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whowritessometimes · 7 months ago

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Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

---

The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

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crescenthistory · 21 days ago

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can u do a remus x reader where they are best friends and remus has been in love with reader forever, and reader is kind of a player because she also loves remus but didnt know that the feeling was reciprocated

i did a bit of a different take on this, hope you enjoy it babe

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: suggestive references and themes (talk of shagging, etc.), drinking and partying in hogwarts, fem!reader, use of y/n, sirius' pov for half then your pov (with all the mental tirades that includes), partier!reader more so than player, you have snogged james and mary (in the past), platonic!sirius but borderline fwb at one point, platonic!wolfstar, pining!remus, secretly pining!reader, no slutshaming, background jegulily, confessions, happy ending ofc

Sirius was in a bit of a difficult situation.

On the one hand, he had a beautiful girl all but crawling into his lap in the middle of an admittedly good party and he knew she would be a hell of a great time.

On the other hand, he was absolutely certain that his best friend was in love with her, despite his many denials, and he was not sure if she herself knew yet.

She had to, right? You had to know that Remus was in love with you with how he had been making puppy eyes at you more or less since first year. The two of you were the best of friends and went everywhere together – it was simply impossible that you had not had a conversation or two about it. But then again, Sirius and Remus were also the best of friends and he had not heard so much as a squeak about any such conversation taking place, let alone him admitting his feelings.

Could you truly be so oblivious? You had to know, and are choosing to live your life as you wanted regardless, as is your right. Would Sirius be an arse if he rejected your current casual advances because of Remus? If he was, would he be an arse for telling you about Remus' feelings or for dictating how a woman conducts herself based on the feelings of a man?

Sirius was way too drunk to be thinking any of these thoughts.

Yet, immediate action was required in order to handle the situation at hand. You and Sirius had been sitting beside one another for a while now, your leg thrown over in between his thighs, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, your hand on his chest. The music was absolutely blaring, the alcohol was flowing freely through your bodies, making the places where you touch that much hotter, in all semblances of the word. Sirius knew that if he was to tilt his head down to look at you, your lips would surely smash together.

It was not uncommon for you to shag some lucky bastard at these parties. You were carefree and fun in that way that made you fit seamlessly into your group of friends when Remus introduced you. It was never serious or deep on either front, Sirius knew as much – you and Mary had an arrangement of mutual fun going on for a while and you had even snogged James once before he got with Regulus and Lily.

Sirius participated equally as enthusiastically and the two of you were good friends, so really, it made sense that you ended up in this situation at last.

Still, sirens were flaring in his head screaming "BAD FRIEND, BAD FRIEND" the longer he sat with you like this. Because whenever you did find someone to hook up with at a party, you always left Remus' side to do so, as you were otherwise attached at the hip. And Sirius was the one left to watch him struggle to keep his face from crumbling every time. He was also always the one to poke the bear – or the wolf, if you please – by confronting Remus about his feelings for you constantly, both in a playful and serious manner.

As the designated campaigner for "Remus get your shit together and kiss her yourself", he should not be making that more difficult for his best mate.

He also should not get involved in whatever delicate situation you two had going on, but when his eyes flicked across the room, terrified to make eye contact with Remus wherever he was, determination grew in his chest. Something had to be done.

"Are you good, Siri?" you asked from beside him, words slurred just enough for him to know you were tipsy but not so much that he was concerned.

He took a deep breath. "Actually. Can we talk? Alone?"

Your body grew a bit tense against his, enough that he knew you understood this was not some scheme to get you alone. "Sure," you said wearily, already detangling your body from his.

The two of you got up and hastily made for the portrait hole. Sirius hoped that the cool stone walls outside would help him sober up enough to be able to communicate effectively.

His heart sank just a little bit when he caught sight of familiar tawny hair leaning against the wall by the exit. He knew all too well how this looked. Remus' eyes lit up when they landed on you, his mouth opening to make some sort of greeting when the words died on his tongue at the sight of a guilty Sirius trailing behind you.

You seemed nonplussed. "Oh, hi Rem," you said brightly, almost giggling around your words from the alcohol. You stepped off your path for a second to press a kiss to his cheek, smiling softly at him. "You having fun?"

Remus' face seemed strained, but he kept his smile up, even if just for you. "Yes, dovey. Are you?"

You nodded and squeezed his hand before taking a few steps back and away from him. "Very much so. We're just heading out for a quick chat."

He looked quickly between you and Sirius, never quite meeting his eyes, and Sirius felt as if he was being incriminated just by standing there with his hair slightly tousled from you playing with it. The hurt he could see play across his best mate's face was exactly the type of thing he was hoping to avoid by the awkward conversation he was about to have.

Remus' smile grew more thin-lipped than before as his gaze settled somewhere on your cheek. "Great. Have fun."

You just nodded once more before turning on your heel and making a beeline for the door, seemingly unaware of what just transpired between the three of you. Sirius stalled for a moment, wondering if he should say something, but decided against it in case Remus tried to stop him once he realised what the chat actually will be about.

It didn't much matter, though, because Remus stalked off without ever meeting his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius hurried over to the door to the common room that you were holding open from the outside, smiling back at him. You truly were such a lovely girl, and he hoped to Merlin he was not fucking anything up for you right now.

Stepping through the portrait, he let the Fat Lady slam shut behind him, cringing at the sudden silence that enveloped the two of you. Though, the air was as much of a welcome reprieve as he had expected it to be, and he breathed in a huge chunk of it to steal his nerves.

"Listen, Sirius, if things got too touchy in there then I'm sor–" you tried to begin, but he all but threw his hands up between you in a display of innocence.

"No, no, dollface, don't you worry about that one bit," he laughed out nervously. "I was very much enjoying myself. I just realised– fuck how do I say this?"

He tried to think clearly and find a way to communicate what he knew in his heart to be true.

"No swearing in my halls!" The shrill voice he knew to belong to the portrait that had tortured him for seven years sounded behind him.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said rather petulantly and held out his hand for you to take so that he could lead you down the hall and away from her. He also hoped you read it as the display of well-meaning and friendship that it was.

You accepted his hand gracefully and his heart did calm down just the slightest from it.

The two of you hurried down the hallway, feeling every bit the teenagers that you were, settling down in a corner just far enough away for privacy. The cool stone did marvels for his overheating, and Sirius took full advantage of it by leaning his head back against them.

"What did you realise?" you asked then.

"Huh?" he answered, admittedly quite dumbly.

You had the decency to laugh at him instead of mock him. "Earlier. You said I didn't do anything wrong, but that you realised something."

Sirius heaved a deep breath. "Right, right," he murmured before clearing his throat. Was he overstepping? Possibly. Would he be ripping the bandaid off anyway? Absolutely. "See, I was having fun earlier and saw it as what it was – just two friends having fun, yeah? But I fear not everyone feels the same."

"I swear to Godrick, if you accuse me of having feelings for you, Black, I will chuck you off the Astronomy Tower," you said through a laugh.

"I'm thankfully not that conceited, babe. But it wasn't you I was referring to."

You looked at him as if to say who, then?

"I think– or no, I actually know for certain, even if the stupid sod won't admit it. Erm, okay, so. Wow, how do I explain that? He's my best mate, you know, and I–"

"Sirius, you are making no sense right now."

"Remus is in love with you."

You had opened your mouth to volley back, clearly expecting him to still be stumbling over his words, but now it was just left hanging open as you stared at him, baffled. The two of you sat in silence for much longer than Sirius could have expected, or perhaps that was just his nerves dragging out the moment. You seemed to be fighting for breath.

"Excuse me, what?!" you breathed out, voice increasing in crescendo throughout your sentence. The what ricocheted down the hall; Sirius grimaced.

"So, you didn't know," he surmises, having answered his mental tirade from earlier. "I honestly don't know how you haven't seen it, that boy has literally been mooning for you for years. I'm surprised we haven't had to keep the actual Moony from tracking you down and wagging his tail at you once a month."

Your face told him that this was not a time for jokes, yet somehow you still laughed at that. Sirius realised with horror that your laugh sounded rather wet and saw you aggressively wiping at your face, as if you were about to start crying. "I'm so confused," you whispered.

Sirius sat there rather dumbly, unsure how to make it any more clear. "I don't know what to tell you, babe. He has feelings for you, always has. I don't blame you if you don't return them and I'm sure neither will he – but, yeah no, I figured you should know. And while I totally respect you shagging whoever you want, I just don't think he could handle it if it were me. So I have to back out."

Miraculously you nodded in understanding, despite his ramblings. Your movements were slow, as if you were trying to let his words settle in your bones, processing years of misinterpreting in a matter of seconds.

Sirius wanted to help. "I've tried to get him to tell you himself, but he hasn't even admitted it out loud yet."

That seemed to snap your attention back to him, a fierce look growing rapidly in your eyes. "He hasn't told you? Then how do you know?!" You waved your hands between the two of you to emphasise his point.

Not quite what he expected, Sirius found himself scrambling for words. "Everyone knows! It's literally written all over his face whenever you're near!"

"I've been looking at that same face a lot and I haven't seen that?" you question then, wielding your argument as if you were about to disagree with him.

"Y/N. Baby." Sirius tried to articulate his words clearly. "Remus has feelings for you. I swear on my life. You don't have to do anything with that information, I just had to tell you."

You narrowed your eyes at him, seemingly scrutinising every inch of his face. "If this is a prank, you're dead, Black."

"It's not a prank. I swear on Effie and Monty Potter, the absolute angels they are." He held his hands over his heart for emphasis.

"You could be wrong."

"I'm not though."

You hummed in consideration, still not letting him out from the hold of your inspecting eyes. "I have to go find out." You said it as if it was plain and simple, and before Sirius knew it, you were standing above him.

"What?" he said, again dumbly. He should never drink again.

"Thank you, Siri, I'll see you later," you called as you were already moving down the hallway at an impressive speed, given you had been shocked still mere seconds ago.

Sirius remained sitting on the floor letting his head drop back against the stone and his eyes fall shut. He has either taken one for the team or massively fucked up – the best part is that he still had no idea which one it would be.

This was bound to be an eventful evening.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Your heart was resounding through your entire body and you could barely feel the tips of your fingers – not at all because of the alcohol, you were actually quite certain you had more or less sobered up by now.

No, it was because Remus loved you. Remus Lupin, the best friend you could ask for, the unrequited, unattainable love of your life, for some unidentified reason loved you.

According to Sirius, at least.

Merlin, how you would skin him alive, should he be wrong.

The party had picked up its pace in the few minutes you and Sirius spent outside in the hallway. Someone had conjured up a light fog to roll around on the floor, allegedly to help with the atmosphere but no doubt it was really because the floor was becoming too filthy to look at directly. Warm bodies pressed into each other everywhere and there was a smell of sweat and drinks that on another day might have been enticing. Right now, you only had one focus.

"Where's Remus?" Your words were rushed as you latched onto the nearest arm you could find, grinning brightly when the familiar face of James came into view.

"Hiya, love," he greeted merrily, his other arm wrapped protectively around Lily. "What's up?"

"Remus. Where is he?" you repeated, albeit a bit more abashedly as you saw Lily glance at James sideways.

"Oh," James said and furrowed his brows, as if he was thinking. Then, he turned his head down to look at Lily who was already regarding him. "Where do we think Moony is, darling?"

Lily shifted her gaze between the two of you while biting her lip. She seemed to be making a quick appraisal. "I believe he headed up to the dorm early. Something about feeling tired?"

Nothing got past Lily, and you could tell from her somewhat smug yet concerned expression that she knew something you did not. Or, perhaps you did.

You let out a quick breath. "Oh." You couldn't help the slight guilt that settled in your stomach – even though you still couldn't know for certain that it was because of you. "I'll go find him, then."

"Are you sure?" Lily asked. "He might want to just sleep it off."

Sleep it off?

You nodded, confidence in your choice growing with every second. "I'm sure, yeah, but thanks Lils."

There was not a speck of judgement in her eyes, though her smile remained apprehensive. "I mean, he always wants to be with you, so it should be fine." She winked at you and suddenly your stomach was dropping because did everyone but you know?

Well, perhaps not James because he looked between you and Lily, entertained confusion written all over his face. "Okay, then. Great? See ya later, yeah?"

You squeezed both of their forearms in thanks before stepping backwards away from them, almost knocking into two people on the way. God, this place was packed. You threw some general sound of agreement that hopefully sounded as warm as you intended it before all but running towards the stairs to the boys' dormitory. On the way, you swear you almost lost your life twice, tripping over feet that grew invisible in the fog.

By the time your steps landed on the stairs, you were able to squeeze into the stone wall and quickly run up while avoiding those hanging over the railing. Truly hazardous, these Gryffindors.

The trek down the hall to the dorm Remus had shared with his friends for all seven years of your friendship was as practiced as it was easy. Yet, as your mind was replaying your conversations with Sirius and Lily over and over at record speed, it felt like it stretched on for miles, your own road to Calvary.

Your fingers acted off of instinct as they reached up to quietly rap on the door with two knuckles.

"Sod off," you heard Remus' muffled voice call through the door. You couldn't help the small smile that spread across your face.

You cracked the door open just enough to poke your head through and catch sight of him sprawled out on his bed, face down. Your smile widened. "Me too?"

It was as if his body was a push poppet that suddenly had its strings drawn taut again – his spine straightened and his head whipped around to look at you wide-eyed. He clearly had not expected you. He made some sounds that could probably classify as guffawing before he snapped his mouth shut to sit up and collect himself. The whole process was barely a few seconds, but the syrupy effect on time from the hallway seemed to have joined you into his dorm. Relief washed through your body when he smiled at you, even if it seemed somewhat strained.

"Of course not dove, sorry."

You slipped the rest of your body in through the door and shut it quietly behind you. The silence in this dorm had never felt so complete before.

In your rush to get to him, you hadn't once thought to think of what to say to him. How could you ever possibly breach the topic? It seemed like he could sense your hesitation because he sat more comfortably on the edge of his bed, wool sock-clad feet planted firmly against the floor. He had an inquisitive yet somewhat nervous look on his face.

He beat you to it. "You alright? Shouldn't you be out there, having fun?"

You couldn't help reading some judgement in that, knowing what you now maybe know. "What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, not quite able to hide the potential hurt in your voice.

Remus could pick up on your every mood and his eyes widened comically and he raised his hand as if he was about to talk to a scared wild animal. "Nothing! No, not like that, I just meant – it's a party. You love parties. Did someone hurt you?" His voice grew small by the end of his sentence. You feared someone was referring to Sirius, the only reason he could imagine you leaving a gathering to go be alone with him. You hated the idea.

There were probably a hundred better ways to go about this, but your mind felt muddy with the overwhelming feelings, your earlier drinks and the damn fog that somehow had made its way into your lungs. And you just could not believe any of it.

You were not proud of what you said next.

"Remus, are you in love with me?"

If it had been quiet before, there were no words for the shift in atmosphere after that question. It was like you were alone in a black hole, just the two of you.

Remus' head actually reared back from shock, both from your suddenness and the question itself. His pretty mouth hung slightly open, bottom lip making a slight jerky movement you could only describe as quivering.

"I– what?" He let out, it was somewhere between a gasp and an exclamation.

You took a few steps closer, so that you were standing in front of him, feeling the sudden need to be near, to hear, to know. "Sirius told me."

Remus jerked up too, suddenly standing within arm reach. His eyes were fluttering and his mouth opening and closing in a way that almost confirmed it on its own. "Y/N, I–"

"Remus." You interrupted quietly, sensing his continued shock and oncoming fib. "Don't lie, please."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered then, eyes growing glossy as they flicked all over your face. "I– I'm sorry."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in his pained expression. "I don't understand?" you said weakly. Why was he apologising? "Remus, are you in love with me?"

He shut his eyes and turned his head to the side. Your fears were confirmed when he brought up a hand to wipe at the part of his face you couldn't see. "Please," he begged. "Don't."

Don't make me say it.

You have to.

"Remus." Your tone matched his despairing one – his name was your plea.

He turned his head back to you and met your eyes head on with his own red-rimmed ones. A slow sigh was let out through his nose, the sound of defeat, giving in to you as he always did.

Gods, he always did.

"I'm in love with you," he whispered then. Clearly, without any hint at insecurity or deceit.

You took one small step closer, bringing your trembling fingers up to lightly ghost over his cheeks – not quite holding his face, but almost, millimetres apart. You were sure you looked half-crazed as you stood there in silent shock, studying his face in a flurry.

There was no contempt in his face at your stupor. Just guilt and sorrow.

"Why?" you breathed out.

"I'm sorry," was all he offered, once more.

"No, no, don't say that," you insisted, voice suddenly growing stronger. More certain. Your hands made proper contact with his cheeks, and you could feel him deflate beneath your touch. "Please don't be sorry."

At last some confusion drifted into his eyes as he regarded you. "Don't tell me not to apologise; that just makes me want to apologise for apologising." There was light humour in his tone, a smidge of hope. Hope that you wouldn't believe him awful for falling in love with you.

He was in love with you.

You laughed then, not just at his poor attempt at a joke but at the situation, at the prospect.

"You love me?" There was no hiding the absolute awe in your voice.

The guilt was still there, but it made room for softness as he gave you the smallest, saddest smile. "Of course, dove."

You breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward to kiss his smile into a happy one.

Remus’ body immediately stiffened beneath your touch, shock radiating through him. Then, beautifully, you felt him soften once more beneath you, felt his eyelashes brush your cheeks as his eyes fluttered shut, felt him blow the air from his lungs through his nose in a long sigh, breath warm and inviting against you. Slowly, you parted your lips and brought his between yours, deepening the kiss. Unlike your movements earlier, there was no urgency, there was just him in your hands, him against your lips, his tongue against yours.

You let one of your hands travel to the nape of his neck where you played with his shorter strands of hair, breaking the kiss to lean your forehead against his. Your eyes remained closed as you soaked up up the moment, but you could feel his own burn through your skin. Could hear him guffawing again. A smile settled permanently onto your lips.

“You love me?” you repeated, knowing the answer, but wanting to feel the words on your tongue once more, mixing with him.

He nodded fervently against you, jostling your head slightly to which you let out a soft giggle.

“You– I–” he began, cutting himself off. “Do you…?” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

“I love you,” you whispered, in awe at getting to say the words aloud in this context. “I’m so in love with you, sweet boy.”

His body disconnected from yours briefly, forcing you to open your eyes and support your own weight, as he leaned back to stare at you incredulously, confused, shocked. His eyebrows were furrowed almost as if he were mad, but you knew in your heart that he was not.

“I– no, that makes no sense,” he whispered almost to himself, shaking his head as he tried to process your words. You fought not to laugh at that – because it would seem like you were laughing at him and that was not nice. You would have more than enough time to be not nice later, for now he needed your patience. “You? Love me?”

You nodded with a smile. His body was still close to yours and you took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his waist, interlocking your fingers at the small of his back.

There was so much emotion and vulnerability swimming in his eyes, you would almost feel bad if you weren’t so unbelievably happy.

“I never thought you could have feelings for me,” you confessed breathlessly, grinning wickedly despite the pain you were sharing. “Here I’ve been, running around thinking the greatest love I had ever felt was wholly unreciprocated.”

This only seemed to confuse him further, though he was relaxing beneath your touch. “You… This whole time?”

“I suppose so,” you mused. “I only realised two years ago, though.”

Remus let out a groan and a laugh at the same time and then – thanks to any and every god – he leaned his forehead on your shoulder, burying his face in you. “I cannot believe I’ve been torturing myself and you’ve been… in love with me too. This whole time.”

You dared to kiss the side of his head from where he was leaning against you and tightened your hold on him. Something you had done a thousand times over as his friend, yet this sent entirely new sparks through you.

As if he just thought of something, he lifted his head suddenly to furrow his brows at you. “Why would you ever think I couldn't love you?”

You tilted your head at him. “How many times have you not brushed Sirius off when he makes jokes about us? Or said you would never want to be in a relationship? I thought you might view me as a sister by now.” Despite your teasing, residue hurt still clung to your words.

The grimace was instant and Remus shook his head as if that is the worst thing he has ever heard. “Gods, no, I sure do hope not.”

You both laughed quietly, carefully. His hands were slow as they went up to hold your jaw, fingers brushing the side of your neck in reverence. “I’m sorry I made you think that, dovey.”

“Don’t be. Then I have to be sorry for snogging our friends in front of you.”

Remus flushed slightly at your words, but the awed affection plastered all over his every feature did not waver. “I don’t want you to be,” he murmured while still caressing you carefully. “I just… I just want you. Will you be mine, dovey?”

Your face inched closer and closer to his, your grins growing mirrored against each other. “I am yours,” you whispered against his lips before closing the distance once more.

The most heavenly kisses you ever shared would be those with your lovely Remus.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

“Oi! Pads!”

Sirius flinched with his whole body, looking over his shoulder with a sheepish smile to face his inevitable death in the form of one Remus Lupin. He had been waiting for it all night as he partied with James, and had managed to get halfway through his second game of butterbeer pong before it was time for his execution.

Reaching out for James’ hand, he shook it firmly and matter-of-factly. “Lovely knowing you mate, take good care of my brother, yeah?”

James seemed entirely nonchalant to the whole ordeal, shaking his hand in return. “Yeah, sure, safe travels Padfoot.”

Sirius then turned to Remus who was descending the stairs from the dormitory, holding his hands up in defence. “Okay, hear me out–” he begins but he was cut off.

He was cut off by a hug.

Remus borderline slams into him, locking his arms over his shoulders and dragging him close to his chest. Awkwardly, Sirius returns the favour, patting him on the back and making what the fuck eyes at Mary over Remus’ shoulder.

“You’re a meddling bloody bastard,” Remus said into his ear.

Here we go.

“But thank you.”

Oh. Oh.

He reared his head back so that he could see Remus and the shy yet pleased smile he wore, and Sirius’ whole face split into a painful, beaming smile. “It worked?” he asked giddily, jostling Remus where he was still trapped in the hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus mumbled, though his grin grew.

The victorious, screeching holler Sirius let out was so loud it could be heard down to the dungeons.

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distantdarlings · 1 year ago

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TEETH TO BONE // t. nott

RATING: PG-13 / 1.3K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (no gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - You come to your best friend's dorm room after not being able to sleep. He makes a decision that changes your relationship forever. *Theo's POV* (Romance)

+ WARNINGS - Heavy kissing, a bit of petting, someone kisses w/o that person's permission

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Touch - Troye Sivan

---

The sheets in the morning always caught Theodore’s attention. In those early hours when the sun's warm shades had not yet overtaken the cool, the birds still refused to sing, and the residents of the castle hadn’t yet awoken. It was a rarity for him to wake up at this time naturally—it didn't always have the same effect. But when he opened his eyes to the milky hue that stained the floor and felt the luster within his sleep-filled eyes, an instant feeling of comfort washed over him. This was always quickly followed by an unnerving question of life itself and the reason for these comforting feelings, but before this came along, there was comfort.

It was the folds in the sheets that traced over his legs and the imaginary body lying next to him; the soft dancing of eyelashes over cheeks; the supple pink of another’s lips--someone in particular, not just anyone; and coffee with just enough cream to where it matched an old pair of corduroy trousers. These were all things that made him feel equally as comfortable as that morning light. The lips, though, were an image that often flashed in his mind. As were the sheets and the unfairly long eyelashes and the corduroy trousers. Each day, Theo found himself aligning more things in his personal thoughts to that of someone like you. He might hope to consider you his love but would never truly do so for the looming sense of rejection that hung over him like a rain cloud.

The door in the corner creaked with a symphony of old wood and rusty nails. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but the sound was as nostalgic as the crackles within the records that he and you used to play, sitting on the floors of each other's bedrooms. Theo smiled gently at the memory, remembering the feel of the hardwood beneath your ankles and the looks in both of your eyes. If he wasn't crazy, he might have thought that this is where his heart first opened up to you. Where he first realized how badly he craved your touch instead of any of the girls or guys his mates eyed in town.

"Teddy," a whisper like crinkling parchment tickled the shell of his ears. Only you could call him that.

"Are you awake?"

Theo pushed himself up into a sitting position, feeling the sheets tangle around his feet in a new position than they previously had. His eyes met that of a bedroom floor record player in an embrace with a cotton touch. You smiled, showing off the teeth that Theo found so endearing. You shifted a bit in the doorway, rubbing your bare thighs together in an attempt to gain some warmth. You were still wearing the shirt and the shorts that you’d been in the night before—the ones that made his stomach kiss his chest.

He caught onto your sense of embarrassment and beckoned you over, your nightshirt a bit too big for you. The sleeves reached the tips of your fingers in a rather demeaning manner. You sauntered over before stepping into his bed, crossing your legs and placing your hands comfortably between each thigh. The shirt you wore was ill-fitting just as his but in a different way. The cotton material lay against your chest which didn't dare to touch. Your skin pulled tight over your bones and made a passionate embrace with the fabric as it hung off you in a rather languorous way that caught Theo’s attention rather quickly. The collar delicately caressed your exposed collarbones that cut like knives and burned like fire in the pit of Theo’s stomach.

"Alright, love?" Theo whispered, his voice cracking from the pressure of the morning. You looked down, a few strands of hair falling into your eyes. You didn't seem to notice.

"Couldn’t sleep, I reckon . . . ," you spoke just above a whisper, the tenor undertones in your voice making the hair on Theo’s arms stand up. Without thinking, the brunette swiftly swiped the hair out of your eyes with a single thumb, just barely brushing your skin with his own. His eyes found yours in a breathless escape, attempting to analyze what you were feeling. Theo could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he wondered if you could hear it as well. His hand fell limp at his side in an embarrassed fashion.

Your mouth opened as if to speak but closed once more. You seemed to be debating on whether or not to say what was dancing on the end of your tongue. Theo desperately wanted to hear what you had to say. He wanted to know if it was a negative or a positive that he had touched you in that way.

"Teddy—" you began but Theo pressed his lips to yours before you could finish. It hadn't been something he’d thought about before doing. He just did it. His hands remained tightly pressed into his lap, not wanting to push himself onto you any further. He felt bad for doing this in the first place, he just needed to feel the person he'd known for so long in the way he desired. He expected you to push him away or run or something but by the time he realized those things could possibly happen, he knew that this kiss had been extended much too long to be a hormone-fueled act of blind passion.

Your lips no longer remained dormant but moved against his. Yours cradled his bottom lip with a gentle touch—much too gentle for him. He pressed his hands to either side of your face, pulling himself onto his knees. You rested comfortably between his thighs, knees dug into the mattress, as your shoulders were against the headrest. He steadied you, feeling his fingers trace the lower part of your posture. Theo groaned breathlessly into your mouth, politely insinuating that he needed a breath.

You slowly pulled away, your lips joined in a messy trail of spit that disconnected as you rested your forehead against his. Blue eyes met yours in a frenzied heat of repressed desire as dry throats held the hunger of fasting lovers. Your thumb gently stroked his cheek, eyes flickering down from his bewitching eyes to his swollen lips, painted with your love.

"More."

It was a single whisper. Nothing too dramatic or emotional, just the hoarse beg of a starved man. You took Theo’s lips back onto your own, much more fervently than before, feeling his desperate breath against your cheeks. Theo’s hands fell to your hips, his fingers brushing the bare skin there. You winced into his mouth at the cold touch of his rings, your fingers tightening into his hair.

Theo pushed off from the headboard and gently laid you back on the bed. He hovered over you in a protective guard, shielding you from all other eyes in the outside world. His lips touched against your neck like a feather, only barely ghosting against your soft flesh. You knew that the man above was like a god and you worshiped him as such. Lips to skin, teeth to bone. The young god's hands held onto you like a lifeline, exhaling syllables packed with amour and white-hot lust in your ear.

Theo’s hand slid delicately beneath your shirt, caressing the warm skin stretched over your ribs. You could feel his heart drumming through the rest of his body like a bomb ticking away. It teased you, daring you to take control. He wouldn't let you, though, you knew this well enough. The man in question slid down your body and pulled you by the back of your knees until your head was resting against the pillow. His knees lock you in place. You couldn't go anywhere even if you wanted to.

"Are you sure, love—" Theo whispered breathlessly.

"Merlin, Theo, yes," you spoke. You were surprised you even got the words out with the way your pulse was pounding in your ears. It knocked against your brain, imprinting a tattoo of lust within your skull.

If Theo died right now and the last thing he saw was you beneath him, pressing your lips against his undeserving flesh and tracing your fingers down every individual scar, freckle, and anomaly on his body, then he'd take it.

#theodore nott #theo nott #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #fanfiction #smut #theodore nott x reader #harry potter smut #slytherin #creative writing #oneshot #reader insert #fanfic

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doodlenoodleboi · 5 months ago

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Sally face head cannons

Authors note: If you don’t specify I’m gonna pick for you most of the time it’s gonna be headcanons, they tend to be easier and quicker to write.

TW: Not professional, might have misspellings and improper grammar, I just do this for fun. Nsfw, mentions of drugs, stoner Larry, Larry is 2 years older then Sal, some non accurate writing I haven’t watched or played Sally face in years but remember the general plot. Btw when this wrote Sal is 17-19

SFW

◦ Sal doesn’t have the best relationship with his father.

◦ Sal tends to get misgendered a lot to the point he doesn’t even correct people he couldn’t care less anyways and hates unnecessary confrontation.

◦ Sal keeps his glass eye on his bedside table and one nice he actually drunk out of the cup.

◦ Sal isn’t the best at saving money when it comes to video games. He doesn’t spend his money on much In high school besides games for his game boy and other systems.

◦ Sal loves rock music and listens to music whenever he can, he owns an old stereo along with a walk man and mp3 player. (Keep in mind his teen years are in the 90’s)

◦ Along with his hair Sal also ventured in make up in skincare.

◦ Because half of his face being disfigured he tried his best to at least look normal with make up and help it heal better with skincare.

◦ Sal has the worst split ends and uneven layers because he never actually had his hair cut properly he always has done it himself.

◦ Sal is rather geeky when it comes down to it, owning as much technology as he could by in the 90’s.

◦ Sal is most comfortable showing his face to Larry among anyone else almost like a big brother to him of sorts.

◦ Sal gets rather socially awkward when it comes to people liking him so you would have to be in his friend group to have a chance of a relationship or some established connection before hand.

◦ Once you and Sal become friends as he’s comfortable with you expect things like him painting your nails and rocking out to music

◦ If he does later show romantic interest in you before he shows you his face he will be anxious about what you’ll think about him after he shows you.

◦ He’ll even teach you how to play his guitar if you’re interested.

NSFW

◦ Sal Is obviously a virgin it’s hard to get close to him let alone take of his mask so you’ll have to have patience to get to this stage.

◦ For-play could be longer then the actual sex for the first time and he might back out from nervousness before you guys can even start.

◦ Sal is not a shy guy maybe introverted but not shy but moments like this make him extremely vulnerable so he’s flustered and embarrassed.

◦ If you find the courage to kiss him he has his mask on he’s whipped. He would be a flustered and embarrassed mess and he might even tell Larry about how exciting it was. You were probably his first kiss as well.

◦ Sal would be around 5 inches 5.5 hard (let’s be realistic here ain’t nobody taking much past that.) Just enough to reach the back of you’re and make you gag.

◦ Sal even if he’s isn’t pornhub but still likes to prep you, after all sex is a rather sacred thing so he tries his best to treat you with care even with his inexperience.

◦ He would probably be a nervous teenager at the back of Spencer’s trying to find lube (that doesn’t get used) and other things trying not to be seen. Covering up this purchases with a rock album or something of equal value.

◦ Sal is big on after care asking you how it was if it wasn’t obvious, he would be nervous after and still not realizing he actually did that.

◦ Sal isn’t big on giving hickeys but he doesn’t mind being especially on his jawline and neck. When talking to his friends he will just say it a bruise or injury just that’s always been there. But it’s almost obvious that it’s not.

◦ Once you’ve done it once he’s nervous to ask for you to do it again so he does enjoy make out session to keep him down.

◦ Sal didn’t heavily masturbate before hand honestly rarely doing it at all until he had sex once and now that’s all he thinks about ever since.

◦ He loves laying kisses against you when doing it but never hickeys as he’s a bit scared of hurting you.

◦ He holds your hands during sex for comfortability.

◦ His favorite positions would probably be missionary and cowgirl he’s a pretty vanilla switch.

◦ Mostly a service top and a shy bottom, it’s not like he’s generally shy he just gets embarrassed seeing you on top but overtime he gets used to it.

Sorry i accidentally deleted the request!

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yeonzzzn · 7 months ago

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to be popular: park jongseong

pairing: jay x afab!reader word count: 2.3k

synopsis: when all you want is to be in the spotlight along with your best friend and he helps you out.

genre: childhood friends!, popular!jay, friends to ?, smut.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, degradation, fingering.

a/n: had this in my drafts for awhile and finally decided to finish it up! enjoy it! ~

“Do you think he would though?”

All Jay could do was lock eyes with you at your question. This was normal for the two of you at parties.

“YN…” He sighs, lifting the beer can to his lips, “You know how I feel about this.”

You pouted at your best friend, clenching the empty beer can in your hand, and hearing the crack of the tin above the music.

You wouldn’t call yourself a loser, but you weren’t exactly below a loser or even more than a loser. You were just normal. Completely and simply normal. Jay though? Has been the most popular guy since kindergarten.

The two of you grew up together as neighbors, both being the only children in your families, it was only natural you both grew attached to each other. Jay was popular from the moment you both started school. And as the years went on it only got worse. As a child, you figured your popularity would come along with being best friends with Jay, mostly since homeboy was the captain on every sports team he played on and was even top of your class as well. Not to mention he was the head guitar player for the school's band growing up as well. Jay had multiple reasons under his belt for being popular. But you were always in his shadow. The most people knew of you was that you lived next door to him and were one of his best friends. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And it infuriated you.

Nothing you did put you in the spotlight. People barely remembered your name or who you were until you were standing right next to him. At first, you thought it was just kids being mean, but as the years went on, you slowly learned that maybe it was just you. Someone who was forgettable.

Jay always got pissed off with you anytime you would mention how forgettable you were, “You’re literally my BEST FRIEND, YN!” he’d snapped at you, “You’re everything but forgettable.”

Sure, you had some boys knocking on your door for attention, and you’d give them it. But your popularity never went anywhere. It’s not like you even wanted the popularity for the attention really, you just wanted to feel like an equal with Jay. To have everyone remember your name and who you were. To not be well…barely above a loser.

“Jay,” you turned your body fully towards him, lifting your knee to your chest and taking a hold of the burnt orange colored couch with your free hand, “It’s a yes or no question!”

Jay chugged down the rest of his beer and shifted his eyes from you over to Heeseung, the guy you are basically begging him to answer on if he’d be down to fuck you. Heeseung was a friend of Jay’s and also one of the most popular guys at your college. Heeseung has a reputation for fucking any girl who comes his way. Jay knew it was only a matter of time before you resorted to trying to get Heeseung to spread your legs.

Heeseung was probably six or seven drinks in at this party and was currently getting touchy with another girl in the kitchen. Eyes completely locked on her.

Jay looked back at you with a slight smirk, “He looks busy.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not what I'm asking.”

Jay looked down at the coffee table in front of him, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Why did this matter so much to you? Chasing after popular guys at the college just to get your name out there. Jay never understood why you wanted this popularity. If anything, Jay wished he was in your position. To be normal and not have multiple females at every party he attends jumping his bones.

And quite frankly, Jay was tired of having this conversation with you.

“I’m not answering this,” he said with a wave of his hand, “You know I don’t like the idea of you throwing yourself at random guys just for attention.”

You tossed the empty beer can on the table and clenched your fist, starting to get up from the couch, “Fuck you then, if you feel that way. I'll try to seduce him myself.” This is how every conversation about this topic goes with Jay. Him always shutting you down. But you've had enough of it.

And apparently, so did Jay.

Because you were down flat on your back on the couch with him hovering over you.

“J-Jay,” you glanced your eyes around the room, “W-what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer you, taking your arms and pinning them above your head, his lips now attached to your neck. Your body reacted in a way you weren’t expecting it to. You tilted your head to the side, giving him more access to you. Your heart rate increased, and the thoughts not circulating in your brain scared you.

“Jay,” you called his name again, shifting yourself as best as you could away from his lips.

One of his hands left your wrist and took your jaw between his fingers, “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Jay hovered his lips above yours, barely brushing them together and sliding his free hand down to the button of your jeans, “To be fucked like a slut publicly. All to be popular.”

He was angry. Frustrated. Pissed at every man in this room that you’ve tried to pull into bed with you. Pissed at you. This was the only way he knew to not only set you straight but also get his feelings out of the way.

He pressed his lips to yours in the same motion of unbuttoning your jeans, his cold fingers slipping down your panties and rubbing at your folds, humming against your lips, “Already so wet? Just from me barely touching you?”

“Shut up,” you snapped, lifting yourself to connect your lips back together. Jay’s cock twitched at your sudden action and pushed two fingers into your cunt, groaning at how perfectly you clenched around him. How perfectly you feel.

It amazed him how unfazed you were right now. Jay was sure you’d push him off or snap at him for even making a move on you. The two of you were best friends after all, and never once crossed this line until well, now. Jay could blame it on the alcohol he’s consumed. Could even blame it on all that you’ve had to drink as well.

But it was all further from the truth.

Jay pushed his fingers in you faster and parted your lips with his tongue, wrapping the muscle around yours. He was getting so drunk off your taste. Was so turned on over the fact you’re letting him do this to you in the middle of a public college party. You surprised yourself. Your whole plan was just to get Heeseung to make out with you in front of everyone and then drag him off into an empty bedroom or even the bathroom. The last thing you expected was your best friend to be knuckled deep in your pussy and his tongue down your throat.

And by god with the way he was working his fingers in and out of you, you knew your orgasm was fast approaching. As if he already knew how to work your body before even touching you.

The truth…he’s only ever dreamed of how it would feel to do something like this with you. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and looped them at your jeans and pushed them down and leaving your mouth, “You’ve made your rounds asking every single fuck boy possible,” he scoffed, flying his hands to undo his belt, jeans button and zipper, “To fuck you like a slut all for popularity.” The truth…the truth the truth the truth, “Asked everyone but me.”

Your eyes widened at his words, a new feeling sinking into your heart. He sounded angry, his face showed hints of jealousy as his eyes pierced into you and his hands worked at shoving his pants and boxers down past his hips, setting his cock free.

It surprised you how willingly Jay was to do this. How he didn’t seem to care that he was about to fuck you on a couch in the middle of some random party with everyone around to witness it. But it’s what you wanted, right?

Jay lined his tip to your entrance and wasted no time pushing himself in, flinging his head back when it kissed your cervix, “Fuck, YN,” he hissed, taking your wrists back in his hands to pin against the leather of the couch. Jay was already seeing stars at how perfectly you felt wrapped around him. How good you felt. Like your cunt was made for him and him only.

He fucked into you hard, keeping his face tucked perfectly in the crook of your neck. You tried to keep your moans down, eyes wandering the living room to see if anyone was watching.

“Why are you so nervous now, baby?” he whispered in your ear, fucking into you harder, “You wanted this,” You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your calm to focus on that pain instead of the pleasure he was giving you down south, “Everyone fucks at parties. Moan for me, YN. Let everyone see how good I’m giving it to you.”

He bit down into your neck and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your lips parted and a loud wet moan escaped. Jay smirked at the sound, darting his eyes over to Heeseung and loving the way his friend's jaw was dropped and eyes locked onto the two of you.

“See that, baby?” he cooed, “All eyes are on you now,” you barely tilted your head to the side, seeing Heeseung and the female at his side both staring at you and Jay. Seeing the eyes of random partygoers staring as they walked past the living with their eyes wide. Heeseung finally closed his mouth and tucked his lips between his teeth, making Jay spiral, “See, now he fucking wants you,” you looked back at Jay, seeing the fire burning within him, “No one is allowed to have you, understand?”

He slid his hands down to your hips, squeezing them tightly as he fucked into you faster and harder, forcing more moans to leave your lips.

“Asked everyone but me to fucked you,” he scoffed, “Never once did you think to ask me. Would have done it with no second thoughts.” The truth the truth the truth, “I’ve dreamed of having you underneath me like this, wrapped around my cock so perfectly. I’ve been so in love with you since we were kids. Kids, YN.” his anger burned hotter as he unleashed all his emotions, “Never gave a fuck how unpopular you were. Never cared that no one knew who you were because I wanted you all to myself,” he pressed his forehead to yours, brushing his lips to yours as he moans out from the pleasure, “But you? You just wanted to be popular.”

You pulled your wrists from his hands and tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing him down to you to connect your lips together and wrapping your legs over his hips, “I only care about you right now, Seongie. Who cares about being popular.”

Your words had his heart doing flips. He finally got to you after so long. He smiled and looked back at Heeseung, feeling even more excited knowing Heeseung was still very much watching. It only pushed Jay to fuck into you faster. Harder. To kiss you harder. To bite your lip and pull and squeeze your hips harder to force you to arch your back at his every touch and pull. He loved knowing that another man was getting hard just by watching him fuck you. Loved seeing said man thirst for you knowing he wouldn’t be able to have you.

You belonged to him. Always had. And always would. Because Jay isn’t letting you go after this.

He kissed down your jaw and to your neck, “I’m fixing to cum, my love,” he whispered, placing opened-mouthed kisses to your skin, feeling the way you clench around him, “And I know you’re at your limit too.”

You nodded, tanging your fingers more into his dark hair and pulling slightly, “I want to cum with you.”

He chuckled, sliding one hand to your thigh and the other cupping your face, “All you had to do was ask,” and he pressed his lips to yours, moaning into your mouth as he gave one final thrust and squeezed the plush of your thigh. You both were filled with so much ecstasy as you came together. Breathing in each other's breaths.

Once his head stopped spinning, Jay quickly pulled his jacket from his body and covered your lower halves, “I don’t need Heeseung over there seeing any more than he already has.”

You giggled at him, sitting yourself up on your elbows, “You didn’t seem to care that I was exposed earlier.”

Jay pinched your jaw between his fingers, “Not my fault you wanted to act like such a slut earlier.”

You bit at your lips and gave him pleading eyes. Loving the way he smirked down at you.

“You got your wish though, my love,” he said, pulling out of you and keeping the jacket in place as he pulled his jeans back up over his hips and helped you pull yours up too, “To be popular. Everyone will be talking about us now.”

You pulled at his shirt collar and kissed him tenderly. Never did you ever think your childhood best friend would be in this position with you. To be so in love with you. Deep down you felt the same and didn’t want to admit it to yourself. And it only took you acting on your said wish.

“At least we both will be the talk.”

Jay just chuckles against your lips, “Only come to me when you want a good fuck, ya? You’re mine.”

—perm.tlist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @jwnghyuns @in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi @eneiyri @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty @ladyartemesia @criminalyun @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez @jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz @vixialuvs @seunghancore @enha-cafe @ppanghoon @sunpov @zeeloveshee @hxxsxxng @moonrisearies @brownsugarbaybee @nshmrarki @vveebee @teddybeartaetae @kookify @abysofsteel @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @hee-lvrr @1309zip

#jay bae #park jongseong #jongseong park #jay park #park jay #jay x reader #reader x jay #park jongseong smut #park jay smut #enhypen #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #yeonzzzn writing

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rispwr · 2 months ago

Text

If i were you i'd do me - JK - MDNI - 6

pairings : fuckboy! jk x fem! reader, established relationship, mentions of smart! namjoon x oc, slow burn, enemies to lovers

contents/warnings : smut, rejection, new character apearances, car sex, semi public sex, implied sex, smut, jealousy, i think that's all. let me know if i missed any

taglist : comment if you wanna be added to my taglists) @crazyovayou @minghaosimp @pitchblack0309 @kpopsmutty69 @ririkookiemonster

word count: 6k words, kinda short

context : Jungkook, the notorious campus heartbreaker and player, unexpectedly becomes your groupmate alongside Namjoon, the guy you’ve secretly admired for ages. However, it seems your feelings have started shifting from Namjoon to someone else entirely unexpected…

Not proofread

The days had started to blur together ever since that revelation. Two weeks had passed, and the heaviness of everything still lingered. Hoseok had been distant—he hadn't visited our house at all. It was understandable, given the circumstances. Finding out that the woman who raised you wasn't your real mother and that your entire past had been a lie was more than anyone should have to deal with.

Mom and I tried our best to comfort him, but he was in his own world. Instead of Hoseok coming to us, Mom and I had taken to visiting him at his place. It was our way of making sure he knew he wasn't alone, that we were still his family, no matter what.

This morning was no different. "Ready to go, Y/N?" Mom called out from the front door.

I grabbed my jacket and met her downstairs. "Yeah, let's head out."

As we drove to Hoseok's place, I couldn't help but feel the weight of it all. Hoseok had always been a light in my life—his positivity and energy were infectious. But now, things felt different. He'd withdrawn, barely speaking when we visited him. I just hoped today would be better.

When we arrived at his apartment, I took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Mom and I exchanged hopeful glances as we slightly opened the door.

As we walked inside, the familiar coziness of his apartment greeted us. The place had always been filled with life—plants, art, music—but lately, it felt quieter, more somber. Hoseok had been spending most of his time in his room, avoiding the common areas as much as possible.

Mom and I exchanged another glance before walking toward his room, hoping to pull him out of whatever funk he was in. "Maybe we can cheer him up a little," I whispered to her.

"Let's hope so," Mom whispered back, her voice laced with concern.

When we reached his bedroom door, we could hear muffled voices inside. I raised an eyebrow, curious. "Is someone else here?" I asked, turning to Mom.

"I don't know," she replied, equally puzzled. "Maybe he's on the phone?"

We both stood there for a moment, debating whether to knock or just barge in. In the end, Mom knocked softly. "Hobi, we're coming in, okay?" she said.

But there was no response, just more muffled sounds, now a bit more frantic.

My curiosity got the better of me. I gently pushed the door open, and—

Chaos.

The door swung open, and the sight before us was not what I had expected. At all.

There, in the middle of the bed, was Hoseok. With Yoongi. Doing it.

Time seemed to freeze as my brain tried to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. Hoseok's eyes went wide with pure panic, and Yoongi let out a high-pitched yelp. Both of them scrambled to grab the blankets, desperately trying to cover themselves.

"Oh my GOD! What the—WHAT THE HELL!" I screamed, my voice mixing with my mom's equally shocked shrieks.

"OH MY GOD, MOM!" Hoseok screamed back, his face as red as a tomato as he tried to bury himself under the blanket, utterly mortified. "W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

"We—we didn't know—OH MY GOD!" My mom squealed, her hands covering her face. "We didn't see anything—well, actually, we did, but OH MY GOD!"

Yoongi looked like he wanted to crawl under the bed and disappear. "This is—this is not what it looks like!" he tried to stammer, even though it was exactly what it looked like.

I grabbed my mom's hand and yanked her out of the room, slamming the door behind us. Both of us stood there in the hallway, eyes wide, hearts pounding.

"What. Just. Happened?" I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

Mom stood there, just as stunned as I was. "Did we just walk in on your brother and Yoongi?"

"Yes. Yes, we did," I replied, feeling like the entire world had tilted on its axis.

We made our way to the living room and collapsed on the couch, still in shock. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before I finally broke it.

"I can't believe it," I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief. "Yoongi? With Hoseok?"

"Of all the people..." Mom murmured, her hands still trembling. "I didn't even know Yoongi was—well, I didn't know he was interested in men, let alone your brother!"

"I mean... I guess I never really thought about it," I said, my mind still trying to process the bombshell we'd just walked in on. "But Yoongi? And Hoseok? What are the odds?"

Mom let out a breathless laugh, still dazed by the situation. "I guess we all have our secrets."

An hour later...

After what felt like an eternity of sitting in awkward silence, I heard the creak of Hoseok's bedroom door opening. I glanced toward the hallway, where Hoseok and Yoongi appeared, both looking sheepish and extremely embarrassed.

Hoseok was the first to speak. "I... uh... I'm sorry you had to see that." He couldn't even look at us, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Yoongi, standing behind him, nodded quickly. "Yeah, that was... not how we wanted you to find out."

Mom, to her credit, had managed to compose herself somewhat. She cleared her throat and smiled awkwardly. "Well, I suppose we should have knocked first. That's on us."

I nodded in agreement, though I could still feel my face burning with embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that."

There was another awkward pause before Hoseok finally looked up, his face still flushed. "I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you guys. Yoongi and I... we've been seeing each other for a few months now."

That revelation hit like a ton of bricks. "Wait, months?!" I blurted out, my eyes widening. "How did I not know about this?"

"We were keeping it quiet," Yoongi said, scratching the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. "We didn't want to make things weird, especially with everything that's been going on with Hoseok and his... family stuff."

I glanced at Hoseok, who nodded. "Yeah, I didn't want to add more to the pile of crazy. But... Yoongi's been there for me through everything. I don't know what I would've done without him."

The sincerity in his voice made my heart soften. As much as I was shocked by the whole situation, I could see the love and support they had for each other. It wasn't just some random fling—they really cared about each other.

Mom, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "Well, Hoseok, I'm just glad you have someone who's there for you," she said gently. "We want you to be happy, and if Yoongi makes you happy, then that's all that matters."

Hoseok's face brightened a little, relief flooding his features. "Thanks, Mom. That means a lot."

I nodded, trying to wrap my head around the situation. "Yeah, I mean, I'm still processing the whole... uh, scene we walked in on, but... I'm glad you have someone who cares about you."

Hoseok let out a small laugh, his cheeks still pink. "Yeah, sorry about that. Definitely not how we wanted to break the news."

Yoongi smirked, a hint of his usual confidence returning. "Well, at least now we don't have to hide it anymore."

I laughed along with them, the tension finally breaking. "Yeah, but maybe next time, lock the door?"

"Noted," Hoseok replied with a sheepish grin.

Later that evening...

I stood in front of my house, my thoughts were already on the evening ahead. Jungkook had texted me earlier, asking if he could come over, and I'd agreed. It had been a while since we spent any real time together, especially with everything going on in my life.

I unlocked the door, stepping inside as the familiar warmth of home enveloped me. The scent of something cooking drifted from the kitchen—Mom was always up to something, keeping herself busy. I texted Jungkook to let him know I was home, and soon enough, I heard a knock at the door.

When I opened it, there he stood, leaning casually against the frame with that signature grin of his. "Hey," he said, his voice low and teasing.

"Hey yourself," I replied, stepping aside to let him in.

We barely made it to the living room when my mom's voice called out from the kitchen. "Oh, Jungkook! Is that you?" she asked, peeking around the corner with a smile.

Jungkook offered a polite bow, looking slightly embarrassed by the attention. "Yes, it's me, Mrs. kim. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good, dear. How about you? Still causing trouble on campus?" she teased, knowing full well the rumors about his reputation.

Jungkook chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not as much trouble anymore, I promise."

I rolled my eyes and nudged him playfully. "Yeah, sure. He's a good boy now, right?"

Mom gave us both a knowing smile, clearly amused. "Well, that's good to hear. It's about time, isn't it?"

"Mom!" I groaned, shooting her a look as Jungkook's cheeks tinged with pink.

Before she could say anything else embarrassing, I grabbed Jungkook's arm. "We're going upstairs, okay?"

"Uh-huh," Mom replied, but just as we turned to head up, her voice rang out again. "I'm sure you have an IUD, right?"

My eyes went wide in horror. "Shut up, Mom!" I yelled, my face burning as I dragged Jungkook up the stairs with me.

Behind us, I could hear her laughing to herself. "Just saying!" she called after us.

When we finally reached my room, I closed the door behind us, leaning against it for a moment, trying to shake off the embarrassment. Jungkook, meanwhile, was grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly entertained by the whole situation.

"Your mom's hilarious," he said, dropping down onto my bed with a sigh.

I gave him a mock glare. "Yeah, well, I have to deal with her all the time, so trust me, it's not as funny from my end."

Jungkook just chuckled, patting the space beside him on the bed. "Come here."

I rolled my eyes but joined him, stretching out beside him as we settled in comfortably. The familiar ease between us took over, and for a while, we just lay there in silence, listening to the faint sounds of the house around us.

Then I felt his eyes on me.

I turned my head to look at him, and there he was—those big, doe-like eyes staring at me with a softness that made my heart skip a beat. Jungkook had this way of looking at me, like I was the only person in the world. It was impossible to resist.

I groaned, playfully smacking his arm. "What do you want?"

He blinked, feigning innocence. "What? I can't just look at my girlfriend?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, sure. Spill it, Jungkook. What are you up to?"

He hesitated for a second, then smiled sheepishly. "Okay, so... there's this party tonight."

I groaned inwardly. "A party? Really?"

He pouted, leaning closer. "Come on, it'll be fun. Can you come with me?"

I sighed, giving him a look. "Can't you just go by yourself? You don't need me there."

"Nooo," he whined, scooting closer until his head was practically on my shoulder. "I wanna be with my girlfriend."

The way he said it made my heart flutter, but I wasn't going to give in that easily. I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. "You don't want to let people know that the infamous campus fuckboy Jeon Jungkook is actually a baby when he's with me, do you?"

He huffed indignantly. "I'm not a fuckboy."

I raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Oh? Then what are you?"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a soft, serious tone. "I'm your boyfriend."

His words sent a wave of warmth through me, making my cheeks flush. I hated how easily he could get to me like this, how one simple sentence from him could make my heart race. I looked away, pretending to be unaffected. "Fine, fine. I'll go with you," I muttered.

Jungkook grinned triumphantly. "Really?"

"Yeah," I said, still avoiding his gaze. "But only if Sora can come too."

"Sora?" he asked, confusion flickering across his face. "I have no idea who that is, but... okay, sure."

I smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Great."

Jungkook gave me a curious look but didn't push it. Instead, he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer until I was tucked against his side. "Thanks for agreeing to come. It'll be fun, I promise."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, resting my head against his chest. "You better be right."

Later that evening...

We had spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around, talking about random things and just enjoying each other's company. As the evening approached, I reluctantly started getting ready for the party. Jungkook, of course, was no help—he just lay on my bed, watching me with amusement as I tried on different outfits.

"You know," he said, his voice teasing, "you could wear a garbage bag, and you'd still look hot."

I shot him a look. "That's not helpful, Jungkook."

He laughed, sitting up. "Okay, fine. How about this?" He pointed to the outfit I had on— a really cute red lacy dress, hugging my curves nicely.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. It wasn't fancy, but it was comfortable, and that was all I really cared about. "Yeah, this works."

Jungkook grinned, hopping off the bed and coming up behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder as he looked at our reflection. "You look amazing," he murmured.

I smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "Thanks."

After a few more minutes of last-minute adjustments, we were finally ready to go. As we headed downstairs, I mentally prepared myself for whatever chaos this party was going to bring. With Jungkook, you never really knew what to expect.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Mom was waiting by the door, clearly still amused by our earlier interaction. "Going out, I see," she said, her tone playful.

"Yeah," I replied, grabbing my jacket. "We're heading to a party."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Behave yourselves, okay?"

I groaned. "Mom, seriously. We'll be fine."

She just laughed, giving Jungkook a wink. "Take care of my daughter, Jungkook."

He smiled politely, nodding. "Of course, Mrs. kim. I always do."

With that, we finally made our way out the door and into the cool evening air. As we walked to Jungkook's car, he reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. It was a small gesture, but it made my heart swell.

"So," I said, glancing at him. "What kind of party is this, anyway?"

Jungkook shrugged. "Just a casual one. A few friends, some drinks, music. Nothing crazy."

I raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Uh-huh. I'll believe that when I see it."

He laughed, squeezing my hand. "Trust me, you'll have a good time."

on the way to the party.

"Baby, if ever you don't wanna be here anymore, just tell me, hm?" he said, glancing over at me with a tender look in his eyes. His concern was so endearing that I couldn't help but smile softly at him.

"Okay," I nodded, feeling reassured by his protective tone. Jungkook was so different with me, softer, caring. It still caught me off guard sometimes, given his infamous campus reputation.

Soon, we arrived at the party. As we pulled up, it was clear that the night was already in full swing. The chaos hit us even before we got out of the car—music blaring, people dancing wildly, and the unmistakable scent of alcohol hung in the air. I could already tell that half of the partygoers were drunk.

Jungkook stepped out first, rushing to my side to open the door for me, always the gentleman, even at a place like this. I took his hand as he led me through the crowd, his grip firm and protective. Just as we made it through the packed entrance, I spotted Sora, one of my closest friends.

"GIRLYYYY!" I squealed, rushing over to hug her tightly. It had been a while since I last saw her, and seeing her at the party immediately made everything feel lighter. Her energy was contagious.

Sora hugged me back, spinning me around dramatically before pulling away, her eyes landing on Jungkook. She scrunched up her nose in mock disgust and leaned in closer to me, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Is that the infamous Jeon Jungkook who has fucked every girl on campus?"

I winced, knowing Jungkook heard that. "Yeah, he's my boyfriend," I whispered back, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. There was something so ironic about the whole situation—everyone on campus thought they knew who Jungkook was, but the boy I knew was completely different.

Sora's eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth agape. "Girl, how the hell did HE pull YOU???" she exclaimed a bit too loudly.

I heard Jungkook clear his throat behind us. "Excuse me, I can hear you," he said, trying to sound serious, but the playful smirk on his lips gave him away. He wasn't mad—more amused, if anything. I turned around to see him crossing his arms over his chest, pretending to act offended.

Before I could respond, a group of guys approached us—Jungkook's friends, as I quickly recognized them. Jimin, Taehyung, and Mingyu were all grinning widely as they came up to us, clearly enjoying the chaos of the party.

"Hey bro—oh, who's this pretty lady you're with?" Mingyu asked, giving me a once-over with a playful grin. I knew instantly he was teasing, but Jungkook's arm tightened around my waist possessively.

"Don't even think about it, Gyu. She's my girlfriend," Jungkook declared, his tone light but firm. His friends laughed, but the look in their eyes showed they knew better than to challenge him.

Jimin nudged me gently. "Tell us if he hurts you, Y/N. We'll back you up," he said with an exaggerated serious expression, clearly joking, though I could tell there was a hint of genuine care behind his words.

Taehyung joined in, putting his arm around Jungkook. "Hey, hey, you're forgetting you guys are my friends too!" Jungkook laughed, shaking his head as his friends continued to tease him.

The party was in full swing. People were scattered everywhere—some dancing wildly, some slouched on couches deep in conversation, and others already passed out from drinking. I was mingling with Jungkook and his friends, the warmth of his presence at my side keeping me grounded amidst the madness.

But Sora, my ever-lively best friend, had shoo'd me away. I could still see her from where I stood, sitting on the couch by herself, a drink in hand, the picture of contented solitude. I knew she didn't want to feel like a third wheel, and in her usual carefree manner, she seemed to enjoy her own company for the time being.

As Jungkook talked to Taehyung and Mingyu, I caught sight of Namjoon walking towards Sora. My heart did a small, familiar flip. There was a time when I'd had a crush on Namjoon, and while those feelings had long since faded, the sight of him still gave me a strange sense of nostalgia.

Namjoon, always composed, always so cool, sat down next to Sora, a gentle smile on his lips as he greeted her. "You alright, pretty?" he asked, his deep voice carrying over the music.

Sora looked up, a little surprised to see him, but she quickly gave him a smile in return. "Hi," she said, taking a sip from her drink.

Namjoon leaned back on the couch, his body language open and relaxed. "What's up?" he asked, his eyes flicking over her face with mild concern. He had a way of reading people, always tuned into the little details.

Sora sighed, twirling the straw in her drink lazily. "Just bored. Shoo'd Y/N and Jungkook alone 'cause I didn't wanna be a third wheel," she explained with a slight eye roll.

Namjoon's smile widened, his dimple appearing. "Wanna change that?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes. Before Sora could answer, someone came over and interrupted their conversation.

"Hey! We're about to play spin the bottle!" the guy announced excitedly, clearly already a little tipsy. He was gesturing to a group forming in the middle of the living room. "You guys in?"

Sora didn't even hesitate. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she grabbed Namjoon by the arm, dragging him towards the circle before he could protest. "Come on, let's go!"

Namjoon glanced over at me, his expression one of mild amusement as Sora pulled him into the game. I gave him a small wave and a smile before returning to my conversation with Jungkook, who was blissfully unaware of the little interaction happening just a few feet away.

But my mind kept drifting back to the game. Spin the bottle always had a way of bringing unexpected drama, and as much as I tried to focus on the conversation in front of me, I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. What if Sora ended up with Jungkook? I trusted her, of course, but it would definitely make things awkward, especially since Sora didn't know about my past crush on Namjoon. The situation felt like a ticking time bomb, and I silently hoped for the best.

As the game progressed, I glanced over at the group every now and then. People were spinning the bottle, laughing, and occasionally disappearing into various rooms for the infamous "7 minutes in heaven." Sora seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing with Namjoon, who looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him at a party.

Then, it was Sora's turn.

My heart skipped a beat as she leaned forward to spin the bottle. The room seemed to quiet down, everyone watching as the bottle made its slow, torturous rotation on the floor. My eyes followed its every move, dread building in my chest as it spun closer and closer to Jungkook.

Please, not Jungkook, I silently begged.

The bottle slowed, inching its way past Jungkook and landing squarely on... Namjoon.

Relief flooded through me, I watched as Sora turned to look at Namjoon, her eyes wide with surprise but quickly morphing into a playful grin. Namjoon raised an eyebrow, glancing at me briefly before standing up. He shot me a small, reassuring smile, though I wasn't sure why he felt the need to comfort me.

"The third bedroom to the right!" one of the guys yelled, his voice cutting through the room's din. The crowd cheered as Sora stood up, grabbing Namjoon's hand and dragging him toward the stairs with a laugh.

my eyes dragged as i watched them disappearing up the stairs together. There was something surreal about it—seeing my best friend and the guy I used to like head off for "20 minutes in heaven." I wasn't sure how to feel, but I did my best to shrug it off. Sora didn't know about my old crush, and Namjoon was just a friend now. There was no reason to be upset.

I turned my attention back to Jungkook, who had noticed my distracted state. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "You okay?"

I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... thinking about sora"

He smirked, clearly amused. "Worried about Sora?"

I blinked, surprised by how easily he read me. "yeah, I just—"

"Relax, babe. Namjoon's a good guy. Sora's in good hands," he said, squeezing my hand gently. His words should have reassured me, but they only made my thoughts spiral further.

The clock seemed to tick slower in the dimly lit room. Namjoon sat on the edge of the bed, his heart racing for reasons he didn't quite understand. Across from him, Sora was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed frame, swirling her seventh drink around lazily in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red from all the alcohol she'd consumed, her lips slightly parted as she hiccuped softly, a tipsy smile on her face.

Namjoon hadn't anticipated this turn of events. He had agreed to the game, figuring it would just be a silly, harmless round of "20 minutes in heaven." Maybe they'd laugh, maybe they'd talk, and then head back downstairs. But as the minutes ticked by, it was clear that Sora wasn't just tipsy; she was completely wasted.

"It's fine if you're not okay with this, Sora," Namjoon said gently, his voice filled with concern. He wasn't sure if she fully understood the situation, or if she was even aware of how out of it she was. He knew Sora could handle her alcohol—she was no stranger to parties—but tonight seemed different. Something was off.

Sora tilted her head up, giving him a lopsided grin. Her eyes were glazed over, barely focusing on his face. "It's fine, Joon," she slurred, her voice heavy with the effects of the alcohol. "I want you."

Namjoon's breath hitched in his throat as Sora suddenly lunged forward, pressing her lips against his with a surprising amount of force. Her kiss was sloppy, tasting overwhelmingly of alcohol. He could feel her hands fumbling at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but there was nothing about the situation that felt right to him.

Gently, but firmly, Namjoon pushed her away, breaking the kiss. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the bitter taste of alcohol still lingering on his lips. "Sora," he said softly, his voice filled with worry. "How many drinks have you had tonight?"

Sora blinked at him, her head swaying slightly as she tried to focus on his face. "Uhm... twelve?" she replied, giggling at her own inability to remember. She flashed him a tipsy smile, her eyes half-closed. "But who's counting, right?"

Namjoon frowned, feeling a surge of protectiveness for her. This wasn't the Sora he knew—the sharp, witty, confident woman who could hold her own in any situation. This was someone drowning in alcohol, trying to numb herself from something deeper. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Sora, no way I'm going to take advantage of you," Namjoon said, his voice firm but kind. He placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her steady as she swayed slightly. "I'm not that kind of guy."

She looked up at him, blinking slowly, as if trying to process what he was saying. But instead of responding, she giggled again, leaning her head against his chest. "You're sweet," she mumbled. "But I'm fine, Joon. I can handle it. I'll drink those 15 shots for you." Her words were slurred, but her tone was playful, as if this were all a game to her.

Namjoon shook his head, his frown deepening. "Sora, you're drunk. You don't have to do that."

But she didn't seem to hear him. She was already pushing herself off the bed, wobbling unsteadily as she stood. Namjoon quickly stood as well, placing a hand on her arm to keep her from falling over. Sora's laughter echoed through the room as she stumbled toward the door, determined to go back downstairs and take those shots.

"Sora, wait," Namjoon said, his grip on her arm tightening slightly. "Let's just stay here for a bit, okay? You need to sober up."

But Sora was already reaching for the door handle, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Namjoon sighed, realizing that reasoning with her wasn't going to work. He had no choice but to follow her downstairs, keeping a close eye on her to make sure she didn't hurt herself.

Sora immediately headed for the table where the shots were lined up, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Sora, seriously, you don't need to do this," Namjoon tried again, his voice strained with concern. But she wasn't listening. She grabbed the first shot and downed it without hesitation, slamming the glass back on the table with a triumphant grin.

"One down!" she yelled, already reaching for the next one.

Namjoon stood by her side, his arms crossed, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over him. He didn't want to be the killjoy, but he couldn't stand by and watch her drink herself into oblivion. He knew something deeper was going on, something she wasn't talking about.

As Sora reached for the second shot, Namjoon stepped in, his hand gently covering hers. "Sora, stop," he said, his voice more commanding this time. "You're going to make yourself sick."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and confused. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice soft and vulnerable.

Namjoon's expression softened as he met her gaze. "Because you're my....friend," he said hesitantly. wasn't so sure if he wanted the friend as label for them. "And I don't want to see you hurt yourself."

For a moment, Sora just stared at him, her drunken haze lifting slightly as his words sank in. Then, slowly, she let go of the shot glass and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice small. "I just... I just didn't want to feel alone tonight."

Namjoon wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she trembled slightly in his arms. He didn't say anything, just let her rest against him, offering her the quiet comfort she so desperately needed.

After a few moments, Sora pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I guess I've had too much to drink," she admitted, her voice shaky.

Namjoon smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Let's get you some water, okay?" he said, guiding her away from the shots and toward the kitchen.

As they walked, Namjoon couldn't help but glance back at the crowd, where the game was still in full swing. He spotted me sitting with Jungkook, both of us laughing and enjoying ourselves, completely unaware of the emotional rollercoaster that had just unfolded upstairs.

In the kitchen, Namjoon filled a glass with water and handed it to Sora, who took it gratefully. She drank slowly, her hands still shaking slightly from the alcohol. Namjoon watched her closely, making sure she was okay.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, leaning against the counter as he waited for her to finish drinking.

Sora looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of embarrassment and sadness. "It's stupid," she mumbled, setting the glass down on the counter.

Namjoon shook his head. "It's not stupid if it's making you feel like this."

Sora sighed, running a hand through her hair as she leaned against the counter next to him. "I just... I had a crush on this guy," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he rejected me. And I guess I just... I don't know, I wanted to forget about it tonight."

Namjoon frowned, his heart aching for her. He knew how hard rejection could be, and it was clear that Sora was hurting more than she let on. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "That sucks."

Sora laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, it happens, right? Can't win them all."

Namjoon didn't say anything, just stood by her side, offering her silent support. After a few moments of silence, Sora turned to him, her expression softening.

"Thanks, Joon," she said quietly. "For being here. And for stopping me from doing something stupid."

Namjoon smiled, his dimple appearing as he reached out to squeeze her hand gently. "Anytime."

As the night went on, the party continued in full swing, but Namjoon and Sora stayed in the kitchen, away from the chaos. They talked, laughed, and slowly, Sora began to sober up. By the time the party was winding down, Sora was feeling more like herself again.

"I should probably get home," she said, standing up from the stool she had been sitting on. "Before I do something else I'll regret."

Namjoon chuckled, standing up as well. "I'll bring you home," he offered.

Sora smiled, grateful for his kindness. "You're a good guy, Joon," she said as they made their way to the front door.

Namjoon shrugged, a shy smile on his lips. "Just doing what any friend would do."

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Sora took a deep breath, feeling more clear-headed than she had all night. "You know," she said, glancing over at Namjoon. "I think I might have a crush on you now."

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, shocked.

The night was quiet outside the car, a stark contrast to the chaotic party they'd just left. Y/N and Jungkook were laying down in the backseat, the engine off, but the warmth of the night kept them comfortable. The windows were slightly fogged up from their relaxed breathing. Y/N shifted slightly, her head resting against Jungkook’s chest as she sighed, her fingers lazily playing with his.

"I feel bad for Sora," Y/N murmured softly, breaking the silence.

Jungkook, who had his arm wrapped around her waist, tilted his head slightly to look down at her. "Why’s that, baby?"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered as she blinked up at the ceiling of the car, her voice tinged with sadness. "Her crush rejected her. I saw how much she was drinking, and she just seemed... I don’t know, lost. I hate seeing people like that."

Jungkook’s fingers traced absentminded patterns on her side, his touch light and soothing. "I get it," he said softly. "But Namjoon’s got her now. He’ll take care of her. She’ll be alright."

Y/N nodded, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she breathed in the comforting scent of Jungkook's cologne. "Yeah... Namjoon’s a good guy," she said, her tone thoughtful. But there was something else bubbling underneath her words, something unspoken that she couldn’t quite put into coherent sentences.

A silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. They both were wrapped in their thoughts, the events of the night playing back in their minds. Y/N felt her pulse slow, the alcohol leaving her system bit by bit, but her body was still buzzing with energy—though not from the party anymore.

"Jungkook?" she whispered, breaking the silence once more.

"Yeah, baby?"

She turned her head slightly, her lips brushing against his neck as she spoke. "Would it be kinda crazy if I said I want you to fuck me so bad in the car right now?"

Her words hung in the air for a split second before they sunk in. The shift in Jungkook’s demeanor was immediate. His body tensed beneath her as his breath hitched in his throat, the playful and relaxed atmosphere turning into something electric in an instant. Without another word, Jungkook’s lips crashed into hers, the intensity of his kiss matching the sudden fire that had sparked between them.

He rolled on top of her, his body pressing her down against the seat, his hands sliding down to her waist. His touch was firm but teasing as his fingers ghosted over the curves of her body, exploring the soft fabric of her dress that hugged her figure perfectly.

"You’re so hot in this dress, baby," he murmured against her lips, his voice husky and breathless from the kiss.

Y/N smiled into the kiss, her hands finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "I should wear it more often, huh?" she teased, her voice dripping with seduction.

Jungkook growled softly, nipping at her bottom lip as he pulled back just enough to look down at her. His eyes were dark, filled with desire as he took her in—the way her hair spilled out over the seat, the way her lips were slightly swollen from their kiss, and the way her dress clung to her body in all the right places.

"Nope," he said, his voice low and possessive. "Save it for me."

Y/N’s heart raced at his words, a shiver running down her spine. There was something about the way Jungkook looked at her, the way his eyes drank her in like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, that made her feel completely and utterly desired.

His hands roamed her body, fingers tracing the edges of her dress as he pushed the fabric up, revealing the soft skin of her thighs. Y/N gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as his touch sent sparks of electricity shooting through her.

"Jungkook..." she whispered, her voice breathy.

"Shh, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck as he trailed kisses down her collarbone. "Let me take care of you."

His words were a promise, a vow to make this moment about her, to worship every inch of her. His hands continued their journey up her body, pushing her dress higher until it was bunched up around her waist. Y/N bit her lip, her breath coming in shallow gasps as his hands slid beneath the fabric of her panties, teasing her with the lightest of touches.

Jungkook’s lips found hers again, kissing her deeply as his fingers brushed against her most sensitive spot, drawing a moan from her throat. He smirked against her lips, his fingers moving with more purpose now, knowing exactly how to make her body react.

"You’re so wet already," he whispered, his voice filled with pride. "All for me, huh?"

Y/N’s response was a soft whimper, her hips bucking against his hand, craving more of his touch. "Only for you," she breathed, her hands gripping his hair as she pulled him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against her.

Jungkook groaned softly, his free hand gripping her thigh as he positioned himself between her legs, the fabric of their clothes the only thing keeping them apart. The tension between them was unbearable, the need for each other growing with every passing second.

Without another word, Jungkook pulled away from her, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his jeans as he kicked them off, his movements quick and desperate. Y/N followed suit, slipping her panties off and tossing them aside, her eyes locked on Jungkook’s as he hovered over her once more.

"You sure about this, baby?" Jungkook asked, his voice low and filled with lust, but still carrying a note of concern. He always made sure she was comfortable, that she wanted this as much as he did.

Y/N nodded, her hands reaching out to pull him closer. "I’ve never been more sure of anything," she whispered, her voice filled with need.

That was all the confirmation Jungkook needed.

He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers as he slowly pushed inside her, both of them gasping at the sensation. Y/N’s nails dug into his shoulders as he filled her completely, her body arching off the seat as pleasure surged through her.

"Fuck, baby," Jungkook groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he began to move, his pace slow but deliberate. "You feel so good."

Y/N could barely form coherent thoughts as he thrust into her, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over her. Her hands roamed his back, nails leaving faint marks on his skin as she clung to him, her body trembling with the intensity of it all.

"Jungkook," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate. "Faster, please."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened at her request, and without hesitation, he quickened his pace, his hips snapping against hers with more urgency. The car rocked slightly with each thrust, the confined space making their movements even more intimate, every touch, every kiss, amplified by their closeness.

Y/N’s moans filled the car, her body completely consumed by the pleasure Jungkook was giving her. She could feel herself getting closer, the tension building in her core with each thrust. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she teetered on the edge of release.

"Come for me, baby," Jungkook whispered in her ear, his voice rough and filled with desire. "I wanna feel you."

That was all it took.

Y/N’s body tensed as her orgasm crashed over her, her back arching off the seat as she cried out his name, her body trembling beneath him. Jungkook groaned at the sight of her coming undone, the feeling of her tightening around him pushing him over the edge.

With a few more thrusts, Jungkook followed her, his body tensing as he spilled inside her, his moans muffled against her neck as he rode out his own release.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their bodies still pressed together as they caught their breath. The only sound in the car was their ragged breathing, the tension slowly ebbing away, replaced by a soft, comfortable silence.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. "You okay, baby?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Y/N smiled up at him, her fingers brushing his cheek. "More than okay," she whispered, her heart still racing.

A/N : okay okay did you guys miss me?? i missed yall tooo. this was kinda short, i know. but i'll make sure to make the few of the last chapters worth it for you guys. thank you so much for taking ur time to read. tho i didn't reach my goal for 15k words i'm sure i'll get it soon

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two-red-lungs · 2 years ago

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The Kids Are Alright (Eddie Munson)

Your first date with Eddie Munson is fine, as far as first dates go. You get pizza together: meet awkwardly outside the door at 7pm, hands sweaty, exchanging nervous, butterfly-riddled smiles. You eat. He can't stop moving in his seat opposite you, tapping his hands on the sticky enamel tabletop. He looks at you with big brown eyes. Wary, at first, then as the night goes on and it becomes clear this isn't some string-along joke, or a prank, with boyish glee.

But the second date is the one that really shines.

Eddie, in all his intellectual glory, takes you to the Dollar Tree.

It's late, again, and the D in the logo flickers in and out of existence. The air inside smells like cheap plastic, dust, and the urban sprawl of capitalism. This is a place that's usually... dead. A pathetic sort of dead, where dreams come to die, the cashier looks about five seconds from falling asleep, agonizingly boring elevator music plays over tinny speakers, and Hawaiian themed teacups are on sale for ninety-nine cents.

You think god, what the hell are we even doing here? This is hardly a dinner date, or the bowling alley, or makeout point, or any of the usual dates your friends always bragged so cooling about. But then Eddie looks at you over his shoulder, spins on his heel, and throws his arms wide. His outfit jingles.

"Welcome," he says with a glint in his dark eyes, "to the goddamn kingdom of imagination."

You should leave. God knows to anyone else at school this date could sound like a horror story, an uncouth, uncool, unladylike disaster. But there's something in those eyes. Something vibrant and alive and real. So instead of leaving you think, okay. Why not.

Best decision of your life.

He knows this place by heart, every white-tiled aisle under the buzzing fluorescents. And he's funny, too: you didn't expect him to be so funny. As you both slowly amble and push your squeaky-wheeled cart he picks up random shit, talking as he fiddles.

A fuzzy caterpillar cat toy becomes his moustache. He wraps a crinkled paper streamer around his neck like a boa and faints dramatically against some of the shelves. He scurries to the aisle next to you and pretends to walk down a staircase, disappearing from view: when his moppish head pops back up again, his wild hair flounces.

Huh. He smiles like the sun.

Eddie asks about everything possible, and god, under his stoner slang he's whip fucking smart. You crack a joke or a sarcastic reference and he smoothly returns it with equal emphasis, two tennis players on the court.

You check out picture frames. Eddie suggests throwing a little spraypaint on it, a little silver paint to light the edges, some weathering with sandpaper, and suddenly you've got yourself some primo decor.

"You like to paint?" You ask him, standing in the aisle, holding the shitty wooden frame. He's looking over your shoulder. You can feel his body heat, this close.

"I'm a big believer in, uh. Creativity, y'know?" His smile is big, toothy. Still nervous. Like as extroverted as he is, as big as his personality could be, the sting of a scoff or a sneer could still hurt.

You tell him that's cool. Something in his eyes softens.

God, you don't know how many hours you spend in that place, just talking and touching shit and discussing potential DIY projects and cool ideas. You talk comics, and music, and Hawkins social politics. He tells you about Tolkien. You tell him about David Brin. He likes David Murray, you like Siouxie Sioux. You both agree the autumn leaves this time of year make the Hawkins High look like its roof is on fire (and god, if only).

Your cart is full of bullshit you don't really need, bullshit full of promise and potential, and Eddie is letting you ride the cart with your feet on the front bar as he pushes it down the aisle at mach one speed. He splutters behind you, your hair in his mouth. He's laughing.

The total comes to 12 dollars even. The plan for the next date is to turn the kids bathtub toys you bought- ducks and dolls and dolphins- into zombies and mummies and other creatures with the shitty barely-opaque acrylics set you scored.

The sky is black outside, and it's raining. He asks if he'll see you again this week, and you say yeah, duh. The air feels like fireworks- like lightning, like a live wire. You think for a second that he's gonna kiss you.

Eddie pulls out a silver-plastic tiara from under his vest, nicked free of charge from the girl's section, and sets it on your head. It's cheap, pattern-punched plastic with pink plastic gems. It's perfect. He's made you a fairytale.

Munson bows, smiles again- the one that makes his eyes crinkle- and then he's off in his van.

He's so weird. He's so strange. You don't understand him.

You think you really like him.

#eddie munson #stranger things s4 spoilers #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #my writing #I'M NOT DEAD I'M JUST IN UNIVERSITY

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newfoundstateof · 6 months ago

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but she fell in love with an english man | b.b. x reader

summary: Academy friends drag Benedict to a tavern to watch Irish fiddle player!reader perform. He buys her a drink. But who can play a fiddle and drink a pint at the same time?

word count: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive but none

a/n: definitely not inspired by those tiktoks of dirty talk bar maids at ren faires, who said that???

“They are spectacular,” Rupert Norton declared with an arm slung over Benedict’s shoulder.

The rest of the Royal Academy students hummed in agreement. Already drunk from the party they left minutes ago, a small group of them stumbled down the cobbled streets of Soho. Earlier that night, news broke that a band that visited a few weeks before Benedict enrolled at the Academy had returned to much anticipation. In an instant, pipes were dropped, coats were gathered, and boots were marching to The Intrepid Fox tavern.

“They’re from Ireland,” someone said.

“I’ve never danced so much in my life,” another added.

“And the fiddle player is quite easy on the eyes,” Rupert slurred into Benedict’s ear. “Try and buy her a drink if you can. That usually gets her attention.”

Benedict laughed. “I’m just here to enjoy the music. As should all of you scoundrels.”

Once inside the tavern, a few of the men beelined to the bar to order whiskey shots for the fiddle player despite the empty stage in the corner. Benedict simply took a seat at the bar, observing the growing crowd. The band’s reputation must have preceded them, as he was soon shoulder to shoulder with the eager fans. But for the next twenty minutes, only chatter filled the room.

“They always like to keep you waiting,” Rupert grumbled into his ale. “But it’s worth it, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Benedict smiled. “It’s good people watch-”

The room erupted into cheering, and he turned toward the stage. Sure enough, two men climbed the small wooden platform. One carried a fiddle, the other a flute. The room roared even louder when you emerged with your fiddle, waving a good-natured hand to the audience. Your smile was wide and disarming. Your gaze was equally piercing. Looking at the gleam in your eyes, Benedict knew just how aware you were of your control over the room. Soon the clapping died down, and every soul waited with bated breath to what you would say.

A scrawny kitchen hand hurried up to you and set a tray of shots down on a small barrel.

“Wow,” you breathed. “All this for little old me?”

Benedict found himself chuckling with everyone. As you threw a shot back, his stomach dropped. You were certainly not like the young ladies of the ton.

“This crowd is mighty impressive, isn’t it, boys?” you asked your bandmates as you all started tuning your instruments. “We appreciate you for coming out. If you don’t know us already, the lad on the flute is Johnny. My fellow friend on the fiddle is Patrick. And I’m Y/N. I have a favor to ask of you all… From now until the last of you sorry lot leave this building, I hereby decree this an Irish pub! That means we will be clapping along to the songs, singing if you know the words, and if you are so inclined, I would love to see some dancing tonight.”

Someone in the audience whistled, evoking more cheers.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” you grinned.

The trio launched into Seven Drunken Nights, a popular jig even Benedict knew. Though his classmates were rowdily singing along, he could only stare at you. Johnny and Patrick generally kept to their places on stage, but you swayed across, drawing your bow theatrically compared to Patrick’s controlled movements. He was the main vocalist, but during the wife’s lines in the song, you sang with the crowd.

“Ah, you’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly ol’ fool. Still, you cannot see, that’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me!”

Benedict couldn’t decide if you were a better fiddle player or singer, you were impeccable at both. But without a doubt, you were the best at simply putting on a show. You encouraged people to dance along as you skipped across the stage. Benedict could only imagine how taxing it was for you. Dancing, singing, and playing an instrument all while not breaking a sweat. He eyed the tray of shots, turned to the nearest bartender, and ordered something more refreshing for you.

As you strung out the last note of Seven Drunken Nights, the same kitchen hand ran the mug of beer up to your tray. You sighed to yourself.

“Which one of you did this?” you cried out, lifting the mug high.

Heads spun every which way. Benedict froze. Was liquor the only appropriate drink to tip a musician? He wasn’t sure, he’d never been to something like this. Awkwardly, he coughed and raised his hand.

Your eyes found him in the sea of faces, and you smirked. “Don’t be shy, come here!”

Rupert clapped Benedict on the back. “Don’t screw this up, Bridgerton. She might go home with you tonight.”

Though he had been with many women and dangerously close with a few men, you still intimidated him somehow. Nothing intimate had been on his mind before Rupert’s comment, but now his heart skipped a few beats at just the thought of it. Benedict snaked through the crowd, trying to read the expression on your face. But all you looked was smug, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you poured the ale on his head.

“Finally,” you breathed as he stood before you. “One of you buys a lady a real drink!”

He exhaled in relief.

“I’m afraid I’m quite thirsty though,” you pout, getting down on one knee. The stage was barely a foot off the ground, putting your face directly in front of Benedict’s wide shoulders. “And we need to get on with the next song, but I don’t have enough hands. Would you help me, good sir?”

Without waiting for his response, you shoved the drink in his hands and looked up to the ceiling. Before Benedict could blink, you were poising your instrument and drawing out a note with your bandmates following suit.

“We’re lucky I don’t sing in this one,” you smile, giving him a pointed look. “Get on with it, now. I’m parched.”

Never one to argue with a lady, Benedict slowly tilted the rim of the glass to your lips and poured the liquid steadily down your throat. You looked up through your lashes at him, daring him to look away. But he didn’t. Only when some of the ale dripped down your chin and onto your bodice did his gaze break yours.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No,” as much as you could with your lips around the glass.

As you neared the last dregs, your head tilted back more and more to get it all. The eroticism of it all was not lost on Benedict, especially as you swallowed the last gulp and moaned audibly. The growing friction in the front of his pants was no help. But once the glass was finished, you rose to your feet and sent him off with a wink. As you spun to the other side of the stage, the hem of your skirt brushed his groin and he mindlessly reached for the fabric. But you were gone. In a trance, Benedict walked backward to his friends at the bar, adjusting himself.

“Has she done that before,” he coughed.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Rupert crowed. “And I’ve seen them perform at least five times since I started at the Academy.”

“You’ve got to talk to her after, Bridgerton,” someone urged.

“Can I come along?” a voice teased.

“You’re the luckiest bastard on earth right now,” another sighed.

Across the room, you caught him starring and blew him a quick kiss.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Luckiest bastard on earth.”

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bluecollarmcandtf · 8 months ago

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Typical Day For a Bouncer

I'm Joey, a security guard at a night club down the street. I got the job because I'm a big ex-rugby player, but I've kept it for so long because I'm good at handling people. I can't tell you how many underage idiots try to sneak in here. It takes patience, grit, and a keen eye to keep the troublemakers out!

Like any other Friday night, the club is packed tight and a line of impatient patrons stretches down the street. I've gotten good at telling people "no," in a way that makes them listen, so they have no choice but to calmly wait until I feel like checking their ID and letting them in.

Every now and again, I'll have some fools try to sweet talk their way in. Girls try to flirt, guys try to bribe, but the biggest assholes make a scene. It's nothing I can't handle.

Just last week, I had this entitled brat come up to me and demand I let him in. The boy couldn't have thought I'd believe he was twenty-one. He wasn't even in line! I don't remember what I did to get him to shut up, but he kept hammering on and on about his skills with hypnosis. I remember listening to that kid ramble about the voodoo of the mind for what felt like forever.

I don't remember kicking him to the curb, though. He probably got tired and went home.

"Hey, buddy!" a familiar voice squeaks over the music. I roll my eyes, preparing myself to say no yet again.

"Oh, it's you," my deep voice catches in my throat. The kid from last week is standing in front of me once more, ignoring the line of adults to his left. In his ratty sweatshirt and baseball cap, he doesn't look any older than eighteen. Still, the sight of him unlocks a memory I somehow had forgotten. "Hello, sir!" I call back, remembering him as my closest and most respected friend. How could I've forgotten that this boy was my best friend I call sir?

"You gonna let me in, big guy?" A devious grin spreads across his boyish face.

"Of course, sir."

There are a few angry comments from the people waiting in line. I can't imagine they're happy to see this guy ushered into the club before them. Normally, I have a strict policy against VIP treatment. I think everyone should have to wait in line like equals, but sir is great. He can come and go whenever he wants!

"Hey, why don't you take a break from the front and buy me some beers," the boy yells over the roar of the music.

I leave the entrance and start pushing my way through the crowd in the direction of the bar. I probably should've warned the other bouncer that I was taking a break, but my feet were carrying me away before I knew what was happening. The other guard knows what he's doing, but he's still pretty new here. I'm sure he'll be fine.

The bartender gives me a can of light beer, and I hustle it back to the boy on the dance floor. People tend to get out of the way when they see a giant security guard coming through, but the place is so jammed packed that I have to press against several sweaty partiers on the way over.

"Your beer, sir," I say, flinching at the meekness in my voice.

"What the hell is this?" he whines when he sees the drink, "This is crap. Get me the good stuff, and buy a lot of it!" The kid tossed the open can at my broad chest, and the cheap beer splashes across my uniform.

"Yes, sir."

I march back to the bar with a clenched fist, and grab a tray, ordering the barback to fill it up with the more expensive bottles of beer. He glances at my soaked shirt and pants, but averts his eyes the second he sees my less-than-friendly face.

That boy is my best friend. I respect him greatly, but goddamn is he infuriating. How did I even become close to someone so immature? I pacify myself, and carry the tray back over to the kid.

"That's better," he snorts and takes a sip of the premium drink while I stand there to make sure he likes it this time.

"Alright, sir," I begin, thinking about the twenty minute break I've been taking, "I need to get back to work."

"No you don't!" the boy interjects.

"I..." the words fumble in my mouth, "...well, I don't need to, but I should, sir."

"Tell your boss you're done for the night. Then go wait by my car. You can guard it!"

"Yes, sir," the words come out before I even know what I've agreed to.

Before I know it, I'm marching into the back office and calmly telling the club owner that I'm taking the night off. He's pissed, but I'm his most reliable employee, so he doesn't fire me. I can tell he's not happy, though. He looks like he'd take a swing at me if I weren't two feet taller than him and a hundred pounds heavier.

"You make a great watchdog!" the teenager laughs as he comes stumbling out of the club.

Something about him brings a scowl to my face. It might be the way he referred to me as an animal, or it might be the way he's staring at me like I am an animal. Maybe I'm just irritated from standing by this parked car in the cold for the last two hours, but this boy is getting on my nerves.

"No one has bothered your car, sir," I report.

"Good, boy," he slurs and then reaches a gangly arm to pat the top of my head. I can smell the distinct earthiness of the beer I'd bought wafting out with his breath.

Every muscle in my body tenses up, as I try my best to restrain myself. Sir is my best friend. I respect him. I do what he says. I shouldn't get this worked up by him making a little joke at my expense. It's perfectly fine for him to tease me a little since I trust him completely. I know all this.

"Still think hypnosis is fake?" he asks, bringing his wet lips uncomfortably close to my own.

"Sir?" my brow furrows, unsure why he's bringing up that crap again.

"Well, it's real, and you're hypnotized."

I stifle a groan, "Sir, you've had a lot to drink..."

"The only thing I'm drunk on is power!" he yells, smashing a bottle on the sidewalk for effect, "I've got you like a trained dog; that's how good of a hypnotist I am! Let me prove it."

I was pissed. I was livid. Sir had mocked and insulted me repeatedly. It was a bad idea for anyone to pick on me, especially someone a third of my size! Nevertheless, the boy has all my faith, so I kept my mouth clamped shut.

He told me to kneel, and I grunted, "Yes, sir." I already had beer all over my clothes, so what's a little mud on the knees of my pants? It was better to just keep him happy, but that didn't mean he had hypnotized me.

"Keep your arms raised, like you're worshipping me," he went on.

"Yes, sir."

My arms went up. I'll admit this was a bit more strange, but I still trust and respect the teenager enough to comply. That doesn't say anything about my state of mind.

"Alright, now stay like that until I come back," he laughs, "I'm going to get a snack, but if anyone walks by, I want you to bark at them like the hypnotized guard dog you are!"

"Yes, sir," I answer, hearing the hoarseness in my voice.

As the boy stumbles away, I find myself stuck in the position he'd left me in: on my knees, in the cold, with my arms raised in compliance. I'm doing this willingly, right?

Time creeps by uncomfortably slow as I silently wait next to his car. Suddenly, I hear footsteps nearby. A wave of barks burst out of my throat, and I find myself growling like a territorial mutt in the direction of the pedestrians.

Now I'm acting like a dog!

Sir doesn't come back for another hour, which leaves me to viciously snap at numerous other passerby. They seem terrified, which makes sense. They probably think I'm insane! I'm beginning to wonder if I'm insane too.

I respect that boy more than anyone even if I only met him once, a week ago. I really would do anything he told me too. Is that strange? It's not like me to be so...obedient. I'm the kind of guy that normally tells people what to do, so why am I doing this?

There's no way...it's not possible...I can't actually be hypnotized, right?

"Good, boy," he pulls off my cap and ruffles my hair, "Now, be a good dog and drive me to your house. I might fall asleep on the way there, so you'll have to carry me inside to your bed. If you do good, I'll give you a special treat." He licks his lips and reaches a scrawny hand out to squeeze my tired pec.

"Yes, sir," I answer, jumping up to do his bidding, but I can feel that the words aren't really mine.

Shit. I think he's right. I think I am hypnotized.

#hypno story #mind control #gay mind control #gay ai art #hypnotized #servant

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rocksmusicplayer · 16 days ago

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szariahwroteit · 9 days ago

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FUNGIRL A Trent Alexander-Arnold + Original Character Erotic Series.

Chapter 6

18+ Minors DNI

While Trent and Jude were close friends, brothers even. On the football pitch, they were fierce rivals and competitive leaders in their own right.

When Real Madrid came to Merseyside, Trent and his Liverpool teammates refused to allow Jude and his teammates a chance to win on their home turf.

The game was intense from the very first whistle, however after Liverpool left the stadium with a win, players of both teams had arranged a night out in Liverpool spearheaded by Jude and Trent.

It went without saying that Trent had Amber accompany him on their night out, her perfect little body draped in a cleavage-baring backless dress that Trent was ready to rip off of her the moment he saw her in it.

Living in the capital often diminished any need to venture outside of it for nightlife, but Amber couldn’t deny how vibrant and full of life the nightclub they currently stood in was.

It almost reminded her of some of her favourite spots back home in Los Angeles, but her comparisons were pushed to the back of her mind as Trent approached her holding a glass of champagne.

“Here you go, beautiful,” Trent said, his voice smooth as he handed her the glass. His eyes sparkled with mischief and admiration as he took in her stunning appearance. The way the dress hugged her curves left him momentarily speechless, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride knowing she was with him.

Amber accepted the glass, her fingers brushing against his as she did. “Thanks,” she replied, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “You clean up pretty well yourself, you know.”

Trent chuckled, adjusting the collar of his tailored shirt. “I try my best, especially when I have someone like you by my side.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You look absolutely perfect tonight.”

Amber felt her cheeks flush at his compliment, a flutter of excitement coursing through her. “You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Alexander-Arnold,” she teased, taking a sip of the champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose, and she savoured the crisp taste.

As they stood together, the energy of the club pulsed around them. The music thumped in time with their heartbeats, and the vibrant lights danced across the room, casting a kaleidoscope of colours on their faces. Amber felt alive, the atmosphere intoxicating, and she couldn’t help but lean into Trent’s side, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He’d introduced her to his friends from home who were in attendance, his teammates who shown up for the night out, and Jude and his Real Madrid teammates, who were equally eager to let their hair down after such a physical match.

The club was absolutely bustling and the presence of so many celebrities only seemed to add to the energy of the room.

Trent was pulled away from Amber’s side by a teammate of his, taking a sip from her glass, she went and took a seat on the arm of a plush sofa a few of Trent’s friends were lounging on.

Offering them a polite smile, Amber took another sip of her drink as she watched the club move around her.

Turning as she felt the presence of someone who took the seat beside her, she found it to be another of Trent’s friends, whose eyes ran up and down her body a few times before meeting hers.

“Amber, right?” he smiled.

“That's me,” she acknowledged politely.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked leaning into her ear so she could hear him over the music.

“Yeah, it’s been great so far!” Amber replied, her voice bright as she tried to keep the conversation light. She glanced around the club, taking in the vibrant atmosphere and the laughter of the people around her. “The energy here is amazing.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his smile widening. “Micah,” he introduced himself, leaning closer. “You’re the most stunning girl in the room. I’d be lying if I didn’t say Trent is pretty lucky to have you here.”

Amber felt a small rush of warmth at the compliment and smiled back at him, but something in Micah’s gaze shifted—harder, more probing. “But you know, it’s just wild to think he’ll never actually take you seriously.”

Her smile faltered, and she swallowed hard, questioning the energy she’d felt only moments earlier. “Excuse me?” she asked, trying to hold onto a semblance of confidence.

“Look, we all think you’re beautiful , but that’s never been enough to keep Trent. He just doesn’t care to take things seriously, you know? But then again he doesn’t have to he’s a handsome millionaire. It’s not fair,” Micah laughed, his voice barely above the thumping music.

Amber felt her heart drop. “That’s not true,” she replied, but doubt crept into her mind. A lot of Micah’s thoughts had previously been her own and it stung to hear them come so freely out of someone else’s mouth.

Micah leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. “The fact he shares is a good consolation, though.”

“What does that mean?” Amber asked, a chill of unease moving slowly down her spine.

“I mean, I’m more than happy to share with Trent. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Micah said as he bit his bottom lip, dragging his eyes lustfully down Amber’s figure instantly making her stomach flip.

Standing to her feet, Amber put down her glass and quickly made off in the direction of the bathroom as her eyes filled with tears and her hands grew clammy.

Tearfully ordering an Uber to her location, Amber sat in the bathroom stall of the club feeling absolutely pathetic.

This repeated cycle was one she couldn't continue, Amber was officially stepping off of the emotional roller coaster that was Trent Alexander-Arnold.

When her phone vibrated in her hand, Amber quickly wiped her tears and glanced at the screen. Standing on her feet when she saw her car was outside of the club.

Being careful not to bump into Trent or any of his friends as she made her way towards the exit, Amber wrapped her hands around herself in a poor attempt to shield herself from the cold as she stepped out into the night air. The club's pulsating music faded behind her, replaced by the distant sounds of laughter and chatter from the street. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly defeated.

As she approached the waiting Uber, she took a moment to collect herself. The driver, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, nodded at her through the rearview mirror. “You okay?” he asked gently.

Amber forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Yeah, just a long night,” she replied, sliding into the back seat. She closed the door, shutting out the world for a moment, and leaned her head against the cool glass window.

The driver started the car and pulled away from the curb. Amber watched the city lights blur past, each one a reminder of the fun she had hoped to have tonight. Instead, she felt like she was leaving behind a piece of herself—again.

Her mind drifted back to Trent. They had shared so many good times, but the highs always seemed to be followed by crushing lows. He was charming, funny, and undeniably attractive, but he was also emotionally unavailable. She had tried to convince herself that he would eventually come around, that he would see how much she cared. But tonight had been the final straw.

When the cab driver pulled up outside of a rather upscale and plush hotel he’d recommended to Amber to hole up in for the night while she licked her wounds, her turned to her giving her an empathetic smile.

“Whoever he is isn’t worth it,” he said soothingly, his accent thick as he offered Amber words of comfort, a blind man could see she was a stunning young woman and if he had to guess a man was the reason behind her tears.

Ironically when he leaned forward and his coat gaped open, it revealed a Liverpool jersey tucked beneath it, making Amber smile tearfully before she got out of his car and made her way inside.

She was thankful the check-in process didn’t take long and she was currently in possession of two pieces of identification.

As she walked toward the elevator, Amber felt a mix of relief and sadness wash over her. The hotel felt like a sanctuary, a place where she could escape the chaos of her emotions and the memories of Trent. She pressed the button for her floor and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment.

When the elevator doors opened, she stepped out and made her way to her room. The plush carpet felt soft beneath her feet, a stark contrast to the hard reality she had just left behind. She inserted the key card into the lock, and the door clicked open.

Inside, the room was beautifully decorated, with soft lighting and a large bed that looked inviting. Amber dropped her purse on the floor and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtains to reveal a stunning view of the city skyline. The lights twinkled like stars, and for a brief moment, she felt a flicker of hope.

But as she sank onto the edge of the bed, the weight of her emotions crashed down on her again. She pulled her phone from her pocket, staring at the screen as if it held the answers to her heartache. Should she text Trent? Should she tell him how she felt? Tell him where she was.

Back at the club, Trent’s eyes scanned their section for any sign of Amber, but all he found was the laughter of his friends and the remnants of the night’s revelry. He had seen her earlier, her laughter ringing out like music, but now that sound was replaced by an unsettling silence. A knot formed in his stomach as he realized she was gone.

“Where’s Amber?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, but the concern seeped through. His friends shrugged, too caught up in their own conversations to pay much attention.

“She probably just went to the bathroom or something,” one of them replied, waving a hand dismissively. But Trent couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

He excused himself from the group, his heart racing as he made his way towards the rope that separated VIP from the rest of the club.

Pulling out his phone he called Amber, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for her to pick up. The ringing echoed in his ears, each tone amplifying his anxiety. After a few rings, it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to check in. Call me back when you can,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but the worry crept in.

He hung up and stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on him. He should have been more attentive and should have noticed the signs that she was upset. The way she had looked at him earlier, the way her smile had faltered—it all made sense now.

“Trent, you good?” one of his friends called out, pulling him back to reality.

“Yeah, just… did Amber say anything to anyone?” he asked, his voice laced with urgency.

His friends exchanged glances, confusion etched on all but one of their faces. “I might have told her not to get her hopes up about you,” one of them admitted, a hint of guilt creeping into his tone. “I thought it was just a joke, man. I didn’t think she’d take it seriously.”

In all honesty, he’d said a lot more than “don’t get your hopes up”, but judging by the look of frustration on Trent’s face, he knew better than to add insult to injury.

Trent felt a surge of frustration. “How is that a joke!?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You think it’s funny to mess with someone’s feelings like that? She’s not a fucking toy to play with!”

His friends shifted uncomfortably, the atmosphere growing tense. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm, Trent,” one of them said, trying to calm him down. “We just thought—”

“Thought what? That it was okay to belittle her?” Trent interrupted, his anger boiling over.

Just then Trent’s phone vibrated with a text from Amber letting him know she had checked into an undisclosed hotel and would be at his house tomorrow morning to collect her belongings that were still at his place.

Trent's heart sank as he read the message, a mix of relief and dread washing over him. She was safe, but the thought of her spending the night alone in a hotel, feeling hurt and abandoned, twisted his stomach into knots. He quickly typed a response, his fingers trembling as he tried to find the right words.

Trent: Amber, please don’t stay there alone. I’m sorry for everything. Can we talk? I want to make this right."

He hit send and stared at the screen, willing her to reply. The seconds felt like hours as he waited, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could have handled things differently. He should have been more attentive to her. Instead, he had let his friends’ careless words dictate his actions, and now Amber was hurting because of it.

“Did she respond?” one of his friends asked, breaking the silence that had settled around them.

“No,” Trent replied, his voice tight. “But she’s at a hotel. I need to go to her.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” another friend chimed in, concern etched on his face. “What if she needs space?”

Trent shook his head, frustration bubbling up again. “She doesn’t need space. She needs to know that I care. I can’t just leave her there.”

It was times like these when Trent wished for the freedom to move in the way a normal man would, as one of the brightest stars in English football meant he was often under scrutiny, and his every move was analyzed. But right now, he didn’t care about the cameras or the headlines. All he cared about was Amber.

“I need to find out where she is,” he said, determination flooding his voice. He turned on his heel and headed for the exit, ignoring the calls of his friends behind him. The club felt suffocating, the laughter and music a stark contrast to the turmoil in his heart.

As he stepped outside into the cool night air, he pulled out his phone, trying Amber’s number again. Simply knowing she was safe wasn't enough for him, he needed to find out where she was and go to her.

He dialled her number, his heart racing as he listened to the ringing. Each tone felt like a countdown, amplifying his anxiety. After a few rings, it went to voicemail again. “Amber, please pick up. I’m on my way to you. Just… please answer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Trent hung up, frustration and worry swirling inside him. He couldn’t just sit around waiting for her to respond. He needed to act. He quickly pulled up the addresses of hotels local to the area on his phone, just as his driver pulled up to the curb.

Climbing into the back of the car he ignored the whispers and no-so-subtle camera flashes of those wanting even just the small piece of the premier league star.

“Where to?” the driver asked, glancing back at him through the rearview mirror.

“Just drive around the area,” Trent replied, his voice clipped. “I’ll let you know if I see the hotel.”

As they pulled away from the club, Trent’s mind raced. He thought about Amber, the way her laughter had lit up the room, and how quickly that light had dimmed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let her down, that he had taken her for granted. The thought of her alone in a hotel room, feeling hurt and abandoned, gnawed at him.

“Do you know any hotels around here?” he asked the driver, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, there are a few nice ones not too far from here,” the driver replied. “You looking for someone?”

Trent hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to share. “Just a friend,” he finally said, his heart heavy. “She’s having a rough night.”

The driver nodded, his expression sympathetic. “I hope you find her. Sometimes people just need a little reassurance.”

Trent appreciated the kindness, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside him. He needed to find Amber, to make things right. As they drove through the city, he scanned the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of the hotel where she might be staying.

After a few minutes, he spotted a familiar sign. “There! That’s it!” he exclaimed, pointing to the upscale hotel. The driver pulled over, and Trent jumped out before the car had even come to a complete stop.

“Thanks!” he called over his shoulder, already sprinting towards the entrance. The lobby was bustling with guests, but all he could focus on was finding Amber. He approached the front desk, his heart pounding.

“Excuse me,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m looking for a guest named Amber. Can you tell me what room she’s in?”

The receptionist looked up, her expression neutral. “I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose that information.”

Trent felt a surge of frustration. “Please, it’s important. She’s upset, and I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

The receptionist hesitated, her eyes flickering with sympathy. “I understand, but I can’t—”

“Just tell me if she’s checked in,” he interrupted, desperation creeping into his voice. “I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”

After a moment of contemplation, the receptionist sighed. “Okay, but I can’t give you her room number. I can confirm that she is here on the fifth floor.”

Relief washed over him. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to know.”

He turned away from the desk, scanning the lobby for any sign of Amber. He felt a mix of hope and anxiety as he made his way toward the elevators. He pressed the button for her floor, his heart racing as he waited for the doors to open.

When they finally slid apart, he stepped inside and pressed the button for the highest floor. The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, and Trent took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He thought about what he would say to her, how he could express the regret he felt for not being there when she needed him.

As the doors opened, he stepped out into the hallway, glancing at the room numbers. He walked slowly, his heart pounding louder with each step. Finally, he reached the door that matched the number he had seen on the receptionist’s screen.

He raised his hand to knock but hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say. What if she didn’t want to see him? What if he had pushed her too far? But he couldn’t let fear hold him back. He had to try.

With a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door. “Amber?” he called, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me, Trent.”

Silence hung in the air, and for a moment, he feared she wouldn’t answer. But then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door creaked open, and there she stood, her eyes wide with surprise and something else—hurt.

Trent found that her dress had been replaced by a poorly tied hotel robe, that showed off her cleavage and her taut abs, her hair that was previously styled into an updo fell in damp waves over her shoulders, her face free of any makeup and her eyes red and puffy from crying.

“Baby,” he sighed, his heart cracking as her sad eyes gazed up into his helplessly.

“Please don't call me that,” Amber sniffled, using the sleeve of her robe to wipe away a fresh set of tears.

“What happened?” he asked cautiously, realizing that whatever had been said to her by one of his boys had definitely been downplayed when relayed to him.

“Ask your friends, as far as they're concerned if I’m getting your dick wet I should be doing the same for them, or at least that's the impression you gave them.” Amber's voice trembled, each word laced with hurt and betrayal. She took a step back, wrapping the robe tighter around herself as if it could shield her from the pain.

Trent's stomach twisted at her words. He had always known his friends could be reckless, but he never imagined they would cross such a line. “Amber, I swear I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t tell them it was okay to treat me like I’m just some down to do anything slut?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “Regardless of whether or not you're ready to be committed to anyone. I thought you respected me.”

“I do respect you!” he exclaimed, stepping forward, desperate to bridge the distance between them. “You have to believe me. I would never condone that kind of behaviour. They’re just—”

“Just what? Just being guys? Just being your friends?” Amber shook her head, her damp hair falling into her face. “I can’t believe you’d let them think that way about me.”

Trent ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt swirling inside him. “I didn’t know they were saying those things. I’ll talk to them, I promise. I’ll make it right.”

Amber looked up at him, her eyes searching his for sincerity. “You think that’s enough? You think a conversation will fix this?”

“I want to fix this,” he said, his voice softening. “I want to make it right between us. Just tell me what I can do.”

She took a deep breath, her shoulders trembling. “Nothing, we should both just leave this as it is.”

“Amber, no,” he pleaded, stepping closer, his heart racing. “I can’t just let you walk away like this. I care about you too much.”

“Caring isn’t enough when your friends treat me like I’m nothing,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought we had something real, but now I feel like I’m just a joke to them….to you.”

Trent’s chest tightened at her words. “You’re not a joke to me. You’re everything. I never wanted you to feel this way. I thought you knew that.”

Amber shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “How can I trust that when your friends think it’s okay to talk about me like that? It makes me question everything.”

“Please, just give me a chance to fix this,” he said, his voice earnest. “I’ll talk to them, I’ll make sure they understand how wrong they are. I’ll do whatever it takes to show you that I’m serious.”

She looked at him, her expression torn between anger and longing. “You're not serious, maybe the sex is good, or I'm easy to get along with, but you are not serious about me.”

Trent felt the weight of her words like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’m serious about you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You mean more to me than just a fling.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m just another notch on your belt?” Amber’s voice cracked, and she turned away, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her robe. “You say you care, but your friends don’t see me that way. I’m just here for your amusement.”

“Amber, please,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone. “I can’t control what they think, but I can control how I treat you. I want you Amber. I’m with you, physically and emotionally too.”

She turned back to him, her eyes searching his for any hint of truth. “Then why didn’t you stand up for me? You left me with them to get ripped apart while you found time to talk to every other girl in that club with Jude.”

“I didn’t know they were saying those things until now,” he replied, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I thought they respected you, respected us. I’ll talk to them, I promise. I’ll make it clear that I won’t tolerate that kind of talk about you.”

Amber’s expression softened slightly, but the hurt was still evident. “There is no need, I'm going home to London in the morning.”

As Trent gazed at Amber, her words hung in the air like a heavy fog, enveloping them both in a suffocating silence. Her declaration of leaving struck him like a lightning bolt, and he felt a surge of panic rise within his chest. The thought of her walking away, of never seeing her again, was more than he could bear.

"No, Amber, please," Trent pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation as he reached out to grab her hand, his fingers trembling. "Don't go. Stay with me."

Amber pulled her hand away, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she gazed at him with a mix of sadness and longing. "I can't stay, Trent. I can't keep doing this, pretending that everything is okay when it's not."

"But it is okay," he insisted, taking a step closer to her, his heart racing. "We're okay. I care about you, Amber. More than you know."

“Trent, I can't keep—,” Before another word had the chance to leave her lips, Trent's crashed against them. His hands cupped her wet cheeks as he leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a desperate kiss. It was a kiss filled with urgency, a plea for understanding, for connection, for everything they had shared. He poured all his emotions into that moment, hoping to convey the depth of his feelings and the sincerity of his intentions.

Amber stiffened for a moment, surprise flickering in her eyes, but then she melted into him, her body responding to the warmth of his touch. The kiss deepened, and for a brief moment, the world outside faded away. It was just the two of them, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, the pain and hurt momentarily forgotten.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Amber looked up at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and longing. “Trent…”

“Just listen to me,” he interrupted, his voice low and earnest. “I know I messed up. I should have been with you. But I need you to understand that I want to make this right. I have to.”

Her gaze softened, but the hurt was still there, lingering like a shadow. “What if there is no point?” she asked.

“Then we’ll find a point together,” Trent replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I don’t want to lose you, Amber. I know I’ve made mistakes, but I want you.”

Amber’s eyes searched his, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all she found was determination. “This is way more complicated than either of us ever intended.”

“I know it is,” Trent admitted, his heart racing as he took a deep breath. “But I’m willing to face that complexity if it means having you in my life. I don’t want to walk away from what we have without trying to fix it first.”

Amber looked down, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her robe. “It’s just so hard to see a way forward when I feel so worthless and disrespected. I thought you were different, Trent. I thought you cared about me.”

“I do care about you,” he insisted, his voice rising slightly with urgency.

“How can I trust that?” she asked, her voice trembling. “If you did, your friends wouldn't have been saying the things they were.”

Trent felt a pang of guilt wash over him, the weight of her words pressing down on his chest. “You’re right,” he said, his voice steady but filled with remorse. “I should have been more aware of how they were treating you. I should have been there to defend you. I can’t change what they said, but I can change how I respond to it.”

Amber’s eyes glistened with tears, and she shook her head slowly. “But what if this is just who you are? What if you’re just like them, and I’m the one who’s been blind to it?”

“No,” he said firmly, stepping closer, his heart racing. “I’m not like them. I’ve never treated you like that, and I never will.“

Trent leaned in, eyes locked on hers as he continued to plead his case with a desperate intensity.

"Amber, please understand. I'm not perfect, but this... what we have... it's different. I want you." He said taking her hand into his own and squeezing gently as he looked deep into her eyes.

"I'll talk to them, make sure they never disrespect you again. And if they cross the line even once more... well, let's just say I won't hesitate to put them in their place." A soft, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned forward slightly.

"But enough about them. Let's focus on us. On what we have here." Trent continued, raising her hand and bringing it up to press against his chest, over his heart "This is real, Amber. This connection between us is real.”

Trent’s eyes scanned over Amber’s teasing little body draped in the hotel's robe before his eyes met hers again and cupped her face, using his thumbs to wipe away the remaining tears.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmured as he gazed into her eyes.

Amber felt her heart flutter at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the fog of hurt and confusion that had clouded her mind. She searched his eyes, looking for any hint of insincerity, but all she found was a deep, unwavering affection that made her chest tighten.

“Trent…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, but he shook his head gently, silencing her.

“Let me finish,” he said, his tone earnest. “I know I’ve messed up, and I know I can’t take back what happened tonight. But I want to show you that I care, I want to show you how much I want you.”

Amber’s heart raced as she listened to him, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around her like a warm embrace. She felt the walls she had built around herself begin to crack, the weight of her hurt slowly lifting as she looked into his eyes.

“Trent, I just…” she started, but the words caught in her throat. She wanted to express her pain, and her frustration, but all she could see was the man standing before her, vulnerable and earnest, willing to fight for her.

“I know it’s hard to believe right now,” he continued, his voice steady. “But I want to try. For you. For us. I want to show you that I’m not just some guy who lets his friends dictate how he feels. I want to be the guy who stands up for you, who respects you, who cherishes you.”

Amber felt a flicker of hope ignite within her, but doubt still lingered. “What if this is just a moment?”

Trent stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “What if it isn't?” he countered.

“What if this moment is the beginning of something beautiful?” he asked, his voice low and filled with conviction. “I believe in us, Amber. I need you to believe in us, too.”

As he spoke, Amber could feel the gravity of his words wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him. The vulnerability on his face mirrored her own fears, and for the first time, it felt like they were on the same page. She wanted to step forward, to let him in, but the emotional scars from the night were still fresh, and a part of her hesitated.

Trent noticed her conflict, and his expression shifted from determination to tenderness. “I won’t rush you, I promise. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Just… don’t shut me out. Let me be here for you.”

Amber swallowed hard, her heart torn between the remnants of pain and the spark of affection that Trent often ignited within her. “It’s not that easy,” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “I’m scared of getting hurt again.”

“I know, and I completely understand,” he replied, his eyes softening. “But what we have is worth fighting for. I’m willing to stand in front of all the fears and doubts with you. Can’t we at least try?”

The intensity in his gaze made her pulse quicken, and she felt herself wavering. She found solace in knowing that he wasn’t just here for a fleeting moment, but was genuinely invested in what they shared. Her heart ached with longing, the need for his reassurance mingling with the tinge of fear.

“If I let you in,” she said cautiously, “if I let you into my life, you have to promise me you’ll respect me.”

Trent stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I promise,” he said solemnly, his gaze never wavering. “You deserve nothing less.”

Amber held her breath, the weight of his promise hanging in the air between them.

Hooking a finger beneath her chin, Trent tilted her face up to meet his gaze fully. “I want you to feel safe with me, Amber. I never want to make you feel like you’re less than what you truly are. You’re extraordinary.”

The warmth in his eyes melted some of the fear embedded in her heart. Amber's breath hitched as she felt her walls begin to crumble, piece by piece. “Trent… I want to believe you,” she confessed, her voice shaking. “But it’s hard to forget how tonight made me feel.”

“I won’t ask you to forget,” he said, sincerity pouring from every word. “But I want to build something new. Something real and full of respect, passion, and understanding.”

With every word, he drew her closer, both physically and emotionally. It was as if he knew which buttons to press to unlock the door to her heart, and she felt the barriers she had erected beginning to falter.

As he spoke, the tension in the air shifted, becoming electric. Amber could feel the weight of the connection between them intensifying, almost palpable. “Tell me, what do you truly want?” he asked, his eyes locked onto hers.

“I want to feel valued, truly valued for who I am—not just for how I make you feel,” she replied, her heart racing.

“Then I’ll show you,” Trent promised, his voice a husky whisper. Taking a deep breath, he moved in closer, his warmth brushing against her. “I want to show you how much you mean to me—not just with words, but with my actions.”

Amber’s pulse quickened as their closeness heightened the atmosphere. “How?” she breathed, her apprehension mixing with burgeoning trust.

“Let me take you on a date. Just you and me," he said boldly, his desire burning bright in his gaze. "No distractions, just us. I want to show you that you’re worth every effort.”

At that moment, Amber felt a sense of hope blossoming within her. “A date?” she asked sceptically, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes, a date. We can go wherever you want, and do whatever you want. Just let me be with you,” he said, sincerity radiating from him.

She searched his eyes, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all she found was determination and warmth. “Okay,” she whispered. “I think I’d like that.”

His face lit up with a smile that felt like the sun breaking through clouds. “Really?” he asked, almost breathless with relief.

“Yeah,” she nodded, feeling emboldened. “But you have to promise me something first.”

“Anything,” he said, eagerness colouring his tone.

“Promise me you won’t let anyone—friends or otherwise—disrespect me again,” Amber said, her voice firm. “I need to know I can trust you.”

“I promise,” he said earnestly, his hand moving to cup her cheek once more, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her face. “This is our thing now, Amber. I won’t let anyone come between us.”

With those words hanging between them, the atmosphere throbbed with unchecked desire and fragile hope. Trent leaned in closer, their breaths mingling, and Amber could almost taste the promise of a fresh start on her lips—the kind she’d yearned for after a night that had threatened to unravel her.

“Everything will be different,” he whispered, almost breathless. “I’ll show you how much I care.”

With a tentative heart, Amber leaned into him, closing the gap between their bodies. Their lips met once again, soft and urging—this time brimming with the promise of newfound understanding. The warmth of him enveloped her, and she felt the last vestiges of her heartache begin to fade, replaced by something captivating and real.

As the kiss deepened, emotions flooded back—connection, passion, and the hope that they could rewrite their story together. They would take the time to heal together, to love openly, without fear of the past shadowing their present.

The world outside faded away as Amber let herself sink into the moment, wrapped in the certainty that maybe—just maybe—they could find a way through the chaos of their lives. For the first time that night, she felt not just alive, but truly seen.

Arguing about respect and boundaries previously, almost seemed comical as Amber allowed Trent to disrespect and defile her body in the most pleasurable way.

Trent’s long, thick cock kissed against her cervix in the most masochistic way. His hand wrapped around her throat holding her body against his as he sat up on his knees, fucking her slow and deep.

Amber let out a strained cry of pleasure as Trent landed a stinging slap on the swell of her ass, his hand around her throat tightening as he turned her head so he could look into her eyes.

As Trent's cock throbbed against her cervix, Amber let out a muffled moan into his palm. The roughness of his grip on her throat sent shivers down her spine, mixing with the intense pleasure coursing through her body.

Amber's moans turned into gasps and whimpers as Trent's cock rubbed against her cervix, the sensation sending waves of intense pleasure through her body. She could feel every ridge and vein along his length, teasing her inner walls with each slow, deep thrust.

Trent's hand around her throat tightened further as he leaned in close, his hot breath fanning over her face. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, slapping her ass again for emphasis. "My cock buried deep inside you, right where it belongs."

Amber couldn't respond verbally, but she arched her back and ground herself against him in response. The pain from the slap mixed with the pleasure of being taken so roughly, pushing her closer to the edge.

With Amber's muffled moans and gasps as his soundtrack, Trent continued to take her with ruthless abandon. He squeezed her throat tighter, feeling a thrill run through him as she squirmed beneath him.

"Fuck, you're so perfect like this," he groaned, sinking deeper into her warmth. "Take my cock, Amber. Show me how much you need it."

Trent's thrusts grew more erratic as he neared his climax. His hand on her throat loosened just enough for her to catch a ragged breath before he captured her lips in a bruising kiss. As he came inside her, he bit down on her lower lip hard.

"That's it," he growled against her mouth. "Scream for me."

Amber's body went stiff as she cried out Trent’s name before a gush of arousal squirted from her core making Trent moan into her mouth as he cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers.

As Trent pulled out of Amber, his cock still hard and twitching with the aftershocks of their intense coupling, he looked down at her with a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness. He could see the evidence of their sex glistening on her thighs and inner legs.

“Come here,” he murmured as he pulled her into his arms, kissing along her jaw and neck as he got comfortable on the plush hotel bed.

Amber melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against hers as he peppered soft kisses along her neck. The intimacy of the moment wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, easing the remnants of her earlier distress. She could feel the tension in her body begin to dissipate, replaced by a sense of safety and belonging.

“Trent,” she whispered, her voice still tinged with vulnerability. “I didn’t expect any of this.”

He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression serious yet tender. “Neither did I, but I’m glad it happened. I want to be here for you, in every way.”

Amber felt her heart race at his words. The connection they shared was undeniable, and despite the chaos of the night, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her. “I want that too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Trent smiled, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Then let’s take our time. We don’t have to rush anything. Just enjoy being together.”

Placing his hand at the back of Amber’s neck, Trent pulled her into his lips, humming as her tongue slipped into his mouth.

With a low, possessive growl, Trent deepened the kiss, his tongue dominating Amber's as he pulled her flush against him. His large hand roaming over her body, mapping every curve and dip with an almost reverent intensity.

“Are you trying to get another round out of me?” Trent smirked against her mouth, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

Amber let out a breathless moan as Trent's tongue tangled with hers, his strong hands gripping her body possessively. The sensation of his arousal pressing insistently against her hip sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes dark with desire as she gazed up at him through lowered lashes. "I need you, Trent. All of you."

Trent growled low in his throat, a sound of pure male satisfaction. "You drive me crazy, you know that? I can't get enough of you."

He rolled onto his back, pulling Amber on top of him. She gasped as she felt his hard length slide against her slick folds, the tip nudging teasingly at her entrance.

"You're so wet for me already," Trent groaned, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. He circled her hardened nipples with his thumbs, sending sparks of pleasure racing through her.

Amber arched into his touch, her back bowing as she ground herself against him. "I can never get enough of you either," she panted, her voice husky with need.

Trent's fingers tightened around her breasts, kneading the soft flesh as he rolled his hips upward. The head of his cock caught on her entrance, teasing them both with the promise of what was to come.

"Fuck, Amber," he breathed, his eyes blazing with lust. "You feel incredible."

With a low growl, Trent surged upwards, burying himself deep inside her in one powerful thrust. Amber cried out at the sudden penetration, her nails digging into Trent's chest as she adjusted to his size.

"That's it," Trent encouraged, holding still for a moment to let her acclimate. "Take all of me."

Amber's body trembled as Trent filled her completely, his thick cock stretching her inner walls to the limit. She felt so full, so owned by him in this moment.

"You're mine," Trent grated out, his voice rough with possession. "Only mine."

"Yes...I'm yours," Amber whispered, her eyes glazing over with pleasure.

With a low groan, Trent began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside before slamming back in deep and hard. The force of his thrusts jolted through Amber's entire being, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling out from where they were joined.

Trent's hands gripped Amber's hips tightly as he pistoned into her again and again, each stroke hitting that perfect spot within her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. Her moans grew louder with every powerful drive of his hips until she was practically screaming with pleasure.

"Look at me," Trent demanded as he pounded into her relentlessly.

Amber's gaze snapped up to meet Trent's, her eyes wild and unfocused with pleasure. "Yes, look at me!" she gasped out between moans.

Trent reveled in the sight of her: body glistening with sweat, face flushed a deep pink, lips parted as she panted for air. He felt primal and powerful in this moment, completely unstoppable.

"You're so sexy like this," he growled, his voice low and gravelly. "Taking my cock so well."

With renewed intensity, Trent drove into Amber again and again, each thrust hitting harder than the last. The bed creaked beneath them as he fucked her with abandon, lost in the pure sensation of their bodies joining.

"Come on my cock," Trent commanded through gritted teeth, his own climax building rapidly. "Let go for me."

Amber's body tensed as she teetered on the brink, Trent's commanding words pushing her over the edge. With a strangled cry, she convulsed around him, her inner walls clamping down on his throbbing cock as waves of intense pleasure crashed through her.

"That's it," Trent groaned, feeling Amber's pussy milking him for all he was worth. "Squeeze my dick like that."

The sensation of her climax triggered his own orgasm. With a final, brutal thrust, Trent buried himself to the hilt and came hard inside her. He roared out his release, his hips jerking spasmodically as he filled Amber with spurt after spurt of hot semen.

As they rode out their high together, Trent wrapped Amber in his arms and held her close. They were both panting heavily now, sweatdrenched and sated.

"Fuck," Trent breathed against her neck when he could finally speak again. "You're so perfect for me.”

Once he’d mustered the willpower, Trent got out of the bed, his hands guiding Amber as he held her tired body against his leading her into the bathroom from behind so they could shower.

Trent’s hands cupped her breasts softly, her body still trembling subtly as a result of great, mind-numbing, toe-curling, tear-inducing sex.

As the hot water cascaded over their intertwined bodies, Trent's hands continued to roam possessively over Amber's curves. He squeezed and massaged her breasts, his touch gentling as her postorgasmic tremors subsided. "You're exhausted, baby," he murmured, nuzzling the side of her neck. "Let me help you clean up."

Trent took the washcloth from her hand and began to lather it with soap, his fingers lingering on her sensitive skin as he cleaned every inch of her. When he reached between her legs, he gently petted her swollen lips and drenched folds, humming softly as he gathered the proof of their coitus.

After washing away the remnants of their passion, Trent cradled Amber in his arms, carrying her out of the shower and back to their hotel bed. He tucked her into the covers, kissing her forehead tenderly before slipping beneath the sheets himself.

Turning over to face Trent, Amber smiled as she gently traced his plump lips with her fingertip.

“What was actually said to you tonight?” he asked softly, instantly making Amber’s finger halt their actions.

“It was Micah,” she explained, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she relived the moment over in her head. “He said that I was beautiful but implied that you would never take me seriously. He made it sound like you were this asshole who doesn’t care about anyone but yourself, and that I someone you could easily share with your friends and that you had before.”

Trent's expression darkened as he listened to Amber recount the hurtful words Micah had said. Anger simmered beneath the surface, and he clenched his jaw, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I can’t believe he would say that to you,” he said, his voice low and filled with frustration. “Do you believe him?”

Amber looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “It just made me question everything again,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Trent reached out, tilting her chin up so she would meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he insisted.

Bowing his head towards her, he locked eyes with her, his expression earnest and unwavering. “You are not just some passing fling to me, Amber. You’re someone I genuinely care about. I want you to know that.”

Amber felt a rush of warmth at his words, but the doubt still lingered in her mind. She wanted to believe him, but it was only time that could tell if his words held any truth to them.

#chick lit #fanfic #jude bellingham smut #trent alexander imagines #trent aa #trent alexander arnold fanfic #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold smut #trent alexander x reader #trent alexander fluff #trent alexander x you #trent alexander arnold angst

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misshoneyimhome · 14 days ago

Text

What’s up, buttercups!

It’s time to unwrap another steamy chapter of Sexy Christmas ☃︎! For this round, we’re cranking up the holiday heat with none other than Seth Jarvis—our favourite cheeky Hurricane 🌀🔥

This one’s for all the Seth girls out there (you know who you are 😉). Get ready for a mix of playful banter, smouldering tension, and enough holiday magic to melt the ice. Think soft Christmas lights, whispered names, and a hallway encounter that might just be the best present of the season.

Let me know what you think, and as always, happy reading, and let’s sleigh this holiday season together! 🎄✨

➼｡ﾟ

Office Holiday Party Hookup - Seth Jarvis

OC and her favourite player sneak away during the office Christmas party, finding a quiet corner to exchange more than just gifts under the twinkling holiday lights.

Tropes & warnings: 18+ smut, Seth Jarvis x reader, public, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (p in v), cum inside

Word count: 2.6K

The Carolina Hurricanes’ Christmas party was in full swing, the hum of conversation mingling with holiday music and the clinking of glasses. Strings of twinkling lights adorned every corner of the venue, casting a warm glow that softened even the most corporate edges of the evening. You stood near the refreshment table, an empty glass in hand as you scanned the room for familiar faces—or more specifically, one in particular.

Seth Jarvis.

The young star of the team, with a grin that could disarm even the most stoic, had a knack for stealing the spotlight—and your attention. His charm, quick wit, and effortless humour had made him the centre of your thoughts more than once, and tonight, it felt like the tension between you two was crackling just a little louder than usual.

“Looking for someone, or just enjoying the view?”

His familiar voice sent a thrill through you as you turned to see him approaching, two drinks in hand. He looked maddeningly good, his tailored suit hugging his athletic frame, and his trademark boyish smirk was firmly in place.

“Depends,” you replied, arching a brow. “What are my options?”

He handed you one of the glasses, his eyes sparkling with mischief as you sat the empty one aside. “Option one: me. Option two: still me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, taking a sip of the drink he offered. “Big talk for someone who can’t even handle his own secret Santa shopping.”

“I handled it just fine, thank you very much,” he shot back, leaning in just enough to lower his voice. “But I’ve got something better in mind for you this Christmas.”

The way he said it, low and deliberate, sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. “Is that so?”

“Dance with me,” he said suddenly, setting his glass on the nearby table and extending a hand.

You hesitated, glancing at the small dance floor where a few players and their wives swayed awkwardly to a holiday classic. “Not really my scene,” you murmured, though your heart was pounding at the invitation.

“Then let’s make our own,” he said, his grin widening as he took your hand without waiting for a reply.

Taking your glass and setting it next to his own, Seth then led you toward a quieter corner of the venue, the crowd thinning till completely out of sight as you neared the towering Christmas tree. The lights cast a golden glow over both of you, the ornaments shimmering like they were part of his plan. Seth stopped, turning to face you, his expression softening as he held onto your hand.

“See? Much better,” he said, his tone lower now, more intimate.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, though you didn’t pull away as his hands found your waist, drawing you closer.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts playful and sincere.

The scent of his cologne, warm and inviting, mixed with the faint aroma of pine from the nearby tree. You felt your resolve weakening as his hands settled more firmly on your waist, his touch steady but teasing.

“I should get back,” you said half-heartedly, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

“But you won’t,” he countered, his voice soft and knowing as he leaned in. His eyes flicked to your lips, the air between you thickening with unspoken intent. “Will you?”

Before you could reply, his lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as though testing the waters. The kiss sent a jolt through you, igniting something that had been building for months. Seth’s hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, and your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit jacket as you kissed him back.

“You’re going to get us caught,” you whispered against his lips, though you made no effort to pull away.

“Let them watch,” he murmured, his tone full of humour but thick with desire as he captured your lips again, this time with more urgency.

Seth’s hands slid up your back, one tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. The warmth of his mouth and the way he moved against you made your head spin. When his lips left yours to trail along your jawline and down to the curve of your neck, your breath hitched, your body arching into him instinctively.

“You’ve been driving me wild all night,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear as his hands wandered lower, his touch both firm and deliberate.

“Then maybe you should do something about it,” you replied, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He groaned softly at your words, his grip on your hips tightening as he pressed you against the wall. His kisses grew hungrier, each one a deliberate act of devotion as he explored every inch of your skin he could reach.

“Jarvy…” you whispered.

“Mmm, yes, say my name,” he murmured against your throat, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Jarv,” you breathed, your fingers threading through his hair as he continued his slow, deliberate assault on your senses.

His lips curved into a smile against your neck. “Again.”

“Jarvy,” you repeated, this time with more urgency, your hands sliding down to the hem of his jacket as you tugged him closer.

The intensity between you both was electric, the rest of the world fading as Seth pressed closer, his body a solid, unyielding presence against yours. His hands found the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing your thighs as he edged the fabric higher. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him, and you gasped softly, your body instinctively leaning into his touch.

“Do you have any idea what kind of effect you have on me?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“Why don’t you show me?” you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper, but full of intent.

Seth’s lips claimed yours again, his kiss deepening as the tension between you reached a fevered pitch. His hands roamed over your waist, firm and deliberate, as though memorising every curve. The faint hum of holiday music and the soft glow of the Christmas lights seemed to fade, leaving only the heated connection between the two of you in this quiet corner.

Each touch sent shivers coursing through your body, and when his hand finally slid beneath the dress again, his palm resting firmly on your thigh, you gasped softly against his lips.

“You’ve been fucking killing me,” Seth murmured, his voice rough with restraint as his forehead pressed briefly against yours. His other hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his dark eyes met yours. “Tell me to stop if this is too much.”

But your hands just slid down to the hem of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders in one fluid motion. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

The confirmation seemed to ignite something in him. Swiftly discarding the jacket, his hand returned on your thigh edged higher, his touch teasing as he explored the soft skin just beneath the edge of your underwear. Your breath hitched when his fingers brushed over the thin fabric, the light pressure sending a wave of pleasure through you. His lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss that was both hungry and reverent.

“I fucking want you,” he murmured against your lips, his fingers tracing over the heat between your thighs with deliberate care. The sensation was almost overwhelming, your body responding to his touch with a desperation you couldn’t hide. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, your soft moans spurring him on.

When his fingers slid beneath the fabric, finding your sensitive core with unerring precision, your knees threatened to give out entirely. Seth caught you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he held you steady against the wall. His lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers continued their slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

“Seth,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name as your hips rocked instinctively against his hand.

He groaned at the sound, his lips curving into a satisfied smile against your neck. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. “Let me hear you.”

With a little too much ease, he then slipped a finger inside you, and the pressure of his hand increased, each movement calculated to bring you closer to the edge. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping them tightly as your breath came in short, uneven gasps, clinging to him. His name spilled from your lips again, and the raw desire in your voice made him press harder against you, his own breathing rough and unsteady.

And when his hardness pressed insistently against your hip, the evidence of his need sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. You reached down, your fingers fumbling with the belt and his trousers, and he froze for a moment, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“I just want to touch you,” he hummed, his voice low but filled with concern.

You seductively licked your lips, looking up at him, your fingers tugging at the fabric with a quiet urgency. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

Seth groaned softly as he with one hand helped you free him from the confines of his trousers. You pushed them down just far enough to discover he was naked underneath. But it only made you smile as it made the situation easier for you.

Seth’s sharp intake of breath as your hand wrapped around him sent a thrilling jolt through your body. The heat and weight of him in your palm made your pulse quicken, and the low groan that escaped his lips only spurred you on. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath coming in uneven bursts against your skin as he adjusted to your touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice a low rasp, his finger still pumping inside you. “You feel so good.”

You smiled at his reaction, your hand moving with slow, deliberate strokes that had his hips jerking slightly against your touch. His head tilted back slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours, heavy-lidded with desire. There was something deeply intoxicating about the way he looked at you, as if you were the only thing grounding him in the moment.

Seth’s head fell back a bit further, his lips parting as a sharp exhale escaped him. The combination of your deliberate strokes and the rhythm of his fingers inside you created a charged connection that neither of you could resist. His hand on your waist gripped tightly, his body trembling slightly under your touch.

“You’re… so good at this,” he breathed, his voice hoarse and strained as his hips bucked slightly into your hand, seeking more. His forehead came to rest against yours again, his dark eyes fluttering closed briefly before meeting yours once more, heavy with raw need. “Mmm… I’m getting closer.”

“Good,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of intent, your grip on him tightening as your strokes became firmer, matching the intensity of his movements.

Seth groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as his fingers inside you curled slightly, finding the spot that made your knees buckle. The gasp that escaped your lips spurred him on, his movements growing bolder as he drove you closer to the edge. His thumb circled your clit with expert precision, each stroke timed perfectly to leave you trembling in his arms.

Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your body pressing instinctively closer to his as the tension between you built to a fever pitch. The way his lips brushed against your neck, murmuring soft curses and encouragement, only heightened the electric pull between you.

“Seth,” you moaned, his name breaking on your lips as your hips moved against his hand, chasing the pleasure that was rapidly consuming you.

His free hand slid up your back, steadying you as your movements grew more desperate. His dark eyes locked onto yours, his expression a mix of awe and unrestrained desire. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Come for me.”

The raw intimacy of his words pushed you over the edge, your body tensing as a wave of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Seth’s fingers slowed, drawing out every last aftershock until you sagged against him, your forehead resting on his shoulder as you caught your breath.

But Seth wasn’t done. His hand stilled, slipping away as he adjusted your position slightly, making you release his hardness. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and unrelenting, as his hands slid down to grip your thighs. With a soft grunt, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you fully against the wall once more.

Your hands moved to his hair, tugging lightly as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your body still humming from the release he’d just given you. His need was palpable, the way his body pressed against yours leaving no doubt about how much he wanted you.

Without much effort, Seth found your entrance with his cock. Your hands remained tangled in his hair as you gasped against his lips, feeling the stretch and warmth of him as Seth pushed into you with deliberate care. A soft moan escaped you, his name spilling from your lips as your body adjusted to the intensity of the moment. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and uneven, his dark eyes searching yours for reassurance.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice strained with barely contained desire as he began to move. Each slow thrust was precise, deliberate, designed to leave you trembling in his arms. The rhythm he set was measured at first, his hands steadying you against the wall as he buried himself deeper with each movement.

The sound of your moans and his ragged breaths filled the quiet space, the holiday music from the party down the hall fading into the background. Seth’s grip on your thighs tightened as his pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency. The friction, the heat, the sheer connection between you sent shivers coursing through your body, each movement igniting a fire that burned hotter with every passing second.

Your name tumbled from his lips like a prayer, his voice rough and filled with need. The way he moved inside you—strong, purposeful, and utterly focused—left you breathless, your hands clinging to his shoulders as he drove you closer to the edge once more.

“Fuck, I can’t—” he gasped, his movements growing erratic as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body taut with tension. “I’m—”

“Let go,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice trembling but full of encouragement. “Come with me, Jarv.”

Seth groaned deeply, his head falling to your shoulder as he thrust into you one last time, his body shuddering with the force of his release. The warmth of him spilling inside you sent a wave of pleasure through you, your own body tightening in response as you held him close, your breaths mingling in the heated aftermath.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the two of you clinging to each other in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Seth’s hands moved to cradle your face, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was tender, almost reverent.

“You’re… amazing,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead to yours, his dark eyes filled with a mix of affection and awe.

You smiled, your fingers trailing softly along the back of his neck as you murmured, “Merry Christmas, Seth.”

“Merry Christmas.”

#18+ smut #sexy christmas #seth Jarvis smut #seth jarvis x reader #seth jarvis imagine #seth jarvis fanfic #carolina hurricanes imagine #carolina hurricanes fanfic #nhl hockey smut #nhl hockey fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey romance

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avvwritesstufff · 1 month ago

Text

𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙄𝙩 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠

𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙀𝙒- For nearly eight months, Nicole and Paige had been secretly entangled in a relationship that felt equal parts thrilling and dangerous. They’d always known each other, but everything shifted during last year’s tournament. Paige, the star basketball player, and Nicole, the cheer captain—it was the kind of romance that belonged in a teen drama, full of stolen glances and whispered promises. Paige was known for being a player, but with Nicole, it was supposed to be different. Paige swore she loved her, that she’d do anything for her. And for a while, Nicole believed it. Even when she caught Paige in compromising situations more than once, she let it slide. Paige always promised it wouldn’t happen again. Nicole wanted to believe her. She needed to believe her.

𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙈𝙀𝙎- Angst, gaslighter!paige and gullible!oc

𝙒𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏- 1.8k+

𝘼/𝙉- this is NOT read over or anything and it’s so bad so i’m sorry i had to curse your tumblr with this☹️

It was a chilly evening in Storrs, the kind of night where the crisp air made everything feel sharper, more alive. Nicole had just gotten back from her late-night class, feeling the fatigue of the day settle in. Usually, evenings like this were reserved for hanging out with Paige, but tonight was different. Paige had canceled last minute for some team bonding activity that her Coach had insisted on. Nicole didn’t take it personally—she’d been through plenty of those herself and understood how it went.

Still, the change in routine left her at a loose end.

As she kicked off her shoes and considered an early night, her phone buzzed. It was her friends, Hailee, Angie, and Brooklyn.

“You have to come out with us tonight,” Angie insisted. “We haven’t seen you since school started! You’ve practically gone ghost!”

Nicole hesitated, guilt creeping in. They weren’t wrong. Ever since things with Paige had deepened, she’d pulled back from everyone else without really noticing. “Okay, fine. I’m in,” she finally agreed, knowing they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The best part of going out, Nicole thought as she rummaged through her closet, was always the getting-ready phase. Her dorm buzzed with energy as Hailee, Angie, and Brooklyn arrived, makeup bags in hand.

Loud music blasted from the TV as they crowded around the small mirror, trading tips and compliments while brushes and eyeliner flew around. For the first time in what felt like forever, Nicole let herself relax, laughing at their inside jokes and soaking in the warmth of their company.

“Alright, Nikki,” Angie teased, narrowing her eyes as she applied her lipstick. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Nicole froze mid-swipe of mascara. “What?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on,” Angie pressed, smirking. “We’re not dumb. You’ve been MIA, and don’t think we haven’t noticed that hickey on your neck.”

Nicole’s hand shot to her neck instinctively. She laughed awkwardly, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not like that. My classes have just been insane this semester.” She stood up quickly and made her way to the kitchen.

Angie raised a skeptical brow, following her. “Right, because classes leave perfectly placed hickeys on your neck. Sure, Nikki. Tell us another one.”

Nicole sighed, realizing she wouldn’t win this battle. “Fine! Yes, I’ve been seeing someone. But it’s really not a big deal.”

Angie’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God, spill! What’s his name?”

Nicole hesitated, thinking fast. “Um… Paul. His name’s Paul. He’s sweet. And hot.”

“Paul?” Angie repeated, tilting her head. “Alright, what’s his last name? Let me look him up on Instagram.”

“Oh, he’s not on Insta,” Nicole replied quickly, pouring herself two shots from the freezer. “He’s more of an off-the-grid kind of guy.”

Angie frowned but before she could press further, Nicole checked her phone. “Wow, would you look at that? It’s already 9:30. Time to go!”

The subject was dropped—for now—as they hurried to get their coats and head out.

The four of them piled into Hailee’s boyfriend’s car, who kindly dropped them off at the local bar. As they walked in, Nicole took in the lively atmosphere: the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the low beat of music in the background.

The girls claimed a corner table, but Nicole made a beeline for the bar. She ordered a Dirty Shirley—Paige’s favorite—and as the bartender handed her the drink, it hit her.

She hadn’t talked to Paige all night.

PB💕

3:36 pm

Coach said I can't be

on my phone during this

thing, I'll call you later if

I'm not exhausted

Love you💕

(nikki❤️this message)

hey p,

i haven’t heard from

you and wanted to make

sure everything was going

good, i love u❤️

Nicole set her phone down and glanced up, and there she was—Paige. In the middle of the crowded room. With another girl.

Nicole froze. The world around her seemed to blur, her focus locked on the scene unfolding before her. All she could do was sit there, paralyzed, as disbelief washed over her. Paige wasn’t just with someone else—she had lied. And to Nicole, that was the most jarring part. Paige never lied. At least, that’s what Nicole thought she knew.

Time dragged, stretching what was barely a minute into what felt like hours. Finally, Paige looked her way. Their eyes met. Nicole felt a tear slip down her cheek, unbidden and unwelcome. The moment Paige saw her, Nicole broke the connection, pushing herself up and weaving through the tightly packed bodies in the bar. She needed air.

Outside, the cool night air hit her face as she sank onto the steps, staring blankly ahead. Her tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them away, determined not to let them win.

The door burst open behind her.

“Nik! Nicole—thank God. Please, let me explain!” Paige’s voice was frantic as she scanned for her.

Nicole didn’t turn, didn’t flinch. She just stared ahead, her face expressionless.

Paige moved closer. “Ma, come on—” she reached out, her hand brushing Nicole’s arm.

“Don’t touch me.” Nicole’s voice was flat, cold, devoid of the warmth Paige once knew. She jerked her arm away.

Paige knelt in front of her, her voice softer now, pleading. “Let’s go home, Nik. We can talk about this. You’re the only one I care about, you know that. I don’t even know that girl’s name—she came up to me, I swear.”

Nicole hesitated. Her mind raced, torn between fleeing and confronting the betrayal. She exhaled sharply.

“Fine. But let me say goodbye to my friends first.”

Paige nodded, following closely as Nicole re-entered the bar. Nicole wiped her face quickly, masking her turmoil as she approached her friends.

“Guys, don’t kill me,” she said with a forced laugh. “I’ve got an important assignment due in an hour. I promise I’ll stay longer next time!”

They groaned but hugged her goodbye, none of them catching the storm beneath her calm exterior.

Outside again, the silence between them was heavy. Once in the car, Paige started the engine, glancing nervously at Nicole.

“Nicole, you know you’re the only one I want. I was trying to push her off me, I promise—”

“No.” Nicole’s voice cut her off, sharp and steady. “Stop that. You don’t get to promise or swear on anything anymore. You’re a liar, Paige. And I’m not stupid. This isn’t the first girl, and it won’t be the last.”

Her voice cracked, but she kept her eyes fixed ahead. Paige reached out, but Nicole flinched.

“Baby, come on. You know I’d never—”

“Stop calling me that,” Nicole snapped, her voice rising. “You’re a narcissistic piece of shit, and I never should’ve agreed to this. You can’t commit to anything but basketball.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling over. “Nik, what the fuck. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

Nicole let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m saying. How many, Paige? How many girls have you cheated on me with? Actually, forget it—I don’t want to know. Let me out.”

“What? Are you serious? The car’s moving, Nicole!” Paige veered onto the shoulder, her voice rising.

“Let me out!” Nicole fumbled with her seatbelt, finally yanking the door open.

“Nicole, stop! You’re drunk!” Paige shouted, pulling the car to a screeching halt as Nicole stumbled onto the pavement.

Ignoring her, Nicole began walking down the dark street.

“Nicole, get back in the car!” Paige called after her, panic lacing her voice. “I’m not leaving you out here in the cold!”

“Leave me alone, Paige. My dorm’s two blocks away.” Nicole’s voice was slurred but defiant as she staggered forward.

Paige caught up to her, grabbing her arm just as Nicole tripped. She steadied her, their eyes meeting. For a brief moment, Nicole saw a flicker of the Paige she had fallen for—the girl who had made the last eight months feel like a dream.

Without a word, Nicole turned and walked back to the car. Paige followed, a small, hopeful smile creeping onto her face.

“Just because i’m in the car doesn’t mean we are good paige” nicole states turning toward the door and leaning against it

The ride back was short, but the silence between them was deafening.

When they arrived at the apartment building, Paige helped Nicole out of the car, steadying her as they walked to her dorm. The night air was cold, but the silence between them was colder.

At the door, Paige hesitated, then pushed it open and followed Nicole inside.

“Out,” Nicole said, her voice low and sharp, pointing at the door.

Paige ignored her, forcing a soft smile. “Baby, you’re just drunk. I don’t wanna leave you alone like this.” She closed the door behind her and gently guided Nicole toward her bedroom.

Nicole didn’t argue, too drained to fight. She sat on the edge of her bed, watching Paige through tired, narrowed eyes. Paige set her phone down on the nightstand and knelt in front of her, slipping off Nicole’s shoes with care.

“I got you,” Paige murmured, her voice soft, almost tender. She helped Nicole out of her jacket, then started removing her makeup with a tissue from the bedside table.

Nicole didn’t say a word, just stared at Paige, trying to decide if this was love or manipulation.

“I’m gonna grab you some water,” Paige said, standing up. “Try to lie down.”

As Paige left the room, Nicole let out a shaky breath. Her eyes landed on the phone Paige had left on the nightstand. It lit up with a notification.

Snapchat: Nessa🤫🍑📞

Nicole’s stomach churned. She picked up the phone, her fingers trembling as she unlocked it—no password. The messages stared back at her:

Nessa🤫🍑📞: When are you gonna be here? I neeeed you, Paige.

Nessa🤫🍑📞: Bro, are you seriously ignoring me because of that girl you’re “with”? Like, come on, Paige. You know I’m the one—not her.🙄

Nicole’s blood ran cold. Every doubt, every suspicion she’d tried to push aside slammed into her like a freight train.

Paige walked back in, a glass of water in hand. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Nicole standing there, holding her phone.

Nicole handed it to her without a word. “Get out.”

Paige opened her mouth, but the look in Nicole’s eyes stopped her. It wasn’t anger; it was something colder, something final. Nicole stepped past her and opened the door, standing silently as she waited.

Paige hesitated, her fingers tightening around her phone. She wanted to fight, to explain, but she knew better. She could come back tomorrow. She always did. Say she was sorry, promise Nicole the world, and somehow, break it right back.

Without a word, Paige walked out.

Nicole closed the door, locking it behind her. She leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. The tears came then, silent but relentless, each one carving out a piece of the love she’d held for Paige.

For the first time, she let herself wonder if she could ever put the pieces back together.

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #ncaa wbb #iowa wbb #wbb x reader #azzi fudd #paige bueckers fic #nika muhl #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #send anons #send asks #toxic paige #toxic #uconn #ayanna patterson #aubrey griffin #ted’s #fanfic #angst

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