#honestly this is turning into an obsession...that i maybe already have

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 13

paige x azzi

word count: 9.8k

a/n: honestly don't even have much to say regarding this chapter besides it took me way too long and I got distracted with a one shot so I apologize lol. this story is going to slowly start coming to an end, maybe a few more chapters to wrap everything up. if you have any ideas about last things you'd like to see as I close things out i'm open to hearing them! like always if you can i'd appreciate if you leave your thoughts and comments about the chapter :)

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Paige paced across Cam’s Unrivaled apartment in a slight panic as her fingers tapped unrhythmically against her thigh. As she paced she constantly clenched and unclenched her jaw and at this point her back teeth were hurting but she couldn’t help it. She was already dressed, but the nerves simmering beneath her skin and firing in every direction made her feel like she was losing her mind.

Cam watched her from the couch with one leg tucked underneath her as she scrolled idly through her phone trying to ignore the hole Paige was burning through her floor. “Just be yourself.”

Paige froze mid-step, turning her head toward Cam with a look that said you can’t be serious.

Cam snorted when she looked up and saw Paige’s face. “Okay, fine. Be yourself but like…nicer. Friendlier. Smile a lot more than usual and maybe don’t open the introductions with your whole ‘I don't really do small talk’ vibe and you’ll be good.”

Paige sighed as she rubbed the back of her neck. “What if they don’t like me?”

Cam shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Then they don’t like you.”

Paige’s eyes got wide and there was clear panic on her face. “Cam—”

“I’m kidding,” Cam interrupted, laughing as she sat up straighter. “Damn relax, take a deep breath.”

Paige shook her head, clearly not hearing her. “If they don’t like me, they’ll try to convince her I’m not right for her. They’ll tell her she could do better. That I’m not enough—”

“Paige.” Cam raised her voice to cut through her spiral. “They’re not gonna say any of that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t have to.” Cam stood up to walk towards Paige and put her hands over her shoulders. “Because Azzi loves you. Like…in that annoyingly obsessed kind of way that I honestly find disgusting when she talks about it. Her whole face changes when she looks at you Paigey and I honestly can’t think of anything she wouldn’t do for you.”

Paige’s jaw clenched again and she exhaled through her nose, pacing two more steps trying to calm herself down. “Still, it’s her family Cam. If they say the right thing in the right way…”

“You think she’s going to just let you go after everything because her mom gives her a look?”

Paige paused when she realized how ridiculous she sounded. “…No.”

“Exactly.” Cam said, pushing Paige a little to ease her tension. “So stop freaking out. You’re smart, respectful, successful, you’re not bad looking which I assume helps and you make her happy. That's what all parents look for.”

Paige sighed, dragging her hand down her face. “I don’t get nervous like this.”

“Yeah,” Cam said smiling at her sister with a huge grin, “that’s how I know it’s serious.”

Paige looked at her before she sat down on the couch running both of her hands through her hair. “It really is.”

“I know.”

The apartment was quiet for a few seconds as Paige tried to gather her bearings. Cam spoke up saying, “So smile a little, shake some hands but not too hard and just don’t be a robot.”

“I’m not a robot.”

Cam gave her a flat look.

Paige mumbled, “Whatever,” and leaned back into the couch cushions with another sigh. She didn’t last long in that position before she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, fidgeting with the edge of one of her nails. “Do I get them something? Like a gift or something?”

Cam didn’t answer fast enough before Paige started rambling again.

“I definitely remember Azzi telling me her mom loved wine. But I don’t know if it was red or white—fuck—I should’ve paid closer attention. What if I get the wrong one and she hates it? Do I get her dad something too? What if I forget someone? Maybe I should just—"

“Alright, alright,” Cam cut in, lifting her hands. “Pause. You’re spiraling again and I just got you to sit down.”

Paige clenched her jaw to force herself to stop talking but she didn’t stop messing with her nails.

Cam sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “Get some nice flowers and a bottle of wine. Doesn’t matter the type, just get something that says you tried effort goes a long way.”

Paige nodded trying to convince herself to believe that.

“Make sure you get the flowers in a vase. They’re not at home so you don’t know if they have a vase. Nobody wants to have a bundle of flowers with no home.”

Paige blinked as she nodded along. “Shit that’s actually smart.”

“Woww a compliment, maybe Kea was right.”

Before Paige could make a sarcastic comment back, the front door of Cam’s apparent opened and Azzi stepped inside. 

Paige immediately straightened up when she saw her.

Azzi clocked the sudden shift in posture and how close Cam was sitting in front of Paige. She raised an eyebrow, “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing,” Paige said way too quickly as she whipped her hands on her thighs in nervousness.

Cam laughed at Paige, shaking her head as she stood up from the coffee table. “You’re fine,” she told Paige before heading to the kitchen.

Azzi looked between the two of them with her eyes narrowed. “You sure it’s nothing?” she asked, already walking over to lean down and press a quick kiss to Paige’s lips.

She started to pull away, but Paige’s fingers wrapped around her arm to keep her in place trying to lengthen the kiss just a little. When she finally pulled back Paige whispered, “M’sure.”

Azzi blinked at her, biting at her bottom lip to stop a grin from blooming across her face. “Are we leaving soon?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded, glancing at the clock. “I gotta grab some stuff on the way there though.”

“What stuff?”

Paige just grinned. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, mumbling, “You’re weird.” She tried to step back knowing Paige was going to retaliate but before she could Paige reached out to pull her into her lap and tickled her sides. Azzi yelled, twisting in Paige’s lap as she tried to push her hands away. “Stop! Paige, stop!”

Paige laughed, pulling her closer to cradle her against her chest like she weighed nothing. Azzi let herself fall into Paige, looping her arms around Paige’s neck as she glared at her but it was ruined by her smile.

Paige looked down at her with soft eyes and kissed her temple gently. “I love you,” she whispered against her skin.

Azzi buried her face in Paige’s chest a little to hide the heat she felt in her cheek.

Cam stepped back into the room and rolled her eyes at the scene in front of her. “Okay, alright,” she said dryly. “Take your domestic shit elsewhere. Some of us live here and don’t want to see that shit.”

Paige just smirked and tightened her arms around Azzi’s waist. “You’re just jealous,” she mumbled as she kissed Azzi’s neck.

Cam made a gagging noise. “Get out before I go get a spray bottle.”

Azzi laughed as Paige let her go so she could get up. Cam rolled her eyes when she saw both of them still smiling as they stood up.

They left Cam’s apartment and walked down the stairs toward the parking garage after Paige insisted she needed to get her steps in. After the second flight Azzi ended up on Paige’s back claiming she was tired from practice. Once they got to the garage Paige let Azzi down and the buzz of the city was mute on top of them as the concrete space caused their steps to echo around them.

Azzi looked over at Paige as they walked deeper into the garage. “You nervous?”

Paige’s jaw ticked, but she shook her head no. “Nah,” she said smoothly with her hands tucked in her pockets. “I’m good.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows because she knew Paige too well to take her answer head on. “Mmhmm.”

Paige smiled, bumping Azzi gently with her shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m chill.”

“Righttt,” Azzi teased. “You’re so chill you decided to leave me in the apartment by myself to go to Cam’s place so you could pace without me knowing.”

Paige paused at how well Azzi knew her before all she could do was shake her head and laugh. “That was…I don’t know what you’re talking about”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled saying, “I know you too well baby,” as they reached the car. Paige walked ahead a few steps and pulled open the passenger side door for her.

Azzi slipped in, mumbling, “Thank you,” as she got comfortable in the seat.

When Paige got in on the driver’s side and buckled her seatbelt, Azzi looked at her to say,  “I still can’t believe you got this shipped here,” she said, referring to Paige’s car they were sitting in.

Paige grinned as she started the engine, the loud purr echoing through the garage. “Yeah, well I couldn’t do another backseat Uber ride with my spoiled girlfriend complaining about being car sick because of their sucky driving.”

Azzi laughed, leaning her head back on the headrest. “You could’ve just said you missed your car.”

“I did,” Paige said, with a small smile. “But I missed driving you around the most.”

Azzi reached across the center console and squeezed her hand. “You’re cute when you’re trying to act all chill.”

“I am chill,” Paige stated.

Azzi just hummed and looked out the window. “You usually are. I don’t know about right now though.”

Paige just shook her head as she pulled out of the parking garage the engine ringing through the Miami streets. 

After a quick stop to pick up a bouquet of flowers and two bottles of wine — one red, one white, just to be safe — Paige pulled the Audi into a quiet neighborhood street lined with palm trees and low stucco houses. The driveway of the Airbnb Azzi’s family was staying at was the perfect size for the family, and as soon as Paige rolled to a stop in front of the garage, the front door opened.

“Of course,” Azzi mumbled, seeing Jose step out of the house with his eyes already latched on the Audi.

Paige followed Azzi’s eyesight before she saw him. She looked back at Azzi as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Jose right?”

“Unfortunately.”

Paige chuckled under her breath and got out first, grabbing the wine bags from Azzi before walking around the car to open the passenger door for her.

As she was doing this Azzi’s mom walked out with a big smile on her face after not seeing her daughter for a while.

Azzi climbed out of the car, using Paige’s hand to ‘help’ her and her smile immediately grew, her deep dimple digging into her cheek when she saw her mom. She pulled her into a long hug and when they pulled back she gestured toward Paige. “This is Paige.”

Paige stood behind Azzi with her hands full but she looked surprisingly relaxed on the outside despite the chaos going on in her brain. She offered Katie a small toothless smile. “It’s really nice to officially meet you ma’am.”

Katie assessed Paige’s appearance in a quick subtle sweep, taking in the thoughtful gesture of flowers and wine, the confidence radiating off of her, the polite tone. She smiled, stepping forward to greet her and take the flowers. “You too, Paige. Thank you for these, that’s very sweet of you.”

Azzi’s brother, Jose, was already walking toward the Audi, muttering something about the car under his breath and ignoring everyone else.

“Hey,” Azzi said in exasperation, “Can you at least speak before trying to climb in her damn car?”

Jose waved a hand over his shoulder as he crouched down to get a closer look at the rims. “I’m saying wassup with respect for the car. This thing’s beautiful. What kinda engine?”

Paige huffs a breath through her nose before saying, “Got the original V10.”

Jose shakes his head as he walks near the back tires. “Yeah you cool with me. Don’t mess it up Azzi.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Well that’s Jose,” she mumbled to Paige, like she needed the clarification after already meeting him through Azzi’s FaceTime calls. 

Katie laughed. “Come inside, both of you. Ignore him Paige, he’s been talking about this car since Azzi told us you were driving over.”

When they walked in the house the air was filled with the smell of something savory flowing in from the kitchen. The house was comfortably warm, not too hot from the humid Miami weather but not too cold that the AC was noticeable. Paige heard quiet voices coming from the living room, but their first stop was the kitchen.

Azzi barely got two steps in before Tim got up from his seat at the kitchen table. “Look at you,” he said, pulling her into a hug that lifted her off the ground.

“Dad please put me down,” Azzi groaned as she laughed through the light embarrassment.

He let her go after pressing a wet kiss to her forehead and turned toward Paige. His posture became more solid as he looked at Paige a little intensely. “I take it you’re Paige,” he said, offering his hand for her to shake.

Paige stepped forward, keeping her shoulders squared as she shook his hand more firmly than he expected. “Yes, sir. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Tim held the handshake for longer than was needed. Long enough to make her wonder what was going through his head as he looked her up and down to assess her appearance and energy. Paige easily kept her expression neutral, but her jaw clenched subtly as she swallowed, the tension in her body rising under the weight of his silent scrutiny.

Azzi noticed it and stepped between them,  brushing her fingers against Paige’s forearm. “Dad, please stop trying to make her nervous. You’re doing the thing.”

Tim raised his eyebrows, pretending to be innocent. “What thing?”

“The thing where you try to size somebody up to intimidate them with your eyes,” Azzi mumbled. “Please relax.”

Tim laughed under his breath, before giving Paige’s hand a squeeze and letting it go. “Alright, alright whatever you say. You hungry? We got a little bit of everything for you.”

Katie spoke up as she walked in behind them, placing the wine on the counter. “Let them get settled in first, Tim. Let them breathe, give Paige a break.”

Paige looked at Katie and nodded, attempting to give her a grateful smile .

Azzi bumped Paige lightly to get her attention before whispering, “You’re doing fine baby, take a breath.” She grabbed her hand and led her out of the kitchen toward the living room where the energy was more calm, a small back and forth conversation coming from her grandparents. Azzi squeezed Paige’s fingers and rubbed her thumb against the inside of her wrist to calm her down after feeling the slight pulse in her veins from her heart racing.  

“Grandpa, Grandma,” Azzi said to grab their attention. A bright smile overtook both of their faces when they saw Azzi. “This is Paige.”

Her grandfather, who was always known for his outgoing personality, had on his UConn hat and gave Paige a huge smile. “Ah, so you’re the one keeping our girl smiling lately.”

This made Paige give her first authentic chuckle since she walked in the house. She rubbed the back of her neck and said, “I hope so. Been trying my best, sir.”

Her grandmother was more direct, reaching up to grab Paige’s other hand that wasn’t intertwined with Azzi’s to give it a gentle squeeze. “You’re beautiful,” she said sweetly. “And tall thank God. I always told her to make sure she found someone taller than her. I would’ve had a heart attack if she came in here with a shorter young lady.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but laughed at her grandma’s jokes. “Okay, relax.”

Paige smiled at Azzi, her chest finally starting to loosen just a little bit.

Azzi looked around a little confused at the absence of her other brother. “Where’s John?”

Right on cue, a loud chirp from outside drifted into the house, interrupting the conversation in the living room and it was followed by the blaring alarm of Paige’s car.

Azzi blinked.

Paige blinked.

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “Please, no.”

Azzi was already moving toward the front of the house, pulling Paige with her before the blonde could say anything. “If they messed up your car I swear—”

“I’m chill,” Paige said mechanically, but her jaw was already tightening as she clenched her bit her teeth together. “It’s just the alarm.”

Outside, the Audi lights were blinking repeatedly and the alarm didn’t turn off until Paige pressed the key fob she had in her pocket. Jose and John were standing next to each other near the driver side door that was pulled open. Both of them looked a little startled and had a little bit of a panicked look on their face when they saw Azzi and Paige walk out. 

“What the hell did you do,” Azzi asked plainly, trying not to sound too upset.

Jose scratched the back of his head. “We were just looking…”

“Admiring,” John added quickly.

“From inside the car?” Paige asked. Her tone was deceptively calm despite the way her eyes traced over the car making sure nothing was wrong.

John shrugged. “You left it unlocked.”

Paige didn’t say anything else, just kept drifting her eyes around the exterior of the car.

Azzi turned to them with a look that said, ‘please just tell me what the hell you did so I don’t have to kill you.’

Jose held both of his hands up like he was innocent. “We were just trying to pop the hood I swear.”

Paige let out a breath of relief, running a hand through her hair before walking toward the car. “You gotta have the fob inside the car for it to work.”

The brothers lit up like kids on Christmas morning.

John was already reaching for the button as Jose popped the hood with a satisfied little grin.

Just as he lifted it, Katie and Tim stepped outside. Azzi’s dad let out a low whistle as he caught sight of the open engine. “Now that’s something worth looking at.”

John circled around to the front of the car, leaning down to look at the engine like he knew what he was doing. Jose said, “You see the layout on this? Five cylinders is crazy bro. Paige, you really driving this like it’s a regular car?”

“Daily driver,” Paige nodded.

Azzi’s arms were still crossed as she watched her brothers every move as they touched stuff under the hood. “I swear to God,” she said, stepping closer, “this car better not leave this driveway. If I so much as hear it start—” Azzi said referring to Paige giving Jose the fob.

“Azzi, chill,” John cut in, trying to ease her tension.

“We’re just admiring for real,” Jose added.

“Admire quieter,” Azzi warned, knowing how obnoxious her brothers could get. 

Eventually Paige smiled at her and gently pulled at her arm.

“It’s okay mama,” Paige said lowly so only Azzi could hear as she pulled her toward the house. “Let your brothers have their moment.”

Azzi exhaled through her nose but let herself be led back inside. Smiling a little to herself when she felt Paige’s hand touch the exposed skin at the bottom of her back. “I’m just saying,” she mumbled, “if that car moves an inch, I might have to disown them.”

Paige laughed, opening the door for her. “Noted.”

The sound of Azzi’s grandparents bickering again drifted from the living room as Azzi took a moment to pull Paige into the kitchen . The overhead light in the kitchen was softer than the rest of the house and the island was still cluttered with some of the ingredients used to cook.

Paige leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes clearly a little overwhelmed with everything going on. Azzi stepped in front of her, crowding her space and making their knees brush. Paige smiled as Azzi reached up to comb her fingers through Paige’s hair, nails scratching at her scalp to ease some tension.

Paige let her eyes flutter closed for a few seconds, a soft breath leaving her as she leaned into Azzi’s hands. “You tryna make me fall asleep in the kitchen?”

Azzi smiled, brushing a piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “You’d probably find a way to look cute knocked out on the floor. I’d cover you with a dish towel to keep you warm.”

Paige laughed, putting her hand on Azzi’s hips to pull her closer. “You’re real gentle today.”

Azzi shrugged trying to brush it off. “You’ve been holding it together all day even though you’re nervous. Thought you could use me taking care of you and being extra sweet.”

Paige smiled at her as she reached to tuck one of Azzi’s braids behind her ear . “I’m good, though baby…really. Meeting your family’s…” she paused, searching for the word, “a lot, but in a good way.”

Azzi smiled at Paige and they just stood there for a few seconds, Azzi letting the silence stretch for a while to give Paige a second to recalibrate as she kept running her fingers through her hair.

“Thank you for being here with me,” Azzi said after a while. “I know this kind of stuff and being around a lot of people isn’t really your thing.”

Paige shook her head and reached up to brush her thumb across Azzi’s cheek. “Nah, it is. You’re a big family person and I gotta make sure I support you in that. So I’ll make sure it’s my thing now.

Azzi felt warmth creeping up her neck, but didn’t try to hide the blush. She just stared at Paige for a second, admiring her before she leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Paige gave Azzi that toothless cheeky grin that always gave her away when her cheeks get red, but before she could say anything slick, Azzi leaned in again to give her a kiss. She moved her hands from Paige’s hair and looped her arms arms around her neck instead. Paige naturally pulled Azzi closer, like it was muscle memory for her at this point.

The kiss was soft at first, both of them grinning into it making the other laugh when their teeth clashed a little, but then Azzi pulled back and had a pout on her face. Paige grinned at her before pulling her back in for another kiss that was deeper, closer to their familiar rhythm. Azzi hummed into it, both of them silently thinking about how they could do this forever.

“Damn, y’all tryna eat each other’s face or what?”

Azzi pulled back laughing, but Paige was more shy about it as she tucked her face into Azzi’s neck to hide the redness spreading across her face and neck. Azzi looked over her shoulder to see Jose standing there with a plate in his hand. “Can’t even come in here for a piece of pie in peace.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Mind your business.”

“You’re in the kitchen bro,” he said, before mumbling about coming back later as he walked back towards the living room.

Once he was gone, Paige mumbled into Azzi’s neck, “I hate it here. I can never come back.”

Azzi laughed, bringing one of her hands back up to rub it through Paige’s hair again. “You love it here,” she whispered. “And they’ll love you so let’s go out there.”

Paige didn’t say anything, just melted into Azzi a little more, letting herself be held for a few seconds. Eventually, she let out a long sigh and said, “Okay but you gotta carry the conversation’s and hold my hand.”

Azzi kissed the top of her head. “I was going to do that anyway so deal.”

After the agreement was in place they peeled away from the quiet kitchen and walked into the living room with their hands still intertwined. 

When they walked in everyone was in the middle of a conversation and Azzi sat in the open spot on the couch, pulling Paige to sit next to her. As they got settled Azzi picked up on the same old half-true story Jose was telling about his middle school basketball game where, according to him and only him, he was “carrying the team on his back.”

Azzi, always wanting to put Jose in his place and lessen his ego a little bit said, “You missed both free throws at the end and you lost by eight.”

“That’s not even the point,” Jose defended himself, earning a snort from John as Katie shook her head at her kids' antics.

“I’m just saying,” Azzi laughed, leaning back and subtly brushing her hand against Paige’s thigh, to make sure she was present. “You’ve been retelling and rewriting that same story for years.”

Her dad laughed, drinking from the glass of wine Katie poured him. “What is it that they say? ‘Never let the truth get in the way of a good story’?”

“Exactly!” Jose grinned.

Azzi smiled and leaned toward Paige for a second as her family drifted to another conversation. “You good?”

Paige looked at her and nodded. “Yeah. You’re actually kinda when you’re with them I’m surprised.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at the running joke between them and turned her attention back to the room.

Her grandma started telling a story about when Azzi was younger and how she used to hide her vegetables under the table when she was little until she figured out how ‘they would help her be good at basketball.’ Of course this story then spiraled into everyone offering their version of ‘Azzi was bad when she was little’ stories.

“I wasn’t bad,” Azzi argued, laughing at the story her grandpa told about her ‘running away,’ because he wouldn’t let her play basketball. “I was just…creative.”

“Creative like using scotch tape to lock me in my room so I couldn’t tell mom about you breaking the mirror?” John asked.

Paige laughed at that one.

“Oh my god, I swear I forgot about that,” Azzi laughed. 

Right as the laughter quieted down, Katie shifted the attention toward Paige trying to get her involved in the conversation a little. “So Paige,” she said to get her attention, keeping her tone gentle in that mom way, “Azzi mentioned you’re a fighter?”

Paige blinked a little unexpectedly, like she wasn’t expecting the conversation to be directed at her just yet. Azzi rubbed her thumb across the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” Paige finally said. “I do MMA for UFC.”

Tim leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “That’s the real thing then.”

Paige nodded once as she looked at him. “Yeah, it is.”

There was a bit of silence that felt a little awkward for Paige before Azzi’s grandma added, “That doesn’t make you nervous sometimes?”

Paige’s eyes drifted toward her, then to Azzi for the briefest second to ground herself. “It used to. Not so much not that I’ve been doing it for so long.”

Tim nodded as he cut back in. “Have you ever been hurt?” His tone wasn’t judgmental but there was a layer of concern that snuck into his voice as he asked the question.

Paige shifted slightly in her seat. “Nothing too serious. I’ve had two concussions. Bruised ribs a handful of times. The worst would probably be a small crack in my orbital bone, but that was a while back when I first got started with competition fighting.”

Azzi’s grip on Paige’s hand tightened as she listened to her list of the injuries.

Tim caught that and he looked between the two of them before he settled on Paige again. “So what happens if it’s worse one day?”

Paige was once again caught off guard causing her chest to tighten a little and she didn’t offer an answer right off the bat.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Azzi added quickly.

Paige gave her a small smile letting her know she was okay.

She looked back at Tim making sure to look directly at him as she answered. “I know it’s a risk every time. But I do my best to be smart and take care of my body. I train right, working on resting when I need to. And now that I have someone who would probably kill me if I didn’t take care of myself,” she added with a grin, referring to Azzi. “I’m a lot more careful than I used to be.”

The last part of her answer earned a laugh from most of the room, but Tim didn’t quite let it go.

“I’m just wondering,” Tim said, both of their eyes locked on one another. “If you’re serious about my daughter you gotta think about how serious the risk is and how it affects her too.”

“Dad…” Azzi warned, her tone unusually tight as she said this.

But Tim didn’t bother to look away. “This is important, Azzi.”

Paige’s jaw tightened and she shifted on the couch, letting her thumb brush over the top of Azzi’s hand even though her own felt cold. She cleared her throat a little before speaking. “I get that,” she said, plainly. “I truly do.”

She glanced down at their hands, trying to gather the words she didn’t really have in this exact moment. But before she could speak again, Tim leaned back in his chair, sighing through his nose.

“I’m not trying to scare you off, Paige. But you gotta understand, I’m her father and I’ve watched Azzi grow up to be this amazing woman and build an amazing career for herself. And I can see this,” he said gesturing between the two of them, “is different to her, a little more important so you can see why having someone with a risky, stressful career like you can make me a little nervous for her.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed and she sat up straight. Her voice came out coiled when she said, “Maybe we can talk about this without a full audience dad?”

There was a pause, and then her mom, always trying to be the diffuser in these situations agreed. “That’s fair honey.”

Tim stood up first, taking his hat off and rubbing his hand over his head as he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s step outside.”

Katie stood up with him, giving her daughter a small smile letting her know it would be fine before they started walking toward the back door.

Azzi waited until they turned the corner before tugging on Paige’s hand, pulling her to stand up with her. They made it a few steps into the hallway and around the corner before Azzi stopped, turning to look at her.

Paige was looking at her, but her eyes were unreadable and slightly dazed in the distance.

“You okay?” Azzi asked, making sure to keep her voice soft, as she ran one of her hands along Paige’s bicep to make sure she didn’t drift into her own head. “I know you’re not used to all this and if you’re not up for this conversation yet we can hold off.”

Paige nodded once, but it was too mechanical for Azzi’s liking.

Azzi frowned and reached up to cup her jaw with one of her hands, guiding Paige to look at her. “Baby.”

Paige blinked and the distance in her eyes dissolved as she looked at Azzi and took a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Azzi asked again.

“I’m alright,” Paige murmured, as she took another breath. “It’s just…not the kind of conversation I’m good at, but I’m ok.”

Azzi stepped closer, sliding her hand down to take Paige’s again. “You don’t have to be perfect with them. Just be honest. That’s all they care about.”

Paige looked down at their joined hands and nodded. This time it was a little steadier. “I know. I’ll try.” 

“That’s all I need.”

“You sure you’re not mad at me for not answering right away?”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’m sure. I would never be mad at you for taking your time to express yourself.”

With that, they walked toward the backyard together and Paige felt a little more sound than a few minutes prior.

When they sat down Azzi’s chair was angled toward Paige and the positioning allowed for their knees to brush one another’s. They only had a few seconds to settle into the patio seats before Tim leaned forward again. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Paige.”

Paige nodded at him, making sure she kept her expression neutral as they looked at one another.

“When I found out Azzi was involved with someone who fights for a living my first instinct was to be a little wary.”

He paused for a second, trying to measure her reaction. But Paige didn’t give him one, she just sat still waiting for him to finish.

“Do you know what you’re known for online? In the media?”

“I make it a point not to look at any of that. Not really in the business of caring about what people who don’t know me think about me” she said. Her voice stayed even the entire time she said this.

Tim nodded. “That’s smart, I get it…But I of course looked and I found a lot of the usual hype for someone of your caliber. How focused and dedicated you are to your career. But I also saw a lot about how emotionless you look when you’re doing it. They said it looks like you just shut everything off. One article said you fought like somebody who didn’t feel pain, or if you did you were too detached to show it.”

Katie shifted next to him, giving him a look to be kinder, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“Then I found something about a fight in a club a couple years back,” he added.

At that, Paige’s eyes dropped to her lap and she gave her first physical reaction to the conversation when she tightened her jaw and curled her nails into her palm. 

Azzi looked down and noticed Paige digging into her skin so she reached over and took Paige’s hand to unfold her fingers. She pulled Paige’s hand towards her lap and sandwiched her hand between both of hers.

Paige didn’t look at her, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

Tim noticed too and he softened his tone a bit but it was implied in his features that he was still concerned. “I’m not trying to scare you off from Azzi or attack your character, alright? But if you’re serious about my daughter, I need to know who you are. I need to know she’s safe with you. That I don’t have to worry about the temper they say you have if things ever get heated, or—”

“Dad stop,” Azzi cut in sharply, her tone taking on more of a protective edge now. She didn’t raise her voice but she wasn’t about to let him get too far into that thought process. That was a sensitive spot for Paige and with therapy and a lot of late conversations the two of them had only recently fully gotten that idea out of Paige’s head and she didn’t want it coming back. 

Katie reached across her chair to put her hand on Tim’s arm, silently telling him she had it from here. “I think what he’s trying to say, Paige, is that we just want to get to know you.” Her voice was a lot softer than his was, more sincere.

“Azzi’s everything to us, she’s our only baby girl. And we can see how important you are to her. But we don’t know much about you. She’s a private person so she keeps her relationship under wraps, which we respect. But it’s hard as a parent, you know? Your only daughter’s across the country, building a life with someone you’ve never had a real conversation with.”

Paige let Katie’s words settle in her Wernicke’s area and because they were softer than Tim’s it was easier for her brain to turn off the alarm bells, easier for her to process them and come up with a response. As she processed them Paige noticed the honesty behind the words and she respected that more than anything that had been said prior.

“I get it,” she said after a moment. “I would want to know, too. Especially if it was my kid.”

She took a slow breath, like she was weighing her next words to make sure she got them correct. “I’m going to be honest with you just like you were with me. Some of the stuff you read? It’s probably right.” She pauses to gather her thoughts before starting again. “In public and around almost everyone that isn’t your daughter I don’t show emotion and I don’t let anyone see how I’m feeling. When you fight for a living, every feeling, every look, every reaction is a tell for someone to read. So that makes it a weakness and I learned that the hard way. Because of that I got good at keeping it all off my face. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel things or that I’m emotionless, it just means I’m never going to show anybody besides the woman I love how I’m doing.”

Her voice stayed even as she explained herself and she paused again to figure out what she wanted to say next.

“I have a temper,” she admitted. “I’ve had it since I was young and I’m not proud of that. It’s gotten me into some bad situations before, but I’m actively working on it. It’s not something I thought I’d do before.” Her eyes drifted over to Azzi, and her pupils naturally dilated. “But I started because of Azzi.”

“She makes me calm in a way I never thought was possible. She makes me want to change. Not because I’m scared to mess up, or scared she’ll leave. But because when I’m with her I want to be the best version of myself for both of us.”

Paige made sure to look at both of Azzi’s parents as she talked. Trying to show them how honest she was being. “There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for her. Nothing. And I’d never put her in danger. Not physically. Not emotionally. I do what I do every day with her in mind when I wake up. How it might affect her day. How I want to show up for her in every way that I physically and mentally can. How I want to be someone she’s proud to be with.”

She glanced toward Azzi and noticed the love struck look she was giving her so she looked down trying not to smile and lose her thoughts.

“I know it’s going to take more than words for you to trust me with your daughter and I’m okay with that. But I just want you to know I love her more than anything. And there isn’t any universe where I’d do anything to hurt her.”

It was quiet for a while as everyone processed Paige’s words. It seemed like the rest of the world paused with them with how still the backyard was and the only thing heard was the faint crimping of the Florida insects as a breeze moved through the trees.

Then, softly, Katie said, “Thank you for saying that.”

Paige nodded and Katie offered her a kind smile to lighten the air. Tim smiled too, murmuring something about heading in. 

“We’ll be inside in a second,” Azzi said.

Tim and Katie nodded and disappeared inside, the screen door creaking as it shut behind them.

Azzi stood up from her chair and moved over to Paige, to sit sideways in her lap. Paige smiled and wrapped both of her arms around Azzi’s waist to steady her.

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s shoulder and toyed with the necklace she had on her neck. “I’m sorry.”

Paige kissed the top of her head. “You don’t gotta apologize for anything beautiful.”

“I just…” Azzi sighed as she continued to play with Paige’s necklace to give her hands something to do. “I wish they would’ve given me a heads up about the conversation or something. So I could’ve told you what to expect. Prepared you a little so you didn't have to be uncomfortable at first.”

Paige laughed through her nose. “You know I probably would’ve spiraled even more than I already did if I knew about it beforehand.”

Azzi laughed a little too, thinking about how much worse Paige would’ve been. “Still. I just don’t like putting you in positions where I know it’s hard for you to stay present while you’re actively working on it with your therapist.”

“I was alright,” Paige said softly. “I had you and that’s always more than enough.”

Azzi untucked her head for Paige’s neck to search her face for any emotions she was trying to hide before eventually she leaned down to kiss her slowly.

Paige melted into it, sliding one hand up Azzi’s back to pull her closer, letting her hand drift down to playfully squeeze her butt. The kiss naturally stretched for a while until Paige pulled away just enough for them to breathe. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered into the small space between their lips.

Azzi smiled, brushing her nose against Paige’s a few times as she whispered back, “I love you.”

Paige closed her eyes and adjusted so she could rest her forehead on Azzi’s shoulder, causing her voice to be muffled as she said back, “I love you too.”

They lost track of time for a moment as they sat there holding one another. Only brought back to reality when Azzi smacked a mosquito that she felt land on her leg, making Paige mumble about how dramatic she was.

By the time they made their way back inside the smell of the finished food had completely filled the house and conversation was flowing from the dining room as John and Jose set the table. Azzi led them toward the table giving Paige’s hand one more squeeze before Paige pulled her chair out for her and they sat down with the rest of her family.

Paige didn’t say much throughout the meal. She offered polite smiles when someone addressed her and nodded in the right places, but mostly, she stayed quiet like her usual self.

Even though she was quiet it was impossible for anyone in the room to not notice the way her attention never strayed far from Azzi and what she needed. When Azzi was eating and got a smear of sauce on her face, Paige reached over without saying anything and wiped it off her cheek with her napkin. Azzi barely reacted to Paige doing this outside of giving her a small smile which only showed everyone how used to the gesture she must’ve been.

When Azzi reached for her glass and realized it was empty, Paige was already getting up to refill it in the kitchen before she could even ask. She came back a few seconds later with a full glass of Azzi’s favorite drink, putting it down in front of her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she sat back down.

When Azzi finished her mac and cheese too quickly—one of Paige’s favorite foods ironically—and looked slightly disappointed to see it gone from her plate. Paige noticed, put some of her own on her fork and held it out toward Azzi’s mouth. Azzi raised an eyebrow at her doing this in front of her family, but Paige just gave her that goofy grin Azzi could never not give into.

Azzi took the bite, and smiled as she did. “Thank you baby.”

“Mmhm,” Paige hummed back as she went back to eating.

Azzi’s family noticed all of it. The way Paige moved like she’d done all of that a hundred times, like every little thing Azzi needed was just something she knew already. They could tell with how Azzi reacted to each thing that it was something she was used to and that warmed their heart more than anything. Knowing that Paige wasn’t putting on a show to impress them, but it was something she naturally always did for their daughter who never had to ask for any of it.

Conversation stayed constant around the table, stories being passed back and forth as they caught up with their daughter updating her on the random doings of her brothers and their family. 

After Paige fed Azzi another bite of her mac and cheese, Azzi’s grandfather leaned back in his chair and looked toward Paige. “Keep that up and you’re gonna spoil her rotten. We won’t ever hear the end of it.”

Laughter rippled around the table as everyone silently agreed.

Paige chuckled, as she leaned back and threw her awm around the back of Azzi’s chair. “She’s already spoiled,” she said, grinning at Azzi to see her reaction.

Azzi’s eyebrows shot up as she turned her head to face her. “Excuse me?”

Paige shrugged, still grinning at her. “I don’t think you’ve eaten your own food in, like, three months. I just order what I know you’ll like more and wait for you to eat off my plate and I eat whatever you don’t like as much.”

That earned a few laughs from around the table, especially from Jose and Katie who were definitely going to use this against her.

Azzi tried to pretend to be offended but the smile on her face was too big for anyone to believe it. “You’ve been setting me up this whole time?”

“I wouldn’t say setting you up,” Paige responded, leaning over to kiss the side of Azzi’s head. “Just…anticipating the inevitable. M’sorry.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes at her, but she couldn’t hold the glare for long. Especially not when her grandma muttered, “I like her,” under her breath, and her brothers started teasing in sing-song voices.

“Aww, Azzi’s got her trained already.”

“Y’all are so annoying,” Azzi mumbled, stabbing at her plate as she bit her lip to hold back another smile.

Paige just tucked a loose braid behind Azzi’s ear and leaned over to whisper something only she could hear making Azzi blush like it was nothing.

Some time later Jose was halfway through his second serving of sweet potatoes when he wiped his mouth with a napkin and pointed his fork toward Paige. “Alright, serious question.”

Azzi looked at him warily. “Here we go.”

Jose ignored her. “You ever train people and show them how to throw a punch? Like, properly?”

John perked up at the idea of learning. “Ohh yeah. Not some fake YouTube stuff though.”

Paige looked between them. “Sometimes with people I know.”

Jose grinned when she said that. “So...would you show us? I mean technically you know us and we’re your girlfriend’s brother so it would really be a shame if we didn’t know how to throw a good punch. For appearance and allat.”

Azzi shook her head. “You two really just want an excuse to hit each other.”

“We’re brothers,” John said, as if that explained everything. “We already hit each other. Might as well do it right.”

Paige glanced at Azzi, who blinked at her like she expected her to say no considering she hadn’t thrown a punch really since her last fight.

She was surprised when Paige shrugged. “Yeah, alright.”

Azzi blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“I mean, if they’re gonna keep asking over FaceTime, might as well do it when I’m with them.”

“We are definitely going to keep asking,” Jose said, pushing back from the table already. “So let’s just go!”

Katie blinked. “You’re not about to throw punches in my living room Jose.”

“No, don’t worry,” Paige said, calmly. “There’s this gym I was supposed to start training at soon. It’s private so we can go there.”

Within twenty minutes, the family was up and moving, as they cleared the table, put food away and started the dishwasher. Jose and John were basically vibrating with excitement as everyone else put on their shoes.

“We’re not getting in the car until she starts the Audi,” Jose said as they walked out of the house.

“Facts,” John nodded, already headed toward the curb where their mom’s car was.

Azzi looked at Paige. “I don’t think you understand how obsessed they are with you.”

Paige just laughed under her breath, pulling the Audi keyfob from her pocket. The headlights blinked to life and the brothers watched everything in awe. Paige opened Azzi’s passenger door for her like always and John and Jose booed as they waited impatiently for her to start the car. When she finally got in the driver’s side and the engine spurred to life, roaring in the quiet neighborhood.

“That sound—” Jose said dramatically, “—music to my ears man.”

Tim shook his head with a laugh as he got in their car. “You two are ridiculous.”

Inside the car Azzi slid her hand into Paige’s as they waited for her family to get in their car. “I’m still processing how easily you said yes to them.”

“I’m kinda curious about how bad their form actually is. John looks a little uncoordinated and Jose’s way too confident.”

Azzi snorted.

…

When Azzi’s family pulled up to the gym Paige and Azzi were still sitting in the Audi waiting. Everyone got out at the same time and Paige walked to the back of the car to pull her gym bag out of the trunk. 

Inside the gym, the lighting was warm instead of the usual cold lighting that private gyms had and it made things feel more relaxed. John and Jose bounced on their feet like overexcited kids as Paige put her bag down on a bench and motioned for one of them to sit in front of her.

“Alright,” she said, digging in her bag for wraps. “Hands first.”

John plopped down first. “I want mine like those Muay Thai fighters. Super tight.”

Paige chuckled, as she straddled the bench sideways. “You want them right, not tight.”

Azzi opted to lean against the wall a few feet away, watching as Paige bonded with her brothers as she wrapped their hands. Once she was done wrapping John’s hands she checked the tension in his wrist movement before sliding some gloves toward him. Jose sat down next without needing to be asked, basically holding his hand out like a kid getting his shoes tied.

When she was done with Jose’s he and John both started throwing sloppy punches at the hanging bags, while Paige started to wrap her own hands, muscle memory guiding every tuck even though she hadn’t done it in a while. 

Azzi came to sit on the bench next to her and nudged her gently with her knee to get her attention. “So this is your first time back.”

Paige nodded, keeping her eyes on her hands to make sure she didn’t mess anything up. “Yeah.”

Azzi tilted her head as she studied her. “You good right?”

Paige paused for a second, flexing her fingers, as she looked up to meet Azzi’s eyes and give her a smile. “Yeah. We been talking about it for a while, right? This gave me the last little push I needed.”

Azzi smiled at her. “I’m proud of you.”

Paige gave her a quick glance, her expression softer than most people ever got to see before she looked back down at her hands. “Thank you baby.”

Once her hands were fully wrapped, Paige stood up, grabbing the hem of her shirt out of routine and pulling it up over her head without thinking twice about it.

Azzi blinked up at her, realization hitting just as the shirt came off, revealing the tapestry of scratches on her back and the blooming marks scattered across her stomach and chest. All of them pretty vivid considering how fresh they were

For a second, everything in the gym felt like it slowed down around Azzi. John and Jose were still goofing off and throwing inaccurate combinations behind them, oblivious. Azzi looked around instinctively, her cheeks heating up, but Paige didn’t notice. She was adjusting her gloves, and rolling her neck like nothing was out of place.

Azzi whisper-yelled so only Paige could hear. “Baby.”

Paige glanced down. “Hm?”

Azzi raised her eyebrows, nodding her chin subtly toward her torso. Paige followed Azzi’s nod and looked down and froze for half a second. Her hand twitched like she was about to grab the shirt and pull it back on but before she could—

“Oh my God,” Jose blurted out from the bag, loud enough for his voice to echo off the walls. “Ayo, that's crazy.”

Azzi groaned and immediately buried her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill myself,” she mumbled, her voice muffled in her palms.

John leaned over to laugh. “Nahhh, ain’t no way Azzi!”

“I hate y’all,” she yelled through her hands, trying to disappear into them.

Paige just stood there, the corner of her mouth twitching, like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or apologize. “In my defense,” she said to Azzi, “I didn’t remember until it was too late.”

Katie’s voice floated in from the entrance. “Everything alright in here?”

Jose called back, “You might wanna close your eyes”

Katie and Tim stepped fully into the gym, both of them catching on to Paige’s appearance.

Katie blinked once, her eyebrows lifting in surprise as her gaze landed on Paige then turned her head toward her daughter with a baffled look.

Tim let out a heavy breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to physically wipe the moment from existence. He didn’t say a word, just gave Paige that would make her a little more nervous if she was anyone else but herself.

But neither of them said anything. Because really, what could they even say?

Meanwhile, Paige was reaching to put her shirt back on when Azzi snatched it from her hand.

“They already saw it,” Azzi mumbled under her breath, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as she clutched the fabric in her lap. “I might as well get to enjoy the view in my embarrassment.”

Paige raised her eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jose howled trying to get another joke in. “Y’all nasty!”

Katie shook her head, clearly trying not to smile at her kids' antics as she turned back toward the door. “I’m going to find some water. You children behave.”

Tim was already walking after her, muttering, “Should’ve stayed in the car…”

Azzi didn’t say anything until they were gone, then peeked up at Paige. “You’re lucky you’re sexy.”

Paige chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Azzi’s head. “That’s what got us in this mess, isn’t it?”

Azzi sat on the bench, holding Paige’s shirt loosely in her lap. Her face was warm, still a mix of being flustered and mildly mortified, but as she watched Paige walk off toward her brothers, she couldn’t help but let her chest soften.

John and Jose were already bouncing around like they were about to walk into a real match as she walked up to them. Talking over each other as they asked her questions and throwing punches at the bag for approval before she could even say anything. Paige moved into the chaos like she was built for it, her energy making the space around her calmer without even trying as her brother calmed down to listen to what she had to say.

Azzi watched as Paige stepped between them, as she reached to adjust John’s stance, then moved over to move Jose’s hands. Jose cracked another joke, something about “bet you mark people up like that in the ring too��� and Paige just looked completely unfazed, before easily smacking his glove down and telling him to square up for real this time.

Azzi’s heart fluttered. It was probably stupid, how fast Paige easing into conversation with her brother’s made her want to melt. How she didn’t try too hard, didn’t overdo the charm or get caught up in trying to prove herself. She was just always herself. Calm and capable of making her feel safe. A little sarcastic but gentle when it mattered.

She knew her brothers were loud, unpredictable, chaotic as hell but Paige handled them with patience, moving them to lighter bags as she got them ready for beginner drills.

It hit Azzi all over again how much she loved her.

Azzi watched Paige from her spot on the bench the entire time. How naturally she moved through the gym even though she hadn’t been there in a while, how her back muscles shifted beneath her now, sun-kissed skin, how the strands of her blonde hair naturally curled slightly against her shoulders. 

Without thinking too long about it, she reached for her phone. She angled her camera just right to take a picture. The angle was low and just a little off-center: the ends of Paige’s blonde hair, and her lower back lit up by the gym’s lights, the curve of her back muscles tapering into the rest of the frame. Her UFC gloves clear in the picture.

It was undeniably Paige’s lower body. But, technically, it wasn’t. No face, nothing tagging her in the picture. Just a very specific glimpse into Azzi’s life.

Azzi stared at the picture for a second before opening Instagram. She tapped on the screen a few times before posting the picture to her feed. She gave it a simple caption: lately 🤍

It didn’t take long for Azzi’s phone to start buzzing with notifications and comments from their friends.

@/rickea: 👀👀👀👀👀 @/raehoops: ohh la la 😍

@/cameronbrink22: this is cute i guess 🙄🖤 @/dijonai: i know that ain’t who i think it is @/nika.muhl: love this for you

Outside of their circle of course the fans started speculating too.

@/azzination: omg she’s soft launching somebody we’re finally here!! @/ufc_womenfans: tell me that’s not paige bueckers rn idc idc @/courtvisionqueen: NO BECAUSE I KNEW SHE WAS DATING SOMEBODY. PLEASE WHO IS IT??? @/fightnightfanatic: that’s 100% @/paigebueckers. Y’all welcome 😏

Azzi grinned at her phone, not bothering to like or reply to anything. She just locked her screen, slid her phone back in her pocket, and looked back up to give her attention to her girlfriend who was now holding pads for her brothers, giving John a little encouragement as he threw slow combos she was giving him.

[potatipejr]

I Would Ruin The Bit

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Summary: You and Spencer go on Courtney’s new podcast URL separately, but you might just end up together…

Word count:  4.1k words

A/N: I’m officially back. First official request!! Hope you enjoy it xx

————————————————————————

Spencer’s episode aired on Tuesday.

You weren’t supposed to watch it right away. You’d told yourself you’d wait— just catch the highlights later, maybe skim it while doing the dishes or folding the laundry. But three minutes in, you were curled up on your couch with your knees to your chest, fully invested, drink going cold beside you.

Courtney had that effect on you. Warm and nosy in the best way, like your favorite older sibling who never let you off the hook when you tried to hide behind sarcasm.

“So,” she said, leaning forward with a knowing look, “tell me about your movie night traditions. I've heard you’re a nightmare seatmate during Lord of the Rings.”

Spencer huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I make one comment about how Boromir deserves better, and suddenly I’m the problem.”

“Oh, just one?”

“Okay, maybe five. Tops.”

Courtney grinned, eyes glinting with mischievous excitement. “And are you usually alone when you do these dramatic monologues?”

His smile faltered for just a second, then softened. “No. I'm usually with… a friend. Equally annoying. Maybe even worse, honestly.”

“Name names,” Courtney sang, like she already knew the answer.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, and then he said your name.

You paused the video.

Your heart did that soft and traitorous thing, like it was trying to climb out of your chest and run straight to him. 

You knew you and Spencer were close— everyone did. It was obvious. You’d been orbiting each other for months, best friends with just enough chemistry to keep people guessing. But hearing him say your name like that? All soft and a little shy? That did things to your heart you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

You pressed play again.

“She— uh,” he said, trying to sound casual, “she does this thing during movies where she rewrites the entire script in real time. Like, full-on voice impressions and everything. During Pride and Prejudice, she gave Mr. Darcy a Bronx accent.”

He laughed, a little helpless. “I haven’t been the same since.”

Courtney leaned into the camera with the most theatrical eyebrow raise imaginable, delighted and devious. “That sounds suspiciously like the behavior of a man in love.”

Spencer choked on air.

“She’s just funny!” he sputtered, instantly red-faced, waving a hand as if that could clear the smoke of implication now thick in the room. “It’s not like— I mean, we’re not— friends can be funny. You’re funny, and uh, you’re married so…”

Courtney was practically vibrating with glee. “Uh-huh,” she said slowly, dragging the syllables out like sticky taffy. “Just funny. Right.”

He squirmed in his seat, looking anywhere but the camera. “We’ve just… known each other a long time. We’re comfortable.”

Courtney turned to the camera again, voice dropping into mock seriousness. “You hear that, people? He said comfortable. That’s practically a proposal in Spencer lingo.” 

The audience (and by “audience” we mean the off-camera crew who were clearly in on the bit) let out a wave of “oooohs” and “aaahs”. Spencer buried his face in his hands, groaning. The camera shaking, indicating Brennan being very amused by the man’s squirming.

“Can we go back to talking about Sonic the Hedgehog or whatever nerdy game I used to obsess about?”

“Nope,” Courtney said brightly, “because our lovely team over there,” she gestured off-camera with a Cheshire grin “may or may not have fallen down a rabbit hole last night. And may or may not have found some excellent fan compilations of the two of you.”

Spencer looked up sharply. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” she said, and with a dramatic flourish, whipped around a tablet.

The screen lit up.

And there it was: the edit. One of those edits.

First clip: a Smosh sketch— Spencer catching you mid-fall, arms around your waist, your surprised laugh echoing as you looked up at him. His face in the clip was so stupidly fond.

Then: a behind-the-scenes tiktok: grainy footage of you stealing fries from his plate while he tried to look annoyed, but ended up just smiling at you like you had given him the moon. The music in the background was the type of lo-fi beat that was tragically romantic. Text in sparkly font floated across the screen: “they’re the blueprint”. 

Spencer groaned again. 

“You’ve doomed me.”

“Oh come on,” Courtney grinned. “You’re the internet’s slow burn king. The people are rooting for you two like it’s the season finale of their favorite show. You can’t fake that kind of chemistry.”

He peeked out from between his fingers, still pink. “She’s going to kill me.”

Courtney leaned back, smug. “Or thank you.”

She paused for a second.

Then, more gently, she asked, “Be honest, though. As your friend… have you really never considered it?”

That was when it happened.

That tiny, barely perceptible pause.

The crack in his usual rhythm.

Spencer reached for his bottle, fingers tapping nervously against the metal. Then he gave a shrug that tried to be casual but wasn’t. “…Maybe.”

Courtney’s jaw dropped.

“I think about them more than I probably should,” he admitted, quieter now. “It’s stupid. Every time I say something dumb, I wonder if they hear it. And every time they laugh at something I say, I feel like I just won the lifetime achievement award for funniest man alive.”

The room quieted slightly. Just enough to make the moment feel real.

“And I don’t know,” Spencer continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “The thing is, I’ve built this whole bit, right? Like, the funny guy. And it works. People like it. I like it.”

He paused.

You could see his leg bouncing now.

“But if it ever came down to it,” he said, finally meeting the camera’s gaze — and unknowingly, yours — “I’d ruin the whole bit if it meant I got to call them mine.”

Silence. For a full beat.

Then Courtney said, “Jesus Christ, that was actually romantic.”

Spencer flushed scarlet. “Shut up, dude.”

x

He said it with that same melodic lilt he used when cracking a joke like he was still playing the part, still keeping it all within the bit. But there was something in his eyes when he said it… something that didn’t quite match the act. “I’d ruin the whole bit if it meant I got to call them mine.”

And you felt it. Not like a flutter. Not like butterflies. It was like a landslide.

Because suddenly you couldn’t breathe properly. Couldn’t think properly. Because you knew. You knew he meant you. You knew it down to your bones. 

And the worst part was, you wanted it. Wanted him. You wanted to be his.

And that was the part that really sent you spiraling.

Because what did it mean, to be Spencer’s? He wasn’t just some guy making a joke on a podcast. He was Spencer. The person who always knew how to make you laugh so hard your ribs ached, then stayed up with you on the phone when the laughter gave way to silence and doubt. The one who always stood a little too close, like his gravity pulled toward yours and neither of you knew how to stop it anymore.

You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head. 

I’d ruin the whole bit.

He would break the thing that kept him safe, the version of himself the world loved, just to be honest. For you.

You’d tried not to hope. You’d been careful, cautious, convinced this was just something unspoken that lived in the spaces between jokes and glances. But now? Now he’d dragged it into the light.

And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since.

You didn��t know whether to scream, cry, or climb through your phone screen and grab him by the collar and say, “Say it again. Say it to my face. I dare you.” Instead, you just sat there, head in your hands, heart doing backflips, while the rest of the world kept spinning like it didn’t even notice your entire universe had shifted one inch to the left: towards him.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until that one word left his mouth.

Maybe.

It wasn’t much. Just one word. Quiet. Barely there.

But it wrecked you.

Because you knew that voice. That exact tone. You’d heard it before— when he was walking the tightrope between what he felt and what he dared to show. That wasn’t a joke, or a bit, or even a placeholder answer. That was the first crack in the dam.

You were frozen on your couch, hand halfway to your mouth,

You had watched him spin a thousand stories out of thin air, turn silence into punchlines and chaos into comfort. But this wasn’t that. This wasn't a performance.

This was Spencer… unraveling.

You waited for the denial, the backpedaling, the casual joke to brush it all off. It never came.

The rest of the world fell away— the cold tea sweating beside you on the table, the stupid blanket balled uselessly in your lap as the video played. None of it mattered.

You felt something twist and settle in your chest. Heavy and warm and terrifying all at once.

Because maybe had always been the unspoken thing between you. The long looks. The almosts. The what-ifs.

And now, it wasn’t unspoken anymore.

Now, it was right there— broadcasted, undeniable.

Now, it was real.

You watched the whole episode again.

Because frankly, the whole thing irritated you and itched at the base of your skull like a mosquito bite you couldn’t quite scratch. There’d been moments, so many moments, where it would’ve been easy to say something. To have a real conversation with him about the ‘unspoken.’ But easy didn’t mean safe. Not when the whole internet was already writing your love story for you.

But maybe the finale was coming sooner than anyone thought.

x

Your episode was filmed exactly one week after Spencer’s.

The producers emailed you the invite with many smiley faces for comfort, calling it a “highly requested guest slot” in bold pink font like you hadn’t already seen the way Twitter lost its mind after Spencer’s. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was. The entire internet had gone full tinfoil-hat detective over his episode. Comment sections flooded with timestamps and overanalyzed glances. TikTok was wall-to-wall fan edits and “They’re definitely in love” breakdowns.

Still… you said yes.

Partly because you genuinely liked Courtney. She was fun, quick-witted, and asked the kind of questions that felt like peeling back a sticker slowly, layer by layer, until the truth stuck. But more than that, you agreed because if Spencer could sit there with that shy smile and those brave confessions then maybe it was your turn to show up too.

Besides, there had been some truths under your skin for months now— itching, pressing, begging to be let out. You hadn’t stopped to untangle the knot in your stomach, or to second-guess the impulse rushing through you like spring water.

The set was warm and casual, the URL couch familiar from every episode you’d binged before. You sipped on the fancy sparkling water someone handed you and tried not to fidget while they adjusted your mic.

Courtney sat down across from you, cross-legged, grinning like a cat with a secret.

“So,” she started, dragging out the word, “before we begin… do you know how many people tagged us in posts demanding your episode after Spencer’s aired?”

You laughed, maybe a little too nervously. “I’m terrified to know the number.”

“Let’s just say your ship name is trending.”

Your stomach flipped. You smiled it off.

The interview began innocently enough— standard questions, playful jabs, a lot of mutual giggling. But around the thirty-minute mark, things shifted. Courtney had a way of pulling people in like gravity. You didn’t even realize you’d started spiraling until the words were already pouring out of you.

“He’s just… comfortable,” you said, trying to explain the impossible-to-name thing that Spencer was. Your hands gestured helplessly, like they could catch the right phrase out of the air. “He has this way of making people feel seen. Not in a performative way. Just safe. Like you can breathe deeper when he’s around.”

Courtney leaned forward slightly, her tone softening. “You talk like you know him really well.”

You smiled. The kind of smile you made when you were holding something close to your chest and maybe, just maybe, thinking about letting it go. “I do.”

““And is he…” Courtney tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Just your coworker?”

Your heart skipped, just once.

You’d been bracing for it—of course she’d ask. The internet had been dissecting every glance and laugh between you two since his episode aired. Still, something about hearing it out loud made your breath catch. It felt… more real.

You looked down, thumb brushing absently along the edge of your sleeve.

Then, carefully:

“He is my favorite person to see across a room.”

Courtney made a wounded sound, clutching her chest like she’d been struck. “Oh my God. If that man doesn’t kiss you by next week, I swear—”

You laughed softly, like the words on your tongue were fragile things you didn’t want to mishandle. “He’s already said more than enough.”

The tension in your shoulders had just started to ease— until the screen across from you flickered to life.

Your eyes widened. “No. No, what are you doing?”

Across the table, the producer was already handing Courtney the now-infamous Fan Edit Tablet of Doom.

Courtney’s grin was wicked. “Oh, come on. You had to know this was coming.”

You let out a groan, sinking slightly in your seat. “God, I was really hoping it wouldn’t.”

She tapped play.

Cue soft lighting. Slow-motion clips of Spencer brushing a hair from your face during a shoot. Him laughing at something you said off-camera, eyes crinkled, body leaning subtly toward yours. One edit showed you falling asleep during a travel vlog shoot, your head tilted to the side— and Spencer draping his hoodie over you like it was second nature.

The music was embarrassingly romantic—some indie acoustic track with lyrics like “I didn’t mean to fall for you” playing just loud enough to be mortifying.

The final clip was a zoom-in of Spencer’s face during one of those chaotic group sketches. You were in the background, talking to someone else. He was in the foreground, not even the focus of the shot. But he was looking at you. Soft, focused, like the whole world had blurred except for you.

Your hands flew up to your face.

“Oh my God, I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Courtney snorted. “It’s worse.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, face burning. “How long has everyone been seeing this except for us?”

She leaned toward you, teasing but sincere. “You two are basically a rom-com waiting to happen. The slow burn? The banter? The pining? Come on. We all have eyes.”

You let out a weak laugh.

The last clip was the killer: Spencer, blurry in the background of a group sketch, not even the focus. But he was just looking at you and the camera had caught it. The kind of look that didn’t lie.

When the video ended, you were quiet for a beat too long.

Courtney didn’t push. She just waited.

Finally, you said, “I didn’t watch his episode all the way through at first.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised.

“I told myself I’d just catch the highlights. But three minutes in, I was curled up on the couch, drink untouched, just… watching him.”

She smiled. Soft this time. “And?”

You shrugged a little. “He said some things I didn’t expect to hear out loud. Things I wasn’t sure he’d ever actually say.”

“Did it change anything?”

A pause, quiet with something sacred

“Not really,” you said. “I think it just… confirmed things I already knew. Things I’d been ignoring because it was easier.”

Courtney tilted her head, curious. “And now?”

You met her eyes. Your voice was steady.

“Now I think maybe we owe it to ourselves to stop pretending it’s not real.”

The words hung there, delicate and heavy all at once..

“Maybe I’m not ready to say it loud yet,” you admitted. “But I’m ready to say it… gently. Like leaving the door open and hoping he walks through it.”

Courtney placed a hand to her chest, mock-swooning with real feeling beneath it. “Girl. That’s not gentle. That’s poetry.”

You shrugged, but the smile stayed, full of something that had waited long enough to be spoken.

Courtney didn’t say anything for a second— just nodded, slow and proud, like she was witnessing something shifting.

Then she grinned, sharp again. “So when’s the wedding?”

You burst out laughing, covering your face. “Courtney, oh my God.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, giggling. “We’ll save that for your next visit.”

x

The clips made the rounds.

Actually, “made the rounds” didn’t quite cover it. They detonated.

Within hours of your URL episode going live, the internet did what it did best: spiraled. Screenshots were everywhere. Fans paired your smile with his softest glances, your flustered laugh with his shy confessions. A five-second snippet of you adjusting Spencer’s mic got over a million views, captioned “spouse behavior.”

Twitter exploded.

They weren’t subtle about it. The fan edits got louder, more dramatic; montages set to love songs, slow-motion glances, captions like “soulmates in denial.” Someone even made a spreadsheet tracking every “charged moment,” complete with timestamps and emotional intensity ratings.

It stopped being commentary and started feeling like a countdown. People weren’t just watching you two anymore—they were rooting for you. Betting on you.

So by the time you both returned to set for another sketch shoot, it wasn’t just awkward—it was loudly awkward.

Chaos was probably the right word.

Someone had plastered screenshots of fan tweets all over the table. One of them read, “If they don’t kiss by the next sketch, I’m throwing my phone in the ocean.” It was right next to the fruit tray. You considered throwing that instead.

Alex handed you a sticker that said “Spencer’s Favorite Person” in Comic Sans, his expression mournful, like he was delivering a medal of valour in a war you didn’t sign up for.

“Wear it with pride,” he said solemnly.

And Ian? Ian had taken to walking past you humming the wedding march anytime you and Spencer were in the same room. No words. No eye contact. Just the tune. Loud, deliberate and frequently. It was totally unhinged behaviour… which, unfortunately, tracked perfectly for your boss.

You laughed it off, of course. So did Spencer.

Every time someone teased him, he’d give that sheepish smile, the one that tugged at the corner of his mouth like he couldn’t decide between amused and flustered. You’d meet each other’s gaze across the green room and grin like idiots, pretending it didn’t mean anything.

But eventually, you caught him in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone off to review footage. It was just the two of you, and your heart knew it. 

“So,” you said, aiming for nonchalant and missing slightly. “I watched your episode.”

He turned quickly, already flushing. “Yeah?”

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Twice. Maybe thrice..”

That got a small, nervous, breathy laugh out of him. “Wow. Planning revenge?”

You shook your head, stepping just close enough that your shoulders brushed as he leaned against the counter.

“Just wondering,” you said, quieter now, “if you meant what you said.”

The shift in energy was immediate. His posture stiffened slightly, cup halfway to his lips. When he looked at you this time, it wasn’t with teasing eyes. That boyish glint in his eyes had disappeared in an instant and was instead replaced with something you could only describe as soft adoration.

He didn’t smile.

Just nodded, earnest and unflinching.

“I did.”

You could feel the pulse in your throat. Your brain scrambled for something clever, something casual— but all you could do was watch him. His expression. The nervous set of his jaw. The hope wasn't even pretending to hide now.

Your tongue felt too heavy, your breath caught somewhere in your chest. Spencer was just standing there. He wasn't moving or filling the silence with some deflecting joke, just waiting.

Waiting for you.

He’d said yes.

No hesitation. No backpedaling. No joke to soften the edges.

He meant it.

You blinked once, then said, quieter than you intended, “You know that kind of ruined me, right?”

He tilted his head. “The episode?”

“The things you said.”

Your voice was steadier now, but barely. “I don’t think you realize how much of me you just… put out there. Without even knowing it.”

Spencer swallowed. “I didn’t do it to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

You stepped forward again, enough that he had to straighten up, enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him like sunlight through a window. “It just caught me off guard. Hearing it. Watching you say it.”

His eyes searched yours. “What part?”

You paused. 

“The part where you said you think about me more than you should,” you said, breath hitching. “And the part where you said-”

You hesitated.

His eyes held no defenses now, and somehow, that quiet openness was enough to steady you.

“The part where you said you’d ruin your whole ‘bit’ if it meant you’d get to have me.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

So you stepped in closer. 

The room felt impossibly still.

You whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I wanted to,” he said. “But it always felt like if I said it out loud, I’d ruin it.”

“It’s already ruined,” you said, almost laughing, eyes stinging a little. “You did say it. On camera. In front of the entire internet.”

He gave a breathless smile. “Yeah. I didn’t really think that part through.”

You stared at him, lips parted, throat tight with a thousand unsaid things.

Because that wasn’t a crush. That wasn’t flirtation.

That was Spencer.

Choosing you, out loud. Without blinking.

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He had to take his chance.

The air between you was charged, crackling with everything unspoken, everything denied. He took a deliberate step forward, and before you could speak his name, his hand was at the back of your head, fingers touching your hair with a startling and forceful certainty.

You gasped softly, your hands flying to his chest, not to push him away— but to pull him closer. Your body arching toward his as the kiss deepened— urgent, consuming.

His other hand found your waist, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough. There was nothing practiced or perfect about it. It was messy and desperate. But it was real.

Then came the shift; a gentle unraveling of urgency. His lips slowed, moving with purpose, as if he were learning you by heart. Every sigh you gave, every tremble beneath his hands, felt like something he didn’t want to forget. As if this moment, right here, was something sacred; something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

When he finally pulled back, Spencer exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. He didn’t say anything at first. 

The silence between you stretched.

He spoke again. It was soft, low, and trembling with something that sounded too much like devotion.

“I want you to be mine. Not just in edits. Not just in jokes. Mine.”

You froze, heart rattling against your ribs.

“I’d ruin myself for you,” he continued, voice thick now, almost hoarse. “Ruin the bit. The version of me that’s easy to laugh at. I’d set it all on fire if it meant I got to call you mine.”

There was no teasing left in him. No armour to hide behind.

He took a deep breath. “And don’t think for one second I don’t understand what that means. What you mean. You’re not just a crush. You’re not just funny or talented or smart– you’re you.” 

He let out a desperate laugh.

“And God I have been wanting achingly to kiss you.”

You stared at him, lips parted, throat tight with a thousand unsaid things. His kiss had undone something inside you, something fragile and long-held— but his words, low and overly possessive, hit you deeper than anything else ever had.

Spencer gave a half-smile, eyes still locked on yours.

“So,” he said, voice lightening just enough to make room for hope, “you wanna go ahead and make some fan edits true?”

Your laugh came out soft, stunned. “Are you asking me out?”

“Depends,” he said, still holding the back of your head. “Are you saying yes?”

You nodded.

“Yeah. I’m saying yes.”

He leaned forward, forehead brushing yours. “Been waiting to hear you say that.”

“Yeah,” you whispered back, smiling. “Me too.”

And somewhere, in another part of the building, Ian’s wedding march started up again.

[lovji]

Notebook

G!P Loser!Megan x Popular!Fem!Reader

You didn’t even know Megan had a crush on you. But once you found those drawings, everything changed. And honestly? You didn’t mind the attention.

cw: praising, reader is a meanie, begging, creampie, riding, blowjob, megan is being mentally tortured, etc..

wc: 7.01k notes: this is dedicated to one of my anons who suggested loser!megan x popular!reader <3 i hope you enjoyyyy!

You sigh as you walk towards your last period, one AirPod in, as your bag is lazily swinging from one of your shoulders. Your shoes click across the floor in that satisfying rhythm that always turns heads. They always turn. The hallways are buzzing, as usual, when you suddenly hear your name from a group of boys.

“Dude, she's totally obsessed with her.” One of the boys snickers.

You don’t stop walking, instead, you slow your steps as your ears perk up.

“Megan? I know right. Have you seen the way she looks at Y/N? It’s so pathetic.”

“It’s honestly kind of creepy. I bet she has a wall full of pictures of her in her room!” Another one of the boys snorted with a laugh. All of them join.

Your eyes narrow, but you keep walking. Megan?

The girl who always wears that faded hoodie. The one with her sleeves pulled over her hands. The one who sits in the back corner of the class and never speaks unless she has to. You don’t remember talking to her. Ever. But lately, now that you’re thinking about it, you have caught her looking at you.

Not just once. It felt like it stuck to your body. Something that lingered. Like she’s trying to memorize you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t flattered.

But still, a smirk pulls at your lips.

You don’t need Megan’s attention, you already have more than enough of that. You have boys tripping over themselves to sit beside you. Girls watching you like they want to be you. Teachers who look at you like you’re someone they’ll see on a magazine cover someday.

But there’s something satisfying about the quiet ones. The ones who don’t say anything. Who just watch. 

You almost laugh. “What a loser,” you think.

You smile to yourself, satisfied. You push open the door, entering your classroom.

his

“Hey, Y/N! Are you still down to hang tonight?” Some boy bothers you. You don’t remember his name. Was it – Yeonjun? Hm, whatever, you didn’t care.

“Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said unapologetically, walking right past the poor boy. 

Behind you, his friends laugh, clapping him on the back like he just got rejected by a goddess and in a way, he did.

God, you really were magnetic, weren’t you? 

Every guy in this school would drop their soul just to be near you. And some of the girls too, though they’d never admit it.

But Megan?

She doesn’t try to flirt. Doesn’t talk to you at all. She just watches. Quietly. Devoutly. As if you’re art. And suddenly, you’re curious. Not because you care.

But because it’s fun.

You scoff at the thought. You slide into your seat, head held high, smirk still lingering as you gaze out the window.

Maybe it was time to start noticing Megan too.

As you stare out the window, you daydream. Something about having Megan on her knees, or maybe at your feet. You smile at the weird thought. You wouldn’t completely hate it.

The classroom door creaks behind you. You tilt your head, just enough to catch a glimpse. You don’t give her the full satisfaction of turning around.You don’t need to look much to tell who it is. The shift of the energy in the room speaks it all. It’s a lot heavier now. 

There she is. Megan. In her usual oversized black hoodie. Her eyes didn’t flicker around the classroom to observe anything. She kept her head hung low, walking over to her seat.

You’re still watching her when suddenly, she lifts her gaze, eyes meeting yours. And for the first time, she doesn't look away.

Not immediately, at least.

You arch a brow ever so slightly, the corner of your lip twitching in amusement. You wonder if she can see that. If she knows you’re smirking on the inside, knowing exactly what this is.

Her eyes break the contact, hanging her head back low. It felt like seeing a deer while driving. You could still feel her stare linger. 

You turn your head back to the window as if nothing happened, yet your mind is already racing. You started to wonder how it would sound if your name were to roll off her tongue. Wondering how much she’d blush if you brushed your hand against hers. 

Your teacher walks in, enticing multiple groans from the class. But you’re not paying attention. 

You can still feel Megan’s stare behind you.

You cross your leg one over the other, arching your back just enough for it to look natural, but also just enough to know that you look really hot from behind. The skirt you were wearing complimented your figure.

You wouldn’t mind if she noticed. 

This obviously isn’t the first time you’ve been admired. You’re used to being worshipped by your peers. But something about this felt different – more exciting.

You steal a glance over your shoulder to get a glimpse of Megan. Her head was down again, scribbling something on her notebook. It didn’t look like she was writing anything or taking down notes. Sketching, maybe? 

Her jawline is sharp, and her eyes so doe. Has that effortless structure that you’d usually find annoying on someone that knew they were hot. But Megan doesn’t know. That’s what makes it work for her.

Your eyes flick down to her hands. Her fingers, tapping against the desk. Long and big. You imagine how they would feel on your skin.

The realization hit you. Maybe Megan was pretty hot.

You blink, letting the thought marinate. You look back to the front of the class, letting the lecturer’s voice wash out into the background as you tilt your head. Okay, maybe she is a loser. She’s a loser because she doesn’t speak. Perhaps she just prefers being alone?

But you see the potential.

If she lost the hoodie, started doing her make up, stopped acting like she didn’t exist. 

You shift in your seat. Maybe you do have a thing for quiet girls who’d let you ruin their lives. Just a little. 

This might be more fun than you thought.

And finally, the final bell rings. You paid zero attention to that class. You could hear chairs scrape, voices echo, bags zip, and students rushing out as if they’ve just been released from jail.

You take your time. Today was a Friday, meaning you were assigned to clean up after class. It was punishment for skipping last Friday’s homeroom. You groan. Whatever, it’s not a big deal anyways. It’s not like you had anything better to do. 

You start lazily pushing chairs against their assigned tables, AirPods in, but with no music playing. You do this all the time, just so people won’t approach you. 

Halfway through straightening a row of desks, something catches your eye.

A notebook. Half-tucked under the far desk in the right. You didn’t need to get up close to know whose it was. You knew so well who sat there. Megan. 

You felt a drop of excitement brew in your stomach.

Of course she would forget something. How silly. 

You glance at the door, no one to be found. Your curiosity gets the best of you. You walk towards the desk and pluck the notebook out, flipping into it without a second thought.

The first few pages were normal. Just some notes and reminders about school. Unfinished math solutions. Weird little diagrams and brain maps. 

A few pages in, your breath hitches. 

Sketches. Of your. Your face. Your body.

Page after page, it didn’t stop. Detailed sketches of your hands, your neck, your mouth. 

In one of them, you’re smiling. Mouth grinning with your eyes half-lidded, it looked dreamy. In the next page, your back is arched a little too much to be called innocent. The collar of your shirt was drawn lower than where it usually sat. Your mouth was open with your eyes closed, as if you just moaned her name.

You flip another page. It’s you laying down in bed, sleeping and vulnerable, detailed enough for it to send shivers down your spine.

Had she been drawing all of this from imagination? How talented. You didn’t know how to feel. Were you supposed to be creeped out? Repulsed, maybe? 

She didn’t just draw you like a muse. She drew you like one of her fantasies. 

Instead of feeling sick, you felt flattered. You expected this. Everyone obsesses over you, after all. But never in such a way. This was so much more intense. And kind of – hot. 

You keep flipping through the pages. As you get deeper, a familiar pattern comes into place. Hands. Hands that weren’t yours. Megan’s hands. They were drawn delicately all over your body. On your waist. On your face. On your thighs. On your neck. 

You exhale with a smile. It wasn't horror you felt. You felt like you were in power.

She wants you that bad, huh?

You think about returning it to her locker. It would be the right thing to do. As if nothing ever happened, and you never knew anything.

But you’re not exactly known for being kind. 

You lock the door behind you as you step into your house. There was no scent of dinner. No humming of the TV. No presence. You glanced around the area. No one was home.

Your hands slipped into your pockets to check your phone. 

“Hey hon, we’ll be out late for tonight. We left some food in the fridge. Don’t wait for us xx.” The text message read from her mom. 

You blink at it with a smile on your face. Finally, some time alone. You skip towards your room and toss your bag in the corner of the room, opening up Megan’s notebook again as you flop on your bed. 

Your hands run over each page, feeling each intricate stroke. You could imagine Megan drawing all of this in her free time. You couldn’t stop thinking about everything. 

Your face and body was illustrated as if you were some type of Goddess. No shame, just desire. It was left behind, almost as if she wanted you to find it.

Maybe she did.

You turn onto another one of the sick pages. Your eyes land on a scene where her hands are gripping your thighs, almost crushing them. You let out a breath, biting back a grin.

She’s so sick. Sick in a way that you like. 

You grab your phone and unlock it, opening instagram to find her profile. It takes you a while, seeing that she’s not so popular, but luckily, you have a few mutuals here and there. You follow her and slide into her DMS.

Y/N:

you’re a really good artist. x

You giggle as you stare at the message, admiring the audacity.

Three dots on her end appear. Then vanish. Then again. It makes your cheeks turn. The reply finally comes in.

Megan: 

what

Y/N:

your little black notebook, you loser. the one where you drew me like one of your french girls. 

wanna come get it?

Seen. No reply. You leaned your head back on the headboard, feeling giddy for some reason. She must be spiraling right now. Probably pacing around her room, sweating, or maybe just staring into the wall out of pure embarrassment. 

You pick up your phone and type again.

Y/N:

i really like the details on your drawings

come get it.

im home alone :)

unless you’re too scared?

You laugh at how funny you are.

Megan:

i’m coming

You giggle as you throw your phone to the side. You don’t know what you’re gonna do yet. One thing you’re sure of is that you definitely won’t give back that notebook. You wanted to keep it for yourself. Who wouldn’t want to keep portraits of themselves?

And of course, you didn’t wanna let Megan go without playing around with her first.

You get up from your bed and neatly place the notebook atop your desk. You had it open on one of your favorite pages – the one where her hands were all over your waist.

You slip onto the vanity area, running your comb through your hair as you examine yourself in the mirror. Time to prep up. Your lip gloss was worn out and slightly smudged. You picked out your favorite shade and reapplied it. You didn’t wanna overdo anything. Just enough effort to look like you didn’t try. The kind of effortless beauty people obsess over.

You tug the hem of your shirt to lift it higher, rolling up the hem of your shorts just once. Then another. Now it’s barely even noticeable that you even have shorts on. You look up to the mirror again. Smile.

You hear a car pull up in the driveway, engine running. Megan?

You looked out your door and saw a familiar figure. You didn’t even know she had a license. That alone sends a small thrill down your spine. The kind you don’t want to admit.

Okay. So the loser has a car. Hot.

You adjust your shorts one last time, fingers smoothing the hem of your barely-there outfit. The gloss on your lips is still wet.

Ding dong.

“Coming!” You called with a sweet voice as you ran towards your front door. 

Your hands reach for the doorknob and twist, pulling it at the very last moment.

There she is. Hoodie is still on, but a different one from earlier. Her eyes were staring already – and not at your face. You feel yourself burn at her gaze. 

You lean lazily against the doorframe, one arm overhead, stretching just enough to make your shirt ride up. Your smirk is wicked.

“I didn’t think you would actually come,” you said with a low voice, teasing her. “You must really want that notebook back, huh?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared. Right into your eyes this time.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” you pick at her even more. “Or are you just imagining more poses for your little collection?”

That does something to her. You’d struck a nerve.

“Can I come in?” She finally said something, yet still so full of hesitation.

A grin shadows over your face, stepping back from the door just enough to let her pass through. Her shoulders brush over yours, and you certainly don’t miss the way her breath hilts. Enough to make your pulse flutter.

You closed the door behind her with a soft click.

“It’s in my room.” You start walking towards your room. You strut ahead of her, hips swaying just enough to let her know you know she’s watching. “Come.” And she followed. Like she couldn’t help it.

Each step she takes, you can feel her thinking. Wondering if you’ve flipped the book open on your bed. Wondering if you’ve already read all of it. Wondering what the hell she just walked into.

Both of you enter your room. In your room, the lights are soft. There’s a warm glow from your desk lamp. You point towards the notebook on your desk. It’s still open on that same page you left it at. You could feel her second hand embarrassment as she glanced over it. You watched her face carefully. Watched the flicker of horror, of panic, as she realized it was still exposed.

“You looked.”

You tilt your head and raise your brows at her.

“Obviously. What drawings did you think I was talking about?” you scoffed at her.

Megan shifted in place, feeling awkward. The hems of her sleeves were clenched into her fist, as if she was trying to drown in her own oversized hoodie. 

You grab the notebook and face back towards her, slowing walking. “You’re a really detailed artist,” you whisper as you trace over the curves of lines. “Like… obsessively so.” You turned the notebook around to face her.

She stared at it. Which was surprising. You had expected her to look away out of embarrassment.

You flip to another page.

The one with your mouth parted, neck arched, a hand delicately trailing between your thighs. Her initials scribbled in the corner like a signature. Or a brand. Like she couldn’t help but claim it. Claim you.

You moved closer, now standing next to her, with the notebook facing both of you. She was a few inches taller than you. It felt good to have someone tower over you.

“You’re sick,” you say casually. “You know that?” You look up at her, so close.

She looks back at you. She holds her breath. You were so close. 

You reached out, fingertips ghosting over the hem of her hoodie. Her jaw clenched. You could see her heartbeat in her throat.

“So tell me, what exactly were you fantasizing about while you drew me like this?”

You watch her lips part, but nothing comes out. She was struggling for her words. Her eyes wide and frantic. 

“Come on. You didn’t do all that just to practice your drawing.”

You circle around, now being in front of her. You were even closer now. Your chest almost brushes hers. You reach out and finally tug at the edge of her hoodie, lightly tugging it.

“Or did you?”

She gulps. The room was silent enough for you to hear.

“You’re awfully quiet,”  you said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, letting your fingers drag a second longer than they needed to. “Is that how you were in your head too? All shy as you drew me like that? Or were you a little more shameless?” The last words slip out as a whisper, like a secret.

You turned, slow and deliberate, and walked toward your bed. The silk sheets shifted under you as you sat, legs spread just enough to cradle the notebook in your lap like it belonged there.

“You want it back?” 

She didn’t answer.

“Come get it, Megan.” You say deliberately slow, letting the words linger on her skin.

At first, she didn't budge. She just stared into your eyes, and then into the notebook on your naked lap. Or maybe she was just looking at your thighs. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes dark. She had a flicker in her gaze. Something in between panic and desire.

She finally took a step forward, slowly and steadily. She halts in front of you, her hand reaching for the notebook on your lap.

Until you caught her wrist.

“One condition.” She looks back up at you.

“Tell me what you were thinking about, when you drew that last one?”

She gulps again. Her mouth opens, yet no words are spoken. You lean in closer to her face, lowering your voice until it’s just a breath against her ear.

“Was it my body? Or was it the way I’d look on top of you?”

You could see her jaw clench. The room suddenly felt much heavier as those last few words left your mouth.

“I-”, she tried to talk, her voice trembling in humiliation. “I didn’t think you’d ever find it.”

You could only laugh at her.

“Are you sure? I was starting to think that maybe you did this on purpose.” You admit with a cunning smirk on your end. “C’mon Megan. Just spit it out.” You scoff as you start to get bored.

“I- The way your shirt rides up when you stretch…” she mumbles under her breath, not being capable of looking you in the eye. And how your thighs looked whenever you sat like that.” 

There she was. She was breaking. 

“Mhm, and what else?” You tilt your head.

“The way you licked your lips when you were focused,” she admits. “I kept wondering what it would feel like. If they were – If they were on my –” She cuts herself off by biting her lower lip.

You pout at her in pity. “On your what? Say it.”

“If they were around me.” She murmured softly, still not looking you in the eye. Her hands ball into fists at her side. “If you were on your knees. If you were looking up at me with your mouth open. Like in that sketch.” She admitted. Poor girl.

You relax back gently on the bed, your thighs slightly parting as you relax, letting her get a view of what she’s been dreaming of. 

“So that’s what you think about,” you murmur. “Me on my knees. Looking up at you. Taking you into my mouth like it’s nothing.”

You could hear her breath get heavier and heavier now. How pathetic. Her eyes kept flickering everywhere except your eyes. She was visibly hard under the fabric of her pants. You found it cute that she didn’t know how to handle herself. 

“And when you touched yourself at the thought of me? What were you fantasizing about then?” 

“I imagined you teasing me,” she gulps. “Touching me everywhere but where I needed. Making me beg.” 

You furrow your eyebrows at her. “Do you beg, Megan?”

She hesitates for a bit. “For you?” she finally looks up into your eyes. “Yeah.”

You stood up gently from the bed, notebook in clenched in your hand. You pat on the center of the edge of the bed, “Come sit,” you commanded as you placed the notebook on the edge of the bed. 

She almost immediately obeys your orders, as if it was instinct to follow you. She lowered herself until she met the edge of the bed, comfortably nestling herself in your sheets. 

You stay standing right in front of her. This was perfect. It was perfect how she had to look up at you now. It felt like the perfect view. 

You leaned down as you softly placed one of your hands on her thighs, dangerously close to what's resting in between her legs. You place your other hand on her shoulder, further closing the distance and tension between you two. 

You couldn't take it anymore. You had been beating around the bush for far too long. You fully closed the distance between you and Megan. Her lips were incredibly soft. Something you hadn't quite expected from her. As you move into the kiss, your grip on her tightens, as her hand finds their way on your waist. Her delicate hands sculpted your shirt around your waist, revealing your figure. 

She leans in deeper into this kiss. A little too much for your liking. Just how much was she starving? She nibbed at your bottom lip, sucking roughly, almost as if you were her first meal of the day. This must be a dream come true for her. 

You feel her big hands wrap around your waist more tightly, not in a way where she was squeezing them, but in a way where she was rubbing over the sides of your waist gently, up and down. 

She tasted minty. Probably popped in a mint on the way here. Her lips felt somehow addicting – almost like an adrenaline rush. Your lips kept brushing over each other’s, wetting the sides of each other’s mouths with saliva.

To your surprise, she finds a way to slip her tongue into your mouth. You gladly open your mouth slightly wider, giving her more access to yourself. As you assault each other’s mouths, you find the time to climb on top of her, placing each of your legs on the side of hers, straddling her. 

She pulled you in ever closer, your chest fully contacting hers. You arch your back and she keeps pulling you in with your waist. As you come closer to her, you feel it. A bulge underneath you. You smirk into the kiss. It’s been a while since you hooked up with someone, you really needed this.

Megan didn’t falter at kissing. In fact, she was really good at it. You didn’t know whether to believe that this was her first time, because shes a loser, or if she in fact has made out with someone before, and maybe that’s why she was so good at it.

Her tongue danced with yours in swivels. It felt like she was really into it. I mean, who wouldn’t be? She didn’t hesitate to be messy and sloppy, to like all over and inside your mouth – as if she was some type of hungry puppy.

You darted out your tongue at her and to your surprise, she started to lightly suck on it. Damn. She knew exactly how to turn you on. 

Speaking of you being turned on, you feel the heat rise between your legs. You shift a little, just so her bulge is exactly right where you want it. Your hips gently start moving against her, making sure to savor every feeling. You feel it. Her clothed cock putting pressure on your covered slit.

You moan into the kiss a little. Everything you did made her react. She moves into your kiss, groaning as her cock grows harder and harder for you. Both of her hands slip under your thin shirt, caressing all over your torso and abdomen, getting a feel of your soft and delicate skin. It felt so erotic being under her touch.

You felt her warm hands slip into the underside of your bra. This was your weak link. She caressed and fondled you, gently teasing your nipples. God, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You pulled off the intense kiss. “Take that stupid hoodie and pants off.” You demanded authority. As she obeyed you, you took the chance to bring your shirt over your shoulders and strip off your clothing. Now, you had nothing but your panties on. You looked back towards Megan. She looked the same, just with her boxers on.

“Good,” you whisper as you get right back on top of her. You two continue sharing the passionate kiss, but this time, with so much more touching. She was touching you everywhere, like a pervert. Like you’re all she’s ever wanted.

She kept playing with your tits, as if they were some kind of stress ball to help her calm down in the situation. Maybe to her, they were. Occasionally, she rubbed the tip of her fingertips on your sensitive nipples, evoking gentle moans from your throat. 

She pulls away from the kiss and takes a moment to admire what’s in front of her. Mostly your boobs. She was staring straight at them. As if your tits had their own eyes, and they were just making eye contact. Before you could think the next thought, she wrapped her soft, wet lips around the bud of your nipple, gently sucking on it. She ran her tongue over the supple tip, as she tugged on the other with her fingers. She was flicking your nipples back to back. You threw your head back as you released a soft whine. 

You were feeling so much at once. Her mouth. Her hands. Her cock.

As she feasted on your chest, she grinded her sheathed cock on the center of your now damp panties. You were being taken care of so well. You could feel yourself drip through your underwear, infecting Megan’s boxers.

You grab Megan’s head and pull her off of her meal. Pretty rude. You admire the sight of her face. Her mouth opened, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth. She was almost gasping for air, hungry for more. She looked up at you, her eyes begging for more.

“You’re so cute.” you whispered as you booped her nose.

You start to grind on her cock harder and faster while you hold her head in place, looking into her eyes to see if she’d have a reaction. As soon as she felt your dampness run over herself, she bit into her lower lip and squinted her eyes, looking like a desperate puppy, trying to hump forward into you.

Your breath grows as you keep grinding yourself on her, getting wetter and wetter by the second. She tries her best to mimic as if shes fucking you already. It makes you remember how much of a loser she is.

You hop off of her and go down on your knees, tugging at the hem of her boxers. She helps you and lowers her underwear, revealing the beast within. Her cock sprang free, rock hard. It was standing up straight, almost hitting her abdomen. The tip was so swollen and red, white precum leaking from her tiny slit.

“Hmmm,” you whine as you wrap your hand around her cock, giving it a soft stroke. “This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of, huh? The one you’ve been drawing about?” You tease at her with a grin on your face. 

“Is it exactly as you imagined it? Me being on my knees? Hands wrapped around your cock?” You tease as the strokes on her cock turn more intense.

She moans cutely and whimpers, “Y-yeah, way better than I imagined.” 

You watch her dick. Your hand can’t even fully wrap around it. Just like how Megan can’t wrap her head around the fact that this was actually happening. With each stroke, you could see her cock pulse for you, hungry for attention.

You wrap your lips around the tip – just enough for Megan to groan. You softly sucked on the tip, teasing at her cock. You could taste the precum. It was salty, just like you expected it. You started to take her deeper into your mouth, little by little, consuming her cock. As her cock was sheathed into your mouth, you swiveled your tongue around the tip of her cock, eliciting a moan from her. Guys really liked it when you did that. 

You tried to take all of her – but you couldn’t. She was too big. You wrapped your hand back on the space you couldn’t quite reach, stroking it along with the motion of your mouth.

You bobbed your head up and down her cock, maintaining your eye contact with her. She looked at you with so much desire. But of course, you made sure to still be in control.

You pulled your hot mouth off of her. 

She exhaled sharply. “What?”

“Didn’t you mention you liked begging?”

She just stared at you. As if you were cracking some type of joke that didn’t hit.

“C’mon Megan, I’m not gonna budge if you don’t get that mouth moving. Make your dreams come true.

She gulped. “Please, Y/N.” So plain. So boring.

“Please what? Use your words.” 

“Please, s-suck my cock.” She murmured under her breath, ashamed of what she was saying. 

“I'm gonna need more than that for you to convince me that you actually want it.” You tease at her. You wanted more. You needed to hear her beg.

“Please, Y/N. Suck my cock, please. I really need it. I’ll do anything, please.” This time, she whines more desperately.

“Good girl,” you smile at her with satisfaction as you pop her cock right back in your mouth.

You continue to give it to her in a way that you've never done for any one ever before. You were sloppy and messy, not giving a shit about how you looked anymore. All you cared about was how good it felt for Megan. How much Megan moaned in approval, and how much she rolled her eyes back. 

Your hand finds its way back to her cock again, wrapping around the base, gently stroking the understimulated area. 

You could feel her hips slowly start to move. You let her. You kind of liked it, anyways. The bobbing of your head was now accompanied by her gently fucking your mouth. You could tell she wanted to cum. Which is why you pushed yourself to the limit. You started to bob your head faster, tongue flicking on her cock in all types of ways. 

Drool comes spilling out of the sides of your lips. Your eyes start to sting with tears. But you withstand it, for Megan. All the while, you try to keep your eyes on her, feeding off of her facial expressions. The way her face contorted out of pleasure, and the way she squirmed under your touch. Even then, she still looked so desperate.

Before you knew it, you felt her shove her cock deep into your mouth, convulsing out of pleasure. And then you could feel it, hot liquid pouring into your throat and tongue. It was sweet and salty, just what you were craving.

You don’t pull off of her immediately. You wrap your mouth around her steadily, and start to swallow repeatedly on her cock, making sure it’s all clean. She couldn’t help but moan at your hunger. You pull her cock out of your mouth, making sure to lap up all remaining residue of her cum, especially on her tip.

You settle back on top of her lap? nestling her still hard cock right on your panties, making sure it’s planted perfectly. You feel her even more now, her hard cock on your pussy. You wanna feel it bare already, but you hold your temptations back, and slowly wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her in for another hot kiss.

She’s a lot gentler this time, almost as if she’s got what she’s wanted already. But you knew she hasn’t had enough just yet. Her cock was still hard as a rock. You could feel it growing under you. You start moving back and forth again, rubbing yourself on her. You could start to feel your pussy ache, ache for more than just external pleasure.

“C’mon Megs, give it to me.” You whisper into her ear as you lift yourself from her a little, leaving space for you to push your panties to the side, revealing your soaked pussy.

You grab the base of her cock and tease it up and down your slit, aligning it at the very last moment. Little by little, you push yourself down, sinking yourself on her big cock. It felt like she was obstructing you from how full you felt.

She whimpered softly, gripping on your ass cheeks, as you squinted your eyes and tried to take all of her. Finally, you reach the base of her cock as you can feel her tip rub against the entrance of your cervix.

You don’t move. Not yet. “Does that feel good baby?” You softly whimper into her ear, gently biting onto her earlobe.

“Y-yeah.” 

“You like how I feel around you, hm?” You sweet talk her, moving your hips in circles on her cock.

All she could do was nod. Which didn’t satisfy you. In fact, it made you a little bit upset. How could she not say anything when you were giving her the pleasure of experiencing this?

Your hand softly grips on her cheeks, thumb clenching on the left while the rest of your fingers gripped on the right. You tilted her face to look towards you, slowly leaning in. She looked so adorable like this.

“Use your words, Megs, else I’m not moving.” You threaten with your teeth gritted.

“Uh-, I uh-, I like the way you feel. Around my cock. How tight you are.”

“Mhm, good girl, what else?” You start to feel lighter, still clenching yourself around her cock, aching for more.

“How wet you are, and how warm you feel. Please, let me fuck you. I need you, please.” She starts to cry out. How can she be so shy and then just turn shameless the next second?

You weren’t completely satisfied with her words? but you find yourself starting to bounce up and down, not because you pitied her, but you were too turned on to wait any longer. You could feel her hardness gliding through your walls, stretching you like no one’s ever done before.

“Oh fuck, Megs. You feel that? You feel my tight pussy on you? You’re stretching me so good, baby.” You squirm as you softly hovering up and down on her cock.

You could hear her hiss at your motion. “Fuck.” She cursed as she wrapped her hands around your waist, guiding you up and down on her slippery cock.

You start to feel yourself get more comfortable around her, picking up your pace. Your hot pussy clamps down on her, obscene slapping sounds filling the room as your wet pussy slams down on her pelvis.

Your thighs start to tremble from the pleasure, from the feeling of her cock curving towards your g-spot. Megan could only shudder from the pleasure, matching your pace with her hips.

This wasn’t enough for you. You needed more.

“Tell me, what else were your favorite drawings from that little notebook of yours?” You question, almost out of breath as you bounce up and down on her.

She couldn’t speak fluently. Everything was so overwhelming for her. “The uhm, the page where you were laying down on your bed. You were gripping the sheets.” She whimpered.

Upon hearing her, you pull her with you and flip your positions, slamming your back against the duvet. She shifted her position in between your legs, spreading them wide open in the process.

“Show me how much you want me, Megs, fuck me.” You spoke as you spread your pussy lips for her.

She didn’t hesitate anymore. She rammed her cock inside your cunt, cursing under her breath as she fuck you into oblivion. She was captivated at the sight. The sight of your pussy squelching against her cock, swallowing it whole. 

She dragged her hips back and forth, gripping on your hips like her life depended on it. You could feel the sharpness of her nails digging into you, and it stung, but it hurt so good.

Her cock was spearing into you, breath hitching with every thrust she made. You could feel your organs pulse together, as if they were made for each other. 

She reached forward with her hand to play with your nipples, spitting on her fingers for lubrication. She tugged at the end of your tits, teasing them as you threw your head back at the multiple ends of pleasure.

Fuck. She was so fucking good.

“Ugh, fuck Megan! Keep fucking my pussy like that. I feel so fucking full.” You moaned in between her thrusts.

You thought she was already giving it her all. Wrong.

She picked you up the hips and lifted your body in the air, fucking your guts. She was jerking your body back and forth as if you were some kind of sex toy as she humped against you.

“Get this out of the way.” She groaned as she tugged down at your panties, you swear you could hear cloth rip. Fuck. Those were your favorite.

She picked you back up again just to slam you back onto the mattress. This girl really had a drive, huh? As you felt your head hit the sheets, she climbed on top of you, pinning your hands down with hers. She intertwined her fingers between yours. Cute.

And then went straight back at fucking your cunt. You were starting to wonder if this girl ever got tired. The only sounds you could hear were her groans, your lewd high-pitched moans, and the wet sound of her cock ramming into you.

“Don’t fucking stop Megan.” You demanded as you untangled your hands from hers and reached in between your legs to work on your clit. You rubbed at it furiously, begging for your release.

“You gonna cum, baby?” You managed to speak out as she hammered her rod into you.

“M-mhm…” She nodded aggressively as she worked her hips on yours.

“Come on, fuck me with that big dick. Make this pussy cum all over your cock.” You whined as you sped up on your clit.

“Fuck! Y/N! I’m gonna cum…” She grunted as she picked up her pace. You watched her face contort. She opened her mouth with lidded eyes, biting her lip so hard it looked like she was trying to make it bleed.

With the last flick of your finger on your clit, you felt your climax hit you like a truck. Everything in between your legs was on fire. Heat was trapped in between your legs, and you had just released it. As soon as your legs started trembling out of pleasure, you closed them on Megan, trapping her in between her legs. You could still feel her cock fucking your cunt.

“Fuck, so good!” You shrieked as you peaked your orgasm.

Megan could only groan as she fully dove into you, quivering as she buried herself to the hilt. You could feel the warm liquid spew into you, filling you to the brim. It was hot. A lot hotter than your pussy was. You could feel it wash over your tight walls, leaking into every crevice.

“Oh my God, so much fucking cum.” You whisper out of breath as you feel it leak in between you and Megan, flooding out of your cunt.

When Megan tries to slip out of you, your legs tighten around her hips, locking her in place. “No. Stay inside me.” 

You didn’t know exactly what about her was so addicting. Her body? Her scent? Her face? Her dick? Maybe everything was. You couldn’t get enough of it.

You roll over, bringing Megan with you, her cock still snuggled in your cave. You were now on top of her ,cradling on her body, your head rested next to hers on the mattress. You both looked into each other’s eyes. 

A peck on the lips. You look at each other again. “Let's stay like this for a bit. I’m tired.” You whisper softly as you shut your eyes, giving yourself space to think. You reach towards the other side of her head and grab her nape, playing with her hair in the process. Your breathing was still heavy. 

Megan was still a loser. But definitely not in the sheets.

[rubywillkins]

The Grand Pursuit|4

Glossed Lies & Glances

“Some wounds are loud. Others come wearing lipstick.”

MID-MORNING – VILLA KITCHEN

The kitchen buzzes with quiet energy. Coffee brewing. Cutlery clinking. Outside, the sun finally returns after a night of rain. Y/N walks in, fresh-faced, messy bun, wearing a soft fitted top and biker shorts.

Natalie, already seated, beams at her.

Natalie:

“I’ve decided your vibe is ‘hot girl who doesn’t even know she’s hot.’”

Y/N (grabbing a cup):

“That’s because I’m a hot girl who just wants coffee.”

Cassie, sitting nearby with Jessica, snorts. Loudly.

Jessica (not looking up):

“Or maybe it’s the ‘hot girl who pretends to be chill so the boys think she’s not like other girls.’ You know — the usual pick-me thing.”

The whole room freezes.

Y/N (slowly turning):

“Sorry, you say something, Jess? Or were you just practicing being passive-aggressive out loud?”

Jessica (standing):

“Just tired of the fake act. You always roll your eyes at gloss, makeup talk, girly stuff. Like it’s beneath you. Classic pick-me.”

Y/N (steps closer, voice calm):

“You think not obsessing over Fenty gloss makes me a pick-me? I love makeup. I just don’t need it to be my whole personality.”

Jessica (mocking):

“Right. You’re not like other girls. You’re just so effortlessly real. That’s why the guys eat it up, right?”

Y/N (voice cool, but eyes burning):

“No, Jess. They like me because I don’t perform. I wear gloss, I contour when I want, but I don’t weaponize femininity to manipulate people. You hate that I don’t have to try.”

Jessica (steps even closer):

“No, I hate that you act like you’re better than all of us for trying.”

Y/N:

“I don’t act like I’m better. I just don’t fake friendship with girls while competing with them. That’s your thing.”

The room is silent. Cassie looks like she’s about to cry.

Revan is watching from the hallway, lips pursed.

Oscar walks in halfway through, hears the tension — and doesn’t step in.

Y/N notices. Her eyes flick to him. He looks away.

CONFESSIONAL – Y/N

“I’ve defended myself before, but this felt different. Like something cracked. And seeing Oscar stand there — silent — after last night? That stung. But I’m not chasing anyone.”

POOLSIDE – OSCAR & CHARLES

Oscar sits with his arms crossed, sunglasses on.

Charles sips orange juice beside him.

Charles:

“You okay?”

Oscar:

“Fine.”

Charles (studying him):

“Didn’t look fine when Y/N was looking for you to speak.”

Oscar (tight):

“Not everything’s about her.”

Charles:

“No. But when you ignore her like that? It says a lot.”

Oscar (after a pause):

“Maybe I don’t want to play anymore.”

Charles (nods slowly):

“Then someone else will.”

TASK ANNOUNCEMENT – “TRUTH CIRCLE”

HOST (voiceover): “Today’s task is called TRUTH CIRCLE. You’ll each draw a card with a question. Answer it. Honestly. Or take a consequence.”

“If the group decides you're lying, you face a double consequence.”

Gasps and groans ripple across the garden.

Lando (whistles):

“So this is where it gets juicy.”

Natalie (half-laughing):

“Or messy.”

Revan (to Lando, whispering):

“Be careful what you say in front of her. She’s dangerous when she’s quiet.”

Lando (glancing at Y/N):

“I like dangerous.”

TRUTH CIRCLE BEGINS

Everyone sits on lounge chairs around the firepit.

QUESTION: “Have you developed feelings for someone in the house?”

Charles:

“Maybe. But I’m not naming names yet.”

Laila:

“I think everyone has a little crush by now. Even the ones pretending not to.”

Revan (glancing at Lando):

“Some people are very... flirt-happy.”

Lando:

“Is it flirting if it’s just facts?”

Jessica (eyeing Y/N):

“Yeah, like calling someone real when she’s clearly acting.”

Y/N (smiling calmly):

“If I’m acting, I should win an award. You’re the one on a full PR tour every time a camera’s on.”

Laughter breaks out. Even Carlos grins.

QUESTION: “Who would you trust the least in a relationship?”

Oscar (quietly):

“Probably myself. I tend to overthink everything. Or shut down when it matters.”

Everyone’s surprised by his honesty.

Y/N looks at him for a moment. He doesn’t look back.

QUESTION: “Who in this house makes you feel the most seen?”

Lando (glancing at Y/N):

“There’s someone here who doesn’t try to impress anyone. Doesn’t chase. Doesn’t fake it. I see that — and I think she sees me too.”

Revan stares. Her fists clench in her lap.

Y/N’s breath catches.

Charles notices. His smile fades slightly.

NIGHTFALL – VILLA HALLWAY

Y/N walks alone toward the kitchen, barefoot. The air is still.

A voice cuts through the silence.

Lando:

“You always walk like you own the place.”

She turns. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Y/N:

“Or maybe I walk like I’m not scared of it.”

Lando (softly):

“You’re not scared of anything, are you?”

Y/N (shrugs):

“Of being misunderstood. Maybe.”

He steps closer.

Lando:

“I get it. You walk into a room, and people either want to be you or tear you down.”

Y/N (quiet):

“And sometimes both.”

He moves in front of her. Close now. Too close.

Lando (lower):

“I don’t want either.”

She tilts her head.

Y/N:

“Then what do you want?”

He reaches up, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Lando (whispers):

“To be the only person in this house who doesn’t need to impress you.”

Her breath hitches. His thumb brushes her jaw.

Y/N (softly):

“You already don’t.”

There’s a beat of silence. The space between them electric.

Then... he leans in.

Their lips brush — not fully kissing — just a taste. A tease.

She lets it linger for a heartbeat before pulling away.

Y/N (smiling):

“That’s dangerous.”

Lando (grinning):

“Then you’ll like it.”

From the hallway above, Revan watches. Unmoving.

CONFESSIONAL – CHARLES

“I don’t get jealous. I don’t. But seeing them like that? Something twisted in my chest. And I’m not sure what it means.”

SECRET FOOTAGE

The episode ends..

Laila sneaks into Y/N’s room, whispering something we can’t hear.

Y/N’s face freezes. Her eyes go wide. Her hand covers her mouth.

She whispers back:

“They said what about Oscar?”

To Be Continued

@dessashippr

[dontrecogniserecogniseme]

I manifested my dream life after 1+ year of nonstop trying

First of all, i would like to give some background information. I've been in the subliminal community since 2017-2018, i was LITERALLY in primary school 😭

Manifestation is not a new concept to me, i tried the law of assumption in 2021 but didn't get my desire so i gave up. in december 2024 i got back into it and decided for myself what i wanted my dream life to be.

Here's everything i manifested:

desired face

desired body

desired family

desired grades + having skipped a year

seeing my long distance boyfriend in august

and many MANY other things i can't think of rn LOL

HERE'S WHAT CLICKED

I used to think that i was doing everything right, i persisted, i affirmed, i lived in the end and i NEVER wavered, or so i thought. I thought wavering was strictly contradicting your desires for example "i don't have _", i thought it was anything that implied that you don't have it.

However my version of wavering is what i would refer to as "creating a Plan B" which this post made me realise i was doing. I constantly discussed what i would do IF i didn't get it. For example: let's say i want to manifest a class being cancelled, i would decide the class is cancelled and maybe affirm a little but then i would suddenly proceed to take my notes for the class 'just in case it didn't get cancelled'. I didn't think it was wavering because i was talking hypothetically but that ALSO contradicts the mindset of me having it all.

Eventually i also came across this subliminal. I HIGHLY recommend you look at the benefits, you don't even have to listen. The subliminal talks about the law of obsession and honestly i could try as hard as i can to explain it but i recommend you just look at the document because it's perfectly worded and i would NOT do it justice i fear.

HOW DID I PROCEED ?

With this newfound clarity i decided to continue my journey differently. I would never EVER contradict my desires. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER !!!!

Now this is the part where this post saved my ass. I know for a FACT that if ur reading this ur wondering "well how the hell am i supposed to just stop my negative thoughts overnight" and let me tell you something, you don't. STOP TRYING TO PUSH UR NEGATIVE THOUGHTS AWAY !! IT ONLY MAKES IT WORSE !! And now ur DEFINITELY wondering "well wtf do i do then ??" and this is where i tell you to Just. Let. Them. Pass.

Do not entertain negative thoughts. Don't agree with them and don't disagree with them, they're quite literally ragebaiters 🥀

Ragebait is made for interaction, otherwise it serves no purpose. You should only observe those thoughts and move on, instantly distract yourself.

HOWEVER let's say you absolutely CANNOT get rid of those thoughts then i firmly recommend this post to help you deal with them so you can move on. SUMMARY

NEVER contradict ur desires, do not even dare to think about "well what if i don't get it ??" and stop trying to play it safe.

Don't try to fight wavering or negative thoughts just ignore them and move on, if you really can't check out the post i linked.

In fortnite terms 🔥

I thought I was manifesting like a pro, but turns out I was still playing scared — making backup plans like setting a reboot van just in case. That’s wavering. Real manifesting is committing like you already won the match — no Plan B, just full send.

Negative thoughts? Don’t fight them. That’s like building against a bot for no reason. Just let them glide by — they’re ragebait trying to get a reaction. Observe, ignore, move on. If they keep spamming, check out the post/subliminal mentioned — it’s like grabbing a mythic to help reset your mindset.

A BIG THANK YOU TO THESE PEOPLE !!!

@salemlunaa

@justmanifestit

@manifestingitgurlll

@itsrlymine

@ang3lrem

@urprettyangel888

[wonubby]

obsessed - k! bakugo

2. hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

warnings – fluffy and suggestive, bakugo death mention but only briefly.

prev - masterlist - next

katsuki wasn't stupid. he knew what your plan was, and honestly? he didn't give two fucks. you were bound to reach your breaking point one day.

he actually loves this side of you. you matched his inner freak on some level. of course, he was still crowned as the 'bitch' in your relationship, given his infuriating attitude.

you, however, were overjoyed. everything fell into place.

phase one? complete. phase two? already in motion.

you and katsuki had travelled to the Bahamas for the week. it was a little getaway for the two of you since he's always busy fighting.

the first two days were spent wrapped in the sheets. the warm air creating a sexy atmosphere that kept the male going. something about fucking in the heat, getting all sweaty, and using his quirk in the midst of the act got him heated.

not that you were complaining though; you were blessed with the most amazing orgasms of your life.

anyway, today, the two of you decided it was the perfect time to head to the beach... with some secret company.

was it a bit desperate to call the paparazzi, getting them to leak pictures of you and your fiance? possibly.

was it going to make that bitch burn? absolutely.

"are you finally ready, babe?" his gruff voice called out to you.

letting out a breathy chuckle, you hooked the last earring on before facing him. "yep," you said, popping the p, "how do i look baby?" you did a little twirl, letting your frilly, leopard tankini flay around you.

smirking, katsuki placed two hands on your hips, biting his lip at the sight. "you always look amazing, sweets. but this? this makes me want to cancel our plans and keep you inside." he said, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

"well, sucks for you, katsu, because whether you like it or no, we're going out there. you can channel all of your inner fuckboy when we're on the beach." you teased, placing two hands on his chest, pushing back.

katsuki was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt with a pair of khaki shorts. his muscles were on display, including the couple of scratch marks you had left on his chest from this morning.

you placed a kiss on his lips, slow and sensual, subtly biting his lower lip as a warning. "worry less about fucking me and more about how you're going to act all lovey for the 'hidden' cameras."

"yes ma'am," he chuckled. boy did he love the new you.

walking towards your purse, you grabbed the keys, throwing them at him before heading to the door. "grab the speaker; i'm making my way to the car."

the car ride was decent. old 2010s music blasted through the window, as your hair flowed behind you, occasionally stopping to kiss katsuki during the red lights.

you were truly living life.

the moment you reached the beach, the feeling of the dry, hot sand beneath your feet had you relaxing. finally feeling like you could breathe. katsuki was quick behind you, tugging off his unbuttoned shirt and throwing it into a pile of your clothes.

"come here; let's get some sunscreen on you before you look like a tomato," he joked. you scoffed, touching his chest before turning around.

his hands slid up your body, slowly massaging the skin tenderly. your eyes snapped shut, leaning back onto his body as he began. "feels so good, kat. maybe i should make you my personal masseur." you giggled.

"yeah right, like i already don't do all 'at." he groaned teasingly.

as he continued to rub the cream all over your body, you locked eyes with the photographer hidden in the bush. a smirk crawled onto your face as you quickly turned around and faced katsuki.

"have i ever told you how hot you are, baby?" you questioned, eyes half-lidded as you looked at him with the most innocent eyes.

"hmm, no i don't think so." he raised an eyebrow in false confusion. "why? is there something you need to tell me?" his eyes trailed over your body, large hands moving from your hips to your ass.

"nope!" you laughed, running away from the boy and into the water.

"you tease!" he yelled, moving fast to reach your now wet body.

the moment he caught up with you, you were pulled flush against his body as he brought you into a searing kiss. every kiss you shared with katsuki felt magical. he made you feel something. made you mean something.

he was all you could ever ask for, the man of your dreams. you spent your childhood following him around. watching him bully izuku, win the sports festival, and even watching him die. but, during those times, your love for him was simply platonic.

it wasn't until you both bumped into each other while he was on patrol that everything changed. a few months after his breakup with amira, he had contacted you, asking you out on a dinner date. at first, the two of you thought it wasn't anything serious until you shared your first kiss together under the night sky as snow painted the pavement.

breaking away from the kiss, you smiled softly at the man. "i love you." the three words were muttered so softly he could barely hear them.

"i love you too, pretty." he smiled, leaning down and pressing kisses to your neck. tongue poking out to trace the purple marks he left the night prior.

a moan left your lips at the sensation, smiling softly as your hands dragged into your hair. the slight flash of a camera caught your eyes as you nudged katsuki with your knee. he seemed to understand the cue as he effortlessly picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

the moment became intense with mouthwatering kisses and bites being marked all over your body. it clearly gave the photographer what he needed.

"you might be as mean as i am kats. you must really hate her to be doing all this for me."

"i hate everyone. you're just lucky."

the moment you got home, the internet was going wild.

the pictures were up and everyone was going crazy. fans were trending #DYNAMIGHTBACKMUSCLES, #DYNAY/NFUCKING??? and IN PUBLIC IS CRAZY all over twitter. they analysed the way he held you, how he kissed you and, most importantly, the marks on his back and your neck. their most favourite picture was the one where the reddish handprint on your ass was noticeable.

however, the best reaction was from amira. immediately after the pictures were posted, she turned to Instagram, posting a photo dump. the said dump included photos of food, half-empty wineglasses, beach pictures from last year and an old picture of her hand in katsuki's.

the public were immediately quick to notice the types of pictures and who she posted. some sympathised with her, while others called her out on her shitty behaviour. and maybe others included you because you didn't hesitate to post a tweet.

one that read: "he said thank you for the character development. we’ll send flowers."

yeah, you definitely broke the internet.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

@httpskyuko @dahliadaenerys @cherrii-11 @trishiepo0 @shewki @violetraccoon-4 @2elusional @jealousmartini @hhyukasworld @d4rlinxs @stinkinstuffle @peachesvault @onlyisaa @milky2-0 @rickydickydoodahgrimes73 @sirenitym @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @ita606 @k0z3me @d4nyjlk @chuflisworld @attackonnat @rapz-rites @qyuin @sweetlyvibe @teeesthings @alligator-person @disaster-rose @haechansbbg @119jan @minhyrin @isaidoop @mp3nai @amikkoyuzuki @imagine-all-the-imagines @anni3lop101 @kodzubaby @54fangirl @scagliedicuores-blog @wannabewolf @proburfaveblonde @lilithdarkfire @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @lilacs15 @getting-the-pizza @amajikisbabygirl @cielito—lindo @channnee @zuwizy @buckysdoll1940 @chia369 @ssstingryyyyyyy @daughterofaphrodite @skrtskrt1 @bkghq @js-favnanadoongi @smalls-19 @nemisimp @fiselle @rayannasworld @katsukilvr @plusamina10 @ranha1tanislvr @qardasngan @k0orom1 @eclipse-0303 @pearlydays

[narcjsistx]

i’ll just say sae itoshi x baby fever. just this

sae itoshi wouldn't consider himself an impatient man. everything he has built in his life, he has done with precision, talent, but above all, time. every single thing that revolves around the center of his world was built through years of sacrifice and countless sleepless nights, all for the sake of reaching that fateful final result, all for personal glory

sae is a man who knows how to control himself

yet, for weeks now, the idea of having a child has been turning him into the complete opposite of who he’s been for the past 25 years of his life, an impatient and almost whiny man

it’s impossible not to be, especially when rin just became the father of two twins, some of his teammates have become dads, and his mother, with also yours, casually brought up the topic of children at the last family dinner, few days ago

"at least three kids. i want two boys, the girl can be the youngest. though honestly, i'd be fine with all girls too"

"you make it sound like you're explaining to the cashier what you need. you’re aware that you can’t decide, right?"

"it's because it's what i need. especially after seeing your childhood photos. i need to see the house filled with young people who look just like you, or maybe me"

"you’re only saying this because your brother recently became a father. dont you want to enjoy the feeling of being an uncle?"

you had been together for years, it certainly wasn’t the first time you talked about having kids. you both agreed to have the first one at least before turning thirty, but that milestone was still five years away — way too far off for sae’s baby fever

"i just want to enjoy the feeling of someone calling me papa, someone who was born because of the person i love. is that really too much to ask?"

"that’s not the point!" you say, laughing "my god, i think this is the first time i've seen you stubborn like a child"

"think about that child. it could be ours"

you sigh, taking your boyfriend’s face in your hands: his expression seriously looks like that of a child now, with furrowed brows and determined eyes. the more you look at him, the more you wonder where the sae the rest of the world knows has gone — the sae you’ve been holding close for years. his hands wrap around your hips, pulling you closer to him as you wonder if he’s doing it just to soften your heart a little more, something he’s unfortunately succeeding at

"it would also take a lot of time and effort, it's not something you get that easily. my friend took years"

"she took years because her husband was infertile and didn’t know it. and besides, i don’t think you ever complain about how babies are made, wouldn’t you seriously mind putting in the effort? usually, you’re the needy one"

"i didn’t mean that-! my god, you’re obsessed'

"yeah, of you and the possibility of seeing you pregnant. but you hate your man so much that you don’t even want to consider my option"

you laugh at his words, kissing his forehead. admitting that you already have been for a month wouldn’t make the game any fun. you love this slightly childish, whiny, and obsessed version of him too much to tell him the truth right away

✶ beautiful dividers by @kodaswrld !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[artficlly]

read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary. 

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again. 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

[sincerelyneo]

life is a highway | n.jm

“i wanna ride it all night long”

💿now playing: life is a highway by rascal flatts

❯ summary: Being a nervous learner driver is hard enough, but throwing in your older brother’s hot, smug, patronising best friend to be your instructor? Yeah...definitely not making things easier.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: enemies to...fuck buddies? smut

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, arguing, hate sex, public sex, car sex, swearing, heavy petting, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, dirty talk, very tame degradation kink, literally them just arguing with each other for the entire 3k words.

an: this is very influenced by the british driving experience—hence the manual car propaganda.

Look, driving a manual is hard. There’s just too much stuff to remember all at once—gears, pedals, mirrors, observations. Honestly, you don’t understand why anyone who values their sanity would choose to drive a manual car. If it were up to you, you’d be driving around in an automatic. But it’s not up to you. Because your brother, Mark, is paying for your driving lessons.

And Mark, being the car-obsessed gearhead he is, insists that everyone should learn manual—“So you can drive any car, no limitations,” he preaches. Even when you dragged yourself through the front door on the Friday night of your third failed driving test, you thought maybe, just maybe, your stubborn older brother would show a little grace. Let you switch, take the easy route.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he did something worse.

He sent Jaemin.

Na Jaemin.

Mark’s old college roommate—who, according to your brother, is the best teacher in the world, a saint suited with endless patience and encouragement. But if those qualities exist, they’ve never made an appearance around you. Because, from the very first lesson (four torturous sessions ago), Jaemin’s been nothing but a snarky, patronising ass. 

You hate him. And he hates you—clearly.

Sure, you may have driven on the wrong side of the road once. And stalled on a hill. And very nearly veered the two of you into oncoming traffic. But those were all accidents—you’re a learner. It’s not your fault.

Honestly, it’s Mark’s fault. 

Because you’re already a nervous driver, and throwing in a hot, built guy who slouches into the passenger seat like he owns the car doesn’t exactly help. Not with his long legs spread wide, and that muscled arm draped casually along the window, long fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against the doorframe.

It’s a distraction. He’s a distraction. A hot, smirking, condescending distraction with perfect teeth and zero empathy.

“The light is on green,” Jaemin says flatly.

You blink. “W-what?”

He doesn't even turn to look at you. Just gestures lazily toward the windscreen. “If you stopped checking me out, you’d see the traffic light has changed. That means go.”

Your jaw drops, and you finally peel your eyes off him, squinting at the green hue now glaring in your face. “I know, asshole.”

“Then go.”

You want to scream, but you don't. Instead, you slam the clutch, jam the car into first gear with more force than necessary, and the car jerks forward. You thank God, because you just narrowly avoidied stalling again, but Jaemin is never grateful. 

“You’re snapping the clutch up too fast,” he comments. “You have to find the bite, then add gas. Keep revving the engine like that and you’re gonna wreck the clutch.”

“I was not revving the engine,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. But of course, that doesn’t stop him.

“You were. Because you’re scared of stalling. But if you actually planned ahead and stopped rushing—”

“I won’t stall, yeah, yeah, I know.” You cut him off, gripping the wheel tighter. 

“Then apply it.”

You’re about to lose it. You hate the way he talks to you like you’re ten years younger than him—like you’re some clueless kid. It makes you want to punch him in that smug mouth of his. But that’d only prove his point that you’re immature and feed his ego. 

So, you grit your teeth, suck in a breath, and try to ignore the way your heart’s thudding against your ribcage and your palms go slick on the wheel. You’re trying. God, you’re trying. But he makes it impossible to concentrate.

“You can’t drive around in first gear, this is a thirty zone.”

“I know—”

“No, you clearly don’t—fuck—pull the car over!”

His voice slices through the air and your stomach flips violently. You yank the wheel toward the kerb, the tires bouncing as the car lurches to a halt. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jaemin’s lip twitch (about to make some smartass comment about you mounting the pavement) but the fury in your expression makes him think twice.

The second the engine cuts, you explode.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, unbuckling your seatbelt and twisting in your seat to face him. “If you hate this so much, then don’t show up! Mark’s not forcing you to sit in this car with me, Jaemin. I could find someone else to help me.”

“Oh, totally. I’d love to make room for driving instructor number eleven,” he bites.

"Then do it," you sneer, slumping back into the driver’s seat with a shrug, arms folded tight across your chest.

He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Seriously, Y/N, I’m trying to help you," he says. "But you don’t listen. You never listen—"

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you actually helped. All I’ve heard for the past four weeks is how shit I am at this.”

“Because you’re not even trying! You act like my help is beneath you. You refuse to take any criticism.”

“Beneath me?” You laugh, bitter and breathless. “I’ve failed my test three times, you absolute dick! I clearly am trying! I’m trying so fucking hard. And all you do is sit there and mock me, which just makes it worse.”

“You need tough love! This isn’t a joke—driving is serious. People's lives are on the line. Your life is on the line.”

That makes you swallow.

“If you’re talking about that time I almost hit that cyclist, that wasn’t my fault—he came out of nowhere!”

Jaemin scoffs, shakes his head and tongues the side of his cheek. “You know what your problem is?”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me.”

“You’re so terrified of failing again, so you never give yourself a real chance to get it right. You can’t let go of your pride, so every little mistake makes you panic, and you do something stupid. And then you blame everyone else for it.”

Your jaw drops. Then a furious exhale leaves your lungs. “You are—unbelievable. You’re such a—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Jaemin growls, cutting you off. “Again. You’re not listening.”

“I don’t care. Fuck you—”

But before you can finish the very creative insult forming in your throat, his hand shoots out—fisting the front of your hoodie, yanking you toward him. And then his mouth crashes into yours. Brutal and angry and heated.

You freeze. For one heartbeat. Then another.

Your whole body goes still—except your lips, which betray you, parting instinctively for him. You sink into it before you can think better of it, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like it might steady the way your heart is rattling against your ribs. It doesn’t. 

Because he tastes like cinnamon and black coffee. So fucking predictable. So him. And, of course, unfairly good. Which just pisses you off more. He tastes good, and you like it. 

The kiss is harsh. Messy. Teeth knock, lips drag, because even now, the two of you are fighting for control. There’s no rhythm. No grace. Just lust and resentment colliding together in the ugliest way possible.

His hand grips your hoodie tighter, like he doesn’t trust you not to pull away. Honestly, he half expected you to slap him for kissing you. He didn’t expect you to gasp, to open your mouth and let him in. Let his tongue slide against yours, hot and wet and so damn hungry.

You feel the press of his thumb against your sternum, the subtle tremble in his wrist, and it hits you—weeks of tension finally snapping loose.

It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. It’s—what the hell are you thinking?

You pull away first, shaking his grip off your hoodie. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jaemin blinks, looking just as stunned as you feel—pupils blown wide, chest heaving. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "I don’t know... you just—fuck, you drive me insane," he mutters. "I just wanted to shut you up."

“Oh, so your first thought was to kiss me?” you snap, swiping your sleeve across your mouth like you can erase the feel of him. A small part of you is glad it doesn’t. “That’s how you deal with people who annoy you? Because if so, you need a HR department!”

“No,” he grits out, jaw clenched. “You’re not just people. You’re—you’re impossible to be around.”

"Maybe you’re the one with the issue!” you hiss. “Plenty of people enjoy my company. You just don’t know how to be around me without being a smug, condescending prick!"

His expression twists "I’m trying to fucking help you," he says. "But, clearly, you don’t want help. You just want to fight, don’t you? You want to pick a fight because that’s all you know how to do."

“Because you infuriate me!” you shout. “You barge in here, all patronising and hot, acting like you know everything, acting like you’re better than everyone, like you’re better than me—”

You don’t get to finish.

He lunges across the console before either of you can think better of it, grabbing your face and kissing you hard. Again. 

His seatbelt strains as he twists toward you. You meet him with equal force, kissing him back like you can knock some sense into him with your mouth.

He groans into it, deep and guttural, and then he’s hauling you closer, shoving his seatbelt over his head and dragging you half onto his lap. The centre console digs into your hip, but you don’t care. Your knees press against the door, your hand grips the headrest behind him. Every inch of the car feels too small for the way he’s kissing you. Too hot.

His hands are everywhere. One tangled in your hair, the other pressing flat against the small of your back like he’s trying to fuse you to him.

You gasp when his mouth trails briefly to your jaw, your throat. “You’re such a jerk,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Shut up,” he mutters, before his lips crash into yours again.

And you do. You shut up (for once) letting him kiss you breathless while his fingers slip beneath the hem of your hoodie, calloused pads dragging over overheated skin. You shiver, nerves buzzing from the way your body is betraying you in all the worst ways. With the worst person,

“You're a nightmare,” he growls against your mouth. 

“So stop kissing me,” you bite back, fingers fisting his t-shirt.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

Your back hits the glovebox as he shifts, pulling you fully into his lap. Your knees knock against the dash, thighs bracketing his hips, breath catching as you straddle him in the cramped passenger seat. Your head tips back, knuckles going white where they clutch his shoulders. 

“This is so stupid,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says, lips brushing your throat. “Say that again when you’re not grinding on me.”

You shove at his chest—but not hard enough to hurt. “Fuck you.”

His hands slide lower. Gripping. Pressing. Desperate. “Oh you’re going to.”

He rolls your hips against him, firm and rough, and you feel him—all of him. Hardening beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants. The pressure sends a jolt through you, because if you’re really ‘going to’ fuck him, the size of him already has you intimidated.

You whimper despite yourself. It’s pathetic. Weak. And it turns him on so damn much. 

His head falls back with a dull thud, eyes squeezing shut like he’s in pain. “Fuck—why can’t you make those sounds with me all the time,” he groans, voice hoarse, “instead of running that pretty little mouth?”

You don’t answer. Not with words. Just keep grinding down, breath catching with each pass over his straining cock. You’re soaked. Your jeans are too tight. Everything is too hot. Too much.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you.”

He huffs a laugh, then brushes your hair over one shoulder, exposing your neck. His lips find your ear. Teeth grazing. “We’ve already established you’re going to,” he smirks. “But first—”

His hand slides between your bodies. 

“—you’re going to get yourself off on my thigh like the filthy girl I know you are.”

You’re about to repeat those two words again, but he captures them with a kiss—swallowing them down with a simple swipe of his tongue before he looks down to where you’re rutting against him.

You’re not sure when your jeans became the enemy, but they are now—tight, rough, in the way. Every twist of your hips adds to the unbearable friction, your breath catching in your throat with every grind. You’re not supposed to be doing this. Not here. Not with him.

But Jaemin’s thigh is solid beneath you, and his hands—God, his hands—know exactly where to go, how to hold you steady and drive you crazy in the same breath.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he grits, fingers digging into your waist. “Can’t follow a single instruction when you’re behind the wheel, but now? Suddenly you’re fucking little miss obedient.”

You want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both. Probably both.

“You think you’re funny?” you hiss, but your voice cracks as his thigh flexes, and your hips jolt in response. “You think you’re winning right now?”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek—just shy of a kiss. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, condescension dripping from every syllable, “I know I am.”

“You’re soaking,” he adds, palm skating down your front before slipping inside your jeans, into your panties.

“You are the most arrogant, insufferable, smug bastard I’ve ever met,” you pant against his mouth. “And I hate you.”

“Good,” he breathes, before surging forward again.

His mouth trails downward—jaw, neck, collarbone. Tongue licking over one of the few marks he just made. Your hips jerk when he bites, just a little too hard—and he groans  like he felt it in his own skin.

“Can’t believe you’re this wet for me and still have the nerve to talk back.”

“I can multitask,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist as he reaches for your jeans. He pauses, looking up so his eyes meet yours—and for a moment, the lust between you stutters.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, low and serious.

You hate how long you hesitate. Hate how breathless you sound when you whisper, “No.”

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

Then your jeans are open, and his fingers slide into your underwear—hot, teasing, and maddeningly slow. You cry out, head dropping to his shoulder, clutching at the back of his neck as two of his fingers start to circle your clit. 

“God, you’re shaking,” he groans, lips brushing your ear. “You’re gonna cum like this? From barely anything? What happened to all that attitude?”

“Shut up,” you whimper, grinding shamelessly into his hand. “Just shut the hell up—”

“Not a chance.”

His fingers dip lower, circling the wet entrance of your pussy before he presses in deeper, and your whole body tenses, that coil in your belly winding tighter with every thrust.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Come on, sweetheart. Prove me right. I love it when you do.”

You hate him. You really do. But your body doesn’t care. It burns and trembles and demands more. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he curls his fingers just right—and then you’re falling apart, hips jerking, a strangled cry ripped from your throat before you can stop it.

Jaemin doesn’t stop until you’re trembling in his lap, wrecked and slick with sweat. When you finally lift your head to look up at him, he’s watching you intensely. Quiet for once. Hell, if you knew letting him finger you would shut him up, you’d have let him a long time ago.

Then, slowly, patronisingly slowly, he pulls his hand from your jeans, eyes locked on yours as he brings his fingers to his mouth.

You slap his shoulder. Hard. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins around his fingers. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, still breathless. You glance down. His hands are still on your hips. “Let go of me.”

“Say please.”

“Fuck you.”

He leans in, lazily sucking another finger. “I already did.”

Your hand moves before you think—gripping his chin, nails digging into his jaw. Not a slap. Not a kiss. Just heat. Just challenge.

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” you whisper. “Keep pushing, and I might actually lose control and kill you!”

That look flashes in his eyes again—that dangerous glint that says he likes it when you fight. But instead of rising to the bait, he just smirks.

“I am pushing,” he says. “But you’re the one currently dripping down my thigh. So tell me, sweetheart…” His fingers slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. “Who’s really in control?”

You don’t answer. Just stare. Flushed. Still trembling, still aching. Then, leisurely, you lean in—close enough that his breath stalls.

“I am,” you bite, nipping his bottom lip as you yank his hoodie up over his shoulders. “And I’m going to prove it.”

He grins—wild and eager. “Then fucking show me.”

Your fingers tighten in his hoodie, dragging it off with enough force to make his smirk falter, only slightly. His eyes are black now—blown wide with want, with need—and for the second time ever in his life, Jaemin is silent.

He just watches.

And you take.

Your mouth slams into his, teeth biting at his lip before you drag your mouth down to his neck, sucking onto the skin to return your own mark. His hands fumble with your jeans again, this time yanking them down your thighs enough to slip your panties to the side. 

You help shove his sweatpants down past his ass—just far enough to free his cock. And then he’s wrapping a hand around himself, fisting his length with slow, deliberate strokes—taunting, as you watch with parted lips. 

He’s so big and thick and pretty, your brain starts pounding like it’s bitten off more than it can handle. You hesitate for a moment, but then you remember—this is about proving you still have control. You want this. You want to prove him wrong.

So, you slide back into his lap, straddling him fully, your bare skin meeting his with a gasp that rips through both of you. His hand slides between your thighs again, not to guide—just to tease. Just to feel how ready you are.

“Scared?” he mocks in a we whisper.

You glare, reaching down to line him up with your pussy. “Shut up.”

Then you sink down—slow, agonising—and you both break at the same time.

“Fuck—” he grits, head falling back, eyes rolling. “You feel—holy shit.”

You can barely breathe. He’s thick, hot, stretching you just past the edge of pain—grounding you in something that feels too good to be allowed. It’s not fair that a guy like him gets to be this good at fucking. But here he is. Fingers digging into your hips, guiding you into a rhythm that’s filthy, desperate, and anything but slow.

You ride him like it’s a fight. Like you want to ruin him. And he meets you stroke for stroke, jaw clenched, sweat collecting at his temple as your bodies slap together—fast, ruthless. No pretense. No sweetness.

Just want.

Just need.

Just hate.

“I hate how good you feel,” you choke out.

He bites down on your shoulder. “Say it again.”

You moan, louder this time, not caring about the volume or the fact that you’re fucking your instructor at the side of the road. Not caring that it’s Jaemin. 

“I hate you,” you breathe. “I hate you, I hate you so much—”

His hand snakes up to curl around your throat. It’s not tight but barely there. A light pressure, just enough, to make your head spin.

“Then cum on my cock,” he growls. “One more time. Hate me for it.”

And you do.

You shatter around him, body convulsing and twitching as your mouth falls open in a broken sob that catches against his lips. He follows a heartbeat later with a ruined, throaty moan, driving into you one last time as he spills inside you—deep, hot, messy.

And then it’s quiet.

You stay there, slumped against his chest  for a moment. His hand drifts up your spine, strangely gentle now, thumb brushing the back of your neck. But then, a moment later, it does hit you. 

You scramble off his lap, cheeks flushed, thighs sticky, panties already ruined as his cum starts to leak out of you. You refuse to meet his eyes.

“I still hate you,” you mutter.

“Sure,” he says, casual as ever, tugging up his sweatpants with a smirk. “I’m giving you another lesson tomorrow. Same time.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re insane if you think I’m getting in a car with you again.”

“You’ll show,” he says,” Because you want to pass your test, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing,” he chuckles, brushing a finger against your cheek. “Now that I know you can follow instructions, if you listen to me—I'll make you cum again. You seemed to really enjoy yourself.”

You hate him.

[gremlingottoosilly]

I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin. 

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm. 

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after. 

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well. 

— I’ll find something to eat, alright? 

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged. 

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you. 

— Ah…your father is at home? 

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was. 

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you. 

— You didn’t tell him about me? 

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly. 

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh. 

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart. 

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home. 

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed. 

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen. 

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid. 

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished. 

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel. 

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son. 

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl. 

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it? 

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years. 

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like. 

— Ja. You can have it. 

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it. 

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you. 

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him. 

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home. 

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you. 

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom. 

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you. 

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet. 

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz. 

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce. 

— What do you mean by this, sir? 

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally. 

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid. 

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship. 

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you. 

König is. 

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you. 

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man. 

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this. 

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father. 

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too. 

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir. 

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing. 

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all. 

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks. 

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies. 

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right? 

You look like a good candidate. 

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz. 

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left. 

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here. 

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body. 

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him. 

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is. 

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway. 

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all. 

— I don’t want to break his heart. 

— He doesn’t have one. 

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it. 

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted. 

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game. 

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later. 

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum. 

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please” 

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable. 

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later. 

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before. 

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people. 

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right. 

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore. 

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid. 

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second. 

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this. 

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it. 

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed. 

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good. 

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father. 

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it? 

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul. 

— I’ll tell him. 

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck. 

— I need to return to my dorm. 

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja? 

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right. 

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen. 

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked. 

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are. 

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja? 

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes. 

[mintmatcha]

"Kenma."

The game buzzes on, the battle music intensifying. The thing his character is facing has changed, taking on its second form as Kenma's character rolls and swings its sword. The man himself is curled into his knees, chest tucked forward in anticipation, like he's about to hop out of his chair.

"Ke-"

"In a second," he cuts you off. His unblinking eyes never leave the screen, peering through his blonde bangs. "I just have to beat this boss."

With a huff, you sink back into your chair.

"Last time you said 'just a second' it took you two days to beat the damn thing," you remind him. "I'm not immortal-- I don't have time to sit around for you."

Frankly, you often forget Kenma is immortal until moments like that. You had always thought that vampires would be menacing or carry some sort of grandeur, but everyone you've met has been so spectacularly normal. Kenma, for instance, seems like every other guy your age: aloof and obsessed with video games.

"Get bitten then," he shrugs. "Kuroo would be happy to."

Your spine trills at the thought of it. When you first met Kuroo, you thought her was odd in the most normal way possible. He was practically nocturnal because he claimed to work remotely overseas, but he still went to bars and played indoor volleyball: average activities for an average man-

Or, that's what you thought, until you learned about the whole vampire thing.

Honestly, it's only made you more attracted to him. The mystery, the danger-- what's not to love? You'd be lying if you said you had never thought of his teeth on you, his hands on your body-

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

Kenma's head whips around. This game doesn't pause; the monster smacks his avatar across the screen.

"You're turning?" His voice is either bright with surprise or shock. You've known Kenma for a while now and you still can't seem to read his motivations. You're not sure why Kuroo incorporated you into the fold of his undead friend group, but here you are, sitting in their living room.

"No, uh-" What you're about to ask suddenly feels silly. "I wanted to... Can I see your teeth?"

Kenma's expression settles and he picks up the controller that you hadn't realized he dropped.

"I died for that?" He flicks the game off. "You could have waited for that. I'll still have teeth in a week."

You have to bit your tongue to stop yourself from losing your mind. Kenma just goes back to gaming, eyes narrowing with effort.

"I could be dead in a week."

"You won't be."

"I could be," you say. "I could have a stroke at any moment."

"You won't." He mashes the buttons extra hard, so hard the plastic creaks. "And if you did, we'd know before you did."

The character dies much earlier than it usually does.

"How would you know if I had a stroke before I did?"

"It smells sour when..." His eyes finally turn your way again. "Whatever. It's fine."

"Fine to touch?" you say.

He beckons you over with a nod of his chin. "Yeah."

Pushing off from your seat, you walk over to where he's sitting. Kenma doesn't bother to stand. He tilts his head back, looking up at you with a slight smile.

Already, you can see them. The sharp, vivid white teeth behind his pale lips. They have the usual shape, but anything uncanny edge makes your skin crawl. It's something you can't quite place, maybe something not there at all.

To get closer, you slide a leg onto his chair, angling yourself over him the best that you can. You're surprised when his hand rests on your thigh for support.

"Don't look so scared," Kenma says, a bit too coy for your liking.

You hadn't realized you'd been making a face at all.

"Just don't bite me."

Kenma opens his mouth and his teeth catch the dim light, strange for how dry his mouth seems to be. His canines are slightly elongated, just a hair more than a usual human. Gingerly, you run your fingers across the front of his teeth, then down to their edges. There's almost a razors edge to them, enough that you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint catching.

"Sharp," you quip. You leave a pause for Kenma to respond, but then you realize he can't, not with his mouth open for you. He just watches you, eyes flickering from one of your eyes to the other.

This isn't intimate, you remind yourself. It's scientific curiosity.

It can't be intimate, because you like Kuroo. Not Kenma. No, you don't like it at all that his hands are around your waist and you're cupping his cheek with your free hand, that his breath somehow smells soothing-

His canines seem longer now. More jagged, sharp. You press the pad of your thumb against it and watch how your skin easily skins in, no resistenxe whatsoever. Then, you pull away. A drop of blood wells up at the spot; there's no pain whatsoever, but the thumb tingles, like menthol and cocaine, riveting and calming all at once.

Kenma leans into the palm of your hand, then cranes his neck ever so slightly to envelop your finger in his lips. It's the most delicate of touches, a ghost of a memory of a kiss, but when he pulls away, crimson has settled into the cracks of his lips.

"Your heart's beating-" his tongue runs over his lower lip. "Really fast."

Kenma pulls you closer, arms now tight around your waist. You don't know when you got so close, when your bodies suddenly were pushed together, but now they are--

and now your finger is in his mouth. The gentle, crushing pressure of suction surprises you, but not more than the desperate whine he makes when blood hits his tongue.

That buzzing had spread up your arm and you can suddenly feel it, feel how your heart runs heavy and fast for him. Kenma's eyes are so lidded, barely open, heavy with want, that you can barely make out how his pupils have narrowed into cat scratch slits.

"Oh," you babble. "Oh, it's--"

"Feels good?" Kenma isn't speaking, but you can hear his voice.

"Y-yeah."

"I can make you feel good." There can't be that much blood from that tiny spot, but Kenma swallows deep as if there is. "Anytime you want."

The plush of his tongue swipes up your digit. Oh, maybe you are bleeding out. Maybe he's killing you. You're hot and cold and weak and strong and, and, and--

"You never have to ask Kuroo for-"

The front door of the apartment slams closed. A familiar set of boisterous laughter echoes through the halls-- Bokuto and Kuroo are hone. When you pull away, Kenma gives no resistance, his eyes still fixated on you.

An unjust guilt rises in your throat. You examine your hand, expecting a torrent of blood, only to be greeted with the smallest blossom on your finger tip.

"Were we supposed to do that?" you whisper.

"It's fine." Kenma adjusts himself in his chair, pulling at his pant legs. "They'll scold me, not you."

That doesn't make you feel better.

"Thanks," you say, awkwardly heading for the door. "For the-- thanks."

"Hey," he's using his real voice this time. You pause, turning back to him to catch his wide, Cheshire grin. "Thanks for the snack."

[hellobykittys]

𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ✦ 𝐎𝐏⁸¹

SUMMARY: You are Lando Norris’ twin sister and were completely obsessed with your brother’s teammate, but he was always avoiding you. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Reader! Lando Norris’ Sister. WARNING: Hot scenes, but not explicit; use of Y/N; Oscar is very shy. WC: 4.7k

MASTERLIST | THE (IM)PERFECT PLAN SERIE

“You need to go a little easier on him,” Lando said as soon as he entered the small room, throwing his backpack onto the chair with a tired sigh. “Oscar’s shy, and you’re scaring the poor guy to death.”

You, leaning against the desk with your legs crossed and your eyes glued to your phone, ignored the first part of the comment. But the last part caught your attention.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, feigning disinterest.

“Oh, come on, don’t act dumb,” Lando shot back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You’re cornering Oscar. I was going to let it slide because, honestly, it’s hilarious. But look, you’re going too far, and he clearly doesn’t know how to handle it.”

You realized denying it would be pointless. Lando knew exactly what you were doing, and probably the whole paddock did too. Maybe it was time to turn the tables in your favor.

“Did he complain about me?” you asked, now genuinely curious, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Because, seriously, I don’t get it. Sometimes it seems like he doesn’t care, but then, in the next minute, he acts like I’m the personification of chaos.”

Your voice carried a touch of frustration. Ever since you met Oscar last season, you had done everything to get his attention. Flirting, glances, little touches. But he always pulled away or acted like he didn’t notice. His shyness, which once seemed charming, was now starting to feel like an impenetrable barrier.

Lando laughed, clearly enjoying himself at your expense. “You know what’s funny? You think you can melt anyone with that smile and some games. But let me tell you, Oscar’s different. He’s more… reserved.”

“I know that,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “And that’s exactly why I’m trying harder. He’s not like the others. It just makes it more interesting.”

Lando shook his head, incredulous. “You’re impossible, you know that? But look, if you keep this up, he’s gonna start running away from you. Like, literally. One day, he’s gonna abandon the car in the middle of the track just to escape.”

You laughed. “He already runs, just in a way less obvious than that. But he’ll get used to it. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Or a restraining order.”

“Funny,” you replied, giving him a sharp look.

After a brief silence, you decided to change tactics. “You could help me out!” you asked, in an exaggeratedly sweet tone.

“No way. Stay out of this, Y/N,” Lando responded quickly, as if he already knew where this was going.

“You’re so heartless!” you retorted, with a theatrical touch. “I come every weekend to support you, and this is how I’m treated? You should, I don’t know, compensate me for always being by your side.”

“Support? You’re kidding, right?” Lando laughed. “The whole team already figured out why you’re always here. And the only person who might not have noticed is Oscar himself.”

“What slander!” you snapped, placing a hand on your chest as if deeply offended. “I come because I like my brother. And I thought he liked me too, but apparently, he doesn’t care enough to help me with something so simple.”

Lando just laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Simple. Find out if he likes me or not. Easy, right?”

Before you could continue the discussion, someone knocked on the door, interrupting the conversation.

“Come in!” Lando replied casually.

The door opened to reveal Oscar. Your excitement was immediate. He, on the other hand… didn’t seem as thrilled to see you.

“I didn’t know your sister was here,” he said to Lando, hesitantly. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I’ll come back later.”

Before he could leave, you rushed to his side and lightly placed your hand on his arm, still covered by his racing suit.

“You don’t have to leave, Osc,” you said softly, your fingers purposely brushing against the fabric of his suit. “Lando and I weren’t talking about anything important. Feel free to stay.”

Oscar hesitated but eventually gave in. “Alright, if you say so…”

Oscar tried to pull away from your touch without being rude, and you, noticing his discomfort, decided to ease the tension and let him slip away.

“Well… I just wanted to ask about the car adjustments for tomorrow. But I guess I interrupted something…” He seemed genuinely uncomfortable, which only made you want to tease him even more.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” you replied with a calm smile. “Actually, I’ll just sit here quietly while you two chat.”

With that, you sat down in a chair lost in the room, pretending to fiddle with your phone while you took the opportunity to observe Oscar. The way he spoke, gestured, or even furrowed his brow when something seemed confusing… it was fascinating.

The two of them spent a few minutes discussing technical adjustments for the car when they were interrupted again. This time, it was someone from the PR team, rushing in to inform Lando that they needed him for an urgent photo session.

“I’m on my way,” Lando said, standing up. But before leaving, he gave you a calculated look. “Oscar, can you stay here? Y/N was feeling a bit nauseous earlier, and I didn’t want her to be alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was obvious he was making it up, but the feigned concern in his voice was flawless. You knew you owed Lando a big favor now, but it was worth it. For Oscar, everything was worth it.

“Seriously?” Oscar looked visibly surprised, casting a suspicious glance from you to Lando. “Alright, if she needs anything…”

“Thanks a lot, buddy,” Lando replied with a mischievous smile, giving Oscar’s arm a friendly squeeze before walking toward the door. “I’ll be back soon. Wait for me here.”

As soon as the door closed, you jumped up and practically ran to the couch, pulling Oscar down to sit next to you before he could even react.

“Thanks so much for staying, Osc,” you said softly, as if you were truly vulnerable. “I wasn’t feeling too great, you know?”

Oscar tensed next to you, clearly uncomfortable. He looked around, as if searching for an escape route. “Is everything okay now? Do you want me to get some water or something?”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s passed,” you replied, placing your hand on his arm. “I just needed some company. I feel better this way.”

Oscar let out a nervous, short laugh and looked away, clearly trying not to acknowledge the closeness between you two.

“You look cute when you’re nervous, you know?” you remarked, a mischievous smile appearing on your face.

He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to lose his words. Finally, he muttered, “I’m… not nervous.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, leaning in a little closer, until there was almost no space left between you on the small couch. Oscar seemed even more restless, the blush on his face now impossible to hide.

“I think… we don’t need to be this close,” he managed to say, awkwardly trying to pull away. But, poor thing, there was nowhere left to escape.

“Osc,” you started, in a fake hurt tone, looking down at your hands. “I think you don’t like me very much.”

He seemed surprised, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. “Why would you think that?”

“Because every time I’m around, you try to get away.” Your voice sounded almost like a lament, and you took the opportunity to glance at him before looking down at your legs. “Did I do something to you?”

When you looked back at him, your face was perfectly molded into a sad expression, your eyes slightly glistening, as if you were truly upset. It was almost impossible not to believe it.

Oscar hesitated, looking genuinely puzzled. “No… of course not. It’s just that…” He stopped, clearly trying to find the right words.

“It’s just that…?” you encouraged, tilting your head.

“You’re… too intense, Y/N,” he finally confessed, his voice low. “I don’t know how to handle you, that’s all.”

A triumphant smile threatened to appear on your lips, but you held it back, keeping up the act. “Intense? I just… like being around you, you know? Is that really so hard?”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not that. I’m just not used to… attention.”

“So, you’re saying I make you uncomfortable?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, closing the space even more.

Oscar looked away, his ears turning even redder. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Before he could answer, the door suddenly opened, and Lando walked into the room with that typical mischievous smile you knew so well. “Did I interrupt something?”

Oscar practically jumped off the couch, creating visible distance between you two. It was almost comical, but at that moment, you could only curse your brother. He had ruined the perfect moment. You were so close to getting what you wanted!

“No, no,” Oscar quickly denied, the words tumbling out almost in a rush. “Now that you’re here, I… I think I’ll head out. See you before the next practice.”

And without giving anyone a chance to react, he practically bolted out of the room, as if running away from a fire.

You let out a loud sigh, crossing your arms and shooting a deadly glare at Lando, who was still standing in the doorway, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“You did that on purpose!” you accused, frustration clear in your voice.

“Me? No way,” Lando responded, feigning innocence as he closed the door behind him. “But you should’ve seen his face. Poor guy, he looked like he was going to pass out.”

“He wasn’t going to pass out!” you retorted, throwing a pillow toward your brother, who easily dodged it.

“Alright, alright. But seriously, Y/N, you’re being way too hard on the guy.” He threw himself onto the couch, taking the spot Oscar had just vacated. “Don’t you think he’s nervous enough already? Every time you get close, it’s like he forgets how to breathe.”

You huffed, sinking into the couch next to him. “Maybe he just needs to get used to me. It’s not that hard, right?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “For you, maybe. But for him? Oscar is… different. He’s not used to someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” you repeated, intrigued.

“You know,” Lando explained, gesturing vaguely. “Someone who’s not afraid to say what they want and go after it. Oscar’s more… reserved. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, he just doesn’t know how to react.”

You were silent for a moment, processing Lando’s words. Maybe he was right. Maybe Oscar just needed a little more time. But giving up wasn’t an option. Not now.

“Okay,” you finally said, a mischievous smile appearing on your lips. “I’ll go easy on him. For now.”

Lando laughed, clearly amused by your determination. “Good luck, sis. You’re going to need it.”

The next day, you positioned yourself strategically in the garage, waiting for the right moment to find Oscar. When he finally appeared, talking to one of the engineers, you calmly walked over with a relaxed smile, pretending you had no agenda in mind.

“Hey, Osc,” you greeted, your voice light and carefree. “How’s everything after yesterday? You seemed in a rush.”

Oscar turned to you, and it was almost funny how hard he tried to appear casual, even though he was clearly uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah… I was just running late for something.”

“Of course, of course,” you responded with a soft smile. “Well, I hope things are calmer now. Maybe we can chat after qualifying?”

He hesitated, shooting a near-pleading glance at the engineer beside him, as if he was hoping they could save him. But this time, something different sparkled in Oscar’s eyes. It wasn’t fear or discomfort. It was curiosity, though still shy.

“Yeah… maybe,” he finally replied, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, already considering that a small victory.

Unfortunately, finding Oscar after qualifying turned out to be impossible. Lando secured pole position, and you stayed to congratulate him, while Oscar, with a disappointing P5, was swept into endless conversations with engineers and mechanics.

By the time it was late, almost time to head back to the hotel, you went to Lando’s room to grab your things while he wrapped up the last commitment of the day. That’s when fate decided to be kind.

The door next to your brother’s room opened, and who stepped out but the exact person you’d been hoping to see.

“Osc!” you called out cheerfully, a bright smile on your face.

“Hey.” His response was much less enthusiastic. The tone of defeat and frustrated expression clearly showed that he was still upset about the qualifying result.

“Bummed about P5?” you asked, trying to start a conversation.

“It wasn’t what I expected,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “But I’ll make up for it tomorrow.” There was a forced confidence in his voice that you didn’t miss.

“I’m sure you will! And look, I’m calling the podium: Lando in first, and you in second. What do you think?”

You stepped a little closer, almost unintentionally, trying to minimize the distance between you. But for Oscar, there was nothing subtle about your approach. He clearly noticed.

“You’re optimistic,” he commented, trying to ignore how you seemed to invade his space without hesitation.

“I’m not optimistic, I’m realistic,” you shot back, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

Oscar looked away, clearly looking for an escape route, but you weren’t about to let him slip away so easily.

“Look, Osc,” you began, your tone softening as you leaned in slightly. “I really think you underestimate how good you are at what you do. You’ve got everything to be at the top. You just need to believe in yourself more.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your change in tone. You saw the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, and that was enough for you to close the gap just a little more, your smile now sweeter than mischievous.

“You really think so?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“I know it,” you replied, sincerity shining through.

Oscar still seemed hesitant, but he didn’t pull away when you placed a light hand on his arm, your fingers resting casually. “You just need to learn to relax more. Maybe I can help with that,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Oscar swallowed, his eyes finally meeting yours. For a moment, you thought he was going to give in. He seemed torn between wanting to escape and something he clearly didn’t want to admit. You leaned in a little closer, feeling you were on the edge of success.

“You’re really hard, you know?” he murmured, the words practically floating between you two.

Oscar opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. And just as you were about to close the distance even more, he took a step back, almost stumbling into the wall behind him.

“I… I need to go,” he said quickly, his voice shaky but firm. “Good night, Y/N.”

Before you could react, he was already halfway down the hallway, walking so fast it was almost a run.

You let out a frustrated sigh, but deep down, you couldn’t help but smile. Little by little, Oscar was starting to give in, even if he still resisted at the last second. It was only a matter of time.

And you knew very well that you had all the patience in the world to wait.

The paddock was a well-organized chaos, with mechanics, engineers, and drivers moving around frantically as the grandstands filled with enthusiastic fans. You, of course, were there, strategically positioned in Oscar’s team’s garage, pretending to be just casually walking around but with a very clear goal in mind.

He was there, adjusting his gloves while listening carefully to an engineer. He seemed so focused, he could have blended in with the rest of the team. Almost. You, however, always managed to spot him in the crowd.

“Hey, Osc!” you called, walking into the space without any hesitation.

Oscar quickly turned, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you there. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I came to wish you good luck, of course,” you answered with a sweet but mischievous smile.

“Good luck?” He seemed suspicious, clearly aware that you rarely did something that simple.

“Of course!” You tilted your head slightly, looking at him as if his question was absurd. “You know I’ll be cheering for you too, right? First Lando, and then you!”

Oscar opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, a blush already creeping up his face. He looked around desperately, almost as if hoping someone would save him from the situation. But, as you’d already noticed, no one was paying attention to you two.

“You’re kind of tense, Osc. It won’t go well like this, you know?” You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice slightly, but still clearly teasing. “Are you nervous because of me?”

“No,” he quickly replied, although his tone and the blush on his face said otherwise.

“Hmm… funny,” you murmured, pretending to think. “Because it seems like every time I get close, you get a little… uneasy.”

“Y/N, we’re in the pit… in public,” he whispered, almost as if trying to make you stop.

“So what? No one’s listening, and we’re not doing anything wrong, are we?” you shot back, a smile mixing sweetness and mischief on your lips. “I’m here to support you, Osc. And, speaking of that, I have a proposition for you.”

He squinted his eyes, clearly suspicious. “What kind of proposition?”

“If you get on the podium today… I’ll give you a special gift,” you said, leaning slightly toward him, your voice low but filled with mystery.

“What gift?” He looked at you, nervousness clear on his face, but at the same time, unable to hide his curiosity.

“It’s a surprise,” you replied, winking conspiratorially.

“Y/N…” He sighed, clearly trying to keep his composure. “You know you didn’t have to come here for that, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your smile growing wider. “But what’s the fun in cheering from a distance? Besides, you might not know, but I’m great at picking out gifts.”

Oscar seemed like he was about to say something, but one of the engineers appeared out of nowhere, calling him for the final pre-race meeting. He sighed in visible relief, almost grabbing the opportunity to escape.

“I have to go,” he said quickly.

“Good luck, Osc,” you replied, not hiding your satisfaction. “I’ll be waiting on the podium. And after the race… the gift is all yours.”

He didn’t reply, just nodded quickly before disappearing toward the engineer. You watched as he walked away, even more flushed than before, and let out a soft laugh.

This time, he had no way of backing out of the promise. And, knowing Oscar, the thought of a “special gift” would be enough to keep him thinking about you the whole time—on or off the track.

The end of the race was electrifying. You, as usual, were glued to the screen, following the final minutes with the anticipation of someone on the track. The last lap was a mix of tension and excitement. Lando crossed the finish line in first, and you couldn’t hold back your shout of joy. But what really made you jump out of your seat was when Oscar secured third place, holding off a fierce battle until the final flag.

“Yes! I knew you could do it, Osc!” you murmured to yourself, smiling proudly as you watched the celebration on the screen.

Soon, you were following the team toward the podium. The paddock was a party, with team members rushing to celebrate their drivers. You blended in with Lando’s engineers and mechanics but kept your eyes fixed on Oscar as he got out of the car, exhausted but visibly satisfied.

The celebration on the podium was contagious. Champagne flew from side to side, and Lando’s smile was so wide it seemed to light up the entire circuit. But your gaze never left Oscar, who looked more shy than ever as he raised his trophy. Even amid the celebration, he shot furtive glances at you in the crowd, which only made your smile grow.

As soon as the ceremony was over, everyone went back to the garage. The team was euphoric, celebrating the incredible result of the race. You found Lando first, who came running toward you with his trophy in hand.

“So, what did you think?” he asked, still sweaty and covered in champagne.

“You were amazing! Doesn’t even seem like my brother,” you joked, laughing as he hugged you and got champagne on your clothes.

“And Oscar, huh?” Lando commented, winking at you. “Are you proud of your favorite driver?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Don’t start, Lando.”

After the initial excitement, you began preparing to leave. Lando had some team commitments to take care of before heading back to the hotel, so you walked through the paddock, waiting for him. You bumped into Oscar, who seemed more relaxed, still talking to a few engineers.

“Congrats, Osc!” you said, with a genuine smile.

He quickly turned his head, as if he hadn’t expected you to appear there. “Oh, thanks,” he replied, a shy smile forming on his lips.

“I told you’d make it to the podium. Now you know what that means, right?” you teased, leaning slightly forward.

Oscar turned bright red, looking away at anything that wasn’t you. “I… think so?”

“Great.” You winked and walked away before he could respond, knowing exactly the effect you were having.

After a while, Lando finally appeared. “Ready to go?”

“More than ready.” You smiled, following him to the car that would take you back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, the exhaustion from the race still lingered, but the excitement pulsed even stronger. Lando was sprawled on the couch in his room, talking nonstop about the race and, of course, the party that was about to happen.

“I need to get ready. What, you’ve got about 30 minutes before I drag you to the party?” you teased, grabbing your bag.

“Thirty? You’re being way too optimistic,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be able to get ready in 30 minutes even if Oscar asked you to.”

“Oh, Lando…” You smiled slyly as you walked toward the door. “For Oscar, I’d do it in fifteen.”

Lando’s expression was priceless, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You walked out laughing and went straight to your room, already imagining how you’d make the night unforgettable. After all, a P1 for Lando and a P3 for Oscar was more than enough reason to celebrate in style.

You chose a stunning black Versace dress, fitting just right, and paired it with high heels from the same brand. But the special touch was in the details that no one would see—or rather, that almost no one would see: a papaya-colored lingerie set, matching the team’s colors, chosen especially for the occasion.

The team had reserved a table in the VIP section of a luxurious club. The atmosphere was pure euphoria—champagne, loud music, and laughter filled the air. As soon as they arrived, you made sure to sit strategically next to Oscar, who seemed out of place, unsure of what to do with all the attention around him.

“Osc, relax,” you murmured in his ear, smiling as you noticed he seemed more nervous than he had been during the race.

“I’m relaxed,” he replied, but the hand holding his drink was trembling slightly.

The conversation flowed with the team, but you made sure to provoke Oscar in little moments. You brushed your leg against his, made comments about how well he did in the race, and, of course, mentioned the “special present.”

“If I knew a P3 would make you this happy, I would’ve tried harder earlier,” he joked, trying to appear more confident.

“Oh, Osc, you have no idea,” you replied, smiling with an enigmatic tone.

As time went by, more people started to drift away from the table to dance or talk in other corners. Before long, it was just the two of you. That was your cue.

“So, Osc…” You leaned in a little closer, the loud music muffling the conversation. “About my present… do you want to know what it is?”

Oscar blushed instantly, looking away as he always did when he felt uncomfortable. “I… I don’t think I should ask.”

“Oh, you definitely should.” Your voice dropped low, almost a whisper, as your eyes challenged his. “I did something special to celebrate your P3. And maybe to encourage you to get more podiums in the future.”

He swallowed nervously. “I need… to go to the bathroom,” he said quickly, standing up before you could react.

You smiled to yourself. “So predictable,” you murmured as you followed him with determined steps.

Oscar looked genuinely surprised when you appeared in the hallway, blocking his escape route. “Seriously, Y/N? I just wanted a minute of peace.”

“No chance.” You took a step forward, cornering him against the wall, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “I followed you to show you my present.”

Oscar looked at you, clearly uncomfortable, but his curiosity won out. “I don’t know if I want to see that,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his curiosity.

You laughed softly, almost amused, and slid the strap of your dress down, revealing a glimpse of the papaya lingerie, the color of the team. “See? Something special for my favorite driver.”

For a moment, Oscar was speechless, his face turning a deeper red than usual. But something seemed to have shifted in him, as if the provocation had awakened something. He took a step forward, closing the distance between you. The look he had now wasn’t shy, but challenging, almost provocative.

“You like to tease, don’t you?” His voice was low but filled with a newfound confidence that you didn’t expect. “But you know what, Y/N? You can’t last three minutes when the roles are reversed.”

The smile on his face made you hesitate for a second, and he immediately seized the opportunity. Without saying another word, he pulled you closer, his hands firmly gripping your waist. The warmth of his body against yours made your heart race, and before you could say anything, Oscar’s lips found yours.

It was an intense, heated kiss, as if he had been swept away by the wave of provocation you had started. Oscar's hands glided over your skin, as if memorizing every part of you, while you couldn't think clearly anymore.

When he pulled away slightly, his eyes glowing in a way you didn't recognize, you were speechless, your body still burning from his proximity and touch.

He leaned in again, whispering in your ear:

"Lost your voice, baby? Always knew you were just talk."

Your breathing was uneven, but you could only stare at him, completely lost.

He grinned to the side, satisfied with the effect he was having.

It didn't take long for him to attack you with even more intense kisses.

You were getting addicted to the taste, to the feeling of being touched by him.

One of his hands slid up your thigh, slowly rising inside your dress. He squeezed your butt firmly, and you couldn't contain a moan. He played with the waistband of your panties, starting to pull them down.

"What are you doing?" you asked, breathless. "Someone might see."

"Now you're afraid of being seen?" he continued, dragging the fabric down your leg. "You never cared before."

He knelt down, completely removing the piece of lingerie.

"But don't worry, baby!" He stood up, pressing his body against yours again.

"I'm not going to do anything here."

He kissed you quickly and pulled away, looking into your eyes while slipping the piece into his pocket.

"If you want it back, find me in my room later."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you there, completely speechless and hungry for more.

[juleswritesstuff]

The Pillow Contract

James Potter seems to have found the best pillow on earth. You.

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: none

James Potter liked to consider himself a man of simple pleasures. 

A good meal ? Heaven. A lazy Sunday spent wrapped in a blanket burrito ? Perfection. A well-timed, sarcastic remark ? Chef’s kiss.

But above all else, there was one thing James had come to love more than anything in the world.

Your chest.

Well, you as a whole, of course. Body and soul alike. He was not a bloody prick, thank you very much. 

He loved you for you, not just for the flawless vessel that carried your golden heart and your beautiful mind.

But he couldn't help the way he was especially drawn to the perfection that peeked from your neckline when your shirt hung a little lower than usual.

And he also could not, in good conscience, ignore the life-altering comfort that was that perfection.

Now, to be clear, James wasn’t just some guy obsessed with his girlfriend’s body –okay, maybe he was a little addicted. 

But, come on, who could blame him when you were said girlfriend ? 

He was supposed to be a bit obsessed with you, right ? That’s what every person in their sane, right and helplessly in love mind would be about their partner, no ? 

Was that just him ? 

Ok, fine, maybe he was a bit of a simp (read, you had him at your feet). So what ? 

He liked it exactly like that. Sue him.

But this ? This was different. 

This wasn’t just about attraction or some primal male instinct. No, this was about something sacred.

This was about comfort.

The kind that he’d accidentally stumbled upon one evening when you had curled up next to him on the couch, and his head had somehow –miraculously– ended up resting right on your chest.

That’s when he had discovered it.

The Holy Grail of pillows. The pinnacle of all headrests.

Your chest was perfect. 

Warm. Soft. Inviting.

It had been life-changing. Existence-altering. World-stopping.

And in that moment, with his head resting against the softest, most heavenly cushion known to mankind, and your heart beating under his ear like a lullaby, James had made a decision.

He was never going back to regular pillows again.

Ever.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know how to turn this into a permanent arrangement without looking like an absolute fool.

Which, really, was ironic, because James didn’t mind acting like the biggest dumbass in the world when it came to you. Not even a tiny bit.

The man had zero shame, and zero chill when you were involved.

If he had to beg ? Done.

If he had to bribe you with kisses ? Oh no, how awful.

If he had to declare his undying devotion in front of his friends and suffer their relentless teasing ? Call Sirius and Remus over, he was ready to suffer.

If he had to wear one of those, frankly quite obnoxious --yes, even for him-- ‘I ❤️ My Girlfriend’ shirts in public just because you wanted him to suffer a bit for forgetting the chores ? Consider it his new favorite outfit.

He’d do anything and everything –yes, even sacrificing his dignity in front of Pads and Moony– if it meant putting a smile on your face (and making you agree to be used as a headrest for the rest of your life. But let’s just say that was a teeny, tiny, wonderful bonus if the case ever came to be).

Tonight was his chance, he told himself.

You were already curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, your legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone. The dim lighting of the room cast a soft glow over you, and James took a moment to appreciate the scene. 

Because, honestly ? You looked really good.

Too good.

Like, unfairly good.

The hoodie –his hoodie, the one he had technically claimed as his favorite, but which spent more time on your body than his closet– was slightly oversized on you, slipping off one shoulder in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a second.

This was his moment.

You were comfortable. The couch was comfortable. 

And your chest ? Well, that was a level of bliss he had yet to find anywhere else in the world.

Time to execute: Operation Smothered by Heaven.

Ok, the name was a little ridiculous. But, to his defence, he had been a little distracted while thinking about it –the dress you were wearing mysteriously met the floor not even five minutes after he had taken a glimpse of you– and his brain had refused to work at his full potential.

Something that he absolutely couldn’t let happen now. 

Not when the fate of his comfort and sanity was at such a high risk.

That’s why he casually –so casually– stretched like a giant cat just waking up from a nap, letting out an exaggerated yawn before –still ever so nonchalantly, of course– leaning closer.

And would you look at that ? His head, as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force he absolutely had no control on –God forbid– found its way to your chest.

It was seamless. 

Flawless execution.

Absolutely fucking nailed that.

He gave himself a mental high five.

Operation Smothered by Heaven: officially successful.

“Wow. Smooth” you blinked down at him, amused.

James grinned but didn’t move. Not even an inch. Nope. 

He had claimed his rightful place, and there was no going back now.

“What can I say ? Gravity is a powerful thing” he purred, his voice smug, his eyes half-lidded like a cat who had just found the warmest sunspot in the house.

“Ah, I see. So this is all gravity’s fault, then ?”

“Absolutely” he confirmed, burrowing his face in just a little more “I have no control over it. Pure science”

You snorted, shaking your head, but you didn’t push him away. 

Of course you didn’t.

If anything, you shifted slightly, letting your arm drape around his back, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his spine. He hummed in approval, his whole body melting against yours like ice under the warm sunlight of a summer’s day.

Because the thing James didn’t know –or, at the very least, seemed to forget– was that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Always.

James Potter and secret scheming ? Not a good match. 

Not a match at all, actually. But you still liked watching him try.

And with the way he had been ogling you for the past week, it really wasn’t hard to figure out what had been brewing in that ridiculously pretty head of his.

His thoughtful frown, the way his brows scrunched together, his deep-in-thought lip-biting. James had looked like he was trying to crack some highly classified government code.

Except the code in question was you.

Or, more specifically, that area right below your neck that seemed to steal his attention more times then it should've been considered healthy.

Subtle, he was not.

He had been studying you. Analyzing the way your sweaters dipped lower when you leaned forward, the way the fabric of your shirts clung to your curves, the way–

God.

James had the audacity to look like he was pondering the meaning of life when, really, all he was trying to find was an excuse.

Funny how he could’ve just asked.

It wasn’t like you would have refused him.

Hell, you didn’t even think you possessed the ability to refuse him. To refuse him anything, really.

But your smitten and extremely down-bad behavior when it came to your boyfriend was a topic for another time.

James let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You know” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled closer “I think I’ve discovered something important”

“Oh ?”

“Mhm” he tilted his head up, his expression dead serious. Like a man delivering a life-changing revelation “Your chest ? Best pillow I’ve ever used”

You raised an eyebrow, a quiet grin making its way onto your mouth. “I should be flattered, I think”

“You should be honored” he corrected, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk “I mean, it’s a very competitive market. But yours ? Easily top-tier”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that right ?”

James nodded solemnly. 

“Hell yeah, baby. I’d even write a five-star Yelp review if that were a thing”

You let out a soft laugh and slid your fingers into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

James immediately melted.

He let out a low, contented hum, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body dissolving completely. You thought if he was a cat, he would’ve started purring.

“Mmh. Keep doing that, and I might never get up” he mumbled, voice already laced with drowsiness.

“Wouldn’t mind that” you teased.

Because, really, who in their right mind would complain about this ?

No one, that's who.

And surely not you.

James hummed in response, his arms tightening around your waist burying himself further into you. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. 

His lips brushed absentmindedly against your collarbone –a barely-there press of warmth that sent a quiet shiver down your spine.

This. This was perfection.

Then, because James Potter simply could not help himself, he tilted his head up again.

“So, uh... just out of curiosity. How often do you think I can get away with this ?”

You smirked. “That depends”

“On ?”

“How well you behave”

James’ eyes darkened slightly, though amusement still played at the edges. 

“Define behave” his voice dropped, all smooth and teasing, like he could coax an answer out of you if he said it just right.

You arched a brow, pretending to think. 

“Well, let’s see. No stealing the blankets at night. No pretending you don’t hear me when I ask you to grab something from the kitchen. And definitely no distracting me when I’m trying to get work done”

James gasped, offended.

“That last one is unreasonable and you know it”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is it ?”

“Yes. It is literally part of my rights as your boyfriend to distract you”

You hummed, pretending to ponder your decision.

“Well, if we can do nothing about that…” your hand cupped his cheek, slender fingers applying a gentle pressure to lift his face up from that cocoon of warmth he had nestled himself into.

He blinked. “I-wait. What ?”

Before he could fully register what was happening, you leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

James melted.

Like, gone. Out of commission. Absolute goner.

The smug confidence he had a second ago ? Obliterated.

His hands, which had been lazily resting at your waist, tightened, pulling you closer like he never wanted to let go. One of them trailed up your spine, fingers tangling into your hair, holding you there like this was oxygen and he needed it to breathe.

You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shuddered, the way his grip on you tightened, like he was physically trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Like you had just ruined him.

And maybe you had.

Because when you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, James just blinked at you, dazed and utterly wrecked, lips still parted like he hadn’t quite caught up with reality yet.

You bit back a smirk.

Unbelievable.

How had this man made a full-time career out of turning you into putty, and yet one well-placed kiss had him looking like he’d just been personally blessed by the universe ?

You dragged your fingers lazily through his curls, watching the way his lashes fluttered at the sensation, the slow, dopey grin tugging at his lips.

Completely gone.

You tilted your head, murmuring teasingly against his mouth “Was that up to your standards, Mr. Five-Star Review ?”

James, still grinning –and still absolutely useless– just nodded.

"Five stars ? That was worth the entire Milky Way, baby"

You let out a laugh, and he practically glowed at the sound, his fingers flexing against your waist like he wanted to bottle it.

Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted his head, brushing his nose against yours in that infuriatingly sweet way of his.

"You know-" he murmured, voice all warm and syrupy "-if this is part of my reward system, I promise to be so good"

You smirked, fingers tracing idle patterns into the back of his neck. “Do you now ?”

James nodded solemnly, though the grin he was fighting gave him away.

“The best. Model citizen. Proper gentleman. Will hold doors, carry bags, call you milady unironically if I have to”

You snorted. Loudly.

"Now that, I need to see"

He hummed, tilting his head up like he was about to deliver the most profound statement of his life.

“Mmh. Maybe after another kiss”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “That so ?”

He nodded again, already leaning in, his lips curling mischievously.

You let your fingers drag slowly down the back of his neck, feeling the way James shivered under your touch.

The moment stretched, thick with something warm and electric, the air between you charged in that intoxicating way it always was whenever you teased him like this.

You leaned in deliberately, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

James, for all his usual smugness, stilled, his lazy smirk faltering into something softer, deeper. His lips parting slightly, his pupils dark and expectant.

Waiting.

Wanting.

You let your gaze drop to his lips, watching as his tongue darted out just once, a quick, unconscious flick, like he was already tasting the kiss before it happened.

And, God, he was beautiful like this.

All that usual bravado stripped down to this, his sharp edges melted, his hands twitching slightly where they rested on your hips, fighting the urge to pull you closer.

His restraint was admirable.

His patience ?

Well. That was something you just had to test.

You leaned in that final inch –only for your lips to land on his cheek instead.

Soft. Chaste. Infuriating.

James let out a dramatic, suffering groan, his head thunking back against the cushions.

“Tease” he mumbled, voice hoarse, his hands finally losing their battle as they gripped your waist, fingers pressing into your sides like he was physically holding back the urge to grab your face and kiss you properly.

You pulled back just enough to grin down at him, impossibly pleased with yourself.

“What ?” you asked innocently, tilting your head “You asked for a kiss. You didn’t specify where, love”

He cracked one eye open, glowering.

“Oh, that’s dirty” he grumbled, before huffing dramatically and rolling onto his back, taking you with him.

You yelped as you landed against his chest, sprawled across him, your laughter cut off when his arms wrapped around you, pinning you against him with the strength of a human vice grip.

“James-”

“Nope” he said, shoving his face into your neck like a petulant child, muffling his words “You’re stuck here now. Actions have consequences”

You laughed, wiggling in his hold, but he just tightened his grip.

“James”

“Mmm. Nope”

“I-”

“Shh. Thinking about my suffering”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, your fingers naturally finding their way into his curls again, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He made a sound, deep and content, his body practically melting beneath you.

“See ?” you teased, voice softening “That wasn’t so bad”

He exhaled heavily, but his hands had already started skimming over your back again, lazy and unbothered, like he’d completely forgotten why he was fake-pouting in the first place.

“Mmh” he hummed “Don't know. Still feel like you owe me”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Oh ?”

“Yeah” James sighed dramatically, finally tilting his head up again. Looking at you.

That expression.

Soft. Mischievous. A little challenging.

Maybe even a little hopeful.

Like he was just waiting for you to put him out of his misery.

You let the moment stretch for a beat longer, lips quirking.

Then, with a small, amused sigh, you finally gave in.

And kissed him properly.

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed like that, tangled together, basking in the warmth of each other’s touch.

You felt him smile against your lips before he pulled back just enough to murmur “So… hear me out”

“Oh boy” you sighed, already knowing. 

James just grinned, completely unbothered by your lack in faith in him.

“What if we made this a permanent arrangement ?”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head at him. “A permanent arrangement ?”

“Yeah. Like, an official thing. A contract, even” he lifted his head slightly, hie expression the picture of seriousness “Something binding. A legally recognized agreement that states you will be my official human pillow for the foreseeable future”

You stared at him, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, lips twitiching. 

“You want to draft a pillow contract ?”

James nodded, almost professionally. 

“For accountability purposes”

You rolled your eyes, a disbelieved chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. 

“You’re ridiculous”

“But lovable” he pointed out.

You exhaled, shaking your head, your heart betraying you with the sheer amount of fondness you felt for this man.

“Fine” you relented, rolling your eyes as if you weren’t already completely gone for him “You win. You can rest on me whenever you want”

James grinned like he’d just won the lottery, wasting no time in smacking a quick, eager kiss right on your lips.

“But” you added, poking him in the ribs “I reserve the right to move if you start drooling”

“Excuse me ?” he gasped, offended “I do not drool”

You smirked. “That’s not what the couch cushions say”

James gasped again, dramatically this time, like you had personally insulted his honor “That was one time-”

“Oh, it so wasn’t”

James pouted, pulling you even closer and pressing his forehead against yours with a grumble.

“You wound me” he muttered, a mock distraught lilt to his voice.

You grinned, the warmth of him, the smell of him, completely surrounding you as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, lingering just enough to feel the way his breath hitched.

“I think you’ll survive just fine”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, inviting you to keep going.

So you did.

You let your lips trail along his jawline, slow and lazy, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly in a way that made him melt.

“Well” James sighed, voice lower, heavier, the tiniest shiver running through him “If this is how you comfort me, I guess I’ll forgive you”

You laughed against his skin.

“How generous”

James smirked, but there was something else in his eyes now, something wicked, something that sparked just before–

Before the menace shimmied down.

Yes. Shimmied. Like a man with a mission.

“James-”

Your protest was cut off by laughter, because he was determined, wriggling lower and lower with expert precision, slipping out of your hold like a human-sized golden retriever trying to find the perfect spot on the couch.

And then, with a triumphant sigh, his head landed where he had been aiming all along–

Right on your chest.

James let out a deep, satisfied hum, snuggling in, his nose nuzzling into the soft fabric of your shirt like this was some long-lost paradise he had just returned to.

“Now we’re talking” he exhaled in sheer satisfaction, like the heaviest of weights had been lifted from his shoulders, snuggling even deeper, and muttering an appreciative “Mmh. Yep. Definitely five stars”

You blinked down at him, helpless to fight the way your heart swelled, a smile threatening to bloom against your better judgment.

“Should I start charging you for this service ?” you teased.

James hummed, content, his lips brushing absently against the skin just below your collarbone.

“I’d go broke, baby”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers finding their way back into his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

He groaned, pressing his face deeper into your chest, mumbling something incoherent that you were pretty sure translated to never stop doing that.

Before you could fully process how utterly whipped this man was, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss there –just because he could.

You pulled back slightly, blinking down at the mop of messy chocolate strands currently buried between your collarbones. 

“Do you make a habit of kissing all your pillows ?” you asked, voice mildly amused despite the unreasonable warmth now flooding your chest.

James, completely unashamed, grinned against you. 

“Pillows don’t usually deserve appreciation, but this one ?” his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your waist, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur “This one gets special treatment”

A full-body shiver rolled through you.

And James, that absolute menace, felt it.

His smirk was obnoxiously satisfied as he nuzzled in even deeper, practically purring as he molded himself further against you.

You rolled your eyes, trying –truly trying– to ignore the overwhelming affection clawing at your ribcage. And utterly failing.

“Jamie, you’re gonna choke like this” you warned playfully, fighting against yourself not to let out the endeared laugh threatening to spill.

He made a noncommittal noise, fully unbothered.

“Best way to go, honestly”

And that was it.

Not one beat missed. Not a single ounce of shame registered in his voice.

You stared wide-eyed at the mop of untamable chocolate curls right below your chin, completely bewildered by the words that had just come out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

Did this man, the actual love of your life, just casually declare that he would willingly –no, gladly– perish via boob-related asphyxiation ?

Because that was what it sounded like.

Was that a normal thing for a person to say ?

No. No, it wasn’t.

And yet—here you were.

"James"

“Mmm ?”

"James, get up"

"No"

You sighed, trying to nudge him off, but it was useless.

Because this man –this grown, six-foot, sport-trained, annoyingly fit man– was currently clinging to you like a koala experiencing its first-ever existential crisis.

And you knew –you knew– that there was no reasoning with a man who had just fully committed to making your chest his final resting place.

"James-"

"No"

"You cannot suffocate yourself on my–"

"I can and I will"

"You will not"

James lifted his head just enough to look at you with actual betrayal.

"How dare you harm a man in his final moments ?"

A stunned laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous”

James smirked triumphantly.

“And yet-” he murmured smugly “-you don’t seem to mind it”

He barely gave you a second to respond before he nuzzled right back in, burrowing into your chest like you were some long-lost paradise he had finally returned to.

You stared at the ceiling, dead inside.

How was this your life ?

You used to have dignity.

You used to be a strong, independent person.

And yet, somehow –somehow– you had become a glorified human mattress for your very large and very needy boyfriend.

And the worst part ?

You didn’t even mind.

You sighed deeply, fingers slipping into his hair against your better judgment. James melted immediately, exhaling in a way that was obscenely pleased. Like if he were any more relaxed, he'd have dissolved into a puddle of mushy, lovesick goo.

Then, with the solemnity of a man about to deliver a groundbreaking presidential address, he cleared his throat.

You barely had time to register the shift before he–

“Ladies” James began, his voice smooth, reverent “It’s always a pleasure”

Your mouth fell open.

Did he just–

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I just wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude” he continued talking to your breasts, completely ignoring the look of utter disbelief and sheer horror plastered on your face and sighing dramatically “For your service. For your warmth. For providing me with the best naps of my life”

Your soul, quite frankly, left your body, just straight-up abandoned you.

“James–”

He shushed you.

Shushed you.

“I’m having a moment with my girls, baby” he whispered, like he was delivering a speech at fucking Buckingham Palace.

You gaped at him. “You are not-”

“I am” he placed a hand over his heart “They deserve it”

You had never contemplated murder so seriously in your life.

James, completely unbothered, pressed on. 

“I promise to treat you with the respect and admiration you deserve. To appreciate your softness in all its glory. To-” he paused, tilting his head “Actually, I feel like I should name you”

“For the love of God, James. Don’t you dare-”

He gasped. 

Gasped. 

“That’s a brilliant idea. Baby, why haven’t we named them ?”

You smacked his arm, your eyes so wide they threatened to fall out of your skull. “Because they are literally attached to my body ?!”

But he wasn’t listening. No, the absolute menace was thinking, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“They deserve names that reflect their greatness. Something regal. Something powerful”

He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Thelma and Louise”

You groaned. “Absolutely fucking not”

James ignored you. 

“Or maybe Hall and Oates ?”

“I- What- Aren’t they both men ?”

“Gender’s nothing but a social construct, darling”

“Ok-”

A sudden gasp interrupted you, as if he had just discovered the meaning of life itself.

"Baby- Baby, I’ve got it"

You sighed, already regretting everything. "James, no"

"Yes" he insisted, eyes alight with the thrill of an idiot about to say something profoundly stupid "Bonnie and Clyde"

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You want to name ‘your girls’ after two actual criminals ?"

He nodded solemnly, as if he were making the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "Iconic criminals. Star-crossed lovers. Thrill-seekers. Just like us, babe"

"Just like us ?" you repeated, incredulous "James, they literally died in a hail of bullets"

"Tragic, right ?" he sighed dramatically, resting his cheek against your chest. "Just two outlaws against the world. Inseparable. Madly in love. Probably great at robbing banks"

You stared at him, completely dead inside. "Are you about to compare my chest to a highly coordinated armed robbery ?"

James lifted his head just enough to grin at you. 

"Well” he mused, eyes twinkling “they did steal my heart"

You were done. So done, in fact, that you just gave up entirely.

"I cannot believe this is my life" you muttered, shoving your hands over your face.

James, the absolute menace, took this as encouragement and nuzzled back in, pressing obnoxiously reverent kisses between his newly christened 'Bonnie and Clyde'.

"Rest easy, my loves" he murmured dramatically "Your legacy shall live on"

"James-"

"Shhh" he hushed, patting your side "They're outlaws, baby. They don’t play by the rules"

At that point, you seriously considered pushing him off the couch. Or out the window. 

Maybe both.

You shook your head, defeated, completely annihilated by your boyfriend’s questionable choices.

James grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Oh, come on. I’m just having a bit of fun” he chuckled lightheartedly, turning his attention back to your chest with the solemnity of a man who had just finished writing a best-selling novel “Well, ladies, whatever your names may be, just know –you have my eternal devotion”

And then, as if he hadn’t just committed the most embarrassing crime against you, he nestled back in with a satisfied hum.

You stared down at him, deadpan. 

“You’re an actual menace”

“And yet, despite that, you love me” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

You sighed, your fingers automatically sliding into his hair once again. It took him less than two seconds to turn into a puddle, his entire body going limp as he exhaled in the most ridiculously pleased way possible, like he had just been given an award for the best nap ever.

“Unfortunately” you muttered, your heart melting just a little bit too, because, yes, he was a ridiculous man, but he was your ridiculous man.

And, as much as you complained, you couldn’t deny it --having James like this, warm and completely wrapped around you, was its own kind of perfect.

The Pillow Contract (Unofficially Signed & Approved) 

Clause 1: James gets unlimited chest pillow privileges.

Clause 2: Y/n reserves the right to kick James off if he drools in his sleep.

Clause 3: Cuddles are mandatory.

Clause 4: James won't ever refer to Y/n's chest as ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ again. Penalty: annulment of Clause 1.

Hello beautiful people 💗

I have no idea of where this thing spouted from. It popped in my head, and I had to bring it to the world 😂.

This is my first attempt at a more humorous type of fic. I had so much fun writing it, and I really hope it didn't downright suck, and you had a good time reading it, too.

Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading, and I'll catch you in the next one <3

[wisecura]

You Did What?

Kouhai Satoru Gojo x f!Senpai-Reader (age gap) 5k

an: this is apart of a request I got not too long ago for an arranged marriage with an age gap for my star bby Gojo. The second one is coming out very soon for the reversal (he's a bit older than you).

summary: Satoru Gojo was your over-the-top, unbearable, yet strangely endearing kouhai back in school. Maybe you were just a little too sweet to him, though, because now he's showing up at your door with a marriage proposal in hand.

MINORS DNI AFTER THIS POINT.

warnings: obsessive behaviors, noncon/dubcon, arranged marriage, power play, domineering subby, possessive behavior, small jealousy, implied stalking, fingering, popped cherries, he's a good boy, age gap, usage of the word 'little' (might be a lil belittling), minors DNI, not entirely heavily proofread

Life in Tokyo had been nothing short of abysmal.

Between the tiny, overpriced shoebox apartments and the always-packed streets, it wasn’t exactly the dream you'd had in mind. But hey, at least everything you needed was within walking distance. 

And yeah, you were always zipping out of town for work, trying to carve out your spot in the pecking order. Just 22, rocking your first real job and your own place, but your social life?

Nonexistent.

You could whine about it, but what's the point?

Whenever you caught up with old classmates, you’d play it cool, telling them you were out living it up, just so they wouldn’t worry. Pretty sure they were spinning the same tales to you. In your line of work, there’s not much room to be anything but selfless.

You kept in touch with a few underclassmen, especially the clingiest of them all—Satoru Gojo. Normally, you wouldn’t bother, you were several classes ahead of him, after all. He only graduated last summer, turned 19 in the winter, and then took over as the head of the Gojo clan that next summer.

But ever since you graduated, he’s been all over your lock screen, bombarding you with texts. A quiet day meant only getting 12 messages. In high school, he was just as clingy, but at least back then, he could just hang around you in person instead of blowing up your phone.

You’d think he’d have outgrown this by now, but nope—by noon today, you’ve already racked up 7 messages from him. It’s kind of cute, sometimes. But let’s be real, trying to get a boyfriend with Satoru always on your tail? Yeah, good luck with that.

The rain had been pounding relentlessly all evening, its steady drumming against the windows filling your tiny Tokyo apartment with a soothing rhythm. Wrapped in a blanket on the couch, you were finally relaxing when your phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

You glanced at the screen. Another text from him. And another, and another-

Gojo: What are you up to?

Gojo: You never answered my last message. Did you fall asleep?

Gojo: Or maybe you’re ignoring me...again.

Gojo: That hurts, you know. I thought we were close.

With a sigh, you set the phone face down. Satoru Gojo, your overly attached kouhai from high school, had been this way since the day you met—clingy, needy, and always too much. He had always claimed you were the only one who could "handle" him.

And sure, you had a soft spot for him, maybe more than you should. But on days like today, his relentless need for attention was just too much. The knock at your door was abrupt, loud, and insistent, snapping you out of your thoughts. You stared at the door, hesitating, then your phone buzzed once more.

Gojo: I’m outside. Open up.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself off the couch. When you swung the door open, there stood Satoru, soaked to the bone. His normally fluffy white hair was slicked to his forehead, and water dripped from his clothes onto your floor.

“Satoru,” you exclaimed, startled. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you soaked?”

He waved a hand dismissively, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. You blinked at him. You should’ve expect this, but honestly he'd never been this forward. 

“You’re soaked! You're gonna catch a cold, you idiot.”

“Would you take care of me if I did?” he asked with a grin, but his voice somewhat off, was missing its usual upbeat playfulness. He took the towel you handed him but made no move to dry himself off, seemingly content to let you fret over him.

As you scanned him for any signs of injury, he watched you with an intensity that said he might just enjoy this concern a bit too much. Maybe he was hurt? But knowing him, that seemed unlikely—

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” crossing your arms.

He flopped onto your couch as if he owned the place, his damp clothes leaving a wet spot. "Just wanted to see you," he said, his gaze flitting to yours before darting away.

“You’ve been texting me all day. You could’ve just waited for me to reply.”

He pouted, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re so mean to me. Do you really think I'm that annoying?”

You rolled your eyes. “You can be.”

"Rude," giving you a mock-offended look. Then, after a pause, "You've been busy, though...haven't you? Out a lot lately."

You froze, your mind racing to last week. Have you been out a lot? But then you remembered a few days back, when you’d gone on a casual date with someone. It hadn’t been anything serious, but you definitely hadn’t mentioned it to Satoru. Given his flair for the dramatic, he’d likely make a big deal out of it. How did he know you'd been out?

"Work," you said cautiously, watching his expression carefully. “Work,” he echoed, tilting his head as if considering your answer. “That’s it? No fun? No...extracurricular activities?”

“Extracurricular activities?”

“You know,” his tone light but his eyes pinning you, somewhat pouty. “Going out. Meeting people. Spending time with a special someone.”

Your stomach churned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He hummed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his damp hair falling into his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, senpai. You always have been.”

“I’m not lying,” you said firmly, feeling your palms clam up.

“Really?” He grinned, but there was no humor in it. “Then why is it that I heard you’ve been seeing someone?” Your heart skipped a beat. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter, is it true?” You hesitated for a moment too long. “It is, isn’t it?” his voice dropping.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said quickly, not sure why you felt the need to explain yourself. “It was just one date. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened? So you went out with someone and didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?” 

“Because I care about you,” he said, rising abruptly. “Because I thought we were close.”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean I owe you every detail of my personal life,” you shot back. He took a step closer, his damp shoes squeaking against the floor. “It’s not about owing me. It’s about the fact that you’re mine.”

Your eyes widened, stunned those words even fell out of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” his voice was trembling now—nervousness? borderline hysteria? Those possessive words had never spilled from his plush lips before, so you were left grappling with their sudden weight. “I’ve always been yours, senpai. And you’ve always been mine. We're best friends. We're the closest. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re mine.”

“Satoru, you’re being ridiculous,” you said, trying to step back, but he matched your movement, closing the distance.

“Am I?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and desperate. “You have no idea what it’s like. Having your best friend ignore you. Watching you go out with someone else. It’s killing me.”

Watching? “Satoru, you’re not thinking clearly—”

“I’ve never been more clear,” 

“Satoru.” Your mind raced, and you felt the need to put some distance between the two of you. Despite his obvious advantages in strength and size, he'd never given you reason to feel wary—until now. It felt like a mistake letting him into your home. “I...I think you should leave. We need some space, Satoru.” You couldn’t help but fold into yourself, the weight of the conversation draining you.

He paused, the room swallowed in a heavy silence. No words. No breaths. No footsteps. When you dared to look up, his face was crumpled, on the verge of tears. Surprising you even more.

"You’re...telling me to leave?" His voice came out softer than before, soothing yet tinged with desperation. "Why?"

Before you could muster an answer, he dropped to his knees in front of you, crawling closer as you backed up until you were pressed against the wall. He starred up at you, an urgency you've never seen from him before, pressing in on you. His hands gripped your waist tightly, his eyes—wide and pleading like a lost kicked puppy—locked onto yours.

"Please," he whispered, his gaze swimming with tears. tears. "Don’t make me leave. Don’t let someone else take you away from me. I’ll do anything. Just let me stay. Don't push me away."

"Satoru, get up," you said, your voice quivering, fingers trembling as you tried to push him away by pressing on his head. Yet, no matter how much you pushed, his hold remained firm, his strength undeniable. He was soaking the front of your clothes, and it felt very much like an overgrown puppy, coming in from outside.

"No," he murmured, burying his face against your stomach. "Not until you promise. Not until you say I can stay. Until you promise not to go out with anyone else."

“This is insane,” you managed, your hands unintentionally tangling in his soft, albeit wet hair. It was softer than you imagined. Focus—

He suddenly pulled you down with him, his grip unrelenting as you found yourself sinking to your knees in front of him. Now, he was so close, his face just inches from yours, towering over you, his expression a tangled web of desperation and a darker, unspoken plea. Your back was flush against the wall and you weren't sure what he was planning next.

"If you leave me," he said softly, his voice trembling, eyes wild and somewhat dazed. You weren't sure how space equated to you leaving him. You could see him frantically trying to piece the situation back together, the stakes seeming far more catastrophic than the words tumbling from his lips. "I'll make sure you regret it..." His confidence seemed to swell as he caught your wide-eyed stare, "You know I can-You know what I'm capable of."

Your blood ran cold. “Satoru...” a warning

"I don’t want to hurt you," he continued, tears now streaming down his face. He looked pathetic, begging there on his knees, letting out small hiccups with each terrifying sentence after the other. "But I can’t lose you. I can’t share you. Please, senpai. Just say yes. Tell me you won’t shut me out."

"Satoru, this is too much. You're overreacting. I just need some space—"

"Marry me." His eyes lost their frantic sheen, sharpening as they fixed on yours. His tone was firm, non-negotiable. "I’ll make you happy. I’ll give you everything.”

The rain outside roared, its sound blending with the rapid pounding of your heart. His request blindsided you, his words enveloping you, a suffocating, inescapable grip. He couldn't be serious. You two weren't even dating.

"Satoru, we aren't even dati—"

"That doesn't matter. I've always loved you. Even way back then. You've always been the only one on my mind." You gaped at him, stunned by the raw intensity of emotion from someone usually so untouchable. "I-I cant imagine being with anyone else, I need you." He whimpered, pushing into you like the overgrown puppy he was, overly excited to see their master. His head rested against your chest, looking up at you with a pout.

"I've been so good. I've waited so long. I-if anything, I deserve some praise." His words stumbled out, and there it was—the mighty Satoru Gojo, stuttering. He waited for a response, your mouth hanging open at the sheer audacity of this man. The whiplash hitting you quicker than the words. He looked so pitiful.

"P-please, please praise me," he said, a little more desperately, anxious under your flabbergasted stare.

You were definitely outmatched here. You've always had a soft spot for the blue-eyed sorcerer. It was one of the many reasons you gave him as much leeway as you did. As your hand gently came up to his hair, petting him, he practically purred under the touch, his eyes melting with affection. "I knew it."

"Satoru..." you began softly, and as if he could read your mind, knowing you were about to protest, he interrupted. "I'll do whatever you want. Be whoever you want."—"Sato—" "I'll buy you anything, we can go anywhere, live anywhere. I can support you, you won’t need to stay in this shitty apartment anymore—" "Wait a—" "I love you. I love you so much, I couldn’t stand that man touching you, please don’t ever do that again," his face twisted in pain at the mere thought. Your hands reached for his cheeks, gently coaxing his gaze back to you.

"Satoru, calm down." you tried to reason, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm not sure if jumping into a marriage is the best idea right now. We need to talk about this more," you insisted, trying to temper the urgency in his eyes. "A marriage isn't just a contract—it's a lifetime commitment. I'm not sure if we're ready for that yet. You haven't even asked me out yet-"

But Satoru was relentless, his desperation clear. "I've already drafted the papers," he confessed, his tone suggesting he’d been planning this for some time. "I can send a formal request to the higher-ups—whenever I want."

The threat remained unspoken yet unmistakable—a solid recommendation from him, the new head of the Gojo clan—in need of an heir, would be near impossible to refuse without severe consequences. The reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. It was as if it was already decided. But why you?

"Satoru, listen to me," you pleaded, searching for some sign of understanding in his intense gaze. "What do you think this marriage would be? What do you even want from this?"

"You," he answered quickly, eagerness palpable. "Ill give you a life where you don't have to worry about money or security. I can give you a house, anywhere you want. Paris, New York, Tokyo—you name it." he's hugging you tighter at each insistence. "Satoru—"

"Luxuries, travel, whatever you want—designer clothes, fancy cars... I'm going to spoil you rotten," he whispered, his voice dripping with certainty, as if it were all already fated to be, the only concern being what next. "And it's not just about the material things—I mean, I'll be there too. Always. Anytime you call, I'll be there."

"You can't do that, Satoru," you countered, feeling the walls closing in as he all but confirmed he would shirk his very important responsibilities if you so asked.

"I will, if its for you. Please, baby. please." You can't deny the way your heart picked up at the unfamiliar pet name. It sent your heart racing, and your cheeks flushed—a reaction he caught and savored, his eyes lighting up, his head tilted, giving him a perfect view of your pretty red cheeks. His grip on you seemed to trail, his hands rubbing your sides.

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" you questioned, your voice tinged with both disbelief and a creeping unease as Satoru nudged closer.

"Absolutely...my little wife," he murmured, his voice quivering with a concocted vulnerability as he slipped between your legs, still soaking wet. His presence was close, too close, his body heat mingling uncomfortably with yours. Your heart stutter again at the term.

"Satoru, that’s...that’s too much," you breathed out, feeling his hands settle on your hips, his grip firm yet gentle, as if claiming his place. He's pulling you impossibly closer, his hips between your own. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't turning you on, much to your own surprise. He was shocking you at every turn.

"Isn’t it better when it’s just the two of us?" he continued, his voice a needy whisper that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, lips brushing your skin with feather-like kisses that trailed up towards your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "No distractions, no one else around. Just me and...my sweet little wife."

His words were laden with possessive desire as he continued his trail of soft kisses, now accompanied by long wet licks that striped across your neck. Your arms found their way around his muscular neck, and your legs instinctively clenched at his sides. His words making you dizzy.

"Y-you think you can make decisions for both of us like that?" you attempted to steady your voice, but it wavered under his touch and the tender assault of his lips.

"’m just trying to secure our happiness together," he insisted, his voice a whisper against your skin, full of confidence—yet pleading. "I know you care about me, deep down. You wouldn’t want to see me hurt, would you, wife?"

Those big eyes begging for your approval, especially when he sensed you might push back. A lovesick puppy.

"Satoru, listen—we really need to talk about boundaries," you insisted, trying to anchor the conversation despite the intoxicating closeness and the persuasive touch of his lips, which fluttered dangerously along the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Boundaries," he repeated, his voice a soft whimper, contemplative, as if he was trying to wrap his mind around the concept. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips pausing as if savoring the very idea. "Okay, we can talk boundaries...as long as they include me being this close." His tone deepened, desperately straining as he pressed closer, grinding into your achy cunt. The soft groan that slipped from him vibrated against your neck, coaxing a surprised whimper from your lips—a sound sweeter than he had ever imagined.

His eyes locked onto yours, reveling in every reaction he elicited from you. Though you weren't married yet, your body seemed to resonate perfectly with his touch, as if it knew him well. The marriage contract had been prepared long in advance, drafted the moment he graduated high school. He had always known you were the one for him. You were, in his eyes, made for him.

He didn't ease up, grinding his length into your clothed pussy, clawing out any reactions he could get, and feeding you his own. And lord was this man vocal.

You wouldn't have believed it if anyone told you—Satoru Gojo, revered as the strongest sorcerer of his generation, the prestigious heir to the Gojo clan, and the youngest prodigy to grace the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, reduced to a puddle of neediness. The type of man that screams top energy, is now rutting against you faster now—helplessly, a begging mess, calling you his "little wife" in a breathy, lovesick plea, so so desperate and clingy.

But you couldn't say anything about it, your leaky pussy was proof enough that you were no better. And the fact that you were so adamant that you weren't interested only moments ago only served to feed his ego.

"What boundaries did my little wife want to set?" His voice confident-damn near arrogantly possessive, as he all but solidified his hold over you, only for you to squirm under his words. He didn't seem to like that as he bit down on your collarbone, earning a sharp gasp from your panting lips.

Before you could wrap your head around the question, he pushed your legs up to your chest, thick fingers digging into the squish of your thighs, instantly knocking the air from your lungs. A mean mating press, and all he needed now was to fuck into you like he meant it. "Satoru—ha—hang on."

But oh-no he wasn't about to hang on, his hips delivered another punishing thrust in between your spread legs, leaving you stuttering out. Your hands that had been wrapped around his neck were now biting into the unfairly smooth expanse of his broad shoulders, leaving behind marks that would surely leave people staring.

Leaning close, his breath hot against your ear, he whispered, a shiver tracing down your spine, crunched up beneath him, "What was my little wife so worried about?" Your eyes proved to him that you were already gone, smothered by his thrusts, and if he were to remove your shorts, you were sure you'd be leaking a pool onto the floor. He cooed softly, his voice a mix of teasing and assurance, "I'll be a good boy. Now tell me, haah—what boundaries did you want to set?"

Beneath him, you trembled, each of your senses heightened by his proximity and the sheer intensity of his gaze, which now swept over you, taking in every reaction before meeting your eyes with a piercing look. "C'mon, pretty girl, tell me, tellme. tellme—" he urged, punctuating each plea with another deep thrust against your clothed cunt.

“Satoru—please—” you managed between labored breaths, each word as shaky as your body.

“Ooh! Hang on—I've got one—" You could feel his breath on your neck, voice dipping a more taunting note. "how about remaining faithful," His grip on you was aggressive and domineering, yet his tone carried a playful lilt. "See, now that's an easy one," You couldn't stop the whimper that rolled from your lips, each thrust forward sent a sharp press into your clit.

You couldn't make a solid thought if your life depended on it. The room spun a little, your mind foggy with need. You felt dangerously close to agreeing to just about anything he proposed, just to keep him moving.

"S-Satoru, please, don't stop," shameless. absolutely shameless.

“Haah, oh—my sweet little wife—‘m just trying to have a conversation—” He groaned as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, a raw, primal groan rips out, sending shivers down your spine. “Aah, a conversation you wanted. So tell me what I can do for you.”

You can't move an inch as he slows his momentum down, leaving you reeling. You're panicking at the loss, eyes shooting wide as he firmly presses into you. "Or maybe," You felt the heat of his cock pressed against you, "how about a boundary that ensures every day starts with you under me like this?" Satoru's voice was husky, almost choked with his own arousal as he maintained that exasperatingly slow grind, each movement calculated to keep you right on the edge.

You couldn't muster a response, your mind was too clouded with the intoxicating blend of pleasure and frustration, gripping at him to keep going. His smirk was audible in his voice as he continued. "Hmm, not enough? What about...we never sleep apart, huh? Always tangled up like this—sounds perfect, right, wifey? Or do you prefer senpai?"

You felt yourself clench around nothing as you let out a string of needy huffs, eyes drunken, intoxicated on his heat. "And I think," he paused, his breath against your ear, "we should always say goodnight like this...no...we should always say goodnight with me deep inside this pretty pussy, claiming you as mine over and over. No more goodnights through phone screens, just this—"

One hand trails down between your legs, drifting across your sorely sensitive skin, before reaching the warmth beneath your shorts. You feel yourself buck up, but his grip on your other thigh has you restrained. He glides his large fingers along the edges, before dipping into under the fabric, finding his salvation, immediately. "Ahh-shit, you're soaked, baby," His voice was dense with pleasure, a hint of awe, a mix of wonder and satisfaction.

"Do these boundaries work for you?" he teased, fully aware that you were beyond the point of coherent speech, your responses physical, instinctive—your body arching towards him, desperately seeking to close the gap he controlled so teasingly.

His laughter, low and satisfied, resonated through the charged air between you, feeling as tangible as another stroke of his fingers. "I’ll take that as a yes," he murmured before finally relenting to the desperate pace your body craved, driving his fingers into you with a fervor that wiped all thoughts but his name from your mind.

Stretching, and so so thick, yet you so desperately craved for his fingers to curl into your sweet spot, your mewls and moans saturating the air, the debauched sounds from your leaky cunt dragging his eyes to watch as your juices coated his hand.

His eyes were locked on your squirming, messy form. Noticing every movement, learning and adapting his thrust to the motions that drew the most from you. Once he hit that sweet spot, you were out.

To him—this was a dream. A fantasy he'd always had, way back when he first met you.

Now you were soaking your shorts, so he did what any good husband would do and took them off of you. He marveled at the sight of your pretty cunt, glistening, slick pooling from you at a rapid pace. Calling to him. You looked so fucking tasty.

But he wanted more. So much more.

He wanted to fill his pretty little wife, full. Withdrawing his fingers (earning him a small growl from you), he pressed his hips forward, the fabric of his clothes barely containing him as he rubbed against you, his need clear and urgent. His fingers, dipping into his mouth, your taste dissolving onto his tongue, he moaned—"Baby, can I fill you up?" begging, voice guttural, raw, groveling, as he pulled himself free from the confines of his pants, stroking himself with a single hand. You strained to look at him, your legs blocking your view, but when you caught sight of it you nearly drooled. His plea was nothing short of a godsend at this moment, everything you were wanting and more, and that cock looked more than fucking delicious. Big and thick enough to rock your shit.

"Please, please I want more,—ngh—'

He lined himself up at your entrance, poking his fat tip an inch past your slit. The stretch was already a bit much, you really hadn't gotten much action, recently. Toys never cut it.

And just that tip had Satoru's mouth dropping open as he slid himself further, watching the magic act that was his disappearing cock into your tight heat. You deliriously blubbered incomprehensible sounds, begging to be filled, but he seemed so happy with taking his sweet time, savoring every second—every inch.

Once you were completely filled, he stilled for a moment, wearing you like a little cockwarmer, the stretch made you feral as you continue clawing his forearms, pathetically, words dripping from your lips frantically asking bawling at him to go faster.

"Ah, you take me so well." He hissed out, starring down at you with an almost obsessive gaze. "Gimme a second, baby, I needa minute, shit-s'feels sooooo good." He slouches into you, body shaky.

Your breathing is unsteady as he presses into the back of your cervix, poking through your belly. "Ah y'know, you're my first baby, saved myself all for you. All for this moment—" His words slewed together in a stupor, bucking slightly into you. Your eyes widen as you're about to comment, but he stops you with one quick ram of his hips, your head lolling back, mouth dangling open. The dude's fucking huge, hot as all hell, and you're the one who popped his cherry?

You feed into each other as he picks up his pace, clinging to you like a second skin, hips ramming into you with a speed that seemed unreal. Each thrust splitting you open like the very first, you just couldn't get used to him. He moans loudly into your ear, breathing becoming more and more labored as he reaches down to play with your clit.

"A-Ah shit—fuck, I'm gonna cum," his voice frustrated, wanting to last all night with you, but your tight cunt deemed otherwise. His fingers dug deeper into your skin, large welts already forming, "shit-shit, aah fuuuuckk-" spilling his load deep inside your womb, head pulled back, blissed out, twitching into you.

You can't help the way your mind stills, he pumped you full—theres so much, that his gooey cum spills out around the edges, trailing down between your crack, "aah shit baby." He seemed embarrassed, a flushed look on his face as he looked away and back shyly.

He thrust back in, his eyes locked on the way his cum oozed out around him, letting out his own whine. Your breathing stutters when he pushed back inside, your abused cervix aching. You hadn't cum, but damn were you close, and damn if you weren't sore. He rubs your nub again, feeling you clench around him, letting out a hiss, clearly overstimulated.

"You're losin' so much, wifey, how're you ever gonna be full when you're so wasteful," his eyes never leave your cunt, as he swirls his thumb over your clit, as you're left clawing to get away from him, the obsessed focus on your clit just too much. But you're still pinned. And he's still not done yet.

"S'ok baby, 'll give you more, yea?" He's mumbling the words, lost in the meal spread out in front of him. "Want you to cum all over my cock this time. Think you can do that for me?" He doesn't wait for a response as he's hardening up once again, and you think his stamina is fucking impeccable. His own words, nasty for a beginner, but only serving to egg him on.

Once again he's picking back the brutal pace, his cum mixing with the thin pool of your syrupy slick, the loud squelches back in full force. He's lost again, his head buried in your neck now, leaving large dark purple hickies, a hand clenching that back of your neck, devouring you like a fucking rotisserie chicken. You do him one better, your claws sinking deep into his back, each thrust blanking your mind as his fingers continue at your clit.

He angles his dick upwards—just slightly, grazing that upper spot that has you seeing stars, you're pants come out frantic now, pussy clamping, so so close to release. "Cum for me baby? Gonna coat this cock? Mark me up, baby—mark up your husband—" His words have you finishing, an electric current zapping through you, leaving you lit like a live wire. His fingers are punishing, a reminder of his words, his words a reminder of your place in his life, and you find yourself over-satiated.

Squirming to get him to stop, then begging when it he ignored it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, his thrusts seeking his second release into your tight little pussy, your little begs only speeding him up as he let out another guttural moan, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, no doubt breaking skin. His cum, hot, burning—as you gushed around him, your pussy pulsating at every movement. His heaving never let up as he kept himself buried deep inside of you.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

come home

[sunshyni]

— my oh my. Johnny Suh

A leaked message stating the obvious about Johnny was enough for you to finally have him.

johnny x Reader | Fluff but suggestive 🤭 | w.c: 1k

— Oh my God, those jeans are killer — Jaehyun started, practically squirming on the couch in the living room of the frat house where he, Johnny, Doyoung, and a few other guys lived. It was crazy how magnetic your presence was; every eye in the room turned to you when you walked in, like it was automatic. — What's her deal, huh?

— Aww, are you like this ‘cause she turned you down? — Johnny asked, sipping a beer and watching you, not like a creep, just admiring. You really were stunning, not only in looks but in brains, too. You worked part-time at a luxury store at the airport and were always looking flawless, though Johnny figured you’d still look flawless even with messy hair.

— Go on, alright? Everyone knows she’s into you, lover boy — Jaehyun pouted, which made Johnny grin and pinch his cheek like he was a little kid; with that look, he actually did look like a baby.

— Don’t play the victim. You’ll have plenty of girls chasing you — he rolled his eyes, and Johnny gave him a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder, then walked over to you, touching your waist softly when he reached you, his hand brushing against your soft skin peeking out from your crop top. — Hey.

— Hey — you practically choked out. Johnny grinned, leaving you a bit speechless. Your natural hair and the low-rise jeans you wore made you look absolutely perfect, but the blush on your cheeks, even before you’d had a drink, gave you an angelic vibe Johnny found himself totally obsessed with.

— You were amazing in the seminar today — he had to say something. You knew that now everyone knew about your crush on him, thanks to that accidentally leaked message to the whole school. It wasn’t anything sexual, but it did make him sound like some Greek god, which Johnny found funny and cute, even if he was already confident in himself. It was the first time someone had complimented him like that.

— Ah, I had to take a shot just before it started so I wouldn’t stammer — you admitted, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands. How close were two people supposed to be when they weren’t actually a thing? Because right now, you felt incredibly close to him and wanted to laugh nervously. — John… about those messages, I didn’t mean…

— Nuzzle your face in my chest? You can do that — you couldn’t help it and laughed, covering your face with your hands like a shy little girl. You’d vented to the wrong person, that was clear, or your messages wouldn’t have been leaked, but everyone agreed with your words, including Johnny himself. He held you, guiding you back until your back met the wall. — What else do you want to do that you didn’t describe in those messages?

— Should I say it? — you smiled playfully, and Johnny smiled back, hooking a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, pulling you closer. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was the green light you gave for him to touch you, but he pulled you a bit closer by the waistband and leaned down to kiss your neck, licking the skin, sucking, and lightly grazing his teeth.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips before you realized. You definitely loved flirting, touches, and making out; you’d never gone all the way, and you felt nervous about how skilled Johnny seemed to be with his mouth, his hands, his whole body, honestly.

— I’ve been wanting to get close to you for a while but always thought you were kinda untouchable — Johnny admitted against your skin, and you practically burst at his confession. You had a confident air, like you didn’t care about anyone’s opinion, but all you wanted was for Johnny to feel the same way.

— Maybe for other guys… but not for you — you said with a smile, and Johnny moved even closer, kissing your cheek, the corner of your lips, but never quite reaching where you wanted. He was teasing, and you knew it from the little smirk he’d flash between a firm squeeze and a soft press of his lips against your skin. — Oh, for heaven’s sake, John.

You grabbed his silver chain that peeked out from his shirt, pulled it free, and kissed him, hard, filled with want, like you were devouring each other against the wall near the frat house door. Johnny tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled back gently, letting you catch your breath, both of you breathing heavily.

— Come on — he said, taking your hand and leading you up the stairs. You followed, weaving past people with drinks in hand, bumping into a few on the way. Johnny opened his room door, which he likely shared with another guy, given the second bed on the right side.

It looked like a typical high school guy’s room, which was kind of cute. Johnny had a shelf full of comics, and his room had its own bathroom; on the doorframe, there was a pull-up bar you couldn’t help but admire, picturing the sight of a shirtless Johnny using it. You felt like a little girl, and maybe, with him, that’s exactly what you were.

— Astroboy? — you asked, playing with a little figurine on his shelf.

— It suits me, doesn’t it?

— Definitely, you’re a star.

You smiled, watching him sitting on the single bed, then followed, sitting across from him, kissing him slowly, your hands exploring his chest with calm. Somehow, Johnny got you to wrap your legs around his waist, and you had to kick off your shoes in the process, which made him chuckle against your lips. Johnny caressed your back as his mouth explored your neck, kissing your skin so delicately it felt like his lips were velvet.

— Johnny… — you began, and he immediately met your gaze. — Hold on, it’s all good. It’s just that… I’ve never…

— Never? — he knew exactly what you meant.

— Only once, almost… but I freaked out, and… — Johnny left a soft kiss on your forehead.

— It’s okay; we don’t have to do anything tonight.

— But I love making out — you said, pressing your bodies even closer, and Johnny grinned, thinking you were way too perfect to be real.

— Me too. So much.

@sunshyni. All rights reserved.

[slutty4jk]

KISS ME! | JJK › TEASER/PREVIEW

Summary: You and Jungkook have known each other your whole lives. Childhood best friends turned almost something more. He’s charming, popular, and scared of commitment. You’re ambitious, guarded, and tired of being a maybe.

After one kiss changes everything, you realize wanting him isn’t enough if he won’t choose you back. But walking away is easier said than done.

University brings distance, jealousy, and new people. You’re ready to move on. He’s finally starting to realize he can’t. Not when it’s always been you.

pairing: childhoodbestfriend!jungkook x (fem) reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, kinda toxic but delicious, mutual pining, fluff & eventual smut

rating: 18+ (mdni!!)

warnings: emotional whiplash, jealousy, possessive behavior, fear of commitment, unresolved tension, mutual obsession, brief mentions of sex, hurt/comfort, pining, lots of yearning

A/N: WHEW! Here’s a teaser for my upcoming Jungkook fic and I’m sooo excited (and nervous lol). This little preview gives you a taste of what’s coming in Part One. It’s the only part getting a teaser btw, so enjoy it while it lasts 😭 I honestly don’t know if anyone will read this but if you do, let me know what you think!! – Ivy ₍^. .^₎⟆

please like, reblog and follow for more!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

KISSME!MOODBOARD | KISSME!PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST ⭑.ᐟ

TEASER/PREVIEW FOR PART 1

(ONE YEAR AGO)

you hadn’t seen him in months. not really. not since the daily texts stopped. not since life started pulling you both in different directions.

you were the girl in the pressed uniform with a schedule full of deadlines and essays. he was the boy who showed up to class late, hair a mess, stories on his tongue like he lived in a different world entirely. and maybe he did.

so when jungkook invited you to a house party, it caught you off guard. you thought maybe it meant something. that maybe he missed you too.

you spent an hour getting ready, slipping into your pale pink dress, smoothing down your hair, hoping he’d notice. hoping he’d say something.

he didn’t. he barely even looked at you.

and when you found him later, it was with another girl already wrapped around him, her hands in his hair, his mouth on hers like they were the only two people in the room. it stung. more than you thought it would.

you stood alone by the drinks table, sipping a coke zero to drown the lump in your throat, pretending you didn’t care, even though your chest was burning.

you went outside for air. for silence. for space.

and then eunwoo showed up.

he was easy to talk to. a little cocky, a little too smooth, but kind in a way that didn’t feel fake. he asked your name. he noticed your shoes. he said you were pretty and didn’t laugh after.

and when he kissed you, you let him. maybe you wanted to feel wanted. maybe you just wanted to forget.

what you didn’t know was that there was a bet. that his friends were watching. that they had put cash down to see if he could get you to fall for it.

you didn’t know until jungkook stepped outside and saw it all. you didn’t see his fists clench. you didn’t see his jaw tighten. you didn’t know you were his until you weren’t anymore.

he told you to leave.

you fought him on it. angry, confused, hurt. you threw the same words back at him that had been stuck in your chest all night. you asked why he brought you if he never planned to talk to you.

he didn’t have an answer.

but then he kissed you.

and it was different. not gentle. not patient. just honest. like he’d finally remembered who you were, who you’d always been. like he hated himself for forgetting.

you kissed him back. you shouldn’t have, but you did.

and later, in the backseat of his car, you let him in for the first time. not just your body, but your heart. the part of you that had waited years for him to see you again.

and for one fragile moment, you thought maybe he did. maybe this time he’d stay.

KISS ME! Coming soon on July 5th. 💋