#he came faster than i expected | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 11 months ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky.

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely.

Total quiet.

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?”

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?”

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?”

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…”

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?”

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.”

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.”

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh.

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated.

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry.

“Spencer?” you ask quietly.

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?”

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups.

“Where are you?”

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him.

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.”

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?”

“Where was I?”

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed.

“Still where?”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.”

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk.

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.”

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.”

“…What?”

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.”

“I annoy people.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here.

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?”

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection.

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?”

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly.

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?”

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.”

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says.

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room.

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark.

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly.

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!”

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer.

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask.

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again.

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.”

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath.

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers.

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year.

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.”

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.”

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!”

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity.

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek.

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.”

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly.

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says.

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway.

“I don’t want to be alone forever.”

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates?

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess.

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol.

“She kind of looked like you.”

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.”

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.”

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Is that why you make all your jokes?”

“What jokes, babe?”

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.”

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.”

“Spencer, you remember everything.”

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.”

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him.

You’re happy to.

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled.

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse.

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully.

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally.

“Can I come home with you?” he asks.

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.”

— —

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.”

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.”

“So you want three?”

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.”

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time.

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?”

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him.

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory.

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that.

The avocado is making him feel sick.

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?”

“I think I'm gonna throw up.”

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes.

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button.

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.”

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.”

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.”

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now.

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said.

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say.

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again.

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.”

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do.

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask.

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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nicholasgoodgirl · 3 months ago

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on set - nicholas chavez

summary: you came to bring nicholas food on set and he looks too good you gotta help him get off or maybe you're just doing it for yourself.

warning: oral (m receiving), almost caught ig.

a/n: i need this man bad 😩

i park my car and get the takeout my boyfriend asked me to get for him while he was on set.

i knocked on his trailer a few times then being met with him, Nicholas i can't lie he looked undeniably good.

a part of me feels bad because he's getting put into character for this role and i liked it. every bit of it.

the way his hair is styled, paired with the old money clothing. he was perfect. "you good?" not sure how long he was trying to get my attention but i just nod and walk into the trailer.

"you gonna be free tonight" i ask. Nicholas sits back down in the chair. "uh i don't think so" he checked the message he was given earlier this morning before coming to work

"yeah, no i won't be free why?" he asks giving me the perfect opportunity to perhaps get a quickie in before he has to actually get on screen again.

i walk up behind him, giving his shoulders a little massage then kissing his neck "I'd really liked if we could do something later" i try hinting to him that i wanted to fuck and im sure he caught on rather slowly than expected but he still did nonetheless.

"at work? what a needy girl" he coaxed. he took my hand in his and brung me infront of him.

nicholas manspreads his legs a bit so i can stand in between them "how bout you get that pretty little mouth to work then"

his cocky tone and the light pat on the side of my thigh; a signal for me to get on my knees sent my need for him through the roof.

i sunk to my knees not breaking eye contact. "this is what you wanted right?" he asked me with a smirk.

i give him a nod. but that wasn't enough for him he brings his thumb to my mouth dragging it across my lips "use your words baby" he cooed

"yeah- yes.. i want to do this." i fumble with his belt buckle, his eyes burning into my skull making me feel intimidated by his gaze.

i get the belt undone and pull his pants down, he lifts his hips a bit to help. "doin' so good already but-" he picks his phone up checking the time "-they're gonna need me in atleast 7 minutes" he places the phone back down.

his hard cock is freed from the confinement of his boxers. i put the head of his cock at my lips, kitty licking the tip before putting my mouth around him.

a low grunt is heard from him encouraging me to sink my mouth down further.

he grabs a handful of my hair and carelessly pushing my head down, i gag on his dick and im quick to remove my mouth off him "stoopp" i whine

"alright im sorry" he takes his hands away from my hair and puts them up surrendering.

a knock on the trailer door followed by a girl telling Nicholas he's needed on set. "5 more minutes!" he yells loud enough for the lady to hear from outside.

nicholas turns back to me and raises his eyebrows "see we don't have much time" he shrugs.

i wrap my mouth around him for the second time, already use to the length reaching the back of my throat.

he allows me to do whatever i please with my mouth; watching me take his length. i swallow around him and nearly choke when he accidentally jerks forward and thrusting down the back of my throat.

"shit.." nicholas drawls out throwing his head back at the feeling.

i change my pace, bobbing my head faster and using my hand to pump whatever i couldn't fit in my mouth. he whimpers softly, i looked up at him, his lips caught between his teeth, cheeks flushed and eyebrows knitted together while his eyes were screwed shut. perfect like i said before

"you're such a good girl f'me y'know that?" i hum in reaponse, the vibration around his cock made him moan loudly.

"sir are you ok?" the lady asked from outside; rattling the doorknob. "fine- just fine!" ,,give me one more minute please"

i swirl my tounge around his tip then using my hand to stroke him till he reaches his orgasm "m' close" he whimpers.

i put my mouth on the head of his cock and let him paint the back of my throat.

i wipe the sides of my mouth and rise from my knees while Nicholas pulls his underwear and pants back up. "lets finish up whenever i get home yeah?" he kisses my head and walks out the trailer.

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader

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giannaln4 · 6 months ago

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Wet Dream

lando norris x fem reader

summary: Lando had a wet dream and he needs to take care of it. (1.7k words)

warnings: mdni, + 18, smut, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, needy!lando

a/n: this might or might not be inspired solely by this picture. i'm not gonna lie, this is pure smut. i apologise in advance. also i'm sorry for the abrupt ending 😭 i never know how to finish these. anyway, please send some requests!

↺ back to navigation— send me a request!

The only thing that could be heard in your shared room were your moans, loud and desperate for a release.

You were on top of Lando as he held onto your hips for dear life, his eyes closing as the overwhelming feeling of his incoming orgasm started to grow.

“Are you close, baby?” He managed to spit out. He needed to make sure he didn’t come before you, so his thumb landed on your clit to bring you closer to the edge. Your moans were intensifying, and god, he loved the look on your face when you were about to come.

He opened his eyes and… nothing. Nothing but pure darkness.

He looked down at his crotch, only to spot his painful cock making a tent under the blankets. His breathing was heavy, and he was sweating a lot.

Fuck.

He released the bedsheets he didn’t realise he was fisting and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

He looked next to him and spotted you there, peacefully sleeping and completely unaware of the dream he just had.

He closed his eyes again, hoping he would be able to ignore his painful cock, but of course he couldn’t, because as soon as he closed his eyes, flashes of his wet dream and how undeniably beautiful you looked riding him came back to him.

He took another deep breath as he opened his eyes, once again encountering the dark room. His hand was slowly sneaking down the blankets, and when he finally found his bulge, he gave it a hard squeeze for some relief. He let out an involuntary moan, not loud enough so that it would wake you up, but the room was so silent he thought it would.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it in, so instead of trying to relieve himself right next to you, he knew the right thing would be to go somewhere else and not disturb your sleep.

He got up carefully and left the bed, looking back at you, before locking himself in the bathroom.

He sat on the closed toilet, pulling down his boxers and finally freeing his aching member. He squeezed it again, and again, and again, before he started stroking it slowly. His grip was firm, and his groans were low as he finally gave it what it so desperately needed.

Using his spit and the pre cum leaking from his tip, his strokes got faster, and Lando rolled up his shirt and trapped it between his teeth as he looked down at his hand, his mind trying to replace it with your pretty mouth. With that image in his mind, it got harder to contain his moans.

⋆｡° ✮ ⋆｡° ✮

You rolled over, expecting to find your boyfriend to cuddle, like you always did. Instead, all you found was an empty spot next to you. It was still warm, so you knew he hadn’t been gone for too long.

You closed your eyes again, figuring he’d be back in just a moment, but you heard something that made you open them again. A loud breath that you thought could only mean something had happened.

You got up immediately, worried as you made your way to the bathroom. But once you were close enough, it clicked. You finally understood what he was doing.

You were about to turn around, go back to bed, and pretend like it never happened, figuring he needed some privacy to finish his business, but something between your legs was begging you to help him out and calm down whatever had gotten into him.

⋆｡° ✮ ⋆｡° ✮

He was being louder than he intended, but it felt so good he didn’t even realise. His shirt was still between his teeth and his eyes now squeezed shut as he tried to bring himself to a sweet release.

His mind was replaying his dream, echoes of both of your moans filling his ears and the vivid image of you on top of him, something he wished he could plaster in his eyelids, until he heard a knock on the door that made him stop what he was doing

“You okay in there?” He heard you ask from the other side of the door. Shit.

“Huh?” Was all he managed to say.

“Can I come in?”

“No!” He was quick to reply, “I’ll be right out.”

He couldn’t help but be embarrassed, feeling like a teenage boy who was just caught getting off where he wasn’t supposed to. He was ready to just go back out and act like he wasn’t just jerking off to a dream he just had.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” You asked. You didn’t hear him say anything after that, and you instantly regretted interrupting him. Maybe that was something he needed to do alone. Maybe he needed a release but didn’t need… you.

Those thoughts were interrupted when you heard shuffling inside, followed by footsteps that got louder as he got closer to the door.

Lando opened it, his hair messy and his shirt wet from stuffing it in his mouth. “Yes, please,” he said with begging eyes.

You crashed your lips into him, pulling him back to the bed.

“I can’t believe you were doing that without me,” you said against his lips.

“I didn’t wanna bother you.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you into his lap, hands falling on your hips as he brought you closer to him.

You moaned when you felt his hard cock against you. “And keep this from me?” You asked as you moved your hips.

He bucked his hips involuntarily, the friction feeling delicious against your wet core. You kept moving on top of him as he discarded your sleeping garments, falling somewhere on the floor. You decided to do the same for him, getting rid of his shirt and running your hands up and down his muscles.

Neither of you could control the sounds that were falling from your lips, and yours only got louder when his right hand sneaked between your almost naked bodies to find your folds. He pushed one finger inside you, pumping vigorously.

“Mhm, already so wet for me,” he mumbled against your skin, his lips travelling down your neck.

“Couldn’t help it, it sounded like you were having fun in the bathroom,” you said, and you could feel a smirk creeping on his lips.

“Well, you drive me crazy even in my dreams.”

“Is that what happened?”

He hummed in response. “You should’ve seen how pretty you looked riding me.”

“Let’s make it come true then.” You pushed him on his back and got rid of his last piece of clothing, letting you see how needy his cock was.

You admired him for a moment, and you could see him struggling to keep his hands to himself. When you finally decided you were ready, you started crawling to get on top of him, your hands landing on his bare chest.

“Ready?”

“I’m always ready for you.” He replies, as sweet as ever. “Fuck, you’re so wet and beautiful,” Lando said, holding onto your hips as you began to get comfortable, both of your legs on either side of him. He gave your hips a hard squeeze as you got situated, just like in his dream.

You finally took his cock in your hand, stroking it slowly as you guided it to your dripping hole, a sigh of relief leaving your mouths when you sank down.

He groaned as his grip on your hips tightened when you lifted and sank back down onto him slowly.

“Feels good, baby?”

“So, so good.” His head fell back into the pillows when you rolled against him, and you couldn’t help but smile when he whimpered again. After a moment, he looked up at you. “Y/N?” He moaned your name, but it sounded more like a question.

You brushed a stray of his dark curls off his forehead. “Yeah?”

He let out another moan, his eyes falling to where you’re connected before meeting your eyes. “Faster, please.” And you listened, you began to ride him faster. “Just like that, baby,” Lando cried out.

You moaned as his dick spread you out. You began to bounce down faster and harder. Lando was losing his mind as he watched you move faster, your nails scratching down his torso. He was filling you so good he had you rolling your eyes to the back of your head every time his cock hit that sweet spot.

“Not gonna last long,” he warned you, his thumb finding your clit without even looking, although his eyes were on you the entire time, all of you, how your pussy looked as it swalowed his cock, how your boobs bounced with every roll of your hips, how your face contortioned in pleasure, and how your mouth fell open to let out the prettiest sounds he’s ever heard. He didn’t dare to look away; in case he was dreaming again, he didn’t wanna miss a single detail, and let’s face it, he didn’t wanna wake up this time.

“I’m close,” you breathed out, your legs burning from riding him, but you didn’t care; you only cared about how good he felt inside you.

“Cum with me, baby.” Both his hands returned to your hips, gripping them as he planted his feet on the bed to thrust up into you and help you move faster and more aggressively, trying to push you both over your edges.

Your own hand went to rub small circles where you were missing him as your other one fell on his shoulder to hold onto something, and before you knew it, you were coming around him. Your toes curled into the sheets, and your body trembled on top of his, making you fall forward and collapse across his defined chest.

"Fuck,” he whimpered when you squeezed him repeatedly.

Lando had to do all the work himself, thrusting his hips upwards to meet yours, because your body wouldn’t and couldn’t move anymore as your orgasm racked through you. With four hard thrusts to your cunt, his load of cum shot up into your pussy and coated your slick walls.

Your bodies laid together as you both tried to catch your breath. His hand was rubbing your back, and his lips left a kiss on your temple, something he always did after you had sex.

“So, you had a sex dream?” You asked after a moment of silence. Lando chuckled at your question, kissing your shoulder softly before replying.

“And you just made it come true.”

#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #f1 #formula 1 #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #giannaln4 writes

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coco-loco-nut · 8 months ago

Text

Gen Z

pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

summary: everyone seems to forget that Max is 26

a/n: not my favorite, but it’s something i’ve been working on for a while there will be no part two

requests open masterlist

—————

Breaking up with Kelly was extremely difficult for Max to do. Despite not being in love with her anymore, he was very aware of what would happen to P. Max knew it was better to break up than stay just because of P, so he bit the bullet. The next few months were lonely, having to readjust to being alone in Monaco with just his cats.

That’s when you came barreling into his life. Only two years younger than Max, you were a breath of fresh air for him. He really didn’t expect to fall for you, not so quick anyway.

You knew a bit about Formula One, but it was more to the extent that your home hosted a race, some drivers lived in the city, and your hairdresser’s son was a driver. It didn’t phase you when Max told you about his career and fame, you just thought the Dutchman was cute.

“Men who own cats are major green flags,” you told him over text when you first started dating. That might’ve been what really made Max fall for you. You made him feel young, understandably so. He was 19 when he first met Kelly, and she was 28.

Max taught you about the races, you helped him connect with his inner Gen Z. He taught you Dutch and how to game, you taught him slang and pop culture. The two of you were sitting on the couch a month before the Monaco GP, watching Cars of course, when Max asked you to join him at the race.

“Of course, anything for Lightning McQueen,” you squeeze his hand. You knew from TikTok that Charles, your boyfriend’s work husband, was Lightning McQueen, but how could that not be Max.

“Kachow,” Max says causing you to laugh. He has been watching the TikToks and reels you send him, usually something formula one or cars related.

Max is watching Cars 2 with you when he points out each driver in the movie. You store the knowledge in the back of your mind for when you watch classic races and Max explains things to you. You feel sufficiently ready for Monaco.

“Lewis, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Max introduces you to the Mercedes driver. You look at him, star stuck.

“I loved you in Cars,” you blurt out, causing Lewis to laugh and Max to hide his face in embarrassment. Max isn’t surprised, but he can’t believe this is how your first interaction is going. Lewis is just happy you aren’t with Max because he is a driver.

“Thank you, how old are you?” Lewis asks, ready to feel old.

“24, two years younger than Maxie,” you smile lovingly at your boyfriend.

“I forgot how young you actually are,” Lewis’s unspoken words hang in the air between him and Max. Now that you are dating someone closer to your own age.

Lewis’s statement seemed to be the general consensus when everyone saw you with him. Max looked and acted like he was 26. He was using slang you taught him, he was making pop culture references that he likely wouldn’t have known otherwise. He was getting to experience his twenty’s like he should have been, not as if he was much older than he was.

Lando was the most excited to meet you, not only were you his age, but you brought out Max’s inner child that Lando never could.

“I’m stealing your girlfriend,” Lando tells Max, wanting to claim you as his best friend.

“No,” Max deadpans.

“What if Lando is my bestie?” you ask Max, who can’t say no to you.

“Then I guess that’s okay,” Max kisses your temple.

“OMG, McLaren is doing another hide and seek video, you two should join,” Lando proposes.

“That actually sounds fun,” Max says, looking at you for confirmation.

“I’m in,” you smile, letting Lando lead the way.

The video is a hit, the fans are loving this version of Max. Max is loving this version of him too, for once he doesn’t feel like he has to grow up faster than he should.

“Stay away from her, she’s no good for you. Act like a grown up,” you overhear Jos tell Max as you come back to the garage from hospitality. You have yet to meet Jos, Max made it very clear that he doesn’t want you near his dad. The memes the two of you send back and forth are a good enough reason why, so you hang back.

“What do you mean? I am. I’m 26, why should I act like I’m 40? I am happier with her than I was with Kelly,” Max argues back, you hold yourself back.

“World Champions are serious, mature. Quit acting like Lando Norris and more like an adult,” Jos is seething.

“Ask Max to come back here, say the team needs him or something,” you as an engineer when you notice Jos getting angrier.

“Then why am I leading by a heavy margin already. You just can’t handle that I am putting myself first. What would you even know about being a champion? You never won a race!” Max yells. The engineer quickly cuts in and leads Max to you.

“You gagged him, baby. Are you okay?” Max hugs you, you just rub his back as he regulates his breathing.

“He’s an opp, for real,” Max mutters into your shoulder, causing you to snort with laughter.

“God, I love you,” you can’t contain the laughter. Max joins in, your smile is infectious.

“I did use it right, no?” Max asks between the laughter.

“You did, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you take a deep breath, calming down.

“No cap?”

“Alright, you are using too much. Where is old man Max, this is freaky,” you take a step back, the smile that remains on your face betrays your words.

“You got me into my gen z era, you get the consequences,” Max pulls you back into him as you groan in annoyance.

“I love you too,” he laughs, peppering your face with kisses.

And when a journalist is brave enough to ask about the shift in Max? He’s always eager to talk about you.

“My girlfriend forced me to watch hours of YouTube compilations about formula one memes. We are always sending different memes to each other, she definitely helps me remember to laugh more,” Max gushes.

“I guess we all forget that you aren’t nearly forty,” the journalist nods. Max answers a few more questions before finding you in his drivers room. He lays down on the couch, his head on your lap.

“What’s on your mind?” you run your hand through Max’s hair.

“Have I changed that much?” he asks, his blue eyes looking up at you.

“I don’t think so, I think you’ve just started being yourself around more people. You are still the same Max that I first met and fell in love with, everyone else is just seeing that Max,” you are confused about the question, but answer him. Max doesn’t reply, he just nuzzles closer to you.

“I like this version of me,” he says into your shirt a few minutes later, you keep playing with his hair.

“I’m glad, but I like every version of you, Max. Even old man Max,” you smile as he sits up.

“Old man? How about I show you how far from true that is,” there is a look in his eye that tells you that you just started something.

“And how will you do that?” you decide to entertain him as he slips his hands under your shirt.

“I don’t think I need to tell you.”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 grid #max verstappen #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader

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vunblr · 18 days ago

Text

Crumbs of Connection

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ just in case. Fluff.

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

Word Count: About 11.8k.

Bucky dragged his feet along the cracked sidewalk with slumped shoulders, as the chill of the night seeped through his tattered jacket. He was almost at the building he’d moved into a few days ago, but each step felt heavier than the last. The mission that was supposed to be a walk in the park had left him with a pounding headache, a sour mood, and a stomach that wouldn’t stop growling.

That’s when he noticed.

The little bakery on the corner was still open, its warm light spilling onto the dark street. He frowned. What kind of place stayed open this late? Before he could question it further, the smell of fresh bread, herbs and butter hit his senses. His feet carried him inside before his brain caught up.

The bell above the door chimed softly, and he stepped into the warmth. His eyes scanned the counter, landing on a tray of focaccia behind the glass display. Golden, perfectly crisped, dotted with rosemary and sea salt. His stomach twisted with hunger as he stared, almost entranced.

“Um,” a voice broke through his daze, soft but tinged with caution, “if you wait a little, I can fix something for you.”

Bucky blinked and turned toward the counter. The woman standing there wasn’t what he expected at this ungodly hour. She looked alert, not a trace of exhaustion in her bright eyes or the easy way she held herself. Before he could respond, she disappeared through a door behind the counter.

He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the light above the counter made his headache throb harder. A few moments later, she returned, holding a small paper bag.

“Here,” she said, offering it with a small smile. “It must be hard in this cold.”

Bucky stared at her, the bag, then back at her.

“What?” he rasped, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Don’t be proud now,” she said, firm but not unkind. “Just take it.”

His mouth twitched, halfway to a sarcastic retort, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind a basket of bread. Mud-streaked face, greasy and plastered hair. His beard was a week past needing a trim, and his split lip and tattered clothes didn’t help either.

He swallowed hard, suddenly unsure whether to laugh or groan. She thought he was homeless. His mouth opened and closed, and then he muttered, “I’m not a beggar.”

Her expression didn’t change. She just stared at him for a beat, then muttered, “Okay?” like she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Bucky squinted at her, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve had a bad night,” he said finally, the admission tasting bitter in his mouth.

She quirked a brow, with obvious skepticism.

“Can I just get a focaccia?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He kept his movements slow, hiding his bruised knuckles from her as much as possible. He grimaced as he came up with a crumpled bill and a few coins. He counted them twice, deepening his frown. He must have lost his wallet somewhere during the mission, or maybe it was back at the apartment. Either way, what he had wasn’t enough.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced at her, unsure of how to explain, but she was already watching him.

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, her gaze softened, though he noticed the faintest flicker of wariness still in her eyes. “It’s fine,” she said after a moment, with a gentle voice. “Just take it.”

Bucky stiffened. “No, I-”

“You’ll pay me back when you get some money,” she interrupted firmly, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “It’s late, cold, and you’re hungry. It’s not going to hurt me to let one focaccia go.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the look she gave him shut him up faster than he liked to admit. There was no pity there, just unwavering practicality like she’d already decided and wasn’t about to budge.

“I don’t need charity,” he muttered, the words falling flat even to his own ears.

“Good thing this isn’t charity then,” she shot back, arching a brow. “It’s credit. You can pay it back tomorrow, or the day after, whenever.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a tight line, his pride warring with the hunger clawing in his stomach. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and reached for the bag.

“Fine,” he said, with a clipped voice. “But I will pay you back.”

“Sure. Okay.” she replied, handing it over with an ease that only frustrated him more.

He didn’t thank her. Not out loud, at least. He just nodded stiffly and made his way to the door, the warm paper bag cradled in his hands like it was the first good thing to happen to him all day.

As the door closed behind him, she sighed softly, shaking her head. The man looked like life had chewed him up and spit him out. Maybe he’d just fallen through the cracks recently, it was always hardest in the beginning, learning to ask for help. She glanced at the counter, absently smoothing her hands over her apron.

If she saw him again, maybe she could mention her friend at the community center. They were always looking to help people find stable footing before things got worse. And for someone like him, someone who clearly still had some pride, maybe it wasn’t too late to get him back on his feet.

The sound of the bell snapped her out of her thoughts.

Two cops strolled in, familiar faces, and she greeted them with a small smile. “The usual?” she asked, already moving to grab a pair of pastries from the display.

As she handled their order with practiced ease, her thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome stranger with the haunted eyes.

------

Bucky shoved open the door to his apartment. The space was dark, empty, and cold, but he barely noticed. He kicked off his boots, shrugging out of his jacket and letting it fall somewhere on the floor. His pants followed, the trail of his discarded clothing leading to the kitchen sink.

He turned on the tap, scrubbing his hands under the warm water and letting out a tired sigh as the grime and blood washed away.

Finally, he opened the bag and pulled out the focaccia, its edges still faintly warm. He bit into it without ceremony, his teeth tearing through the crisp crust and sinking into the soft, herby center.

The groan that escaped him was involuntary.

“Jesus,” he muttered, leaning against the counter. He wasn’t sure if the bread was actually this good or if it was just because he was starving, but it didn’t matter. He tore off another bite, then another, letting the flavors fill the hollow ache in his stomach.

His mind drifted back to the clerk. She had been… unexpected, in a way. Not just because she was there at that hour, but how she’d looked at him, unafraid, and then her gesture, offering him the bread without hesitation, it threw him off. He wasn’t used to kindness without strings attached.

Bucky frowned at the thought, swallowing another bite. He knew he’d acted like an ass, stiff and gruff, but he hadn’t known what else to do. His gaze drifted to the paper bag on the counter, now empty except for a few crumbs. Tomorrow, he’d pay her back. He’d make sure of it.

And maybe while he was there, he could look around properly. He’d been too tired to take it all in, but in the brief glance he’d caught, he’d seen shelves lined with pastries, bread, and other things that looked more tempting than they had any right to be.

It wasn’t just about the food, though. It would be a way to repay her. To even the scales.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Bucky sighed and pushed away from the counter. As he collapsed onto the messy nest of sheets in his living room, his last thought was of the clerk: her calm voice and the smile she’d given him as she handed over the bag.

---

The next morning, Bucky stood under the hot shower spray, letting the water beat against his sore muscles. He scrubbed the grime of the previous day away, trying to clear his head. Afterward, he brewed a cup of coffee, jolting his brain into something resembling alertness.

Setting the empty mug in the sink, he began hunting for his wallet. He turned over the few possessions he had in his apartment, muttering curses under his breath, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Great,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

Reluctantly, he went to the stash of cash he kept hidden under a loose floorboard. Pulling out a few bills, he tucked them into his pocket and took a quick look in the mirror. His split lip was still healing, but his beard was trimmed now, and the dark circles under his eyes were a little less pronounced. Also, his clothes didn’t look like they were dragged against a concrete road. Good enough.

The walk to the bakery was brisk, the chill of the morning sharp but not unpleasant. He felt more like himself than he had the night before, ready to repay the debt and maybe even buy something else.

But as he approached the corner, his steps faltered.

The bakery was closed.

He frowned, sweeping his gaze over the dark windows and drawn curtains. The sign on the door mocked him with its clear Closed lettering.

What kind of bakery was closed at 10 a.m.?

His mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios. Maybe something had happened. Maybe the clerk stayed too late and ran into trouble on her way home. His jaw tightened as he peeked through the curtains, searching for any sign of movement inside.

But then his eyes landed on the sign taped to the door:

Open: 4 p.m. - 12 a.m.

Bucky blinked.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, straightening.

What kind of bakery worked on a schedule like that? Who baked bread for the night shift? He rubbed his jaw, baffled, and glanced at the darkened windows again.

With a shake of his head, he turned back the way he came, the mystery of the night-shift bakery simmering in his thoughts.

---

The day passed in the kind of monotony Bucky had learned to tolerate. Cleaning his gear, half-watching a soccer game, biting back the urge to snap at Dr. Raynor during their session, and ignoring Sam’s persistent calls. By the time evening rolled around, he was restless enough to head out again.

Around 9 p.m., he set off to the bakery, the mystery of its late hours still nagging at him. Who needed baked goods at this time of night? Well, besides himself. Sleep was always a gamble, if he was lucky, he’d be out by 2 a.m., though that was probably wishful thinking.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted movement by the shop. Three bikers, with leather jackets patched with gang insignias, stepped out of the door, each carrying large paper bags stuffed with… something. Bucky couldn’t make out what was inside, but they seemed satisfied, securing the bags to their saddlebags before waving toward the bakery window. His brow furrowed as he slowed his pace. The clerk waved back before she turned and disappeared behind the counter.

The bikers mounted their bikes and roared off into the night, leaving Bucky to stare after them for a moment. He quirked a brow. Well, it seemed the place had its regulars.

Pushing open the door, the soft chime of the bell announced his arrival. The warmth hit him immediately, carrying with it the now-familiar scent of herbs and fresh bread.

She was at the counter again, arranging some pastries on a tray. The sound of the bell made her look up, and her movements stilled when she saw him. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of hesitation, but he caught it. Then, like flipping a switch, she composed herself, her face smoothing into a polite smile.

“Hi,” she greeted him, he thought he caught a hint of surprise beneath it.

“Hey,” Bucky replied, almost gruffly. He stepped forward, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

For a brief moment, silence hung between them as their eyes met. Neither spoke, just staring at each other, the air charged with an odd sense of recognition. Then she blinked, snapping herself out of the trance, mentally slapping herself.

“Hi,” she said again, her voice a little higher this time, followed by a flustered, “What can I do for you?”

Bucky shifted slightly, pulling one hand from his pocket and holding out a few bills. “I came to pay you for the focaccia,” he said simply. “And… I wanted to buy some other things too.”

Her brows lifted, and she laughed softly, taking the money from him. “That was fast. I wasn’t going to charge you interest, you know,” she chuckled.

“Appreciate it,” he muttered, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“So,” she said, her professional demeanor slipping back into place, “what can I get you?”

As he scanned the shelves and pointed to a few items, she efficiently began sorting them into paper bags. But he noticed her hands slowing now and then, her lips pressed together like she was working through something. Finally, she turned toward him, bag in hand, and blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky frowned, tilting his head slightly. “For what?”

“For assuming…” She gestured vaguely toward him, her expression tinged with embarrassment.

He blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, I looked like shit,” he said bluntly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Can’t blame you.”

Her shoulders eased at his reaction, and she gave him a small, relieved smile. “Thank you for… you know,” he added, signaling vaguely toward the counter where the focaccias where exhibited.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied and then extended a hand, “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Bucky,” he said, his vibranium hand staying tucked in his pocket as he shook her hand briefly with the other one.

As she returned to filling the bags, he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned slightly against the counter, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “what’s up with the hours here? Four to twelve?”

Her head popped up, a faint look of surprise crossing her face before she laughed softly. “Oh, that.” She handed him the filled bags, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he replied in a casual tone, though his gaze made clear that he actually wanted to know.

“This bakery… my grandparents opened it in the ’60s,” she began. “When my gramps passed in the early 2000s, my granny made some changes. One of them was the schedule.”

Bucky tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening. “The late hours?”

She nodded, leaning lightly against the counter. “Yeah. There’s a lot of nightlife in this neighborhood and a surprising number of residents work night or late shifts. She figured people needed somewhere to grab a decent meal at odd hours. It was risky, but eventually, it worked out.”

He let the idea sink in, flicking , his gaze briefly to the trays of baked goods. It made sense, in a way.

“When she passed the shop to me,” she continued, with a voice tinged with fondness, “I decided to keep things just the way they were. It feels right, you know? Like I’m keeping her legacy alive.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Besides, I don’t get sleepy at night, anyway. I’ve always been more of a night owl. I end up sleeping all morning, so the schedule works for me.”

Bucky studied her for a moment, taking in the mix of pride and nostalgia in her expression. She seemed connected to the place in a way that made the odd schedule seem less strange and more… fitting.

“That’s… different,” he said finally, his voice softer than usual.

“Different good or different bad?” she asked, quirking a brow as she crossed her arms.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Just different.”

But he couldn’t leave it there. The question burned in his mind, and he found himself asking, “Don’t you think it’s dangerous being open this late? Alone?”

She tilted her head, not missing a beat. “I’m not alone. Liam, the main baker, is in the kitchen.”

Bucky gave her a pointed look, one brow lifting in a way that clearly said, Seriously?

“And if someone armed gets in here, he’d chase them off with a spatula?”

She laughed softly, but there was a flicker of something thoughtful in her eyes. “We’ve had our share of… episodes,” she admitted, “but it’s been a long time since the last one.” She gestured toward a small table near the counter with a nod of her head. “The cops come by all the time to grab something or even sit and eat.”

“That’s not exactly foolproof,” Bucky muttered, unconvinced.

Her lips curved into a wry smile, and she leaned in a little, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “Let’s just say having the local bikers as regulars doesn’t hurt either.”

He blinked, frowning. “The guys I saw earlier? So they… behave?”

“They’re good guys,” she retorted, then paused and corrected herself with a grin. “They’re nice guys. Most of the time.”

Bucky raised a skeptical brow, and she continued, “Sometimes they even help out. Like last week, when the mixer broke. They swung by after their ride and got it working again. One of them’s pretty handy with tools.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, though this time it wasn’t out of suspicion. He wasn’t sure whether to find the whole setup amusing or… concerning.

“Guess that’s one way to stay safe,” he muttered, glancing around the shop like it might reveal more secrets.

“It works,” she said shrugging. “Besides, most people aren’t looking for trouble when they’re hungry.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. Then he picked up the bags and nodded at her, and she offered him a small smile, “Come again.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at her. “I will.”

With that, he was gone, the door chime softly announcing his exit. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, leaning against the counter for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the door, her mind replaying the way his broad frame looked in those casual clothes. Effortless, like he didn’t have to try at all to look that good.

The thought was interrupted by the sound of the door chime again. She straightened quickly, spotting two guys in uniforms marked with the local electricity company’s logo.

“Hey,” one of them called, grinning. “Got any donuts left?”

---

Time passed, and Bucky started showing up regularly, his visits becoming a constant in her evenings. Three days a week, like clockwork, the bell would chime, and there he’d be, gloved hands tucked into his jacket pockets and that quiet, brooding air about him.

What surprised her most wasn’t the frequency of his visits but how much he bought each time. He’d point out loaves, pastries, and cookies, practically cleaning out half the display case on some nights. At first, she thought it was just politeness, a way to make up for that first night. But as the weeks went on, it became clear that this was just his thing.

One evening, as she packed his usual haul into bags, curiosity finally got the better of her and she glanced up at him with a smile. “Wow, your family must really enjoy our goods,” she said playfully.

The comment made him pause. His smile faltered, just for a second, and his eyes flicked away like he was retreating inward.

She noticed the shift immediately and quickly tried to smooth things over. “Oh,” she said with a laugh, waving a hand, “great appetite then. I won’t complain about that.”

His gaze returned to her, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Something like that,” he murmured.

She handed him the bags, softening her smile. Whatever that moment had been, she wasn’t going to push. “Well, you’re keeping me in business, so thank you.”

He nodded, a quiet “thanks” leaving his lips before he turned to leave.

---

As Bucky walked the short distance back to his apartment, the bags swinging lightly in his grip, his mind churned with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. Her comment replayed in his head: Your family must really enjoy our goods.

Family.

His jaw clenched slightly. He didn’t have one, not anymore. The people he cared about… well, they were scattered or gone, and the thought of sitting at a table surrounded by warmth and laughter felt more like a faded memory than a reality.

He adjusted his grip on the bags, slowing his steps as he reached his building. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She hadn’t meant anything by it, just an innocent assumption. And she’d recovered quickly, giving him an out he appreciated more than he could express.

Still, the weight of the moment stuck with him. The way her words had scratched at something raw and unhealed, something he thought he’d buried deep enough that it couldn’t sting anymore.

In the quiet of his apartment, he set the bags on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. He pulled out one of the pastries she’d packed for him, a warm smell of cinnamon and sugar wafting up as he took a bite. The sweetness melted on his tongue, giving him a fleeting comfort.

She was kind. That much was clear. Her warmth wasn’t forced or rehearsed; it was just… there. Bucky leaned against the counter, staring at the pastry in his hand like it might hold some answers. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but his reaction had been automatic, a wall thrown up before he could even think about it.

He couldn’t deny that he liked going to the bakery, liked seeing her. He finished the pastry and sighed, glancing at the bags of baked goods. He’d go back, of course. It was becoming part of his routine, and he found himself looking forward to the short conversations, the moments of normalcy she unknowingly offered him.

He just needed to keep things simple. Keep the walls up.

----

Keep things simple, Bucky had told himself more times than he could count, the mantra almost automatic by now. But as he stood at the counter that Wednesday night, watching her nervously wring her hands, he felt a crack in his resolve.

“Can I ask you a question?” she began, a little hesitant. “It’s alright if you don’t want to answer, but…”

He tensed. His gloved hand rested on the counter, fingers curling slightly. “Go ahead.”

“This weekend, I went to the Smithsonian with a friend…”

And there it was. This is it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he interrupted, with a sharper tone than he intended. He wanted to rip the band-aid off, and get it over with. He braced himself for the shift, the awkward laugh, the strained smile, the clipped words. The gradual squirming in his presence like he carried a weight they couldn’t bear to be near.

But instead, she grinned.

“Well, that explains your appearance the day I met you,” she said lightly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “And your appetite.” She winked.

Bucky blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he’d prepared for.

Before he could respond, she continued. “It’s not my place to say, but… you’ve had it hard, Bucky. I saw the look on your face when I brought this up, so let me be clear: this changes nothing.” She leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes. “I know it could be hard sometimes, with the people… but not in here.”

Bucky stared at her, the usual quick retorts or excuses dying on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in her voice and the calmness in the way she addressed the subject without making him feel exposed, caught him off guard.

“Thanks,” he finally said, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

She nodded, curving her lips into a small smile, but instead of leaving it at that, she hesitated. “That being said…” Her voice softened. “According to the commemorative plate, your birthday was last week.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t even remembered.

“So,” she said, bending down behind the counter, “here.” When she straightened up, she held a small plum tart, dusted with powdered sugar. “I couldn’t put all the candles on it for obvious reasons.” She chuckled softly as she gave him the little tray.

Bucky froze. The gesture hit him square in the chest, a pang so sharp and unexpected it made his breath hitch. He stared at the tart, feeling an ache rise in his throat. His lips trembled traitorously as he fought back the overwhelming surge of emotion.

She noticed his hesitation and tilted her head slightly. “It’s just a tart,” she said gently as if trying to assure him it was no big deal.

But to him, it was.

He reached out, taking the tart from her as if it were made of glass. His gloved fingers brushed the edge of the plate and he swallowed hard. His voice, barely above a whisper, cracked as he said, “Thank you.”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to look at her. He stared down at the pastry, his grip tightening around the edges of the plate as he worked to steady his breathing. It had been so long since anyone had done something this thoughtful for him, that he didn’t know how to react.

Watching his reaction, she faltered. Her earlier confidence dimmed as doubt crept into her expression. She fidgeted with her apron, glancing away briefly before blurting out, “I, um… sorry for bothering you. If I overstepped-”

“No.” The word came out sharper than he meant, and she froze. He took a breath, forcing his voice to steady. “You didn’t,” he said again, gentler this time. “You just surprised me here, doll, that’s all.”

Her gaze softened, searching his face, and he didn’t look away this time. His walls weren’t fully down -when were they ever?- but the rawness in his eyes couldn’t be hidden, the unshed tears glimmering with the lights.

Her lips parted, then closed again, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if it was her place. She shifted her weight, her fingers lightly tapping the counter. “It’s not much,” she said after a beat, her tone quiet but sincere. “Just a little thing I thought might make you smile.”

“It’s more than you know,” Bucky murmured then he cleared his throat and adjusted the bags in his hand, needing something to focus on besides the growing ache in his chest. “I, uh… I appreciate it,” he said, a little awkwardly.

Her smile grew, and she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Good,” she said simply. “You deserve something nice.”

That threw him off even more. He stared at her, stunned by the ease with which she said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His throat tightened, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he turned toward the door.

“Bucky?”

He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I just remembered that I didn’t tell you, Happy birthday,”

He nodded once, gripping the bags a little tighter as he pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night air, which did little to clear the fog in his head.

You deserve something nice. He almost scoffed aloud. Nice? Someone like him? Someone who couldn’t go a single day without being haunted by the weight of his past?

The world had a funny way of reminding him where he stood. Steve was gone. The man who believed in him more than anyone else had handed over the shield, and with it, Bucky felt like the last tether to the person he used to be had been severed. Now, it was just him. And no matter how hard he tried to fix things, make amends, or find a shred of normalcy, the past always had its claws in him.

But tonight, she had looked at him and seen something other than the broken pieces. She hadn’t flinched when she figured out who he was. She hadn’t spat accusations or looked at him with the fear or pity he was used to. Instead, she smiled and handed him a damn tart for his birthday, a day he hadn’t even remembered until she brought it up.

Maybe… He shook his head as he walked, his boots crunching hard against the pavement. Don’t get attached.

Still, he glanced down at the tart again, its delicate powdered sugar glinting under the streetlights and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, almost involuntarily.

----

One rainy night, Bucky was already imagining the taste of a prune cupcake when he reached the bakery and found the door closed.

His brows furrowed as he noted the light spilling from the kitchen and the neatly arranged merchandise still on display. That was odd. He stepped closer, intending to knock on the glass, but hesitated. If she had closed up, there must’ve been a reason. Why would she open just for him?

He turned to leave, but the sound of a long, creative string of curses froze him mid-step. His frown deepened. Maybe she was arguing with Liam or a boyfriend, or... why was he still standing there?

Then came a sharp scream of pain.

Before his mind could process, his body moved on its own. He pushed the wooden door open with a single fluid motion of his vibranium hand and rushed toward the kitchen, ready to confront whoever was causing her harm.

He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.

She was alone. Entirely alone.

Barefoot, her jeans rolled at the cuffs, and wearing nothing but a lacy black bra on top. She was gripping one foot and hopping in place, her other hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. Her face was scrunched in pain, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple.

She froze as he appeared in the doorway, locking her wide eyes onto his.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Bucky?!” she finally exclaimed, her voice was a mix of mortification and disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I heard you scream,” he said, still on high alert. “I thought- I mean, I thought someone was-”

Well, someone isn’t!” she snapped, waving her arms for emphasis before wincing and clutching her foot again. “What are you… how did you even…”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he said simply, lifting his vibranium hand as if that explained everything.

She stared at him. “You broke my door, didn’t you?”

“Technically, I opened it.”

Her shoulders slumped as she let out a groan.

“What happened?” he asked, softening his tone as he noted the red welt forming on her foot.

She gestured toward a hulking machine in the corner, a sour expression on her face. “The kneading machine broke,” she grumbled. “It’s Liam’s day off, so I have to knead all the dough by hand. I got frustrated and kicked the stupid thing.” She pointed to the offending piece of equipment as though it were an enemy in battle.

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he quickly schooled his expression. “And it fought back?”

Her glare could’ve melted steel, but then her expression shifted, and she seemed to remember her current state of undress. Quickly, she crossed her arms over her chest, though the movement only served to push her curves together.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he fought to keep his gaze locked firmly on her face. He swallowed hard, feeling the distinct burn of self-restraint in every muscle.

“Can you throw me that shirt?” she asked, jerking her chin toward a crumpled white button-up draped over a stool.

“Sure,” he muttered, grabbing it and tossing it her way.

“Turn around?” she added pointedly, feeling her cheeks going warm.

He obeyed instantly, facing the wall and rubbing the back of his neck. “Why, uh… why were you like that anyway?” he asked, his voice low and awkward.

“It’s hot,” she replied, a little grumpy. “The kitchen’s like an oven with all the equipment running, and kneading all that dough by hand isn’t exactly cooling me off. Plus, I was alone. Or so I thought.”

“Right,” Bucky murmured, feeling a little ridiculous for barging in like that. He’d been ready to throw down with some imaginary attacker, and instead, he’d walked in on… well, on a very memorable scene.

The mental image of her, half naked and glistening, burned behind his eyelids, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He didn’t need his mind going there, not now, not ever.

The sound of her shifting behind him broke his thoughts. “Okay, decent,” she said.

He turned back around, carefully keeping his expression neutral. She was now buttoning up the shirt, but her hair was still mussed. He cleared his throat.

“Want me to help kneading?” he blurted out, the words escaping before he could think them through.

She froze mid-button, blinking at him. “You want to… knead dough?”

“Let’s just say I can put that piece of junk to shame,” he said, nodding toward the broken machine. “Only… you have to teach me how. Then I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal.”

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she hesitated, seemingly caught off guard. After a moment, she shook her head. “That’s sweet, but I can’t ask you to do that. It’ll take a lot of time.”

“I have time,” Bucky replied evenly. He didn’t add that the alternative was staring at the ceiling of his living room, trying to fend off the ghosts in his head and praying for a few nightmare-free hours.

She looked at him, clearly debating, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that momentarily distracted him.

“Plus,” he added with a faint shrug, “I won’t raise your electric bill, and I won’t get tired.”

A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Finally, she exhaled and nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, this is serious manual labor.”

“I’ve handled worse,” he said with a small smirk, rolling up his sleeves.

“Okay, tough guy,” she replied, her tone half-teasing as she gestured toward the counter. “Let’s see if you can handle my kitchen.”

He stepped up beside her, and as she began to explain the technique, Bucky couldn’t help but notice how the frustration in her features softened, replaced by something almost playful. It wasn’t often he felt useful outside of a mission or a fight, but in this warm, flour-dusted bakery, it felt like he could do something… normal.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice her watching him. When he did, he realized she was waiting for a response.

“Uh…” he mumbled. It seemed she had been talking and he didn’t listen to a word.

“It’s okay if you don’t get it at first, here, give me your hand.” Before he could protest, she grabbed his hand, shoved a dough ball into his palm, and flipped it downward. Then her smaller hand slid over his, her heel pressing into the back of his hand to guide the motion.

“Like this,” she murmured, leaning just a little closer to ensure he could see. Her hand pressed forward in firm, rhythmic motions and the dough yielded under the combined force of their hands. Then she rotated the dough and repeated the motion, with deliberate pushes.

Bucky froze as the rhythmic pressure of her hand over his sent his mind somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t go. The heat in the kitchen suddenly felt suffocating, and he swallowed hard, trying to focus on the dough and not on the fact that her motions were… suggestive.

She was entirely unaware of his inner turmoil, focused on the task at hand. “See? You push like this and turn it. Then repeat.”

Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but Bucky’s traitorous mind kept replaying the way her body had looked earlier in that lacy bra, barefooted and glistening with sweat, and now her hand was on his, guiding movements that mirrored-

“Got it,” he blurted, pulling his hand away like the dough had burned him.

She blinked at him, surprised. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it,” he said quickly, flexing his fingers. “Why don’t you, uh… go open the store or something? You can sell the ready stuff, and I’ll finish here.”

Her brow furrowed, then she smirked. “Show me you can handle it first. Then I’ll go.”

Bucky nodded stiffly and got to work, kneading the dough with an intensity that had less to do with the task and more with willing his body and thoughts to calm down. He focused on each push, each turn, determined not to let his mind wander again.

After a moment, she hummed in approval. “Not bad. Alright, you’ve got this.” Tossing him an apron, she added with a grin, “Kitchen’s all yours.”

As she walked out, Bucky let out a long breath and grabbed a ridiculous amount of mid-mixed dough from the machine, barely registering its weight in his hands. He tied the apron around his waist, muttering something about how he’d never live this down if Sam found out, then plunged his hands into the dough with more force than necessary. The soft, yielding texture offered little resistance, and the repetitive motion gave him something to focus on, something to redirect the tension simmering under his skin.

Meanwhile, out front, she was practically buzzing. Well, besides the door incident -she’d have to figure out how to fix that later- and the fact he’d seen her in little more than her bra, the night hadn’t gone completely off the rails. She paused, glancing toward the kitchen and biting her lip.

The idea that Bucky Barnes was in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he worked dough like it was his mortal enemy, was surreal. Even in her wildest fantasies -and she’d had plenty- she’d never imagined this scenario.

She distracted herself by greeting a couple of late-night customers, all while sneaking glances toward the kitchen door. But the thought of having him there with flour dusting his strong hands, focused and serious, made her heart flip every time she let her mind wander free.

Back in the kitchen, Bucky gritted his teeth, determined to keep his focus on the task. He flattened the dough with swift, decisive movements, his vibranium arm doing the flips as his flesh one did the work. But even as he forced himself to concentrate, he couldn’t shake the memory of her soft hand on his, guiding him with firm pressure.

Fuck.

---

When he finally finished kneading the massive ball of dough, he stood there, staring at the smooth mound, realizing he had no idea what to do next. With a resigned sigh, he called out for her. “It’s ready,” he said, motioning to the dough. “Now what?”

“That’s for common bread. We let it rise for about half an hour, then shape it, let it rise again, and bake it.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. “So... you just wait?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“Great,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Guess I’ll hang around. Liam’s not here, so you’d be stuck doing all this yourself. That can’t be easy, it’s a lot of dough.”

She tilted her head, clearly debating. “I’m used to it when it’s necessary.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you kicking me out?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “N-no!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

She rolled her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Want a coffee while we wait?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

They moved to the front of the shop, mugs in hand, settling into a more relaxed atmosphere. The conversation was light, drifting from coffee preferences to the quirks of late-night customers. The rain drummed against the windows, adding a cozy backdrop to the talk.

Then the bell above the door chimed, and two bikers strolled in.

Bucky’s eyes immediately snapped to them, stiffening his posture as he took them in. They were soaked, leather jackets gleaming under the fluorescent light. What caught him off guard wasn’t their appearance, it was their manners. The pair paused at the entrance, brushing their wet boots on the doormat before entering the shop.

“Evening, Y/n,” one of them said casually, nodding in her direction as they made their way to the counter.

Bucky stared, measuring them with a sharp gaze, his body language was calm but alert. He didn’t miss how their eyes briefly flicked to him, assessing, before focusing on her.

“Hey, Daniel, Jack,” she greeted them with an easy familiarity. “Usual?”

“Yeah, and maybe throw in one of those custard tarts,” one of them added, grinning.

As she moved behind the counter to prepare their order, Bucky leaned back slightly, still watching them. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the so-called “local bikers,” but brushing their boots off before entering wasn’t on the list.

One of them glanced his way again, tipping his chin in acknowledgment. “Friend of yours?”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Helper for the night.”

Bucky just gave a faint nod. He wasn’t entirely sure why their casual familiarity rubbed him the wrong way, but something about how they interacted with her -relaxed, like they belonged- made him tense.

“So, Cookie,” the taller of the two bikers said, his deep voice carrying an easy familiarity. He had a Viking-style haircut, the sides of his head shaved while the top was long and braided, matching the beard he wore. “We swung by earlier, but you were closed. Anything amiss?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly at the nickname. Cookie?

“Oh, just old Edna broke, again,” she replied with a sigh, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I was trying to figure out what to do.”

The biker’s face broke into a knowing grin. “Y’should’ve called me. You know I’d have ‘er running again in a snap.”

She gave him a sheepish look. “It’s awful outside Jack, and Bucky here helped me out a lot. I was going to call you tomorrow, maybe take the day off.”

The biker’s gaze shifted to Bucky with a curious expression, if not slightly probing. “Did he, now?”

Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just stared back at him.

She stepped in quickly, a cheerful note in her voice. “Well, here you go, guys,” she said, setting their bags of pastries and the requested custard tart on the counter.

But before she could finish ringing them up, Daniel added something to the order, sending her back to grab another treat.

With her out of earshot, the viking-wannabe fixed his gaze on Bucky again. “There somethin’ on ma face?” he asked, casual but a little edgy.

Bucky shrugged, relaxed, but his steel-blue eyes locked onto the man without wavering. “Nope.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “You know, Cookie, I was thinking of stopping by tomorrow to fix the kneader myself.” His gaze never left the biker’s. “Don’t think your customers must stray from their duties.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the biker let out a low chuckle, his smile more challenging than amused.

“Well, it won’t be a bother,” he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Since I always take care of Edna.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up in a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

Somehow, she felt left out of the conversation. The way they stared each other down, the sharpness in their tones, it didn’t seem like they were talking about Edna anymore. It was like…

“C’mon, Jack,” the second biker interjected, breaking the thick silence, though his tone carried a subtle edge of warning. “The guys are waitin’. Cookie here will tell ya if she needs anythin’, won’t ya?”

She nodded quickly, eager to shift the mood, and handed over their order. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for always helping out.” Her smile was warm but a little strained as she accepted their payment.

Jack lingered for a bit, gaze still locked on Bucky’s. The other biker sighed and patted him on the arm. “At least help with somethin’, huh?” he added, shoving a large paper bag into his chest.

The man finally broke eye contact, muttering something under his breath as he grabbed the bag and turned toward the door. But before he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Don’t forget, Cookie, you know who to call if you need real help.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, the faintest sign of irritation flashing in his eyes. He leaned back against the counter, one hand casually resting on the edge, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. “Sure thing,” he drawled, “If it comes to that, I’ll make sure she doesn’t have to wait.”

The implication in his words wasn’t lost on Jack, whose smirk faltered for just a second before he turned and strode out, the other biker following with an exasperated shake of his head.

As the door swung shut, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Well,” she said, attempting to sound lighthearted, “that was… something.”

Bucky’s gaze softened as he turned back to her, though the tension in his posture remained. “They always this ‘friendly’?”

She laughed awkwardly, brushing her hands on her apron. “Oh, they are, actually. They just get a little protective sometimes, you know? Like I’m their sister or something. Maybe they were just surprised to see you back here.”

He tilted his head, twitching his lips in what might’ve been a smile, but his eyes didn’t match the expression. “A sister, huh?”

She nodded, oblivious to the undercurrent in his tone, and started busying herself by tidying up the counter. To her, it was just Jack and his usual overbearing charm. But to Bucky, it was something else entirely.

Even as he tried to relax, his mind kept replaying the interaction. The way that guy had stood too close, his words heavy with meaning, the subtle posturing was anything but brotherly. Bucky had seen it all before, in darker and rougher places than this warm, flour-dusted bakery.

Except this time, it wasn’t just about dominance or some unspoken challenge. It was about her. And for reasons he wasn’t ready to name, that thought didn’t sit well with him at all.

“So," she started, cutting through the silence and his spiraling thoughts, "you were serious when you said you could fix the machine?"

"Yeah," he replied, keeping his face carefully neutral. "It’ll be a piece of cake."

Piece of cake, he repeated in his mind, trying to suppress the small pang of regret creeping up his spine. Sure, he had a working knowledge of mechanics, he’d helped Sam fix his boat, after all. But that had been different. Boats were his element, like motorcycles or cars. A fifty-year-old kneading machine? Well, he’ll find out tomorrow.

His impulsive desire to impress her -and maybe stake some kind of invisible claim- had won out. Now, all he could do was hope the thing wasn’t an unreadable mess.

She glanced at the clock and brushed her hands together. “Alright, time to give shape to the bread. It’s risen enough.”

Without missing a beat, she led the way back into the kitchen. The warm, yeasty air mingled with her faint perfume, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket.

She grabbed a portion of the dough and began to demonstrate. “Okay, so these are the basics,” she said, her fingers moving deftly. “For buns, you just roll the dough into smooth balls. Like this.” She cupped her hands around the dough, rolling it against the counter in a quick, practiced motion until it was perfectly round. “Braids and baguettes are a little trickier. The braids are just three strands, like hair. And baguettes, well, you stretch and roll them into shape. But you can stick with the buns for now, they’re easier.”

Bucky nodded, reaching for a piece of dough. He hesitated for a moment, as the memory of her hand guiding his earlier flashed in his mind. His throat tightened, and he focused on the dough, rolling it between his hands.

“Like this?” he asked, holding up a slightly lopsided bun.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Almost. Use the heel of your hand a little more to smooth it out. Here.” She stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly over his. This time, she didn’t guide him directly, but the proximity was enough to make his heart thud against his ribs.

He adjusted his grip and tried again, and she gave an approving nod. “There you go. See? You’re a natural.”

As they worked side by side, she kept talking. “Most of this will have to go on sale tomorrow, probably at half price. But having you here is a real help. If I’d had to do all this alone, I might’ve had to throw some of the dough out.”

Her words struck a chord, and a pang of happiness settled in his chest. It wasn’t much, just a small acknowledgment of his effort, but it filled a hollow part of him he didn’t even realize was there.

He stole a glance at her as she focused on a braid, her hands working the dough with practiced ease. A strand of hair had fallen loose, brushing against her cheek. She pushed it back with her wrist, leaving a faint streak of flour across her temple. It made her look effortlessly endearing, and he quickly averted his eyes, focusing back on the dough in his hands.

Unbeknownst to him, she was doing the same. She caught glimpses of him as he worked, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his calloused flesh hand and the vibranium one surprisingly gentle as he shaped the dough. Something was captivating about how he moved, so deliberate yet careful, like he was afraid of breaking something.

“Looks like you’re getting the hang of it,” she said, glancing over at his growing pile of buns.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, rolling another piece of dough under his palms. “Not exactly rocket science.”

She chuckled, “I don’t know. You’ve got a good touch. It took me a week to get my buns to look that smooth while doing it swiftly.”

Every time their gazes met -accidentally, fleetingly- it was like a spark flared in the air between them. Then, one of them would quickly look away, snapping their attention back to the dough. It was a quiet rhythm of stolen glances and fleeting touches, building a connection that felt as tangible as the dough in their hands.

-----

The bread was neatly shaped and lined up on trays, ready to rise once more before its final trip to the oven. She covered the trays with damp cloths, brushing her hands on her apron as she glanced at the clock. “Alright, now we wait again. Should be ready for the oven in about half an hour.”

Bucky nodded, stepping back to let her take the lead. “You need me to do anything else?”

“Not right now,” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll take care of the customers while we wait. You can… I don’t know, hang out if you want?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Sure.”

She disappeared into the front of the shop, the bell over the door jingling faintly as a pair of officers entered. Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching her from the kitchen as she greeted them warmly.

“Evening, boys. The usual?”

“Yup. Two coffees and a box of donuts,” one of the cops said, glancing over at Bucky briefly. His partner followed the look, squinting slightly before his eyes widened.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the officer said, his voice respectful but tinged with curiosity.

Bucky stiffened slightly at being at being recognized, but he nodded. “Good evening.”

The officer hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Uh, sorry if this is out of line, but… would it be okay if I got a picture with you?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her for a brief second. She offered him an encouraging smile, and he finally nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The officer grinned and handed his phone to his partner. They stood together for the picture, Bucky keeping his usual neutral expression, though the officer looked thrilled.

As the partner handed the phone back, he chuckled, glancing between Bucky and her. “Didn’t know you were friends with Cookie here. Lucky you, she’s got the best donuts in the neighborhood.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but she laughed and rolled her eyes before he could say anything. “Alright, enough buttering me up. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

The cops thanked her again, waved at Bucky, and headed out, leaving the shop quiet once more.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he looked at her. “So… they call you Cookie too, huh?”

She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’s just a nickname my grandma gave me when I was little. She used to call me her little cookie because I’d sneak cookie dough every time she baked. I guess it stuck, and eventually, the regulars picked it up, too.”

“Little cookie,” he repeated, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” she said, shrugging. “It’s kind of sweet, actually”

Bucky hummed in response, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Fits you.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, but before she could respond, he straightened up. “Guess I’ll head out now. I’ll be back tomorrow to take a look at that machine. Ah… actually... I owe you one more thing.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The door,” he admitted, glancing toward it sheepishly. “Remember I kind of... broke it thinking you were in trouble?”

Her mouth opened slightly in realization, and for a fleeting moment, the two of them were transported back to that chaotic instant, him storming into the kitchen, with his eyes wild with concern, only to find her jumping in her bra, startled but unharmed.

A faint heat rose to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down, busying her hands with the edge of her apron. “Right. The door,” she said, a touch higher than usual.

“I’ll run up to my place and grab a chain and a lock,” he offered, clearly trying to sound casual, though the tips of his ears were suspiciously red. “It’s not much, but it’ll hold until you can get it fixed.”

“That’s... really thoughtful of you,” she said softly, sneaking a glance at him. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, tightening his jaw slightly as if bracing himself, before turning toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll be quick.”

-------

When he returned, he carried a chain and lock in hand, the metal clinking softly as he stepped through the door. Without a word, he moved to the broken door and began securing the temporary fix, his movements sure and steady. She stayed nearby, her arms crossed lightly over her apron, watching him work.

“Will you manage to close up on your own?” he asked, testing the chain one last time to ensure it held.

She nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He lingered momentarily at the doorway, meeting her gaze as though debating whether to press further. Instead, he simply stepped back, giving her a small, almost shy smirk. “Alright, then.”

He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Cookie.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue with ease, leaving her a little stunned as the bell over the door jingled behind him.

-----

That night, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the evening replayed itself in vivid detail. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every word exchanged lingered in her mind, refusing to let her settle into sleep. She rolled over, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tightly, only to let out a muffled squeal, burying her face in the fabric.

It all felt like something out of a novel, the kind her grandmother used to read, with their slow-burn tension and moments of unexpected closeness. Him standing there in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough with those ridiculously strong hands. The warmth of his smirk when he called her "Cookie" before leaving.

She sighed, turning onto her back again, staring at the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through her curtains. Don’t get carried away, she reminded herself. He was… Bucky Barnes, for crying out loud. The man probably had a private life he kept well-guarded. Dating, maybe even a girlfriend waiting for him somewhere. Someone who could offer him more than just late-night baking disasters and a small-town charm bubble in the big city.

“Oh, whatever,” she mumbled, throwing an arm over her face. It was free to fantasize, right? Just a harmless indulgence in the possibilities, no matter how far-fetched.

----

Bucky lay on the couch in his apartment, replaying the events of the night on a loop in his mind. Her hand, firm yet soft, guiding his against the dough in that rhythmic motion. He could still feel her touch and her warmth seeping into his skin. He groaned softly, shifting as he became acutely aware of the pang of need stirring under his sweatpants.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. Was he really that touch-starved? The answer was obvious.

But then another thought struck him, one that pulled his focus away from his frustration. Her touch hadn’t made him uncomfortable. Not in the way he’d grown used to: tensing, the inevitable flinch, or the tightening of his chest. No, being near her, having her hands on his, had done the opposite in a way he hadn’t felt in years -decades-.

His mind shifted to the kneading machine. He had all but volunteered to fix the thing, despite only a vague knowledge of how it worked. He cursed under his breath, drowning in anxiety as he realized he could very well embarrass himself tomorrow. She’d been so grateful, trusted him so easily. The last thing he wanted was to let her down.

Then there was the other thing, the background he could never escape. Even though she’d been cool about it. He was damaged goods, and he knew that, but still... a part of him wanted her to notice him.

To see him, Bucky, the guy who helped her in the kitchen, who wanted to make her smile, who was ready to spend hours fixing her stupid kneading machine just for the excuse to see her again.

Fuck. This was going to be one of those nights.

----

By the time morning gave way to the agreed-upon hour, Bucky found himself standing outside the bakery, a hand tucked into his jacket pocket as he knocked on the glass of the front door. He might -or might not- have put some effort into dressing for the occasion, trading his usual hoodie for a henley that clung just enough to hint at his physique under his jacket. Still, the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his sleepless night.

She appeared from the back, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted towel, and her face lit up as she spotted him.

“Cookie,” he greeted with a faint smirk as she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Sergeant,” she replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement.

The exchange felt oddly natural, like a line out of an old movie. She opened the door with a soft laugh, stepping aside to let him in. He strolled toward the back, the scent of freshly baked bread of the previous night lingering in the air as she followed.

“Let’s see the beast,” he said, nodding toward the old kneader, circling once like a predator sizing up its prey.

“All yours” she answered, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Think you can handle it?”

He shot her a mock-serious glance. “We’ll see.”

As he studied the machine, his eyes flicked to the sturdy work table beside it.

“You got a cloth or something to cover this?”

She frowned slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. “A cloth?”

“Something that can get dirty,” he clarified.

“Uh… sure.” She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out an old, slightly worn tablecloth, tossing it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, unfolding it and laying it across the table.

Her confusion deepened as he positioned himself beside the kneader. “What are you-”

She didn’t get to finish the question before Bucky gripped the sides of the heavy machine, lifting it like it weighed no more than a loaf of bread. He turned and placed it carefully on the table, adjusting it until it sat at an angle he deemed perfect for inspection.

She blinked, stunned for a moment before her lips parted in an incredulous laugh.

It wasn’t necessary, he could’ve worked on it just fine where it sat. But something in him wanted to do it anyway, to leave her watching, even if just for a moment.

She raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. There was a teasing glint in her eyes when she said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

Bucky froze for a second, then, slowly, he turned his head to look at her with an unreadable expression at first. But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, softening his otherwise stoic features. “Did it work?” he asked, carrying just a hint of challenge.

She felt a flutter in her chest she wasn’t ready to name. Biting her lip to suppress a smile, she fought to keep her voice steady. “Fix Edna,” she quipped, tilting her chin toward the kneader as if to deflect the heat in the air, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, an almost boyish mischief that made her pulse quicken. “Challenge accepted,” he said, turning back to the machine.

As he bent over the kneader, his metal hand steadying it while his flesh one worked the bolts loose, she let herself watch him for a moment. Something was mesmerizing about the way he moved: deliberate, confident, his sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that looked sculpted to dismantle things like this.

Luckily for Bucky, Edna really was a piece of cake. As he worked through the simple mechanics of the old machine, a wave of relief settled over him. He didn’t know why he’d been so preoccupied with the possibility of failure. Maybe it was because the stakes weren’t just about fixing a kneader, it was about proving himself in some quiet, unspoken way.

“Do you have a cable extension to test it?” he asked after reassembling the final part, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah, hang on,” she said, disappearing for a moment before returning with a long orange cord. She plugged it in, watching as he connected it to the machine.

When the kneader whirred to life, steady and smooth, she clapped her hands together once, the sound bright and cheerful in the warm kitchen. Her smile, wide and genuine, was aimed directly at him. “You did it!” she exclaimed, with a contagious enthusiasm.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest, like a sudden surge of energy. That smile, so pure and full of warmth, made him feel capable of almost anything. For a brief moment, it silenced the nagging voices in his head that constantly questioned his worth.

He turned off the machine and lifted it again, carefully placing it back in its original spot. He adjusted it slightly, turning it until it sat exactly as it had before, deliberately and unhurriedly.

“Show-off,” she teased lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Still riding the wave of her praise, he smirked, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. “So?” he asked, with a tone just bordering on playful. “You have to tell me now if it worked.”

She blinked, momentarily knitting her brows in confusion. “What…oh,” she murmured. He wasn’t talking about the machine. Her mind flicked back to their earlier exchange, and warmth crept up her neck as she bit her lip, suddenly feeling all too shy under his gaze.

“How could I not be impressed?” she said softly, meeting his eyes with a hint of nervousness.

Bucky’s smirk lingered since her words boosted his confidence. “Good to know,” he replied in a low, almost intimate tone.

Her laughter came nervously, breaking the silence. “Alright, Mr. Fix-It, let’s not-”

She didn’t finish her sentence since Bucky, still high on boldness, took a step closer. “You know,” he started in a steady voice, despite the rapid thrum of his heart, “I’m starting to think impressing you might be my new favorite hobby.”

Her lips parted in surprise, “Bucky…”

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmured, his flesh hand lifting just slightly, hovering near her arm as if waiting for permission.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, her nervous laugh melted into a smile, and her eyes locked onto his. “You’re not.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Closing the gap between them, he leaned in, in a mix of deliberate but hesitant movements, like he feared the moment might shatter.

When their lips met, it was soft at first, a gentle, tentative connection that quickly deepened. Her hands instinctively rested against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

For Bucky, the world seemed to narrow to just this: the warmth of her lips, the faint scent of flour and sugar on her skin, and the way she melted into him as if she belonged there.

When they let go, her eyes fluttered open, wide and searching, and her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“Wow,” she breathed finally, the word barely audible but carrying all the wonder she couldn’t express.

Bucky’s gaze flicked between her eyes and her slightly swollen lips. His own breath was uneven, and his voice rough as he muttered, “Yeah. Wow.”

She let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks warm as she glanced down, only for him to tilt her chin up with a gentle finger. His expression had softened, the earlier mischief replaced by something more vulnerable.

Without waiting for her to pull away -or maybe daring her to- he leaned in again. This time, there was no hesitation, no careful testing. The second kiss was deeper, and more purposeful, stealing her breath away.

She responded instinctively, slipping her arms around his shoulders as she pressed closer. His metal hand found her waist, firm and steady, while his flesh one cradled her jaw, brushing his thumb along her cheek in a tender contrast to the intensity of the kiss.

The world outside the bakery seemed to fade, and when they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, her voice was soft, almost shy, as she finally managed to say, “If that’s how you fix things, maybe Edna should break more often.”

Bucky chuckled lowly, trailing his fingers down her arm as he leaned back just enough to see her face. “Careful, there,” he replied with boyish grin. “I might start breaking things on purpose.”

She laughed, shaking her head as her hands lingered against his chest. “Just… don’t let it be my heart, okay?”

The teasing glint in his eyes softened at her words, replaced by something deeper that made her heart race again.

“Never,” he promised leaning in slightly, nearly touching her forehead with his. Slowly, deliberately, his body shifted closer, bracketing his hands on her sides, palms resting lightly on the edge of the workbench, gently caging her in.

“If you have me, doll…” His voice softened, laced with a husky tremor, as though each word was pulled from the deepest parts of him. He paused, pressing his lips together briefly, while his gaze flickered uncertainly. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the weight of unspoken fears and hopes battling within him. “I’ll treasure you the way you deserve.”

There he was, exposed and raw, offering her the most vulnerable parts of himself. And she saw it all, the battered pieces, the scars both seen and unseen, and the wonder in his expression that someone like her could even consider him worth it.

All the previous cockiness evaporated as he waited for her response, his breath caught in his chest. He didn’t move, didn’t dare.

She blinked up at him, parting her lips slightly as her hands lifted from where they rested against the workbench. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, before reaching out, tracing the curve of his jaw.

“You already do,” she whispered. Her thumb brushed the faint stubble on his cheek, and she smiled softly, a mixture of disbelief and certainty shining in her eyes. She rose onto her toes and brought her lips to his. The kiss was more deliberate this time, an answer in every sense, with a confidence that left no room for doubt. When she pulled back slightly, she looked into his hooded eyes. “I’ll take care of you too, Bucky. I promise, " she said tenderly.

His lips curved into a rare, radiant smile, one that softened every hard edge of his tired face. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her with such unguarded joy it made her heart flutter all over again. Then, without warning, his strong hands found her waist, and he lifted her effortlessly off the ground.

She gasped, a delighted laugh spilling from her lips as he spun her around, the room blurring for a moment as the motion carried them both. His own low chuckle mingled with hers, a sound so rich and full like a victory, a triumph for once, over the weight he’d been carrying for so long.

When he set her down gently, he kept his hands on her waist, and she leaned into him, their laughter fading into a warm, contented silence as she rested her hands against his chest. His heart raced beneath her palms, matching her erratic pulse.

They didn’t need to say anything more. At this moment, their shared warmth in the dusty floured kitchen was enough. The world and the rhythm of the weekday could wait a little longer.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader

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rmview · 9 days ago

Text

accidentally sending a nude, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — what happens when the stray kids boys accidentally send you an inappropriate picture!

contents — crack, flirting, suggestive.

bang ⁺ chan

bang chan was known for being responsible and composed, but even the most reliable people had their moments. he had been working late, distractedly multitasking between responding to texts from the members, fans, and — most nerve-wracking of all — you.

you two had been flirting back and forth for weeks, and tonight was no different. your witty banter put him in a good mood, and before he knew it, he was sending a selfie from the gym, shirt drenched in sweat.

but in his rush, he didn’t notice that the picture he sent wasn’t the one he intended. instead of the gym selfie, it was an older picture—one of him just out of the shower, shirtless, with a towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

seconds later, he realized his mistake.

his heart stopped.

“oh my god,” he muttered, staring at his phone in horror as the “read” indicator popped up. his mind raced. should he delete the message? send a follow-up explanation? throw his phone into the nearest body of water?

before he could do anything, your reply came through.

...well, that’s not what i expected, but i’m not complaining.

his face turned a deep shade of red as he ran a hand through his hair, groaning in embarrassment.

“i am so sorry,” he quickly typed, his thumbs trembling as he sent the message. “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send a gym selfie. please ignore that. oh my god, i’m mortified.”

you replied almost immediately.

relax, chan. it’s not like i haven’t imagined you looking like that anyway. 😉

his jaw dropped. was this flirting? were you actually flirting back after he’d just humiliated himself?

“wait… really?” he replied, cautious yet intrigued.

really. but next time, make sure you send the right picture.

chan exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he smiled at the screen. “noted,” he typed back, still mortified but secretly thrilled. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a disaster after all.

felix ⁺

felix was a bit of a perfectionist, especially when it came to interactions with you. he’d spent weeks carefully navigating the line between friendly and flirty, hoping to gauge your interest without coming on too strong.

so when he accidentally sent that picture, he nearly dropped his phone in panic.

he’d just finished a workout and taken a picture to check his progress — a mirror selfie of him shirtless, muscles taut, and a playful smirk on his face. he’d meant to send it to chan, but somehow, it ended up in your chat.

“no, no, no, no!” felix exclaimed, his freckles standing out against the sudden flush of his cheeks.

he stared at the screen in horror, the little “delivered” icon taunting him.

your reply came faster than he expected.

wow… nice progress, felix. 👀

he froze. were you teasing him? he wasn’t sure if he should laugh, apologize, or crawl under a rock. finally, he decided to address it head-on.

“i am so sorry!” he typed furiously. “that was not meant for you. please ignore it. i’m mortified.”

you replied with a laughing emoji.

it’s fine. honestly, i didn’t know you were this fit. guess i’ve been missing out.

felix’s heart skipped a beat. was that… interest?

“well… thanks, i guess?” he replied, still unsure how to handle the situation. “but seriously, i didn’t mean to send that. i’m usually more careful.”

well, i’m glad you weren’t this time.

felix smiled at your cheeky response despite himself. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

lee ⁺ know

lee know had always been careful about boundaries. he enjoyed teasing you and keeping things light, but he never pushed too far. that’s why, when he realized he’d sent the wrong picture, he felt a wave of panic unlike anything he’d experienced before.

the picture wasn’t obscene, but it was suggestive — a shirtless shot of him lounging in bed, his sweatpants hanging low, with a hint of his toned stomach on full display. he’d taken it to mess around with hyunjin but somehow sent it to you instead.

his phone buzzed immediately.

...well, this is a surprise.

lee know stared at your message, his ears turning red as he groaned, tossing his phone onto the couch. “i’m such an idiot,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

after a minute of debating whether to respond, he finally picked up his phone.

“that was not for you,” he typed, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. “sorry about that. just… forget you saw it.”

your reply came swiftly.

forget it? why would i? you look good, minho. 😏

his heart skipped a beat. “are you teasing me right now?” he replied, his confidence creeping back in.

maybe... or maybe i’m just being honest.

lee know smirked at the screen, his embarrassment fading. “well, if honesty is what we’re doing, then maybe i should admit that i don’t mind you seeing it.”

“good,” you replied. “because i didn’t mind seeing it either.”

for the first time that evening, lee know relaxed, realizing that his mistake might just have opened a door he hadn’t been brave enough to walk through himself.

hyun ⁺ jin

hyunjin had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and his interactions with you reflected that. he adored teasing you with his flirtatious comments and playful winks, but he never imagined crossing a line — until tonight.

he was sitting in his art room, surrounded by scattered sketches, when he decided to take a break. swept up in a moment of self-appreciation, he snapped a quick mirror selfie to show off his post-dance practice glow — shirtless, slightly tousled hair, and his sweatpants riding dangerously low. he sent it off to his group chat with the caption, “behold: the main character.”

or so he thought.

when he saw your name at the top of the chat instead, his heart plummeted.

“no, no, no…” he whispered, fumbling with his phone. his fingers hovered over the “unsend” button, but it was too late — your message popped up almost instantly.

well, that’s something i wasn’t expecting tonight. 👀

hyunjin’s face turned crimson, and he buried his head in his hands. his mind raced with what to say, every option feeling inadequate. finally, he mustered a response.

“its not what it looks like,” he typed, his embarrassment palpable even through the screen. “i meant to send it to the group chat. i’m so sorry, seriously.”

your reply came faster than he anticipated.

aw, don’t be embarrassed, hyunjin. you look… good. really good.

he froze, rereading your message. was this real? were you flirting back?

“wait… are you being serious right now?” he asked hesitantly.

completely serious. but if you’re this shy over a picture, i can’t imagine how you’d react if i saw you in person like this.

hyunjin let out a breathy laugh, his embarrassment melting into nervous excitement. “you’re not making this easier, you know,” he replied.

who said i’m trying to make it easier?

he leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips at your teasing response. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

don’t pretend you don’t love it.

hyunjin shook his head, his heart pounding. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly turning into the most exhilarating conversation he’d ever had with you.

i.n ⁺

jeongin prided himself on being composed despite his age, but tonight, all that confidence vanished in an instant. he’d been lounging on his bed after practice, casually snapping a picture to capture the golden glow of the setting sun through his window.

the photo was innocent enough, or so he thought — a relaxed pose, shirtless, with the blanket barely covering his hips. it was meant for seungmin, who’d jokingly challenged him to “prove” he was resting properly.

but in his sleepy haze, jeongin accidentally sent it to you instead.

he realized his mistake almost immediately when your name popped up with a notification. his stomach dropped, and panic set in.

your message arrived seconds later:

uh… is this the kind of ‘resting’ you meant to show me? 😳

jeongin groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “oh my god, i’m an idiot,” he muttered. he typed back as quickly as his trembling hands allowed.

“i am so sorry. that was not meant for you. please, just delete it and pretend this never happened.”

you replied almost immediately, and his heart raced as he opened your message.

delete it? why would i do that when it’s such a nice view?

his mouth fell open, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief coursing through him. he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or crawl under his blanket and never come out.

“are you seriously teasing me right now?” he finally typed, his cheeks burning.

maybe... but can you blame me? you’re not exactly making it easy to ignore.

jeongin let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.”

i know.

jeongin sighed, a reluctant smile spreading across his face. while the initial shock of his mistake lingered, he couldn’t deny that your reaction made it worth the embarrassment.

han ⁺

han had always been impulsive, and that trait extended to his texting habits. he’d just finished a late-night studio session and decided to take a mirror selfie to show off his new haircut. the picture wasn’t inappropriate, but it was suggestive — he was shirtless, his hair slightly damp from a shower, with a cheeky grin on his face.

he meant to send it to chan, but in his half-asleep state, he sent it to you instead.

it wasn’t until your message came through that he realized his mistake.

right in front of my salad? 🤨

han’s eyes widened, and he sat up so fast he nearly knocked over his coffee mug. “oh no,” he muttered, his hands shaking as he typed back.

“omg, i’m so sorry! that was not meant for you! i was trying to send it to chan. please just forget you saw it.”

your reply came a moment later:

why? it was a nice picture. you should send me more.

han’s jaw dropped, his mind racing. was this really happening? were you actually flirting with him?

“wait, are you serious right now?” he replied cautiously.

very serious. you look good, han. don’t be so shy about it.

his face turned red, but a smile crept onto his lips. “i’m not shy!” he typed back defensively.

sure, you’re not...

han let out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re dangerous, you know that?”

says the guy with his tiddies out for the world to see. wait, i wonder how much i can sell this for on ebay...

he flushed and sighed, leaning back in his chair. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly becoming the most crack-filled interaction he’d ever had with you. maybe his impulsiveness wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

seung ⁺ min

seungmin was always known for his sharp wit and calm demeanor, rarely letting things rattle him. but tonight, that composure was nowhere to be found.

after a long day, he decided to respond to a group chat message with a selfie he’d taken earlier — a casual, post-workout shot that showed him in a tank top, his hair slightly messy, and his usual confident smirk. the picture wasn’t provocative, but it was undeniably attractive.

except he didn’t send it to the group chat. he sent it to you.

seungmin froze as he realized what he had done. his usual sharp mind went blank, replaced by a surge of panic. before he could even think of a way to delete it, your reply came through.

well, i wasn’t expecting this, but i’m not complaining. 😏

he stared at your message, his ears turning red as he tried to come up with a response. this wasn’t like him at all — how could he make such a mistake?

“uh, that wasn’t meant for you,” he finally typed, his thumbs trembling slightly. “i was trying to send it to the group chat. my bad.”

your reply came almost instantly.

no need to apologize, bbg. honestly, it’s nice to see this side of you. you look good, seungmin.

his jaw clenched as he reread your words. you were complimenting him?

“i didn’t mean for you to see it,” he replied quickly. “but… thanks, i guess?”

why so shy all of a sudden? i didn’t think you’d get flustered this easily.

“i’m not flustered,” he replied, though your teasing and his red face told a different story.

sure you’re not. but for what it’s worth, you’ve definitely made my night.

seungmin let out a small, awkward laugh, his confidence slowly returning. “well, i’m glad my mistake could entertain you,” he replied.

it’s more… eye-opening, than entertaining. although my rose toy would disagree.

seungmin choked, rereading your words. maybe this wasn’t the disaster he thought it was.

chang ⁺ bin

changbin was naturally confident, his playful energy making him the life of any room. but even he wasn’t immune to moments of pure, unfiltered embarrassment — like the one he was having now.

it started innocently enough: he’d taken a mirror selfie at the gym to show off his progress, flexing his biceps with a grin that screamed, “look at me, i’m unstoppable.” it was meant for chan, who’d been teasing him about skipping arm day.

but in his haste, changbin accidentally sent the picture to you.

the moment he realized his mistake, his stomach dropped. “oh no,” he muttered, staring at the screen in horror.

your reply came faster than he could process.

wow, changbin… showing off for me now? 👀

he groaned, his confidence taking a nosedive. he quickly typed back, “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send it to chan. please ignore it!”

you didn’t ignore it. instead, you replied,

why would you send it to him? and why should i ignore it? you look amazing honestly, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.

changbin blinked, your words catching him off guard. were you… complimenting him?

“wait… are you kidding me?” he replied cautiously.

of course not, i mean, if you’re gonna send me pictures like this, don’t blame me for appreciating them.

changbin let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “well, i wasn’t exactly trying to impress you, but… thanks, i guess?”

who said you didn’t impress me?

his heart skipped a beat at your tease, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “i guess if you’re not mad, i shouldn’t be so worried,” he typed, his confidence returning.

not mad at all. in fact, feel free to send more anytime.

changbin laughed out loud, shaking his head. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

and you love it.

“maybe i do,” he replied, surprising even himself with his boldness.

what started as an embarrassing mistake had suddenly become one of the most fun conversations he’d ever had with you.

notes: hoez in the house ( my smut fic is taking forever to finish :( )

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gyaruhana · 10 days ago

Note

Hi Xae, have a good new year, I wanted to ask you if you could write about Kang Dae-ho (player 388) from Squid Game 2, where the reader joins Gihun's team and even though it's only been a few hours, she and Dae-ho already have chemistry and Dae-ho tells Gihun's friend how pretty the reader is, making him a little angry and calling him a fool in love, ty ❤!

-🦊

Kang Dae-Ho/Player 388 - Fool in love

Synopsis: You and Dae-ho get along within the first second you meet - maybe it's meant to be?

A/N: Finally dropping this !! Dae-ho is so cutie and I love him sm

Warning: none !!

A game where death is lurking right around the corner is enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine. Especially yours. You only came here because you needed the money but you weren't confident that you'd be willing to die for it. The idea that you might die soon made you utterly afraid. You had a family that you'd most definitely like to go home to but most of the other players seemed far too keen to stay in this hell and it meant you were stuck there with them too.

On a more fortunate note, there seemed to be a previous winner amidst the hundreds of other players and you'd be damned if you didn't rely on someone who knew what he was doing. If he really was a winner, then he could predict the games. Maybe then you'd actually have a chance of getting out alive and with a lot of money.

“Hi. You're the guy from earlier who said that he played this before, right?” You ask as you stand in front of player 456. You thought maybe being his ally would make you feel better but, with the way he looked up at you, he was actually kind of scary. It's like his face had been frozen into a hard glare. Though, to be fair, he was apparently the sole survivor of the game he played so he must have suffered plenty of losses. You suppose you'd look that unhappy too if you lost people you cared about.

He gives you a nod as the other people sitting around look at you too. They looked a lot less terrifying than him which made you feel a bit better. “I was wondering if maybe I could stick with you guys? I don't really want to be on my own and, since you've played these games before, you can help, right?” you ask with a hopeful look. You were really hoping that they'd be welcoming to you.

“Mm? Who are you?” Someone suddenly speaks and, when you look towards the voice, you see a boy with food stuffed in his mouth peeking out from around the corner. His eyes briefly widen when he sees you properly before he quickly puts his food down and jumps off the bed. “Of course, you can stick with us,” he says rather eagerly as the three men behind him give him a strange look.

“Ah, really? Thank you,” you say with a nervous grin as he practically pushes you to sit down. You honestly didn't expect to be welcomed with such open arms. Actually, maybe that wasn't really a team decision but you didn't complain because now you had a team who could protect you and that you could hopefully trust.

“So, who are you?” He asks as he grabs his food from the bed before he sits down beside you with his legs crossed. He looked genuinely interested to know everything about you and it made your heartbeat a little faster. He was cute. That was for sure. So to have his eyes on you was certainly making you slightly nervous. You cleared your throat before introducing yourself as you tried to maintain eye contact with him.

He repeats your name as if testing out how it sounds when said from his own mouth. After a slight pause, he gives a slight nod of approval before speaking up again. “I'm Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho,” he says with a smile. In all honesty, he had never seen someone as pretty as you. You really captivated his attention. He felt like he couldn't take his eyes off you.

“Kang Dae-ho,” you repeat quietly as you engrave the name into your mind. “That's a nice name,” you say with a small smile and he smiles too. “It's supposed to mean big tiger. Kang means big and Dae-ho means tiger,” he explains before taking a bite of his food.

“Big tiger? You don't look very big,” you say with a small smile, teasing him slightly. He swallowed down his food before responding to your comment. “Wha-? I'm big! I was a marine,” he says with a proud smirk. You look at him and down and raise an eyebrow to send a clear message that you didn't believe him one bit.

“No, I'm serious!” He says before pulling his sleeve up to reveal his tattoo. “See?” He says as he makes sure you get a good look at it. “C'mon, anyone could get that tattooed on their arm,” you say and he immediately shakes his head in denial.

“You still don't believe me? Maybe I need to show you my strength then,” he says with a small smile before throwing some gentle punches at you. You laugh at his actions as you two play fight - something that captures the attention of the other three that were sitting around. They look at you two before exchanging a glance between each other then looking away and trying to act as if you and Dae-ho aren't clearly forming some sort of chemistry right now.

The next few hours you had spent exclusively with Dae-ho talking about every little thing. You opened up to him about why you were in these games and what you had gone through and he listened so intently, it made your heart race. You swear your brain would short circuit when he looked at you with that look. When his head was tilted and his eyes said all the words he wanted to say with his mouth.

You couldn't believe you were crushing on a guy you just met. Sure, he was a good listener, funny, strong, nice, and everything else that makes someone perfect but you couldn't just fall in love with him. Hell, you're both in a game of death! One of you could die tomorrow so you really shouldn't be letting your heart race at 100 miles per hour just because he's cute.

Before the both of you knew it, there was already five minutes until lights out and you'd all have to go to sleep to have energy for tomorrow’s game. You looked over at Dae-ho before speaking up. “Dae-ho, I'll be back. I'm just going to use the restroom,” you say with a small smile. When he nods his head, you wave before walking off quickly towards the door. He watched as you knocked on it before having it opened by a guard and then promptly disappearing round the corner.

He let out a sigh before turning around and walking over to Jung-bae. You were so pretty. He honestly couldn't believe you were real. Maybe his brain had made you up as a coping mechanism? You were just so perfect in his eyes. Everything he could possibly want. God, he'd love to take you to dinner sometime when both of you get out of this place so he can give you the love and attention you deserve. He just wished that he could cover your face in kisses for hours on end and hold your hand while taking a walk together. He didn't care if it was cliche. It didn't matter because it was for you.

He finally made it to Jung-Bae and took a seat next to him quietly. He shifted slightly to rest his chin on his hand and waited for Jung-Bae to ask what was on his mind. It was quiet for a few moments as Jung-bae chose to pretend like Dae-ho definitely didn’t have anything to say about you so Dae-ho made the quick decision to let out another sigh- this time much louder to catch Jung-bae’s attention and force him to ask what's on his mind.

Jung-bae turns to look at him with slight annoyance. “What? Don't just sit there and sigh. What is it?” Jung-bae asks as Dae-ho turns to look at him with a shy smile. “She’s so pretty,” he says with his face flushed slightly red, embarrassed that he was fawning over you like this. “Huh?” Jung-bae responds, confused about what he was talking about.

“Her. She’s so pretty. She has the most amazing laugh and the cutest smile and-” Dae-ho begins to speak before receiving a smack over the back of his head making him shut up. The smile on his face drops as he looks at Jung-bae like a confused puppy.

“You're such a fool. You just met her a few hours ago,” he says as he shakes his head in disapproval. Dae-ho laughs nervously as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess.. but still. She's so perfect,” he says in poor defense.

He hears the door open and his head snaps towards it immediately. He was hoping it was you because he already missed talking to you, even if it's only been a few minutes since you left for the bathrooms. When he sees you, he quickly smiles and, if he was a dog, anyone would see his tail wagging back and forth. Jung-bae let out a sigh and shook his head like some father who was disappointed in his son.

“You're planning to ask her out, aren't you?” He says only to get an immediate response.

“absolutely,”

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #dae ho x reader #player 388

1K notes · View notes

muniimyg · 3 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (24) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

note: hihi ,, sorry this update took so long (>'-'<) hope u like it <3 personally think it could've been freakier but also planning on another extra of pregnant oc n bbydaddy jk fucking LOL so i wouldn't worry abt it... ch is lengthy fyi … also,, bby2’s name reveal 😝

warnings: pregnancy mood swings, hot tub sex (oc is in her 2nd trimester) pregnant oc, jealousy, dirty talk, breast play, some slapping, kissing, and fucking

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

so much happened before the wedding.

for instance, you two pulled zion out of daycare and enrolled him in preschool. with all your leave time from work, this allowed you to spend more precious moments with him and while still having time for yourself. another thing is that you and jungkook finally pushed through packing up and moving homes. truth be told, you two bought the penthouse a few years ago but paused on the mini renovations due to your busy work schedules and personal circumstances. on top of that, when jungkook came back from new york he talked about leaving the company to start something of his own.

if that doesn’t feel like a lot… you two got married.

married.

in the midst of the aftermath of your wedding and moving process; you and jungkook are expecting another. and wow, does it feel like you two can’t catch your breath. the timing of everything has truly never felt more chaotic yet so right.

you and jungkook deserve every bit of this new chapter.

this new life.

so, with everything in motion, you two decided to take a take a moment and slow things down.

to catch your breath, step away, and spend some intentional time together before the next wave of change rolls in. a cabin trip, tucked away from the noise, just the two of them and the growing baby you carry, is the perfect escape.

when the car slows to stop, you take a moment to admire the soft snow that coats the cabin’s rooftop and blankets the surrounding pine trees. jungkook turns off the engine and gazes out the window. as he marvels at the sight, he turns to you and thinks;

there’s no comparison.

you catch his gaze and scoff at him.

“don’t look at me like that,” you warn. “we haven’t even made it inside the cabin. i’m 5 months pregnant, jungkook. i can’t fuck in this audi like—”

“you’re so beautiful,” he leans over and kisses your forehead. “that’s all.”

you tighten your lips and nod.

he’s been awfully good at making your heart flutter these days… could be the pregnancy hormones. could be the fact that you married the right man. somewhere in between, you can’t even find it in yourself to question it or think any deeper. you’re just thankful. you’re so grateful for him.

jungkook steps out first.

he inhales deeply and stretches. taking in the stillness of the mountains, the snow beneath him crunches under his boots. he hurries around to open the car door for you. offering his hand, you smile and take it. your gloved finger curls around his as you carefully step out of the car, one hand instinctively resting on your round belly.

"oh.. wow. honey, this is beautiful,” you murmur in awe.

jungkook tugs you close and kisses the top of your head. "it's aight. i think you're—"

"oh, my love..." you look down at your belly and pout. "your daddy is so annoying. he's such a yapper. i hope you take after me and know when to shut up."

the first day passes faster than you expect.

after settling into the cozy cabin, you and jungkook decide to explore the small downtown area. it’s a charming place, with snow-dusted streets and twinkling lights in every shop window. you wander hand in hand, stopping to sample street food—warm, savory bites that fill the crisp air with delicious smells. then there’s dessert, sweet enough to leave you both way too full but completely satisfied. by the time you finish, the sun is setting, and you head back to the cabin before 6pm, ready to settle in for a cozy evening.

the two of you curl up on the couch, binge-watching bad romcoms. between the predictable plots and over-the-top drama, you’re both laughing harder than you have in weeks. every ridiculous twist has you snorting, and you spend half the time arguing over the characters’ choices, tossing playful jabs at each other’s taste in movies. you haven’t felt this light, this refreshed in each other's company, in what feels like forever.

it’s a stark contrast to the year before, which was filled with more ups and downs than anyone should have to endure in a lifetime. even now, it’s still hard to look back at those difficult times without a weight settling in your chest. but it’s moments like this—when you’re playing a board game with jungkook, battling over a meaningless win—that make your heart soar.

jungkook, of course, refuses to let you win, which might be the funniest thing he’s done in a while. he’s always been competitive, but when it comes to you, he usually doesn’t mind losing, letting you take the victory just to see you smile.

but tonight?

tonight’s different.

you’re both teasing each other mercilessly, throwing out fake strategies and dramatic groans every time someone gains an advantage.

“you’re really gonna make me earn this, huh?” you laugh, shaking your head as he shoots you a smirk.

“you better believe it,” he replies, eyes gleaming with playful determination.

"does the fact that i'm carrying your baby—"

"no, no, no—d-don't pull the milf card," he panics. "don't be a cheater like that."

"what's it to you? if i'm a milf, you're a dilf."

the back-and-forth banter fills the cabin with warmth, the kind of joy that’s rare and precious.

every time he tries to outwit you, you only love him more for it. this is the jungkook you fell in love with—the one who knows how to make even the simplest moments feel special.

as you look at him mid-game, you think to yourself; you win no matter what.

this is the love you fought for, and right here, in this cozy cabin, surrounded by snow and laughter, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

when the next morning comes, you and jungkook wake up slow together.

over the past 5 months, you’ve been so nauseous, your feet have been swelling (you cried the other day because your old snow boots wouldn’t fit), and your body just... feels less like your own every day.

between the sleepless nights and aching back, you’ve been longing for a break, something to help you feel even just a little bit more like yourself again.

he’s constantly touching your belly and making sure you aren’t bending your knees or lifting a finger. you’ve always known him to be an acts-of-service type of guy, but he surely is a different man when you’re pregnant.

he’s so fucking clingy...

but you are too.

jungkook knows how much you’ve been struggling; he sees it in the way you wince when you stand up too fast, or how you press your hand to your lower back after a long day. when he suggested a babymoon—an escape to a peaceful spa retreat—you didn’t hesitate to agree.

he planned everything perfectly, even down to booking a specialist renowned for her prenatal massages. you both have been counting down the days, excited for the chance to unwind together.

before heading to the spa, you and jungkook decide to grab some coffee.

today, the weather is cool with a crispness in the air that feels refreshing after yesterday’s warmth.

jungkook parks the car at a nearby café on the corner of the street and helps you out. the small bell above the door jingles as you walk in. the vibe inside is laid-back and peaceful—wooden tables, soft lighting, and a chalkboard menu that gives it a homely feel, but the low hum of conversation fills the space with a quiet buzz of life.

you both are a little more sensitive this time around, but who could blame you? between the pregnancy hormones and the life changes, things have been tough. but it’s okay. things are better now.

life has never felt more full.

jungkook squeezes your hand before heading up to the counter to order, while you take a seat by the window, a few tables away from the barista station. from your spot, you can watch him as he approaches the counter, where a young woman with bright eyes and an easy smile greets him.

"good morning! what can i get for you today?" she asks, her voice chipper and smooth, a little too warm for your liking.

maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but… truly, there’s something in her voice you dislike.

she leans slightly against the counter, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, her attention fully fixed on jungkook. you tilt your head and sit back in your chair a little more. this is interesting.

jungkook offers his usual friendly smile. "one iced americano, and one matcha oat milk latte, please."

the barista starts punching in the order, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "iced, even in this weather? bold choice. i like that."

jungkook laughs softly, the sound filling the quiet space and making you smile unconsciously as you fiddle with the napkin in front of you. you can hear snippets of their conversation from where you sit. the barista's tone shifts just slightly—casual but laced with subtle flirtation.

"so, aside from iced coffee at 8am, do you ever drink coffee at 4pm?" she asks, her eyes lingering on him a bit longer than necessary. "my shift ends at 4pm. how do you like your coffee then?"

you feel your shoulders tense, a little twist in your stomach forming as you watch. it’s harmless. you know it’s harmless, but something about the way she’s looking at him makes your heart squeeze uncomfortably.

jungkook, ever the oblivious sweetheart, glances toward you. his gaze softens when your eyes meet. without missing a beat, he grins and says, "with my wife."

the barista falters for a moment, caught off guard. her smile tightens, and she forces a laugh, quickly recovering.

"well, aren’t you… committed. that’s nice to see."

you catch the way jungkook's lips twitch, clearly proud of himself for the quick response. he gives you a little wink, and despite the initial rush of warmth from his words, the insecurity starts to creep in again. you glance away, pretending to be interested in the view outside the window, but you can’t shake the way your stomach churns. it’s a familiar wave of self-consciousness washing over you.

it’s stupid, you think to yourself.

but... why does this bother me?

even if he always says the right things... fuck.

your hand then drifts down to rest on your belly, the growing baby inside serving as a constant reminder of the changes you’ve been going through. the swelling, the mood swings, the way your clothes don’t fit the same anymore—it’s all there. it bubbles just under the surface. seeing someone so effortlessly pretty and carefree—someone who hasn’t been carrying another human for months—playfully flirting with your husband only magnifies that feeling.

jungkook pays, grabs the drinks, and walks over to you, placing one in front of you as he takes a seat.

"got your favorite," he says, flashing you that same smile that always melts your heart.

you force a smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

"thanks, honey."

he narrows his eyes slightly, reading you like a book.

"everything okay?"

"yeah, i’m fine," you reply, taking a sip from your cup, hoping it hides the tiny lie. the weight of your feelings lingers, leaving a heaviness in the air that jungkook can sense, even if he doesn’t fully understand.

for now, he lets it slide, though you know him well enough to recognize that he’s not going to leave it alone for long.

the spa day is as luxurious and blissful as you imagined it to be.

you tried your best not to let your waves of jealousy and insecurity get in the way of experiencing this with jungkook… but it’s a lot easier said than done.

you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious the entire time. you couldn’t help but notice the longing gazes the staff had as jungkook walked by your side… it made you feel sick to your stomach.

… like, yes! he’s handsome.

but he’s also mine? so close your eyes.

aside from that, you and jungkook had a great time with the massages and truly felt relaxed. it was so nice to spend time with him like this… which is why a part of you immediately feels guilty when he helps you get dressed at the end of the session.

“honey, you okay?” jungkook says, as he helps zip up your jacket.

you look at him, trying to blink the thin layer of your teary eyes. “y-yeah.”

he blinks at you.

“is your body feeling okay? was the massage too much—w-what’s going on? why are you about to cry?”

“no,” you step closer, your arms slowly sliding around his neck and draw him in. your fingers lace gently at the nape of his neck, brushing against the soft strands of his hair. “it was perfect. thank you so much for bringing me here, honey. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

instinctively, jungkook leans into you, your forehead almost touching. his gaze softens, and there's a tenderness in the way you hold him. he loves this. it’s like you’re grounding yourself in his presence. even though he knows you’re withholding some truth, he’ll take this for now.

“you sure?” he attempts once more.

“mhm,” you nod, making an effort to lighten your tone. “let’s get some dinner, yeah?”

dinner was lovely.

it was the kind that left your heart and stomach feeling equally full. jungkook had made you laugh so much, telling stories and cracking little jokes that slowly but surely melted away the weird mood from earlier. you’d almost forgotten about the lingering unease as his laughter filled the cozy cabin, a warmth settling between the two of you.

now, as you both lounged comfortably in the soft glow of the fire, jungkook’s playful grin returned.

“you know,” he said, nudging your knee, “we’ve got that hot tub just waiting for us.” his eyes sparkled mischievously. "let's take advantage of it."

you tighten your lips.

"come on," jungkook grins, tugging gently at your hand. "the hot tub’s waiting for us. you know you want to."

you hesitate, glancing out toward the balcony where steam rises into the cool evening air. the idea of sinking into the hot water sounds tempting, but the lingering weight of your jealousy from earlier makes you feel uneasy. you haven't said anything about it yet, but it sits at the back of your mind.

jungkook’s eyes search yours, his expression softening as he steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you deserve to relax, honey. this whole weekend is for you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "let's enjoy it."

you want to tell him.

you want to explain the knot in your chest, the little twist of insecurity that made you feel silly. but instead, you just smile—small and tight—because he's right. this trip is supposed to be about unwinding, about feeling good again, and you can’t bring yourself to ruin the mood.

“okay,” you say, your voice quieter than usual. “let’s do it.”

jungkook’s face lights up instantly, a boyish grin spreading across his lips.

“love you, mama.” he pulls you in for a quick kiss, his excitement infectious as he heads toward the balcony to get the tub ready.

the outdoor hot tub and sauna sit on the edge of the property, steam rising into the chilly air. as you stand at the edge of the hot tub, you strip down your robe. jungkook, who has been sitting in the hot tub mentally preparing himself for you—is more than delighted to watch you lower yourself into the bubbling water.

jungkook looks up from the water with soft, adoring eyes. his expression is completely relaxed yet focused, entirely captivated by you. the steam rises around him, but it’s the warmth in his gaze that stands out the most. a kind of quiet affection that radiates with every glance. his lips are slightly parted, and though he says nothing, the way his gaze clings to you speaks volumes. he's utterly consumed by you. every detail of your presence pulling him deeper into that gentle obsession. (gentle… yeah right). his tattooed arm rests casually on the edge of the hot tub, but even with his laid-back posture, there's an intensity in the way he watches you.

truly, you're the only thing in the world that matters to him.

offering him a small smile, you finally sink into the water and sit. jungkook moves from his spot to in front of you. he opens his arms and you let out a giggle as he wraps himself around you. you can’t help but giggle… you aren’t blind.

jungkook comes to you—wet, tatted, and toned.

as his arms envelop you, the warmth of his body against yours sends shivers down your spine. you can’t help but admire the way the water glistens on his skin and how hot and bothered his tattoo sleeve is making you. for a second, jungkook pulls away to smirk at you… when he does so, it ignites a flutter in your stomach. you find yourself lost in the depths of his eyes.

you’re convinced that the glint in them can heal your soul.

in this intimate space, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in your own little bubble. you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he pulls you closer, a reminder of the love you share, a bond that only grows stronger in moments like this. the steam swirls around you, but it’s the connection between your souls that truly warms your heart, making you more and more aware that this is where you belong—right in the center of his gaze.

"this was a good idea," you breathe. “i needed this."

jungkook kisses the top of your head before he moves and slips in beside you. his arm naturally rests around your shoulders.

“anything for you, mama,” he whispers, breath visible in the cool air. he tilts his head, sneaking a kiss on your cheek. you smile as he does so, feeling like you could melt. “i’m so happy you’re happy.”

you laugh softly, resting your head on his shoulder. "you make me happy.”

jungkook’s face lights up.

it’s moments like these where he feels his heart is lifted. there’s nothing better than hearing you say shit like that. it’s so simple but it wholeheartedly gives him the will to live.

jungkook’s hand drifts to your belly.

“i miss zion.”

you laugh. “even though he’s your number 1 hater?”

jungkook scoffs at you. though what you said is true, he refuses to accept it.

“he’s gonna have to learn to love us equally… or at least, need me a little more,” he sighs. “to be honest… i’m kind of worried about when you go into labour and the entire new shift in our family. don’t get me wrong—i think zion is a great kid. as unbias as i can be, he truly is kind. he’s curious and understanding at the same time. he’s funny and sociable… but i’m concerned that if he isn’t into me right now and he’s been awfully clingy with you… w-well, i’m not sure how we’re gonna navigate through that. our baby is going to need you and i want to protect your peace of mind and recovery… but i also want to be an accessible father to zion and leave enough time and things for myself. i d-don’t know if i’m making any sense but—”

you nod, listening to him. everything he mentioned makes sense to you. you feel the same way and have also worried about how zion will be as a brother. he’s completely capable of it and he has shown excitement regarding your pregnancy—but it’s different when it happens.

“i feel the same way,” you admit, taking your hand and resting it on his cheek. “everything is so new and there’s so much more than just welcoming a new baby… all your feelings are okay and i appreciate you being able and willing to talk about them even when they don’t make sense to you. see, when you do and say things like this—it eases me. we’re not going to get everything right. we’re going to mess up and there will be times where our priorities rearrange and the adjustment sucks… but we’ve been through worse and made it through. this is our life together, honey. we’re going to make it work. we’re going to be okay.”

jungkook takes your words in.

they give him a rush of comfort and feels instantly better. there’s no other way of describing the kind of relief you give him.

he believes in you so much.

you reach over and kiss him. he kisses you back, happily and deeply. when you pull away he lets out a sigh of relief.

“in other news… yoongi and his new girlfriend? don’t they remind you of us?” jungkook begins. “like when we were dating and how dramatic we were about always being together? she lives two cities away and he’s constantly driving back and forth.”

you laugh, recalling all the lovestruck texts yoongi sent you. not too long ago, he asked for anniversary date ideas and it made you feel funny. with his past girlfriends, he never bothered to ask for help or even get his friends involved. he was usually quiet about them… but with this new one, he’s on blast.

you and jungkook met yoongi’s girlfriend a few months ago. just before the wedding actually. she was really warm and brought a brighter part of yoongi out. you’ve never seen that side of him. he would glow while she smiled. it was decided then and there that she would be invited to your wedding.

“yoongi is falling in love again," you say with a laugh. "maybe a little fast but it’s also really nice to see him passionate about someone… and he’s grown.”

jungkook chuckles, nodding. "yeah, he’s head over heels this time."

you pause, then casually add, “she’s really pretty and kind… so i understand why he’s lovestruck.”

the silence that follows is enough for jungkook to realize there’s more on your mind. you glance over at him before finally asking, “she’s pretty right?”

“i’m married.”

“you’re allowed to think other women are pretty… l-like the barista from this morning. she was pretty, right?” you repeat.

jungkook’s eyes slightly widen. his body stiffens, not expecting the shift.

“i think you think she’s pretty.”

you bite your inner cheek. “because she was pretty—”

“no.”

“it’s okay,” you attempt to sound cool. “you can admit it. i won’t be mad—”

“i think my wife is pretty. the prettiest.”

“she was pretty—”

he shrugs, eyes beginning to panic. “honey, i couldn’t tell ya—“

“jungkook,” you groan. “be serious—“

“i am,” jungkook lets out a harsh scoff. “are you?”

you feel a little sick.

not because of the pregnancy but because you know you’ve provoked him. suddenly, his gaze lowers and the unbothered expression he had on a second ago is long gone.

“___, my love—my wife… you know you’re carrying my child, right? not only have you carried my first, second, and now third—holy shit. i don’t mean to sound so angry right now, but if what you’re insinuating is that i haven’t fucked you deep enough to feel the love i have for you then—fuck. we have an issue here. i am angry.”

you heart stops the moment he mentions your second pregnancy. “no. that’s not what i—“

“tell me now,” jungkook demands. “have i not kissed every inch of your body enough for you to understand how in love i am with it? with you? have i or have i not, huh? or should i fuck you right now so i can prove shit? fuck, ___. am i not a grown-ass man that falls at the feet of his wife—no. don’t look away. i want you to fucking look at me when i’m talking to you.”

you tighten your lips and look up at him. for a moment, you look down and away. he caught your look and pulled you back into reality. his reality.

the atmosphere shifts.

“are you okay?” he asks for the nth time today. “are we okay?”

jungkook chases for your eyes. you look at him and feel overwhelmed. you can’t help it. before you know it, tears stream down your face.

“i d-don’t know,” your voice shakes. “i don’t mean to pick a fight. i don’t know why i’m so insecure right now—i just… i didn't mean to be so sulky the entire day. please, jungkook... i love you and appreciate everything you've done for this babymoon... and i know that the barista flirting with you this morning was nothing. i know it was nothing. girls have hit on you way more than that but i think because i’m pregnant and she was so pretty—”

you let out a sob. “i know you love me and there are more important things in our life than to be crying over stupid shit like this… but i can’t help it. w-why do you have to be so handsome?”

you hit his bare chest and he moves back, pretending like it hurt. pouting, you cross your arms at him.

“a-and you can’t blame me. you always flirt with me and get me all hot and bothered but haven’t actually fucked me in 2 months. 2 months, jungkook! what the fuck! this is literally your fault. i look and act like this because of your fucking cum—”

“oh my god,” he hisses. “honey, do you know how hard it’s been for me to not rip your clothes off? do you have any idea how i feel when i touch you and all you do is glow? as much as this makes me sound like a pathetic loser—i’m scared to. if i fuck you while you’re pregnant, i’m literally going to cumbust. i’m going to fall in love with you even more. i don’t know if i can handle that—can you? god, do you know how much this all means to me? you think it’s just me being inside you again—which, fuck, i miss that too—but to me it’s so much more. i can’t even find the words to say how utterly sick my mind gets when i think about us fucking with you pregnant like this.”

you stare at him blankly.

“you’re pregnant—your body is changing,” he pauses. “... and i’m so grateful for you. for this divine body. you can be insecure all you want and i will do anything and everything to prove them wrong—but the truth is… i’m selfish right now. ___, i love how needy you are. i love how your boobs overflow in my hands. i love the bump. i love how flush your cheeks are. i love that you can’t bend and i get to do more things for you. i love that you want me more. so fuck. sorry if i don’t give a shit if a young barista hits on me or if yoongi has a girlfriend—i’m captivated by you. i only know you and your beauty. i only want you.”

jungkook has always loved you.

over and over again, he has shown, fought, and waited for you with his love like no other. to be frank, it feels like every day there is a new reason for him to love you.

when you became pregnant with zion, he didn’t know how to function. he was genuinely mindblown and breathless from how much he loved you. then, as you two went through your second pregnancy and continue to heal together from the circumstances, he thinks; this must be it.

because there is no way he could love you any more than this.

… but he does.

there’s something about seeing you pregnant that makes him fall even harder. seeing you in this light—happier and safe… it strikes him differently. the feeling plunges right into his heart and fills it with more admiration and appreciation for you.

you see, it’s in the little things.

how you absentmindedly rub your belly when you talk about the baby, or the way your eyes soften when you feel a kick. he’s in awe of how strong you are, how you’ve adapted to every change with grace, even when it’s tough.

watching you carry his child, seeing the way your love has grown to make room for this new life, has only deepened his devotion. to him, you’ve never looked more beautiful, more radiant—more divine.

the steam swirls around you and jungkook.

instead of saying more, he leans closer. his eyes lock with yours and you gulp. he brushes a damp strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin.

it feels like he’s taking forever to kiss you.

he looks at you needy and desperate. leaning in, he tilts his head and closes in on you. time stops when his lips met yours. he kisses you with such demand.

opening your mouth ever so slightly, you allow him in. he deepens the kiss, melting away any lingering tension. he pulls you closer, his abs touching your bump. jungkook moans into the kiss and you smile. then, he slides his hands around your waist and his fingers play with the hem of your bikini bottom. you let out a gasp when he pinches your ass. he pulls away from the kiss and laughs, before placing a kiss on your shoulder.

then, he lifts his face and kisses you again. pulling away once again, you giggle as his fingers tug down your bottoms.

“need you.”

you scrunch your nose at him.

it’s so strange to you because pregnancy isn’t that glamorous. you aren’t blind and jungkook doesn’t exactly do much to wipe the drool that dribbles down his mouth when he sees you paddle like a penguin… but seriously? the hot tub?

“in the hot tub?”

“in the hot tub?” he mocks you.

you squirm as he successfully takes your bottoms off. he smirks as he tosses them to the side. jungkook then squats and lifts you to switch positions. as he sits, he settles you on top of him. he bites his bottom lip as he concentrates on taking his shorts off.

"come on," he whines. "it's sexy."

“im pregnant,” you remind him. “i don’t know if i can—”

“you can,” jungkook assures you. “you will.”

just like that, you fold.

you trust him.

when he takes his shorts off, he helps you get more comfortable. as you sink into his cock, you plant both of your hands on his shoulders. you wince as you hump and grind on him.

he feels so big.

jungkook playfully pouts. “what’s wrong, mama? you were crying about not having me inside you—now that i am, what? what is it? too big?”

you nod as you come down.

“should’ve prepped.”

jungkook’s pout turns into a mischievous smile.

“why? this is for me. i like that you’re so sensitive. don’t you? you feel it, right? you’re so tight, mama. can feel you clenching. your fucking pussy has grip… and look at you. fucking yourself onto me like a good girl cos you love this fat cock so much. you love this.”

you nod, feeling his length in your guts. “yes, daddy. love this cock so much. thank you for my baby.”

he inhales sharply before wrapping his arms around you. jungkook rips off your bikini top and stuffs his face into your breasts. he kisses them, taking his time to lick and suck your nipples. when he pulls away, he brings his hands to them.

he squeezes them tightly and watches the way your flesh spills in between his fingers. your breasts got so fucking big—he loves them.

“god bless these breasts,” he hums. “you like that, mama? you like it when i play with your tits like this?”

slap.

“say thank you to me,” he insists. “with my fucking cum, your tits wouldn’t be this delicious.”

you ride him slower.

“thank you, daddy.”

slap.

“again. say it like you mean it.”

you moan as he smacks them once more.

“thank you, daddy—oh,” you pant as he twists your nipple. he looks at you, mouth slightly opened and eyes darted at you. “t-thank you for my tits. thank you for cumming inside me and always stuffing me full. you’re so big and i’m so thankful. thank you, thank you, thank you—mmfphh—”

jungkook pulls your hair, tilting you back.

he shoves his face back to your tits before licking his way up to your neck. you feel him throb inside you and suddenly think that the jets and led lights in this hot tub add to the tension. it feels so good.

pleasure is an understatement.

the way jungkook fits inside you is incredible.

it’s near indescribable actually. you must have saved an entire nation in your past life to deserve dick this good. you ride the high, feeling the tightness in your stomach knot more and more. then, finally, jungkook tells you to get off.

as you do so, he lets go of your hair and takes you by the waist. he bends you over. you plant your hands on the edge of the hot tub as he hisses, smacks your ass, and shoves himself back inside your pussy.

he fucks you, making sure to have a handful of your boobs as he does so.

it’s what he deserves.

jungkook bites your shoulders as you moan. cheek to cheek, you both begin to pant. he digs himself deeper and deeper, you swear the curves of his dick have engraved themselves into your pussy.

“f-fuck yeah, mama—t-that’s it,” jungkook murmurs into your ear. “my dirty fucking slut. so needy and bratty when you’re pregnant. you’re my fucking princess.”

“n-not a princess—”

“you are though,” he breathes our sharply. “my babymama… god, i love you. i love this fucking cunt so much. i’m sorry i haven’t been fucking it. practically fucking self sabatoge… didn’t wanna obsess over you even more—f-fuck. you feel so good. i was a fool. i’m sorry, mama. i’m s-so fucking—nghh—”

jungkook slams himself into you harder and harder. the water splashes and the sounds of the hot tub jets are put into second place. you whimper and moan, matching his pace. he feels like he’ll lose his mind soon.

you sound so pretty.

you are so pretty.

right then and there, jungkook reaches for your clit. he rubs on it, elevating your pleasure.

"my pretty mama."

"oh my god—"

jungkook lets out a big exhale. “mhmm. feel good, mama? you like the way i touch you? so fucking pretty. the prettiest. f-fuck, ___... daddy’s got you.”

he lets you enjoy for a few more seconds before bringing his wet hands to cup your cheeks. he tilts your face up and squishes your lips together. he kisses you before moving back to your neck. there, he nibbles on your skin to leave marks.

“i love you,” he pants. “i love you, mama.”

“i love you too, daddy.”

what bliss.

jungkook cums first and feeling the way his cum shoots inside you finishes you off. you cum seconds after and reach for kisses. jungkook lowers his face and kisses you. against your lips, he murmurs;

“10 minute break. can we have sex inside for round 2?”

the babymoon turned out to be everything you needed and more after you and jungkook talked (fucked) through your feelings. truth is, all you can really recall is cumming so much you were afraid your water was going to break. for the past 2 months where you two didn’t fuck—he’s made up for it.

once the air was cleared, any lingering tension melted away, and the rest of the trip was filled with small, intimate moments that made you both fall deeper into this new chapter of your lives. there was that one morning when jungkook woke up early, made breakfast, and brought it to bed with the most endearing, sheepish grin.

“thought we could start the day off cozy,” he said, climbing back into bed beside you. his warmth immediately soothing. you spent that morning feeding each other bites of fruit between soft kisses, the world outside feeling distant and irrelevant.

every night, you two facetimed zion. watching his bright little face light up the screen as he excitedly told you about his adventures with his grandparents.

“look, daddy, i made a painting for mommy!” he shouted, showing off a messy splash of colors that had you both smiling.

of course it was a painting for mommy.

jungkook asked for his and zion said; “i don’t know. maybe baby will make you one.”

during those quiet nights—heads close together, watching zion through the phone or lying side by side, soaking in the peacefulness—you realized just how "married" you felt. this trip wasn’t just a getaway; it was a reminder of the life you were building together, the love that had deepened through every challenge.

as the sun began to set on the last day of your babymoon, the golden light streaming through the windows bathed the cabin in a warm glow. you and jungkook had spent the afternoon doing nothing in particular—just enjoying each other’s company. lounging in comfortable silence, sharing lazy conversations, and occasionally stealing soft kisses.

“hard to believe it’s almost over,” jungkook murmurs, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back as you rested against him. you hummed in agreement, feeling completely at ease as if all the worries and stresses from before had melted away during your stay.

“i could stay here forever,” you replied with a soft smile, half-joking but meaning it more than you’d care to admit. “but i miss zion and the mom guilt is hitting so hard right now.”

jungkook chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

“do you think he misses me?”

you laugh and then cover your mouth. “did you get funnier or something?”

“haha,” jungkook rolls his eyes. “i really fucking hope this baby likes me more.”

you laugh again, sinking further into him. you rest your hand over your belly. your eyes widen when you feel a kick, you grab jungkook’s hand and place it on top of the spot.

“i think baby will.” you say softly. "hey, we can talk about baby names on our way home! i’m excited.”

and just like that, the babymoon comes to a quiet, contented end. nothing dramatic or grand—just the two of you, basking in the love and peace that had surrounded you for the past 10 days.

as jungkook drives, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the car windows. jungkook hums to a the music playing. the gentle melody soon turns into him singing softly, his voice filling the car with a soothing warmth.

your hand rested on your belly, and almost as if on cue, you felt a tiny kick. the baby reacts to his singing, little movements following the rhythm. you laugh quietly, placing your other hand over his. "someone’s already a fan of your voice," you said, glancing at him.

he grins, continuing to sing as he squeezes your hand. "oh? i guess i’m the favourite. in your face, mama," he jokes. “finally…” but there’s a hint of emotion in his eyes. as though the simple act of singing to your baby makes everything feel even more real.

you laugh and gaze out the window.

"yeah. baby likes your voice," you reply, giving his hand a squeeze.

“you okay?” jungkook asks. “what’s with that look? what’s on your mind, honey?”

"i was just thinking... about names."

jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "oh? got any ideas?"

you hesitate for a moment, then the name just slips out.

"zia,” you reveal. “what do you think of zia? i saw it a few times online and in the baby name book… i called her zia once last week and she kicked. the name itself connects to light, family, and brilliance… radiance."

he repeated it under his breath, testing it out.

"baby zia… i like it." jungkook smiles warmly, taking your hand and kissing it.

you smile back, feeling a sudden surge of love for both jungkook and the tiny life you were bringing into the world.

the name feels right, like it had been waiting for you all along. you can’t wait to get home and share the news with everyone. you can’t wait to go home together, hug and kiss zion, and fall asleep next to your husband.

everything has fallen into place and life is truly so beautiful.

#bts smau #jk scenario #jungkook imagnie #jungkook smut #jungkook married au #jungkook x yn #bts smut

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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

Text

“heatwaves”

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader summary: when a work trip takes you to japan, the last thing you expect is a heatwave... and some guy with blue eyes? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, a/b/o dynamics, no established relationship, dubcon (i feel like it’s always kinda dubcon with a/b/o), p->v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, marking, spit, praise, swearing, pet names (baby/sweetheart/princess), brief mention/implication of pregnancy, knotting, reader gets picked up, reader is american, reader is unaware of their omega status, reader experiences their first heat, reader and satoru “bond” without having a fully conscious conversation, reader and satoru are early twenties. a/n: it's here! somebody spay me. by popular demand i have written alpha!gojo for you all… just a classic reader goes into an accidental heat at work and (x) character happens to be the nearest alpha LMAO. this is entirely uncreative, but i love it for that!!! straight smut with a little plot if you squint hard enough! i hope it lives up to your expectations. find my alpha!geto fic here and find the list of my 1k event fics here. enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. wc: 5k

Nobody ever told you that Japan was so damn hot.

Hot was not what came to mind when you’d heard you’d be taking a trip to Tokyo. Temples? Sure. Mt. Fuji? Great. Hot? No fucking way.

But, here you were, boiling away under the sun on what you’d thought would be a fun little work trip. Instead, you were just suffering with every step, trying to listen to what Principal Yaga was saying and failing miserably.

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.”

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross.

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before.

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones…

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing.

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers?

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man…

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused.

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour.

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen.

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?”

Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was…

“Yes… Thank you.”

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…”

“Take care.”

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources?

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think.

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor.

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?”

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?”

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside.

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips.

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully.

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost.

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing.

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.”

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree.

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground.

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker.

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it.

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply.

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?”

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands.

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right?

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed?

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power…

“N-no–”

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?”

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper.

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls.

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard.

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper.

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.”

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–”

“‘M following your scent, baby.”

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love.

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin.

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning.

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.”

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key.

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak.

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper.

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right.

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough.

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts.

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation.

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.”

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again.

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs.

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-”

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back.

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.”

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants.

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty.

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm.

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need.

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.”

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.”

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before.

“You on birth control, baby?”

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…”

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.”

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively.

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back.

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name.

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts.

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me.

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers.

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now…

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together.

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.”

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair.

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones.

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut.

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed.

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he.

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does.

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry.

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision.

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to.

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here.

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time.

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

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starkwlkr · 2 months ago

Text

she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

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