who becomes his girlfriend? The fanfictions write themselves. He’s seen all of the edits of you and him, fan accounts, and even merch. He loves it, obviously, because he loves you. He just hasn’t told you yet.

When Remus’ smile falters, James’ does too, “What? What’s that look for?”

“I think… there are a lot of people who are happy for you,” Remus says slowly, scrolling through his chat log with you as he glances through previous messages. He frowns, his scrolling ceasing as he looks at one in particular. He clicks on it, and it takes over the screen. “But, I also think you have a lot of fans who don’t exactly love the fact that you’re taken. You know your audience James, a lot of them watch you because you’re… well, you know.” 

Remus’ wrist gestures toward the monitor, and James leans down to take a better look at the screen, eyes taking in the picture. You’ve sent it to Remus, a screenshot of a message someone had sent you just last week. The day before you stopped coming to his streams. 

Obviously he sees your username, his heart fluttering every time he does. God, he’s whipped. He doesn’t recognize the other username, maybe just a hint of familiarity from seeing it within the hundreds of usernames in his chat, but that’s about it. It’s the message itself that makes him feel sick.

he doesn’t really like you.  he’s only talking to you because you’re the only whore in his chat that would actually send him pictures.  slut. 

James feels like his heart is sinking through his stomach. Someone sent this to you and you didn’t come to him?

When Remus clicks onto the next one, James realizes things are worse than he thought they were. This one is a screenshot of the comment section from a photo of you two kissing at the convention. 

babyboiprongs_: he’s really dating yourusername???  babyboiprongs_: gross grtftntplyr00: prongs is ruined now rip o7 :(((((( prongswormpadmoon: prongs noooooo whyyyyy :/ 

James feels like he’s going to throw up. How had he not seen these comments? He feels like he scrolled through everything. 

“She… she sent you all this?” James’ voice is light, like he is in shock or disbelief, and there’s a whirlwind of emotions happening behind his dark eyes.

“There’s… I mean, there’s more than this,” Remus tells James quietly, his eyes gentle with pity as he watches James, who runs a hand through his dark, unruly curls. 

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” James feels small in a way that he hasn’t before, and he hates it. He just wants to protect you, he doesn’t want to know you were upset and he wasn’t there to help you. 

Remus gives James a bit of a deadpan look, “Of course she’s not going to say anything to you, Prongs. She probably thinks she’s ruining your career!”

“But she’s not!” James retorts quickly, his gaze growing more frantic by the minute.

“Well, I know that!” Remus rolls his eyes, “You’re allowed to date, James. Some of your fans won’t like it but it’s your life. You need to put a boundary there, tell them you won’t tolerate it.”

James looks down, his mind racing. And in that moment, he makes a decision.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿

It took him a few days to get everything ready. He got what he needed, he filmed his video, edited it, and now all he needs to do is press upload. His finger hesitates over the button, and in a very un-James Potter-like decision, he decides to rewatch it one more time before uploading it. 

Video Title: i love you

James beams at the camera, his headphones over his ears but he isn’t on the edge of the screen with a game taking up most of it like usual. There is no game, just him. He’s wearing a shirt with your face on it. Well, really, it’s a shirt with him kissing your cheek but his face got mostly cropped out and he doesn’t mind at all. 

He waves at the camera, “Hello everyone! I know it’s weird seeing me in a video and not on live, but there is something I want to talk about.”

“It has recently come to my attention that some people in my community have been leaving rude, hateful, and honestly just disgusting messages in my girlfriend’s comment section and DMs. And I want to tell you to stop that right fucking now.” 

He has never sounded so angry in anything he has uploaded before. He thought about re-recording it but he truly does feel that angry.

“Not only is online hate and bullying of any kind absolutely not okay, but if I see it in my chat, or anywhere in my girlfriend’s messages or comments, I will permanently block and ban you. That applies to hate about anyone on our team or in our lives. The other marauders have agreed to ban you as well.”

“And to my wonderful girlfriend, who has felt like she can’t come to my streams because she might ‘ruin my career’... baby, I love you. I know I haven’t told you that yet, but I do. I would give up my whole career for you, even though that won’t happen. I know most of my audience aren’t hateful and don’t leave those comments. I’ve seen all of the love we have gotten. But I want to protect you, I want to love you, and I want them to love you too. So please come back to stream, chat misses you. I miss you even more.”

“And, to those of you who have been leaving nice comments, thank you! I do read them, and they mean a lot to me, I know they mean a lot to her too. No true fan of mine would be upset at seeing me happy, and I appreciate you all so much for your support.”

He reaches for the camera like he might turn it off and hesitates. He leans back and beams even brighter. 

“And no, you can’t buy this shirt. It’s one of a kind, just like my girl.” 

James almost cringes at himself when the video ends. He knows he has to post it. Both for you and for himself. 

He clicks ‘post.’ And he has no regrets. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[kangshxrtie]

45 . just us

"i could've sworn everybody was here," daniela said as you both stepped into the unusually quiet house.

"you sure?" you asked, giving her a suspicious look.

"yes. manon was asleep, yoonchae was in her room, sophia was in the kitchen, and lara and megan were doing whatever somewhere," she replied.

"you didn't tell them to leave?" you raised a brow.

"no, i was literally planning for us all to hang out since it's your first time over," daniela said with a shrug.

"well, i'm kinda glad we're alone; i've been around so many people recently," you admitted.

"well that works out then," daniela smiled, already heading toward her room.

you followed her, slightly unsure of what to do with yourself while she moved around, grabbing a few things. she rummaged through her drawers and pulled out a pair of sweats and a hoodie to go with it.

"you can change in the bathroom, literally the first door you see. and then hang your swimsuit up," daniela told you, handing you the clothes.

"okay," you said, grabbing your bag and heading down the hall. you changed quickly and hung your swimsuit up to dry, taking a moment to fix your hair and settle into the comfy borrowed outfit.

when you walked back into daniela's room, she looked up and didn't look away.

"you look good in my clothes," daniela said, eyes lingering on you.

"you think so?" you asked, caught off guard.

"yeah," she nodded.

you walked over to where daniela was sitting at the edge of her bed, feeling her gaze still on you.

"you gonna sit or just stand there looking cute?" she patted the space next to her.

you rolled your eyes with a smile and sat down beside her, your knees brushing. "this hoodie is so comfortable, by the way. i might have to steal it."

"you can try," daniela teased. "but you'll probably have to fight me for it."

"oh, so you wanna get physical now?" you joked, nudging her with your shoulder.

"only if you start it." she smirked.

you laughed softly, letting the moment stretch. daniela leaned back on her hands, and you mirrored her, both of you staring up at the ceiling like neither of you knew what to say.

"so," she started awkwardly, "how's your first time over so far?"

"i mean, i'm in your clothes sitting on your bed... i think i'm doing alright."

"so basically, i'm a great host." daniela chuckled.

"one of the best," you said. then you turned your head slightly to look at her. "you're so cute when it's just us."

"i will allow you to call me cute because i like you."

"you're just so soft and more relaxed when we're together and only a little annoying"

"oh, shut up," she said, swatting your arm.

you caught her hand before she could pull it back and held it lightly between your fingers. "i'm fucking with you. i like it."

her expression softened a little, her thumb brushing over yours just once before she pulled her hand away gently, only to curl her legs up and shift closer.

"you're not what i expected either," daniela said, now sitting so close your shoulders touched.

"that's good, right?" you asked, lowering your voice a little.

"yeah," she said quietly, "it's good."

you leaned your head against her shoulder. and she didn't say anything—just rested her head lightly against yours in return.

"i'm glad you like me," daniela said softly, her voice almost a whisper against the quiet.

"of course i do. you're like... perfect for me," you said, not missing a beat.

"i was really scared i was gonna lose you to natty," daniela let out a small breath.

you frowned a little. "i'm sorry i didn't realize she liked me. i guess it was obvious, but i was too caught up in our friendship to see it."

"you don't have to apologize," daniela said, her voice a bit shakier this time. "just... don't break my heart. i don't think i'll be able to handle it."

you turned your head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes, and she shifted too, lifting her head from yours so you could look at each other clearly.

"dani," you said gently, "i'm not going anywhere."

"i mean, you are at my house and not hers right now," daniela smirked.

"i know where home at," you joked.

after a moment of silence, you started to wonder why daniela hadn't said anything, until you felt her hand at the back of your head, fingers gently running through your hair.

"you're really pretty," she finally said, voice low, and it made your heart stutter.

"what?" you asked, a little breathless.

she smiled at you, a small, sweet smile that somehow made everything feel softer. "you, of course."

you didn't know how to respond—just stared at her with wide eyes.

"cute," she added, almost like she couldn't help herself, and the word made your brain short-circuit.

those simple words knocked the breath out of you, and before you could overthink it, you blurted, "i really wanna kiss you right now"

daniela's hand slid to your cheek, her thumb brushing over your skin, and she leaned in a little closer. "kiss me then," she said, quietly.

you didn't answer out loud, just nodding and closing the distance between you two.

your lips met softly. daniela shifted, reaching past you to move something off the bed, then gently tugged you into her lap so you were straddling her.

this kiss was slower, deeper. your hands found their way into her hair, and her fingers traced up your spine before slipping under the hem of your borrowed shirt to rest at your lower back, her touch sending shivers across your skin.

you can't say you weren't expecting this when she invited you over, but now that is what happening you were glad it was daniela who picked you up and not some random uber driver

eventually, you pulled away, both of you breathing a little harder. you tucked your face into the crook of her neck without thinking.

"did you... want to do that?" you asked quietly.

"i mean of course i did," she murmured letting out a soft laugh, arms wrapping tighter around you. "i love kissing you."

as soon as you heard that you started kissing her neck, soft pecks.

"that's good," you whispered. "i feel the exact same way."

"yeah. i think you made that more than clear." she exhaled sharply, clearly flustered, but she grinned anyway.

instead of responding, you pressed another kiss on her collarbone before leaning your face into her neck. she held you even closer. neither of you said anything more for a while, but you didn't need to.

BACK | MAIN | NEXT

TAGLIST 🪩 @saysirhc @wintersgff @sixflame438 @1luvkarina @ihrtantn @yeetaberry127 @urmom2314 @vrtualstar @sed7ction @inybits @ellezra @iisayfa @firstclassjaylee @modanisgf @kristalag @chaepu @wtfisthisnoclueman @xochitlisbest @taikatime @hotluvlet @yuyuyuuuuchlo

[everrinsly]

a/n; somehow, i always imagine the boys being very flirty as they grow up hahah

a momager and her silly olympic team vibes.

the weirdo quick and the real mvp. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

more olympic team shenanigans | part 1 | part 2 | part 4

more reads!

~~~~~

Even though the boys were all grown (late twenties now, by the way), you were absolutely appalled at how they still bickered like children mid-match. At the Olympics of all major events—

“Oi! Kageyama! Stop setting like you're mad at me or something!” Hinata snapped, slapping the ball down with a little too much force... right into the net.

On the other side of the court, France's setter stifled a laugh that was immediately shot down by Suna—still holding his signature pose, arms raised, hands in front of his face. His green eyes were narrowed, glinting with a lethal glare.

Kageyama scowled. “I’m not mad! You’re the one who’s late to the spike!"

“You’re the one who keeps shifting your timing!”

“Maybe because your fucking brain’s five steps behind your feet—!”

"Or maybe it's you that can't fucking count—!"

"I was calculating optimal trajectory—"

"Optimal trajectory my ass!"

"You fucking trained on sand—and you're still shitty—"

"WHA—the fuck did you just say?!"

Atsumu sucked his teeth on the sidelines. “Well, shit... here we go again.”

Komori leaned over from his libero crouch and whispered to Sakusa in the back row. “Three guesses who’s gonna fix it.”

Bokuto perked up, hands on his hips, watching the freak duo fight (just like he and Kuroo used to do back in high school). “Wait for it…”

From the bench, Iwaizumi had given up. Clipboard on the the floor. Coach was nearly hiding away in shame, muttering something to the assistant coach. Probably (most definitely) adding in an extra training schedule.

The referee on the court had already dropped the whistle from his lips, sighing like he can't be bothered because Team Japan was the root cause of all his problems.

And the jumbotrons?

The jumbotrons caught everything. The camera crew were having the time of their lives, recording the meltdown of Team Japan.

—So that’s when you stood up from your seat near the bench, clipboard in hand, eyes soft and kind.

As you jogged onto the court during a much-needed timeout call, Sakusa muttered under his breath, “And there she goes. The real MVP comes to the rescue.”

“Bet three curry buns she fixes it in less than twenty seconds,” Iwaizumi said, arms crossed, clearly already counting down.

When you reached Hinata and Kageyama, you gently pressed a hand on each of their shoulders. Slightly damp with sweat, but you didn't care. Not when you've took care of them since high school, at their very worst to their very best.

“Hey,” you voiced, all warm and calm. “What’s going on?”

Hinata looked down at you and pouted. Literally pouted. “He’s not syncing with me.”

Kageyama huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m syncing. He’s just zigzagging like a squirrel... on fucking caffeine.”

You fought a laugh. “Okay, but think about how far you’ve come. You two read each other like a book now, right? You’ve done this dance a hundred times. You’ve already got the rhythm—you just need to trust each other again.”

Their gazes softened slightly.

You smiled, giving Hinata a playful nudge. "Remember? You used to hit Kageyama's sets with your eyes closed, Sunshine."

You turned slightly to face Kageyama and patted his chest. "And you... make sure you imagine the spiker. Not just send it high and far, okay?

You leaned up to wipe some beads of sweat off each of their foreheads with your sleeve.

“Besides,” you added, “I kind of love when you pull that sneaky slide attack, so don’t make me sad, okay?”

Hinata smirked, a cute little tilt of his lips. "I can do that, sweets!”

Kageyama adjusted his uniform collar and ran a hand through his hair, grumbling, “Fine fine. I’ll fix my toss for your slide... you just stop looking at me like that.”

“Hmm... like what?” you asked innocently.

“Like that,” he murmured.

But before you could even respond, he stomped back to the net.

(They were just as adorable now as they were back in high school).

As you trotted off the court, Suna was staring at you with a deadpan look. “Must be nice having a buffoonish-ass love language.”

You giggled softly, teasing. "Wouldn't call it buffoonish if it works, Rin. Are you just jealous?"

“Hm. Maybe,” he hummed.

Atsumu let out an exaggerated groan. “Can we get a team-wide policy? No cute manager pep talks unless we all get one.”

“You want me to pat your head too, 'Tsumu?” you said sweetly, grabbing a towel and handing it to Ushijima.

Atsumu opened his mouth, then paused, a flirty smile adorning his lips. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no, sweetheart.”

Bokuto leaned over, buffing his chest out. “Can you pat me like how you patted Kageyama?”

“You smiled at Hinata like he invented the sun,” Sakusa added with a small scowl.

Ushijima blinked. “It was motivational. Very effective.”

“Uh-huh, damn miracle worker,” Iwaizumi muttered from behind you, voice low. "An how about you all stop crowding her now. You've still got a game to play."

Your face heated, and suddenly the entire bench was smirking.

Except for Komori, who cheerfully handed you his water bottle. “You handled that really well.”

You gave him a grateful smile, laughing softly. “Thanks, 'Toya... finally someone who's a little more gown-up than the rest of you all.”

And then, Suna appeared from behind, lips brushing close to your ear as he whispered, “For the record, if you ever wanna motivate me like that, I promise ten kill blocks every set.”

“Same,” Atsumu grinned.

"You're a setter, dumbass."

"I CAN BLOCK—"

"Nah, your timing's shit—even if I count for you."

"Oh fuck you—"

“Me too, by the way!” Hinata shouted from the court, already back in position and totally recovered. “I’d fail just to get my sweat wiped with your sleeve again!”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm but heart fluttering.

“How about you all just get back out there and win,” you called, voice firm but fond.

They chorused a 'yes'—some louder, some flirter, some absolutely pretending they weren’t jealous as hell.

And as the whistle blew again and the ball flew up, Kageyama and Hinata moved in perfect sync, slamming down the point so fast it shut the opposing blockers down cold.

“Told you. Real MVP.”

[loverstrings]

Project Spindle (Chapter Two) - Established Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

She’s always known about her powers, but the truth of where they come from could shatter everything.

a.n - im glad you guys are enjoying it so far! im enjoying giving you guys these chapters! ill try to do one chapter a day but with finals it might be a little slower.

spoiler warning for thunderbolts* | masterlist

The Tower was still dark when Y/N finally pulled herself from bed, the faint buzz of energy still prickling under her skin. She hadn’t really slept—not after what she and Bucky talked about the night before. It was too much to keep sitting with, too big to leave unspoken.

She tugged one of his hoodies over her head, the familiar scent grounding her slightly as she padded into the kitchen. A soft click of mugs and cabinets filled the silence. Her fingers twitched faintly. The energy hadn’t stopped humming. Not since she’d opened that file.

She barely had time to sip her coffee before the pitter-patter of chaos began.

Bob shuffled in, wrapped in a ridiculous fleece blanket printed with cartoon puppies. His curls were a mess, eyes half shut, and he was holding an empty mug like it was a lifeline.

“Mom? Dad?” he called out in a gravelly voice. “I need guidance. And coffee.”

Y/N, already sitting at the counter, raised an eyebrow over her mug. “We’ve talked about this. I’m not your mom.”

“You say that,” Bob mumbled, dropping into the stool beside her and leaning his head dramatically on her shoulder. “But I feel emotionally abandoned when you're not near me, so explain that.”

Bucky entered from the hallway, tugging on a dark T-shirt, damp from the shower. “You’re too big to be this clingy, Bob.”

Bob perked up instantly. “Dad!”

“Stop that.” Bucky pointed at him. “I will ground you.”

“You did ground him last week,” Y/N added. “You took his dessert privileges.”

“Exactly,” Bucky said, smirking as he leaned over to press a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Consequences.”

Bob let out a dramatic sigh, like the weight of being the team’s emotionally needy golden retriever was just too much. “I just want to be loved.”

“You are,” Y/N assured him, patting his cheek. “Just... from over there.”

“No,” Bob whined, clinging to her arm again. “I’m a literal weighted blanket of affection.”

Yelena walked in wearing mismatched socks and a hoodie that belonged to Natasha. “Is this a family meeting or a cult?”

“Depends,” Ava said, trailing behind her with a banana in one hand. “Is there coffee or just sad boys pretending they don’t need therapy?”

Walker came in last, in full workout gear, looking like he’d been up since 5 am because, of course, he had. “We have training in ten. Where’s Alexei?”

“Probably still asleep in the laundry room again,” Yelena said, unfazed. “He said the dryer ‘reminds him of home.’”

“I told him he’s going to overheat and die in there,” Ava added.

“He said that’s how a hero should go,” Y/N muttered behind her mug.

Bob suddenly sat up. “Wait. If we’re training in ten… are we doing hand to hand again?”

“Yup,” Bucky said, checking his phone. “So finish up and get moving.”

“I’m gonna get tackled again,” Bob groaned, burying his face in the blanket. “You guys are supposed to protect me.”

“We’re not your real parents,” Y/N said, though her tone was affectionate.

“But you could be,” Bob said with a grin, peeking up at Bucky. “Look at him. He’s totally a stern but loving father figure.”

Bucky gave him a flat look. “You’re going to run laps for this.”

“See? That’s such a dad thing to say!”

Yelena took one look at the chaos and turned back toward the hallway. “Nope. Not dealing with this before caffeine.”

Ava followed. “I’m out. This dysfunctional family is too loud.”

Bob reached for Y/N’s hand. “Don’t let them separate us.”

She peeled his fingers off her arm. “I’m going to pretend I don’t know you in the training room.”

He gasped. “Mom!”

Bucky just shook his head and nudged Bob off the stool with his foot. “Up. Or I’m giving Walker permission to be your sparring partner.”

Bob scrambled. “I’m up! Totally up!”

Y/N laughed into her coffee. “I love this team. But I also want to lock myself in a soundproof room sometimes.”

Bucky handed her an orange slice as they followed the rest of the team out. “Yeah. But hey—at least it’s never boring.”

----

The training room echoed with the sound of punches hitting pads, grunts of exertion, and Bob’s running commentary on how this was “basically child abuse.”

“You’re twenty-seven, you absolute man-child,” Ava huffed, sweeping his legs out from under him for the third time in five minutes.

Bob hit the mat with a loud thud. Dragging himself upright with a groan, he adjusted his sparring gloves. “I get zero respect around here.”

“You earn respect through discipline,” Walker said, dead serious from the sidelines, arms crossed.

Bob blinked at him. “How is it that everything you say makes me want to give up?”

“Focus,” Ava called, already circling him again like a predator. “Or I’m going for your ribs this time.”

“You’re a menace,” Bob muttered.

Y/N had fallen quiet. She stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed tight, her eyes unfocused. Remembering the files Sam had sent over.

And her powers… were seeping. Soft pink wisps floated around her fingertips, glowing faintly—uncontrolled, leaking emotion like fog.

Bob was the first to notice, pausing mid-spar with Ava. “Uh… hey. Y/N? You’re kinda... glowing.”

Yelena blinked and jogged over, concern etched across her face. “That only happens when something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly. Too quickly.

Ava stepped closer, her usual teasing demeanor gone. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Guys—” Bucky stepped in, hand up like a stop sign. His tone was calm but firm. “Don’t push her.”

Yelena’s eyes flicked to Y/N’s hands. “That kind of energy drain messes her up. You know it does.”

Bucky turned to them with that same patience he gave her. “I know. I do. But trust her.”

Y/N glanced up, catching the moment—how they were all looking at her like they were ready to fight for her without even knowing the war.

Her voice came softer this time, but steadier.

“I need to show you guys something,” she said, meeting each of their eyes. “The reason why I’ve been feeling off.”

----

series taglist:

@rafesgurl, @seventeen-x, @moompie, @starstruckfirecat, @torntaltos, @rlphunter,

[withclawandvine]

— A Moment’s Silence

summary: Elain and Azriel slip away from a party.

wc: 3.4k

tags: yes i am continuing to push my sub az agenda !!, smut, 18+ only, oral (m!receiving), elriel month 2025, but also lowkey, elriel month 2024

author’s note: happy @elriel-month angels! this was actually intended for last year’s smutty prompt (“hold tight and don’t make a sound”), but i didn’t finish it until very recently. i think you’ll be able to see that influence in this fic hehe. also, the title comes from the hozier song bc of course it does

last but not least, a huge thank-you to @yourstarsmyscars for beta reading this for me! not even being dramatic when i say this fic probably would have never gotten posted (much less, posted in time for elriel month) without her input and encouragement!

read the whole thing on ao3 HERE, but only if you have an account — i’m sorry! it’s my only defense against the ai demon. snippet below!

Azriel was grateful for the polite dinner conversation. Or rather, for how it gradually devolved into a cacophony of voices and laughter. When it got loud like that, nobody intruded on his quiet to ask what he thought about the spiced lamb, or the unseasonable warmth. Or why he couldn’t stop glancing at the High Lady’s sister. 

The truth of the matter was that Azriel wasn’t even trying to keep his eyes away. How could he? When she was literally glittering in the amber glow of the setting sun; the facets of the innumerable jewels on her gown made the light dance across her rosy cheeks. 

How could he look away when she looked right at him, smirking, as she swirled the tip of a finger through the sauce on her plate, before bringing the digit to her lips and suckling it clean. 

Judging by the affronted noise from his left, the drink Azriel had blindly reached for to quench the heat burning through him had been Mor’s wine. And while offering her that bashful, contrite smile that had gotten him out of trouble on innumerable occasions, he sent a shadow slithering under the table, winding around Elain’s ankle in a teasing caress. 

When they toyed with each other like this, it was easier to pretend that the secrets they kept and the lies they told were simply part of a game they played. 

Finally, she made her way to him, a flute of dark wine in each hand. Leaned casually next to him, against the railing of the balcony. A cool evening breeze, scent of her hair, the perfume oil on her throat and wrists, and under it all, arousal. 

It had been driving him to madness since dinner, and her sudden proximity was nothing short of a crucible. 

“You looked like you could use this.” 

As his fingers closed around the offered drink, he raised a brow. “Did I, now?” 

She hummed her confirmation, idly tracing her fingers, cool and damp from the condensating glass, over the membrane of a wing. Azriel froze, squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re looking a bit…stiff.” 

“It’s just a headache,” he said, forcing himself to keep playing along. 

“Poor thing,” she murmured, in that mockingly cloying tone that had a near-shameful effect on him. Elain’s mouth twitched, fighting a knowing smile. “Perhaps you should go lie down for a while?” 

He knocked back his drink in one gulp. “I think I better.”

[losingtheplottie]

𝙁𝙍𝘼𝙐𝘿, rafe cameron (series)

pairing: brothers bsf!rafe x pogue!fem!reader

synopsis: After your dad was arrested for fraud and your family had to move to the cut, you lost most your kook friends, made some pogue ones, but at the end of the day the biggest thing you have from your old life is the Camerons. They kept people’s mouths shut about your family drama, as much as they could at least, and were overall there for you all. That’s why Rafe, one of the Camerons and your brothers best friend, was completely off limits. But the heart wants what it wants, no matter how much fraud is in it.

content warning: underage drinking, drug use, eventual smut, talk of jail, family issues, emotionally abuse household (kinda?), daddy issues, mh problems, read being shit talked, cursing

a/n: AHH im so scared and also very excited to put out this fic, it will be a pretty long(ish) series if it does well ♡︎. this part has literally no smut and is just to get a feel of how Y/N and Rafes relationship is!! the content warning is for the entirety of the series, not just this chapter so some things in it aren’t mentioned yet. ENJOY ML ♥︎!!

CH. 001 ✵ ‘Slummin’ it With The Pogues’

Being at mid summers after what happened was strange. You felt like you didn’t belong, like you were there out of pity, which you knew everyone else probably thought that too. You stood alone, some expensive wine in your hand, swirling it around mindlessly in the glass. When you saw Naomi you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, after all she was your best friend, only friend now actually. You walk over to her and she pulls you into a side hug as soon as she sees you. “Y/N! I’ve been looking for you everywhere” she says, letting go of the hug and smiling at you sweetly. “Yeah, I’ve just been standing here, not much to do when you know nobody here,“ you say, obviously anxious “but now I have you, what’re you doing here?” Naomi was a pogue, the first to welcome you when you moved to the cut, she also didn’t have any kook friends so seeing her here was odd. “Dishwashing duty for these lazy kooks, snuck out the kitchen for a sec’ to see you.” You sighed, realizing she’d have to go back soon and you’d be alone again. “So you gotta go back?” Her smirk faltered a bit, noticing your change in tone “Yes but I’ll be here in spirit, go hang out with your brother and them.” She looks down, taking her phone out of her pocket and checking the time “My five minutes is up, love you, go have fun and drink or something!” She said walking away “Love you too!” You yelled back, turning on your heel and going to sitting on the porch swing, swirling your wine again and zoning out.

What Naomi said had got you thinking, you hadn’t really seen your brother all night, which was surprising because he was always off causing trouble, getting drunk and loud at any and every event. You decide to get up and look for him, it was something to do anyway. The house mid summers was held at was huge and crowded, you’d searched almost every room and no sight of him. The basement was off limits for everyone buuuut it was also the only room you hadn’t been in , plus the lights were on, someone had to be down there. Walking down the creaky stairs, your mind wondered that if Conner was down here, why? ‘Probably passing a blunt around with some friends’ you guessed. As you reach the bottom step you looked around the basement, a couch with some of the teens at the party just hanging out, passing around a bottle of Tito’s, but Conner, no, he was in-front of the table, snorting cocaine, right beside Rafe Cameron, doing the same thing. You march over, your heels clacking on the ground with each step, some of the kooks gave you a dirty look, as if to say ‘What is she doing here?’ silently, and you felt each one burn your skin. But that didn’t matter, your brother doing drugs at a kook party however, yeah, that mattered. “Conner what the hell are you doing?” You ask, your voice filled with disdain. Him and Rafe looked up at you. Conners face dropped, after a moment of processing that you had seen him do coke, he smiled nervously, standing up and speaking, his voice shaky “Uh Y/N, hey. What are you doing down here??” The nerve. What were you doing down here?? He was the one doing cocaine with every kook on figure eight! Before you can respond Rafe chimes in, of course. “Chill, Y/N it’s just some coke to take the edge off of everything, he’s been stressed you know?” Of course you knew, he was your brother and you were going through all the same shit. “I know that Rafe but doing drugs, that’s not the answer to a little fucking stress.” You say, your pissed expression not changing. Rafe though, he had a smirk on his face, amused by the situation. “What, are you just mad the kooks don’t want to hang out with you anymore? I mean we see you slummin’ it with those pogues Y/N.” You were so angry you could have punched him right then and there. “Conner lets go, before mom has to find out about this whole coke ordeal.” You say, not daring to respond to Rafe. Your brother started to grab his things before Rafe spoke up again, “Cmon you really want your mom to have to leave already? It’s early and she’s probably having fun with the other .. old people or some shit.” You rolled your eyes, he was right though, neither you nor Conner had a car, and your mom wouldn’t leave already with no reason. “Well what’s your solution then cause he’s not staying down here and getting coked up.”

Ending up in Rafes car with him driving you two home wasn’t exactly a dream, especially with the tension from mid summers. You sat in the backseat looking out of the window while Rafe and Conner talked about sports or some other pointless shit. Rafe looked back at you for a minute before going back to looking at the road, “So, Y/N, being a pogue has turned you into a snitch now?” He said, acknowledging you for the first time since you got into the car. “I’m not a snitch I just don’t appreciate seeing my little brother do fucking cocaine, especially when everyone already thinks our family is full of fucking criminals.” You say, your tone sharp. “Yeah well they aren’t wrong are they? Anyways coke isn’t even that bad, just a stress reliever, seems like something you need anyways.” He says, the same amused tone he had with you earlier. You didn’t respond, what were you supposed to say? When Rafe pulled into your driveway you expected him to drop you and Conner off but instead, Rafe got out of the car as well. “Why are you getting out, Rafe?” You ask, you just wanted him to leave already but of course, Rafe had to do the most to annoy you. “Thought I’d see the new place, just looking at the outside I’m guessing it’s not an upgrade from figure eight though.”

As you unlock the door Rafe walks in, looking around like he owns the place, not bothering to take his shoes off. “Man this place is shitty.” He says, laughing a little. “Yeah no fucking shit, you thought we’d just get a mansion after basically going bankrupt?” You say, fed up and tired, walking to your room. Rafe grabs your wrist before you can leave, harshly but not to the point of it hurting. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that, okay? Pogue.” The air shifts, you could cut the tension with a knife, Conner didn’t say anything, of course he didn’t. You just pull your wrist out of his grasp and march to your room. What was wrong with him? You two used to be friends, or friendly at least, and now he thought you were the scum of the earth? And he still treated Conner the same as before? God, you didn’t know why he was being such a dick but what you did know was that Rafe Cameron sure wasn’t the same boy that he was when you lived on figure eight.

extra: truly hope you enjoyed this chapter, lmk if you want to be on the taglist. also pleeeease don’t hate, I understand that this is not the best but it is literally my first time writing a fic! + sorry it’s so short lololol 😭 I PROMISE THERE WILL BE MORE ROMANTIC(ish) TENSION NEXT CHAPTER !!

[kgirlgroup-stan]

Pretend Pt.1

fluff, g!p reader.

Y/N pov

College is full of surprises, something is always happening, even if you dont want it. My way of avoiding it was by studying, like now.

Being surrounded by nothing but books and silence. Allowing me to fully focus on my studies and for this upcoming exam i had.

I had my rhythm going before it was interrupted by a screech of a chair being pulled next to me.

"hi, y/n right?" I let out a small sigh, being annoyed that i was being interrupted. I looked over to see a very well, or i guess popular, girl at our campus.

The one and only Huh Yunjin. Which made me even more confused since why would she be talking to me. Me and her are complete opposites.

While she was outgoing, had lots of friend, loud and always talking to someone. I was one to stay inside, keep to myself, no friends, quiet, constantly studying, and having my earbuds in to avoid talking to someone.

I looked around the library, trying to see some heads peaking out, waiting for someone to pop out saying this was a prank. But nothing came. I looked back at her as she waited for my response. All i could do is nod, still confused as to why shes around me.

"sooo, whats a girl like you doing here?" she leaned against the table while resting her head on her hand, looking at me with a very small smirk on her lips.

"studying" i gave her a bland response, wanting nothing more for her to just go away. Dont get me wrong Yunjin is incredibly beautiful, but i was just feeling uncomfortable being in her presence.

"so cold to me" she pouted her lips a bit. I rolled my eyes a bit before looking back down at my notes. "look at you, smart and hot." I tensed up at bit.

"what do you want Yunjin?" i scribbled something down, trying to ignore whatever that comment made me feel.

"just wanted to talk to you." her grin widened when i looked back at her. I gave her a 'be fr right now' look. She sighed before sitting up. "fine, you got me. I need a favor, BUT i also just wanted to talk to you because i wanna get to know you better." she batted her lashes at me. 

I ignored the last comment again, keeping my bored expression the same  despite knowing that the tips of my ears were probably turning red. "What do you want?"

"soooooo basically i have a family dinner happening and I KNOW they are going to be asking me questions as to why I'm single and i dont wanna hear it. So without much thinking i instantly thought you would be the perfect candidate, so what do you say?" she clapped her hand together and set them on her lap as she gave me her famous smile.

"For one, what makes you think imma say yes, and two why me? you could literally ask anyone and trust me, they will instantly say yes," I looked at her even more confused that before. 

"that the thing y/n. I know they will, but here you are putting up a fight. You dont give in to me instantly because you hold yourself up well. I like that. Your different y/n, a good different. You're smart, attractive, selfless, and much more that you dont see." Her eyes softened with every word she spoke, if the tips of my ears weren't red before they defiantly are now.

"w-what are you saying? we dont even know each other well" she smiled and grabbed my hands, holding them in hers. I gulped before making eye contact with her.

"i've noticed things about you for a long time y/n. Which is why i know your perfect for this. I want to take someone to my family that i know will love and approve of. Sooo..?" i let out a soft sigh, i looked deeply into her eyes trying to find some sense that she was lying. 

"fine." i lowly let out. She gave my hands a squeeze as you smile grew impossibly wider. 

"thank you, pick me up at 4:30pm and we'll leave right after. I'll text you more details." she stood up then stopped when i looked her a bit confused on how she has my number already. "wow you dont remember, Im hurt." she pouted again. "Mr. Yimes class project." 

"ahhhh yes yes, sorry. That was like so long ago." she giggled at my response before leaning down and pecked my cheek, making me freeze at the sudden contact. "its okay, as long as you remembered now. Ill see you tonight." she winked, turning and walked towards the exit, leaving me in a shocked state.

After a few second, i composed myself and decided to stop studying as i knew i wasnt going to be able to focus.

**Time-skip**

Its embarrassing to admit that i actually tried to put effort in an outfit for someone that probably wont care. But here I was 3:54pm, knocking on Yunjin's dorm room door.

After a few minutes, she came out looking incredible. I couldn't manage proper words so i just showed her the flowers i got her. "t-there for you and uh y-you look n-nice." I slapped myself mentalty.

She giggled at my flustered state then grabbed the flowers with thank you before sniffing them and placing them in her doom.

"Thank you again for the flowers, you didnt have you. But i must say you look great." she nugged my side as we walked towards the car. 

"i know i didnt have to but i just wanted it to seem more geniune, you know?" i gave her a shy smile and received a bigger one from her. We reached the car and drove off. I gave the AUX to her and got lost in a bit of conversation on our way to her parents house.

Once we arrived, i felt the nerves kicking in and Yunjin seemed to notice. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it lightly. "its okay, youll be fine but if it gets too much just tell me okay." she looked at me with a genuine look of concern on her face.

With her touch alone it was enough to reassure me, I gave her a soft nod before making our way to the house. 

Her dad answered the door and welcomed us in. I firmly shook his hand and i received a warm smile. "Honey, Yunjin is here and she brought a guest." he yelled out to his wife with a playful teasing behinf his voice.

Almost instantly Yunjin's mom came out of the dining room with a surprised look on her face. it instantly changed to something warmer when she noticed us. She gave both of us a hug, "wow its nice to see a new face around here."she smiled at me before turning to Yunjin. "about time you brought someone. You better be good to her, she seems like a good soul. Now come on, foods ready."

Me and Yunjin looked at each other a bit nervously before smiling at each other. Dinner went by more casual than i thought. There were some questions about our relationship, which were answered and nobody thought twice about it.

 After dinner Yunjin's mom said for us to hang out in the living room, so we exactly that. We spoke about random things before her sister came out on nowhere and just stared at us.

"what?" yunjin sisterly grossed out look, which Yunjin's sister did back. I laughed a bit at the similaries between them. Then as quickly as she came, she disappeared. We turned to look at each other in confusion and laughed it off. 

After some time bonding it was getting late. We said our goodbyes and headed out. The car right back to Yunjin's place was nice. Nothing but comfortable silence. Even as Yunjin hand was wrapped in mine the entire way.

Once reaching campus, i walked her to her dorm. "do you want to come in, my roomate is out?" she stepped inside and looked back. I was starting to get nervous but made my way in.

She led me to the couch and she walked off to put the flowers i had gotten her into a vase.

"they loved you know. My mom, my dad and even if she didnt show it especially my sister." she glanced up at me with a soft smile resting on her lips. I fidgeted on the couch.

"I'm not so sure why, i was just being me. I didnt even speak much." my hands started playing with a loose string on my pants. 

I heard a small huff from where Yunjin was at, making me look up and seeing her, now done with the flowers, make her way towards me then stopped right in front of me.

"thats exactly why they loved you. Because you were just being you." she placed her hands on my shoulders, pushing me back against the couch. Then she slowly got on top of me, her legs on my sides, never once breaking eyes contact with me.

"you didnt have to do anything, even when you did speak, even when you laughed, even when you stayed silent then could feel that you are a great person y/n" she leaned more into me, the tips of our noses touching.

My senses felt hightened, they way she was pressing against me, the smell of her perfume invading my nose, my eyes getting lost in her brown ones, my ears picking up the way she began to take low deep breathes. All i could do was grip the fabric of the couch.

Then slowly she leaned down and captured my lips. Soft. thats all i could think. my hands made their way to her waist, gripping it slowly as i felt my body relax into the kiss.

She grunted in surprised against my lips before pulling back and looked down. I looked down with her realizing that i was starting to get hard. I looked away embrassed, i opened my mouth to apologize but was cut off by a firm kiss on my jaw, making me squeeze her waist.

"no need to be shy about it y/n, its natural" she kissed higher before turning my head with her hand  to look at her. I felt the other hand run done my stomach and rest against my member, grazing it lightly, making me let out a shaky breath.

She smirked as she placed her hands back on my shoulder and pecked my lips. "too bad i dont third base on the first date huh?" I couldnt help but playfully scoff and lean my head back with a smirk on my face. 

"your evil. this is not how i thought today would go." i moved my head so i was looking at her again. 

"yeah me neither but hey im not compaining." her hand played with the back of my neck, her smirk now turning into a smile.

I was about to say something back before we heard the noise to her door start open. Yunjin quickly got off and made it seem like we werent doing anything. Thankfully but this time my boner was also gone.

"hi yunjin.....and yunjin's pretty friend" her roomate came in looking a bit tired but changed when she noticed me. I sent her a wave and Yunjin rolled her eyes. "leave her alone Chaewon."

Chaewon had a mocking pout on her lips as she shrugged her shoulder, while she made her way to her room and winked at me before closing the door.

I cleared out my throat. "well....your roomate seems nice." i awkwardly looked her Yunjin who was glaring at Chaewons door.

"shes not nice when she wants to take things that arent even hers." Yunjin said in a low voice, low that once could easily miss. I pretended to not hear mainly because i didnt know what she was talking about.

She then look at me, her gaze softening." well i just want to say thank you again for today. It meant a lot." It took me a bit by suprise on how fast she was able to change.

"o-of course, i had fun and i enjoyed it." a reassuring smile made its way to my lips. She looked over my featured for a second before leaning in and kissing my lips agasint.

"im glad, cuz i did too."she whispered agasint my lips before backing up. Smiling smuggly at my expression. "i hope you dont mind continuing to accompany me to those family event."

I didnt even proccess what she said but i felt my head agreeing with whatever she just said. She giggled at my burning red ears. "good"

I snapped myself out of the trance "y-yeah" then slowly stood up, making Yunjin stand up with me. "w-well see you M-monday." i awkwardly made my way out her door, i turned to look her her smirking at me while leaning a bit against the door frame.

"alright, see you then." i turned and was about to walk when i was stopped. "arent you forgetting something?" i turned back and patted myself down. My keys. I looked up to see Yunjin swinging the keys on her finger. 

I sighed and got closer to her to grab my keys. Just as my hand was going to grab them she pulled them back, making me look at her confused. " i need something first." she then closed her eyes and pointed at her lips.

I couldnt help but laugh at her antics but ultimately gave in. I leaned in and placed a firm kiss on her lips and pulled back with a grin.

"fine, you win this time. Goodnight y/n." she handed me my keys before closing the door to her dorm.

I took a small moment and began to walk to my building. I still couldnt believe how this day ended up but one thing is for certain.......i dont think im pretending.

[aleburton]

Alex carefully gathered numerous silver beads scattered across the bathroom floor, cradling them in the palm of her hand. Balanced on her knees, she moved with a sense of urgency, her eyes filled with tears. Slate streams of mascara traced down her cheeks, chin, and neck as she worked tirelessly to dispose of the evidence in the nearby trashcan. Exhaustion clung to her, yet a sense of determination drove her to clean up before Andrew’s return. The night had taken a dark turn, leaving her grappling with the aftermath. Strangely, she chose to conceal the true reason behind her seemingly unnatural behavior from him. Despite his unwavering support and love, an upspoken fear lingered. He had never shown a hint of judgment; instead, he had been a pillar of strength through all of the vulnerabilities she had shared with him. However, it wasn’t as straightforward as confessing to anxiety attack. She anticipated a barrage of questions that would inevitably follow, probing into the root cause of the emotional upheaval. Hesitant to resort to dishonesty, she worried that if he pressed hard enough, she might be compelled to reveal the truth about Zach. Adding to her apprehension, she foresaw the possibility of him questioning why she hadn’t confided in him earlier, or if there were any other omissions or half-truths that she told. She felt her only option was to remain silent.

Rising from the ground, Alex wiped away her tears with the tips of her fingers. The haunting image of the disappointment in Andrew’s eyes remained in her mind. The simple of act of showing up for one of the most significant events of his life, wearing a stunning smile, and posing for the camera seemed insurmountable for her in that moment. Instead of offering a sincere apology and quietly retreating, she had chosen to escalate the situation by calling off their engagement. It felt like a page torn from her story with Zach. The memories flooded in – times when she had threatened to end things, push him away, and let him grapple with the aftermath of her emotional explosions. She had worked so hard not to be that person anymore, but his reaction stung. The unexpected chastisement, his words cutting like a sharp rebuke, left her feeling exposed and humiliated. The physical act of being dragged out by the arm, reminiscent of a child deserving of a scolding in front of everyone, shattered her expectations of him. Alex gathered her dark brown curls into a loose bun atop her head. She began rinsing away the remnants of her already ruined makeup in preparation for bed. Though she had a strong urge to book the first flight back to Los Angeles, she resisted the familiar urge to escape from confrontation. Adept at arguing and very skilled in avoiding a resolution by running away, she understood that she needed to prove her growth.

Alex recognized that true maturity lay in facing difficult conversations head-on and as such, made a conscious decision to stay and talk through things with him, no matter how challenging the dialogue or whether it would lead to them parting ways. She then tucked herself into their bed and fell asleep. Hours later, Andrew returned home, his fingers working to loosen the silk, silver fabric of his tie from around his neck. Entering the bedroom with a quiet tread, he was taken aback to find her peacefully asleep. Given the intensity of their earlier disagreement, he half-expected her to purposefully retreat to the guestroom, a silent assertion of her discontent with him. Approaching her side of the bed, he reached into his pocket, retrieving her engagement ring. With utmost gentleness, her returned it to its rightful place on her finger. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head. After preparing for bed, he joined Alex beneath the plush duvet, slipping into the comforting cocoon of shared warmth. His muscular arms encircled her waist, prompting a gentle stir from her. Andrew found himself unsuccessful in his attempt to soothe her back to sleep as she turned carefully to face him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly, tears welling in her eyes. In response, he smiled, his hand delicately brushing a loose tendril from her face to behind her ear. “Me too.”

Alex’s brows knitted together with the soft expression of confusion. “You don’t have to be,” she insisted, her remorse evident. “I ruined you night. I feel horrible.” Swallowing, Andrew reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, gently kissing each of her knuckles. “You didn’t ruin my night. I shouldn’t have confronted you like that,” he admitted. Regret lingered in his sigh. “I knew something was wrong when I left earlier. I wish I would have just asked you. What happened, baby?” he inquired, his concern now evident. God, she didn’t deserve him. As tears rolled down the side of her nose, sinking into the sheets, Alex bravely attempted to explain. She opened up about the panic attack, describing how she had torn her dress to near shreds in a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sense of impending doom. She shared the details of taking medication, hoping to muster the strength to show up for him that night, only for it have adverse effects. Andrew refrained from asking about a trigger. Instead, he made the compassionate implication that perhaps the stress he had unintentionally placed on her had taken a toll. “Is it the wedding planning? I know my mother has been a little excited about it lately, but there’s no rush. We can take all the time that we need,” he offered, seeking to understand without pressing for specifics.

She neither confirmed nor denied whether the wedding plans were the root cause of her spiral. Instead, she responded with a kiss, grateful for the understanding and the opportunity for an emotional reprieve that she hadn’t realized she needed. “But I can still go shopping for a dress,” Alex remarked, sniffling away her tears. Andrew laughed, pressing a tender kiss to the bridge of her nose and nodding, “Yes, you can. Why don’t you fly Eden and Naomi in this weekend? You can make it a big ordeal. It’ll be fun.”Shortly thereafter, they shared a moment of intimacy. As they made love, the connection between them felt reaffirmed, and Alex, once again, fell back to sleep with a newfound confidence in their relationship. Over the course of the next few months, Alex embarked on a journey of taking small but meaningful steps to plan their day. Set for a cool day in October, just past five o’clock in the evening, the chosen venue held special significance – the very place where they first met. In the culmination of their love story, Alex was poised to become Mrs. Andrew J. Dupree.

--

Drew awoke that morning with an unusual burst of energy. Pacing around the kitchen, black coffee in one hand and phone in the other, he searched for an important document. Meanwhile, Alex, sipping on her matcha latte, casually lifted the sought-after paper into the air, playfully waving it back and forth. “Looking for this?” He smirked, narrowing his eyes as he plucked the document from her fingers. “What’s with you this morning? Have a hot date or something?” He teased. Quick to reply, Drew explained, “Actually, yes. Kylie French at 1:00 PM. The Ritz-Carlton. We’re making moves on this new album.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, what?” she questioned. Walking over to the sink, Drew emptied his coffee cup and answered, “I told you the other day, didn’t I?” Alex shook her head, leaning away from him as he leaned in for a kiss. “No, I don’t think you did. I’m sure I would remember. We’re supposed to meet at 2:30 PM with the wedding planner,” she reminded him. “I wouldn’t miss it, Ale. But, I gotta go or I’m gonna be late.” Instead of asking for a wish of good luck, Drew, exuding confidence, pressed a quick kiss to her lips and made his way out. As he showed himself out, Alex’s nerves showed themselves in. A shiver ran down her spine, a reminder that Zach was now several degrees closer.

“Aunt Kylie,” Warren pointed at the TV, laughing. “Aunt Kylie on the TV.” Zach smiled down at him, stretched out on the sofa, nursing a non-alcoholic beer he hated drinking. “Sure is, man,” he tipped the bottle in one hand and caught the softball flying at his head in the other. He tossed it back to his brother. “You miss her?” Zach asked. Warren laughed, waddling after the ball, shaking his head. “No, Aunt Kylie is here, on TV. You talk to her now. I miss Lucky. Lucky isn’t here OR on TV.” Zach laughed; Lucky was Paula’s new Golden Retriever puppy. The ball came sailing back to him and he caught it again, to Warren’s loud delight. “Lucky misses you too. He just called me a second ago and told me.” Warren, now attempting to climb up onto the sofa, laughed hysterically. “No he didn’t. He’s a dog. Dog's don't have phones.” Zach was half-present, watching Ky’s eyes like sapphires glinting on the screen, tumbles of gold assembled into a braided half-updo. “He did. He also said you stink,” he playfully pushed a clambering, almost-two-year-old body from him, sending his little limbs falling back into the cushions. Warren shrieked. “He didn’t! Only grown up have phones.”

“Did so. He said your farts stink bad.” Kylie was strapped up in a white, doll-like dress, the skirt puffing out around her like a pastry; her legs careened down into matching platform heels, which she kicked around when the host mentioned Zach’s name. A photo of the two of them locked in a kiss at a recent music award ceremony flashed up on the huge screens behind them, one Zach had actually never seen before, and Kylie seemed to shy away into her hands. Zach rolled his eyes, smirking, and pushed Warren back again as he attempted to climb his big brother like a ladder. Playing with Warren had become like second nature; he barely registered continuing to do so as he fixated on his girlfriend. Kylie, unaware of the domesticity back home, talked in her animated, quippy way about Zach as she was asked how they met. “But he didn’t call me back for months - no, it’s true!” she argued with the protesting crowd. “He would only text every now and then, I had to really bug him to get the attention I wanted. It was like I was having a flirtation with a very successful Zach Winthrop catfish.” The host admonished her, waving his hand dramatically. "Not giving YOU attention? Don't be ridiculous!" Kylie grinned like she had a delicious secret. "Don't worry about me. Now I get all the attention from him I need."

She knew how to work a crowd; certainly better at it than he ever was, or could ever hope to be. Zach was, ultimately, an artist. His talent was the catalyst in which he was thrust into the world, not the cherry on top of an already loveable persona. In fact, the thing he’d had to work hardest at over the years was ensuring his true self was dutifully contained in order to gain and stay in the public's favor. However, in the last few, he had fallen out and back into that very favor multiple times; always in cataclysmic manners. His relationship with Kylie had helped repair public opinion of him, as had his brother, who he now scooped into his lap and let play with his empty bottle. But, mostly, with his rehab stint being widely accepted as his first step to taking accountability for his poor behavior over the years, what the world had really needed to heal their relationship to him had been distance. Each time he was photographed now, whether it be through a long lens he hadn’t noticed while out on a walk with Warren, or at an event attended only to be on Kylie's arm for, an outcry followed in which hundreds of thousands requested he come back to his life in the limelight. It might only be wound closures to a gaping hole, but it helped to see the demand. It made him less anxious surrounding his potential return to his career, to try all over again, attempt to do success the right way. It had been a little over two years since the end of his tour, the one he never stayed sober long enough to take overseas, and he had a backlog of a hundred or more songs he’d created in his time off ready and waiting to be made into an album. Amanda was finally on his back about it, too. She’d given him the time he needed, and now she thought he might just be being lazy. 

And maybe he was. Maybe he liked the slow version of his life. Maybe he was finally coming to know what peace felt like, and was scared to rock the boat should it flop overboard and into the ocean. He didn’t know his reasons, and wouldn’t find out; he’d stopped going to therapy. With the merger more than underway, Kylie and Andrew Dupree were in frequent discussion both over the phone and, when they could, in person, regarding her second album. She and Zach had since discussed the possibility of Zach eventually working with Andrew, who had made it very clear he hadn’t forgotten about him, and she was at peace with it. “It wasn’t ever about sharing a CEO, Zach,” she’d explained. “I was just touchy because it felt like… you know, the meeting that was supposed to be about me was suddenly all about you. I just felt small. But I don’t anymore. You took care of that.” And Zach had teased her. “Labelmates, huh? Finally making it to second base.” Now, after Kylie’s interview and performance was over and Warren had fallen asleep on his chest, he carried him up to bed and went into his rarely-used study. Absently, pushing another non-alcoholic beer around on naked mahogany, he googled Andrew Dupree on his computer. He wasn’t sure to what end; what insight did googling a person ever offer? Surface understandings, mangled half-truths, professional pictures under studio lighting. Nothing of substance. However, he found an article in which Andrew was mentioned among a handful of other entertainment aficionados. It looked like Time magazine had honored him with an award celebrating his efforts with The Label, having taken the company above and beyond even his father’s original vision. A photograph of him commemorated the event, onstage mid-speech, holding his award out proudly. 

Zach leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him, and texted Kylie: U did incredible babe. Seeing her live in a chasm of his former glory had, for a time, been gratifying; he’d liked being in the buzz without being at the pinnacle of it, liked that she’d leaned on him when it got too hard, knowing he was the only one who would understand, liked the time off while still enjoying all the perks. But lately, he had to admit to himself, he was getting antsy. A signifier was his sad indulgence in his non-alcohol; a placebo to pacify his burgeoning boredom. He was craving something for himself, beyond supporting Kylie and helping to raise his brother. Was he selfish for that? Oddly, he felt he had nowhere to turn with this emotional stranding. He felt like an island; water-locked, isolated. He scratched his neck, swiveling around in the office chair to gaze out at the winking California sky, deep blue and bruising with weariness, her stars dimming. He thought again of Alex, an involuntary response he experienced less and less nowadays, but still too often considering it had now been almost two years since they had gone their separate ways. It was only that he knew she would know what to say; she'd reach her fingers effortlessly into his chest and bring forth his truth in her clenched fist, give him an answer he didn’t know he had. He spun again and again, letting himself get dizzy, like maybe the alcohol was real and going to his head. “Fuck it,” he mumbled finally, stopping dead with his hands hard on the desk. He emailed the Time magazine article to Amanda with no body text, only the subject line: ? :).

[connorsui]

He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.

Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”

He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”

His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[incognit0slut]

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut. 

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

-

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I love to get 2 on

Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, Toji x fem!Reader, mmf, polyamory, cursing, smut (fighting over who gets to breed you), dumbification, finger sucking, breeding kink duh, implied size kink, daddy kink, mdni.

An: this is so self indulgent of me to write but idc nothing else is intriguing me besides this thought. this will likely end up being a small series because i have sooooo many ideas about these two nasty fucks.

Having both Toji and Satoru as boyfriends was not for the weak willed because these two men are constantly at each other’s throats when it comes to your attention.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me. ‘m the one givin this pussy what she wants.” Toji’s husky voice growls into your ear, breath fanning across your skin before he grunts.

His hips are slapping against yours — fucking you deep into the mattress while his heavy cock slides in and out of your sloppy hole. Pornographic squelches are coming straight from your pussy, making you cringe, but both of your boyfriends seem to be going feral from it.

Satoru’s pale blue eyes roll as Toji once again steals the show away from him. His palm cups your chin, and he drags your focus right back to his swollen cock. His tip is a pretty shade of pink, and it’s sweltering — leaking beads of precum over and over while he leisurely drags his hand up and down his length .

“Don’t listen to him. Look at Toru.” He coos with a grin, loving how fucked out your face gets when Toji absolutely ruins you. “He’s just a placeholder, riiight~? You’re still going to let me breed you after.”

You’re so pliant for them, nodding your head like a dumb slut. Nothing else in the world is better than when they both take turns breeding you again and again.

“This placeholders ‘bout to make her cum again.” Toji taunts, gripping your hips with bruising strength as he rolls his hips just the way you like. His tip presses kisses of precum so deep inside you. You can barely breathe much less think.

“You better not, princess. Suppose to wait for Toru, remember?” Satoru’s voice grows stern, and his eyes bore into yours in an almost eerie fashion.

“C’mon, doll. Cum for daddy. I can feel you tightening around me. I know ya want to.”

It’s all so much. Watching Satoru fuck into his wrist while Toji’s tip is practically massaging your g-spot. You give Satoru a sorrowful glance before letting out a pleasured cry. Your hands fist at the sheets, and your toes literally curl as juices gush out around the base of Toji’s cock.

“Yeeaah, not bad for a placeholder, right?” Toji’s lips quirk up into a smirk before he presses a kiss to your lips, drinking down your moans just to rub it in Satoru’s face even more.

All it takes is one look from Satoru, and Toji slides out of you with a grin. “I got ‘er warmed up for ya.” Toji laughs as he and Satoru switch positions. You lazily part your thighs for Satoru, still trying to catch your breath from the soul shattering orgasm Toji just gave you.

“Nuh uh. You wanted to be a slut on his cock. ‘m gonna treat you like one.” His hands grab your waist, and he rolls you onto your stomach forcefully.

From the outside, everyone would probably guess that brooding Toji’s the mean one in these scenarios, but they’d be dead wrong.

Satoru, after a life of being spoilt, gets so rude and aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants. Toji purposefully pushes him to that point — partly so he can watch you get railed deeply into the mattress until tears fall from your eyes.

The heel of Satoru’s palm connects with your back, and he forces your face and shoulders down into the sheets while his other hands guides his cock to your weeping entrance.

You grip at the sheets immediately, letting out a hiss as he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one fluid thrust.

“Fuck.” Satoru groans as if he’s genuinely mad at how wet you are — frustrated that Toji could get you this messy.

Toji brushes your hair away from your face, and his large palm rubs at your cheek gently — a tender reminder to keep your eyes on him while he jerks his cock right in front of your face.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you? I was- ngh.. gonna be nice to you tonight… since hah~ I’m trying to put a baby in you.” Satoru’s hips are forcefully slamming into your backside. He’s not moving fast, but his pace is punishing. “Toji’s already got a kid. It’s my turn.”

Your juices are seeping around his cock, forming a thin white line right around the base that makes Satoru’s cock twitch in delight. His hand slaps at the fat of your ass smack! before he’s pulling on your hips, making you meet him halfway just so he can make his thrusts count.

“Takin’ him so well. Keep it up for, daddy, yeah?” Toji murmurs before pressing a loving kiss to your temple.

Your mouth opens for Toji, and he gives you an affectionate chuckle before placing his thumb against your tongue to soothe that oral fixation you have. He knows that if he fucks your face, Satoru will have even more of a hissy fit and probably fuck you out of commission for a few days.

“Focus on him, doll. Looks like he’s making ya feel real good.” You nod, sucking on Toji’s thumb in between breathless whines and moans.

Satoru’s balls are so heavy, brutally slapping against your puffy clit with each thrust. Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! He’s been saving up for you, adamant that he needs to breed you. He’s the upcoming Gojo clan head after all; it’s natural that those old hags want a baby with his blessed genes.

All it takes is feeling your spongy walls clench around him like a vice, and Satoru’s jerking you up by your arms, forcing your back in to an arch to where the imprint of his dick bulges through your belly.

Both of you are so noisy when you cum, Toji thinks. He watches in slight awe as Satoru pumps you full with his sticky seed. He can tell by the look on Satoru’s face that you’re milking him for all he’s worth too, and it’s so fucking hot.

Toji pushes you back down into the bed. Both men aren’t good with words. They’re good at doing. He arches his hips out before rope after rope of white hot cum spurt from his tip all over your face, marking his territory.

After a moment of cleaning up and giving you small tokens of affection through praises and kisses, the men are right back at each other’s throats.

“Ya know, if you’re not able to keep up, I can breed her cunt, and let ya pass off my kid as yours.” Toji taunts with a smirk.

“Yeah, as if your first kid didn’t look like he came from your ass. Fat chance. Sweets and I are gonna make a pretty blue-eyed baby with white hair.” Satoru hums as he affectionately ruffles your hair. “Isn’t that right, pretty~?”

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

[🤍] imagine being hit with an aphrodisiac and trying to hide the effects it had on you during a mission with phainon and Mydei oughhh.

Like they notice something was up but the reader is too embarrassed to admit it until they collapse onto the floor a beg for help.

Sopping wet cat energy….. literally LMAOOOO

MISSION : SOAKED.

❦ paring : phainon x cat fem!reader x mydei. (mdni)

❧ synopsis : You get hit with an aphrodisiac mid-mission and end up begging Phainon and Mydei to stuff both your holes full.

❦ tws : nsfw/smut, aphrodisiac, overstimulation, size kink, bulge kink, tail pulling, pet-names, dumbification, semi- public desperation, teasing, embarrassment, hybrids, sopping wet, creampie (vaginal & anal), threesome and mild breeding kink.

The worst part wasn’t the heat pooling between your legs.

It wasn’t the way your thighs squished together every time you took a step, or how your soaked panties clung to your pussy, sticky and slick under your uniform.

No, the worst part was that they noticed.

You could feel it—Phainon's eyes on your swaying ass, Mydei’s smug little smirk every time your breath hitched.

“Awfully quiet, kitty,” Mydei purred, casually brushing past you in the dim, dusty corridor. “You’re not sick, are you? Or are you just shy?”

“I-I’m fineee,” you stammered, voice breathy and high, your tail twitching behind you like it had a mind of its own. “M’jus’—mhm—focused!”

Phainon snorted under his breath. “Focused. Sure.”

You tried so hard to act normal.

To not sink to your knees and rub against the cool floor.

To not whimper at every vibration of your heels against the ground.

But the aphrodisiac was relentless. You didn’t even know where it came from—some weird gas trap, probably. All you knew was that you couldn’t stop squirming. Couldn’t stop thinking about their fingers. Their voices. Their cocks.

“Aww, look at your ears twitching,” Mydei cooed behind you, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re dripping, huh?”

“I’m not—!” you gasped, turning around too fast and stumbling. “I’m not—mmh! N-Not d-dripping!”

Drip.

The sound was real.

So was the way your slick trickled down your inner thighs.

So was the heat building too fast to handle.

You dropped to your knees with a soft, dizzy moan, pawing at the front of your uniform.

“Please…” you finally whimpered, tears welling in your big glossy eyes. “S’too much… c-can’t think… need help…”

Phainon crouched down, slow and cruel, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “You couldn’t even ask properly, kitty.”

“Didn’t wanna be messy…” you sniffled, face flushed, lips glossy from where you’d been sucking on them trying not to moan. “Didn’t wanna ruin the mission…”

Mydei leaned against the wall with a chuckle. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You’re a mess. A cute little sopping mess.”

Phainon’s gloved hand slid between your thighs and you yowled, body jolting as his fingers brushed your soaked panties. “She’s drenched.”

“Aww, she is,” Mydei laughed. “C’mon, little kitty. Say please.”

“Please!” you gasped, tail curling helplessly as you humped Phainon’s hand like a needy thing. “Please fix me…I need it—need you!

Your pupils were blown wide, tongue poking out, your head rolling back against Phainon’s chest as he pulled you into his lap. Mydei sauntered over, crouching beside you, licking his lips.

“Don’t worry,” he said, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead. “We’ll help you, baby.”

Phainon chuckled darkly. “But after this? You’re never going out on a mission with us unsupervised again.”

Phainon had you spread out on the cold floor, your legs trembling in the air, panties ripped to shreds and tossed somewhere behind him. Mydei sat behind you, big hands stroking your tail, watching your slick hole clench around nothing.

“Aw, look at her,” Mydei murmured, rubbing circles around your twitching rim. “All floppy. All loose. She’s not gonna remember her own name after this.”

“Mmnh—‘m (Name)…” you whimpered weakly, though your voice sounded dazed and high and sooo faraway.

“Not right now, you’re not,” Phainon muttered, lining his cock up with your soaked pussy. “Right now, you’re just a dumb lil’ kitty.”

You moaned out loud when he slid in—slow at first, stretching you open inch by inch while your insides clenched desperately around him.

“Fuck, she’s sucking me in—she needs this,” he growled, grinding deeper until his tip kissed your cervix.

“I think she’s ready for two,” Mydei said lazily, spitting into his palm before lining himself up with your other hole. “Hold her still.”

You could barely even gasp before your back hole was breached, your pussy already full and pulsing. Your eyes rolled back the second Mydei pushed in behind Phainon, both cocks pressing snugly inside your overstimulated body.

“Uhhnn—too full—!!” you sobbed, toes curling, ears flopping down against your head.

“S’okay, baby,” Mydei cooed, licking the shell of your ear. “You’re made to be full. You’re made for us.”

Phainon grabbed your tail and tugged. Hard. You squealed, tightening deliciously around both of them.

“That shut her brain off,” he smirked, pulling back just enough to thrust in hard. “Let’s see how many times we can make her squirt before she passes out.”

They fucked you in perfect rhythm, your pussy squelching with every thrust, your ass stretched wide, spit and slick dripping down to the floor beneath you. The mission was long forgotten. All that mattered now was taking it—their cocks, their cum, their filthy words filling your fuzzy, aphrodisiac-soaked brain.

Your belly bulged where they pressed inside, and you whimpered, pawing uselessly at Phainon’s chest.

“C-cumming—again—can’t—!!”

“Take it, kitty,” Phainon growled. “Be a good little thing and let us fill you up.”

You cried out when they finally came together, Mydei first, stuffing your ass full of hot cum while Phainon buried himself to the hilt, spurting deep into your fluttering cunt. Both loads overflowed—your pussy gushing a messy creampie that dripped down your thighs, your ass twitching as thick white cum leaked from your hole.

You collapsed bonelessly between them, your eyes glossy and lips parted, drooling a little.

“Mission complete,” Mydei said smugly, patting your head.

“Barely,” Phainon replied, pulling you into his arms like a ragdoll. “Let’s get her back to the ship. She’s not walking for days.”

“Mmhm…” you mumbled, tail wagging weakly, still twitching around both their loads. “Love… my boys…”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[amoressb]

───── GIRLY GIRL 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ who would’ve thought riki would date the exact polar opposite of himself ｡｡ ʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

FLUFF & wc. 1600 / kissing , skinship , petnames ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

you’re perched on rikis bed, legs folded neatly underneath you, watching as he rummages through his closet. his room is a perfect reflection of him. it’s minimalistic yet cozy, with a few scattered items that scream nishimura riki—a lego set on his desk, a random beanie tossed over a chair, and a collection of hoodies taking up most of his closet space.

he lets out a dramatic sigh, pulling out a dark gray hoodie before turning toward you. “here,” he says, tossing it over your head.

you squeak, wiggling your arms free before slipping it on. it’s oversized, drowning your smaller frame, and smells just like him. it’s a mix of fresh laundry, cologne, and something uniquely Riki.

“you love making me look tiny, don’t you?” you tease, hugging the sleeves around your hands.

riki smirks, walking over and leaning down so his face is level with yours. “yeah,” he admits shamelessly, tilting his head. “it’s cute.”

your cheeks warm, but you roll your eyes playfully. “fake emo boyfriend thinks i’m cute, what a shocker.”

“fake emo boyfriend is crazy,” riki deadpans, nudging your cheek with his nose. “i’m literally so mysterious.”

you giggle, poking his stomach. “baby, you laugh at your own jokes and trip over air. you are not mysterious. if anything, you’re just a cutie patootie.”

he groans, dramatically flopping onto the bed beside you. “cutie patootie should be illegal. take it back.”

“nope,” you say, shifting so you’re half on top of him. “you’re a cutie patootie and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

riki exhales through his nose, rolling his eyes, but the way his arms immediately circle around your waist says otherwise. “you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, his voice low and affectionate.

you nuzzle into his chest, smiling against the fabric of his hoodie. “i know.”

the dorm is already buzzing with energy when you step inside, but the second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise dies down. six pairs of eyes immediately snap toward you.

“riki, you’re joking,” sunoo blurts, eyes wide in disbelief.

“who is this angel and what is she doing with you?” jake teases, crossing his arms with an amused smirk.

“she’s too pretty for you,” jungwon adds bluntly.

your cheeks heat up at the sudden attention, and you instinctively shift closer to riki. he, of course, doesn’t miss a beat and his arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

“yeah, yeah, ha ha,” riki deadpans, rolling his eyes. “okay this is y/n, my girlfriend. i know, shocking revelation.”

his members don’t respond immediately. instead, they exchange glances, their expressions a mix of surprise, amusement, and utter disbelief.

“you’re so…” sunghoon trails off, scanning you from head to toe before settling on riki. “girly.”

“and?” riki challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“it’s just—” sunoo gestures vaguely between the two of you. “we all thought you’d end up with someone like…i don’t know, a female version of you?”

“yeah, like, all dark clothes, quiet, super sarcastic, probably into gaming just like you,” heeseung adds, rubbing his chin like he’s solving a mystery.

“but instead, you’re dating—” jungwon gestures to you. “her.”

you blink, “what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, raising a brow, though your voice remains playful.

“you’re all soft and pretty and you literally look like you stepped out of a pinterest board,” jay says, nodding toward your outfit, a cute, pastel-toned ensemble accessorized with dainty jewelry. “we just didn’t see it coming.”

riki grins, tightening his grip on you. “i like my girlfriend all soft and pretty. she’s my princess.”

your heart flutters at his words, and you instinctively squeeze his hand. “rikiiiii,” you whine playfully, hiding your face in his hoodie.

jungwon lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. “this is actually insane. i never thought i’d see the day riki became whipped.”

“i am not whipped,” riki scoffs, immediately going on the defensive.

“oh, really?” jake smirks, stepping forward. “then prove it.”

“what do you mean, prove it?” riki narrows his eyes.

“let go of her,” jake says simply, nodding toward his arm around your waist. “if you’re not whipped, you can let her go, right?” riki doesn’t move. the room erupts in laughter.

“oh my god,” sunoo gasps between wheezes. “he actually can’t let go.”

“shut up,” riki grumbles, but his grip on you only tightens.

you giggle, tilting your head up to look at him. “you are kinda proving their point, baby.”

riki exhales sharply before dramatically peeling his hand away from your waist, only to immediately grab your fingers instead. “there,” he mutters. “happy?”

“that doesn’t count!” sunghoon laughs. “you’re still holding her!”

“you guys are so annoying,” riki groans, but he’s smiling despite himself.

“okay, okay,” heeseung grins, clapping his hands together. “y/n, since you’re officially part of the group now, we need to ask you some important questions.”

you perk up. “oh? like what?”

“first,” jay starts, leaning forward like he’s about to uncover a huge secret. “who made the first move?”

riki snorts. “me, obviously.”

“are you sure?” sunoo arches a brow. “i feel like she had to force you into realizing your feelings.”

“hey!” riki glares. “i realized them on my own.”

you hum, tilting your head playfully. “i did have to wait a bit for him to catch up.”

the room explodes with laughter again, and riki looks personally offended. “baby,” he whines. “you’re supposed to be on my side!”

you giggle, squeezing his hand. “i am, baby. i’m just also right.” his members coo at the interaction and riki groans, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“okay, next question,” heeseung continues, thoroughly enjoying this. “what’s the cutest thing riki has ever done for you?”

you pause, thinking. “hmmm…he always makes sure i have one of his hoodies when i stay over, and he buys me snacks in my favorite flavors without me even asking.”

“that’s so soft,” sunoo gasps dramatically. “who is this riki, and what did he do with the old one?”

“right?” jake shakes his head. “he used to make fun of us for being romantic, and now he’s out here being all boyfriend coded.”

“okay, that’s enough questions,” riki cuts in, glaring at his members. “we get it. i have the best girlfriend ever.”

you beam up at him, batting your lashes. “awww, you think i’m the best?”

riki sighs, but the way he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear betrays him. “yeah,” he mutters. “you know i do.”

his members all groan in unison.

“this is so unfair,” jungwon complains. “i thought riki was gonna be the last one to act all lovey dovey, but he’s actually the worst one.”

“it’s sickening,” sunghoon nods.

“get used to it,” riki smirks. “she’s not going anywhere.”

you lean into his side, smiling as his fingers intertwine with yours. “nope,” you agree. “i’m not going anywhere.”

his members groan again, but the teasing fades into something softer, something almost approving.

maybe you weren’t who they expected, but watching riki beam at you like you were his entire world?

yeah, they could definitely get used to this.

hours later, after playing games, eating snacks, and listening to rikis members tease him relentlessly about you, he finally tugs you away to his room.

the door shuts softly behind you, enclosing you both in a peaceful quiet that contrasts the lively energy outside. you let out a sigh, stretching your arms above your head before flopping onto his bed.

“they were so nice,” you hum. “i thought i was gonna be nervous, but they made me feel so welcome.”

riki hums, settling beside you. “too welcome,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “i thought jake was gonna steal you away.”

you giggle, shifting onto your side to face him. “never,” you promise, reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair back then resting your hand on his cheek, softly caressing him. “i’m your girlfriend, remember?”

his gaze softens instantly. “mine,” he echoes, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hip.

you nod, letting your hand now rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “yours,” you confirm.

riki exhales deeply, like he’s processing the weight of your words, then leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “can i kiss you?” he murmurs.

your heart stutters. even after all this time, he still asks.

“of course, baby,” you whisper.

riki cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin before he finally presses his lips against yours. the kiss is slow, gentle, like he’s savoring the moment. when he pulls away, his lips linger against yours, reluctant to break the contact completely.

“you make me so soft,” he mutters, half annoyed but mostly in awe.

you giggle, playing with the collar of his hoodie. “you like it.”

riki groans, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him so you’re curled against his chest. “maybe,” he admits, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

you snuggle closer, letting your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest. “i thought bringing you here would be kinda nerve wracking,” he murmurs. “but having you next to me just makes everything feel…easy.”

your lips curve into a soft smile. “that’s because i’m your safe place, duh.”

riki goes quiet for a moment, then exhales, tightening his hold around you. “yeah,” he whispers. “you really are, my love.”

with one last kiss to your forehead, he tucks you against his chest, holding you close as sleep starts to pull you both under—wrapped up in warmth, in love, in each other.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva

[imaginedisish]

I'm Not In Love (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Okay, so this if my first fic in over a year, and it's also my first Wolverine fic...so please be kind. I'm just getting back into the groove. Expect it to possibly be a little rough. This is big time inspired by "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc. This fic is also thanks to a request I got from an anonymous user! Thanks for the idea, anon! Hope it's okay! Enjoy guys.

Summary: After harboring a crush on Logan for months, things finally come to a head while on an overnight mission.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. There's like no plot here just smut, Unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), AFAB reader, Sizekink!(this was a specific size kink request, and so the reader is therefore described as being smaller than Logan/his shirt being big on her), cursing, praise kink, OOC!Logan (just putting this out there because I haven't seen the X-Men movies/read X-Men comics in forever and I'm probably giving him terms he doesn't use/having him act in ways he might not typically), feelings, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, one bed muahaha, probably grammar errors, think that's it?

Word Count: 3,162 I got carried away

He was driving you absolutely crazy. Logan. Logan fucking Howlett, with his cocksure attitude and self-satisfied smile. Maybe it’s the way he thinks he’s always right. Maybe it’s that stupid stubbornness, that prowl he does when he walks across a room to meet you. To mock you. His whole being towering over you—his musky, pine-scented cologne filling your lungs. He’s everywhere—and not just metaphorically—literally and physically. His giant frame shadows yours, and you can’t help but admit that there’s something about it…something about him. 

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung

[kjhbsies]

Undeniably and Secretly Yours

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x Slytherin!reader

synopsis: James Potter is in a secret relationship with Y/N, but things spiral when someone mistakes Regulus Black for Y/N’s boyfriend and spreads the rumor around Hogwarts. How far will he go before he can’t take it anymore?

wordcount: 1,663

note: 16+ fluff. will probably do one last part. comment if you want to be tagged <3

part I. part III.

Regulus Black was cornered, and he absolutely hated it.

Literally— his back was pressed against the cold stone wall near the dungeons, arms crossed as he glared at the four boys in front of him: Sirius, Remus, Peter, and... James, who was staring at him with a murderous stare that made Regulus wonder if he ever did something to him.

"How exactly did you find me here?" Regulus deadpanned.

Sirius smirked, tapping his temple with his forefinger. "Great instincts, brother. I'm basically a prophet."

Peter awkwardly cleared his throat, trying to suppress a laugh. Remus, awkwardly standing beside him, scratched his head with the same hand that was holding the Marauder's Map.

"What's that?" Regulus pointed at it.

"Nothing." Remus smiled at him.

"Looks suspicious."

"It's just... homework." Remus hummed.

Sirius clapped his hands together. "Anyway—! Regulus, my dear, weird little brother... tell me something. Are you dating Y/n?"

Regulus blinked at him. "What?"

"You heard me. Are you dating Y/n Y/l/n?" He stepped closer.

"Dating? Where did you even—?"

James's jaw clenched, and his grip on his wand tightened.

"You're lying." Sirius pointed an accusatory finger at Regulus's nose. "You're lying through your teeth. You're probably snogging her behind the dungeons, don't you?"

Regulus gave him a disgusted look. "Why would I snog someone in the dungeons? That's unsanitary."

Peter snickered under his breath. James still hadn't moved or spoken— he just kept...staring. His left eye was twitching a little.

"Come on," Sirius whined. "Are you two or aren't you? Spill, Reg."

"If you're insinuating that we're together, then you're delusional."

Sirius gasped dramatically.

"We're just close. Is it so unbelievable that I have friends? Do you need me to draw a diagram?" Regulus shot back, clearly irritated.

Sirius, undeterred, leaned in again. "So, is she single?"

James's head snapped to look at him with a deep frown.

"I suppose?" Regulus sighed deeply.

"And you're going to ask her out to Hogsmeade this weekend? Valentine's Day is coming up, you know."

Regulus shrugged. "Probably."

PROBABLY?!

Regulus's voice echoed through James's mind like a death toll.

That stupid, little casual shrug haunted him, and he was absolutely losing his mind. He was pacing back and forth in his dorm room, whilst his friends were staring at him. His hair was messy— messier than usual, and he looked like one bad thought away from throwing himself out of the Gryffindor tower.

"Prongs, you gotta tell us what's wrong or else we can't help you solve your problem," Sirius said from where he was sprawled on James's bed, munching on a chocolate frog.

Remus, perched in an armchair, sipped his cup of tea. He hummed thoughtfully while eyeing his friend. He had his suspicions— had them for a while now— but after Sirius's interrogation with Regulus, he connected the dots.

James threw his hands in the air. "I can't!"

"Why not?" Peter piped from the floor.

"Because I just— I just can't!"

"Since when do we keep secrets from each other, huh?" Sirius sat on the bed dramatically. "We're brothers! We solemnly swore and everything!"

"Maybe Prongs isn't ready yet." Remus shot James a knowing look.

"...You cheated on your NEWTs again?" Peter's eyes squinted at James.

"What? No!" James snapped.

There was a beat of silence.

"...You gay?" Peter tried again, dead serious.

"NO!" James cried, absolutely losing his mind because his friends were definitely not helping right now. He let out a wounded groan and flopped onto the couch dramatically. "I'm doomed." He muttered through the cushions.

Meanwhile, in his head, a horrible scene was playing on the loop: Regulus, all intimidating and handsome, cornering you somewhere dark and romantic (and stupid)— asking you to be his date on Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day. You, smiling shyly, will accept it. Regulus will buy you chocolates, give you a plush teddy bear, and kiss your hand like some male lead in a romantic muggle movie.

James almost sobbed at the thought.

"Prongs, you're spiraling." Sirius exchanged glances with Peter.

"We have to do something," Peter whispered.

"What? Like an exorcism?" Sirius whispered back.

"Oh, Merlin, it's like the Evans fiasco over again." Peter shook his head, looking at him with pity.

"It's not." Remus walked over to where they were.

"How do you know, dear Moony?" Sirius lightly nudged him in the shoulder.

Remus leaned on the bedpost, looking more smug than usual. "Because, dear friends, I am basically... a prophet."

"Hey, only I get to claim divine intervention around here!" Sirius frowned.

James groaned again from the couch, not lifting his head. "Kill me now."

The library was quiet— eerily quiet— except for the soft flipping of books and quiet murmurs. You and Regulus were tucked away in the far corner of the library, the one spot where the sun hits perfectly, and where Madam Pince rarely bothered anyone.

Regulus sat across from you, flipping a book open, but clearly not reading. "Sirius cornered me last night."

You blinked at him. "...What"

"Near the dungeons. Him, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Potter."

Your heart stopped at the mention of James's last name, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you leaned back in your chair. "What did he want now?"

"He interrogated me."

"About?"

"You," He answered flatly. "Apparently, everyone thinks we were dating."

You froze.

Well, that was... unexpected— or expected— given the way people had been whispering lately. But still, James must've heard that, right? You immediately imagined his reaction—probably furrowing his brows so hard it created a crease in the middle of his forehead, pacing around his dorm room, and tearing at his impossibly messy hair.

Sure, teasing him had been fun— I mean, he had the cutest pout. And it wasn't every day James Potter got jealous. Usually, you were the one watching him get tackled by his bunch of admirers, especially after Quidditch matches, while you try not to hex them to oblivion.

But even if it was mildly entertaining, the thought of James— your James— feeling insecure made your heart pinch. James was the most confident, brilliant, and the most adorable human being you'd ever met.

You frowned, lost in thought, until Regulus added something.

"...But then Sirius asked if you were single and if I'd be asking you out on a date."

THUD.

Both of your heads whipped around just in time to see a very disheveled, very pouty James Potter emerging from behind the bookshelf.

"Oh, hello," He said in the fakest, innocent voice he could muster. "Didn't see you two there."

You offered him a small smile when Regulus wasn't looking at you. "Looking for a specific book, Potter?"

"Mhm." James nodded, stepping into your little study area. He stood near you, still indulging himself with the books he couldn't care less about. "Just browsing. Loads of Slytherin energy here, though."

Regulus's eyes narrowed. "Are you following me?"

James blinked. "What? No. I came here for—" He grabbed the nearest book he could find. "—The Joy of Magical Fungus."

A pause.

"Fascinating stuff, really," James added.

Regulus frowned. "...Right."

James waved a dismissive hand. "Don't mind me here... just continue with... whatever you two were doing..."

Regulus turned to you. "Anyway, as I was saying—"

James loudly cleared his throat.

Both of you turned to look at him.

"Itchy throat." James chuckled and cleared his throat once again— this time, more obnoxiously.

"I was saying," Regulus gave a pointed glare at James. "Before I get interrupted—"

"Ahem."

"—Interrupted again, I was going to say I hadn't really considered asking you out, but maybe—"

James took a step closer beside you. This time, he was looming over the two of you. You scratched the back of your neck, trying to suppress the secondhand embarrassment creeping up your spine.

"Do you mind?" Regulus asked, clearly annoyed.

"Not at all," James replied.

"Do you live in the library now, Potter?"

"No. But I do believe in broadening my... intelligence."

Regulus scowled. "You're literally holding that book upside down."

"Am I?" James turned to look at his book.

Regulus opened his mouth to say something, but sighed instead, glancing at his wrist watch. "Whatever. I have class."

You offered him a tight-lipped smile. "Bye, Reg."

As Regulus turned to leave with a confused shake in the head, James casually slipped into the seat next to you.

You raised an amused brow. "The Joy of Magical Fungus?"

"Good stuff," James mumbled. "He was about to ask you out, wasn't he?"

You giggled and went to cup his face. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

"You're so obvious."

James's bottom lip jutted even more. "They all think you're single."

You kissed his pout.

"And worse, they think you're dating Regulus freaking Black."

You kissed the other side of his pout.

"He's not even funny."

Another kiss.

"Or beefy."

One more kiss on the nose. "You done?"

James sighed deeply and finally melted into your arms like a dramatic little spoon. “...Maybe.”

You ran your fingers through his hair gently, the one thing guaranteed to make him stop spiraling.

“Listen to me,” you whispered. “I’m your girlfriend. I like you. I love you when you're pouting, jealous, and dramatic. But also when you're smug and sweet and a bit of a show-off. No one, especially not Regulus, is going to change that.”

James peeked up at you, cheeks pink. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“And maybe,” He added, voice muffled against your sweater, “We could tell people soon. So no one else tries to steal you.”

You smiled. “I thought you wanted it secret for now.”

“I changed my mind,” he huffed. “I’m claiming my territory.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m in love,” James corrected. “It’s worse.”

James's hand tightened around your waist, almost pulling you into his lap. He doesn't even care if people find out about you two right now. He doesn't even care one bit if Regulus walked in on you two suddenly.

Because Regulus couldn't make you feel everything he did.

Not today. Not ever.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @dearmy-diary @kmhbygss @ladycaramelswirl @mao-nuwang