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

[velvetsupremacy]

In My Head (Part 1)

Pairing: Irene x FEM Reader

Summary: In which Joohyun is a popular cheerleader majoring in psychology and you’re a hopeless gay who reports on Joohyun’s boyfriend’s, Minho, soccer season and you’re paired together for a class project.

Word Count: 8.9k words

Warning: Alcohol use but very brief, no smut

So sorry for the delay but here's part 1, part 2 (final part) coming soon!!

The start of junior year felt like the beginning of something big for you. You practically skipped across the campus lawn, camera bag bouncing against your hip as you soaked in the buzz of excitement that hung in the air. It wasn’t just about covering the men’s soccer team for the college news station, even though the team was expected to go all the way to the championship this year. No, it was the possibility of seeing her again - Joohyun.

“Look at you, all perked up,” Yerim teased, pulling her sunglasses down. “Excited about watching a bunch of dudes sweat it out on a field?”

“Hey, it’s for the story,” you said, pretending to sound professional but failing miserably as you grinned ear to ear. “We need a good story to start the year, and this team’s perfect for that.”

Yerim arched an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Uh-huh. And the fact that Joohyun will be bouncing around in a skirt has nothing to do with your sudden love for sports?”

You nearly tripped over your own feet. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Yerim shot back, her smirk widening. “Just don’t drool on your camera lens.”

Yerim had a point, though. You had met her in a media law class last year, bonding over your shared major and mutual love for Ariana Grande. Since then, you'd become close friends, sharing everything from class notes to hangover remedies. Yerim had a knack for reading you like an open book, which was both a blessing and a curse.

You both reached the field, and your breath caught in your throat as your gaze zeroed in on the cheerleaders warming up on the sidelines.

Your eyes found Joohyun almost immediately, as if drawn to her like a moth to a very, very hot flame. Joohyun, with her long, silky brunette hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial, was impossible to miss. Her hair cascaded down her back in waves, catching the sunlight with every effortless toss of her head. She was short - barely 5’3”- but every inch of her was perfectly proportioned, from her slightly toned legs that peeked out from under her cheer skirt to the soft, delicate features of her face. Joohyun looked like she’d stepped out of a dream, all elegance and confidence wrapped in a cheer uniform that somehow made her both sweet and dangerously alluring at the same time.

She twirled a pom-pom, laughing at something one of her teammates said, and for a moment, you forgot how to function.

Bae Joohyun wasn’t just a cheerleader. She was practically campus royalty. A psychology major with plans to go to law school, Joohyun had a reputation for being not only drop-dead gorgeous but also frighteningly smart. She had a soothing voice that made her a favorite at the college radio station where she hosted a show once a week and probably had a fan club just for the way she said, “Good morning.”

For you, the crush had started last year in the most cliché way possible. You’d been covering a student rally, trying to capture the perfect shot of the crowd, when Joohyun had stepped up to the microphone. The crowd had quieted instantly, hanging on her every word. You focused on getting the perfect shot, but when you looked up through the lens and saw Joohyun’s face, something had clicked.

There was a passion in Joohyun’s voice, a fire that matched the intensity of her gaze. She had spoken about the importance of mental health with a conviction that was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just that Joohyun was beautiful—though she definitely was. It was that she seemed to care so deeply, to be so fully herself, that it drew you in like nothing else had.

Since then, you’d found herself “accidentally” ending up anywhere Joohyun might be, even if it was just to catch a glimpse from afar.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Yerim said, snapping a picture of the team’s star player, Choi Minho, as he jogged onto the field. “You’ve been swooning over her for, what, months now?”

“Not gonna happen,” you denied vehemently, shaking your head. “Not while she’s with Minho, and not unless I know for sure she even likes girls. Plus, someone like her going for someone like me? Yeah, right.”

Yerim snorted. “You say that like you’re not a catch. Besides, I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.”

“Yeah, like I’m the weird girl with the camera who’s always lurking in the background,” you chuckled.

“Or maybe like she’s trying not to blush every time you’re within a hundred feet,” Yerim retorted.

You would like to believe Yerim, but the idea of Joohyun returning your feelings felt about as likely as you becoming a professional soccer player overnight. Still, you couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up at the thought.

“Focus,” you whispered to yourself, zooming in on Minho as he made a perfect pass. But your mind wandered back to that rally last year. Joohyun had been captivating then, and she was just as captivating now. The crush that had started in that moment had only grown, fed by every little thing you had learned about her since.

“Hey,” Yerim snapped her fingers in front of your face. “Practice is wrapping up. Let’s go get those interviews before you lose your mind.”

“Right,” you said, lowering the camera. You had a job to do—a story to tell. But as you headed toward the team, your gaze lingered on Joohyun for just a moment longer. What was it about her that made your heart do that little flip every time you saw her? It was ridiculous, really. A crush on a girl you could never be with.

And with that thought, you followed Yerim toward the team, ready to get these interviews over with…

As you wrapped up the interview with Minho, he wiped the sweat from his brow and flashed you a charming grin. The guy was a natural during interviews, confident and effortlessly likable. You thanked him for his time, making sure to capture one last shot of him before lowering your camera.

"Good luck this season," you said, trying to sound more professional and less like you’d been daydreaming about his girlfriend half the time. How unprofessional.

"Thanks," Minho replied, flashing a bright smile. "I’ll do my best not to disappoint."

As he turned to jog back to his teammates, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Joohyun walking toward the field. She moved with that same effortless grace, her hair shining under the late afternoon sun and was making a beeline for Minho, tiptoeing adorably to kiss his cheek.

Of course, you thought to yourself, trying not to make a face. They were dating. You knew this. Everyone knew this. Still, knowing it didn’t make the sight any easier to watch.

You couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous. This wasn’t some romantic drama where a smile meant destiny was at play. No, this was just real life, and in real life, Joohyun didn’t even know your name.

“Come on, let’s head out,” Yerim called from a few feet away, waving her phone in the air. You nodded, following her lead.

As you both made your way off the field, a nagging thought wormed its way into your mind, the one you’d been trying to avoid all week.

Classes were starting next Monday, and with them came the embarrassing reality that you, a junior, would be sitting in Journalism 1 like a freshman.

It wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured your academic journey. You’d planned to take Journalism 1 ages ago, but thanks to a mix-up in your scheduling during your first year, you’d ended up prioritizing other courses. By the time you realized the mistake, all the Journalism 1 sections were full.

So here you were, entering your junior year and still having to take an introductory class. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but the idea of sitting through lectures you probably could have passed two years ago was a little silly.

“Lost in thought again?” Yerim’s voice cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. She gave you a knowing look as you both reached the parking lot. “Let me guess, you’re freaking out about J1 again?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted with a shrug, trying to downplay it. “It’s just…I don’t know. I should be past all that by now.”

Yerim snorted, adjusting her sunglasses. “You’ll be fine. Besides, who cares? It’s just a class.”

“Yeah, but still,” you sighed. “It’s not exactly ideal.”

Yerim lightly slapped your shoulder, snorting off your concerns. “Don’t worry so much. You already have experience making stories for the school paper and radio. What’s an intro class with Professor Kim anyway? She loves you.”

You cracked a smile, recalling how you earned Professor Kim’s approval in Media Law and Ethics, which were two of the hardest classes within your program. “You’re right. It’s just an intro class.”

“Of course I am,” she said, holding her growling stomach. “Now, let’s go grab some food. I’m starving.”

Monday arrived with an unexpected sense of calm. You strolled across campus, your bag slung over your shoulder and a spring in your step. The weekend had been fun catching up with all your friends, and your first few classes that morning went better than expected.

But now, as you approached the door to Journalism 1, that confidence started to waver. You’d been riding high all day, but the reality of walking into a freshman-heavy class was suddenly weighing on you.

You paused outside the classroom, staring at the door. It was just a class. Just an hour, and then you’d be done for the day.

With a sigh, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was already filling up with fresh faces. You scanned the rows of desks, looking for a spot where you could blend in. After a moment, you settled into a seat toward the back, hoping to go unnoticed.

As you pulled out your notebook and laptop, you caught snippets of conversations from the students around you. They were buzzing with excitement about writing for the school paper or getting their hands on some broadcast work. You smiled, remembering the time you had been as eager and wide-eyed.

The door swung open again, and you glanced up out of habit. When you saw who had walked in, your heart skipped a beat - Joohyun.

Your mind immediately went into overdrive. What was she doing here? This was just some intro class. Joohyun was a psych major. Surely she didn’t need to be here too. Yet, there she was, making her way into the room with that grace you admired from afar. She didn’t seem to notice you as she scanned the room for a seat.

You quickly ducked your head, pretending to be engrossed in your notes. The last thing you needed was for Joohyun to catch you staring. As fate would have it, she ended up sitting just a few rows ahead of you. Close enough that you couldn’t help but notice every time she shifted in her seat. Great.

The lecture began as Professor Kim walked in, her presence instantly commanding the room. You’d taken a few classes with her before, so you knew she was the type to keep things moving quickly. After a brief introduction, she jumped right into the syllabus.

“Welcome to Journalism 1,” Professor Kim began, her tone brisk. “I know some of you are here because you’re excited about journalism, some because it’s a requirement, and some because, well, you need the credits.” A few chuckles rippled through the room, and you allowed yourself a small smile.

She went on to explain the course structure—lectures, assignments, workshops—but it was when she reached the partner project that your attention fully snapped back.

“As part of this course, you’ll be working on a partner project,” Professor Kim announced, scanning the room. “This will be an opportunity to apply what you’re learning in a practical way. You’ll be paired in a few weeks, and I expect each team to produce a piece of journalism that could be print, broadcast, or multimedia. This counts as the final of this class so you will have the second half of the semester to work on it.”

You swallowed hard. Partner projects were always a bit of a gamble. It could mean working with someone who’d pull their weight, or it could mean babysitting.

“Now, before anyone panics,” Professor Kim continued with a faint smile, “I want to reassure you that I’m here to help, and so are your classmates. In fact, I see a familiar face in the crowd.” Her eyes landed on you, and you froze.

“Ah, yes, there you are,” Professor Kim said, her smile growing. “I’m sure many of you don’t know this yet, but we have a bit of an expert with us today. She’s done excellent work for the school newspaper and the college news station, and she excelled in my previous classes.” You felt your cheeks flush as several heads turned in your direction. So much for flying under the radar.

“So, if you have questions about storytelling, pitching ideas, or even how to juggle deadlines, don’t hesitate to ask her,” Professor Kim added, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “She’s a great resource.”

You managed a weak smile and a nod, trying to look like you weren’t about to melt into your chair. Inside, though, your nerves were high. Being called out like that was the last thing you’d expected. You’d wanted to blend in, not stand out, especially with Joohyun just a few rows ahead.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur, your mind racing with a mix of anxiety and curiosity. What if you ended up paired with Joohyun for the project? Like that would happen.

As Professor Kim wrapped up the class and dismissed everyone, you quickly packed up your things, eager to escape. You slung you bag over your shoulder and made a beeline for the door, hoping to avoid any awkward encounters.

But as you stepped into the hallway, you couldn’t help but glance back. Joohyun was still in the classroom, slowly packing her things. She didn’t seem to notice you at all, and for once, you were grateful. You needed time to figure out how you were going to navigate the rest of the semester…

The media center had always been your safe place, the place where you could bury yourself in work and forget about everything else. The familiar hum of activity filled the space as students shuffled between the school newspaper and the college radio station. The faint sound of music from the radio station’s booth mixed with the low murmur of conversations, and you felt your shoulders relax a little as you made your way to your usual spot near the back.

You practically lived here, spending countless hours on projects, hanging out with the news and radio staff. Today was no different, except for one thing, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joohyun showing up in Journalism 1. You were halfway through editing some soundbites for the soccer team’s story when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Look who survived!" Yerim’s voice rang out, dripping with playful sarcasm. She plopped down into the chair next to you, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "How was J1 and how does it feel to be Professor Kim’s golden child?"

You groaned, regretting that you texted Yerim everything that happened and ran a hand through your hair. "Don’t remind me. I was trying to hide. Now everyone’s gonna think I’m some know-it-all."

Yerim snickered. "Please. Half those freshmen probably think you’re a TA or something. They’ll be asking you for help with their shit by the end of the week."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but laugh. "Just what I needed. More work."

"So, tell me," Yerim leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What’s this about Bae Joohyun being in your class? You nearly faint when you saw her?"

"Not quite," you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up. "But yeah, she’s in J1. No idea why, though."

Yerim raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Seriously? What’s she doing in intro courses? She’s like, Miss Campus Everything."

"That’s what I was wondering," you replied, mindlessly fiddling with a pen. "I didn’t get a chance to ask her, obviously. I figured she’d be in some psych courses, not sitting through the basics of journalism."

Yerim snorted. "Maybe she’s got a secret passion for headline writing. Or she’s just there to watch you squirm."

"Ha ha, very funny," you shot back, though the thought of Joohyun silently judging you made your stomach twist. "I’m just curious, okay? It’s not every day someone like her shows up like that."

Before Yerim could respond, a familiar face appeared in the doorway, Changmin, the station manager. He was juggling a stack of papers and his ever-present coffee mug, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. But despite his appearance, there was a warmth about him that made everyone feel welcome.

"Hey, Changmin!" Yerim called out, waving him over. "You got a minute?"

Changmin ambled over, setting his papers down on the nearest table. "Always got a minute for you two," he said, his voice tinged with that familiar fatherly tone he used whenever he spoke to his "media kids."

He took a sip of his coffee, looking at you both with kind eyes. "What’s on your minds?"

"We were just talking about Joohyun," Yerim said, leaning back in her chair with a grin. "Apparently, she’s in J1 with this one." She pointed at you. "Any idea why she’s slumming it with us peasants?"

Changmin’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, and then he smiled, nodding as if something had clicked into place. "Ah, yes. She mentioned that to me last week when she stopped by the station. She’s minoring in broadcasting, so J1 is a requirement for her."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Broadcasting? Really?"

"Yup," He confirmed. "She’s got big plans, wants to do more on-air work and maybe even take on some anchoring for the morning news. She’s driven and looking to learn as much as she can."

"Wow, I’m down so bad," you groaned, feeling a mix of awe and admiration. What couldn’t this woman do?

Yerim patted your back, though you could hear the laughter in her voice. "Chill. You’re gonna be just fine. If anything, this is your chance to impress her with your charm and expertise. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up partners for that J1 project."

"Yeah, right," you muttered, though the idea made your heart race. “Knowing my luck, I’ll get paired with someone who doesn’t even show up to class.”

Changmin shook his head with a smile, gathering up his papers from the table. "Good luck with that. And hey, if you do end up working with her on that project, just be yourself. You’ve got plenty of experience to share, and she’s smart enough to appreciate that."

You felt a bit of the tension in your chest ease. Changmin had a way of making everything seem okay, like you could handle whatever came your way. "Thanks, Changmin. That… actually helps a lot."

“Anytime,” he smiled warmly, “Just remember - you’re here because you love what you do, and that passion is going to carry you through, no matter who’s in the class with you."

With that, he gave you both a reassuring nod and headed out the door, leaving you feeling more grounded than you had all day.

Yerim turned back to you, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "So, what’s the game plan now? You gonna impress her with your skills?"

"Or," you said, raising an eyebrow, "I could just try not to trip over my own feet in front of her."

"Where’s the fun in that?" Yerim teased. "But seriously, this could be your chance to show her what you’re made of."

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite the butterflies in your stomach. "We’ll see. I’m not even sure if she’s into girls like that. For now, I’m just gonna take it one class at a time."

Yerim grinned, giving you a mock salute. "That’s the spirit. And hey, if you need any tips on charming her, I’m always here."

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the soccer field. The air buzzed with anticipation as the men’s soccer team warmed up for their first game of the season against a visiting school. You were stationed near the sidelines, camera in hand, ready to capture the action for the upcoming story you were working on. This game would be a key piece of the puzzle, the team’s first real test of the season.

You adjusted your lens, focusing on Minho as he led the team through drills, his every move sharp and precise, though his gaze drifted to the stands every so often, like his mind was somewhere else. The team was hyped for the season, with high expectations from everyone around them. But your attention wasn’t fully on Minho or the players. No, your thoughts kept drifting back to Joohyun.

Ever since you found out she was in Journalism 1, you couldn’t stop wondering about her. And now, here you were again, on the same field where you’d seen her just last week, except this time, you knew a little more about her goals and ambitions. Broadcasting. It made perfect sense, really.

"Hey," Yerim’s voice broke through your thoughts as she appeared by your side, her usual teasing grin in place. "You’re not drooling over Minho, are you? Because that would make things even weirder."

You smirked, rolling your eyes. "As if. I’m just trying to get the perfect shot."

"Uh-huh," Yerim said, jokingly denying your response. She nudged you playfully with her elbow. "So, what’s the deal? Are you gonna make a move on Joohyun? Or are you still playing the long game?"

"I’m not playing anything," you sighed, adjusting your camera to focus on another player. "She has a boyfriend, and I’m not exactly keen on being a homewrecker."

"Well, you know what they say," Yerim wiggled her brows, leaning against the fence. "Never let your boyfriend get in the way of you finding your wife. Maybe you’ll get partnered up for the big project and bond over broadcasting."

You snorted. "Or I’ll just end up partnered with some random person."

"Optimism isn’t your strong suit, is it?" Yerim clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "You never know. Stranger things have happened."

Just then, the sound of laughter caught your attention. You glanced up from your camera and, unsurprisingly, saw Joohyun walking onto the field with the other cheerleaders. They were here to support the team, of course, and Joohyun looked as perfect as ever. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she wore the red and white cheer uniform that seemed to hug her body so well.

Your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do whenever she was around, and you cursed yourself for it. This was getting sad.

Yerim followed your gaze, her grin widening. "Speak of the devil," she said, her tone practically singing. "Maybe she’ll come over here. Give you a chance to work that journalistic charm."

"Sure," you muttered, trying to refocus on the task at hand. "She’s here with her team to support the guys, duh."

But as fate would have it, Joohyun’s path did seem to be leading her closer to where you stood. She waved at a few friends as she made her way toward the sidelines, but then her eyes landed on you. For a brief moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. Should you wave? Smile? Pretend you hadn’t seen her at all?

Joohyun didn’t seem to have any hesitation, though. She gave you a small, polite smile and a nod as she passed by, her gaze lingering just a second longer than you expected. It wasn’t much - just a brief moment of acknowledgment - but it was enough to make you almost crazy.

Yerim nudged you again, practically vibrating with excitement. "Did you see that? She smiled at you! Oh my god, this is progress. We’re making moves!"

"Calm down," you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. "It was just a smile. She smiles at everyone at games."

"Yeah, but she smiled at you and I’m standing here like a snack," Yerim insisted, her grin widening. "That’s gotta mean something."

You shook your head, “You’re being delusional, Yerim.”

Before she could respond, the whistle blew, signaling the start of the scrimmage. The players took their positions on the field, and you quickly turned your attention back to your camera.

Throughout the game, you found yourself glancing over at Joohyun more than you intended to. Every time you tried to focus on the action on the field, your eyes betrayed you, drifting back to where she stood, cheering with that infectious enthusiasm. Her smile seemed to light up the entire stadium, brighter than the field lights themselves.

But then it happened. She caught you staring. Your heart skipped a beat as your gaze collided with hers, and for a split second, you froze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck. Joohyun met your eyes and gave you another smile, one that felt warm, but suddenly it made you feel exposed.

You quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your camera settings, but the embarrassment lingered. God, she probably thinks I’m a creep, you thought, mentally kicking yourself.

As the game wore on, you put those thoughts aside to focus on the story. By the time the final whistle blew, you were more relieved than anything. The match had been tense, and you were just glad it was over. The team celebrated their hard-fought win, and you lowered your camera, ready to pack up and call it a day.

But then, Minho had to pull his jersey over his face in celebration, revealing a perfectly toned set of abs and stealing the attention of his fangirls and fanboys. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Of course, he has abs, you thought, trying to suppress the mild envy creeping in

"Well, that was fun," Yerim said, stretching as she stood up. "So, what’s the plan now? You gonna stick around for interviews, or are we grabbing food?"

"I need to get a few more shots and talk to the coach about the game," you replied, packing up your gear. "But after that, food sounds good."

"Cool. I’ll wait for you by the bleachers," Yerim said, chucking up a peace sign. "Try not to let Joohyun distract you too much."

You rolled your eyes as she walked off, but you couldn’t help but smile…

You and Yerim walked across campus, the fliers in your hands feeling heavier with every step. The afternoon sun was sitting high in the sky, and you were starting to regret your life choices - mainly, why you agreed to this. Promoting the annual college radio event wasn’t exactly thrilling, especially knowing it had the energy of a retirement home bingo night.

"I still can’t believe you volunteered for this," Yerim said, holding up a flier like it was a tragic masterpiece. "No one ever shows up, except for a few lost freshmen."

You sighed, pinning another flier to the bulletin board outside the student center. "I know, but Changmin looked desperate. And I already feel guilty knowing it’ll probably be a flop, so I figured I’d help out."

Yerim gave you an exaggerated look of pity. "This is like going from your prime time slot to a 2 a.m. infomercial. What’s next, counting ceiling tiles in the library?"

"Maybe," you muttered. "At least it’d be quiet."

Yerim rolled her eyes and smirked. "You’re such an old lady."

You chuckled, knowing it was half-true. As you both made your way to the psychology department, where there were a few more pinboards, your attention suddenly caught on something or rather, someone.

Joohyun.

She was standing near the water fountain, refilling her water bottle, her calm, collected presence making your stomach do that fluttery thing again. The memory of the game popped back into your mind, specifically, the part where she caught you staring at her like a total creep. You’d been trying to shake off the embarrassment ever since.

Yerim noticed her too, and the familiar mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. "Hey, isn’t that your favorite cheerleader?" she whispered, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Now’s your chance. Go say hi."

You shot her an exasperated look. "Why would I do that? She probably doesn’t even know my name. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m the person who stared at you during the game’?"

Yerim smirked, clearly enjoying your inner turmoil. "Oh, come on. She’s probably forgotten all about it. Just go over there, act normal, and don’t bring up your little staring contest."

You sighed, trying to focus on the pinboard in front of you instead of the fact that Joohyun was literally ten feet away. "You’re making this sound easy."

"Well, if you’re not going to do it yourself, I’ll just have to help you along," Yerim said, and before you could protest, she not-so-subtly nudged you in Joohyun’s direction.

You stumbled forward, barely catching yourself as you nearly collided with Joohyun. She turned around just in time to see you regaining your balance, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

"Oh, sorry!" you blurted out, awkwardly clutching your stack of fliers. "I didn’t see you there."

Joohyun blinked, then offered you a polite smile. "That’s okay. It happens."

Yerim, who had positioned herself conveniently nearby, was failing miserably at pretending not to be entertained by the whole situation. You could feel her eyes boring into you, silently egging you on.

"Uh, how’s it going?" you asked, internally cringing at how generic that sounded.

"Good," Joohyun replied, her tone soft. She glanced at the fliers in your hands. "Hanging up fliers?"

"Yeah," you said, trying to sound casual. "Just helping out with some promotions. You know, the usual."

She nodded, her expression still neutral. There was a moment of silence, just long enough to make you start to sweat, before she offered you a small smile. "You’re always working hard, aren’t you?"

Your brain stalled. For a second, you weren’t sure you heard her right. Joohyun noticed you? You, the girl who had been trying to stay invisible this entire time? Your mouth went dry as your mind raced to come up with a response, something coherent at least, but all that came out was, “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Great. Really nailed it. You could practically feel Yerim’s second-hand embarrassment radiating from a few feet away, but Joohyun didn’t seem fazed. In fact, her smile lingered, like she was waiting for you to say more.

"I mean, I like staying busy," you added hastily, trying to recover. Your heart hammered in your chest as you searched her face for any sign of amusement or judgment, but all you saw was that same curiosity. It was unnerving, yet kind of thrilling.

“Well, it shows,” Joohyun said, giving a small nod before glancing at the stack of fliers in your hands. "Good luck with the event."

And just like that, she turned to leave, her water bottle in hand, leaving you standing there, gripping the fliers like a lifeline.

It took a second for your brain to catch up to the rest of your body, the interaction replaying in your mind on a loop. She noticed you. She thought you worked hard. You wanted to feel proud, but all you could focus on was the fact that Joohyun noticed you.

Behind you, Yerim’s muffled laughter broke through the haze of disbelief. "Oh my god, you should see yourself. You’re totally blushing!”

You tried to play it cool, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. “I-I’m not, the AC in here sucks," you mumbled, even though it was perfectly cool and ventilated throughout the building.

As you moved on to the next pinboard, you replayed the brief conversation with Joohyun in your mind, chastising yourself for every little mistake you made but also a little proud you didn’t spontaneously combust in front her. Well, a win is a win…

It had been a few weeks since you hung fliers in the psychology department, awkwardly bumping into Joohyun. Since then, your time in the media center had dwindled. Other students on the school paper were eager to get their hands on some sports stories, and you were more than happy to give them the reigns. Besides, the break gave you a chance to slow down and focus on other things like keeping up with your classes, helping your peers, and seeing Joohyun in Journalism 1 twice a week.

You couldn’t exactly say things had changed much between you and Joohyun. You still admired her from afar, barely making eye contact during class, and any passing interactions were short-lived. But today, Professor Kim was ramping things up with the partner project, and your mind buzzed with nerves and anticipation.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," Professor Kim’s voice rang out, snapping you out of your thoughts. "You've all been building your skills over the last few weeks, and now it’s time to put them into practice with a partner project."

Your stomach twisted. The partner project? Already? You glanced around the room as a few students exchanged looks. This was going to be interesting.

“You and your partner will be interviewing each other,” Professor Kim continued, pacing at the front of the classroom. “Twenty minutes each, so forty minutes in total. I want you and your partner to find something newsworthy to report on based on your interviews. Whether it's a unique hobby, an unusual experience, or a surprising interest. You’ll need to research your partner beforehand. Stalk them a bit on social media, Google them, find out whatever you can. Then, write 8 to 10 questions for the interview which will be due by class next Monday, and next Wednesday there will be no class, so you have time to interview your partner.”

Your mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario, being paired with someone who didn’t care about the project. Or worse, being paired with Joohyun. You gulped at the thought.

“The final story will be collaborative," Professor Kim continued, "There are different requirements for the project depending on the medium of your choice - print, audio, or video, but the details of that are on the syllabus.”

Professor Kim then held up a small hat, clearly excited about what was coming next. “Half of you will tear out a piece of paper, write your name, and drop it into this hat. The other half will draw a name, announce it, and that will be your partner.”

The class groaned, but you could tell some people were excited. You, however, were trying to calculate the odds of not getting paired with Joohyun.

You watched as the first half of the class, including Joohyun, scribbled their names on pieces of paper and dropped them into the hat. You were in the second half, the group tasked with pulling names. As the hat slowly circled around the room, Professor Kim paused at each student to let them pick.

Your heart pounded harder with every name that was read aloud.

“Kim Minjeong.”

“Jung Jaehyun.”

“Jimin—oh, great…”

One by one, names were called out, and with each one, you felt a strange mixture of relief and rising panic. The hat finally made its way to you. Your hands were clammy as you reached in, fishing around until you grabbed a small slip of paper.

Please don’t be Joohyun, please don’t be Joohyun, you chanted in your head.

You opened the slip of paper.

“Bae… Joohyun.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

You felt your stomach drop as the room went quiet. You could feel the eyes on you—mostly Yerim’s, though her smug face was nowhere to be seen—and you froze, struggling to keep your cool. When you finally glanced up, Joohyun was looking directly at you, her expression calm but curious.

You swallowed hard, trying to seem composed. You definitely didn’t feel composed.

Professor Kim smiled and nodded. “Great. Everyone else has their partners. Before you leave, I want you to exchange contact information, introduce yourselves, though I assume most of you already know each other, and plan a time to meet.”

You stayed seated for a moment, dreading the thought of standing up and walking over to Joohyun. But you had to do it. You have to be professional, you reminded yourself.

After taking a deep breath, you stood, your legs feeling a little shaky, and walked over to Joohyun’s desk, where she was quietly packing her things. She looked up as you approached, smiling shyly.

“H-hey,” you stammered, nerves kicking in as you awkwardly slid into the seat beside her. “Looks like we’re partners.”

Joohyun nodded with a cute smile. “Looks like it.”

“So, um… we should figure out when to meet for the interviews,” you said, trying to sound normal but feeling anything but with her watching you with bright eyes.

“Yeah,” Joohyun agreed easily. “How about next Wednesday? Or whenever works for you.”

You nodded a bit too quickly. “Sure, that works! I mean, Wednesday’s good for me.”

An awkward pause followed, and you could feel your heart racing as the silence stretched. Desperate to seem less weird, you pulled out your phone - only to fumble it like a hot potato, sending it flying onto the desk with a loud clatter. Joohyun burst out laughing, the sound completely unfiltered.

“Well,” she said moments later, her body shaking slightly with silent laughter, “at least I’m not the only one a little nervous about the project.”

You blinked, your cheeks burning. If only she knew it wasn’t the project making you nervous. “I—I guess we’re in this together,” you mumbled, feeling both embarrassed and relieved.

Joohyun’s smile softened as she picked up your phone and handed it back. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

You thanked her quietly, your hands brushing for a brief second as you exchanged contact info. The awkward tension between you both started to fade, replaced by a sense of familiarity. Joohyun, despite her reputation, seemed just as shy by the end of class.

“See you next time,” she said gently, her eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart still pounding. “See you.”

As you left the classroom, you pulled out your phone and shot Yerim a quick text.

You (2:33 pm): Guess what? Just got paired with Bae fucking Joohyun for the project.

Her response came back instantly.

Yerim (2:33 pm) ??? are you breathing ???

You nearly choked on a laugh, tucking your phone away. Maybe, just maybe, this project wouldn’t be so bad after all…

The hum of the café provided the perfect background noise as you tried to clear your mind. After a whirlwind week of classes, getting off campus was a much needed escape. The coffee shop you and Yerim had chosen was small, tucked away in a quiet corner of town, just the kind of spot you both liked.

You took a sip of your favorite coffee, the warmth calming your nerves, as you stared at the blank document on your laptop. Interview questions. That’s what you were supposed to be working on. The project with Joohyun was real now, and it was your job to research her and draft some thoughtful questions.

But professionalism wasn’t exactly what was on your mind.

You glanced around the café, making sure Yerim wasn’t paying attention. She was engrossed in her own laptop, typing furiously. Thinking the coast was clear, you pulled up Joohyun’s Instagram on your phone. You’d looked her up before, obviously. Long before this project was even a thing. But back then, her profile had been private. You’d debated sending her a follow request so many times, but always chickened out.

Now, though? You were following each other.

Joohyun had texted you a few days ago, asking for your social media handles. Just seeing her name pop up on your screen had made your heart skip a beat. Bae Joohyun. For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine she was texting you for something more. But the excitement faded as soon as you saw her message—it was just about the project.

You sighed and pushed that memory aside as you scrolled through her feed. Her profile was clean, simple, and exactly what you’d expect. Lots of scenic shots, some sunsets, quiet moments in nature. There were a few selfies, where she looked effortlessly stunning, of course. Then, there were the photos of her with Minho.

They seemed happy. A handful of pictures together, tagged at restaurants and casual days out. That familiar twist of disappointment crept up.

"Looking up your new girlfriend, I see?" Yerim’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you.

You fumbled, nearly dropping your phone. "What? No!"

Yerim raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Sure, sure. You’re not being very subtle here."

You groaned, putting your phone down. "It’s for the questions I have to come up with. And how many times do I have to remind you about her boyfriend?”

"Ah, yes, perfect Minho," Yerim said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "But you’ve got something too. Maybe not trophies, fame, and abs just yet but you’re a cutie who has a knack for chatting people up.”

You snorted, shaking your head. "Thanks for the pep talk."

Yerim grinned. "Anytime. But seriously, stop creeping on her Instagram and focus on your work, weirdo.”

You walked briskly across campus, your nerves fluttering as you neared the media center. Today was the interview with Joohyun, and while you’d snagged a cozy room filled with snacks and drinks to make things more comfortable, it was hard to shake the anxiety. Joohyun was your partner, and the idea of interviewing her still felt surreal.

Professor Kim’s constant reminder to “dress professionally” echoed in your mind as you tugged at the fitted oxford grey long-sleeve top you wore. The black slacks and boots completed the look, giving you an air of confidence you weren’t entirely sure you felt. Looking the part seemed to be half the battle.

As you approached the media center, you spotted Joohyun waiting by the room door, looking effortlessly composed in a black V-neck sweater tucked into sleek black pants, her low-heeled boots completing the outfit. If Steve Jobs had gone full-on fashion icon, it would be Joohyun. She looked like a young hot CEO of a multibillion-dollar company.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm your racing heart.

Just as you reached for the door, you heard Changmin’s voice behind you.

“Well, don’t you two look serious,” he said with a playful grin, his coffee mug firmly in hand.

Your face flushed instantly, caught off guard by his teasing. He shot you a knowing wink before heading off, leaving you feeling like he knew far more about your situation than you’d ever told him.

You quickly composed yourself and opened the door, motioning for Joohyun to go in first. “After you,” you said, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

“Thanks,” Joohyun replied, offering you a kind smile as she stepped inside.

You let out a small breath of relief as you followed her into the room, shutting the door behind you. The room was quiet, the snacks laid out neatly on the table, and you both settled in quickly, exchanging small talk on the way. Despite your best efforts to stay calm, Joohyun’s presence had you on edge. It wasn’t that you were inexperienced, you’d done countless interviews before, but interviewing her made it different.

After a minute of organizing your notes, you glanced at Joohyun and noticed something that surprised you. She was fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, her fingers twisting the fabric, and she shifted in her seat. For someone who always seemed so poised, she looked nervous herself.

You hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward, deciding to take a chance. “Hey, are you okay? You seem a little… on edge.”

Joohyun’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am. I’m not used to doing interviews, especially with someone who’s clearly experienced and really good at what they do.”

You blinked, genuinely surprised. “You’re nervous because of me?”

She nodded, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Yeah, kind of. You’ve done this a lot, and I’m still figuring things out. Plus, Professor Kim seems to think highly of you, so there’s a bit of pressure.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Joohyun, the campus queen, nervous because of you? The thought was almost unreal, and yet here she was, feeling the same way you had when you first saw her name on the slip of paper.

You chuckled, trying to ease the tension. “Trust me, I’m still figuring things out too. Actually…” You hesitated for a second, nerves bubbling up as you decided whether or not to tell her the story. But seeing her this vulnerable made you want to take the chance. “If you’re up for it, I can tell you about the first time I interviewed someone.”

Joohyun looked intrigued, so you continued, even though the story still made you cringe a little. “It was for the school paper during my first year. I was interviewing one of the professors for a feature piece, and I was so nervous, but he reassured me that I wouldn’t do a bad job. So, I got comfortable eventually. We sat there for probably twenty minutes, and I thought I was being all professional, nodding along and asking good questions. Then I realized the recorder wasn’t even on.”

Joohyun’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward with a wide grin. “Oh god, what did you do?”

“I panicked,” you chuckled, feeling more relaxed now that she was laughing. “I didn’t want to ask him to do the whole thing again, so I tried to rely on my notes, but they were a mess. It was awful. So, I asked for another interview, but he wasn’t exactly enthused about it.”

Joohyun was laughing fully now, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s amazing. I would’ve died.”

“I almost did,” you said, joining in her laughter. “So, if I can survive that, you can survive this. Trust me.”

The tension between you eased as Joohyun relaxed, her shoulders no longer hunched and her fingers no longer fidgeting with her sweater. “Thanks for sharing that,” she said, still smiling. “I guess I was overthinking it.”

You nodded, smiling warmly. “You’re going to do great. And we’re just practicing, right? I’m here to help.”

The interview started smoothly after that. Joohyun’s answers were thoughtful and personal. She talked about psychology and why she was drawn to it, places she’s traveled, and how she balanced her academics with her extracurriculars. She mentioned how photography was a way for her to decompress, especially when she captured photos of the sky and nature, and how there was a small garden on campus that was her favorite spot to think.

By the time it was her turn to interview you, she was much more confident. Her questions were unpresumptuous and relevant. They were about why you chose journalism, what kept you motivated when things got tough, and what got you into photography yourself.

“I saw some of your nature shots,” Joohyun said, her voice thoughtful. “They seem to be mostly pictures taken on hiking trips, is that right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of a side hobby. It helps me clear my head.”

As she listened carefully to you, you could see her growing more comfortable in the journalist role. By the time the interview wrapped up, the room felt lighter, and you were both sighing with relief.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” you teased, packing up your notes.

Joohyun smiled, her shoulders visibly relaxed. “You’re really good at making people feel comfortable. I wasn’t expecting that,” she said, a hint of admiration in her voice. Then, realizing how it might sound, she quickly added, “Not that I didn’t think you could! I just didn’t expect it to be so… easy.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback by her sudden fluster. “Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t take it that way at all,” you reassured her. “I’m just glad I could help. And honestly, you did really well too.”

At that, Joohyun’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she let out a small, relieved laugh.

As you both stood to leave, you held the door open for her again, and she glanced back at you with a grateful smile. “Thanks again. Really.”

You returned the gesture, feeling a warm sense of connection. “Anytime.”

As Joohyun walked out, you couldn’t help but feel that things had shifted slightly between you. It wasn’t just about the interview anymore…

After a discussion with Professor Kim and Changmin, you’d finally settled on the next direction of your soccer story. It wasn’t what you had originally planned, but both of them had made a compelling case. A feature on Minho. You’d dig into his struggles growing up and his rise through adversity. It would create the kind of emotional connection that any solid piece of journalism needed. The story wasn’t just solely about soccer anymore. It was the kind of personal journey that would resonate with the audience.

You knew it was great for your portfolio too. It was exactly the type of human-interest story that could set you apart when applying for future jobs. You agreed to it, even though the idea of digging deeper into Minho’s life, with your feelings for Joohyun lurking in the background, made you a little uncomfortable. You could handle this professionally though. You had to.

Later that day, after his practice with the soccer team, you spotted Minho chatting with some of his teammates near the field. Taking a deep breath, you approached him.

“Minho,” you called out, waving slightly as you approached.

He turned to you, a welcoming smile already in place. “Hey! What’s up?”

You adjusted your bag, feeling the weight of it on your shoulder as you tried to keep your tone casual. “I wanted to talk to you about a potential story for the school radio.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I was thinking about doing a feature on you. Something about you and not just soccer, how you’ve gotten to where you are now. I think it would be a really strong piece, but only if you’re up for it, of course.”

Minho’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely surprised. “Wow. I don’t know what to say… I mean, I’d be honored. But really? A story on me?”

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I think people would really connect with it.”

He seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded slowly. “If you think it’s a good idea, then I’m in.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Great. I’ll start pulling things together soon, and we can schedule some time for interviews.”

Minho smiled humbly, “Sounds good. Thanks for thinking of me. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” you said, giving him a nod. “I’ll be in touch.”

After getting his contact info, you met up with Yerim at a nearby bar, ready to drink away some of the tension that had been building all week. Three shots in, you were starting to feel the warmth of the alcohol loosening up your thoughts. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You saw Joohyun’s name, and your heart did its usual happy flip. You quickly swiped to read her message.

Joohyun (9:17 pm): Hey, when do you want to meet to go over what we should report on from our interviews? I was thinking we could talk about it next week?

You exhaled slowly, the thrill of seeing her name making you grin. Joohyun texting first? A miracle. Her message was all business, which was its own kind of reality check, but hey, she was the one messaging you, and right now, that felt like something.

You had thought about meeting her at one specific place, but that was sober you and you didn’t have the guts to ask. However, with a little liquid courage coursing through your veins, you typed back, smirking to yourself.

You (9:19 pm) Nxt week sounds good, but I have an idea.. wanna go to that boba place on main st. aftr class on monday?

Satisfied, you hit send and dropped the phone back into your pocket, telling yourself you were such a genius for thinking of a way to spend more time with Joohyun, completely unaware of the grave you were digging for yourself…

To be continued...

[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

[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.”

[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

[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 ->

[wttcsms]

switchin' the positions for you, osamu miya

pairing osamu miya x f!reader word count 2k synopsis osamu miya says you've got a lot to learn, rookie, and he's more than happy to teach you. content contains creampie, pet names (baby, good girl), slight praise kink (reader receiving), fwb to lovers, multiple positions, tennis player!reader author's notes to the requester: you know who you are, girl. give the masses (me) what i want: you to become a writer!!!

“Fuck.” Osamu hisses out the word like it burns to have it escape through his gritted teeth. “D’ya like that, baby?” 

You can’t give him a coherent answer; it’s kind of hard to hold a conversation with him when he’s got you sitting all snug on his lap, cockhead hitting that special sensitive spot of yours that you never knew you had until you start your little arrangement with him. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s the only person capable of reducing you to a hot, whiny mess but when you instinctually tighten up around his cock, he lets out a soft, smug laugh. 

His warm breath tickles your ear when he leans down to tell you, “Told ya I’d teach you a thing or two.” 

You try to tilt your head back so your eyes can meet his. You don’t like looking up to people, but Osamu is just so big. You’re sitting on him, pussy clamping down on his fat cock that’s buried snugly inside of you, your back pressed against his muscular chest. The man owns a restaurant; surely hauling all those massive rice bags couldn’t have possibly given him this figure. You want to make a face, let him know that his “I told you so” is not appreciated, but when he makes eye contact with you, he gives you a smirk — a warning. A split second later, he thrusts up, and you can’t hold back your moan. 

He did that on purpose, you think to yourself. He’s always baiting you, always waiting for the right moment to catch you off guard. You’re a favorite to win the Japan’s Women’s tennis tournament; no one catches you off guard. 

But when you’re out on the road, traveling with your team, and your starvation-induced tantrum leads to your coach making a pitstop to some hole-in-the-wall restaurant named Onigiri Miya, you learn that it is possible for someone to trip you up. 

“So you’re the girl with the killer serve,” is what he says the first time he’s taking your order. “You don’t look like much of a killer to me.” 

You’re pissed, hungry, and still upset over hearing the men’s team talk about how you look good in your skirt and should consider modeling for Sports Illustrated instead of trying to make it big in tennis. You’re frowning when you tell him, “Are you the owner of this restaurant?” 

“Yep.” 

“Doesn’t look like much of a restaurant to me.” In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t be rude to the man handling your food. 

“It’s up and coming.” He says, eyes looking you up and down in a way that makes you suddenly very, very hyper aware of how fitted your top and how short your skirt is. He’s not ogling you; he’s sizing you up. Like you’re a challenge. “It’ll look it soon enough.” 

You like a good challenge. 

When you come back the next week, high off your victory, you walk through the doors of Onigiri Miya, smug and prideful. 

The feeling intensifies whenever he tells you he saw your game, but you’re immediately dissatisfied when he hits you with a, “Ya still got a lot to learn, though.” 

Your first lesson? Taking three of his thick fingers knuckle-deep in your pussy as your back is pressed against the wall of the storage room of Onigiri Miya. There’s only one single light bulb flickering in the darkness of the pantry, but you don’t focus on that. Instead, you focus on the searing heat from between your thighs, too eager to chase after pleasure to care about the fact that you’re so wet, you can hear every thrust. 

You’re so close to cumming, you find yourself moving your hips upwards, trying to bring yourself to release even faster. He immediately stops his ministrations, making an annoyed sound of clear disapproval.

“You need to learn how to stop bein’ so damn greedy.” His words come out as a raspy whisper, and when your walls involuntarily clench around his fingers, there’s a small noise that seems to come from the back of his throat. He’s holding himself back. 

Somehow, the fact that you have a strong effect on him as well makes you so pleased, you find yourself gripping his shoulder as you disobediently grind against his fingers yourself, letting out a loud whine as you cum all over his hand. 

With heated cheeks and heavy breathing, you let Osamu Miya know that being greedy is what makes you such a star player. You don’t get by with just taking what’s given to you; everything, from points on the court to a more-than-satisfactory orgasm, is yours for the taking. 

You don’t expect him to just smile at your prideful remark, and you certainly don’t expect him to remove his fingers from you, hold them up to the light so you can both admire the way his index, middle, and ring fingers are glistening with your juices, before he licks the pads of them. 

Is the room heating up? Did the air conditioning suddenly break? You feel hotter than usual as you watch the vulgar display, and you should be ashamed of the way your knees are already weak from hitting your climax, ashamed of the way you have to press your thighs together so he doesn’t catch the way you’re already anticipating a round two. 

“Have a taste, baby.” He’s grinning, smiling like the damn devil himself, as he extends his hand, brings the tips of his fingers to your lips. You shake your head no, not trusting yourself to speak. 

He pretends to sound disappointed. “No?” Then with a shrug and a smug more for me then, he licks the rest of your essence off of his fingers. 

“I could go for a second helping.” 

The sentence barely leaves his mouth before you find yourself parting your thighs to welcome him back.

Through the course of three months, you find yourself being taught various lessons from Osamu. He teaches you to mind your manners and refuses to fuck into you, choosing to tease you with the head of his cock instead. 

“Not gonna fuck ya ‘til you say please.” 

Like with your tennis matches, it all boils down to a game of stamina. Who can hold out the longest? His tip is wet and sticky with pre, and you can catch every hitch of his breath as he rubs against your clit. You’re soaking through his bedsheets, his bed being the only comfortable piece of furniture he has in his “work in progress” of a bachelor pad. 

He practices breathing exercises with you when he pushes himself as far as your little throat can take him. Drool will be dribbling out the corners of your swollen lips, and he has your hair bunched up in a makeshift ponytail, strands sloppily wrapped around his hand as he watches you try to take all of him in your mouth. 

“You gotta breathe through your nose, baby. Atta girl, that’s my good girl.”

He teaches you that you like praise. 

He’s more observant than you realize. You can tell from the way he recaps and analyzes your matches with you after a particularly rough game, and you can tell from the way he’ll notice if the way he has you bent over the kitchen counter is uncomfortable for you. He knows you like the way he gives it to you hard, sloppy, messy. You have a meticulous training routine, every aspect of your life reduced to a bullet point on an itinerary from your personal coach. 

It makes sense that his sloppy kisses, the ones that leave your lips swollen, the ones that are less than kisses and more of just messy exchanges of spit, are your favorites. You like being reduced to a wet, boneless, fucked out little mess, and you like it because it’s all coming from him. He has a business to tend you, and you have a professional athletic career, and yet, the world is reduced to his barebones apartment bedroom. No tennis matches, no food truck deliveries to worry about.

Just your back pressed against his chest, the thin material of your athletic tanktop and his tight fitted compression shirt doing nothing to stop the searing exchange from both of your bodies’ heat. 

“Told ya I’d teach you a thing or two.”

All you can do is close your eyes and lose yourself to the overwhelming pleasure of having him buried to the hilt inside of you. 

“You’re so good for me, ya know that?” You like the way he grunts out the words, punctuating each word with a thrust that has you clinging to his forearm, both of his hands wrapped tightly around your stomach so you can stay still, stay easily accessible for him. “You’re not just my good girl, you’re my best girl.”

You let his words of praise soak you to the bone. You’re letting out desperate, high-pitched, needy whines, and there’s no more holding back on his end. He’s fucking into you with the stamina and strength that rivals some athletes. 

You finish first; you always do. You tried, once, to get him to cum before you, but once he caught on to your little scheme, he stretched your body, had your legs folded and sore as he fucked into you almost angrily, like getting him off before you have is something he takes personal offense to. 

He’s addicted to watching you cum. The way you can’t control your body, your tight, always stressed out body that only seems able to relax when he’s smothering you, his body heat getting lost and mixed up with yours. You fit so perfectly against him, under him, on top of him. When you cum, you tilt your head back, resting against his shoulder. Your eyes look dazed, almost like you’re unable to see straight, but he stares at you, smiling as he realizes that every time you cum, you can’t help but search for him. 

When he finishes inside of you, you think you’re close to cumming again. The rush of hot, thick heat flooding your now-sloppy insides has you whining so cutely, he almost wants to start fucking into you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets you rest, gives you a minute to catch your breath. 

“I don’t normally do this, y’know.” He sounds a bit out of breath, and it fills you with deep satisfaction to know that you’re capable of having this effect on him. It’d be embarrassing to be beat in a contest of stamina when you’re the professional athlete here. 

“So you’ve said.” 

Osamu is busy with his business, and you’re busy with tennis. The two of you know that there’s not a lot of room for a relationship, but the two of you are also well aware of the fact that there’s something more to this than just good sex. It’s obvious in the way he holds you, and it’s obvious in the way you let him. He wants to cook you good food and to meet his mother, and you want him at all your games, to dedicate your victory speeches to him. 

“I wanna do this right.” And he’s so sincere when he says it that it makes your heart flutter, gives you the unfamiliar sensation of butterflies in your tummy. “I wanna take you out on dates and for you to meet my family.” 

“I’ve never been in a relationship.” You admit this to him, even though he already knows. “So, I wouldn’t know what’s the ‘right’ way to go about it, anyway.” You peer up at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “But you promised you’d teach me a thing or two.”

“Yeah?” The word comes out breathless, full of anticipating, wanting, hope.

“And I think I really don’t mind being taught every once in a while.”

[rizsu]

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.

[dodger-chan]

AO3 is down? Okay, well here's about 900 words of a story I don't think I'll ever finish

Edit: now on AO3

The Alibi

Clearing Eddie Munson’s name went against every instinct Jim had honed in his years as a cop. Munson was bad news. A drug dealer. A born criminal, in and out of Hawkins Police custody since he was a kid.

Admittedly, no small number of those early detentions were more about trying to track down his father than anything Munson had done himself. He’d been an uncooperative shit, though; always insisting he knew nothing while sporting bruises fresh enough to prove his old man hadn’t been gone very long.

If Jim hadn’t known for a fact the kid was completely innocent of the three murder charges. If he hadn’t been told by Henderson, both Sinclair kids, the good Wheeler, and Harrington and his girlfriend that Munson had been instrumental in beating back the monsters beneath Hawkins. If Jane hadn’t looked at him with loving expectation, hadn’t been so sure her old man would make fairness and justice align, well, Jim wasn’t sure what he would have done. It wouldn’t have been this.

This being escorting the Harrington kid to the hospital to sneakily convey the plan to Munson, and then ruin his life.

Ruin Harrington’s life, that is. It might save Munson’s. 

----------

Jim recognized Wayne Munson from all the times he’d come down to the station to claim his nephew. Wayne looked older than Jim remembered him. Eddie, pale with blood loss and handcuffed to the bed, looked younger. He didn’t know the officer standing guard in Munson’s room; a new hire while he’d been in Russia.

“It’s family only,” the officer instructed. Jim frowned at him.

“I'm not here to visit.” Jim wasn’t the chief anymore, but he still knew how to talk so the lower ranks would listen. “I’ve found Munson’s alibi.”

He shoved Harrington forward. The kid reached a hand out towards Munson, looked at the guard and stopped. He stiffened his shoulders and placed his hand on top of Munson’s. Not a bad performance.

“I thought the cops would ask me about our last date on Friday. But they didn’t come around.” Harrington kept his eyes down, but spoke to Munson. “Why didn’t you tell them? Did you think I’d lie about being with you?”

“Maybe? The whole ‘no one can know’ thing seems pretty important to you.” Between the handcuffs and the IV drip, Munson couldn’t really shrug. “You still take girls out. You took a girl to the game that night, even.”

Harrington had said Munson would figure out the plan quickly, that they wouldn’t need to feed him very much information. Jim hadn’t expected he’d not only get the gist of the plan but be able to fish for useful information as well. He was impressed.

“And took her home right after so I could meet you.” Harrington raked a hand through his hair. “You know the girls are just for show. So no one suspects. I don’t… I don’t sleep with them anymore.”

“That’s enough.” The officer looked between the two young men, then at Jim. He obviously wanted to take Harrington out of the room and interrogate him properly, but wasn’t sure he could leave his murder suspect. 

“Munson’s not going anywhere,” Jim pointed out. “I’ll keep an eye on him while you call Chief Powell.”

The officer nodded in deference to Jim’s air of authority. He left, taking Harrington with him to keep the boys from discussing their stories any more.

It clearly hadn’t occurred to him that Jim might help them get their stories straight. Ideally, he’d speak to Munson alone, but presumably the elder Munson cared more about keeping his nephew out of jail than the truth.

“Right, so after your club meeting-” Jim started. Munson interrupted him.

“I drove to Steve’s place. I parked my van in the woods so none of his neighbors would see it. Like I always do.” Munson rolled his eyes. “I got there first; let myself in the back. Steve got there maybe five minutes after me. We had a fight, about Steve taking girls out. Again. I will spare you and Wayne exactly where that led, though I expect the police will request all the details, perverts that they are.”

“You got all that from ‘date last Friday?’” Jim asked. It was almost exactly the story Steve had told him. Not the same words, not the same point of view, but the same events. 

“No, I got it from ‘last date, on Friday,’” Munson corrected. Jim wasn’t sure why the difference mattered. “So our last date, but like it happened on the Friday before Spring Break.”

Jim frowned, confused. Wasn’t Harrington pretending to be dating Munson? He looked over at Wayne, who seemed as lost as he was.

“I thought you broke up with that boy?” Wayne was apparently lost in a very different place than Jim was.

“I did, though, under the circumstances, I may omit that detail. Unless Steve is planning to say I dumped him before I left that morning?”

“He isn’t.” Harrington had asked if the alibi would sound more believable coming from a current or ex-boyfriend. Jim had thought a break-up the day of the murder sounded too convenient. Not that either would have been credible enough to clear Munson’s name if the Feds weren’t around to put their thumb on the scale. Harrington’s story was more to get them to place it on the side of Munson being released rather than blackmailed into a plea agreement.

“Then I guess he and I are officially back together.

[cheriladycl01]

And who are you? - Oscar Piastri x McLarenHeir! Reader

Plot: Granddaughter of Bruce McLaren comes to a race.

Warning: I think maybe some people have considered this a little misogynistic. Obviously women in motorsport has improved and gotten better, but there are still issues involving this and I just wanted to bring some of them to light. I never meant to cause offence so here’s a little warning for that if it not for you!

Again this is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent anyone accurately!

You were the grand-daughter of one of the most iconic men in Formula One. Not only did he have his own team, but he drove for that team as well which resulted in McLaren sports cars all over the world.

When Zac offered you to come to a grand prix, everyone in the team was dreading it. From what they knew you were just another social media girlie obsessed with getting into an F1 race for the clout. However they were oh so wrong.

You'd been karting since a young age, and knew your way around all kind of cars. You were an encyclopedia of everything motorsport and cars. You'd gone to university and studied engineering so you knew more about it all so you were excited to speak to everyone.

You pulled up in your one of a kind McLaren X-FM, perks of sharing a last name with a car and having big stakes in the business.

"Zac!" you exclaimed as you saw him and run over to him. You pull him in for a tight hug and he hugs you back.

"How's my best girl doing?" he grins looking down at you and you nod furiously. You talk for a little longer before he leads you into the garage.

"Dude what are they all hovering around!" Lando asks looking at 9 or 10 of the drivers stood around something. Lando and Oscar walk over to see the most beautiful orange car in the parking lot. It wasn't rare to see beautiful cars at the grand prix because of all the drivers that were there but this was next level.

"Lando did you get a new car?" Carlos asks in awe, elbowing his friend.

"No, I wish this was my car!" Lando sighs running his hand along the edge.

"Oh my gosh, please please be careful if your touching my car!" you cry running over to all the drivers, you'd forgotten your bag of gifts for the team and drivers and came back to get them.

"T-this is your car?" Lewis asks in shock.

"Yes?" you say holding up the keys and opening the door, Charles looking at Lewis in shock.

"Can i sit in it?" Pierre asks looking at you with a grin.

All the drivers weren't only in awe of their car but the girl that had just come running up asking them to be careful of the car.

"Sure..." you say and let him open the door.

"Lando Oscar! It's great to finally meet you!" you smile, your bubbly friendly nature pulling them in for a joint hug. You watch behind them as drivers look inside the car and switch out whose sat in the drivers seat.

"And who are you?" Oscar asks crossing his arms over his chest, not looking to impressed at the current moment.

"Oh my names Y/N! I'm a guest of McLaren today!" you smile, and everyone there just fell in love with you even more.

"Wait... i know you. You're Y/N McLaren!" Max grins, and you look down with a blush.

"Wait ... you're Bruce McLaren's grand-daughter?" Carlos asks looking you up and down, and he was starting to realize Max was right. Your New Zealand accent being the biggest give away.

"Wait, so you like own the company?" Lando asks with a shocked look. You giggle a little before shaking your head.

"No, I have shares in it but I have to be 25 before the transaction occurs...!" you explain and he nods looking over you.

"I can't believe your here, that's kinda crazy! Why have you never come to a race before?" Logan asks kindly and you look down sadly.

"Bad memories for mum, wasn't allowed to go to one until I was 18 but by the time I was I was in university studying" you answer and they all nod, knowing how hard it must have been on your mum.

"What did you study?" Charles asks as his head pops up from hanging into the window on the other side.

"Engineering, your routes will always find a way back!" you grin.

"Oooo that reminds me!" you start to say as you open the passenger side door, it flicking up into the air as you pull the seat forward to get the bags out the back. They were neatly wrapped gift bags in the specific McLaren shade with little white bows.

"One for you!" you smile handing Lando the first bag.

"And one for you!" you grin handing another bag to Oscar!

"I erm need to get back to the garage I have so many questions for the engineers and the mechanics and I don't want to take up more of their time! So ..." you nod towards Carlos who was currently having a feel around in the car.

"Ah yes, I am very sorry!" he smiles getting out. You smile and lock the car before running back off towards the paddock entrance.

"She is nothing like I expected her to be when we first saw her!" Max smiles, liking your vibes.

"I don't like her!" Oscar declares and everyone's head snaps towards him.

"What do you mean you don't like her, she literally WHAT?" Lando almost laughs, looking at his friend and teammate.

"She's too nice... and like ickily perfect" Oscar frowns watching as she bumps into someone just inside the gates of the paddock apologizing profusely.

"Ickily perfect? Is ickily even a word?" Logan asks with a frown.

"No, but that is the only way i can describe it... there's something off!" Oscar declares.

"Mate come on, she gave us gifts and she let everyone look at her cool car ... just because you had one bad celebrity experience here doesn't mean they are all like that!" Lando sighs, before nodding for them all to leave and get to where they need to be in the garage.

"Guys I'm back!" you smile and all the mechanics and engineers look happy to see you.

"Here's my gift to the team!" you say starting to pull out all the baked goods you'd made for them earlier in the day. Brownies, cake ... you name it and it was there.

"Oh thanks Y/N!" one of them says jogging over, he takes a brownie and seconds later groans at the incredible taste that he's being welcomed with.

"So can i ask you a few questions about the suspension of the car?" you ask and he looks shocked for a second before nodding and wiping his mouth clean.

You chat with him for what seemed like ages, talking about the car and the improvements made since the last race and gradually more engineers had started to join in the conversation.

There was a group of people around you as you observed the car, close but not too close that you or McLaren would be fined, just observing the raw mechanics and engineering that went behind it. You pointed out certain things and sometimes it was just observation rather than questions.

"See!" Lando smirks towards Oscar after having watched you talk to the team for a few minutes.

"Okay so she's smart too and is actually interested in the cars ... but that doesn't change my opinion!" Oscar whispers to Lando. He was watching you animatedly talk to the engineers about the car, questioning where they felt the car was at this weekend.

“Dude … come on! What is it about her you don’t like? She’s basically our boss …” Lando explains before turning left and seeing the sweet treats you’d brought in.

“Look she even brought treats … that she baked these herself and wrote a little note for the team with a smiley face and heart … how … can you NOT like her” Lando cries a little too loudly making your head whip round.

You hadn’t heard what he said but he seemed a little distressed.

“Lando, are you okay?” You ask walking over to the duo making Oscar sigh.

“Y-yeah im fine sorry i didn’t mean to yell” he says sheepishly.

“It’s pretty loud in here anyway. I’m not surprised your having to raise your voice!” You laugh, raising your own a little as the sound of drilling and engines occur.

The weekend went by, and Lando stuck around. He was so polite and really kind. A little flirty but you didn’t mind because he was very respectful.

Oscar on the other hand you couldn’t read. He seemed to have this axe against you. This general dislike that you didn’t know where it had come from.

So you devised a plan, to pull him to one side. You stayed put in his drivers room waiting for him to come back from the race. He’d come P4 and Lando had a podium do it was a special weekend for McLaren.

“What are you doing in MY room!” His voice startles you from looking at your phone.

“Please don’t leave before I can talk!” You ask and he looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads.

“This is my room, your the one that needs to leave! I’m not going anywhere!” He cries with his hands up.

“Good, because I’m not leaving till you tell me why you hate me so much!” You ask and there’s an awkward silence of you both just staring at each other. You wait sitting politely on the small sofa.

“Argh I - I don’t … hate you” he sighs and you now look at him like he’s grown two heads.

“Oh come on! It’s so obvious!” You exclaim standing up.

“I don’t I just … don’t like when social media influencers come to the race” he sighs and you laugh out loud at the thought you’d been considered a social media influencer.

In some respect you were. You had a large platform and brands would take advantage of that. But it was purely your last name and legacy that got you that platform.

“I don’t know what your experience is like with celebrity’s who come here … but I’m not like them. Whoever has … swayed your opinion on well my kind of people” you mutter the last bit.

“Look I’m sorry for being so blunt and stand offish with you at the start. I didn’t mean too. Truce?” He offers and you mock a thoughtful look on your face before a grin comes onto your face that has him blushing.

“Truce Piastri! Now will you try a cookie for the love of god!” You grin showing him the plate you’d made just for him as he hasn’t eaten any of yours yet!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall l @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[beiasluv]

forbidden fruit pt.2 | charles leclerc

part 1

a/n: i wrote last part at like midnight, apologies for any typos 💀 enjoyy 🤍

‘y/n l/n and charles leclerc. forbidden love, rival or lovers?’

front line mercedes driver, l/n, and the ferrari driver, leclerc, had been seen having a conversation together before the grand prix in italy…

“y/n, question for you please.”

the conference room. same old same old. lewis, you, and george were seated together in front of thousands of lenses, ready to pick each and every length of your skin just to get a piece of information they could sell to the media.

it was the day before the big race in italy, the media was catching their eyes closely at all the drivers - especially you know which two.

“..yes?”

“about the incident after the qualifying round, what had happened with charles?”

the clicking of the pens and the scratching of the notebooks were starting to get you any minute. clearing your throat you grabbed the mic closer to your mouth,

“i’m sure charles meant no harm..we’re racers..erm…rivalry isn’t the furthest thing from us.”

“are you dating charles, y/n?”

alarms were set off in your mind. it would be a crime if george and lewis couldn’t hear them. you were nothing with charles leclerc. he’s the reddest flag of all. really. you were nothing.

"we," clearing your throat and grabbing your mic closer to your dry lips. "we're not talking on any terms."

smile, y/n. smile for the cameras.

"what are your thoughts on the ferrari team this season? any comments?"

the journalist raised his hands through the crowd, his pen almost fell off his lap from the enthusiasm.

"it was always a challenge to race with any team on the track, ferrari included," you nodded. "the ferrari has a strong car, they are one of the many tough contenders. obviously, every team wishes to win...and so does mercedes," glancing a tight smile at the interviewer who took the answer down the notebook. perhaps a little bit too messy for your driver's head to decipher.

"how about when leclerc saved you? any additional comment?"

"i.."

you caught lewis shifting in his seat; his hands started to calm up together in front of the mic, seated between the three drivers and the whole internet. you could only pray your zoning out was missed by the media and you know who.

if only you could express your infinite pain of being the only female in the male-dominant sport, no paper could ever hold just a nick of the feminine rage pregnant inside you.

how come the only question you got asked was about 'charles,' 'men,' 'dating' and never the sophisticated 'performance car racing' or the ones filled with personalities?

george russell, for the record, your biggest shipper, even chipped in. he pushed the mic closer to his face and looked dead into the camera - if looks could kill - "please, this is a mercedes drivers' briefing."

the tension is sky-high, or you could say: rocket-sky-high. george settled back in his seat as you threw him a quick thankful smile. only god knows what the media is going to make up this time.

'george to the rescue'? bullshit.

"lewis, over here please."

--

"y/n, leclerc's getting aggressive. be careful for an overtake-"

"copy-"

the adrenaline is rushing, flowing, and doing whatever the heck it can in your bloodstream. pushing the pedal as hard as your baby could possibly could, the wind rushed against your face. if it wasn't for the helmet you had on, your face would've been cut like it were a thousand knives thrown at you.

looking to your right you see the infamous red ferrari again, surging with the wind and springing out against the green grass beside the track.

"leave space! you fucking-" you muttered as your fingers tick all the necessary buttons of the formula 1 car in order to keep your position above the ferrari. "what the fuck is he doing!"

praying the car tires could take a bit more, you applied as much pressure you felt comfortable on your baby for the first place behind the checkered end line. you glanced at the body behind the mask of the helmet as you continued to push and pray, push and pray.

if only you knew the ferrari was reciprocating the act.

what was important was you finishing above leclerc - mercedes finishing above ferrari, of course.

"leclerc! y/n! leclerc! who's going to win?! would he complete the overtake?!"

holding on to your steering wheel for your dear life, you saw something of a maroon color rushing to your side. perhaps it was the speed of the car that distorted your vision or was it something in your cheeks?

shut up-

"leclerc! leclerc! leclerc! ferrari have gained another victory home! ladies and gentlemen, charles leclerc!"

"fuck!"

the cracking sound from your radio chimed in your ears - at the worst time possible - "y/n! 0.02 second behind leclerc! P2!"

yeah, thanks. thanks for rubbing it in your face that leclerc had beaten you once again.

"..thanks," slowing your car down against the wind, you came to a halt after the race line; obviously at a considerable distance behind the red ferrari. climbing out and plastering on a fake smile for the media and your beloved fans.

--

the monégasques national anthem was blasted through the speaker throughout the whole podium. any fan knew this song belonged to any of the leclerc and ferrari, for now.

holding your hands in the comfort of in front of you, you tried to remain calm throughout the whole song. nevertheless, your heartbeat was beating fast for the obvious reason after the race.

the shit-eating grin was plastered on the driver standing on P1. can you even blame him? congratulations, you had beaten your rival for the longest time and were placed on P1 while wearing your infamous red suit.

while you were wearing your notorious mercedes's fire suit on your waist, just like all the drivers on the grid (and charles), you grabbed the champagne bottle as the others did so.

"good one, leclerc.”

you sprayed the champagne straight onto the monégasques’s back, maybe it was a little intentional that you shook the bottle a little harder for more pressure of the liquor.

no hard feelings, of course. you only knew his hair was soaked under the cap on his head and the tingling of the bubbles down his neck.

how unfortunate.

charles smirked back as he aimed his half-empty champagne bottle at you, "it's still not a date."

what.?

seeing you in your stunned state, he lowered the bottle to an acceptable level. leclerc cleared his throat and wiped the foam of champagne off his upper lips and chin; looking back with the biggest annoying grin on his face, "congrats on the podium. next race?"

oh, how you wish you could smack his grin off his mother fucking face again. rubbing it into your face.

the media..the media. breathe in, breathe out.

"will do, 16."

--

"congratulations on P2,"

toto patted your back as he entered the mercedes's headquarters. how lovely it is to see his drivers bundled up in his room, once again, after a race 'gone wrong.'

"what is it this time," he sighed as he lowered himself to his chair, not ready to be resigning the team principal position for a therapist for his driver.

the room was your comfort zone, safe to say. the picture of toto's kid, susie, and all of his essentials to complete the job for a team principal. crashing into his room with george wasn't an abnormal thing in your team, nor was it the first time of your career with him.

"they kept asking if you're dating charles, huh?" toto grinned as he faked wipe his mouth for the dramatic effect.

"i'm sick of it-"

the environment of the room shifted - for the better, surprisingly. also. did you mention the fact that this room felt more like a therapy session than a team principal's room?

and. wikipedia got it wrong, it was: toto wolff, team principal and CEO of mercedes, and a part-time therapist.

perfect.

"i'm sure we've put on a great fight," toto nodded towards you, the unspoken tension of the media was killing you inside out.

"i'm sick of the media, toto-"

george shifted next to you on the black sofa, "who knows, they're just trying to write a story out of nothing."

"it'll be the death of me if I have to continuously declare my love life on the internet," resting your head back on the back of the couch you did.

the coldness in the room was cleared by a bit as george snaked his arm around the back of the couch, he whispered into your ear, "you don't have a thing for charles..do you?"

"i hate you."

--

"night, toto. night, george."

bidding toto and george goodbyes, you grabbed your bag from the floor and beeline for the exit door.

the hotel bed is calling your name like a mantra at this point. the race was mentally and physically exhausting, what could be better than a nice, warm bath and a soft bed waiting for you?

the sky was pitch black, darker than your deepest thoughts in solitary, but the pitch was never dark. thanks to the eyes-scorching light to illuminate the track during the night races.

“sup lando..sup daniel”

“good race, l/n.”

walking past a couple of drivers, quick and friendly nods were exchanged as you head for the garage for your beloved mercedes.

and for the love of god, the eyes of the ferrari next to your mercedes were ignited.

how could this get even better?

making your way into the garage, you tried to be as quiet as you possibly could. digging in your purse for the key was a painful ride to ride.

'ah, found it.'

your fingertip dug into the muscle memory as you press the button you hoped was coded with 'unlock.'

fuck.

how gracious of mercedes to make the unlocking sound so loud. so loud that it caught the attention of the ferrari driver. so loud that leclerc's neck flicked towards the sound of your car and you swore you could feel his grin growing.

the second slowed down by a quarter as you seized the handle for the door and swung your bag and body inside the car. perhaps it was not fast enough for the P1 winner today as he made his way next to your car before you could even shut the door. ignoring his steps as he teasingly walked over to his ferrari and played with the key in his hand.

"you put up a great fight for the first place," he grinned. "next time.." he opened his ferrari,

“eyes on the track, l/n.”

"how-...don't you worry about it, leclerc," you scoffed, hiding the beating of your heart. fucking hell- stop beating so fast-

raising his eyebrows in one quick, swift motion, he entered his ferrari, "of course." the driver was fully engulfed by the shadows of the vertical door, but his eyes were still looking into yours, "nice drive today."

"you too."

--

your phone screen screamed it was 2 in the morning, but who cares? the tiktok on your phone was a little more entertaining than seeing charles off the track - okay, maybe a lot less - but the thing so addicting about tiktok was a life mystery for you.

curling up to your side, your phone was plugged into the wall next to your bed, your hand starting to get numb from holding your phone for too long.

asmr. f1 edit. asmr. f1 edit. asmr. f1 edit. you were going to go mad. for the love of anyone, if you see one more edit of charles leclerc on your fyp, you are going to throw your phone out-

honestly, you wouldn't lie that you enjoy an edit of yours once in a while, but hell, charles leclerc..fucking leclerc...who told him that he can look so fucking fine after a horrible race from the ferrari?

you were almost tempted to slam your phone on the nightstand and get some sleep for the night. also. who cares if you wake up late tomorrow?

knock..knock

"oh, come on," you cursed. the audacity to knock at 2 in the morning?

you swung yourself off the comfort of your hotel bed and tiptoed towards the door of your room. your pajama short and oversized t did not help with providing the necessary warmth.

peaking through the cat-eye, you saw the last thing you were expecting.

charles leclerc, in the flesh. he was leaning one of his arms on your door as he was about to raise his hand for another knock.

"gasly! open the door-"

"have a problem, leclerc?"

gosh, you wished you could take a pic of how terrified he looked. shit. was he looking at the unbearable state of yours, or what? short shorts, oversized t, and your hair-

"y/n- i'm-"

squinting your eyes, you adjusted to the light of the hallway, "gasly's not here."

silence engulfed the air between you like a buffet. he continued to stare blankly at you. gosh- could he stop with his dark, green, eyes- fuck. "…leclerc?"

was it the tension or your ears going deaf - you weren't sure - that made you couldn't even hear his - probably lame - excuse of why he knocked at your door at 2 in the fucking morning.

what did matter was the blabbering of his mouth traveled through one ear and straight to the other, just like an f1 car, speeding on any straight path-

"-i think i'm fucking in love with you"

"charles...don't."

charles stopped - his breathing, his steps, his brain, and whatever he could be conscious of. you started - started leaning onto the door, started clutching the other hand to the door blocking the other half of your heart from his.

"what d'you mean 'don't'?" leclerc's mouth was gaped, letting the least amount of air in to keep his heart beating - for you.

retracting your hand, and the door, away from him; you still found his hand in the comfort of over yours, the one that you held onto the door to not fall onto the wooden floor of your hotel room.

every breath you took was a sharp nick on your lungs, but you've managed to heaped out, "i'm sorry, charles-" just in time before your lungs would betray you.

"why?...why?...please-"

"why? -really? why?"

finally regaining the willpower to look back at him, and not cry, you were greeted with his reddened eyes, "what the fuck do you want with me-?"

"you- you could go around and tell me all these nice things in front of my face and- and god knows what you've been calling me behind my back-"

his grip on your hands tightened as he opened his mouth again, but you cut him short- "it drives me crazy- fucking crazy that you act all so nice to me when we've fought our whole lives against each other."

"...what ever happened to all of your loathing glares when i'm on the podium?"

who cares what the sleeping people, ghosts, or whoever the fuck on this floor hears. you were done with cradling your heart as far away as you could from the pitch. it was stupid. fucking humiliating, at least, that you've found yourself back - back at the start.

all the effort to fight for your place on the grid as the only female driver and all of your effort to carry your dignity above all the scandals came crashing down just for a second of your selfish desires. was it so bad to want love from someone who really cares for you all your life?

dancing, kissing, crying, loving. was it so hard to deny when it is literally in front of your fucking face? under the reddest flag of all.

you wished and prayed every day that the races would be over soon so you could stop seeing his shit-eating grin, his eyes, his remarks, his cologne filling the air whenever he walked past.

charles stood in silence, unmoving, as if the time had stopped. if only you knew he was trying- trying to find the right word to express this weird sensation in his brain, his chest, his fucking heart. they all just ended up tangled in italian, frech, and english. mon amour. my life-

"..is that how you really think of me-" he felt slightly betrayed by his wrong tone, but even more by your thoughts.

"you think- y/n- you think i'm just trying to tick you off the podium?"

"..are you?" wiping the tears that betrayed you and escaped from the comfort of your eyes. "look- look at all the headlines- 'mercedes and ferrari.' is this really the- the condition you want to love under?"

"i'll love you under any condition i want," he breathed shakily as he continued to hold the door of your room open. who cares about the ruffled sheet you left or your phone uncharged by the bed?

"there's nothing between us-"

"you have a girlfriend for fuck's sake!"

"it's a PR relationship! and who cares what the media thinks? i'm not doing ferrari any good by confessing my heart raw to you-"

"you think mercedes is getting anything out of this but rumors? i've fought the press for all my fucking life from the scandals inside the pit-"

"this isn't about mercedes, and this isn't about the goddamn media-”

charles ran his hand through his messed up hair, "and I would have thought you knew that..."

"maybe- maybe i don't. maybe i'm too scared to love again. maybe i'm too scared of what would happen if we ended on a bad note. maybe i'm a coward for not wanting to open my heart for you.

-maybe i'm stupid...for you"

"you're not stupid," he said- decreasing the gap between you two, trying his hardest not to reach to wipe your tears.

"we won't work out," you sighed. "we'll focus on our drives, we'll fight, you'll leave."

"please," charles grabbed your waist and pulled you in, once again - you gave in. "i'll make it work."

all your walls came crumbling down as you broke down like a dam on his shoulder. you buried your face onto his chest and gripped his shirt until you didn't care it would crease. a mantra of apologies came out of charles's mouth that you wouldn't even waste an energy to decipher.

his hands found their natural comfort in your lower back, rubbing in lines of traces and tracks you'd spend the rest of your life trying to decipher.

tucking a piece of your hair behind, he kissed all of your tears away. his mustache which had grown since the karting days grazed your skin like they were made for each other. his cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling too much like an idiot in front of your hotel room..106.

you were still gripping his shirt hard, as he closed the space between your lips and his. it seemed like all of your walls were crushed to the point of no returning; towering over you, he pressed his body against yours like there was no more- like the last lap of the race.

the level of oxygen in your lungs was starting to set off an alarm in your head, but you didn't care. you were kissing the reddest flag of all in the grid and you were not regretting anything.

pulling away for air, he smiled against your lips; sending a wave of breath onto your chin.

"you have a lot to explain to toto."

"i'll have my ways..."

oh my goodnesss. if you like it, please do whatever you want to, I’ll appreciate it 🫶🏻

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, luvv 🤍

tag: @leclerclvr @buendiabebeta @be-your-coffee-pot @al-luvx

[romanarose]

I Miss You, Mr. Miller

DBF!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Joel makes you WET wet.

AKA

There's a pun here about eggs somewhere.

Warnings: Masturbating, sex toys, body worship, "little bunny", joel making sure reader knows he's old man, degrading, almost getting caught.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, dresses very feminine. Drinks and celebrates Christian holidays, not is christian but like family and culturally. Major age gap. Big girthy age gap but reader is 21+. Mentions of church.

A/N: Part of the DBF!Joel Holiday fuck series but you don't gotta read the previous part. I missed Easter OOPS so now we get a flashback.

1.3k words

You liked to start off slow, take your time with yourself. Hands, gliding over your shirt, feeling your body all the way down to your thighs. You learned this from Joel.

Sure a quickie was fun, especially under the threat of being caught, but Joel preferred to take his time with you. Likewise, you started to mimic this when masturbating. Joel you could, theoretically, take the vibe to your clit, put on some Gone Wild Audio and git’er done, but why? Why not show your body the appreciation it deserved. You were beautiful. You were sexy. Joel wasn’t the only one who could enjoy it.

Joel knelt before your spread legs, hands running up and down your pretty little Easter dress. Your dad had invited Joel over for Easter dinner, and you’d stayed in your dress all day to make sure he saw you in it. Joel was certain to show his appreciation.

“Such a pretty dress… such a pretty little bunny…” His fingers tweaked your nipples as he eyed you. “M one lucky old man.”

You giggle. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

Joel hummed. He loved when you called him that. Today, he’d had to hide the bonner he was sporting after you greeted him as Mr. Miller in your cute dress, hair all done up… he couldn’t stop thinking how he’d railed you in the church bathroom after Good Friday services… dirty, dirty girl.

Your hand skimmed over your clit at the memory… you might not need any porn this time, you were so turned on, so sensitive… you whimper at the first touch. Cupping your breasts, you try to get the feeling Joel gave when he touched them, but it wasn’t the same. Joel’s hands were large, rough, sure… Still, it felt good touching such sensitive parts of your body, and you sigh. You remember how much Joel praised you on Easter, touch yourself to the echo of his voice.

“Darling, beautiful girl… just look at you, cock dumb girl begging to be fucked with her dad downstairs… surrounded by teddies and pink frilly pillows… act’n like such a good girl, but you ain’t, are yuh?”

“Joooooel” You whine under his touch. “No, I’m a good girl…”

“Nuh-uh” Joel rips open your white tights to find you bare. “Good girls wear underwear to church.” he runs two fingers up your slicked up cunt. “Good girls don’t get wet for grumpy old men.”

You plunge two fingers into your core quickly dissatisfied so you add another. That makes you moan. You begin to pump them in and out of yourself, nowhere near as thick and god, not hitting close to how deep Joel hits you, when he fucks you raw. It’s wholly unsatisfying, but you were just getting started.

Joel finger fucked you, his two middle fingers pumping you at a rapid pace. “Naughty, naughty girl, little cunt clenching on my fingers… I can feel how tight you're getting, but you can’t cum yet… you wanna behave, don’t you? Or are you just as bad as I thought you were… Jesus Christ darl’n, can’t wait to get my cock up my bunny girl's guts again, shit, ‘m gonna miss you.”

Sarah was graduating college next year, and Joel was taking her on a road trip for a few weeks to tour colleges. Tommy had joked, saying he could ‘take care of yuh’ while he’s gone but Joel smacked him upside the head.

“Joel” you whimper. “I think… fuck… I think I’m gonna pee” 

Instead of getting off you, Joel grinned. “Keep hold’n, baby… Ima take care of you.”

You stuff your cunt full of four fingers, just trying to get a taste of what Joel left you with, a bit of that memory. Chanting his name, ‘Joel, Joel, Joel’ You chase that high that’s starting to build in your stomach. You remember how he fingered you, how he kissed your neck, arms, stomach, legs, every single inch of your body he loved so much.

“Joel!” You try to warn him again, but he’s not listening. Instead, he brings his face close to your dripping hole. 

“Let it go, sweet bunny, let go.”

Fuck. He edged you for 20 minutes, even as your mom walked past your door gossiping on the phone about Mrs. McKenzie’s nose ring. You’d warned him, now he’d deal with the consequences. Can’t be as bad as when you’d thrown up on him after St. Patrick's Day.

But when you let go, you cum. It’s hard, liquid shooting out of your body but it didn’t feel like pee. Your legs shake, body seizing up in shock from the sheer force of your orgasm. Joel laps it up, hungrily devouring your, drinking you up like you were communion wine. 

Vibrator on your clit, you remember how Joel ate you out as you came, grinding his hips against the bed, small little moans escaping his pretty little mouth, he bucked and licked and humped and sucked, growling when you stopped and eating you out until you came again, desperately biting your lip to not scream his name. Here in your apartment, in your own bed that Joel carried up here on Presidents Day, you could scream if you wanted to. And you did. Your orgasm hitting you, you keep the vibrator to the exact pressure it was at and ride out your orgasm wishing it was on Joel’s face.

Joel kissed you, his soaking wet face and beard all over yours as you lay there in shock, completely spent from the orgasm. 

“What…” You pant. “Was that…” 

Joel couldn’t keep his mouth off your skin very long, only barely managing to mumble that you squirted. “Such a good girl, oh my god, I was wrong, you’re just, fuuuuck, such a good fuck’n girl…”

You smile against him. “You gonna fuck me or what, Mr. Miller?”

Joel ground his crotch against yours. Wet. “Your little stunt make me cum in my pants like I’m a fuck’n teenager again, yuh lil brat.” He flicked a tit playfully.

Once every last bit of pleasure was exhausted, when you had cum your hear out to the thought of Joel fucking Miller between your legs, loudly and proudly. You sit up and smile at the phone at you pillow, still recording. You make sure to save the voice note in messenger, then cue it up to send it to Joel.

Sweet Thing: Use headphones, don’t open around Sarah ;)

*Send* You fall back on your bed, smiling.

“Joel?” Your dad called along with your name, making you startle. “I know you’re in there!”

You look to Joel in a panic, eyes wide and scared. Not scared of your dad, perse, he was good natured. Scared of disappointing him.

Your dad again. “Your boots are still at the door and it’s too muddy to go outside without em, open the damn door.”

Joel turned to you, whispering. “I’ll take the fall, it was my idea.”

You and Joel both stand, looking more proper. Joel’s black pants covered the fact he came in them, and your dress covered your ripped tights“Joel, no-” But he cut you off with a stern look.

“Ima take care of you, darl’n, understand?”

You nod. Joel unlocks the door and your dad steps in, arms crossed. “I know what you two are doing.”

Joel steps forward. “Listen man, it ain’t her fault.”

Your dad held out a hand. “Hey, I don’t care if you guys smoke weed together.”

You blink. He thought you were sneaking off together for a blunt? “Oh… you don’t?” You don’t smoke weed. Joel does, but you never found much interest. 

“Nah,” He waved his hand. “Just do it behind the garage, okay? It ain’t legal here yet. The neighbors can see your window from here.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Right, right, thanks man.”

“Thanks dad, sorry.”

Your dad chuckled. “I’m the cool dad, remember!”

 Your dad was absolutely not cool, but he was fun. A good dad. And you and Joel dodged a bullet, but you needed to be more careful. You run off to pretend to smoke a blunt.

SORRY IM LATE YALL LMFAOOOOO

Lum to me: Are you not doing the holiday Joel series anymore ;-;?

Me: Did I miss a holiday?

YEAH JUST EASTER I GUESS

I relayed this story to Clem and said "not my fault, I don't celebrate easter anyway, Jesus means nothing to Jews"

Clem "DIDN"T YOU CELEBRATE EASTER FOR A CHUNK OF YOUR LIFE?"

She's right! but she didn't have to say it :((((((( lmfaooooo

Anyway I did a new chapter of this AND and new Room's on fire so, y'all'er welcome XD

Check out my upcoming pride event!

hugs!

Im phasing out my taglist, so make sure to follow @romana-updates

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring

[mindmelter]

The Body Wearing Convention - Las Vegas

The BWA (Body Wearing Alliance) was formed 20 years ago when the internet was just starting to get popular. Those born with the rare ability of reducing people into wearable skins didn't knew there was more like them out there, but with the help of the internet they started to find others with the same ability, and soon it was created the BWC (Body Wearing Convention)

The Body Wearing Convention is a clandestine event that happens a few times every year, hidden from the prying eyes of the public, It is a secret event where they can gather, share stories, and find solace in the knowledge that they aren't alone in their power.

The BWC happens in a different country every time, for safety reasons, and the main two rules to participate in the convention is: To be a Skinwalker (That's how they call themselves) and to wear the body of a local from that place, that means you can't bring with yourself skins from home.

Currently the secret Alliance is made up of 130 men around the world. But among these 130 members, there are 10 men who are very close friends with each other, they all share one thing in common: They are all gay.

Surprisingly they are the only gay guys of the entire Alliance, while all the others sought power and money, these 10 friends only care about getting hard in a new sexy body, It was like a sport for them. That's why they created an online group chat, where they can talk and share pictures of their current bodies with each other.

The location of the BWC this time is: USA - Las Vegas.

The 10 friends all arrived individually at the city in an early Friday, the convention would occur during the weekend, so they had to find a new skin quickly, and so they went straight on a hunt for a random local body.

Think of the BWC as the Met Gala, but for people who can turn you into a wearable hollow fleshsuit in a blink. There was this unspoken competition among them, to see who was wearing the hottest or richest skin, and this group of friends clearly didn't care about the last one...

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Carl is a 46 years old married gay man, he is part of the BWA for 17 years, and there is nothing Carl love more than wearing the bodies of fit straight guys. His husband knows he's a skinwalker and is totally fine with it. But because his husband is not a skinwalker, he is not allowed to go to the conventions, so Carl always travels alone.

(Friday, March 1st. 8:19 AM) Carl Sent A Photo

Carl: I just turned this hot Latino stud in the hotel parking lot. He was walking towards his car while talking on the phone with his girlfriend. That's when I slowly walked behind him and turned him. What do you guys think? Do I wear him well?

Harold: You're looking so hot. You always pick the most hottest guys.

Elijah: Wow, you already found a body? That was fast.

Joel: He's not that impressive, I would give him a 6/10 lol

Elijah: Stop being a jerk Joel. This guy is clearly a 9/10

Carl: Don't mind him Elijah, he's just jealous of my pick.

Joel: He's not really my type, today I'm looking for a sexy tough looking guy to wear.

Peter: Hot choice of skin Carl! Show us his dick please!

Carl: You will have to wait until the Convention to see it. But i'm telling you, he's really big and thick, I know you're gonna love sucking it.

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David is 34 years old and he is part of the BWA for 13 years.

He first found out about his ability when his homophobic stepbrother was trying to beat him up, David closed his eyes and tried to protect his head, but when he opened his eyes, he saw his hot stepbrother lying on the floor completely deflated. David had the most fun years living the life of his douchebag of a stepbrother, until one day, his stepbrother just "disappeared"

(Friday, March 1st. 9:46 AM) David Sent A Photo:

David: I made two new bodysuits. I saw the handsome blond one at the hotel's pool, he was trying to seduce some girls by showing off his hot body, he just didn't knew he was actually seducing a skinwalker. To get him, I first had to convert this cute room service attendant, after I put him on, I got access to his room and walked inside. I think I'm going to use the attendant tonight for some fun.

Elijah: Oh, the good old room service method. It works every time.

David: It was you who taught me this method back in 2011 when I was still a new member of the BWA.

Damian: It brings back good memories from that one time where we all stayed at the same hotel in the 2011 Convention. Good times.

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Peter Is a 40 years old gay bottom who love to turn big hunky men into Bodysuits and act like a slut in their bodies. He is part of the Body Wearing Alliance for 9 years.

(Friday, March 1st. 11:28 AM) Peter Sent A Photo:

Peter: Do I look cute? This is Ramón, I turned him at an alley while he was jogging, he's a bodybuilder. I'm gonna make such a good use of his muscles. I'm sure you guys are going to love the muscles in his ass the most.

Joel: I love how you always pick the most biggest guys.

Daniel: I feel bad for this poor bastard, of all the Skinwalkers, he was picked by the most perverted one.

Peter: lol

Carl: He's huge. I'm going to enjoy burying my new thick latino dick in your bodybuilder's ass.

Harold: I really like his pecs. I want to suck on them when we meet tomorrow.

Peter: It's always the pecs for you isn't, Harold? lol

Harold: You're not lying. Actually I just saw this hot guy at the mall and he seems to have very big pecs. I'm going to follow him.

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Harold is a 28 years old scrawny gay man, he has no muscle definition, but he love pecs and it was what he first looked for in a body: Their huge pecs. If the guy didn't had two big meaty pecs, he wound't want them.

He went to the local LA mall to hunt for a body, he knew that the mall was always the perfect place for hunting skins. And he was proven just right when he saw this big and tall hunk walk inside a clothing store. Harold smirked as he entered the store and followed the man.

(Friday, March 1st. 1:05 PM) Harold Sent A Photo:

Harold: Who want some milk boys? Daddy got all the milkers now.

Peter: Oh my god, look at the size of these tits. I will let you suck on Ramón's tits if you let me suck yours.

Harold: This sounds like a good deal.

Carl: Very nice choice of skin! Good job, Harold.

Peter: Can you send a video of you playing with those hairy tits and pinching his nipples? Please?

(1:15 PM, Harold Sent A 20 Seconds Video To The Group Chat)

In the vídeo he was in the middle of the store, squeezing his new pair of meaty hairy pecs, he lifted one of them and let go, watching them bounce, then he pinched his left nipple and let out a deep loud moan. Without feeling any shame for being in a public space. It wasn't technically him who was being humiliated in public, so he didn't cared.

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Damian and Rashad are a black gay couple (47, 49) they have been together for 11 years and they both had met each other during a Body Wearing Convention back in 2013. It was very known to everyone that they only turned white men into Bodysuits, it was their favorite type of skins. So there was no diversity in their Bodysuit closet, only white men.

(Friday, March 1st. 3:07 PM) Damian Sent A Photo:

Damian: You guys know how Rashad and I love to hunt white boys, so what better place to find some white skins than at the LA beach? We saw this group of young frat boys surfing and we converted these two 19 years olds, they were just the most handsome ones in their group. Turns out they are twin brothers.

David: This is such a hot pair, and the fact they are brothers makes it even more hot!

Carl: I want to fuck the long haired one with my thick latino dick while I pull his hair.

Damian: I like this Idea. His long hair would be great to use as a handle for a hard fuck. I might even try It later tonight.

David: Send us a video if you do.

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Joel is the youngest one of the group, at only 19 he already has a count of 86 Bodysuits, and he's part of the Body Wearing Alliance for only 1 year. That's why, the BWA leader tasked Elijah, a veteran in the art of wearing bodies, to watch for Joel and not let the young man expose their secret society.

(Friday, March 1st. 5:14 PM) Joel Sent A Photo:

Joel: My new bodysuit is still deflating. I can't wait to finally wear him and show him to you guys. He's so hot.

Carl: You gave my bodysuit a 7/10, so he better be a 10/10.

Isaac: Wow he's packing.

Harold: When he deflate, please send us a pic of you in him. I want to see if his front looks as good as his back side.

(Friday, March 1st. 5:40 PM) Joel Sent A Photo:

Joel: I'm inside him now. I saw this sexy daddy at the hotel's bar. I waited for him to go to his room and then I followed him, as soon as he opened the door I converted him, right there at the door's entrance, I mean, of course he took a bit longer to deflate, so I had to drag him inside. I actually wanted to wear a scary looking soldier that I saw at the bar, but Elijah didn't let me. Still, I'm very glad with my pick.

Harold: Holly fuck!!!

Peter: He's a very sexy bodysuit. Wish I was there to give him a very special room service.

Carl: Where is Elijah by the way? Should he not be with you?

Joel: Elijah Is outside, I don't know where he went, but he said he was going to be back soon.

Carl: Did he picked a bodysuit already?

Joel: Yes he did, a young and hot fuckboy. Let me send a pic of him.

Joel Sent A Photo:

Joel: This is the body Elijah picked to wear at the convention tomorrow. I think he got this one at the hotel's bathroom maybe? I'm not sure. I hope he don't mind that I'm wearing his brand new skin.

Elijah: Boy, you're in big trouble!

Joel: Shit, I'm sorry, I thought you wouldn't mind. I'm gonna take him off.

Elijah: Don't you dare taking him off, I'm not going to wear him anymore, I found a better body to wear tomorrow. wait for me, I'm getting up there right now.

(Friday, March 1st. 6:22 PM) Elijah Sent A Photo:

Elijah: You don't want to disobey me in my new body, boy, so you better be on your knees when I get inside, I'm horny and this guy have big balls full of cum.

Joel: Yes sir!

Peter: Oh yes sir indeed!

Carl: lol you're fucked Joel.

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Isaac is a 24 years old gay man, and like everyone else in this group, he was addicted to wearing hunky men. He is more reserved and shy, and don't talk much in the group chat. However, he enjoys jerking off while viewing the photos his friends would send to the group chat.

He might be the most shy and reserved in the group, but once he's wearing a handsome hunk, he becomes a whole new different person, a more dominant and cocky one.

(Friday, March 1st. 8:37 PM) Isaac Sent A Photo:

Isaac: Seeing you guys wearing such hot bodies is getting me so freaking hard. I can't wait for tomorrow. I got this one at the gym's lockerroom. Who wants to take care of my boner?

Peter: I do! I want to get on my knees in Ramón's body and let you use his slutty mouth.

Harold: You're looking so damn hot, Isaac, good pick.

Carl: Was you working out? Your skin looks very sweaty.

Isaac: I was. I wanted to test out my new muscles.

Carl: Great. Can't wait for the convention tomorrow, where we can finally see each other's bodies in person and have the orgy of the year.

[slttygeto]

SIX THIRTY | KAWATA TWINS

synopsis: you were part of their childhood, their best friend and maybe even more. but are you down to let them love you in a different way?

content warning: threesome, both nahoya and souya fuck you (not at the same time), unprotected sex, p in v, cunnilingus, pet name (baby), they are willing to share you (and you accept of course).

word count: 3,7k 

note: thank you to the lovely @mztoman​  for supporting me as an artist! commissions are still open by the way :) 2 slots are left!

Sharing is part of any twin’s life growing up. Food, toys, maybe even friends—at one point, you get used to the fact that what is yours is also your twin sibling’s. Now, Nahoya and Souya didn’t exactly enjoy that, but it did help grow their bond stronger. From joining Toman together, to having the same group of friends—the brothers grew attached to one another and even made promised to always protect the other when in danger.

You were nine when you first met the Kawatas; rebellious, a duo of troublemakers, but funny and sweet—you remember first meeting them on the playground of the apartment complex you and your parents had just moved in. Something about having orange and blue hair could never go unnoticed, and soon enough, they started a conversation with you.

“You are new here,” the orange haired is the one who speaks first, his twin brother hiding behind him. That gave you an idea on their dynamic.

Plus, he wasn’t asking you, he was stating that you were new here—that he has never seen you before, and you were nodding along to his sentence.

“I am,” you were as tall as them, confident but a little shy. Nahoya noticed how you kept wiping your hand on your skirt nervously, and cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Are you scared?” you weren’t, but they seemed so… cool. You didn’t have friends, and your parents warned you when picking who to hang out with. And when you saw the orange haired one fighting those who bullied his brother, your heart called out for them.

“No,” you start, a little unsure if you should say this next, “I just think you’re so cool.”

And that blew Nahoya’s mind away. He’s been called a troublemaker before, mainly negative stuff regarding his behavior or outbursts but…cool? Only Souya has called him that, so this felt new.

Souya on the other hand was a little jealous. His brother was getting all the attention for being the hero and coming to save the day, and what was he getting? Nothing. It made his child brain feel all fuzzy—he was upset. He always sported an angry look, but he knew that right now, he was pouting.

“Here,” you reach your hand towards the younger twin who immediately looks at what was in it. A handkerchief.

“You should wipe your face with it, or at least get your mom to clean the cuts. Mom says cuts can be ugly when they’re not treated fast.”

Even at a young age, you’ve always been such a sweetheart. So caring and full of love. You had so much to give and expected nothing in return—truly a blessing.

So it was no surprise when years passed by, and you were still friends with the Kawatas. Although ‘friends’ is far from what you would define your relationship with them.

There was a hint of a friendship there, but on the surface it seemed as the two men were completely and utterly obsessed with you (and rightfully so). They weren’t sure if you felt the same, if you would go as far as they would for you. But one thing was certain; they wanted more than just a friendship.

From your point of view, you were close to them. You’ve seen them grow into handsome, strong men. They were still doing what they always did—being in a biker gang. It didn’t seem that serious at the time, but the more you looked into it, the darker things got. They told you everything you needed to know about Toman, but they tried their very best to shelter you from the dangers of their job.

 Nahoya

Coming home for dinner

Souya

We’re bringing pizza, don’t cook anything.

 There it was again, the princess treatment.

Even a decade later, they made sure to remind you that you didn’t need to lift a finger when they were around (and you appreciated that greatly). Things happened, you grew up and moved into your own place and they still made sure that you apartment wasn’t that far from where they work. Ensuring that they could pay you a visit whenever they could.

And soon enough, they were at your doorstep. They didn’t need to knock since they had a spare key, so you didn’t bother to pause the show that you were watching when you heard the rustling of keys outside your door.

“What if I was trying to break in,” came Nahoya’s voice first, and you flashed him a smile from your position on the couch.

“Then you would be one sloppy robber,” you teased, looking behind him at his twin brother who was taking off his shoes. You noticed that he had carefully placed the pizza boxes on the counter and your eyes sparkled when you noticed that it was from your favorite place.

“Oh my god! I’ve been craving pizza from this place!” you got up from the couch, pulling them both in a hug. “Thank you both, so much.” You say before planting a kiss on each of their cheek.

They shared a knowing stare, one that you always said was creepy twin telepathy, but this time they hoped that you wouldn’t push them away or find them weird.

To put it in short words, you felt like home.

Never in a million years did they think they would sit down and talk about having feelings for the same person—hell, they even thought that they had different types.

But then you came along, like the sweetheart that you are, and proved them wrong. They were aware of how unusual it would be if they were to admit that they liked the same person and were willing to share her so casually, but they didn’t care (and it’s not like people couldn’t tell that they were infatuated with you).

And as you ate dinner, unaware of the bomb that was about to be dropped on you, the men chatted and laughed with you like it was any other day. They didn’t want to risk ruining your night, or potentially lose you as well—but liking you has been consuming them whole, taking up so much of their time and thinking and something needed to be done. No matter the outcome.

Souya would be lying if he said that he wasn’t nervous that you would pick one over the other, mainly because he thought (and was so sure) that you would pick Nahoya over him just because of how much you two bicker. You’ve shown him how much he means to you, cuddled with him after a horrible day, and even cooked his favorite meal—but the man was just so sure you would not choose him.

Nahoya stands up from the couch and turns off the TV. You are confused for a moment, even go as far as to smack his shoulder.

“What was that for? I was watching!” You were met with complete silence from both men who usually nagged you about the shows you watched.

Growing aware of how quiet the men suddenly got, your stomach twisted in a mixture of confusion and anxiety—what was going on?

“Guys?” your voice was small, and they felt so bad that they were putting you through this.

“I actually—well, we actually have been meaning to talk to you about something.” Nahoya starts, and he looks over at his twin brother to let him continue.

“Oh god, are you two moving out? Did I do something?”

“(Name),” Souya cuts you off, and this is the first time you heard him use such tone with you. He couldn’t blame you, you were nervous and things suddenly took a turn for the worst, rambling was a very natural reaction.

“You guys are scaring me,” you were near tears, and they both wanted to do nothing but hold you and tell you everything will be okay.

“We are not leaving you, we’re not moving away either it’s just—“ how was he supposed to say this now? Planning it out was easy, but saying it…fuck, he was so scared of what might happen when it finally comes out of either his or Souya’s mouth.

“We like you.”

What?

You were frozen, lips parted in shock. This was not what you were expecting to hear on movie night—it was supposed to go well, be enjoyable and fun and now they were--

“We do, and it’s not just me or just him which is really fucking unusual—we can’t really imagined letting the other have you because it’s unfair, we wouldn’t normally do this with just anyone—“ Nahoya continues. This was actually happening.

“And you’re not just anyone…I’m really sorry sweetheart,” Souya adds, sensing just how confused you were.

“You can take all the time that you need to give us an answer, we’re leaving in a bit for a work trip. And no matter your answer, nothing will change.”

“…nothing?” You ask in a small voice, and if it was any other day, they would’ve dropped to the ground. You had that much effect on them.

“Nothing, I promise. Movie nights will still be a thing, we will still come over when you’ve had a shitty day—it will still be us,”

It has been exactly five days since the last time Nahoya and Souya came over. You’ve managed to think everything through, tried to come up with reasons as to why you might not feel the same way. How it could potentially ruin the friendship, maybe you didn’t find them attractive? Bullshit. You just couldn’t find a good enough excuse.

You did like them back—craved being with them, but the idea of dating two men has always seemed new, foreign. You could only imagine the weird stared as you walk down the street holding hands with both—but then again, who cares? You knew you wanted them and no other person, you couldn’t think of anyone who could make you as happy as they do (and have done for the past decade). The thought of losing them scare you to no end.

You went with no contact with them for the past one hundred and twenty hours—you were anxious, a little scared even if you knew you had nothing to worry about. You did like them back after all.

Maybe it was the fact that you had gone out and bought yourself new lingerie to surprise them that made you so nervous. You were waiting for them to walk through your door and be pleasantly surprised when they see you, maybe a little shy and taken aback? You just knew you wanted their jaws to drop and their hands to be all over your body.

And soon enough, you were hearing a very familiar sound of keys rustling at your door. You were sat on your couch in one of Souya’s large hoodies, no bottoms and socks Nahoya that had gotten for you for your birthday, what was hiding under the large clothing would soon enough have them swooning for you.

It was silent when they walked in, the blue haired male making an entrance first and expecting you to be asleep—which you weren’t.

“Hey,” you exhaled nervously, fiddling with the hem of Souya’s baby blue hoodie. You felt exposed, vulnerable under the guy’s stare. And it only worsened when his twin brother appeared next to him.

“Hey pretty,” Souya started, a little unsure of what was going on. Nahoya on the other hand was pretty quick to catch onto your little game.

He leans against the door’s frame with a little grin that never seemed to leave his face. It was mischievous, playful—he could tell you were blushing.

“You’re such a treat, aren’t you?” Nahoya says in a whisper, and Souya’s eyes light up at the suggestive tone. So this is where things were going.

You didn’t flinch, nor stare at them weirdly when the older twin spoke, and that alone gave Souya the green light to slowly approach you. Pulling you up and towards him, you were a bit taken aback that he was the one initiating things and not Nahoya (having always thought that Souya would be a bit more submissive in bed, but you weren’t complaining).

“I’m gonna need a verbal response before I do anything,” Souya whispers, but his voice in loud enough for his brother to hear. They needed to make sure you were okay with their confession, their proposal to share you and if any of this was making you uncomfortable.

“I’m all yours,’ was what you said, before Souya’s lips were kissing yours with so much passion. His fingers quickly went up to the back of your head to gently grip your hair, pulling you closer to him.

He was such a passionate kisser, nothing like you imagined—but again, you weren’t complaining. Your hands rested on his shoulders as your lips moved against each other, it felt so perfect to have him up against you like this. His hands then traveled down to your ass, softly gripping the flesh over the fabric of your (his) hoodie before letting out a groan.

You were far too gone from Souya’s kiss to notice Nahoya slipping behind you, while you kissed his twin brother and let him feel you up, he pushed your hair away from your neck to plant gentle kisses to the skin. You’ve always been a tease with the outfits that you wore, showing off parts of your body that they craved to touch, kiss and love on the same way they were about to.

You were truly blessing them right now.

“Wanna take it to your room?” Nahouya whispers in your ear, grinning at the little moan you let out against Souya’s lips when his lips leave yours to press hungry kisses on your throat. Fuck, they were so good and you weren’t even getting to the good part.

“Bed, please.” And who were they to deny their little princess?

The trip from the couch to your room was very short, mainly because your legs were wrapped around Nahoya’s waist as you kissed, his legs getting you there faster, while Souya tagged along in the back. They didn’t bother to lock your room’s door before Nahoya was plopping you down on your mattress, and jumping back on you to kiss you again.

His kisses were a lot gentler than Souya’s, a tad more playful and definitely enjoyable. Your hands traveled up to his hair, tugging at the roots to let him know that he was doing such a good job (although you grinding up against him was enough encouragement).

Their dynamic in the bedroom was already showing, because while Nahoya was on you like a beast, Souya was taking his time ridding himself of his jacket and shirt, anything that could get in the way of feeling your skin against his. So impatient and needy, but fuck it was so attractive to watch him that eager to feel you.

Pulling away from the kiss, Nahoya’s hands played with the hem of your shirt, silently asking you if he could take it off. You didn’t hesitate as you took it off in one swift motion, watching as the men’s jaw went slack at the sight of you in the pretty lingerie set you had just bought the other day.

This is the reaction that you wanted.

“Pretty?” your voice was small, shy but you knew what you were doing. Nahoya’s hand went to the back of your neck, pulling you back into a deep kiss as his other hand went behind your back to undo your bra, freeing your boobs in the process. You felt the other end of the bed dip as Souya joined on top, his hand immediately fondling with one boob.

“Fuck, you’re such a tease.” The older one says as he pulls away from your lips, tracing his tongue over your neck and down to your chest. While Souya’s hand was massaging one of your boobs, Nahoya takes the bolder approach and licks at your hardened nipple. This makes you hiss, eyes staring down at the two men worshipping you like you were a goddess.

Souya lets go of your breast and leans down, mimicking his brother’s action and engulfing your boob in his mouth. You were growing hot and bothered, your moans were uncontrollable and filled the entire room within seconds of having their mouths on you. You could only imagine what was about to come.

It felt as though they heard your thoughts, because they were pulling away from you at the same time to fully strip themselves of their clothes. Their eyes were filled with lust, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

Nahoya was silent as he pulled you down towards him, hands gripping the back of your thighs before pushing your knees to your chest. He admires you for a second, breath stolen from him at how fucking needy and ready you were to have them fuck your brains out. So fucking pretty.

“Think I won’t take your panties off, you look pretty good in them.” He teases you, lips brushing against your ankle before he was staring at his brother, waiting for a response.

“Push them to the side though, I wanna have a taste,” Souya’s voice added in, and Nahoya was quick to get off the bed while still holding your legs against your chest. He allows Souya some space between your legs, and watches as you eagerly try to look at how he was so eager to taste your pussy.

“You like it, hm?” You nod in response to Nahoya’s question, a shy moan leaving your lips when you felt the other one push your panties to the side and lick a stripe at your clit. His tongue felt warm and wet, pressing the right way against you. Your hips bucked with every lick, and the louder you got, the more prominent the bulge in their pants became. Your neediness sent the blood rushing south, your teary eyes and pouty lips were so tempting, but Nahoya promised himself that he would get to fuck you first and missionary. He wanted you to look at him while he fucked every single thought out of that pretty head of yours.

Your first orgasm of the night washed over you so nicely, Souya’s lips kept kissing and pressing on your clit even as you tried to push him away. He pulls away for a second to kiss your thighs, and watches intently as Nahoya takes off his boxers and lines himself at your folds. The tip of his cock teases your entrance for a moment, takes in how wet and ready you were for him, before pushing in slightly.

“Hold on tight baby,”

That was the last thing he said before everything around you started feeling fuzzy. His pace was unforgiving, sharp thrusts hitting the right spots all while groaning in your ear about how fucking good you felt wrapped tightly around him. Nahoya had a foul mouth, kissing and licking at your neck while praising you and your pussy for taking his cock like a champ. Wet sounds filled the room, the squelching of your pussy as he pounded into you was the only thing that you could focus on despite the obscene words leaving his mouth.

Souya was sat on the bed, watching as his twin brother pounded into you and left you a drooling mess. His cock sat heavy on his palm as he stroked it, letting out a few moans that caught your attention and had you taking your eyes off of Nahoya for a moment before said man was reminding you of who you should be looking at.

“Eyes on me baby, I’m not done with you.” His hand wrapped lightly around your neck, and he leaned down to press his forehead against yours to stare deeply into your eyes. His hips were driving against yours at a dizzying pace, each thrust, each stroke of his cock getting you closer to a delicious orgasm.

It only took another few strokes and a kiss to your lips before you were cumming around him with a loud cry, your thighs shaking around him. Nahoya helps you ride out your orgasm sweetly, reaching his own high right after you. He kisses you softly, brushes your sweaty hair out of your forehead. And soon enough, Souya was replacing his brother’s position between your legs.

“My turn.”

He kisses you sweetly as he pushes himself in, apologizing that he was too needy to wait and promises to make it up to you when you’re done. Unlike his twin brother, Souya takes it slow and is careful with his thrusts. They’re deep and calculated, watching every twist of your face with careful eyes to make sure he’s hitting the spots that make your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Oh baby, you feel so good.” Souya whispers against your neck, his pace getting faster the tighter you clench around him. Your hands find his hair and you’re slightly pulling at it as you feel yourself approaching your high, your high pitched squeals encouraging the blue haired guy to keep doing what he was doing.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” Nahoya comments from his position on the bed next to you, soft hands caressing your cheek as you let Souya absolutely ruin you to the last moment. Your teary eyes meet Souya’s lustful ones, so dark and filled with desire to absolutely ravish you. He wanted to make sure you knew how you made him feel, how this was nothing compared to what he wanted to do to you once you settled down. Eating you out everywhere, fingering you in the car, eating you out while you sucked his brother off—so many plans.

“So close,” you whimper out next to the blue haired male’s ear, and he’s quick to start rubbing on your clit, observing how your jaw goes slack only after a few, gentle rubs. His eyes take in how your thighs shake and your entire body lifts off the mattress as you cum around his cock. He hisses at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, pulling out to paint your thighs with his release. The sight of you with your pussy leaking Nahoya’s cum and your thighs covered in his cum was something. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your stomach and watches as Nahoya’s arms wrap around your waist to pull you towards him to cuddle.

“You did so well,” Souya kisses your arm, before getting off the bed to go grab a towel to clean you up. While cuddled up against Nahoya, you nuzzle your face in his neck and whisper something that has his heart leaping out of his chest.

“I love you both, so very much.”

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[crypticminx]

Enemies to lovers au ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Felix Catton was a popular student body that seemed so utterly artificial to you.

From his lean, supermodel like body to his outrageous facial piercing and even his ridiculously expensive clothes—everything seemed to irk you to no end.

Even the man’s whole life and every teeny bit of information you heard from gossip sounded like something that sprung from an unrealistic movie.

What made it even worse was his attitude, one that wasn’t too far off from the cocky cliche types you had no patience for in high school.

While you would sit and mind your own business, your mind attentively focused on the information in your textbook, you’d see him happily stroll on by—his hand always intertwined with a girls, of course. It almost infuriated you how those girls would chase him around like love sick puppies, a poor character trait on their part.

There were so many other men on campus, but only one Felix and that was the problem.

Felix this and Felix that, couldn’t you escape him for just one second?

It appeared not, as when you found yourself smoking a cigarette to escape the party filled atmosphere for a quick minute on the balcony of a flat, which belonged to someone’s name you didn’t even know, in walked the man himself.

“Got a light?” he asked you, interrupting the peace that was supposed to be your only moment of freedom from the obnoxious drunks inside.

Taking a minute to observe his flushed face, a result of one too many beers, you hesitantly handed your lighter to him after fetching it from your purse.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking a few clumsy seconds to light the cigarette poking through his lips.

In perfect unison, you both painfully stood in silence, keeping your distance from each other as nicotine would slowly trail down both yours and his throat and release with each exhale. The two of you creating quite the cloud of foggy smoke.

“I’ve seen you around, y’kno,” he took a small drag, gently tapping off the ash growing on his cigarette.

If this was his way of starting a conversation as an attempt to bring you home with him, he was doing a miserable job.

“I’ve seen you too,” you replied, sounding disinterested as you continued to face the distance ahead as opposed to Felix.

“Always got your head in a book, drinking beer by yourself,” he slowly dragged his feet as he circled around you. “…giving me dirty looks whenever you have the chance.” You couldn’t see it, but you knew he had to be sporting one hell of an arrogant grin.

No, he wasn’t trying to take you home, he was flat out insulting you.

Rolling your eyes with a disdainful expression, you tossed the remaining cigarette to the stone cold ground, crushing its entirety in one stomp.

Okay, if he wanted to play this game, so be it.

“What’s your point,” you questioned him with hostility, feeling your blood boil when his face was sporting the exact look you pictured it to.

“My point is,” he swallowed, his structured jaw clenching, “even with all the drinking I’ve done, I can sense you don’t like me.”

You found it comical, not even ten minutes with him and he was getting to all the nitty gritty. You absolutely pitted any girl who spent more than twenty minutes with him. you could probably name a few.

“And do I need to like you, Felix?” You inched yourself closer to him, not caring if you crossed some sort of stupid boundary that was created between the two of you.

“No no, of course not darling,” he shook his head while you cringed at the subtle name calling. “But nobody likes a bitch.”

Oh, he was a fucking piece of—

“However, you’re the fine exception.”

Your eyes squinted with confusion, finding yourself surprised that you weren’t about the cuss the tall man out. Instead, pure tranquility roamed through your composure as your mouth didn’t budge.

“What if I kissed you?” He interrogated you, his voice was loud and serious, not one ounce of alcohol collided with his system to say the things that flew out of him. “Would you still dislike me then?”

“Excuse me?” You aggressively spat out, starting to feel more frustrated than full of your previous rage.

“I said, what if I—“

“I heard you!” you profoundly interrupted him, coming to your senses that all your douchey assumptions about him were right.

“Wait,” he called out, almost sounding desperate like he had some good point to be made.

You refused to let this silly conversation continue for any second longer. Dashing straight for the the door, but one swift tap of your shoulder and suddenly you found your back against the brick wall and Felix’s lean arms alarmingly barricading you from exiting.

“I also know that you’ve got the highest grade in our lit class.”

Great, so he was gonna make some joke out of that too.

“And when I read your work that was on display, I found myself in love with how beautiful your writing was.”

It was a simple assignment. A poem based on a classic Shakespeare play, you just happened to have chose a midnight summers dream. Felix’s favourite.

“You….,” confused eyes scanned him up and down as you tried to picture him reading any sort of literature, “like poetry?”

“I like pretty girls who can write,” he flashed a confident smirk before his body mindlessly pushed him to do something he hopefully wouldn’t regret.

He leaned his tall frame down to the perfect level of letting his lips slowly embrace yours. The second you felt the softness from them, you wanted to pull away with all your might, but a weak part of you felt curiosity win you over.

As his tongue danced away with yours in circles upon circles, the taste didn’t stench of alcohol. Instead there was some sort of sweetness to it, something that made it all seem worthwhile.

Closing your eyes in an amused way of defeat, you savoured the moment from the long kiss. Soaking up his touch that maybe felt too alluring once his hands smoothly made way to your hips. You could feel the ambience of enjoyment twinkling it’s way in the air and you wondered how the hell you got here.

Felix was as good of a kisser as he was an asshole.

Breaking free from a passionate kiss turned make-out, you witnessed a side of Felix that almost made every negative aspect of him vanish from the depths of your mind. You trailed back to the very feeling that was his lips on yours and you wanted to possibly continue as you noticed Felix looked just as stunned as you.

Until—

“Felix, mate,” a man with piercing blue eyes and dark locks popped his head out the door, looking at the two of you dusting yourselves off while trying hide your sheer content that sprouted in the form of rosy cheeks. Luckily, his pal didn’t seem to pay any sort of mind. After all, this was typical Felix behaviour.

“Been looking for ya, get your ass inside and have a shot with me!”

“Duty calls,” Felix whispered in your ear, holding your soft hand for a quick second before letting go, even though it was clear he didn’t want to.

As he was about to part ways from you, he stopped before he turned to you for one last time before the two of you would go your separate ways into the long night ahead.

“See you around, if you’re not too busy with all your books.” He blew you a cheesy kiss.

You didn’t say anything to his antics, instead you tossed him your final smile, while on the inside, you were squealing with foreign joy.

Fetching another cigarette to help you process what just happened, maybe he wasn’t so bad after all…

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Gossip: knight!price x princess!reader

The joust had been such a horrible mistake and you were paying the consequences, even if it was your mother’s idea.

The fact that your mother had started up another round of trying to find you a suitor added to a growing anxiety that hadn’t left you since you turned of age to get married. It made everything harder; your studies, your mood and everything else suffered and on top of it the joust added more to it.

You didn’t care for any of the lords who had competed that day, especially the one who had practically begged you for a gift that you felt pressured into it. Neither of them were particularly good men, you knew how much they jumped around from woman to woman from your ladies in waiting, and they only sought after you because you were a princess.

They didn’t like anything about you, saw you only as a pet or a prize to win to make themselves look better because they didn’t know you.

They would never know you so they would much rather beat on each other in the name of winning you over, when you would never watch it willingly.

“The captain is back to training today.” You heard your ladies in waiting behind you and you frowned. “I havent seen him in action yet.”

That was another reason why the joust had caused issues.

For the past week Sir John Price had been the talk of the court. He was the best knight in the kingdom, everyone knew it, but he had never performed in front of others, only fought in battles. His performance brought an uproar of affection towards him but you couldn’t see it.

What good was senseless violence? Especially in the name to impress you, as if you wanted to see people hurt each other for your entertainment.

You wanted to be impressed but you just couldn’t. It looked bad on him, the violence for sport rather than need, it was beneath him in your opinion.

He was much more refined than that. Much more chivalrous and mature, which is why you couldn’t hold your tongue.

Barbaric may have been a little harsh but you didn’t like to see him act in such a manner.

For some reason you didn’t want him to be like everyone else, you wanted him to be different.

“He trains the other knights so well.” Another lady swooned and you rolled your eyes.

You couldn’t escape him, not when you wanted to leave the castle to find alone time and now when he was gone. It was like he was tormenting you without him being here.

“And he’s incredibly disciplined.” One do your ladies in waiting, Katherine, said and you clenched your jaw.

Katherine was one of your closest friends so you knew that she was fond of your knight for a couple months now. She was beautiful and very high in nobility but she was well within the range that Sir John could marry her if he was interested in that.

They could be wed as soon as they both deemed it the right time, if he showed interest, and they’d be the most beautiful couple in the court.

The thought made your chest oddly tighten.

“Katherine, if Sir John were to propose to you tomorrow, would you accept?” You wondered and she immediately became flustered.

“Well…I think I’d ask him to court me first but I wouldn’t say no.” She explained and you hummed.

Would she say that if she knew him as well as you did? If she spent so many hours of her day with him as he stubbornly refused to give you space or become irritated when you teased him too much?

It shouldn’t matter to you. If they wanted to be together, they should be together. It wasn’t like you could marry a knight and it wasn’t like you wanted Sir John Price specifically.

Yet the thought…the thought hurt.

“You should speak to him soon, then.” You suggested with poise.

“Your highness, you flatter me.” She laughed and you smiled. “He’s married to his sword and his oath to you, to get in the way of that would be a disservice to the crown.”

“I implore you to please take him off my hands.”

You all laughed together and tried your best to ignore the rest of the conversation about him until you parted ways with the ladies.

For once you managed to get into the garden by yourself and though the idea of running into the nearby forest crossed your mind you didn’t moved from your spot in front of the pond.

Your mind was plagued with problems. The Queen’s pressure for you to get married, the countless suitors who treated you like an object, your lack of freedom, the weight of the crown and the country on your shoulders, the fact that your mother had told you she was the one going to choose your next suitor with or without your input.

Your life had never been in your hands but now it was being played with by everyone else.

And now the added grief of Sir John Price being married? Why did it bother you so much…?

“Should I be worried you’re still here?” Price’s voice caught your attention.

“Worry if you must, I’m just thinking.” You told him absentmindedly without looking at him.

He was worried. He had noticed the entire week that you had been more quiet and reflective than usual. He noticed the way your brow was constantly knitted and the way, despite the many years of practiced etiquette, you digested with your hands.

You were anxious and stressed, and while you were able to hide it from everyone else, he saw it. He had a few thoughts about what it may be but he never voiced it.

“You and Lady Katherine,” you said and he raised an eyebrow.

“What about her?” He wondered and you eyed him carefully.

“Tell me what you think of her.”

Price have you a confused look. He didn’t think about her, not really. Of course he was polite to her and had spoken to her on many occasions but it was never anything he would call personal.

Was she becoming an issue? Did he need to step in on behalf of the crown?

“Not much.” He said truthfully and regretfully that gave you some relief. “Is everything alright between the two of you, your highness?”

“Oh yes, everything’s fine.”

You hoped that your friend would find a better man to pine over, one that would be interested in her and treat her fairly.

It cleared your mind a little mc the fact that he wasn’t interested and you were able to focus yourself better. You took a deep breath and composed yourself.

“I won’t be needing you much for the rest of the day, I’ll be in library.” You told him and he gave you a look.

“Do you expect me to believe that?” He shot back and your eyes narrowed.

“I am not in the mood for your scrutiny, take it elsewhere.”

You walked away from him without letting him argue further because you were going to spend the rest of your day in the library.

Who would ever see anything in a man like him?

A/n: had to balance it out with jealous reader lol

@deadbranch @makayla-666