#from all the men i started to know only ONE cared about sports but the wrong team

[moniquesha]

sharing is NOT caring

prologue

Pair: College!Bucky x reader

Summary: You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.

Warnings: there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this.

Masterlist

a/n: my brain is dead for exfil, i need new things to write about. i hope u all enjoy this because this is so crazy when i was writing it <3

Your mother once dreamed of having a child, just one. Someone to love with all the vastness of her heart. But the universe had grander plans and blessed her with twins. Two heartbeats instead of one. Two souls so closely intertwined, even the stars paused to marvel.

From the very beginning, everything was shared. If your twin had something, you had it too–just in a different color. Matching dresses, different shades. One pink, one blue. Two bikes, one red, one green. There was never a favorite, never an ounce of favoritism. Your mom made sure of that. Her only rule? Share. Or, if that wasn’t possible, make sure you both have what you both want. Fairness wasn’t just a principle in your house, it was the foundation.

Your sister understood that. So did you. At least, at first.

But growing up meant growing into yourselves. Clothes? You liked comfort, she liked style. Food? You went for savory, she had a sweet tooth. Hobbies, sports–your paths started to diverge in subtle but definite ways.

You were different, and that was okay.

Until you realized there was one thing you both still shared, something that never stopped aligning, your taste in men.

And for some time, you wondered, what happens when fairness isn’t so easy anymore?

It’s summer break. Every person you know from college is either posting stories from a beach halfway across the world or floating through hazy, half-lit parties, chasing highs before fall drags them back to textbooks and lecture halls.

Meanwhile, you're here. At home. Sunk into the deep cushions of the living room sofa, a slight breeze drifting in through the open window. You have plans but vague, tentative ones, and the thought of just doing absolutely nothing today feels like a gift.

“The other set of twins are coming, by the way!” your sister yells from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes echoing her voice.

“The Maximoffs?” you call back, lazily scrolling through your phone before setting it down on your chest.

“Yup! And I heard Pietro has a new rideee.” Her voice lilts, trying to fish a reaction out of you.

You let a soft smile tug at the corner of your lips. “Well, if I'm in the mood,” you murmur, stretching like a cat, “then let's bless that ride.”

She flops onto the sofa beside you, both of you quiet for a moment, the hum of summer laziness settling in again.

Then you glance down. “Hey, where’s your bracelet?”

She pauses, surprised, instinctively brushing her wrist as if expecting it to be there. It’s not.

The gold bracelets, identical, save for the names engraved on them: Chloe and Y/N. It had been with you since you were seven. A joke turned tradition after the world kept confusing you two. Only your mother could tell you apart on sight, so she gave you those tiny golden markers, glimmering proof that you were each your own person, even if the world didn’t always see it.

“I must’ve left it upstairs,” Chloe says quickly, but there’s something clipped about her tone. Dismissive.

You study her for a moment. “You never take it off.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’m changing.”

Maybe. But something about her answer doesn’t sit right.

Before you can press further, a pair of familiar voices rings from outside, followed by the unmistakable purr of a souped-up engine pulling into the driveway.

The Maximoff twins have arrived.

And suddenly, doing nothing all day doesn’t feel like the plan anymore.

Wanda's face suddenly appears in the window, hands cupped around her eyes like binoculars. “What’s up, whore!” she calls out with zero shame, grinning at Chloe like it’s a warm-up for whatever unhinged things she’s about to say next.

Chloe grins back. “You’re late.”

Wanda shrugs, unbothered. “Fashionably. I brought snacks.”

Then her eyes flick to you, catching your slower movement on the couch. Her tone softens. “Hi, pretty Y/N. Coming to join us?”

You sit up slightly, hair tousled from the couch cushion, blinking against the sunlight that follows her voice into the room. “Might. If you’ve got actual snacks and not just a bag of Flamin’ Hot air.”

Wanda gasps like you’ve just insulted her ancestors. “Excuse you, Hot Cheetos are the fuel of summer legends.”

You smirk, but it fades quickly as you stand up and glance back at Chloe, who’s busy smoothing her hair in the hallway mirror, already in host mode.

You’ve always appreciated Wanda and Pietro. They were the first ones to welcome you and Chloe into the social ecosystem back at the dorms. Two wild cards instantly curious about the “new twins on the block.” But even then, the connection tilted. They clicked with Chloe faster. Louder laughs. Inside jokes. That natural twin-speak flow you never quite found with them.

Not that they don’t love you. They do. Just maybe not in the same way.

But you try.

You throw on a hoodie and follow the sound of Wanda’s laugh toward the front door, just in time to see Pietro leaning against his new car–sleek, shiny, and way too expensive for a college student unless he sold something illegal or charmed someone rich.

He spots you and smiles, something lazy and sunlit in his expression.

“Well, well,” he says. “The elusive twin emerges.”

You roll your eyes, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “It’s summer break, not a red carpet.”

He shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Chloe laughs from behind you, slipping past to greet him like it’s her cue.

And just like that, you’re back to walking three steps behind a trio you kind of belong to.

Chloe practically launches herself at Pietro, arms thrown around his neck like this is the reunion of the century. He catches her with practiced ease, laughing, the kind that makes people watching think oh, they're close.

And they are. No denying that.

But then Pietro shifts his arm, glancing at you over Chloe’s shoulder. “Come here, you too,” he says, and it’s not just polite–it’s easy. Like he means it.

You hesitate, just for a second. But you step in, your face pressed against Pietro’s shoulder for the briefest moment as his arm pulls you into the hug too. It’s warm. Secure. Nice.

Chloe’s eyes flick to the side. You feel it more than see it. Just.. that little tick in her expression. The way her jaw shifts. Like she didn’t expect to share that moment.

“Well, Wanda,” she chirps, voice bright with a little too much sugar, “I call shotgun!”

Before Wanda can even breathe a protest–technically, it’s her car too. Chloe’s already in the passenger seat, flipping the visor down like she owns it. You blink, lips twitching into a soft, almost apologetic smile as you turn to Wanda. “Sorry you have to sit with the boring one.”

Wanda snorts, instantly looping her arm through yours like the two of you are conspirators in some harmless crime. “You’re not boring, Y/N. You’re just a calm soul.”

She leans in, nudging your shoulder with hers. “More calm than your sister, for sure. Like, a dangerous amount more. I respect that.”

You chuckle under your breath, but you don’t miss the way Chloe’s looking back from the front seat. Not glaring. Not angry. Just watching.

You climb into the back with Wanda, who’s already kicking her shoes off like it’s her personal limo, and Pietro starts the engine. The music's loud, the windows are down, and the sun is baking into the seats. Everything about this should feel light.

But there's a little knot twisting in your stomach. Because even if the day is perfect, you know one thing for sure:

Chloe definitely didn’t like that hug.

You know your sister better than anyone else in the world.

You know the voice she uses when she wants something. The way she curls her hair when she’s feeling insecure. The difference between her real laugh and the one she saves for people she wants to impress. You’ve lived her whole life right next to her–of course you know her.

And you also know that the rule your mother instilled, fairness above all, only really applies when your mom’s around.

When she’s not? Chloe changes. Not in big, monstrous ways. Nothing you could point to and say, “That. That’s the line.” It’s smaller. Sharper.

Like how your clothes start disappearing from your side of the closet, showing up on her Instagram stories. Or how she “borrows” your bracelet without asking your bracelet, the one with your name engraved on it, and then acts like you’re being dramatic for noticing.

She wears your favorite earrings on the night you were finally going to debut them.

She gets closer to your friends than you ever manage to. Laughs louder, pulls them in faster, and suddenly you’re on the outside of your own circle. But it’s Chloe. So you say nothing.

Because you love her. With your whole life. There’s no question about that.

At first, you told yourself it was just typical sibling stuff. Just the cost of being twins. She steals your clothes, you roll your eyes, and that’s the end of it. But it started to twist. To hurt.

Because when you try to wear her stuff? She reacts like you’ve crossed some sacred boundary. Gets defensive. Emotional. Sometimes even begs for it back, like you’re taking something essential from her.

Or when you get too friendly with her friends, the mood shifts. A quiet tension laces her tone. Subtle jabs disguised as jokes. A reminder that you’re trespassing, even when you didn’t mean to.

You gaslight yourself. Tell yourself she doesn’t mean it like that. That this is just how she shows love. That maybe you’re too sensitive.

Because Chloe would never hurt you. Not on purpose.

And you'd never hurt her either.

So you push the thoughts down. Smile. Nod. Let her keep the bracelet. Let her take the seat up front. Laugh when she calls shotgun like she always does.

But deep down, you wonder if it’s always going to be like this, loving someone who doesn’t always know how to love you back without taking a little bit of you in the process.

The car ride is filled with music and laughter, Pietro and Chloe singing their hearts out in the front while Wanda joins in, dramatically belting out lyrics like she's on stage. The energy is electric, but you? You just watch the sun dip behind the trees, painting the sky in soft pinks and deep oranges.

You smile to yourself. This is what you love about summer, not the wild parties or the buzzing chaos, but the break. The feeling of not being buried under textbooks, not having to measure your worth in grades and stress. Just existing, warm and weightless.

Then suddenly the car jerks to a stop.

Pietro twists in his seat, grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the glove box. “Welcome to the Carters,” he announces, sliding them on with a grin. “They throw the wildest parties ever. If I were you ladies, stay close to me or you’ll get lost.”

You glance outside. The house in front of you is massive like old money big. The kind of big that doesn't just say wealth but legacy. Windows spill colorful lights onto the well-manicured lawn, flashing with the beat of the music thumping from inside.

“Well, c’mon, guys! Move your asses,” Wanda urges, already stepping out.

Chloe wastes no time hooking her arm around Pietro’s, her smile bright, her grip possessive. She’s done it a million times before, but now you can’t help but notice the way she subtly presses closer to him.

You go to follow, but Wanda tugs you back, her hand firm on your wrist. Her voice is low but teasing as she leans in, eyes flicking over your hoodie.

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs, “You are not wearing a sweater inside.”

You blink at her, glancing down at yourself. “What? It’s comfortable.”

She scoffs, already peeling it off you before you can protest. “Exactly. And this is not a comfortable night! This is a ‘you look so good people regret their life choices’ night.”

The hoodie is gone before you can fight for it. You stand there, slightly chilled in the warm night air, and Wanda just grins, pleased. “Much better,” she says, looping her arm through yours like you’re her personal VIP guest.

Inside the house, the music gets louder, and the night ahead stretches long and uncertain.

The second the door swings open, it’s like stepping into another world.

Warm air, thick with the scent of sweat, cologne, and whatever someone's smoking in the next room. Music pulses through the floorboards, deep bass that vibrates in your chest, the kind that makes it hard to tell if it's the song or your heartbeat reacting.

The Carter house is packed. Bodies move in rhythm or stumble through rooms in search of their next drink or next mistake. There’s laughter, shouting, clinking glasses and flashes of neon lights that paint everyone in sharp reds, greens, and blues.

Wanda pulls you through the chaos, grinning like the chaos is home.

Chloe and Pietro disappear fast, blended into the crowd like they were meant to be the center of it. Chloe’s laugh rings louder than the music for a second, and you see Pietro throw his arm over her shoulder like he’s telling her something private. Something meant just for her.

You try not to read into it.

“Alright, drink first, survive later,” Wanda says, already handing you a red cup like she summoned it from thin air. You take it, hesitating just a little before sipping. It burns, in that warm, we’re-gonna-regret-this kind of way.

You wander a bit, sticking close to Wanda until someone pulls her into a dance circle. She gives you a “you good?” glance and you nod, slipping toward the edge of the crowd. You’re not ready to jump into the middle of it, not yet.

So you explore.

The house is insane. Tall ceilings, gold-rimmed mirrors, art on the walls that’s probably worth more than your entire tuition. You move through rooms where strangers are making out on couches, playing beer pong with champagne, or dancing like it’s the last night on Earth.

Then you hear your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there’s Pietro. Holding two cups, messy hair, flushed cheeks, and that smile.

“I was gonna find you,” he says, handing you one of the drinks. “Didn’t want you getting lost.”

“Would’ve been tragic,” you tease, accepting the cup.

“You’d be surprised how many people get lost at Carter parties,” he says, his grin widening. “I’ve had to drag Wanda out of a closet once. She claimed it was Narnia.”

You laugh, more genuinely than you expected. The drink helps. Or maybe it’s the way Pietro’s looking at you. Really looking.

“Where’s Chloe?” you ask, careful to sound casual.

Pietro shrugs, sipping his drink. “She ran into someone she knew. Went off dancing. You know her, she’ll reappear dramatically.”

You nod, but there’s something in your chest that tightens. Just a little.

“Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging your hand, “let me show you the balcony view. Best part of this house.” You hesitate but your feet follow. 

The crowd swallows you both for a moment until the hallway clears and the air opens up. He pushes open a pair of glass doors and you're outside, finally able to breathe. The backyard glows with string lights. The sky is almost purple now, the stars peeking through the haze of summer.

“It’s nice, right?” he asks.

You nod, leaning against the railing. “I didn’t think you noticed I wasn’t around.”

Pietro laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “I notice you more than you think.”

And there’s silence. Not awkward. Not loud.

Just still.

Inside the party roars on, but out here... something else is beginning.

“You know,” Pietro says, voice a little lower now, a little more honest, “I know you and Chloe look alike… but there’s this different glow about you.”

You laugh softly, your shoulder brushing his. “What, you a twin expert now?”

He grins, boyish and smug. “I am a twin, remember? I always tell Wanda I know more than her. I was born twelve minutes earlier, that gives me seniority.”

“Oh, of course,” you play along, eyes rolling. “The wisdom of twelve whole minutes.”

But then he quiets for a moment, gaze softening as he really looks at you.

“Can I?” he asks.

You blink. “Hm?”

He reaches for your hair, his fingers brushing your neck as he gently pulls the tie loose. The ponytail falls apart, your hair sliding over your shoulders like a slow-motion scene in a movie.

“There,” he says, smiling with something that doesn’t feel like flirting. “You’re beautiful that way.”

Your breath hitches just a little, not from shock, but from how gentle it feels. How safe. How unexpected.

The balcony air is warm, but the moment is warmer. And when you look at him, really look at him, you realize there’s nothing performative in his expression. It’s not a line. He’s not looking for a reaction.

He means it.

Inside, the music pulses louder, and you hear laughter echoing down the hallway, maybe Chloe’s, maybe not. But you don’t turn to check.

Because right now, Pietro is standing in front of you like he’s seeing you for the first time. And part of you wonders if this is what it feels like to finally stop standing in someone else’s shadow.

“There you guys are!” Chloe's voice cuts through the balcony air like a spark, all bright and sugary.

You and Pietro jolt ever so slightly, instinctively stepping a bit apart. Not guiltily, but not innocently, either.

She strolls up, practically glowing under the string lights, her energy big and breezy like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong. Her arms find Pietro’s waist like it's second nature, her chin hooking on his shoulder with that practiced kind of closeness that looks effortless but feels.. pointed.

“I can’t believe you left me, Pete!” she pouts, voice dipped in faux betrayal.

Pietro’s smile falters for a split second. “Sorry,” he says, casting a brief glance your way. “I came to look for Y/N too, you know.” His tone is light, but there's something underneath it. A reminder. Maybe even a nudge that She’s your sister, why weren’t you?

Chloe follows his eyes and lands on you. There’s a pause, like she's scanning for something she doesn't quite understand yet.

Then, she smiles. “Like the get-up, sis! You should really keep your hair down more.”

You offer a soft smile back. It’s meant to be kind. It is kind. But there’s this weird echo in it, like the words could mean “you look beautiful” or “who told you you could?”

Before you can figure it out, Chloe claps her hands together. “Well, they're doing shots! Let’s?”

She turns to Pietro, eyes wide and playful, clearly expecting him to come with her. He nods slowly, too slowly. Like his body says yes, but his mind is still back on the balcony with you. Like he doesn’t want to go. But he’s Pietro, and Chloe is Chloe, and saying no has never been the dynamic.

You watch as she tugs him gently toward the door, her hand still looped around him. Just before he disappears inside, he glances back at you. Not long. Not dramatic. But enough. He noticed the moment too. And now it’s floating in the space between the three of you, unseen but undeniably there.

You lean against the railing, cup in hand, and stare down at the glowing yard below, buzzing with students from colleges you’ve never heard of. You sip your drink slowly, letting the sharp taste settle on your tongue like it’s supposed to distract you. It doesn’t.

You’ve been drunk before. You know the haze, the heat, the sudden urge to sing and cry and confess your whole soul to a stranger in a bathroom. But tonight? You’re just floating in it. Present, but not in it.

There’s a hollowness that clings to your ribs. Not from the alcohol. Not from the party. From the fact that Pietro’s laugh still echoes faintly down the hall. From the way Chloe looked at you like she was complimenting you but also claiming her territory.

You’re not mad. Not even jealous, maybe. Just.. lonely.

“You lost?” a voice asks, light and girlish and unfamiliar.

You turn, slightly startled, and find a girl standing in the doorway. She’s blonde, with sleek straight hair tucked behind her ears and a surprisingly genuine smile on her face. She looks like she belongs here in a way you don’t, like this is her natural habitat.

“Oh uh no,” you answer quickly. “I’m not. I just like it here.”

She tilts her head, then walks out to stand beside you at the railing. “Yeah? You don’t think it looks too cliché?”

You glance around. The warm lights, the perfectly curated mess of a rich kid party, the air that smells like jasmine and cheap tequila. You think for a moment.

“I mean, I’m not exactly the ‘eat the rich’ type,” you say honestly, “But no. I don’t think it’s cliché. It’s really beautiful. Whoever owns this place must be kind. Letting people enjoy it like this, sharing the space. That says something, I think.”

The girl blinks, like she didn’t expect that kind of insight from you. Not here. Not at this kind of party.

“What’s your name?” she asks, a new kind of curiosity lighting her features.

“Y/N,” you reply. “You?”

She smiles, slow and a little amused. “I’m Sharon,” she says, reaching for your cup to clink it with hers. “Sharon Carter.”

You pause. And you blink. “You’re the Carter?”

She just grins and leans her elbow on the railing. “Guilty. Though technically this is my aunt’s house. She’s... well, she’s very generous when she’s overseas.”

You stare for a second, surprised but not intimidated. Sharon doesn’t carry herself like someone who wants to be worshipped, just noticed.

“Well, your balcony is stunning,” you tease gently.

“And your energy is refreshing,” she replies, tilting her head. “Let me guess, you’re not a party girl, but someone dragged you here?”

“Something like that,” you say with a small shrug.

Sharon nods knowingly, eyes flicking over your expression, reading it far too well for someone you just met.

“Well, stick with me,” she says, nudging you lightly with her shoulder. “You can ghost the party later, but for now.. I promise not all rich kids are terrible. Some of us even have snacks.”

Sharon leads the way, gliding down the grand staircase like she’s done it a thousand times. The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floors echoes in the large, open space, making everything feel important.

You follow behind her, trying to blend in with the crowd, but there's a noticeable shift. People don’t just glance at Sharon, they notice her. Eyes flick to her as she moves, some nodding in respect, others leaning in to say something. She’s a presence, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how little you belong in this world of polished socialites and golden smiles.

You catch a few glances thrown your way, and it’s almost like you’re the shadow following someone’s spotlight. You want to shrink away, to become invisible, but you can’t. You won’t, not when Sharon is beside you, calm and sure of herself.

She doesn’t even break a stride. It’s like she’s used to this.

As you walk through the crowd, her head turns just slightly to check on you.

“There’s an after-party after this,” she says casually, like it’s no big deal. “You wanna come?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. You’re not sure where this is going, if Sharon is offering out of politeness or actual interest in hanging out. Either way, you don’t want to feel like you're just tagging along.

“Really? I’m with my sister and two other friends,” you explain, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t wanna leave them, really.”

Sharon’s eyes flicker with a touch of understanding, but her grin remains unaffected, like she didn’t even think twice about it.

“Well, that’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “Bring them along! The more, the merrier, right?”

Well, why not? Right?

a/n: no bucky yet, wait 4 him pls!

[uslostinthememories]

no you don't understand I NEEEED a Kevin Day, heck even a Neil Josten, I need it in levels I can't really explain except by saying i need to date someone that absolutely loves to watch sports like them pls I'm tired of finding Andrew Minyards who doesn't give a single shit about watching sports/sports in general

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The JJK men want YOU to wear their jersey

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, college au, sports au, mostly fluff and/or crack, suggestive only on Toji’s (nasty bitch), itafushi makes an appearance

An: This has been heavy on my brain recently 🙂‍↕️ Also, I don’t know if this concept is only in like my area, but basically, the concept is that on game days, a common thing for highschool/college players to do is to wear their jersey to class, and their sweetheart wears their home/away jersey. it’s just a cute thing to show support. Another thing, I know Kamo is not Choso’s last name, and I know Sukuna is not Sukuna’s last name. Sukuna might not even be Sukuna’s name at all. idk and idc. this is a no curse au anyways so who cares! let me know if i should do more sports au :)

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU

Girls will literally hunt Satoru down to get his jersey from him, and if you were the lucky girl who got to wear the jersey of the star quarterback… you either became instantly popular, or every girl in the university wanted to kill you.

“I’m sorry, ladies. I already have someone in mind.” Satoru flashed a grin towards the crowd of girls surrounding his seat. Disappointed sighs and whines emitted from the group as they slowly dissipated from his desk.

Satoru couldn’t care less. They could be mad at him if they wanted to. They were no where near as special as the girl he had his eyes set on.

Class had yet to start, and Satoru was growing tired of just staring at the back of your head. He finally got up, and he slumped down in the chair next to you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked with a bright smile. He hadn’t interacted with you much, but he always had his eye on you. You were the one of the few girls who didn’t dumb down their intelligence for him to make themselves more appealing.

“It’s not.” You replied shortly. You weren’t rude, just incredibly matter-of-fact.

“Wanna make a bet with me?” Satoru asked as he tried to catch your eyes from your book. He was really pining for your attention, and you wouldn’t pass him a second glance.

“Not really.” You replied, not looking up from your book.

“I bet the professor will be twenty minutes late.” Satoru went on anyways, not taking your rejection to heart.

“Hmm. Doubtful. He’s normally prompt.” You say finally looking up at Satoru, which causes him to flash an easy smile. He’s happy to have your attention — now he wants to keep it.

“If he isn’t here within the next twenty minutes, you have to wear my jersey today and every game day for the rest of the season. If he makes it here before twenty minutes is up, I’ll buy you as many books as you can carry.” Satoru proposes as he taps on your book with a cheeky grin.

You think for a moment… all the books you can carry?? “Deal.” You say with a smile, offering your hand to him to shake on it — thinking you just easily won yourself a free shopping spree. Satoru takes your hand, and he gently shakes it before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He’s already won.

Satoru knows that you’ll be wearing his jersey today, and you’ll wear his colors for the rest of the season. He’ll make more bets… win you over slowly with false bets. Oh, he’ll buy you all those books you want too just because he can.

He’s already set Geto in motion to go run into your professor with large cups of coffees in his hand. Your professor ended up cancelling class after being 25 minutes late.

When the group of girls sees you with “GOJO” written on the back of your jersey, their faces contort in utter disdain, but Satoru looks at it with a shit-eating grin on his face. He won.

SUGURU

Suguru really didn’t get the thing about giving a girl his jersey on game days. Basketball season is pretty ruthless. While football teams only have 12 games in a season, basketball teams play over 30. That’s 30 days in one season that he’d have to find a girl that he gave enough of a shit about to give his jersey to? No thanks.

Of course, if he had a girlfriend it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, but the whole attitude around giving a girl your jersey was just something Suguru didn’t subscribe to.

Well, he didn’t think he subscribed to it until he saw one of his teammates offering you their jersey.

Maybe on a more psychological level, this was territory marking, and Suguru would be damned if he sat back and let another man mark you as their territory.

Even though he’s not proud of it, Suguru immediately marched straight up to you and his teammate with his away jersey thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, and he gave his teammate a piercing look with his violet eyes. His lips curled into an easy smirk.

“Sorry man, she’s already agreed to wear my jersey today, isn’t that right angel?” He asked in such a condescending tone, and his fingertips dig into your skin with just enough pressure to make your face flush.

Luckily for Suguru, you were into it — and not his teammate. “Yeah, sorry. I almost forgot.” You agree, giving his teammate an empathetic smile.

So no, Suguru doesn’t get the idea of giving his jersey to a girl on game days, but he does get the idea of giving you his jersey. He loves how he towers behind you in the halls, seeing the name “GETO” written on your back with his number. He loves remembering the way you easily went along with his plan. You just fit him.

NANAMI

Nanami doesn’t need antics to get you to wear his baseball jersey.

Plenty of girls pine for Kento. Who wouldn’t? He was the leading star of the baseball team… who’s ass just so happened to look so good in those white tight-fitting pants.

Your college certainly played into it, giving Nanami the big screen when he takes off his helmet and shakes out his messy blonde hair that a bit damp from sweat. His cheeks are smeared with his eye black smeared on his cheeks (the charcoal black lines that athletes sometimes have).

They knew what they were doing when the yearbook crew took professional level pictures of Nanami looking absolutely jaw-dropping while delivering the nastiest pitch.

He was like eye candy that enticed a bunch of girls to buy tickets to the baseball games, and dammit, it worked.

Despite his celebrity status at the school, Kento didn’t act above anyone else. He didn’t flaunt money or act posh and sophisticated like a lot of the wannabes did at your university.

He was down to earth, smart, caring, and humorous to the right group of people (the dry humor enjoyers). Kento was the type of man to be able to reject someone without them even feeling rejected, which he did a lot when girls would ask for his jersey.

You often came to baseball games to watch (to watch nanami lets bffr), but you weren’t bold enough to ask Kento for his jersey on game days. You had witness girls before you, pilgriming the way to Nanami before they turn back empty handed. You couldn’t risk the heartache.

It wasn’t until one day after class you and Kento were the only two still packing up after a lecture, he casually strolled to your desk. “Will you be at the game tonight?” He asked with a genuine air of curiosity to him. This wasn’t awkward forced conversation because you two were the only two people in a room together.

You hadn’t even known that Nanami noticed you, much less noticed your attendance at games. You could feel your heart start to thud obscenely loud in your chest as you came to terms that you’re not invisible in Kento’s life.

“Yeah, I think I’ll show up…” You try your hardest to sound casual, but you just sound terribly nervous.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” He said politely before he reached into his bag and pulled out his spare jersey. “Hopefully wearing this..?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he was offering his jersey to you. “That- are you sure? Me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He gives an honest laugh. His multimillion dollar smile makes you swoon, and he hands his jersey out again. “You should put it on now. That’s the tradition, right?”

You slowly slip the jersey on over your long-sleeved white top, and it definitely hangs loosely on you, but with a few tucks and adjustments, it finally sits on your body appropriately.

“It looks good on you. I’ll see you tonight.” Kento smiles before leaving the classroom.

You had never gotten more shocked stares than when girls saw you with “NANAMI” printed across your back.

CHOSO

“Hey Yuji, why does Megumi wear your jersey on game days?” Choso asked his teammate as he sat down on the bench in the locker room.

He had seen quite a few people - guys and girls who weren’t on the basketball team wearing the jerseys of his teammates, but he didn’t understand it. He figured he’d ask the one teammate who he considered to be more of a brother to explain.

“Because I make him.” Yuji laughed as he dried his pink hair off from the shower. It was a pretty brutal practice, even Choso’s raven hair was down, messy from sweat.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you do that-? I thought you liked him.”

Yuji laughed even harder as Choso clearly didn’t understand the dynamic he had with Megumi. He also clearly didn’t understand the concept behind giving someone his jersey.

“I do like him, so I like seeing him wearing my jersey on game days. I think he looks good in it too, even if he pretends to hate it. I know he likes showing his support.” Yuji explained, but he went on, “People give their jerseys to someone they like. It’s like a courting gift, and it lets everyone know your intentions with that person.”

Choso nodded as he began to understand. He should give his jersey to someone he liked - to someone he wanted to court, and his intentions would be made known.

That’s how shy, timid Choso ended up at your dorm door late one evening. After much encouragement and convincing from Yuji, he finally gave your door a soft knock, and Yuji ran around the corner to hide.

When you opened the door, looking at Choso with those big pretty eyes, he completely clammed up and forgot the mental script he had prepared about how he really liked you, and it’d mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.

Instead, “I want my intentions known.” He nearly shouted as he gestured his jersey to you.

Yuji facepalmed around the corner.

You blinked a few times, looking down at the jersey then back up to him. He was lucky that you’re very good at filling in the blanks. “You want me to wear your jersey, Cho?” You asked with a small laugh before taking the jersey from his hands.

His cheeks were flushed, and he gave you an awkward smile before nodding his head vigorously. “And uh.. I want to court you.” He finally added all in one breath.

To Choso’s delight, you agreed, and now, he finally understands the real reasoning behind giving his jersey to someone he likes because seeing “KAMO” on your back makes him feel all dizzy with love and adoration.

TOJI

It started off as a small prank amongst girls. A prank that really pissed Toji off. A group of girls decided it would be cute to steal Toji’s spare hockey jersey and wear it without his knowledge.

When Toji saw one of the girls wearing his stolen jersey with his appalling last name printed on the back, he was livid.

Needless to say, he got his jersey back, and the girl couldn’t even look him in the eye after that whole experience.

He hated his jersey. He hated how his last name was on the back, and he hated how anyone else would want to wear it.

He couldn’t just get rid of his spare jersey. Then, he’d owe the school even more than what he already owes them. He couldn’t trust to keep it in his dorm because he didn’t put it past those bitches to try to sneak into his dorm to get their filthy hands on it. That was when he had a genius idea.

“Wear my jersey.” His gruff voice demanded as he dropped the fabric on the table in front of you, his too responsible friend.

“No, it probably stinks.” You pushed the jersey aside, trying to focus on the homework in front of you.

“Nah. It smells like the last bitch who stole it.” He remarked as he plopped down in a chair in front of your desk.

“Even worse.” You respond back unamused, still not giving Toji the time of day.

“Do you remember who hunted down the fuck who stole your headphones?”

You sighed, finally looking up at Toji to show that you were paying attention. “Why do you think me wearing your jersey will deter them?”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re my girl and piss off for a while. I don’t know, but if I see another preppy bitch wearing it without my knowledge, I’m going to burn it.” Toji’s voice sounded stressed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And you don’t mind them thinking that?” You inquire, raising your eyebrow.

“Doll, you know I’ve spent the last three years trying to get you to hop on my-“

“Eughhh, give it.” You interrupt Toji before he can go into any further detail, snatching his jersey up and putting it on over your clothes. “There. Happy?”

Toji didn’t expect to have such a reaction to seeing you in his jersey. He knew he was serious about liking you, no matter how much you liked to believe that he didn’t actually like you, but seeing you in his jersey — the way it swallowed you whole. He figured he’d still hate seeing his last name on you, but there was something satiating those deep primal urges when he caught a glimpse of “ZENIN” across your back.

SUKUNA

Sukuna is much comparable to a dragon. He sees something pretty and shiny (you): he wants it all for himself. He wants to hoard treasure (you) to keep, and he definitely does not like the idea of anyone else looking or touching his treasure.

So, how does he keep wandering eyes off his treasure? He cloaks her in his favor, making her brandish his last name on her back along with his number. Yes, Sukuna demanded for you to wear his football jersey.

There was just enough satisfaction of seeing you walk around campus with “SUKUNA” written on your back that kept him from trying to hoard you in his room.

Oh, he’s also like a dragon in the sense that he’s absolutely devastating out on the field.

[bucksangel]

run little bunny

pairing: softdark!ceo!bucky x naive!assistant!reader

word count: 8.6k

summary: Being John Walker’s assistant is hard; he’s mean, disrespectful, misogynistic, the whole nine yards. On top of that, he hardly pays you fairly. So, when you’re fired for a mistake you’re sure wasn’t your fault, you’re at risk of being kicked out by your rude roommates. Luckily for you, James Barnes, a wildly successful CEO, has found his way into your life. And he’s going to take such good care of you.

warnings: where do i even start, 18+, minors DNI and i fucking mean it, mild coercion, some of it could be interpreted as stalking, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, sir kink, oral (f receiving), housewife kink, breeding kink, pet names (bunny, darling), dirty talk, dom!bucky and sub!reader, choking, squirting, basically just absolute filth, a little hurt-comfort, reader’s roommates are awful and mean, not john walker friendly but when am i ever

a/n: so this was supposed to just be some quick smut but as always i went overboard, so please enjoy! likes and comments are appreciated, reblogs are even better!

tip jar | main masterlist | ao3 | run little bunny masterlist

Your hands are shaking slightly, your heartbeat races with anxiety, and your leg bounces rapidly. Today is an important day after all, and your boss has made it clear that if you mess up in any way then he’d have to rethink your employment. That sent dread flooding through your body, so you’ve been preparing yourself for the last week to make sure everything for the meeting is perfect.

And, on the technical side, everything is immaculate - mostly due to you staying up until almost midnight each night to polish the presentation. You thought everything was done properly, but when you’d walked into the building that morning your boss was holed up in his office finishing up his portion of the work, so you’d decided to simply email him to let him know that you had arrived.

Everything was perfect. But when you get into the meeting room, your boss’ eyes go wide, anger clouding them while he scowls. You quickly make your way to his side, only for him to bark out a command for you to grab water for his incoming guests. Placing your notebook on the table, you turn to scurry off to the side to grab the glasses, but you’re stopped when your boss grabs your arm harshly.

“Do you have a change of clothes?”

“Um… Um, I-“ Your boss raises an eyebrow, and you feel like you might throw up from the sudden anxiety. “No, sir.”

He scoffs, muttering under his breath something about looking “trashy,” before releasing you and allowing you to go to the minibar.

Your arm stings, no doubt sporting a red mark because of how harsh the grip was. You’re also confused because you thought the floral dress you’d chosen was pretty. Sure, it may not be high class, but your boss has never had a problem with it before, but you’re assuming that he’s on edge due to who he’s meeting with.

James Barnes; the most powerful and successful CEO in the entire country. You haven’t met him personally, but from what you hear you know that he’s not someone you want to upset. According to the hushed whispers around the office, he stands at a towering 6’6, tattoos cover his arms and hands, and if he frowns then you better move out of the way.

Would Mr. Barnes be upset with your attire?

You desperately hope not, because you need this job. While you can barely make your rent and utilities, you don’t have any other job lined up, and you’re way too scared to ask for a raise from a man who so clearly disrespects you. For right now, though, you’re stuck.

The oak doors open, and one of the office assistants steps off to the side while holding the door open for several men to walk in. You hear him before you see him. You’ve never heard his voice, but the commanding tone he uses when he addresses your boss lets you know that it must be him.

“Hello, Mr. Walker,” Mr. Barnes greets him, and you can hear your boss stand and greet him as well.

You’re trying your hardest to keep calm while you walk toward the table with a platter holding several glasses of water. You do your best to place them in front of the men without showing how nervous you are.

But when you get to Mr. Barnes, you nearly spill the drink all over the table once you get a whiff of his clearly expensive cologne. Oh, how you’d love to be surrounded by that scent, the woodsy smell almost intimidates you but you’re unsure as to why you don’t mind.

You’ve never done anything even remotely sexual with a man, you’re far too awkward and anxious in a way that isn’t too appealing to many, but for a very brief moment, you wonder what he looks like underneath the black three-piece suit — the prominent veins on his hands insinuates that the rest of his body is probably just as toned. But you’re immediately snapped out of your thoughts by your boss’ harsh voice calling your name.

“Aren’t you going to greet our guests?”

You breathe in sharply, heat flooding your face as you stumble your way through an apology and a polite “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

You’re about to leave his side when he reaches out to grasp your hand — surprisingly gentle for such a powerful man. With a slight jump, you glance over to your boss who’s staring at you as though you’re becoming a nuisance and should quickly get back to your chair beside his. But you can’t, both because of Mr. Barnes’ hold and the fact that when you look back at the man in front of you his ocean-blue eyes pull you in, and you’re unable to break your gaze.

“And who might you be, darling?” His eyes twinkle with mischief but you’re too blind to see it, you’re too flustered to really focus.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about her, she’s just –”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Mr. Barnes snaps, briefly glancing at your boss and not bothering to hide his smirk when he almost visibly cowers. “Now, darling,” he continues, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “What’s your name?”

You nearly squeak, having to force yourself to tell him your name before he gets upset with your lack of answer.

Mr. Barnes hums, then brings your hand up so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You flounder for a moment, unsure as to what to make of the compliment. You don’t have much time to overthink it because this meeting has a time limit and you’re sure your boss would prefer to get this over with.

“Th-Thank you, sir.” You’re not sure why, but your voice is breathy because something about that word — sir — just feels right for him, though you’re not sure what it means.

“So polite,” He mumbles to himself, and his eyes seem to grow darker. Finally, he lets you go, shooting you a wink and smirking to himself when you scurry off to sit next to your boss.

The presentation went relatively smoothly — thank God. You don’t know what you would have done if anything went wrong. In fact, Mr. Barnes seemed extremely invested in what you had to say, catching your gaze several times and causing you to stumble over your words a few times, only for your boss to clear his throat and glare at you. Eventually, Mr. Barnes throws him his own glare, silently telling him to shut up, to which your boss finally does.

Once the meeting was declared to be over, you were quick to close your notebook and tuck your pen behind your ear, then you went around the table and started collecting the now-empty glasses. As you’re running around the room trying to clean up, you can feel a powerful gaze boring holes into your body, but you try not to pay it any mind. It’s probably just your boss anyway.

But when you turn away from the desk to finally leave, you bump into Mr. Barnes, your body nearly slamming into his very sturdy chest. His hands shoot to your hips almost immediately, helping to steady yourself.

The warmth of his body pulls you in, but that might also be because Mr. Barnes is literally bringing you closer to his chest by the hold he has on your hips. And that’s when you realize that your hands are clutching his shoulders, but you can’t find it in you to let go.

“What’s the rush?” He asks playfully, his upper lip quirking up in a smirk. “You’re running around like a little bunny.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes.” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, you recognize that he’s just teasing, but something in you doesn’t want to disappoint him. 

“Mr. Barnes.” He hums, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips. “I like it when you call me that.”

Now you’re really flustered, your face heats up and you have to do everything in your power not to faint — the way his voice deepens is doing something to you and you don’t know how to handle it.

“I’d like it a lot more if you called me James, though. Can you do that for me, bunny?” 

“Ye-Yes, James.” You might have been embarrassed about how quick you were to answer him, but the way he closes his eyes and tightens the hold he has on your body you’re thinking it was the right decision.

Mr. Barnes — James — opens his mouth again, but is interrupted by the door being opened by one of the office assistants, whose eyes immediately go wide in shock. It seems to take a second for her to gather her bearings, but she recovers soon enough.

“Mr. Walker is requesting you,” She tells you, glancing over at James and giving him a nervous smile. “He says you have to file all of the paperwork for the meeting.”

You sigh, you’re tired of having to do everything for your boss only for him to take credit ninety percent of the time. But, it’s what you’re paid to do, so you suck it up. 

Looking back to James, you give him a shy smile, reluctantly removing your hands from his shoulders. 

“Um, I guess I should go, James.” You’re a little sad, and you don’t quite know why having to leave him and go back to your duties makes you so anxious. It could be because Mr. Walker is mean, or maybe because James makes you feel safe. In reality, it’s probably a mixture of both.

“I guess you should,” He murmurs, removing one of his large hands from your waist so he can cup the back of your neck and pull you closer, only for him to press a lingering kiss on your forehead.

And absolutely no one can blame you for the quiet whimper that leaves your lips, even though you are surprised by your reaction. It doesn’t matter though, because he finally moves back, letting go of you and reaching into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket so he can pull out what looks like a business card.

“Here,” James says, handing it to you. “In case you ever want to talk, you’re always free to call me.”

“What would we talk about?” Your confusion causes James to chuckle, and he seems amused by your naivety.

“Whatever you want, Bunny. Whether you just want to talk about nonsense or vent about your boss. Doesn’t matter to me as long as I get to hear your beautiful voice.”

With that, he gives you a wink, then turns to the door and leaves, though he does glance back at you. With one final smile, he leaves, and you’re left with a million racing thoughts while standing in the middle of the meeting room.

It took three days for you to finally reach out to James. As soon as you got home that night you ran to your bedroom and added his number to your phone, going so far as to put his business card in your bedside table drawer so you wouldn’t lose it. It just took a little time to gain the courage to actually contact him. After all, what if he was just being friendly? You’ve never met anyone quite like him, so it’s hard to read into his actions.

But today had gone horribly. The café you frequent before work was so busy that you didn’t have time to grab your coffee without being extremely late, the bistro you were demanded to pick up lunch from was closed — and while it wasn’t your fault, Mr. Walker certainly seemed to think it was. Your workload was piled high and by the end of the day, you were on the verge of crying due to the stress and mean comments thrown at you by your boss.

You need a shoulder to lean on and, unfortunately for you, you don’t have anyone else to go to. You’re pretty sure your roommates hate you and only let you live with them because they haven’t found a new roommate yet, you don’t have siblings and your parents are states away, and you have maybe a few friends, but even then the communication is scarce.

You need a shoulder to lean on, and James offered his, so you finally decided to pull up his contact and start a new message. It takes several minutes to figure out what to say, but you eventually settle on something simple.

Hi, James. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Mr. Walker’s assistant. You gave me your number in case I ever wanted to talk.

You hit send and stare down at your phone anxiously as you wait for a reply. A minute goes by, then two, suddenly five, and then you’re starting to regret texting him, what if he doesn’t remember you? What if he’s busy? What if – 

Your phone starts ringing, James’ name popping up on the screen and taunting you — almost commanding you to answer.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, bunny,” James says softly, and if you press your ear close enough to your phone you could pretend that he’s right next to you.

“Hi, James. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Your voice is soft and timid, you’d hate to disrupt anything he’s doing.

“Don’t be silly, bunny,” He says, his smile evident in his tone. “I always have time for you.”

“Oh, um. Thank you, sir.” It’s almost indescribable, but you can just make out the soft curse James lets out, followed by some shuffling.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

You’re a little apprehensive, but with James’ gentle encouragement, you’re able to get everything off your chest, complaining about your day and everything that went wrong. Each word spoken feels like weights lifting off of your shoulders, allowing you to breathe easier every time James hums. He doesn’t interrupt you, which you greatly appreciate, and by the time you’re done, you fall backward onto your bed, relieved.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad day, bunny,” James coos with his smooth-as-honey voice, filling your body with warmth and comfort. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” That comment floods your face with heat and you shuffle up the bed to lean against the headboard.

“Oh, I - thank you, sir.” There it is again, sir. James exhales slowly as though he’s trying to control himself from doing something he shouldn’t, and part of you is momentarily worried that you’ve upset him somehow. You don’t want to disappoint him.

“What can I do to help?”

What can he do to help? You’re not quite sure, you’re not sad, and you’re not angry, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t need at least a hug right now. But, it would be too imposing to ask, right? There’s no way he would be willing to come over – that is, if your roommates would even allow him over. And he certainly wouldn’t invite a stranger into his house. So, you lie to him.

“Oh – Oh, no, James, I don’t – you don’t have to – it’s fine –”

“Bunny.”

Your mouth promptly closes, taking a deep breath through your nose and exhaling slowly.

“Sorry, James.”

“Don’t be sorry, bunny.” There’s some shuffling in the background as he talks and you can’t help but sigh at how sincere his voice is. “Now, what can I do to help?” And before you can even open your mouth he’s talking again, “Don’t say nothing, because I know there’s something you want.”

You’re silent for a moment, stewing over how to tell him. But, he’ll probably just be empathetic and say something along the lines of ‘I’d hug you if I were there right now’. So, you decide to just spit it out.

“I guess I just want… I just need a hug, I think,” You sigh, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness. It’s hard not having anyone to talk to, to be isolated even from the people you live with, to be put down time and time again, and not have anyone to support you.

“Where are you?” James asks, and you hear some more shuffling in the background, followed by the jingling of what sounds like keys.

“I’m at my apartment,” You say, confused. He couldn’t possibly be coming over, could he?

“Send me your address and I’ll come pick you up, we’ll go out for ice cream,” James says decisively, and you can tell he doesn’t want any protesting. “Bunny,” He says when you don’t say anything. “You need cheering up and I’m here to do just that. Please send me your address.” He speaks gently but once again, he doesn’t seem to want you to argue against it.

“O-Okay, I will.”

“Good, I’ll see you soon, bunny.” When you bid him goodbye, he hangs up, and you’re quick to send him your address, giving him instructions to text you when he arrives so you can meet him out front of the building.

During the next twenty or so minutes you’re practically running around your room trying to make yourself look presentable. You cried all of your makeup off so you opt to just wash the rest of it off, and then you pull your hair back and away from your face. It takes a bit to decide what to wear, after all this is just a friend taking another friend to get ice cream, but this is also James Barnes; he has more wealth than you could possibly imagine. You want to impress him and appear grateful for his friendliness, and looking at least half-decent would achieve that.

Finally, someone knocks on your door, yelling, “Someone’s here for you!”

With a rush of excitement, you grab your phone and wallet and slip on your shoes, then make your way out of your room to the front door where another roommate is standing in front of it, leaning against the frame and giggling at the person.

James.

He looks bored, almost like he’s trying to appear interested but can’t quite muster up the energy to do so. When you approach, he lifts his head, a wide smile crossing his face.

“There’s my little bunny,” He says confidently, completely ignoring your annoyed roommate. “Come on, let’s get you cheered up.”

With that you walk to him, timidly accepting his outstretched hand and letting him gently tug you into the hallway. When you turn around to tell your roommate that you’ll be back later you can’t even get a word out before you see her glaring at you and shutting the door — the click of the lock is audible through the empty hallway.

“Are they always like that?” James asks with a tone that conveys concern.

“Like what?” You know what he’s talking about, but you hate acknowledging it.

“Rude and disrespectful.” He is so blunt that it causes you to look down in embarrassment to avoid his intense gaze.

Yes, you want to say, they’re awful. You want to shout from the rooftops that your roommates are horrible to you, but you’re just too scared to do it.

“Oh – Oh, no, they’re just…” You trail off, peeking up at James to see the disbelief in his eyes. When you look down again, he brings up one of his hands to cup your cheek and guide your head up so you can look at him head-on.

“You don’t need to lie to me, bunny. I want you to trust me.” James sighs, leaning forward and placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Come on,” He squeezes your hand, smiling softly at you as he starts walking you out of the building and to his car.

It doesn’t take long to get to the ice cream shop, only a five-minute drive, and when you get there James keeps the car locked as he gets out so he can circle around to your side and open your door for you.

“Th-Thank you,” You say as you put your hand in James’ outstretched one, letting him guide you out of the car. He keeps his hold on your hand as you walk into the shop, going so far as to thread your fingers together while you wait in line.

The image of your hand encompassed by James’ large tattooed one has your tummy fluttering with butterflies. But, you must have been staring for a little too long because you’re broken out of your trance by James gently squeezing your hand.

“Is this okay, bunny?”

“Yes!” Heat floods your face as soon as you say it, feeling embarrassed by how quick you were to answer. “I, I mean. Um… Yes, it’s okay.”

James smirks at you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. But, before you can stew in your shame, the man behind the counter says, “Next!”

You walk up to the counter, letting James order before giving yours. And when it’s time to pay, James doesn’t even drop your hand while he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and takes out his card. Your tummy flutters once again.

“Come, bunny.”

With your desserts now in hand, James leads you to a corner booth, only letting go of your hand so you can scoot in. He sits across from you, looking at you with what can only be described as thinly veiled hunger. It’s not off-putting, you just don’t know what it means.

“So, um…” You trail off looking down at your bowl of ice cream, fiddling with the spoon they gave you.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bunny,” James coos, reaching over and placing his hand palm up on the table, and you’re helpless but to take it, practically aching to feel his warmth again. “Now, other than everything that happened today, how have you been?”

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a pleasant conversation with him, he asks questions and lets you finish talking before adding his own input, and he doesn’t break eye contact. It feels like he’s really listening to what you’re saying, and it’s almost freeing to have someone in your corner, someone you can trust and depend on.

What feels like far too soon, though has probably been several hours due to how dark it is outside, the man behind the counter comes to your table to tell you that they’re closing soon, and you can’t help but be sad. You’re enjoying James’ company far more than you probably should since you’ve only known him for a handful of days. It almost seems like you’ve known him your whole life.

“Well, bunny. I guess it’s time to go,” James says remorsefully, getting up out of the booth and reaching out his hand to help you out of the booth as well. He keeps holding your hand while you walk out of the door — making sure to throw away your trash on the way out.

James insists on opening the car door for you again — ever the gentleman. There’s a comfortable silence on the drive back to your apartment, your stomach swirling the entire time because James refuses to drop your hand. But when you get to your apartment building, a small amount of anxiety settles inside you, and you’re desperately hoping your roommates are asleep because you don’t feel like dealing with them after you’ve had such a good evening.

The silence is a little more tense while you ride the elevator up to your floor, but you’re grounded by James’ touch. It’s not until you get to your front door that you really look at him, staring into his twinkling eyes. And when he smiles, it settles your nerves.

“I guess this is the end of our night, bunny,” He says, squeezing your hand one last time before dropping it. Before you can mourn the loss of his touch he’s wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close to his chest, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hear the squeak you let out. You wrap your arms around his waist, letting James tuck your face into his neck while he holds you close.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” James murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“Me too,” You say softly, breathing in and inhaling his comforting scent. “Thank you for cheering me up.”

“Of course, bunny. I’m always here for you.” Then, James pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Always.”

You can’t help but smile. His gaze is hypnotizing, pulling you in and almost refusing to let you go.

“Thank you, James,” You breathe out, and one last time, James squeezes you and kisses your forehead, then steps back.

“I’ll talk to you soon, bunny?” James asks, smiling wide.

“Y–Yeah, I’ll text you. Or you can text me. Or call, that’s–that’s fine too.” Heat floods your face in embarrassment, but you don’t feel too bad about it because James only smiles wider, nodding once.

“I will.”

“Goodnight, James.” With that, you turn and unlock your door, turning around to look at James one last time as you shut the door.

“Goodnight bunny, I hope you have dreams as sweet as you are.” James winks, and you swear you can hear him chuckle when you squeak out an “o-okay,” and shut the door.

And maybe James is some kind of wizard because you have the best night of sleep you’ve had in a while.

For the next few weeks you and James text almost every day, and talk on the phone every couple of days. You’ve met up with him a few times as well, accepting his invitations to lunch or coffee. Each outing would last for several hours, too enraptured by his… everything to be the one to suggest the night should end. You’ve come to trust him, you know with a possibly concerning amount of certainty that James would do everything possible to keep you happy and safe.

Roughly a month and a half after meeting James, you’re sitting on your bed in the same position you were in when you first called him crying. Unlike last time, though, you don’t hesitate to call him. He’s told you time and time again that it doesn’t even matter if he’s in a meeting, he’ll always make time for you. You just hope that’s true.

He picks up almost immediately.

“Hello, bunny,” James says with the same soft tone he always uses when talking to you.

“H-hi, James,” You manage to say, before breaking out into sobs. You’re nearly hyperventilating, trying and failing to catch your breath between hiccups, and it takes a few minutes to calm down enough to hear rustling in the background on James’ end.

“Are you at home?” He asks with the utmost concern.

“Ye-Yes.”

“Stay there,” He says, using what you’ve deemed his CEO voice. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Ja–”

“Bunny.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t change his mind – not that you really want him to. You could really benefit from a hug right about now and James always provides the best ones.

“Can you at least stay on the phone with me?” Your voice is small, still sniffling every few words. You don’t think you could handle being alone with your own thoughts right now.

“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

It takes James twenty minutes to get to you, and he talks to you the whole time, just menial things to get your mind off of your sadness. When he lets you know that he’s at your apartment, you don’t even wait for him to tell you he’s coming up, you simply grab your jacket and slip on your shoes, then run to the front door without so much as a word to your roommates in the living room.

“James!” Upon seeing the man himself standing next to his car, you fling yourself into his arms, taking deep breaths to prevent yourself from crying in public. “Thank you for coming.”

“Bunny, how many times do I have to tell you that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep a smile on your pretty face?” James’ tone is teasing, but you know he’s serious if his stern and concerned gaze is anything to go by.

You nod, blinking back tears. It’s so nice to have a friend like James Barnes; kind, chivalrous, attentive. With the way he acts sometimes, you’d almost think he’s interested in more than friendship, but you always shake that thought off. He’s too handsome and wealthy to date some random personal assistant who’s barely able to make her rent.

“Come on, bunny,” James moves back but keeps an arm wrapped around your waist, leading you to his car and helping you in. Like always, he waits for you to sit so he can strap you in your seatbelt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before shutting the door then running around to the driver's seat.

This time, instead of taking a left at the light at the end of your block, he keeps going forward, taking turns until you’re not exactly sure where you are.

“Um, where are we going?”

“My house,” James says casually, briefly glancing at you so he can give you that ever-soft smile.

“But, isn’t your house only twenty minutes away?” You’re confused, and a little curious as to what he’s talking about.

“I only stay there when I have meetings in the city. I have a house a little further out where I live most of the time. It’s a little more lived-in, so I want to bring you there where you’ll feel a little more…” James pauses for a moment, glancing at you again. “At home.” His explanation makes sense in your brain, quickly squashing any nerves that you had. He’s rich, so of course he’d have multiple houses.

It’s almost an hour long drive to get to his house. Well, house feels like an inappropriate term for what it actually is. It’s more like a mansion, standing tall at three stories, a long driveway with trees lining either side of the road, and a luscious garden surrounding the property.

James helps you out of the car and guides you up the steps to the front door, where he unlocks it and lets you step inside. The moment you pass through the threshold your jaw nearly drops to the floor; a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling right when you step in and beautiful artwork adorns the walls. The open floor plan gives you a good view of the living room and kitchen from your vantage point, and you can’t wait to sink into the luxurious and almost comically large couch in front of the TV.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” James urges you further in, bringing you to the living room.

“Um, just water is fine.” You look up at him, smiling shyly and nearly tripping when he smiles back.

“I’ll be right back,” James says, watching as you sit and sink into the plush couch. “Make yourself at home.” The look in his eyes when he says it sparks something inside you, something warm and fuzzy. Thinking of James’ house as your home makes your tummy flutter, but you don’t understand why.

God, you need to get it together.

You’re left alone for a moment, and everything is quiet except for the fridge opening and the glasses clinking. James’ absence allows you a moment to breathe properly, being with him always leaves you flustered, though you can’t deny that some part of you likes it. You like his commanding nature, how deep his voice gets when he talks passionately about something, how warm his embrace is when he holds you for what might be a little too long, squeezing you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

“Here you go, bunny.” Suddenly, a glass of water appears in front of you, and you take it with a gracious smile and a small “thank you.”

“So,” He says, sitting next to you — really close — and throwing his arm over your shoulders, practically pulling you into his lap. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Tears immediately spring to your eyes, suddenly remembering how horrible today was. You force yourself to take a couple of sips of your glass but your hand starts shaking enough to where James takes your glass and sets it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Bunny—“

His soft voice causes you to start crying, throwing yourself into his chest and burying your face in his neck as you sob out your troubles. James’ hand is warm on your back, rubbing it soothingly and squeezing you close to him. This time, he actually pulls you in his lap, you’re grasping the front of his sweater while he maneuvers your body so you’re straddling his thighs, and you can’t help but scoot closer so you’re sitting on him properly with your body flush against his.

A few minutes of crying later and your tears have finally slowed, your sobs deforming into hiccups until you calm down enough to hear James cooing into your ear, whispering sweet nothings. When you finally catch your breath, you pull back, staring up at James with wide eyes and a pout.

“I-I… I was fired! Fired! And I don’t know what I’m going to do! Mr. Walker just tossed me to the side because a document went missing and he blamed me, and now I’m jobless and my roommates are definitely going to kick me out because I can barely make my rent as it is. What am I going to do?”

James sighs, rubbing one hand up and down your back and keeping his other on your waist, though they manage to sneak up your shirt a little without your notice.

“I’m sorry, bunny,” He starts, giving you a comforting smile. “It’s awful that happened to you, and it’s not your fault, so don’t go blaming yourself like I know you want to.”

Your face goes warm with embarrassment. How is he able to read you so easily?

“And as far as your living situation, you’ll move in with me.”

“James!” Your eyebrows furrow, your head automatically shaking. “No, no I can’t do that to you. I don’t have a job anymore and I definitely can’t afford to pay you rent, I-I can’t burden you like that.” Even though it hurts to say it, you want to be honest with him. Because how on Earth are you supposed to pay him back for this?

“You’re not a burden.” You’re surprised by his angry tone, and his eyes darken as though he’s challenging you to say otherwise. “You’ll never be a burden on me, bunny. I’m offering you this, I don’t want you to pay me.”

As though he can sense your hesitation, he gives you a playful smirk.

“But if you really want to help, how about you do the cooking and cleaning? I don’t always get a good home-cooked meal, and it’d be nice to come back from work to see you in a cute little apron.”

This makes you giggle, a weight lifting off your shoulders when you nod timidly. “I-I can do that. I’ll do anything.”

And while you had pure intentions with that statement, James takes it differently, his eyes darkening even further as he nibbles at his bottom lip.

“Anything?” He smirks wider when you nod eagerly because that’s what you are. Always eager to please — especially please James.

“Yes, anything!”

James hums, seemingly thinking something over, before sliding one of his hands up the back of your shirt.

“How about you give me a kiss? I haven’t had a good one in a while,” While he sounds like he’s teasing, his face shows he’s anything but.

He really wants you to kiss him. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to deny him, you’re too grateful for his generosity. Plus, you’d be insane to pass up such an opportunity, he’s handsome, kind, and makes you feel safe. So, with only a little hesitation, you lean down and press your lips against his in a simple peck, but before you can pull away James groans, placing one hand on the back of your head to keep you steady.

His lips practically attack yours, his tongue invading your mouth and taking what it wants – you. You don’t even know it but you’re whimpering almost immediately, opening your mouth and letting James consume you whole. He’s smiling against your lips, biting your bottom lip as he retreats for a moment so he can stare up into your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, bunny,” James whispers reverently like he’s hypnotized. And he’s not the only one. Your brain is quickly going silent, your sole focus is on James and how good he’s making you feel.

“Really?”

“So beautiful, I’ve always thought so.” His confession makes you whine, he thinks you’re beautiful, this gorgeous man with the deepest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, James curses softly, grabbing your waist under your shirt, and that’s when you realize you’ve started subconsciously moving your hips against his.

“S-Sorry,” You mumble, though you’re not too sorry considering you can’t stop rolling down onto his lap, it feels too good.

“Don’t be.” James hums thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why don’t we go to my room? It’ll be more comfortable.”

You don’t even wait for him to finish before you start eagerly nodding your head, adjusting your legs as he stands so you can wrap them around his waist. He carries you to his room, smirking to himself the entire time because you can’t stop kissing and biting his neck in the hopes of leaving a mark, staking your claim. When you finally get there, James quickly shuts the door behind him and then drops you down onto the bed.

“Sir,” You whine when he doesn’t do anything, he’s only standing at the end of the bed, staring at you with eyes so dark with lust that you can’t see the blue of them.

“Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll take good care of you.” With that, he swiftly strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, then undoes the button on his pants, slowly dragging down the zipper with a wide smirk at the haze in your eyes. “Do you want to help me?”

It takes a few moments for you to understand what he’s asking of you, but once you do you push yourself up, shuffling over to him until you’re sitting with your legs underneath your butt. For a moment you’re not sure what to do, you reach out for his pants but freeze mid-air because you just now realize that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. You’ve never been in this situation before, your sexual exploits consist of goodnight kisses on the few dates you’ve been on, and your vibrator in your nightstand that has been working overtime ever since you met James.

“I-I’m sorry,” You murmur, embarrassment flooding your features.

“Why are you sorry, bunny?” James’ voice is soft, soothing your worries.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never… been with a man before.” Your hands fall to your lap at the same time you hang your head. What if you disappoint him? You don’t know what you’re doing and you’d hate to mess anything up.

“I know, bunny. It’s okay.” James lifts your chin with his fore and middle fingers, guiding you to look at him again. “I’ll teach you everything.” His voice dips lower, his bottom lip getting trapped between his teeth when you smile, relieved.

“Now, I’m going to take off my pants, but I want you to take off my boxers. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” You say quickly, eyes dropping to his crotch as he begins pulling the denim down, down, down until it pools on the floor. He steps out of them, then steps in front of you with his arms hanging by his side. When he raises his eyebrow, nodding to his underwear, you reach out for him again, this time with only a small amount of hesitation. Your nerves are nearly off the charts, but knowing that James is going to guide you makes you feel better.

Your hands are shaking slightly when you pull them down, and absolutely no one can fault you for the loud gasp you let out when he’s finally bare because holy shit. Despite being relatively anxious and naive surrounding sex, you’ve watched your fair share of porn, and while the men in them did usually have big dicks, they seem small compared to James’.

You’re almost frightened, how the hell is that going to fit inside you? James chuckles, and you realize you probably said that aloud.

“Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll make it fit,” James groans, reaching down to grab the bottom of your shirt. “I’m going to take this off now, okay?” He tugs it up and over your head once you give your consent, tossing it to the side and cursing when he sees the light pink bra barely covering your breasts. James is biting his lip so hard you’re worried he might draw blood, but you don’t pay it any mind because he’s soon urging you to lay on your back with your legs dangling over the edge.

“Gonna take these off too.”

Giving him a shy smile and a nod, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants, glancing up at you one final time to make sure you’re okay before he surprises you by pulling them off of your legs in one swift movement. You’re tugged down the bed a little, a shocked gasp leaving your lips.

“Fucking angelic,” James murmurs, dropping to his knees and placing his large, rough hands on your knees. He smirks when he sees your matching light pink panties, already soaking wet at the crotch. You have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering when he pushes your legs wide apart, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming when he doesn’t do anything else.

“James,” You whine, high-pitched and needy.

“Sir,” He reminds you with a raised eyebrow as though he’s daring you to say his real name again. And just for good measure, he surprises you by lifting up one of his hands and swinging it down onto your clothed pussy in a harsh swat, causing you to let out a loud moan.

“Sir! I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s okay, little bunny,” James coos as he runs his hands up the back of your thighs so he can push them up and out, letting him get a good look at where you need him most. “Are you going to let me eat your pretty pussy?”

Even though it’s phrased as a question, you know James isn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s not like you even want to tell him ‘no’, you’re too desperate for something, anything.

“Y-Yes, sir. Please.” Your begging makes him groan, and he quickly dips forward so he’s not even an inch away from your core, inhaling deeply and cursing again.

With a quick kiss to your covered clit, he twists his fingers into the band of your panties and rips them into pieces, and you know you’ll have marks from it. But you want them, you want evidence of this night, and you’ll gladly take anything he gives you. And no sooner than your panties off do James dive in, inhaling once more before his tongue sneaks out and licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit.

It’s at that point that you know you’re well and truly fucked, because there’s no way you’re not going to become addicted to the feeling of his tongue dipping into your quivering hole, the way he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it into his mouth, the way he groans into your pussy like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

And it doesn’t take long for your legs to start shaking, desperately trying to close around James’ head but not being able to due to his hands gripping your thighs and holding them still. The filthy groans he lets out are enough to make you cum alone, but then he attaches his lips to your clit again and gently bites down, forcing an obscene moan out of your mouth.

He lets you get used to the pleasure, switching between fucking his tongue deep inside you and flicking at your clit, and only when he decides you’re ready does he manage to slide his forefinger in your pussy all the way to the third knuckle.

“Sir!” You can’t help but yell. Yes, it stings, but it’s far outweighed by the pleasure of his tongue assaulting your pulsating nub.

He wastes no time in slowly sliding it in and out, wiggling it around until you whine loudly, letting him know he’s found that special spot. You’re too out of it to realize it but James is smiling, clearly smug at how he’s making you react. You wouldn’t care anyway, in fact, he deserves it. He’s making you feel too good, especially when he slips in his middle finger and spreads them.

“Oh god! Yes, fuck. Sir, yes,” You’re incoherent, blabbering nonsense because your brain is too foggy to form a coherent thought. James picks up the pace, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it as he thrusts his fingers directly at your g-spot.

“Sir! Sir, I-I’m…” As soon as he started, he stopped, pulling out his fingers and leaning back slightly with a wide grin. His chin is coated in your juices, and the gleam in his eyes shows you that you’re not going to be able to cum so easily.

“Not yet, bunny,” James says when you whine pathetically, trying to buck your hips up into his mouth but unable to do so because of his commanding grip now holding your waist. “I’m not letting you cum until I’m inside you.”

James then climbs onto the bed, guiding you upwards to lay your head against the plush pillows so he can lean over your body. With little preamble, he snakes his arms around your back to quickly unclasp your bra and allow your breasts to spill free.

“I can’t wait to watch these bounce,” James groans, palming one of them, twisting and pinching at your nipple. James just laughs when you hiss, because your soaked pussy is enough to tell him that you’re loving what he’s doing. 

“Bunny.” He says gruffly, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, though you can hardly see him because your vision is hazy, nothing matters except James. “Are you ready?”

You’re barely able to mumble ‘yes’, but you manage to do so, and James takes that as his cue to grasp the base of his cock and position it at your entrance. He places his other hand on your neck, lightly squeezing the sides to keep your eyes locked on his.

The pressure against your hole is immense, James telling you to breathe as he slowly pushes deeper. He stops about halfway through, giving you a moment for the pain to fade. He’s clearly having a hard time staying still but is cognizant enough to know you’re overwhelmed. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing before you finally nod, silently letting him know that he can move. And he does, pushing in all the way until his hips are flush with yours. Once again, he stills, leaning down to brush his lips over your cheeks and catch the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

“H-Hurts, sir,” You whimper out, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him. And while your core is burning, James looks so damn proud that you’re taking him that it pushes away any discomfort.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Even though you’re in mild pain you’re pretty sure you’ll cry if he pulls out, you need everything he can give you. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry, bunny,” James coos, then tightens his grip around your neck ever so slightly. “I’ll give you what you need.” And as though a switch was flipped, James pulls back, pausing for half a second before thrusting forward.

“Ahhh!” Your mouth drops open as you scream, your arms coming up to claw at James’ shoulders and back as he gives you all he has.

And he has a lot to give. He puts his back into fucking you, keeping one hand around your neck and using his other arm to pull your left leg over his shoulder. Sweat beads at your hairline, your eyes stinging with tears, your whole body lit on fire. At this moment, nothing matters except the delicious burn between your legs, the way your body is shoved further up the bed with each of James’ powerful thrusts until it gets to the point where he has to place the hand around your leg on the headboard to steady you.

“Fuck, bunny, you feel so good. You’re so good for me.” James can’t stop mumbling praises, and even though you can’t really hear them, you feel them. Your eyes don’t move from his, even as he glances down to where your bodies are joined. “Fuck, little bunny. Your pussy looks so good stuffed full of my cock, knew you’d take me so well.”

“S-Sir,” You whimper, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and digging your nails into his skin. But James doesn’t seem to mind if the way his whole body shudders and his hips slightly lose their rhythm is anything to go by.

“Are you gonna be a good little bunny and cum for me?” James moves his gaze back up to your face, chuckling when he sees how fucked-out you already are. Despite his hand still around your neck you manage to nod, little cries and whines escaping into the air every time James’ cock gets shoved against your cervix.

“Yeah, you are,” James continues, leaning over your body even more and shifting so the tip of his dick hits your spot with every thrust. “You’re going to squirt all over my cock so I can cum deep in your cunt. Gonna cum in you every day, keep you full of me, maybe even plug you up to make sure it sticks.”

You’re right there, your pleasure climbing higher and higher until you’re ready to fall off the edge. James’s next sentence sends you there.

“Fuck, bunny. You’re going to be the perfect little mommy to all the children I’m gonna give you.”

When you wake up, James will tell you about how you came so hard that you blacked out, squirting and gushing around his cock while he continued telling you how even more beautiful you’ll be when you’re pregnant, taking care of him and his home, how he knew you were the one for him from the moment he first saw you. Your things will already be moved into his house. New clothes chosen specifically for you will be hung up in his closet and the bathroom will be adjusted to fit your products. The kitchen is going to be filled with all the food you like. And your cat will be curled up in a miniature hammock in her very own room.

When you wake up, you’ll see how much thought James put into redecorating his home just for you.

And you’ll be too grateful for his kindness to question where he put your birth control.

main taglist: @lilyalone / @crazyunsexycool / @goldylions / @yeehawbrothers / @buckyssweetheart / @buckysprettybaby / @sushiseoks / @heytheredelulu / @somnorvos / @ozwriterchick / @pxgeturner / @gentlelimerence

bucky taglist: @justsebstan / @myfavbuckyfics

[p1astr81]

sidelines - op81

In which: Oscar sits on the sidelines and watches as you cycle through terrible dates until he’s had enough and can’t stand by any longer.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Warnings: implied smut but no actual smut (it does get a bit heated though), bit of angst if you could call it that

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

You’d rather be anywhere else.

The guy in front of you continued to talk about himself. You were only half-listening, giving uninterested hums every now and then. Given that he still hasn’t noticed, it was safe to say this was yet another shitty date.

It became a shitty date pretty quick, actually. Only about ten minutes after you sat down, you realized it was another waste of a Friday night. He hasn’t asked you a single question in the hour you’ve been sitting at the restaurant,

Most of the time, your mind had been on Oscar.

The McLaren driver lived next door to you. He introduced himself a year ago when he moved in. Ever since, you’ve clicked. He became your best friend very quickly.

In anticipation that you would come back with another date night horror story, he planned a movie night to make you feel better.

“…and I’ve been getting into formula one.”

This time, your hum was very much interested. You sat up. “Really? Isn’t it such an interesting sport?” You sat forward in attention.

“It’s crazy how their engines only last five races.” He commented.

You cocked your head to the side. “Hm? They last more than that. At least 6. 5 would be like if someone didn’t take care of their engine.” You laughed to lessen the blow of the correction.

He laughed to mock you.

“No. They only last five races. Trust me, hon.”

۶ৎ

Oscar jumped when you entered his apartment, slamming the door. He’d accidentally fallen asleep waiting for you.

“Oh my god! I cant do it anymore! Oscar-“ you stopped short, witnessing his messy hair and tired eyes. “I’m sorry. You were sleeping.” You frowned, pointing out the obvious.

Oscar smiled, scooting over to make room for you and he patted the couch next to him. “Doesn’t matter. I wanna hear about this tragic date.” He joked.

He knew you came straight from it. You were still in your little black dress, but your heels were given up in favor of more comfortable sandals which you kicked off at the door.

You took up his offer, lying with your head in his lap. “So fucking stupid, guys are.” You huffed, then made contact with Oscar’s amused and pitying eyes. “Not you. You’re an exception.” You smiled.

“So what was it this time?” His hand found your arm, his thumb gliding over the sleeves of your dress.

“He just talked about himself the entire fucking time. He didn’t even ask me a single question about me. It was all about him.” You seethed. “Oh! And he tried to correct me about how long your car’s engine lasts.” You laughed bitterly at the memory. “Self-centered dick, honestly.” You muttered, playing with the ring on your index finger.

Oscar squeezed your arm. “I’m sorry this one didn’t work out either.” He said with full sincerity. Though he didn’t really mean it. Of course, he was sorry that she had to endure such shitty men, but he wasn’t sorry that she hadn’t found one she liked.

It meant she was still single. Still available for whenever Oscar got the balls to make a move.

A couple months ago, he asked Lando how to make a move. He laughed when Oscar told him that it was his next door neighbor that he was eyeing. Knowing you weren’t even close to being considered a celebrity—you were an event planner—Lando said simply, “You’re a Formula one driver. If that doesn’t win her over, I don’t know what will.”

Even so, you were you. Not to mention that he was terrified of becoming another one of your horror stories.

A frown played on your lips. “I think I should just give up.” You mumbled.

“Hey,” Oscar started, lifting your chin, causing you to look up at him. “Don’t say that. The perfect guy is out there somewhere.”

You scowled. “I think it’s your fault.” You accused.

He blinked. “Why do you say that?”

You sat up and stared at him with wild eyes. “‘Cause you’re perfect. You listen. You ask me about my life and not just talk about yourself. You’re so fucking sweet and kind and funny and it’s so infuriating because I’m forever comparing people to you now, and if you didn’t introduce yourself when you moved in then it wouldn’t be such a problem. Then I could settle for some duche just for the sake of dating someone.” You rambled, crazed gestures with your hands. You nearly hit him in the head at one point.

And after all that, all Oscar could offer was a very confused, “sorry,” because he couldn’t stop thinking about how you described him.

Sweet, kind, funny. You compared other guys to him.

He confessed this to Lando the next time they saw each other.

“Mate! Make your move already! She so obviously likes you!” The curly haired brit exclaimed.

But Oscar still wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so. I think she meant it in a friendly way.”

“Oscar, she is literally using you to set the bar for her dates. I don’t know how much more obvious this can get.” He replied, a thick layer of annoyance to his voice.

Oscar sighed, self doubt creeping through. “But she-“

Lando groaned. “Oh my god, if you don’t make your move, you’re going to lose her anyway.”

۶ৎ

You’re going to lose her.

Lando’s words rung through Oscar’s ears.

He was sat on the couch with your body pressed up against his side and your head on his shoulder. He observed your relaxed face, unaware that you could see it in your peripheral vision.

Inclining your head to look at him, you raised a brow. “Everything okay?” Your soft voice, so concerned.

It brought a small, warm smile to his face. “Mhm.” He hummed, nodding.

A smile creeped up on your own lips. “Okay.” Your hand snaked down his arm, lacing your fingers together. The warmth of his hand, just slightly bigger than your own, brought comfort. “If you’re sure.” You turned to face the television once more.

The silence was only short before Oscar spoke up. “When’s your next date?” He paused, continuing when you looked up at him once more, a spark of hope in your eyes that he didn’t pick up on in the dim lighting of the room. “Just so I can stock up on ice cream.” His words, unknowingly, blew out the spark.

“I don’t know.” A deep sigh. “I know I’ve said it before, but I really think I’m giving up this time.”

Oscar said nothing. He’d wanted to tell you that was a great idea, but perhaps it wasn’t right.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked.

Oscar blinked, thrown off by the change of topic. He knew you liked his shower better than your own. His had an upgraded shower head. “Yeah. That’s fine. Do you want to borrow some clothes or-“

“Yeah sure.” You smiled. “Your hoodies are more comfortable anyway.” You commented as he walked away.

While you showered, Oscar remained on the couch, unable to tune out your humming to a song stuck in your head. Not that he minded. It was quite a comforting sound, but he felt a bit creepy listening to you shower.

When you returned to the living room about twenty minutes later, Oscar was thankful the room was near pitch black. His face was on fire seeing you in his hoodie, and it only got worse when you cuddled back up next to him.

And something else popped up, too.

Eyes squeezed shut, he tried his best to will it away, thinking about anything else. That was impossible when he could feel your hot breath on his neck, and when his nose was being invaded by the sweet scent of your shampoo—because he made sure it was always available to you whenever you felt like stealing his shower.

Christ, he was going insane. He couldn’t even tell you what the movie was about if you asked him.

He could only pray you wouldn’t notice.

And you didn’t, because you’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he hadn’t noticed until an hour later until the movie’s credits began to roll.

He shook your shoulder. “Hey, movie is over. You wanna stay here? Or go back to your own? Whatever you want is fine for me?”

You stretched and groaned. “Should probably go back.” You mumbled and stood. You stretched once more to wake yourself up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You gave him a tired smile that softened his heart.

“Yeah.”

You got two steps before your movements were inhibited.

A hand around your waist, yanking you backwards. And then a pair of soft, warm lips on yours.

Taken by surprise, you hummed against his lips. Oscar being Oscar, took it the wrong way.

He pulled away, started stumbling over his words, backed up, stared at the floor in shame. “I’m- I’m so sorry. I should have-“

“I’m shocked it took you that long.” You scoffed, pulling him back into you and kissing him hard. All that built up tension bursted open, shifting the atmosphere in a complete 180.

His arm snaked around your back and pulled you flush with his chest. You gasped when you felt his semi-hard pushing against your leg.

The both of you tumbled down onto the couch with you landing on top, Oscar’s hands landing on your waist. Oscar groaned when your clothed core brushed the tent in his pants.

You whispered out a curse.

Oscar took control, gripping your hips and forcing you to brush against his growing tent once more.

“If I knew you wanted me this bad, I would’ve done something about it sooner.” You panted into his mouth. “Get me out of these clothes already.” You kissed him again, addicted to the taste of his lips.

He pulled back. “This isn’t…“ he panted, unable to catch his breath. “This isn’t why I kissed you.”

“Oh I know,” you groaned, diving back in for another taste of his lips. “Makes you ten times hotter.” He swallowed your confession as you spoke it into his mouth.

He was losing it under you as you ground against him, fully clothed like two horny teenagers. His brain was going foggy, every thought of his centered around you.

Well, except for one. “Lando won’t believe it.” He muttered.

You stopped your ministrations, pulling back to stare at his blissed-out face. And you hadn’t even properly touched him. “Oscar.” Your voice demanded his focus.

He tried his best to focus on your face. He really did. But pleasure was overtaking his brain and his eyes were glossed over.

“Awe.” You clicked your tongue. “I was going to make fun of you for thinking about a man right now, but it seems not much thinking it going on in that pretty head of yours at all.” You teased while placing kisses all over his face and neck, running your hands along his chest underneath his shirt.

“Please.” He whispered.

Usually, Oscar wasn’t one to take on the submissive role. But boy was he down bad for you.

He felt your breathy chuckle against his neck and he gripped onto your hips harder. “Since you asked so nicely,” you tore off his shirt, ogling at his toned chest. “Fucking hell you’re fit.”

The compliment brought out his confidence and a sneaky grin. He didn’t even ask you before looping his hands around your knees and picking you up.

“Let’s take this somewhere more proper, yeah?” You melted under his husky, needy voice.

۶ৎ

“Oscah! You finally grew some balls!?” Lando greeted. Oscar and yourself were trying to kill time by hanging around the hospitality.

You furrowed your brows, looking between your best friend boyfriend and his teammate.

“And I suppose you’re going to take credit for it, too?” Oscar said, unenthused.

“Oh hell yeah.” Lando laughed. “If I remember, I’m the one who told you to go for it.” He pulled a chair up and sat with you guys.

It finally clicked. “Oh, that’s what you meant by ‘Lando won’t believe it’.”

Lando stared before filling in the context on his own. He turned to Oscar. “Mate.” He said, a tone that told him to be serious.

Now red in the face, Oscar took your hand. “Seems we have somewhere to be right now.” He dismissed, but Lando’s laughter followed you out of the hospitality.

[fenya-scribbles]

Hips

Pairing: BFF!LeeKnow x fem!reader

Other Characters: Hyunjin

Summary: Dancing is a dangerous thing to do. 

Genre: best friends to lovers, smut, fluff, 18+ MDNI

Content warnings: explicit sexual themes, oral (f receiving), piv, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

Word Count: 3531

A/N: It took too damn long, but I finally finished it. Hope you enjoy ;)

"Please!", you draw out the word, giving your best friend the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. You've been begging him to let you sit in on his dance practice with the members for weeks now, but so far he'd refused every time. "No", he said, moving swiftly through his bedroom, packing his sports bag, “you’ll only distract the others.” "Come on, Min, just once! I just wanna see you sweat." You give him a suggestive grin from where you sit on his bed. It's not a lie either, you'd love to see him sweat. Maybe not from dancing, but still. 

Minho stopped his movements, focussing his eyes on you. You’ve been doing this for a while now, throwing lines like this at him. And his self-control started wearing thin, but you didn’t know that. Yet. “If I let you join today, will you promise to shut up about it?", he asked, eyebrows raised. He knew this was a stupid idea, but he also needed you to stop pestering him about it. You and him and dancing was a deadly combination, one that would test his restraint to no ends, but at least this way, he wouldn’t be alone with you. Because when he looked at you, he didn’t just see his best friend. He hadn’t for a long time. He saw a beautiful, witty, intelligent and devilishly attractive woman who’d stolen his heart. But he couldn’t tell you. He couldn’t risk your shared bond, he couldn’t risk losing you. 

Your heart leaped in your chest. Was this it? Had you finally worn him down? "Yes, I swear", you said, "just take me with you this one time and I'll shut up about it." You were most definitely never going to shut up about it. Watching him move through the world the way he did already sent your mind to unholy places, but watching him dance? In sweatpants? Surrounded by 7 equally as handsome men? No way you'd ever be able to shut up about that. Because you loved watching Minho in his element. You loved watching him cook and take care of his members in his own subtle way, you loved listening to him sing, you loved being around him, you just simply loved him. But alas, there was no way that would lead to anything, not if you didn’t want to risk the friendship. So you took what you could get. Dance practice. 

Minho sighed and said: "Fine. But behave yourself." You decided to pointedly ignore the way his command went straight to your core. You were less than successful, earning a sassy smirk from the man. “Shut up”, you said, pointing your finger at him. Minho knew that you found him attractive, you told him frequently. And he also knew about your subby tendencies, as much as you’d tried to hide them. But with the tension between the two of you and his urge to be in charge, especially around you, there had been no way to keep it to yourself. Minho was observant, he could read you like a book. Sometimes you wondered if he knew about the feelings you harboured for him, but since he never did anything about it, you figured it didn’t matter either way.

***

The drive was silent, but not uncomfortable. It was one of the things you loved about your friendship with Minho. You could just be quiet around each other, just exist in each other’s space comfortably. He was a good man and a great friend, and you cherished him with your whole heart. Watching him drive, eyes focused on the road and jaw slightly clenched in concentration, stirred something within you. The feeling was warm and soft and you urged to just grab his hand and be domestic. And your fingers twitched, but you held back after all, too scared to make a wrong move. It was one thing to blatantly flirt with him, you could always say you were just joking. But grabbing his hand? Now that would be more difficult to explain without putting your heart on the line.

When you arrived at the JYPE building, Minho turned to you after stopping the engine, eyes narrowed and locked with yours. “You know the rules?” You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I know the rules.” “Then recount them.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “You heard me. Recount them.” Minho’s eyebrows were furrowed, creating that adorable crease between them and you had to stop yourself from smiling at him. He was utterly serious about this. “No distracting anyone from practice. No interruptions. No pictures or videos.” “Good”, he said with a nod, and then with a grin he added: “Now get out of my car.” You playfully punched his arm before getting out with a giggle. 

The practice room didn’t feel too big, but that might also just have been because of the 8 men that were scattered around it stretching themselves and each other. You quickly found that they took their warmups pretty seriously, so you just watched them from your spot on the bench, catching one or the other look at you from time to time. Hyunjin looked at you the most, and he grinned every time. He’d been the most excited about you walking in after Minho, and your best friend had given him a less than approving glance for it. But that was the usual thing to happen, Hyunjin liked to flirt with you just to tease Minho, although you didn’t quite understand why it worked. Minho never had returned your flirting in earnest, so why was he upset if Hyunjin did?

You kept to the rules, even though it was hard. You wanted to film them so bad, but alas, you decided not to pick a fight with Minho tonight. He’d never let you step foot in here again otherwise. Instead, you watched them dance, taking note of their muscles flexing and their hips rolling and their bodies spinning around. And as you had assumed, watching Minho dance was a transcendent experience. He looked so damn hot, the way he controlled his body, the way he instructed the others, the way that he was completely in his element. And it did something to your heart, to your mind, to your whole body. You didn’t even notice how hard you’d pressed your thighs together until they decided to take a break, and you let out an unintentionally shaky breath. 

“So, Y/N, are you enjoying yourself?”, Hyunjin asked as he sauntered over to you. “Mhm”, you hummed, eyes wandering over his sweat soaked body, “it’s quite the show.” “Really? What’s your favourite part?” He smirked at you, that signature playful glint in his eyes. Minho was standing not far off, drinking his water but never taking his eyes of Hyunjin and you. “Hmm”, you said, pretending to think about it, “I like that thing you do with your hips in the pre-chorus.” Hyunjin immediately did the move you were talking about. “This one?” You hummed affirmatively and bit your lip as you watched him roll his hips just a little too smoothly. “How do you even do that?”, you asked with a giggle, eyes nervously darting to Minho for a second. Your best friend was still watching you, like a cat watching a mouse. 

“I could teach you”, Hyunjin said, and with a short glance around, lingering on Minho a tad too long, he added: “Privately.” And that’s when Minho had enough. “Don’t be stupid, Hyunjin”, he said, taking a few steps towards you, “she’d only hurt herself.” You gasped and made a pretend-shocked face at him. “Ah, Hyung, you have no faith in me, huh? I bet I could teach her that move in no time.” Hyunjin winked at you, the grin on his face only widening. He clearly enjoyed this. “And I can put you into my air fryer in no time. Don’t forget who you’re talking to, dumpling.” At that, Hyunjin let out a giggle and threw up his arms in defence. “Alright, alright.” Then he turned to you. “Sorry, princess, no dance lessons for you, I fear.” And before anyone could say anything else, Chan clapped his hands ordering everyone to resume practice. 

***

“Why did you shut him down?”, you asked, as you lounged on Minho’s couch, lazily running your fingers through Soonie’s fur. The cat purred happily beside you, enjoying your gentle touch, while his owner sat in his armchair, Dori in his lap. Doongie was curled up by your feet, soundly asleep. “Shut who down?” “Hyunjin. About teaching me that move.” It had been two days since the dance practice and you’d tried to forget about it, but something about the situation had it suck in your head and you just couldn’t let it go. “Oh”, Minho said, eyes focused on the purring ball of fur in his lap, “you know how he is.” You raised your eyebrows at his non-answer. When you didn’t say anything he looked up, locking eyes with you. “I just don’t want him dancing with you”, he said, almost too quiet for you to hear. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Your hand stopped petting Soonie, as you processed what you just heard. The cat immediately protested, but you ignored him. Why not? You could ask. You could pry and push. But then, your brain went somewhere else. “You could teach me”, you said instead. “What?” “The move. You could teach me.” Minho blinked at you a few times, and then a smirk rushed over his face. It was only there for a second, but you’d seen it. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Y/N”, he said. “Oh, come on Min!” You pouted at him, eyes big for good measure. He squinted at you. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” “Never.” Minho sighed, knowing very well that this had the potential to end in catastrophe. “Fine, get up then.”

After helping Minho to rearrange his living room just enough to make space for dancing to happen, you found yourself standing in the middle of it, facing him. “So, what now?”, you asked. “Turn around.” You obeyed with a giggle. “Good. Now, you need to widen your stance. Like this.” Minho gently pushed your legs apart with his feet. “Now bend your knees.” You felt very grateful to your past self for attending those yoga classes, as you lowered yourself, bending your knees, keeping your wide stance. Just then, Minho circled you, assuming the same position opposite you. “And now you just have to roll your hips. Like this.” As you watched him move, you felt yourself blush, heat pooling at your core. It looked so damn hot and you couldn’t help but wonder what other things this man could do with his hips. 

But you forced yourself to return to reality, trying to imitate his movement. Minho had the absolute audacity to chuckle at your attempt. “Cute, but no”, he said, “let me help you.” He walked around you again, positioning himself behind you. Close behind you. So damn close, you could feel his body heat radiating against your back. The sheer lack of space between the two of you had the air shift drastically, a thick tension starting to build. He gently placed his hands on your hips, and you swallowed hard. “Move with me”, he said, voice low and so very close to your ear. And then he moved, gripping your hips a bit harder so he could steer them, his hips rolling behind yours. Slowly, you got into a rhythm, and out of sheer instinct, you started to lean back against his chest. “Good”, he purred, “you’re doing so good.” 

It was too much, he was too close, you were too whipped for him to simply endure this. And that’s when it slipped. “Min..” A short sigh, bordering on a moan, as your hips pushed back just a little too much, effectively grinding against him. Your heart stopped for a moment, your breath stuck in your throat, as you anticipated his reaction. He moved, straightening his legs, and you feared he would move away, break the tension, but his hands remained on your hips. His fingers dug into your sides for a second, then he pulled you out of your stance as well and spun you around. “What was that, kitten?”, he said, pulling your body against his own. “I…uh….”, you stammered, unable to form a sentence. Not when you were this close to him. Not when he called you kitten. 

Time stopped, as Minho’s eyes dropped to your lips, his fingers digging into your sides. Your breath hitched, your heart hammered against your ribcage, your core was positively throbbing, and all you could do was stare. Stare at his lips, stare at the way his ears turned slightly red, stare at his beautiful, darkening, half-lidded eyes. “Don’t be shy now”, he all but whispered, pulling you impossibly closer, pressing his crotch against yours - that’s when you felt it, felt him, hard and pulsing against you through his and your clothes. “Min…”, you repeated, unable to hold back, as you unintentionally leaned in just a bit. It was enough for him to act. You caught a glance of his smirk and then his lips were on yours, hot and hungry, as if he’d also been barely holding on. Your arms went around his neck in an instant as you lost yourself in the way he devoured you, tasting his tongue, becoming putty in his hands. 

You almost didn’t notice how he manoeuvred you backwards to the couch until your legs hit something soft, and he lowered you down onto it. Hovering over you, Minho examined you. Your lips were red and swollen, your pupils dilated, your breath ragged - he’d never seen you like that and it had his cock throb painfully. “We can stop”, he breathed, softly running his fingers over your cheek, because he knew, if he went one step further, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “No.” Your answer was immediate, almost a bit too fast, but you didn’t care. You wanted this, you wanted him. More than anything. And with your answer his expression shifted. Gone was any softness, replaced by sheer unadulterated lust, as he dove back into you, kissing you so sloppy, so greedy, that it had your whole body shaking beneath him.

Before you knew it, he was kneeling in-between your legs, hands exploring your body, slipping underneath your shirt, as he continued to kiss your lips, your face, your neck. He was all over you, taking control, and you melted beneath him, making the sweetest little sounds. His hands slid over your body, mapping out every inch, until he was cupping your breasts, squeezing, kneading, playing with your nipples. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this”, he breathed against your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, teeth grazing your delicate skin. 

You were tangled up in each other, surrounded by nothing but heat and desire, so lost in the moment you didn’t even realise when he had pulled your shirt off or your pants down. All you knew were his lips trailing down your bare chest, sucking marks here and there, until his kisses found your inner thighs, hungry and teasing. His shirt had been discarded too, at some point, and you enjoyed the view of a shirtless, panting, borderline feral Minho sitting between your legs, looking up at you with lidded eyes as his tongue ran through your slick folds. 

“Fuck…Min…”, you gasped, rolling your hips against his face, but he was quick to grab you and keep you steady, as he hungrily kept licking and sucking at your core. When your hand went to his head, fingers quickly tangling in his messy hair, he hummed against you, sending another shiver right down your spine. It didn’t take him long to get you all riled up, tight knot already forming in your lower belly. And he knew it, too. You could feel him smirking against your skin as he slowly, deliberately pushed two fingers into your wet, needy hole. It pulled a deeply sinful moan from you, to which he had the audacity to chuckle. “You like that, huh?”, he said, lips not leaving you once, “come on, show me how much.” 

Minho had no mercy, pumping his fingers into you with reckless abandon, as his tongue continuously slid over your clit. It was driving you mad, your hips bucking against his now one-handed hold, but he was still keeping you firmly pressed against the couch. “Fuck...’m so close…”, you panted, to which he hummed against you once again. “Come for me, Kitten”, he purred, “let go for me.” And with that the knot snapped, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body, thighs shaking, back arching, vision blurring. You were only half aware of the scream that escaped your mouth - or the satisfied smile on Minhos face as he helped you ride out your climax. 

You were gasping for air, slowly coming down from your high, barely noticing how Minho pulled his fingers from your core. “Fuck”, you panted, “that was…wow…” “Glad you liked it”, he said, hovering over you face to face once again. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed a soft, but still very hungry, kiss against your lips. “Think you can take more?”, he asked, his eyes still dark with desire. “I can take you”, you said, still a little breathless, “I want to.” “You sure?”, he smirked as he rolled his still covered crotch against your soaked, sensitive centre. 

“Ah…don’t be a tease, Min.” You let your hands run down his back and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Just fuck me already.” He didn’t need to be told twice. His pants and underwear were gone in an instant and you had only a short moment to marvel at the size of his cock. “Turn around”, he said, and you obeyed without hesitation. His hands were lingered on your butt for a while, grabbing, appreciating. But eventually, after you let out a few frustrated whines, he lined himself up. “Ready, kitten?”, he purred in your ear, and with your permission he slowly pushed himself in. 

Inch by inch he slowly filled you out. You held your breath as he stretched your walls, low grunts vibrating against your shoulder where his lips were locked to your skin. “Damn, kitten”, he rasped, “you’re so tight….so perfect...” When he finally bottomed out, you released your breath, feeling utterly full of him. And then he began to roll his hips, slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size. “Mhhh….Min….feels so good”, you moaned, as he sped up, hips snapping against your butt again and again and again. It was obscene, filthy, downright pornographic how he fucked you. Like he’d been thinking about it. Like he’d been starving for it. 

Your best friend’s dick drilled into you, hard and fast and ungodly, the angle too good, the size too perfect. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, only lewd noises coming out of your mouth as tears of pleasure stared to roll down your face. It felt too good. His hands gripped your hip tight enough to leave bruises, his breath was laboured and hot, his restraint was out the window. He fucked you like a feral beast, chasing his own release, and just when you thought he might not send you over the edge again, his right hand moved, fingers finding your clit. “Ugh…come…come with me kitten”, he panted, pressing and rubbing your most sensitive spot. 

You screamed into the pillow as the second orgasm hit, too overstimulated to care if the neighbours would hear you, too fucked out to have any control. Your whole body shook as you felt him pulse inside you, hips stuttering, painting your insides white. Your whole body tingled, as you collapsed beneath him, unable to hold yourself in any position other than flat on the couch. He followed suit, panting and sweaty, chest pressed against your back, only barely managing not to put his whole weight on you. For a while, the both of you stayed like this, finding your breath, slowing your hearts.

Eventually, you could feel him press gentle kisses against your back as he carefully pulled himself out of you. For a moment he was gone, and then you were turned over and picked up, carried to the bathroom and set down in a tub of hot, soapy water. Minho climbed in behind you, legs wrapping around your waist, and pulled you back against his chest. And for a very long time, you just sat there, surrounded by warmth and silence, safety and comfort. Until your mind returned to you. Until you realised what had just happened and a smile rushed over your face. “Min”, you whispered without turning around. “Kitten”, he whispered back, gently resting his head on your shoulder. “I get it now”, you said, calm and quiet. He pressed soft kisses to your neck. “What d’you get?”, he asked. You chuckled. “Why you didn’t want Hyunjin to dance with me.”

Fenya’s Masterlist

[ham1lton]

maneater!yn getting into an argument w one of the drivers after the race and it going viral?

SELF MADE, ASEXUAL!

summary: as one of the very few female drivers in f1, you’re expected to be very careful. however, when a explosive video hits the internet, you have to navigate the fallout.

linked to my maneater series!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by nosybitch1, youthereader and 5,109,928 others.

tmzsports: MCLAREN, MEET MANEATER!: LANDO GETS EATEN ALIVE BY ANGRY YN!

for the full video, check the link 🔗 in our bio.

view all comments.

📌 pinned comment

tmzsports: thoughts? did yn take it too far, or was lando asking for it? 👀 let us know below!

⸻

user1: the way y’all are acting like lando wasn’t yelling back is CRAZY!!!

user2: maneater strikes again 🙄 no man is safe

user3: she’s so aggressive it’s actually embarrassing to watch. no wonder no one takes her seriously in f1

user4: y’all hate yn for breathing at this point lmao

user5: bro if a male driver did this no one would care, but bc it’s yn suddenly she’s the devil 💀

user6: lando looking like he was about to cry and she DID NOT CARE LMFAOO

user7: she’s the problem. she’s always the problem.

user8: he must’ve really pissed her off bc she usually just laughs in men’s faces when they try to argue with her

user9: people calling her toxic when literally every guy on the grid has had a public meltdown at some point 💀 it’s a high level sport!!! everyone’s emotions are high. why criticise her for something you would applaud men for?

user10: “lando gets eaten alive” stopppp the internet is undefeated 😭😭

user11: yn needs to get her emotions in check. she’s in a male-dominated sport. she should know better.

— user12: she’s literally been in f1 for years. she clearly does know better if she’s still here, stay mad lol

user13: nah the real tea is what did lando say to set her off bc she was FUMING

user14: these comments are straight up misogynistic. like be real, if it was max, george, or even charles, y’all wouldn’t care

user15: y’all call her a maneater but from what i see she only “eats” men when they DESERVE it 😛

user16: “she should know better bc she’s in a male-dominated sport” actually no the MEN should know better and stop being fragile

user17: can we talk about how she was fully ready to swing on him but oscar had to step in 😭

user18: every time she blinks y’all call her a villain i can’t

— user16: like ppl r saying she should be kicked out like wtf. she should have swung on him idc

user19: yn too chopped to be acting like this LOL

— user5: imma chop your DICK off!!!

user20: if she was a man y’all would be calling her “a fighter” and “a true competitor” but bc she’s a woman she’s suddenly a problem

user21: lando def thought he was gonna win that argument and yn chewed him UP

user22: the grid walking on eggshells next race bc yn is officially in her villain era lmaoooo. can’t wait for her next trophy!!!!

user23: she told lando “maybe if you spent less time whining and more time racing you wouldn’t have dnfed” I ALMOST FELL OUT MY CHAIR 😭😭😭

user24: funny how every guy she argues with suddenly becomes a victim in the eyes of the media… wonder why that is 🤔

— user25: starts with m, ends with isogyny.

— user24: funny how lando was yelling too but only yn is getting called aggressive?? misogyny is so boring at this point

user26: yn could literally say “good morning” and half of y’all would start foaming at the mouth

user27: “mclaren, meet maneater” is sending meeee 😭😭😭

user28: praying for yn’s pr team rn

maneater: nah cause y’all stay tryna make me look crazy. “gets eaten alive”?? be fucking for real, he started yelling at ME first. maybe next time try reporting what actually happened instead of whatever dramatic fanfiction y’all cooked up for clicks. clowns. 🤡

— user1: ignore them queen!!! the ynnies in the trenches for you rn <3

— user29: maneater supremacy. keep making men cry queen 💕

— user30: the tears of your misogynistic male haters keep my skin looking youthful. <3

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[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 1 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.3k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, this chapter is pretty mild so not many tags are necessary ig?

a/n. thank you to everyone who's shown excitement for this series so far! i see you all, and i appreciate each and every one of you ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ and i'd love to hear from you as we go through this process together!

links. masterlist, ao3

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think someone with a time-slowing quirk is manipulating this shoebox of a room they unceremoniously stuffed you in with nothing but this middle-aged, bearded man roughly 30 minutes ago.

If 30 minutes is even an accurate approximation.

The said man is clicking away at his keyboard behind the desk in front of you, humming a non-descript tune, and, having already studied the room that seems to be an abandoned office, you take the opportunity to clock him. Aside from being around his mid-40s and sporting a full-grown beard, there’s something about him that rings the metaphorical alarms in your mind, signaling some sense of familiarity.

And it’s either you need to work on your subtlety or he’s just plain out observant, because he must have noticed your staring, shifting his gaze from his laptop screen toward you, mouth formed in a friendly smile. “Getting antsy?”

“I—” you start, before trailing off. You weigh your options for a second, before settling with: “It’s hard not to be, sir. Would you care to tell me what I’m here for?”

At that, the man merely purses his lips in a thin line. “Unfortunately, it’s not my place to say. I was just assigned to meet you here. At least,” he checks his silver-plated watch, “until further company arrives.”

You feel yourself frown. “And the men who arrived out of nowhere and fetched me from my apartment?”

He nods, “They were simply assigned to get you, yes.”

A burning question bubbles right up your throat, but you tamp it down, thinking better against it. It’s too soon, you think. You have to dig a bit deeper. And so instead, you finally prod at that inkling from a moment ago that’s been vying for your attention.

“Have we met before, sir?”

That must’ve been the right thing to ask, because the man visibly lights up. He swivels on his office chair, turning a bit so that he’s now fully facing you. “Why, yes! I thought you wouldn’t remember.”

You toss him the most genuine smile you can muster back in courtesy, but also to goad him into continuing. You hope that’s enough for now. “From a while back, right?”

“Yes!” he enthusiastically responds, whatever document he was working on now completely forgotten. “I was one of your earliest escorts until the commission relocated me overseas. I just got reassigned to you for this project, you see.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

However, you don’t get to revel in how you successfully coaxed information and confirmation out of him without lifting much of a finger, because he quickly realizes his mistake. He splutters as you watch the blood drain from his face, and you can’t help but feel bad for the man.

“Don’t worry,” you offer with that placating tone you’ve mastered over the years. “I won’t tell them you just said all that.”

He eyes you suspiciously, as if he’s debating whether or not you’re saying the truth, and you’ve half a mind to use it on him just so that the sole person you’re stuck in this jail-like space isn’t looking at you like you’re after his head, but you don’t get past considering that because the only set of doors bursts open and in comes an all-too-familiar face.

The both of you whip away from your stare down to look at the unannounced guest, and you instantly stiffen when you get a good look at the person leading the group.

Clad in a two-piece slate gray suit, the head of the Special Quirks department of Japan’s Hero Commission waltzes in, seemingly decades older than the last time you saw him. It hasn’t even been five years since, you think, yet he’s aged so much. Trailing right behind him is the woman you vaguely remember trailblazing the Missions committee, hair pinned up in a no-nonsense low bun and sporting a navy blazer and skirt combo.

And, perhaps in an effort to ground yourself in the face of impending danger that always came with the two, you’re about to look down at what you’re wearing in comparison, which, you recall is a baggy T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants you never intended for people to see you wear, when it happens.

You lock eyes with the third and last person entering the room, and instantly it’s like you’re doused with a sobering bucket of ice-cold water at the same time someone lights a fire under your ass. One glimpse at his firey gaze has your brain screaming at you to look away—anywhere, anywhere but at him—and pretend that didn’t just happen all the while mentally willing him away from existence, but you find yourself frozen in your seat.

Bakugou, who’s dressed casually in a plain black shirt and loose jeans, stares right back as he follows the two officials. You’re the first one to break eye contact, and words aren’t uttered as the guy from earlier scurries out of his seat, offering it to Asahi, the man in the gray suit, who accepts it thanklessly. Moriyama takes the seat the underling drags next to Asahi, and Bakugou plops himself down on the one around a foot to your left, the both of you now facing them.

“Thank you, Tanaka-san,” Asahi says, finally breaking the silence. The familiar escort who you now remember as Tanaka only bows at him, before standing silently to the side.

At that, Asahi shifts to regard you, the corners of his lips twisting upwards in what you think is an effort to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. With both arms on top of the hardwood desk and hands clasped together, he clears his throat.

He says your name as a start, which sends an eerie tingle down your spine. “Long time no see, huh?”

You don’t know how to reply to that, also acutely aware of the man beside you, so you merely nod.

“We apologize for dragging you here on your day off,” he continues, “It must’ve been quite jarring—having our men be at your doorstep.”

You fight back the urge to ask him how the hell he knows it’s your day off today, deciding in the last second you don’t want to know the answer. Frankly, you wouldn’t be shocked if he said they’d been keeping tabs on you and that they even know what brand of underwear you wear.

“I was surprised, I’m not gonna lie,” you respond, voice small. And just because you’re over this whole suspense factor, you cut to the chase. “What’s this all about, Asahi-san?”

“Skipping the pleasantries, aren’t we?” he chuckles, and you resist the itch to scowl at him. You never liked the guy—although you think it must have to do with all those extreme assessments he made you take growing up. To your relief, though, he relents. “I’ll get straight to it, then. We have an important mission for you.”

And as if you weren’t already stiff enough, you feel yourself tense even more, and the action doesn’t go missed by Bakugou, whose eyes you feel boring into the side of your face.

Asahi takes your stunned silence as a cue for him to go on. His gaze drifts to the pro-hero beside you, a knowing smirk decorating his features. “I trust that you’ve met?”

Despite yourself, you chance a glance at the ash-blonde, only to find him already looking at you. You feel yourself flame as he studies you with mild recognition, as if he’s seen you before but can’t quite figure out where.

Bakugou finally speaks up after a beat, voice gruff and eyes remaining locked on yours. “UA Gen Ed, same batch as me, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply dumbly, surprised he even remembers. “And you’re pro-hero Dynamight.”

To that, he gives you a curt nod, donning a serious expression as he turns back to face Asahi. “Go on and brief her about it already. I ain’t got all day.”

“We’re getting to that, Bakugou,” the old-ish man retorts, seemingly unfazed by the pro-hero’s impatience, before readjusting his focus to you. “As I’ve said, we’re assigning you to a very crucial mission. We got word yesterday that an up-and-rising quirk supremacist group is planning an attack somewhere in the city.”

“A-attack?” you croak, “Who’re they gonna attack?”

“That we’re not sure yet,” Moriyama joins in on the conversation, her countenance stern. “But we’re guessing quirkless individuals or people with weak quirks. We won’t know for sure, though, unless we get people on the inside.”

“And that’s where you two come in,” Asahi finishes, eyes darting back and forth between you and the man beside you. “You’re going undercover.”

You gawk at him, suddenly robbed of all words. From the corner of your vision, you sense Bakugou side-eye you, and that’s all the warning you get for what he’s about to say next.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, prominently exasperated by the entire situation. “‘s like you’re feeding a sheep to the fucking wolves.”

Instantly, you feel a sense of indignation wash over you at the comment, which is immediately followed by the familiar feeling of resignation.

You’ve gone through these motions before. Over and over again, in fact.

And normally, you’d let snide comments about the status of your quirk slide, like you’ve been taught to the entirety of your life, but apparently this time that’s not an option.

Because Moriyama gives him a pointed look, as if chastising him on your behalf. You don’t dare to check how Bakugou’s receiving it, but you’re assuming not well.

But before the pro-hero can say something in his defense or provoke the woman, Asahi interjects with a good-natured laugh. “Slow down there, hero. Don’t get too cocky now that you just got named Vogue Japan’s Bachelor of the Year.”

Bakugou doesn’t miss a beat. “Shut the fuck up.”

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Asahi continues. “And no, I am not making a reckless move here,” the middle-aged man peers at you, “This woman right here has a special quirk.”

At that, you steal a glance at Bakugou, and the look on his face betrays the thing he’s evidently trying hard not to say.

‘What’s so special about this girl from Gen Ed?’

He manages not to blurt that out, though, instead going for: “How special?”

“Let’s just say it’s because of her that departments like mine exist in the commission.”

“Quit being fucking cryptic,” Bakugou spits out, just as you say: “It’s really not that special, though.”

That catches his attention, and you feel yourself shrink when his intense, crimson eyes land on you. You, however, fight to maintain his scrutinizing gaze when he pipes up. “What can you do, huh?”

“I—”

“How ‘bout you show him, dear?” Moriyama cuts you off with a knowing smile.

You don’t get to argue because the woman promptly sends Tanaka off to the door, and the four of you watch the guy as he rushes out, leaving you in a few moments of silence, before hurriedly walking back in with a nervous-looking young man in tow.

You decide then and there that you really don’t want to do this.

“An intern, Moriyama-san,” Tanaka announces in front of you with a booming voice, gesturing to the person beside him. “Just as you requested.”

“The hell do we nee—”

“Go on, Y/N,” Asahi encourages with a quiet voice, which you note is in an attempt to not be heard by the poor intern.

The poor intern who’s gaping at #2 pro-hero Dynamight, looking like his soul just left his lean body.

Your gaze shifts between the pro-hero and the young man, and you sit watching the silent exchange unfold before you. You can tell Bakugou is getting annoyed by the unabashed attention of someone who’s likely a fan, and the latter isn’t looking all too hot.

And so with reluctance, you do it.

“Hey,” you call out to the intern, who whips to look at you after another attempt when he doesn’t respond to the first.

“Wha—” he starts, but trails off when you decisively tug on the imaginary strings, and in a split second, it’s like the nerves that were just frying his system a beat ago get washed off his body, his face morphing to that of tranquil calmness in a blink of an eye.

You toss him a tight-lipped smile as he stares right back at you, serene and perhaps a tad bit confused, although you doubt someone not privy to your ability could recognize it on his face.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

You turn to look at Asahi, who’s now leaning back on the office chair with a proud grin on his face, as if he’s the one who just did the demonstration.

You try to suppress the mild annoyance at the sight of him.

You reason to yourself that he’s the one who made all this possible, after all. He deserves to be proud of the stunt you just pulled, at least to some extent.

And just as quickly as he entered, the intern is promptly ushered out of the area by Tanaka. Once the door clicks closed, you then shift to examine Bakugou, who you quickly find is already staring at you, an inexplicable expression etched across his sharp features.

“You make people calm, is that it?”

“Oh, she can do much more than that, boy,” Asahi boasts. “She has the ability to tamper with any person’s emotions. She can diffuse or exacerbate existing ones or transform them into another affect entirely.”

“But very few people know that, Bakugou,” Moriyama adds with a warning edge to her tone. “It’s why the commission took her under its wing at such a young age. It’s why—”

“You disguised her quirk as something else and made her take the Gen Ed route.” Bakugou finishes with such certainty that catches you off guard, despite being well-versed in the fact that he is insanely perceptive.

You would know. Really, you would.

Because that’s one of the main reasons why you liked—

“It’s so that the wrong people don’t catch wind of her and her quirk, Bakugou,” Asahi supplements. “It’s for that very reason we’ve named her quirk as luck instead of manipulation. Which is what you’re going to do undercover.”

“What’s he gonna do, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head to gesture to the pro-hero beside you.

“He’ll infiltrate the group alongside you, dear,” Moriyama answers. “He’s one of the best heroes we have, and well…”

She glances at Bakugou with such hesitance that juxtaposes the confidence she’s been sporting this entire exchange, before continuing. “…We’ve heard this group has been eyeing to recruit Bakugou, specifically.”

You almost choke on your spit.

Recruit the #2 pro-hero of Japan?

What kind of stupid agenda is that?

To your surprise, Bakugou doesn’t say anything in response to Moriyama’s weighty statement, his usually penetrating gaze fixed on the ground.

“He’ll make sure you’ll be safe, Y/N,” Asahi furthers. “He’ll introduce you to them as a useful tool, what with your ‘luck’, which you’ll tell them works by boosting the chances of success of the people you’re working with. And, given how your quirk actually operates, Bakugou here will emphasize your importance by requesting for their protection of you, so that you can get closer to the people you’ll need to manipulate.”

“How’s he gonna do that without raising suspicion?” you can’t help but ask.

“That’s the thing,” Asahi quips, before heaving a deep sigh. “At this point, there’s no saying for sure, but you’re gonna have to be ready to play the part of a couple if the situation calls for it.”

“A c-couple?” you barely manage to get out.

To that, Asahi and Moriyama only nod at you with such seriousness that you can’t find it in you to protest any further. Still, you try to express your uneasiness.

“I don’t know—if I can pull that off. I—”

“You have your quirk at your disposal, Y/N,” Moriyama assures you, to your chagrin. “You’ve trained hard enough to know when and how to use it.”

Well.

There’s not much left for you to do than nod in resignation, especially with the finality of her tone, so you do just that.

None of you says anything for a brief moment after that, a rather tense silence enveloping the tiny office. And you’re about to ask them one more time if they’re fucking sure about all this, but Asahi beats you to it.

“Do either of you have any more questions?”

You open your mouth to try again but this time Bakugou speaks first. “I do. Let’s say shit goes down and we have to engage this shitty ass group in combat. Does she know how to fight? You know, beyond just playing with emotions?”

You feel yourself bristle, and before your brain can catch up and rein you in, your mouth is already running off. “I’ve had extensive close-combat training, actually. So worry about saving your own ass, hero.”

Bakugou doesn’t get the chance to spew something right back at you, though, because Asahi cuts the tension with a booming laugh. “She actually has, Bakugou. Like I said, we’ve been training her since her quirk manifested.”

“Really?” he asks, a little bit too sarcastically for your taste. “And what’s in it for you, huh, Y/N?” the pro-hero turns to regard you, tone riddled with just enough taunt to make your blood simmer. “Why’re you going along with their whim?”

“They pay well,” you state as simply as you can. “My job as a guidance counselor isn’t exactly the most lucrative.”

“That we do,” Asahi chimes in before Bakugou can drop any borderline degrading remark, which you’re thankful for. You don’t know if you can handle any more backhanded comments from the man you used to fucking dream about way back in high school, who—apparently—also happens to be the man you’re gonna have to pretend you’re dating if things go south.

“If you don’t have any more questions,” Moriyama interjects, “There’s one last thing. We don’t expect them to go lax on either of you despite what you can bring to the table. So anticipate restrictions on your speech and movements—there’s a high probability that they’re gonna place bugs and trackers on you. The same goes for your online footprint.”

At that, you and Bakugou wordlessly nod in unison, the gravity of what you’re about to get yourself into finally sinking in. Shortly after, Moriyama goes through a few more technical details before announcing that they have another meeting to attend, and just like that, and with a promise to get in touch soon albeit clandestinely, she and Asahi exit from the very door they entered what seemed like an eternity ago.

Leaving you and Bakugou.

Alone.

Which is something you’re going to have to get used to for what lies ahead.

But that shit can wait until tomorrow, when the mission officially starts.

And so with much vigor, you quickly gather the purse you barely managed to bring with you when you got dragged out of your apartment earlier this evening, and stand. Bakugou’s head tilts up to look at you when you turn to regard him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“What?”

You force a smile. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Bakugou-san.” Not. “See you tomorrow, then.”

And, before he can say anything in return, you spin on your heel and leave without looking back.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[pucksandpower]

Free Fucking Country

Max Verstappen x First Daughter of the US!Reader

Summary: the FIA needs a reality check — you’ve known this since they decided to punish your grown ass boyfriend for daring to say “fucked” in a press conference — and what better way to do this than by taking full advantage of your First Amendment rights … live on camera?

The Texas sun beats down on the circuit. You’re standing off to the side, watching the race from a monitor, arms crossed. There’s an edge to your stance, a tightness in your jaw that no one’s missed, least of all Nico Rosberg.

“You look like you’re going to murder someone,” Nico says, chuckling under his breath. “Who’s the unlucky victim?”

You shoot him a sideways glance, not quite smiling. “Not someone. More like the entire FIA.”

Jenson Button raises a brow from his spot beside Nico. He’s been fiddling with a microphone, but now his full attention is on you. “Ah. Still upset about Singapore, then?”

You roll your eyes. “Still upset? I’m livid, Jenson. They punished Max for swearing. Swearing. Like, are we adults or are we running a kindergarten here?”

Nico and Jenson exchange a look, trying and failing to suppress a laugh.

“They’ve done worse to other drivers, to be fair,” Nico says, playing the diplomat despite the thirst for drama you know is itching to escape.

“I don’t care!” Your voice rises a little, and you realize you’re pacing now, hands flying around in frustration. “They target Max like he’s public enemy number one, and I swear it’s just because he’s honest. They can’t handle it when someone actually tells the truth!”

Nico nods, clearly amused by your rant but trying to stay neutral. “True. Max does have a ... blunt way of putting things.”

“He shouldn’t have to censor himself. It’s not like he was even that bad. They act like he threatened to burn down the paddock.” You huff, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “It’s just so stupid.”

Nico leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what are you going to do? You’re not exactly on the FIA’s Christmas card list either.”

A slow grin spreads across your face, and Nico’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh no. I don’t like that look. That’s trouble.”

Jenson smirks. “What’s she planning?”

“I need a favor,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief. You glance over at the camera setup behind them. “Can I borrow your camera for a minute?”

Both men stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You want to go live? On Sky Sports?” Jenson asks, blinking in disbelief.

You shrug. “Why not?”

Nico shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re something else.”

But he steps aside, making way for you to take his place. “Alright, have at it. Just … maybe don’t get us all banned from the paddock, yeah?”

You wink. “No promises.”

Without missing a beat, you step in front of the camera, and within seconds, you’re live. Your pulse quickens, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. The weight of the moment hits you, but it only fuels your determination.

You clear your throat. “Hi, everyone! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood First Daughter, coming to you live from the US Grand Prix. Now, before we get back to the race, I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Nico and Jenson are barely holding back their laughter behind you, but you ignore them, fixing your gaze on the lens.

“Max Verstappen got punished for swearing during a press conference last week. Punished. For swearing. And you know what? That’s bullshit.”

The words fly out of your mouth, sharp and unfiltered. There’s a moment of stunned silence around you as people start to realize what’s happening.

You keep going, voice rising with every sentence. “The FIA is out of control. They’re so focused on micromanaging everything that they’ve forgotten what this sport is supposed to be about. Racing. Competition. Passion.”

Nico’s eyes widen as he leans toward Jenson. “Oh my God, she’s really doing it.”

Jenson just grins, watching in awe. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

You don’t let up. “You want to punish someone for being honest? For being real? Then punish me too, because I’m about to say a hell of a lot more.”

You can see people gathering around, eyes glued to the monitors. You’ve got their attention now, and you’re not backing down.

“The FIA is so far up their own asses, they can’t see what’s really going on. Drivers are out there risking their lives, pushing the limits, and all they care about is how polite they are in a press conference? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You wave your hands around, the frustration boiling over. “I’m sick of this shitty double standard. Max gets penalized for cursing, but the countless times that the FIA has done something much worse? Silence. It’s ridiculous.”

By now, there’s a crowd forming around you. You see a few FIA officials watching from the corner, looking like they’re trying to figure out what to do. You don’t stop.

“If the FIA wants to keep policing language, they should start by looking at themselves. They’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites who don’t know the first thing about what it takes to be a real racer. They’re killing the spirit of the sport.”

Just then, you spot one of the stewards marching toward you, followed by two security guards. You flash a grin at the camera. “Oh look, here they come. The fun police.”

The steward, a stern-looking man with a clipboard, stops right in front of you. “Ma’am, you need to leave immediately.”

You laugh, leaning into the camera, making sure everyone’s still watching. “Really? You’re gonna kick me out for talking? Last time I checked, this is a free fucking country. First Amendment, bitches! Try to shut me up, I dare you.”

The steward’s face reddens. “You need to leave, now.

But before the security guards can even move, your Secret Service detail materializes out of nowhere, surrounding you. They stand tall, arms crossed, ready to intervene.

You laugh again, this time louder. “Oh, you didn’t think about that, did you? You can’t kick me out. What are you gonna do, arrest the President’s daughter on live TV?”

The steward looks like he’s about to explode, but there’s nothing he can do. He steps back, clearly out of his depth, while the camera continues rolling.

You take a deep breath, calming down just enough to finish your rant with a flourish. “So, FIA, if you’re watching — and I know you are — get your act together. Start treating the drivers like adults, and stop with the petty bullshit. Or I swear, I’ll make it my mission to drag you on the broadcast every single fucking race.”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a presence beside you. You turn just in time to see Max walking up, eyes wide, clearly catching on to what’s happening. He looks from you to the cameras, then back to you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Without a word, he steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s sudden, unexpected, but it’s the kind of kiss that makes time stop, the kind that speaks louder than words.

When he pulls away, there’s a smirk playing on his lips. “You always know how to make a scene.”

You shrug, a mischievous grin on your face. “Someone’s gotta stand up for you.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “Well, you sure did.”

Nico and Jenson are clapping from behind, both of them thoroughly entertained. Jenson leans into the camera, grinning from ear to ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N Y/L/N, everybody.”

You step back, still grinning, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The steward looks like he’s given up entirely, and the crowd is buzzing with energy.

Max leans in close, his voice low. “You know you’re going to get a lot of hate for this, right?”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Let them try. I’m not scared of a little backlash.”

He shakes his head, eyes shining with admiration. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’m just getting started.”

[sailoryuns]

COMPANIONSHIP ─── JJH [ TEASER ]

summary: after being released from prison for a crime he never committed, jaehyun sets out to conjure up the perfect plan in order to keep up the façade that he’s happily married and is out living his best life— by kidnapping a complete stranger and forcing them to pose as his wife to gain his inheritance.

genre. ex convict!jaehyun x tap dancer!f!reader | 90’s au, strangers to lovers

warnings. angst, (some) fluff, smut, age gap (jaehyun is late 30’s/reader’s in her early 20’s), smoking (cigs), kidnapping, manipulation, gaslighting, stockholm syndrome, physical violence, knifeplay, dubcon, fingering, unprotected s*x, loss of virginity, breeding, more warnings to be added once the full fic is up! teaser wc -> 1.7k

inspired by the film ‘buffalo 66’

disclaimer: everything i write is purely fictional, none of it is meant to portray real interpretations of these people nor am i claiming it to be!

for three years, he was certain he knew how to play this. three whole years, he’d made phone calls from prison and pretended he lived a life he could scarcely imagine. it started with shame and grew from there. he didn’t care about disappointing his parents, but his grandmother wouldn’t have recovered if she’d known where he was— behind bars fabricating these outlandish tales all for her sake.

his grandmother wanted nothing more than for him to meet a nice girl to settle down with. someone who’d love him right; a girl who’d look beyond all the baggage he carried and devote herself to him; a girl who’d keep him out of trouble and one he could put down roots with.

and jaehyun did, but in his other life.

in that life, he’d transitioned from a blue-collar existence working as a mechanic to the lavish lifestyle of a wealthy executive. he’d mastered the art of schmoozing with the owner of the auto repair shop to secure his slot with the big corporate elites. from there, he climbed the ladder that steered him out of trouble and jet-setted around the world.

in that life, he had his own office and a secretary. he had a pretty little wife who loved him and thought the sun rose and fell with him. in that life, he was too busy to spend time with his grandmother and when she passed away, he internalized the guilt of not only lying to her but breaking her heart too.

now only one thing mattered.

his fictitious life that’d cost him so much could now earn his inheritance of cash. that was the stipulation written in the will— that he live on the straight and narrow and marry a nice girl.

but as he’s forced to come face to face with all the endless lies he never wanted to tell, after three years, he’d have to keep lying because jaehyun had to materialize a pretty, sweet wife who loved him, the nice girl he’d chose to settle down with. but truth be told, he didn’t know any nice girls.

he knew stone-cold bitches who ripped his heart out for sport. he knew many aloof upper east side princesses that made damn sure he knew his place— in their thousand thread count sheets for a good time only. it turned out those trust fund nepo babies in three-piece suits were just good for making money, not fucking.

those men put their girls up in lavish digs and jaehyun did his part. he left them crying and coming and begging for him to stay as he shucked back into his clothes before their wall street fiancé returned home. those were mutually parasitic set-ups. he often never saw them again and never really cared that he didn’t.

and so it was; no nice girls who’d come up behind him and kiss his cheek while he sat in a recliner and watched the football game on sundays; no nice girls who’d make him his favorite dinner after a long day of work; no nice girls who’d offer themselves up as dessert with their legs spread and heart open and whisper words of love before falling asleep in his arms.

he’d once wanted that but didn’t have time for that shit anymore. it was all fairy tale garbage. even with nice girls, things often went south. marriages turned loveless and people got their kicks elsewhere. his grandmother lived in a different time. she meant well for his sake, but whatever her dream was for him with love, it just wasn’t going to pan out.

jaehyun stared at the quarter and shook his head with a sigh. he’d have to wing it. he slotted the coin again and punched in his parents’ number before doubt sunk it’s claws into him.

after a few rings, a disgruntled greeting rips through the other end of the line along with a cacophony of background noise— the TV blaring at full volume and the erratic shuffling of papers. he honestly wasn’t sure if it was his two-pack-a-day mother or father who answered. at some point, they both started sounding alike, one unit of congruent misery and loathing for the life they shared.

“hey it’s me,” jaehyun spoke, awaiting a response on the other end.

“who?” the demand was his mother’s. his father rarely answered the phone for this precise reason—it could be his son calling. jaehyun wasn’t moved enough to care. in fact, being disenfranchised from the family was a badge of honor. he’d wear it proudly, but first he wanted his money.

“jaehyun,” he snipped, cutting off the unraveling ends of his patience.

“sorry, who?” her gravel tone became more agitated and with more schlepping of shit in the background, as if fabricating an excuse to hang up; too goddamn busy clipping coupons to talk.

“jaehyun, your son!” he shouted in irritation, “turn the damn TV down, ma!”

“you two made it in town okay? your flight was good?” she asked to check the box of common decency, only to say that she did and not because she cared.

jaehyun cleared his throat and tried to sound jet lagged. he hadn’t been on a plane in more than a decade. what the fuck did he know about it? not shit.

“yeah, it was fine. we’re at the hotel now. i’m calling from the lobby. it’s packed here.” he lied through his teeth so effortlessly, it was second nature for him. every hiccup had an explanation, every background noise an excuse.

“we’re at the fancy hotel, with room service, champagne, the whole nine yards.” jaehyun rested his elbow on top of the pay phone case and cradled his forehead in his palm. “yes the one downtown on madison ave. it’s a big room, it’s beautiful here you’ll love it. it’s the most expensive hotel in the area.”

“no, don’t come here ma,” he quickly interjects, “i said we’ll go to you, okay?”

“come for dinner. we wanna finally get to meet our daughter-in-law. you’ve been talking about her for so long!”

jaehyun stiffened, fiddling with the phone cord. “she’s not coming. she’s sick.”

the excuse was too defensive. his mother didn’t suffer fools or bullshitters, to which jaehyun found himself guilty of both.

“what do you mean she’s not coming?” she demanded. the intermittent drags of her cigarette came quicker; so too did the forceful exhales. “she’s coming.”

“no, she’s sick. she’s not coming, alright? i’m her husband, the man of the house. i vowed to protect her, in sickness and in health, all that shit. i’m not making her go.”

“why is she sick?”

jaehyun gritted his teeth. the question infuriated him on behalf of his imaginary wife. what gave his mother the right to pry?

“i don’t fucking know! woman problems. she’s in bed sleeping. i’m not waking her up. she needs to rest.”

“well she can lie on the couch here with a heating pad,” his mother insisted with more artificial sugar, as if she cared. she didn’t; not for him or his wife. “just bring her over. we want to meet her.”

jaehyun was fuming at this point. if it weren’t for the metal cord tethering him to the spot, he’d pace. instead, he punctuated each word with a sharp jab of his finger, though there was no one here to see. his voice crowded the hall and echoed around him.

“so you want me to ride my ass all the way up the elevator, drag my sick wife out of bed, and bring her over? is that really what you want?”

the honey vacated his mother’s voice and left behind all that was rotten beneath.

“i know why you’re coming, and you know the agreement,” she hissed. “show up with your ‘nice girl’ or you’ll leave here empty-handed.”

“fine!” he raged with no recourse to refuse, cornered now unless he wanted to come clean but he doubled down instead. “she’s fucking sick, but i’ll pull my beautiful wife out of our fancy hotel bed, drag her into the cold, and bring her over for your shitty cooking. wait ’til you see how sweet she is. how are you gonna feel when she’s at your place feeling like shit? huh? you gonna feel good about that?”

with a cutting laugh, his mother revealed the vivid hues of her true colors. try as she might to paint over them, they always ended up mottled and drab.

“i can assure you i’ll lose no sleep over it. not a wink. so, you’re coming?”

“i said we’re fucking coming!” jaehyun slammed the receiver back to it’s cradle hard enough that the pay phone bell responded with a crying ring. he ran his fingers through the loose length of his hair and released a heavy sigh but felt no better for it.

he had well and truly dug his own grave with this one. the worst part? he’d already gone and made plans for his inheritance. he’d get his job back at the auto shop and get a few years under his belt, enough to get his “working hands” back.

he’d leave new york city for good and head out west where money would last, and he could relish simple dreams. he’d leave behind a muted existence and live in the desert painted in coral and gold and drink in the purple dusk. he’d buy a little house and live out his days in simple peace. it was a lot of money he was coming into, but not much he was asking for.

he sunk further into defeat now. he’d wallow there, but as you emerged from the bathroom delicately enough and with enough misplaced compassion written on your face, it was obvious you had overheard.

and what did you overhear? a man trying to get his poor, sick wife out of dinner plans. not just that, but apparently, a gallant albeit foul-mouthed knight in shining armor defending his beloved from forced family bonding.

you hovered at the end of the hall and stared at him inquisitively. big, doe-like eyes peering at him as if you had gotten him all wrong, the corners of your mouth lifted with a youthful smile. jaehyun stared back at you. neither of you making any sudden movement, but for far different reasons.

maybe you thought he was a good man after all, a tender man beneath the rough and uncouth exterior. but soon enough you would learn to your detriment just how wrong you’ve been…

there will be a taglist for this if anyone’s interested, so lmk if you wish to be tagged once it’s posted! <3 (i plan to get this finished by next month or so but we’ll see)

[paranoiddreams]

please absolutely explore tiger sukuna more

Tigerhybrid!Sukuna x fem!reader

Thank you so much for sending this in, I cherish every ask I get, truly!! I see Tiger!Kuna being this huge intimidating guy but in reality he just needs love lol. I hope you guys enjoy this!!

Tiger!Kuna is definitely a sight to see. Most people wouldn’t assume he’s your boyfriend, rather some man that you should be afraid of. 

To be fair, you were at first. He’s a big guy, for lack of a better term, and he doesn’t talk much, so his emotions are entirely impossible to read. But after some time, and a lot of reassurance, you saw through to Sukuna’s soft inner kitten. 

But people don’t know that, so the amount of times Sukuna is mistaken as your KIDNAPPER rather than your boyfriend is ridiculous. 

Like when you begged him to take you to target so you could find a makeup product you saw online, and he refused to even give you a few feet of space. It was almost comical how Kuna looked following you down the fluorescent makeup aisle, ignoring the other people shopping entirely. 

It only occurred to you that Sukuna’s clinginess could be mistaken as something else when an older women came up to you and tapped you on your shoulder:

“Hi honey, are you okay? Do you need help with anything?” She smiled as her eyes darted between you and Sukuna towering behind you, his ears twitching with agitation atop his head. 

“Oh, I’m fine. I just found what I needed,” you responded with a smile. But the woman took this as you not talking her ‘subtle’ hint, and leaned in closer to you. 

“Do you know that man…behind you?” She whispered. 

You looked over your shoulder at Sukuna, who was still staring you down, and the looked back at the woman. “Yeah, that’s my boyfriend,” you smiled at her, “he’s just like that!”

But it’s not Sukuna’s fault!!! You just make him feel like no one else has, and he’s enamored with you because of that. 

You could simply be near him, or even look a little extra pretty (which is all the time), and he’ll start purring like as loud as a sports car. One little touch from you has his pink ears twitching and fluttering atop his head. In other words, you are the sparks to his flame. 

Without you, he’d probably fall apart. Not just in a romantic I-can’t-live-without-way, but also because you are quite literally the glue holding him together. You run his warm baths, brush out his sensitive tail, and remind him to eat three meals a day; all without him asking. It’s become a natural routine for you, because taking care of him just makes you happy. 

And Sukuna is…not used to that, to say the least. He’s used to people being friendly to him out of fear of in order to gain something. Like the men he occasionally meets in bars that buy him a few rounds just to ask if he’s interested in underground hybrid fighting rings. Or others who only want him for sex, because they fetishize him. But you’re not those people—you’re far, far from those people. 

He only realized this when he saw that you were going out of your way to take care of him. The care you put into his specific diet, the pride you have in his abilities, the unmatched passion you have for the things he enjoys—it all went above and beyond anything anyone has ever done for him. 

In return, he treats you as if you were a princess he has sworn his life to protect. You never have to walk alone or drive anywhere, Sukuna’s got you. You’re no longer even obligated to worry about money anymore because he’s already throwing his card at you. And he will always and forever be your number one protector. He will defend you when no one else will, and he’ll be proud of it. Because he’s proud of you. 

[martian-astro10]

Astrology observations- Part 1 (use whole signs)

🍃 Venus in 1st house people have THICK hair (I have Venus in 1st and 3 of my friends have it as well, and we all have really voluminous frizzy/curly hair, that's hard to manage)

🍃 Saturn in 3rd can mean that you'll start college later than your peers ( I have it and my student visa got rejected 3 times😭😭 and by the time I started college, all my friends were already in their third year)

🍃 Saturn in 3rd can also mean that you start dating later than your friends or it could mean that you just aren't THAT interested in casual relationships, you probably want something serious.

🍃 Mars in 1st, if in friendly signs, can mean having a really high sex drive, sexual attraction is very important for you in a relationship. (I have it, Mars in 1st in Aries, and it's true for me, I also have rahu there so I play a lot of sports to control this, like I really exhaust myself to the bone, meditating also helps. hypersexuality is not good, so just make sure that you don't go overboard)

🍃 Moon trine Saturn people are really respectful towards women. They were either raised by a single mother or their mother made the important decisions in the family. I have it but I also know a guy who has this and he's just the sweetest and even though his mom is a sahm and his dad earns, his mom is the more powerful one��, like his dad just earns and gives all the money to his mom. It's really cute.

🍃 Venus square midheaven people were often bullied for their appearance when young, from what I've noticed, and that's why they grow up to become people pleasers, because they don't want to be the "outcast" again. A lot of self esteem issues as well. You guys are the type to wake your partner up in the middle of the night and ask them "do you love me" and then they probably reply with "we've been married for 10 years"

🍃 Neptune square ascendant is that "HOW DO I REALLY LOOK" placement, they're the ones who get really frustrated because they look different in the mirror and camera. (I have this 🥲👍) It sucks, also you guys are obsessed with personality tests

🍃 Venus in 1st house people care a lot about a person's appearance in a relationship, it's not wrong but just make sure that it's not the ONLY thing that you focus on. I also think that it sort of stems from your own insecurity, like you guys think that you aren't attractive so being with a conventionally attractive person makes up for it, IN YOUR MIND, so work on increasing your self confidence

🍃 Moon opposite Venus people want to be affectionate but the fear of getting rejected stops them from doing so. ( I have this and sometimes I get this urge to just hug or kiss someone, like on the cheeks, friend, family, romantic partner, but then I assume that the person won't like it, so i give up. Here's the thing, ASK, this is what I started doing, now whenever I feel like that, i just go- can i kiss you on the cheek, if the person says yes, I do it, and back off if they say no) oppositions and squares are not bad aspects okay, you just need to learn how to deal with them, so yeah, ask people, don't be scared, they won't bite, some of them might, but don't hold yourself back because of them 😘🫂

🍃 Sun square Pluto women, are men scared of you?? (If yes, then, AS THEY FUCKING SHOULD). I have this and i think men find me intimidating (I'm the least intimidating person EVER), but also, I feel like, this makes you kind of unable to deal with men, you always wanna be in control, a lot of trust issues, you also think all men are shit (WHICH THEY ARE) but also you guys need to realise that some men are actually......kinda.....good🤢, almost threw up while writing this, ewwww, actually you know what, keep on having trust issues, BE IN CONTROL

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 4

Part Four of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking, more touchy-touchy, reader thinks about sexual acts

In celebration of 200 followers, this part has way more than 650 words. More like 1600. :)

Conversation flowed easily with them despite their sole focus being on you. At some point, Kyle’s hand had drifted onto your thigh, fingers pressing into the flesh gently. John’s arm had slipped from the back of the booth and now rested around your shoulders. You couldn’t be sure, but it seemed Johnny couldn’t keep his feet still and kept tapping yours under the table. The only one who couldn’t seem to relax was Ghost, sitting almost across from you. 

His eyes never left you and he mainly seemed to communicate in grunts. At least, he was drinking this time, his glass now empty of his own whiskey. You were careful not to drink too much, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of these beautiful men. But it didn’t keep you from relaxing and feeling the warmth of the two next to you. 

Pulling out your phone, you checked the time and groaned. “I really should be going. It’s been great,” you announce, looking to Kyle to move so you could slide out from the booth. “Aw come on. We’re having so much fun. Just a wee longer?” Johnny asks and you turn to him, finding yourself giving in almost immediately. Damn the puppy dog eyes. 

“Only a bit longer,” you concede and relax back into the seat. This time when Kyle’s hand lands on your thigh, it’s higher and the heat is searing through your jeans. You let out a soft sound, biting your lip as his hand starts slowly caressing your thigh up and down. He’s not even looking at you when you look up, already deep in conversation with Johnny about some sports game you had no clue about. 

John’s arm settled back over your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer so his hand hovers over your breast and you can feel the hair of his arm on your bare collarbone. Your breasts jiggle slightly with your laugh when Johnny makes a joke and you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate ever so slightly before darting back up to your face. He, at least, has the decency to blush, the faint pink color tinging his cheeks. 

When the crowd in the bar starts to thin out and you realize even your friends have left for the night, you’re yawning in your seat and now leaned completely against John with his thick arm draped over your shoulders. Kyle’s hand is now tucked between your thick thighs, the side pressed as tightly to your core as he can get it and you hope to whatever higher powers that be that he couldn’t feel the radiating heat or the damp spot that had soaked into your panties. 

“Okay, okay. I really do need to go now. My friends aren’t even here anymore and that’s saying something,” you chirp, suddenly very awake and aware that you’re in an almost empty bar with four men you’d only met that night. They all look at you like they’d rather eat sawdust than let you go and you feel a warmth creep over you. 

“Ahw, bonnie, we couldn’t let you go home on your own. Let us take you home,” Johnny chimes in, soft smile and kind eyes that hold a hint of something else in them. You swallow, looking between each of them. Your gaze lingers on Ghost for a while, noticing the man’s eyes had almost never left you.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go. It’s not a far walk,” you reply, biting your lip at the reckless decision. These men could be serial killers and you were just inviting them to know exactly where you live. “Why don’t you let Johnny and Ghost take you home? Kyle and I can follow in our truck so they’re not stuck walking back here,” John offers, a warm smile curling up the thick mustache. 

At this point, you’re ready for bed and just want to get home. “Sounds good to me,” you reply though the words are manipulated by a yawn. All of you shuffle out of the round booth, both Kyle and John kissing the top of your head like they’d known you for years before disappearing out the door. You wrap your jacket around you again, pulling the zipper together over your belly and getting a little frustrated when it gets caught up on your shirt. 

“Lemme,” Ghost grumbled, stepping up to you and taking hold of the jammed zipper. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night and it almost stuns you how deep and growly it is. Your breath hitches as he grabs the zipper, yanking on it and subsequently making your breasts bounce as he accidentally pushes against them. He gets it undone and you mutter a bashful ‘thanks’ before turning on your heel as you finish zipping it up to your throat.

You know they’re meant to be escorting you home, but you’re out the door so fast the two men have to jog to catch up. Johnny’s arm wraps around your waist, fingers pressing into the pudge of your stomach in a way that makes you want to shrivel up. You don’t like anyone touching your stomach, but you’re warring with yourself on whether or not to move his hand, to show that kind of discomfort in front of these men. 

You choose to do so anyway, wrapping your fingers around his and lifting his arm up over your head and ducking under it, dropping it at his side. Johnny looks down at you with a furrowed brow. “Don’ like it when people touch you, do you?” he asks as he shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t look bothered that you’d removed his arm, but your anxiety rears its ugly head and makes you worried you’d offended him. 

“It’s not that I don’t like being touched. It-It’s…complicated. I-I don’t want to talk about it,” you manage to stammer out before picking up your speed. It’s not like you’re going to shake off your two guard dogs whose legs are easily longer than yours by several inches, but you take off anyways. 

When your building finally comes into view, you slow your pace and breathe a soft sigh of relief. Your bed was so close, just a few more yards and you could get rid of the guard dogs and curl up in bed. “Well, this is me. Thanks for bringing me home. I really appreciate it.” You were grateful that they’d walked you home. It wasn’t safe this time of night to be wandering around in this part of town. 

“We’re walking you to your door, bonnie. Wouldn’t want someone to snatch you up between here and there,” Johnny stated, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You wanted nothing more than to sink into the scent of him, warm and tingly to the nose like oranges and nutmeg, but you shook your head and backed up to the door of your building. “There’s really no need. My neighbors are great.” Lie. Absolute fucking lie. Nestor at the end of the hall on the first floor would, no questions asked, rip you from the hallway if he saw you alone. A chill went down your spine and you conceded the moment you looked into Ghost’s eyes. You didn’t have a choice if they were escorting you all the way up. 

You turned and opened the door to the building, looking down the hall to make sure Nestor was in his apartment before slipping in and letting the boys in behind you. You headed to the elevator and punched the up arrow, biting your lip as you tried not to wither under the intense stare of the man in the mask. The elevator had been the selling point for you. It was the only place within your budget that had an elevator and you weren’t about to walk up five flights of stairs multiple times a day. 

The lift dinged and you stepped inside, Ghost and Johnny slipping in behind you just to stand with their bodies pressed against your back. Unintentionally, you leaned into them before your eyes widened at your own movement and you straightened so your body pulled away slightly.

The doors dinged and opened allowing you to step out onto your floor. You headed to your unit, digging for your keys in your purse. With a ‘aha!’, you pulled them out and shoved the key into the doorknob, unlocking it. “Would you guys like to come in? I might have some whiskey left?” you offer, turning to look at them. You didn’t know why you were inviting them in, but the sense of safety you had around them had you desperate for them to stay. 

“Sure, lemme text Price and Kyle where to come. Go on in, Si-Ghost. I’ll come in in a minute,” Johnny stated, already pulling his phone out and going to stand next to the window at the end of the hall. You opened the door and allowed Ghost in, leaving it unlocked so the others could join once they arrived. 

Heading into your kitchen, you stood up on your tippy toes, reaching up so you could pull out five of your good glasses. You were looking for the last one, but it was just out of your reach. Suddenly, you felt what could only be Ghost against your back, pressing you against the counter as he leaned over you to grab the glass. 

The heat of him against your back has your thighs clenching together while you watch his thick digits wrap around the glass and you wonder briefly what they’d feel like inside you. He takes a step back once he has the cup and holds it out to you. 

You turn back to him while trying to fight off the blush coloring your cheeks. You murmur a thanks and wrap your own fingers around the glass. 

Of course, that would be when the other three burst loudly through the door.

I wasn't intending for this to become a whole story, but it's really stuck with me over the last week or so.

<- Part Three Part Five ->

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

I really want you to get started on Jurassic Park now after reading your tags.

All right, you asked for it! This post is going to be long because I've been rereading Jurassic Park since I was about 10 years old. But. My thoughts:

Jurassic Park is the oldest story in the world: one about hubris, and the price men pay for their ignorance of nature. From the first moment the protagonists step foot on the island, they can see it. There are poisonous plants next to the pool because they "look pretty." The harbor has no retaining wall because tropical storms aren't considered important. And there's a steep price for that hubris. Wu doesn't bother to learn the dinosaurs' names before breeding them, Nedry ignores them as unprogrammable, Malcolm mansplains them to their own creators, Regis laughs at the idea of them escaping, Hammond relentlessly monetizes them, Arnold insists he can control them... And they all get eaten by dinosaurs. It's the characters with the good sense to be overawed and scared (Muldoon, Gennaro, the paleontologists, the kids) who make it out alive. Almost paradigm.

More specifically, it's a book about the most fundamental principle of engineering: be scared, be confused, and then do something anyway. Then do something else, then something else, until something works. Timmy isn't a master hacker in the book; he's just (unlike Grant) willing to push buttons on the computer until he finds the power grid. Gennaro's still a scaredy cat in the book, but he clenches his teeth and goes into the velociraptor nest anyway. The heroic characters are the ones who conclude someone has to do something, despite not knowing what that something is. The villainous ones are the ones who refuse responsibility.

Speaking of which, can we talk about Ian Malcolm? I'm a sucker for a good Cassandra character, especially one that manages to get even the genre-savvy reader rolling their eyes and going "will you shut up?" And Malcolm is one of the best, every off-putting academic habit rolled into one: He thinks he's better than other people for not liking sports. He brags about not caring about appearances and then comments on Sattler's legs. He assumes Hammond has read his monograph and — when Hammond reveals he hasn't — pulls out a copy that he keeps on his person at all times to have Hammond read on the plane. He smugly explains that other characters should've foreseen they'd be killed by dinosaurs, only to be killed by dinosaurs. He calls his theory the Malcolm Effect. I do love Jeff Goldblum's gentler, more charming take on the character ("See, here, now I'm sitting by myself, talking to myself, that's chaos theory" I say literally every time I ask a question of someone who just left the room). But I prefer the way original Malcolm gets away with being right about everything because we so so badly want him to be wrong.

Speaking of that comment about the legs: by the low low bar of 80s/90s thriller writers, Crichton is surprisingly progressive. Jurassic Park invites us to laugh with (and roll our eyes with) Sattler, every time someone expresses shock the world's top paleobotanist is a woman. The Lost World perfectly captures the "women in STEM have to be twice as competent to get half the respect" dynamic, and it's a story about the male characters over-estimating their own competence as the female ones go about saving the day. Race isn't handled perfectly, but it is discussed in both books. Malcolm's chauvinism is designed to make everything else he says a bitter pill, to poison us against him. Crichton's no feminist. But Sattler's hardiness — later Harding's and Kelly's as well — are shown as hard-won in a world that batters nerdy girls so hard that only the toughest survive.

And Malcolm is just one of the many ways Jurassic Park masterfully lampoons scientific bullshit. After little Tina is bitten by a "strange lizard" and nearly dies from the swelling, Dr. Cruz assures her parents that lizards bite zookeepers all the time, that some people are allergic to lizard venom, and that the lizard Tina drew resembles a basilisk — and then we cut to him talking to his fellow MD. Where we find out that lizards don't attack humans in the wild, no human they know of has ever been hospitalized for a lizard bite, basilisks aren't venomous, and Tina's condition doesn't resemble an allergic reaction. They have no idea what this "lizard" (a Procompsognathus) could be or how it poisoned this kid, but they've been taught to obfuscate rather than admit that. Scientists are arrogant, and ignorant of their ignorance.

But the book is every bit as positive about empiricism as it is negative about individual scientists. The seamless way Crichton blends science fiction with science fact gets me every time. His preface connects Watson & Crick to Swanson & Boyer to Malcolm & Levine, explaining each step of the research process as he goes. He goes on to explain how Genetech developed its ideas from IBM, and that IBM and Genetech both contributed to InGen, which in turn influenced Biosyn, funded by Hamaguri... and only two of those names are fictional, but don't worry about which. Crichton does his homework, and then he presents his homework in the most compelling way of any writer I've ever encountered.

You need no further proof than the technologies — satellite phones, electric cars, touchscreens, gene editing — that were sci fi in 1990, commonplace today. Crichton did the reading. And he rolls that science out ever-so-slowly: dribbling first the mystery of the worker with a 3-foot gash in his torso who claims a bird of prey did it, then the mystery of the resort that needs the world's most powerful data storage, then the mystery of the billionaire who calls in the middle of the night with "urgent" questions about what baby dinosaurs eat... Until even 10-year-old me could look at that picture of a fractal and go "ohhh, I see how the unstable phase shifts of chaos theory explain the fact that a thunderstorm caused that guy to get eaten by a T. rex." Almost paradigm.

And all Jurassic Park's banging on about chaos theory belies a deep understanding of how interconnected ecosystems are. Animals, like plants, like subatomic particles, must be understood holistically. Pretending that the best way to learn the truth of any system is through breaking it down "is like saying scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast is human nature. It's nothing of the sort. It's uniquely Western training." Crichton clearly loves biology: "a single fertilized egg has a 100,000 genes, which act in a coordinated way, switching on and off at specific times, to transform that single cell... A house is simple in comparison. But even so, workmen build the stairs wrong, they put the sink in backward, the tile man doesn't show up when he's supposed to. All kinds of things go wrong. And yet the fly that lands on the workman's lunch is perfect." And he clearly hates what capitalism has done to biotechnology.

Hammond the venture capitalist is a perfectly despicable villain: No dinosaurs have escaped, because I said so. If there are problems, no there aren't. Put on a good show for investors, no matter how many contractors die in the process. Talk about all the "good" the park will do by making tons of money. The kids are stranded and the tech expert's dead? No they're not, because I said so, now pass the ice cream. It's truly a delight watching him get eaten by dinosaurs.

For that matter, Jurassic Park is bursting with details of style over substance. There are cutesy Apatosaurus cutouts in the hotel rooms and bars on the widows, a half-finished restaurant covered in Pterosaur poop, and a celebrity-narrated tour track that can't synchronize with the dinosaurs. It's trying to be Disney World, and it's actually a roadside zoo. The signage — "When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth," the hand-lettered "Welcome to Jurassic Park", the room (and department) called "Control" — isn't subtle in its irony. But it is fun.

Which is yet another great sci fi trick. "Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks" perfectly sets up the blend of the accurate with the plot-fueling (likely why Crichton reuses it several times). Why are there Pterosaurs in a dinosaur park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. Why are so many Cretaceous dinosaurs in Jurassic Park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. You didn't know Dilophosaurus is venomous? Our funding is infinite... It's perfect, because it's the opposite of how the scientific process usually works. Again: Crichton knows his shit, and he knows how to communicate it.

Like, even when I'm reading Sphere or Terminal Man — books where I'm perfectly aware I know more than Crichton on the subject, not in the least because their science inevitably became outdated — I still find myself believing, at least for the length of the story. You don't have to suspend disbelief when reading Crichton's work; he hoists it into the stratosphere for you. Half the time he won't give it back even after you're done. Almost paradigm.

But despite all that nerdery, Jurassic Park is still a rocking adventure story that builds momentum until it smashes to its conclusion at 70 miles an hour, ending the millisecond it can do so with not a word of denouement. You can practically hear that last deep piano note on the final words. It's cinematic as hell. This is Crichton post-Westworld, pre-Twister, the ultimate adventure writer. He reads, clearly, avoiding the errors of sci fi amateurs who watch too many movies (the T. rex has a distinctive smell, the island is relentlessly humid, so on) but he knows how to make a tight fast-moving story that you can consume in under three hours. His imagery is powerful, his pacing is on point, and his plot sucks you in and shoots you out like a water slide.

Jurassic Park is fun. It's informative. It makes you laugh, and gasp, and sigh, and think. It has its flaws (Harding Sr. fades out in the 3rd act, Grant's Maiasaura expertise never pays off) but those are minor in a book that stands up so well to rerereading. Almost paradigm.

[pazzispizookies]

— — Guarded — —

Hey y’all!!1 Please give live reacts and feedback!!! It inspires me to keep writing if I know that people like it. I love you guys and thank you for reading!!

Pairing: Paige x Azzi

Paige could’ve guessed a few people that could walk onto her team but Azzi fucking Fudd was not one of them.

I mean she was from the DMV why would she be in Minnesota? At Hopkins?

She was viral to say the least, videos of her shifty skills and her perfect copy of Steph curry’s shooting form were everywhere. She had tons of awards and championships and was on multiple USA teams at the age of 16. Not to mention she had dabbled in some modeling for Nike and other sports brands, which Paige may or may not have looked at the photos a few (hundred) times.

But the worst thing about it was that her worries were right, Azzi Fudd was a threat, she was a star, maybe even bigger than Paige.

**

The crowd was still roaring as Azzi walked in, she placed one foot in front of the other smoothly, she looked pretty smooth too; she had her full, long curly hair down-the front braided back, with a small touch of makeup on. She shined in the elertic blue color of the uniform, a perfect contrast against her tan skin.

She was effortlessly beautiful, her smile would make anyone fall in love and propose on the spot.

As she neared the group of baksetball players- her soon to be teammates, her eyes fell on one person in particular.

Paige Beuckers.

She had known about Paige, She was everywhere.

Gatorade’s Athlete of the year, overtime’s star player, viral highlights of her shooting and passing skills.

She was going to be fun to play with, great to play with.

But the look on her face told another story.

It was filled with something cold, unlike the rest of the teams eyes all filled with joy and recognition, they weren’t inviting, even if they were pretty.

Azzi finally took her place in line, she was on the oppisite side of Paige, but she couldn’t figure out why Page wasn’t excited. They were both guards yes, but that didn’t mean they had to fight? They had some plays where two guards were on the court, its not like Azzi being there would cut back on her playing time.

her new coach came to stand next to he whispering something under his breath, “Seems like the people already know you, huh?”

Azzi chuckled lightly as she looked around at the screaming fans, well I guess not fans, but her classmates.

She wasn’t a stranger to people fawning over her, but she didn’t let it get to her. Her parents reminded her everyday that if she’s not a good person, her skills won’t matter in the end.

And that was something she listened too, she was humble and proud of that.

But that didn’t mean sometimes seeing people go crazy over you didn’t feel insanely good.

***

The pep rally continued, starting with men’s soccer and going on women’s. The crowd was still excited but it was clear they cared most about basketball. No one was a national star on the other teams.

But as the football team came to an end, after what felt like 40 years, the crowd started to die out.

There was only 10 minutes of school left so teachers and staff were packing it up, the girls stood there, only now Azzi realized all of them were taking in a huddle, without her.

It stung but it was going to happen, she was new and-

“Azzi? Come over here!” A voice called out from the huddle waving her over.

Relived but still weary Azzi walked over, she always carried herself with confidence even though 90% of the time it was fake.

She walked up to the girls with a smile, “Hi guys, I’m Azzi, its nice to meet you all”

“Girl….we know. I think everyone in the state knows. No wait, everyone who’s heard of basketball knows.” A tall tanned girl said,

Azzi bushed slightly, still keeping her confidence, “Yeah, I guess, but I didn’t have time to go over the roaster…. So I still don’t know most of you..” She trailed off looking around at the girls,

“Oh girl-I gotchu, “ a girl, she’s pretty sure is named Kk says coming up and holding her shoulder, she starts pointing at teammates naming them and giving a silly side fact about them.

Azzi takes it seriously to focus and learn all her teammates, she’s good at reading people so she can almost immediately tell who is a possible friend on the team and whose gonna take some warming up too.

But then Kk points at the very last person, Paige;

“And this is well, I’m sure you know”

“Paige Beuckers, sophomore right?” Azzi cuts in making eye contact with Paige,

Paige wasn’t like anyone on the team, she glowed with confidence, so much so that it almost seemed cocky. But the way she played wasn’t selfish at all, she had the top number of assits every game, so maybe she just didn’t the same mindset as her.

“Yeah, nice to meet you or whatever.” Paige said crossing her arms around her chest,

Well that was rude.

“Paige, stop it right now.” A girl Azzi had learned was named Nika said, she had a heavy accent and only came to the states a year ago, but apparently she was close to Paige by the was the blonde immediately listened.

“Sooooo um anyways girl boo, are you any good? We got practice after this so I guess we finally find out right!” Kk said in a way that made her whole team forget about Paiges comment and focus back on Azzi,

Hopeful that the conversation was changing she turned around to reply when she felt a tap on her shoulder,

“Umm Azzi? Sorry this is weird but we’re such big fans! We watch your highlights with Steph like at least 20 times a day, do you think we could get a picture?” A girl said, speaking for the other 2 along with herself.

This wasn’t uncommon; getting asked for a picture with fans. But she didn’t think it would happen at her school.

Despite this she didn’t wanna be rude, “Yeah sure!”

Azzi leaned in and flashed her dimpled smile, and the girls looked back up and said there thanks as they left,

But as this was happpenig she had heard a scoff from behind her, one she knew could only belong to a certain person on the team,

She turned back around to Kk, “sorry what were you saying?” Azzi asked trying to focus back into the conversation,

As Kk was going to speak again another voice; Nikas, came through from the other side of the group.

“Paige stop it! She was being nice,”

“I just didn’t know she was that famous” Paige sneered, eyeing Azzi to make sure she heard it.

Azzi just pushed down her wave of sadness at this comment, she knew Paige had some anger issues from a few of her viral videos, but this was more, she didn’t even know Azzi and already hated her,

“Just ignore her, she’s cool I promise just yknow, territorial.” Ice said blocking Paige from Azzis view,

“Uh yeah, I get it. Maybe she’ll warm up to me later,” She replied smiling once again no matter how bad she wanted to run away and call her mom,

“Your like…..really nice for yknow-a person like you.” Caroline said looking at Azzi.

“What do you mean?”

“Yknow….like your the number one recruit in your class, just thought you’d be more, ‘im a star!’ But your not, your really sweet from the looks of it,” the tall burnette added sincerely,

Azzis heart skipped a beat at the compliment, feeling like maybe she was going to make some friends on the team,

“Thank you, that’s really kind of you to say.” She said giving a warm smile from her heart.

“See that’s what I mean!! She’s like a freaking princess.” Caroline said gesturing towards Azzi,

“Ohhh your right, Wait!! We should totally call her that! ‘Azzi Fudd; the princess!’” Kk said bouncing yet again, it seemed to be something she did quite often.

“Noooo ‘The People’s Princess!” Yknow cuz the people clearly love her!” Jana interrupted,

The other girls all agreed, making her heart swell,

She felt in place, she felt loved by these girls she had only known for a few minutes.

***

Paige had enough of Azzi already, she didn’t know why she hated her but she just did.

And when people came up to her asking for a picture, she could feel her blood boil. It was so stupid! She was just a basketball player, yeah maybe a good one… but she wasn’t Lebron James.

“Paige…” Nika warned knowlingly,

Nika always knew how to get to Paige, and even though the blonde knew she was being unreasonable, she was too mad to fix it.

“still just annoying, I mean shes a freshman! We haven’t even seen her play yet, what if she sucks.”

“Paige. She’s the Azzi Fudd, you know damn well that girl is going pro.” Nika scoffed.

she was right, and Paige hated it. Azzi was going to be good. But Paige was also good, great even. She didn’t have to worry.

“We’ll see at practice.” She said before turning away walking into the parking lot.

***

Paige sat in her car, she had a good 15 mintues before practice started to be by herself.

She closed the door and plugged in her phone to the aux. Sounds of Frank Ocean’s voice filled the car.

She let out a breath and closed her eyes, but her peace was interrupted by a the sound of a car door opening next to her.

She looks over and saw a jeep, looked like it just came from the dealers. It was black and sleek and expensive.

But she had never seen this car before, and the reason became clear once the door opened again,

Out walked Azzi, her hair now pulled up and her jersey traded for a pair of Nike shorts and a team USA shirt.

Of course Azzi had a perfect car, Paige let out a groan.

A little too loud apparently, because Azzi glanced up at her car. She caught a glimpse of Paige before awkwardly walking away.

“Oh my god kill me” Paige said throwing her head in her hands, embarrassed of being caught starring,

But cmon, Azzi just turned 16 like a week ago, which Paige hated that she knew. And she already had a great new car. She just seemed to have every fucking thing. Talent, fame, scholarships, looks. She was the worst.

Paiges alarm ringed telling her to go back into the gym, she threw off her jersey top, leaving her dark blue Nike compression shirt on and her uniform shorts, she really didn’t care to change, she just wanted this practice over with.

She started to stroll into the gym and sat down on the bleachers to put her shoes on.

“You better now? Azzi’s hitting it off with the team, you should really go talk to her.” Nika said sliding next her, putting her shoes on as well.

“I’d rather not, I come here to practice, not socialize.” Paige said tying her laces a little tighter then normal.

She stood up and walked over to get a ball for some shots before practice started,

“Hey Paige, can you hand me a ball?” a sweet voice said from behind her, one that could only belong to azzi,

Rolling her eyes Paige tossed a ball rough at her, not making eye contact,

“Um thanks,” She said walking away,

Paige let herself watch Azzi walk away for some reason, but she caught a glimpse of something that made her mad all over again.

Azzi was wearing team issued UConn Kobe’s, the ones you find on the players, they probably were only gifted to the players by the coaches.

Paige should have those shoes on, not her.

“your starring bueckers.” Caroline said appearing next to her,

Paige felt a slight blush creep up her neck, “I am not!”

“Mhm sure, just don’t be too much a bitch, the rest of the team wants her here.” She said picking up a ball and dribbling away.

It seemed like everyone loves stupid Fudd already. Great.

**

“ladies, ladies, Huddle up!” Their coach shouted blowing the whistle.

The girls all pulled towards her, balls in hand.

“So today as we all know is the first day of practice. You’ve all made the team, but that doesn’t mean we have our starters yet, play hard and play like you want to be here. Hit the line!”

The girls all groaned at the last few words, jogging over to the line.

“All right girls! We’re gonna start out with some running, I know you a want to play some basketball, but for now we wanna see whos in shape and ready to be apart of the starting 5. You’ll be running back and forth at the whistle in pairs, the last pair standing…well let’s just say they don’t have to worry about fighting for a spot in the 5. You all want this bad, so give it your all. if your partner falls behind; stay with them. Teamwork wins games. Let’s get started!”

Paige put her hands on her hips, she was ready for this. she was an all around athlete.

she ran almost everyday in the summer, she had worked her ass off with full court layups and sucideds.

But she wasn’t worried about herself, what if she got paired with some kid who couldn’t run half a mile?

She knew teamwork was important, but sometimes it held her back.

Her coach started pairing people up from the varsity roster, kk and ice, Caroline and Aubrey, Jana and Kaitlyn, Sarah and Morgan, and Nika with Allie,

Paige was too busy laughing at Nika getting paired up with the freshman who looked scared shitless to realize who there was left,

her coaches voice rang through, “Paige and Azzi!” Before moving on to the jv girls.

……..Really?

She had to get paired with the one person she didn’t even want to look at?

Azzi started to walk towards her and then she caught Paige off guard by speaking. “listen I know you hate me for no reason, i’m not stupid. But I want to be here, and i’m not gonna let you bitch me out. So can you please suck it up and work with me?”

Paiges breath caught, she was expecting Azzi to just be kind of a pushover, but I guess not.

“I’m not being bitchy, just making sure your good enough for my team Princess”

“Oh i’m good enough, and you know that Bueckers.”

Maybe Paige had read her wrong, but that wasn’t even the worst thing.

Now that she looked at Azzi right next to her, she was fucking beautiful.

She was nothing like the girls Paige had dated, and there had been a lot. She kinda had a reputation at the school, but that was expected with her fame.

But Azzi was tall, athletic, toned and tanned. She had her hair up in a messy bun with strands of curls falling out of it, and her smile could kill an army.

Maybe Paige should have some fun.

Azzi seemed to be straight, thinking back; there was a few rumors about her and this one D1 commit dating when they did a shoot for Adidas.

Paige had looked at that shoot a little less then the ones Azzi did before, she didn’t know why.

But with this, she pushed those thoughts down, she still had to prove she was better than this stupid, perfect person.

“All right girls, link arms with your partner and get ready!” Their coach shouted, clipboard and stop-watch in hand.

Paige was ready, she was prepared to run a freaking mile in the gym, and Azzi was locked in.

She knew Paige was intimated by her, it was kind of cute. But that doesn’t mean she gets to be bitchy, Azzi earned her spot here, hell—she was offered by IMG academy, she belonged anywhere basketball was.

so she knew she had to give it her all. she eyed Paige and stepped closer,

Fuck she smells good.

But whatever, she was still a bitch for no reason, no mater how intoxicating her presence was.

“I don’t bite, what are you waiting for Paige?” Azzi said holding her arm out,

“Really you don’t? I’m surprised. But I guess that wouldn’t be very princess like huh?”

“Shut up, I didn’t chose that nickname,” She didn’t, but she didn’t mind Paige saying it.

Paige scoffs and took Azzis arm into her own, linked by the elbows.

“This too close for you? Maybe I might bite Bueckers,” Azzi teased, her voice droppping slightly and meeting Paiges eyes,

“nah, just don’t fall in love with me, I know its a lot to handle being this close.” Paige said back, her eye contact unwavering.

There was an unspoken energy flowing between them, like they had just started a battle.

Azzi wasn’t used to teasing, but something about Paige made her want to push her buttons, but Paige did it right back.

The teasing was charged though, something else happening deep down,

A whistle blew hard and loud, “All right ladies, let’s see what you got!”

All the girls linked in pairs stepped up to the line, all ready to run. No one was going to back down, everyone had fought for there spots during tryouts, the group going from 80 girls down to just 2 teams of 12.

The whistle blew.

The girls jogged to the other side of the court, easy. They waited for the next whistle which came a second later,

The jogged back down, the whistle came again. A little faster this time, they ran once again.

“How about we speed it up?” Paige asked to Azzi, arms still linked,

Azzi scoffed, “Are you stupid, why would we burn energy?”

“what? You cant run a little?”

The whistle blew again 4th time down the court,

But this time Azzi took off sprinting, Paige didn’t expect this so she stumbled a little at first before catching up with Azzi who was basically pulling her,

“You could’ve warned me!” Paige said throwing her free hand up.

“I like to surprise, what can I say?” Azzi slid back, flashing her dimpled smile.

Paiges heart skipped a beat at the sight, she was stupidly pretty, and know she started to realize maybe not as sweet she presented.

The whistle blew again, this time Paige took off, fully sprinting as hard as she could, but Azzi expected this, causally keeping up with her,

Because they were sprinting and the other girls were jogging to the lines, they had an extra second to watch and wait for the rest of them to hit the line.

They were on their 6th stretch of the court, which was nothing to the varsity girls, but down the line it seemed that 2 pairs of JV girls had already dropped out, getting some bad stares from the coaches,

Paige nudged Azzi “Hey, looks like there’s only 10 more groups to beat.”

Azzi looked over and huffed, “we’ve run for maybe a total of 60 seconds, how did they make the team?”

The whistle blew for the 7th time,

Paige and Azzi took off sprinting once more,

a little out of breath Paige responded, “i don’t know, but I’m gonna tell you right now; I can do this all day.”

“oh really? Lets see when your the one begging me to stop, once I had to run 100 lines.” Azzi said, not out of breath unlike Paige,

Paige felt some anger creep back in, she had to last longer then stupid Azzi who didn’t even look like she had run one time.

The whistle blew for the 8th time, they sprinted in silence,

After a few seconds it blew again, they sprinted yet again.

“All right girls! I’m glad to see there’s 10 pairs still left, but we’re gonna speed it up. Get ready.” The coach yelled, and blew his whistle again.

Paige glanced at Azzi as their coach talked, silently asking a question which Azzi seemed to understand, because this time they didn’t sprint, they just jogged with the rest of the girls to the line, then the whistle blew again almost immediately.

After the 18th whistle blow, the time in between the lines was getting less and less. 3 more groups had dropped out, leaving one JV pair and Varisty.

Paige was out of breath, it getting a little harder to run, but the worst thing was that Azzi was still fucking fine.

she wasn’t showing any signs of breathlessness, looking as causal as ever.

The whistle blew for the 19th time, they ran to the other end barley touching it before the 20th blow came through, they ran back to the line,

“You okay there Bueckers?” Azzi said glancing over before the next whistle, which came right after she spoke,

Once they hit the other side the blonde responded, “just fine Princess, like I said; all day”

after the 30th whistle, it was hard to breathe, the JV pair had dropped out, lasting longer then anyone expected them to.

But it seemed like Azzi only gained energy with every step, which was the most annoying thing ever.

40th whistle came though. The first Varisty pair dropped out; Sarah and Morgan who sat on the floor panting.

50th whistle, KK and Ice dropped out,

“You hanging in there?” Azzi said, only now starting to pant.

“All day.” Paige responded simply, not even looking at her.

55th whistle, Jana and Kaitlyn.

60th whistle, Allie and Nika.

By the 70th whistle Caroline and Aubrey were barely making it to line in time.

There was only 2 pairs left, the rest of the girls were watching intently along with the coaches, who clearly didn’t expect them to last this long.

Paige was barley breathing, hair ponytail slicked to her neck in sweat,

Azzi on the other hand was still standing straight up, breathing heavily but she was focused, not letting her exhaustion get to her.

82nd whistle. They had run the court 82 times.

Aubrey and Caroline both collapsed onto the floor, barely breathing.

Paige and Azzi looked at each other, both extremely done with running, they had done it.

“all right very good ladies, but Azzi and Paige, separate and stay on the line, the two guards need to see whos gonna start.”

Paige groaned, everything hurt.

Her and Azzi unlinked arms, slick with sweat, Azzi whispered under her breath, “good luck Bueckers, and don’t get distracted.”

distracted? By what?

The whole blew, Azzi jogged with perfect posture down the other side, where Paige met her quickly.

Paige wasn’t gonna just let her win, she’d rather die then loose, especially to Azzi.

The rest of the team was chanting for different girls, taking bets on who would win,

The whistle blew: number 90.

There was a stabbing pain under Paiges chest, she couldn’t think or breathe. Only powered by her competitive nature.

100.

They had run the court 100 times.

Paige whipped her sweat with her shirt, the sheen glinting on her abs,

Azzi looked over just as she doing this, too be honest, Paige was attractive. She wasn’t afraid to admit it. But she was a bitch, but a hot one.

And Azzi was smart, and self aware, knowing she was attractive too, and that Paige sure wasn’t hiding her flirting very well.

With the 110th whistle she decided to push her luck. Seeing if she was right about her suspicions.

she leaning against the wall and pulled her sweat soaked shirt over her head. Leaving her in a sports bra.

a few of the girls clapped at this, Nika loudly whislted.

She had defined abs from the years of hard workouts, she knew they only looked more impressive in the light of the gym while sweat was dripping off them, her messy bun had dropped slightly, and more curls came out framing her face.

Paige looked over, her eyes dragged over her frame, not even hiding it, she mouthed “Not gonna work” before the whistle blew again.

The 115th whistle blew, they had officially run a little over 2 miles straight.

But with the constant changing of directions and the heat from the gym, it felt a lot more like a marathon.

Azzi looked over at Paige, she wasn’t looking like she could last much longer, but she was way too stubborn to give up. Azzi mouthed “you done?”

Paige responded by sprinting down the court at the whistle.

By the 120th whistle Azzi was done, she could barley keep her head up,

Paige was even more done, seemingly running on stubbornness.

As the 130th blew, Azzi legs started giving out, almost at the same time she could see Paige stumble slightly before running again.

Azzi didn’t know why. But she didn’t want to beat Paige.

Hell-one of the reasons she came here was to play with Paige.

So with that, when the 131st whistle blew and Paige didn’t move, Azzi didn’t either, instead she stumbled onto the ground.

Paige collapsed next to her, out of breath and barley alive,

The girls on the beach all burst out in cheers,

“Well I guess its a tie- good job both of you… that was unexpected. Girls on the bench! I expect more, a lot more running will be coming your way, grab a ball and start shooting. Bueckers, Fudd, Just hit the showers, and don’t throw up on anything important.”

Azzi hummed in acknowledgment, Paige just groaned.

After a few more seconds, Paige stood up slowly, wobbling walking towards Azzi extending a hand out.

Azzi looked up confused, but she quickly masked it with a smirk, “A real gentlewomen huh?”

Paige rolled her eyes, “Just shut up and take my hand,”

Azzi reached out and grabbed Paiges hand.

she was forcefully pulled onto her ground catching a glimpse of Paiges toned Biceps flexing, clearly she lifted. A lot.

Paige smirked catching what Azzi was looking at, “You starring at something you like Princess?”

“shut up, don’t flatter yourself, there’s barley anything there, noodle arms,” Azzi responded, a little flustered from getting caught.

“Really hm? What’s this then?” Paige said flexing her arm fully looking down at Azzi with a cocky smile,

Azzi scoffed and pushed past her,

Paige called out as Azzi walked past, “You can feel it if you want!”

Azzi didn’t turn around because if she did, Paige would fully be able to her stupidly big smile.

[saeun]

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.