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daxisyzz · 29 days ago

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Lost for words

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Bucky can't keep his hands to himself while your on a call with Yelena, wanting all your attention, making you lose your focus.

Based off this prompt from Pinterest

Word count: 3.1k+ (I kinda got too into it lol)

Warnings and tags: Clingy Bucky, he's a menace, Yelena mentioned (bestfriend), neck kisses, more kisses, Bucky is basically touch starved, cute relationship dynamics, Bucky can't keep his hands off of you.

A/n: this is my little treat for my 100 followers milestone. Thank you guys!! Enjoy the fic!!

Love you guys <3

Ps. Go read chapter 1 of my new series Business Proposal ♡

Also requests are open.. feel free to send 'em.!!

You liked to think of your apartment as a sanctuary. Sure, the walls were a little thin, and the paint on the windowsill was starting to peel, but it was yours. A cozy home that smelled of vanilla-scented candles, fresh laundry, and the faint aroma of Bucky’s cologne that seemed to linger everywhere these days.

Most days, Bucky Barnes, your sometimes frustrating, always handsome boyfriend—respected that sense of peace. After all, you’d established a routine of sorts: quiet mornings sipping coffee together, mid-day breaks where he’d slip away for a run or to tinker with something mechanical in the spare room, and lazy evenings spent on the couch binge-watching the latest Netflix series.

But today, it seemed, he had other ideas. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, your phone pressed to your ear, talking to Yelena Belova—your best friend, occasional partner-in-crime, and the only person who could drag you into the most unexpected of situations. Today’s phone call was nothing dramatic, though. She was simply updating you on her day, complaining about a near-disastrous grocery trip, while you nodded and made little sounds of sympathy at all the right times.

It started out innocently enough: Bucky roaming into the kitchen, glancing your way, flashing you a quick grin. You raised your eyebrows in greeting, mouthing I’m on the phone, which typically was code for don’t do anything weird. He gave a small salute, as if to say Understood, ma’am, and disappeared around the corner.

But then, just as Yelena began launching into a story about the horrors of supermarket lines and fighting an old lady for pickles, you felt the faintest brush of warmth at your back. At first, you thought you were imagining it. You continued listening, your phone tucked snugly against your ear. But then a hand—large, warm, and far too confident, settled on your hip. You startled, nearly dropping the phone in surprise.

“Bucky,” you whispered, craning your neck to look at him. He was standing behind you, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “I’m on the phone,” you mouthed.

He only grinned in response, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His voice, when he leaned in, was barely above a murmur. “I know.”

You shot him a pointed glare, one that said Behave yourself. But Bucky, of course, had never been particularly good at following that order.

Yelena’s voice in your ear continued, completely unaware. “So anyway, the cashier looked at me like I was some kind of weirdo for buying that much hot sauce. But it’s not my fault the best brand was on sale—are you even listening?”

“Yes,” you managed, voice slightly strained, “I’m listening. Sorry, I just—”

Bucky took that moment to press closer, his chest aligning perfectly with your back. The warmth of him was impossible to ignore. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, a barely-there touch that sent a chill of awareness down your spine. The phone nearly slipped from your fingers.

“Everything okay?” Yelena asked, clearly catching the odd shift in your tone.

“Fine,” you said too quickly. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force yourself to focus. “Just, uh… I spilled something. Go on.”

You felt, rather heard Bucky’s chuckle against you. His arms slid around your waist, locking you in place. Slowly, he lowered his head to the crook of your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. It was so light you might have imagined it—if not for the way your entire body tingled in response.

You could practically hear Yelena’s eyebrow arching on the other end of the line. “You sure you’re not busy? I can let you go if you’re… preoccupied.”

��No, no,” you insisted, ignoring Bucky’s soft hum of amusement. “I’m not preoccupied. Really, I’m—” You sucked in a sharp breath as Bucky’s lips dragged across your skin, teasingly slow. “I’m good,” you finished, sounding decidedly not good.

Bucky was a menace. You realized that with startling clarity. He was enjoying every second of this, too—the way your breath hitched, the way your shoulders stiffened when he kissed just behind your ear. If he’d come in loud and obvious, you could have pushed him away, shot him a glare, or at least excused yourself from the call. But this was worse. He was stealthy, methodical, lulling you into a trap with that soft voice, gentle kisses, and the faint scrape of his stubble against your neck.

And oh, you were definitely trapped.

“Let me guess,” Yelena said, suspicion in her tone, “Bucky’s there, isn’t he?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Bucky took advantage of your silence, kissing a trail from the base of your neck up toward your jaw, each press of his lips making your heart pound harder.

"Uh,” you managed, “maybe.”

Yelena barked a laugh. “That’s a yes. Put me on speaker. I want to say hi.”

You stared at Bucky, who gave you a quizzical tilt of his head, as if to say What’s she saying? For a second, you debated whether or not to do as Yelena asked. If you put the call on speaker, she’d hear every little sound: the rustle of Bucky’s clothes against yours, the husky laughter you were certain would spill from his lips at any moment. But you couldn’t exactly refuse her, not without raising even more suspicion.

Reluctantly, you tapped the speaker icon. “Yelena, you’re on speaker,” you said, trying to sound composed. It was a losing battle.

“Barnes,” Yelena said, her tone mocking, “are you bothering my best friend again?”

Bucky cleared his throat. You felt the rumble of it against your back. “I wouldn’t call it bothering,” he said. His voice was low, smooth as silk. “I’m just showing her a little attention.”

You could practically see Yelena rolling her eyes. “She’s on the phone, you know. With me. Some people might say that’s rude.”

Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Rude, maybe,” he allowed, “but she’s been ignoring me all day. I had to get her attention somehow.”

You wanted to defend yourself, but the words lodged in your throat as Bucky nuzzled against the side of your neck again. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Yelena said, her amusement obvious. “You’re tormenting her.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin. “Torment’s a strong word.”

“That’s because it is torment,” you finally managed, your voice shaky. “He’s being insufferable.”

Bucky hummed. “You don’t sound too unhappy about it, doll.”

You could hear Yelena snort. “I’ll let you two figure this out. Call me back when Barnes isn’t acting like a cat in heat.”

You tried not to laugh, but the giggle bubbled up anyway, half from the absurdity of the situation, half from your own flustered state. “Okay, okay. Talk to you later.”

The moment you hung up, Bucky wasted no time. He spun you around in his arms so that you were facing him, your phone clutched tightly in one hand. He wore a cocky grin that made you want to kiss him and slap that grin away, all at once.

“You have the worst timing,” you scolded, although your voice trembled with laughter.

He shrugged, not the least bit repentant. “You looked too adorable not to bother.”

You tried to arch an eyebrow in disapproval, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not when Bucky was looking at you like that, with those soft eyes and that infuriatingly handsome smirk. “I was on the phone.”

He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “I noticed.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” you grumbled, but you didn’t pull away when he ducked his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

His hands settled on your hips, drawing you closer. “I learned from the best.”

Despite yourself, you melted into the kiss, letting the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips chase away your frustration. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long. Not when he kissed you like he was savoring every second.

When you finally pulled away, you were breathless. “I swear, you’re worse than Yelena sometimes.”

He laughed. “High praise.”

You tried to scowl, but the affection in his gaze made it impossible. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He pressed a playful kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’ll take it.”

Later, you found yourself curled up on the couch, scrolling through messages on your phone. Yelena had sent a few texts, each more teasing than the last. You alive? Surviving Barnes’s torment? You typed back a quick reply: Barely. But yes. Thanks for leaving me high and dry.

Bucky appeared in the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. “Need any help fending off Yelena’s jokes?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the one who gave her ammunition.”

He smirked, coming over to flop onto the couch beside you. “True. But I’m also the one who can help you forget about it.”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “How exactly?”He reached out, plucking your phone from your hand. “By stealing your phone, for starters.” He tossed it onto the coffee table, far out of reach.

“Bucky!” You reached for it, but he caught your wrist, tugging you closer until you fell against his chest.

“You work too hard,” he said, settling you against him. “And you spend too much time on your phone. I’m just making sure you take a break.”

You snorted. “A break from Yelena’s teasing, or from your own mischief?”

He shrugged, running a hand up and down your arm. “Maybe both. Besides, I like having your full attention.”

“You had it in the kitchen,” you pointed out. “Remember? You nearly made me drop the phone.”

His smile widened, and you felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he laughed. “That was different. Now you can actually enjoy it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his fingers slid beneath your chin, guiding you into a kiss. It was slow, deep, and achingly sweet, every bit of teasing replaced by genuine warmth. Your annoyance melted away, replaced by a comfortable haze that made you forget anything beyond the two of you.

When you finally broke apart, he traced a thumb across your cheek. “I’m sorry if I bothered you,” he said softly, though there was still a playful glint in his eyes. “You know I can’t help it sometimes.”

You brushed your lips over his knuckles. “I know. And… I don’t actually mind.”

His grin turned lopsided. “You say that now, but wait until next time.”

You let out a mock groan, shoving him lightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Never,” he promised, though the twinkle in his gaze suggested otherwise.

A little while later, you found yourself in the kitchen again, rinsing dishes from a late lunch. Bucky hovered nearby, drying each plate you handed him. The domestic routine was soothing—until he decided to nudge you with his hip, nearly making you drop a fork.

“Seriously?” You glared at him, though you struggled to keep a straight face.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “My hand slipped.”

You snorted. “Sure it did.”

He set the plate aside, then stepped closer, the warmth of his body pressing against your back. You felt his breath on your neck again, and your heart kicked up a notch, recalling how he’d distracted you earlier. His lips grazed your ear.

“You’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he murmured.

“Funny,” you replied, fighting a grin, “I was thinking you’re adorable when you’re not annoying me.”

He laughed quietly, nuzzling into your hair. “You still love me.”

With a soft sigh, you turned in his arms, letting the water run. “I do,” you admitted, resting your hands on his shoulders. “But you have to promise not to sabotage any more phone calls.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can promise to try.”

You knew that was the best you’d get. Rolling your eyes, you leaned in to kiss him, the warm press of his lips sending a pleasant hum through your body.

A sudden buzz echoed in the kitchen, and you both turned to see your phone vibrating on the counter. Yelena’s name flashed across the screen. Bucky grinned, lifting a brow. “Round two?”

You huffed, reaching for the phone. “Don’t you dare.”

He put his hands up in surrender, stepping aside with an exaggerated show of good behavior. You picked up the call, putting it on speaker before you could change your mind.

Yelena’s voice came through loud and clear. “Hey, troublemaker. You done making out with Barnes?”

Your cheeks flamed. “That was quick. And you’re the troublemaker.”

“Details, details,” she quipped. “Anyway, I was thinking about that recipe I mentioned earlier—”

“Oh, right. The spicy pickle challenge,” you said, glad to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

“Exactly. I need your help. I can’t figure out if I should make them into some kind of hot sauce, or if I should try a marinade. But I need to test it on someone who’s not me. You in?”

You glanced at Bucky, who mouthed, Absolutely not. Smirking, you replied, “Sure, why not?”

Yelena laughed. “Perfect. I’ll text you the details. And by the way, I’m bringing extra pickles so no old ladies can steal them from me.”

Bucky cleared his throat, stepping closer to the phone. “You’re not going to drag her into any fights, are you?”

“No promises,” Yelena shot back, then paused. “You being nice to her, Barnes? Or do I need to show up and save her?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to you, a playful challenge in his eyes. “She doesn’t need rescuing from me.”

You decided to intervene before Yelena got any ideas. “Alright, enough bickering. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Fine,” she replied with a dramatic sigh. “But if he bugs you again, you call me.”

“Will do,” you said, rolling your eyes affectionately.

The call ended, and you braced yourself for another round of teasing, but Bucky just slipped his arms around your waist, looking surprisingly thoughtful. You looped your arms around his neck.

“You know,” he murmured, “I like seeing you happy. Even if it means occasionally getting on your nerves.” A warm flush spread through you. There was that sincerity again, the undercurrent of genuine care that anchored all his playful chaos. “You make me happy,” you said softly.

He brushed a stray hair from your face. “Good.”

That evening, you and Bucky ventured out for a walk. The late sunlight gilded the buildings, and a gentle breeze ruffled your hair. With your hands intertwined, the two of you wandered the streets, content to let the conversation flow.

He told you about his latest hobby—fixing up an old motorcycle he’d found cheap online—and you filled him in on Yelena’s plan to experiment with spicy recipes. Every so often, he’d nudge your shoulder or lean in to press a quick kiss to your temple, as if he couldn’t go too long without touching you.

Eventually, you ducked into a small corner café that you both loved. You ordered dessert first, justifying it with a laugh: “Life’s too short not to have cake for dinner.” Bucky agreed wholeheartedly, paying for your order and guiding you to a cozy table by the window.

Once seated, he studied you from across the table, fingers drumming idly on the surface. “So,” he said, “am I forgiven for earlier?”

You tilted your head. “I don’t know. You did cause me a lot of embarrassment in front of Yelena.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling. “Try it and see.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice that made your heart flutter. “For distracting you while you were on the phone.”

Your smile widened. “And?"

He reached across the table to take your hand. “And for enjoying it so much.”

You squeezed his hand, unable to keep the fondness out of your eyes. “Apology accepted, menace.”

The café door chimed, and a few more customers wandered in. You sipped your drink, relaxing in the warm atmosphere. Bucky kept your hand in his, occasionally rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

When your cake arrived, you split it, laughing as he stole the larger piece. He offered you a bite from his fork in apology, and you leaned forward, letting him feed you.

“Good?” he asked, eyes bright.

“Delicious,” you managed, savoring the sweetness.

He watched you with open admiration. “I like seeing you happy,” he repeated again, his voice softer now.

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “I’m happy because I’m with you.”

He held your gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away. You saw the man beneath the mischief—the one who cared so deeply, who’d learned to laugh again despite the shadows of his past.

“You know,” he said, clearing his throat, “I never thought I’d have this. Someone to tease, someone who gives it right back. Someone whom i could becso free with.”

Your heart clenched with affection. “And now you do.”

He nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Now I do.”

When you finally left the café, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dusky blues and pinks. Bucky’s arm looped around your waist as you headed home, the city lights flickering on around you.

You strolled in comfortable silence until you reached your apartment. Once inside, you both kicked off your shoes and made a beeline for the couch. He settled in first, patting the cushion beside him in invitation.

“Come here,” he said, and you sank down, letting him pull you into his side.

He grabbed the remote, but instead of changing the broadcast, he clicked it off. The apartment went quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic through the window. You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling his steady breath.

After a moment, he turned to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For this. For us.”

You smiled into his shirt. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

He tilted your chin up so you could meet his gaze. “I want to,” he said, and the quiet sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten with emotion.

You reached up, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Well, you’re welcome, then.”

He bent down, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt like a promise—of laughter, of mischief, of all the little moments that made up a life together. You let yourself sink into it, letting the warmth of his body and the softness of his mouth fill your senses.

Eventually, you both pulled back, breathless. He smoothed a hand over your hair, cradling you against him. “We should do something fun tomorrow,” he said. “Before you go help Yelena with her spicy pickles.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer. “Sure. But only if you behave the next time I’m on the phone.”

His laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’ll do my best, doll.” You didn’t quite believe him—but then again, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In the end, Bucky was a whirlwind of affection and playfulness, and though you sometimes pretended to protest, you secretly relished every teasing moment. Because beneath the jokes and the stolen kisses, there was a profound sense of belonging that tied you together.

As the evening came by, you drifted off in his arms, content and warm. The memory of his soft laughter echoed in your mind, reminding you that even when he was a menace, he was yours—and you were his. And that was all that mattered.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #marvel fanfiction #yelena belova #love language #physical touch #avengers #established relationship #bucky barnes fanfiction

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naniwatig3r · 3 months ago

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CONTOUR LINES (18+)

Mingyu x artstudent!Femreader

Summary: You’ve finally broken up with your boyfriend Mingyu. Ignoring him has been hard, but you were finally at peace. But he had other plans, as he shows up to the figure drawing class you T.A…. And as the model.

Warnings: Unexplained breakup (im lazy lol), angst, cute fluff sometimes, art school stress, public nudity, public unprotected penetrative sex (no one is around though!), quickie

a/n: this was a idea i got while messing around with my friend who has a thing for mingyu, lol.

Word count: uhhh, around 7k ? I can’t remember 😅

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Another miss call.

Great, you thought, the tenth missed call from your ex boyfriend Mingyu this week.

It’s been about a month since you broke up with your ex, Kim Mingyu. It was an odd pairing in the first place. You met him coincidentally in the quad the beginning of the year, as you sat at the edge of the school fountain. Your sketchbook open, as you drew the scenery and people around you. A normal activity you did as an arts student.

You were clearly in the zone, drawing the fold in a random college student’s arm, before a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Whoa, you can draw.”

Your eyes snap up, seeing a towering figure, completely blocking your view. No shit, you thought.

“Yeah, I guess.” You say plainly, hoping your short answer would deter this guy. But then the sunlight is back on the page you’re drawing, and you feel his warm presence sit right next to you. Maybe he’s just sitting down to sit down, so you try and finish your life drawing of the current student, but they were gone. Probably going to their next class.

Huffing, you still for a moment to put your pencil down.

“I wish I could draw like that,” You hear, as you glance to your side. Furrowing your eyebrows in irritation as the man leans over to stare directly into your sketchbook. “You’re a really good drawer.” He says in awe.

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” You say curtly, as he continues to stare at your sketches like he’s at a museum. These sketches were nothing compared to a Degas or something, yet he stared at them like it was, his brown eyes flickering around in interest.

He clears his throat, as he looks up to meet your eyes. He smiles, a toothy one where you notice how sharp his canines were. Cute.

He pulls his sleeve up from his wrist to his elbow, holding his large hand out, “Mingyu. Kim Mingyu.” He says, introducing himself. You nod, reluctantly shaking his hand, his grip tight and strong.

“Y/n.” You say back shortly, eyeing him, wondering how long this tall man was going to bother you.

He lets go of your hand, as he adjusts his position to turn more towards you. One leg over the other, leaning forward. His bangs falling so perfectly across his eyebrow, that it made you narrow your eyes. It’s crazy, people like this seriously exist huh?

“Do you do art or something?” No shit.

You nod, “Yeah, I’m a fine arts major.” You respond, giving him a strained polite smile. It felt like you had to, the way this guy has been beaming at you like a puppy as you give the driest replies.

He grins, “Whoa, no way. Thats cool,” He praises, “I’m—“

The rest of the meet cute didn’t matter.

After this, you kept bumping into him, coincidence you thought at first, but thinking back… he had no reason to be near the art school area of the campus.

He always asked to see your sketchbook, or whatever was in your portfolio folder as you tried to get to your studio. Even helping you carry your supplies and folders inside, and once he learned where you worked he came with iced coffee when he could.

At 3 am, he’d lay on the floor of your messy studio, watching you as you mix another color on your palette. Your sweatshirt pushed to your elbows, paint on your hands and face as you work on the gigantic canvas for your final.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” You say a bit softly, your eyes tired despite your multiple energy drinks. “It must be boring to watch me throw paint for the last few hours.”

He shakes his head, sitting up as he looks at you with his puppy like eyes. “No, I like it. You’re so focused…” He trails, “I didn’t think art would be this hard.”

You glare at him for that remark, making him immediately tread back. His mouth gaping open and closing like a fish, “Ah! Not like that it’s easy — just that you’re so passionate you know?” He explains, throwing his hands around.

Rolling your eyes, you put your brush back into the muddy cup of water. “Why? Engineering not doing it for you?” You ask lazily, as you pull your claw clip out of your hair. Massaging your scalp from the tension.

Mingyu’s eyes focused on you, his cheeks slightly flushing. Eyes roving over how strands of your hair effortlessly frame your face. He clears his throat, “Uh, no. I like it. I’ve always been good at studying, and I get the material so,” He says, as he scratches his head.

“But I guess, it’s different watching you. Your eyes are different when you’re drawing, painting, sculpting. Whatever.” He says quietly.

“Different?” You muse, standing up to stretch your legs. Mingyu following instinctively, his tall frame dwarfing you.

He nods, “Mhm, yeah. I thought art was just a major for people who didn’t want to do anything, but getting to know you…” he says, as he follows you to your studio table. As you open the most recent energy drink you got from the vending machine. “You just don’t stop. Like you’re meant to do it.” He breathes.

His genuine words make you raise an eyebrow, turning to him. You give him a small smile, making his heart rate jump. “Yeah? It’s like you, I think.” You say, taking a sip of that battery acid of a drink. “I’ve just been doing this since forever. Natural to keep going.” You say nonchalantly, but Mingyu looks at you like you’re a living genius.

“Thats whats so cool,” He gushes, “You’re just made to do this.” He says, as he glances at your current work in progress. A large canvas with pleasing colors, his eye being drawn to the right areas. The beautifully rendered figure, framed with all the right strokes.

He looks back at you, with such an adoration you think it’s hallucinations from doing so many allnighters.

“Ah,” he starts, as he moves his long legs to shuffle through his bag, pulling out some tupperware. “I forgot, I was making uh, some dinner earlier and I had leftovers.” He lies, knowing full well he made it for you. He turns around, opening the tupperware to reveal a lunch box of different side dishes and protein. It could rival any meal inspo on pinterest, as he even carefully cut out seaweed to make cute faces.

You snicker, making Mingyu’s cheeks pink. “Leftovers huh?” You say, as you grab the lunchbox from him. Your fingers brushing over his, a welcome warmth from the cold air conditioning of the studio. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I was just gonna make some ramen.”

“Yeah no problem,” He strains, smiling. “You need energy to keep on going right? At least eat well if you’re gonna sacrifice your sleep.”

You take a bite, and even though it was cold, you nod in approval at the taste. The annoyingly large man could cook. Your reaction makes Mingyu grin, as you can see shamelessly how much that did to his ego.

“Still, you should go you know?” You say, as you remember Mingyu talking about his week a few days ago as you painted. “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

Oh? He doesn’t focus on the fact that you’re asking him to go. Only that you remembered his schedule. He grins, “You remembered huh?”

You roll your eyes, “Of course I did. You told me.” You say, your own cheeks reddening from how embarrassed you felt from Mingyu’s reaction. Why was he so excited?

He shakes his head, “It’s fine, I was reviewing earlier. It’s in the afternoon anyways.”

You finish the lunchbox, washing it down with your energy drink before going to pick up a new large paint brush. “Fine by me then,” you sigh, not bothering to argue with him. It was weird the first time he accompanied you on an allnighter, but Mingyu’s presence became a normal occurrence since then.

And there he was, sitting obediently like a dog next to you as you continued painting. Your playlist ending hours ago, as the only sounds are the strokes of your brush, and the breathing of both of you.

It was like this for a while, until near the end of the year. This time, you were running out of steam.

Maybe it was all the all nighters the whole year, or the fact you got sick right before finals, but you were stuck in your studio once more. Slaving away as you work on your third painting of the night, trying to get your exhibition finished before sunlight.

You hear the sound of the door opening. He had his own key now — you copied one at one point since he always was knocking. Mingyu coming in with late night take out in one hand, clad in grey sweatpants and a hoodie, ready to tackle the night with you.

You don’t even bother looking behind you, his familiar presence and cologne already telling you who it is. “Hey,” He says softly, putting the food down as he notices your tired state. It was like you were running on fumes, the amount of empty redbulls and monsters around your studio telling him all he needed to know.

You grunt, “Yeah, hey.” You say tiredly, as you wipe your face with the back of your hand. Paint smearing on your cheek. Mingyu comes over with a napkin from the takeout container, huffing as he wipes your cheek with it.

“Whens the last time you took a break?” He asks, a bit worried. Despite hanging out with you for so long, he wouldn’t say he knew anything about art. But he knew you. And the way your wrist movements against the canvas were sluggish, and the way your eyebrows furrowed as the strokes didn’t land and look the way you wanted… he knew you were at your limit.

“Doesn’t matter, I have another painting after this.” You say roughly, “Fuck, I’m such an idiot. I should have painted when I was sick. At least worked on the concepts and colors so I didn’t have to figure it out right now.” You rant, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth.

Mingyu frowns, “No, y/n. What about a fifteen minute break? I got burgers, it’ll help.” He says, but your face isn’t budging, like the strict deadlines for the paintings.

You curse, “God, Mingyu, I can’t stop. All the fucking pieces look like shit, if I stall any longer I’ll never finish this ass of an exhibition.” You say shakily, as you haphazardly throw your brush into the water cup, the muddy water splashing out. You grab another brush to pick up a new color.

He looks around the 10 other pieces littered around the room drying, he doesn’t get it, and he never would. They all looked great, cohesive despite your protests. “Y/n, they look great. You gotta take a break you know? Maybe it’ll help. Maybe your eyes will like, reset or something. You’ve been looking at this painting for hours.” He says, trying to reason.

You don’t listen, as you flick your wrist harshly to create a quick line of color.

clack!

You wince, dropping your brush to clatter on the floor. Your wrist acting up at the worst time, as you curse under your breath. Mingyu’s hands go up instinctively to hold your wrist, holding it still.

“God, now my wrist is flaring up too. Great, just what I need!” You curse bitterly, your head down.

Mingyu holds your wrist gently, despite your angry state you don’t push him away as he gingerly inspects your wrist. “Hey, come on. Lets take a break, and then we can wrap your hand alright?” He says softly, trying to coax you.

He leans down to see your hidden face, and it breaks his heart. Hot tears welling in your eyes from stress, frustration, and the impending deadline.

He doesn’t think twice, leaning down to hold you into an embrace, pulling you off your stool into his arms. Tight, the tips of your shoes barely grazing the floor. You can’t help but cry into his shoulder, “God, why am I so bad? I can’t show anyone any of this,” You sob, as Mingyu rubs your back. His grip tightening around you, holding you close as you basically collapse into his arms.

“Hey, y/n, you’ve just been working too long. Lets take a break alright? It’ll look better once you rest your eyes a bit, I promise.” He coos, “I’ve got some burgers and sweet potato fries, even convinced them to give me extra —“

“Mingyu, why are you always here?” You ask bluntly, choking back your tears. Through the whole year you’ve been tolerating him getting closer. First, random conversations when you bumped into each other on campus, then visiting the art school, coming to your studio, staying to keep you company. You never once tried to push him away, but you didn’t understand how he hasn’t been turned off yet. Your all nighters, your insecurities, the way you reject his invitations to campus parties and events to work. It was all a mystery, especially as you crash out in his arms, over some acrylic and oil on canvas. This must look pathetic to him.

His eyes are a bit panicked at the question, “I uh, do you not want me to be?” He asks reluctantly, still holding you close.

You sniff, your hand against his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie into your fist.

“No, I just... Thank you.” You say quietly into his chest, and Mingyu felt his head spin. You could definitely hear it, he thought, the way his heart was pounding out his chest. How you relied on him, telling him to stay. If it wasn’t for the fact you were leaning on him to stay up, he’d probably melt into a puddle on the floor.

Mingyu takes you to the table, helping you sit down on one of the comfier chairs. A foldable one with a pillow he brought at one point, so he could watch you comfortably. He boasted once — y/n look! Found this by the dumpster!

You let out a deep sigh as you sit down, Mingyu bending down to his knees to look at you eye level. A hand to your cheek as you close your eyes tiredly. “Hey, you okay?” He asks, searching your face.

You nod, “Yeah, um, sorry,” You sigh, “I’m just — I’m just stressed. I didn’t mean to have a breakdown in front of you.” You say apologetically, embarrassed by it. But he shakes his head, not affected by it. In fact, it probably caused him to fall harder, seeing how hard you work.

“Don’t apologize,” He says, pushing strands of your hair back. You look up at him, straight into his brown eyes. The way he looks at you so fondly, worried, that his bottom lip juts out slightly as he observes you. The way his fingers felt along your cheek, how he’s warmed you up in the cold room, brought takeout for you.

Fuck, how his hair is tousled under the hood, and the fact his face was a sight for sore eyes after looking at your paintings all day. Something with actual 3d planes staring at you, instead of flat canvas. Maybe it was the all nighters, the fact you’re on multiple energy drinks on an empty stomach, or that Mingyu is there for you.

You lean forward, shutting your eyes shut as you push your lips against his.

It’s warm, soft… might even get lost in it if—

You pull back after a second, as you see Mingyu’s wide eyes.

Oh fuck, did you read this wrong? Shit, at least you can blame it on lack of sleep—

A pair of lips crash into yours again, this time, you part yours as Mingyu’s warm lips mold into yours. Its warm, and comforting and everything nice, as you grab his collar to pull him closer. Making him stumble forward as he holds onto the edge of the chair to steady himself close to you.

You let out a soft breath as Mingyu snakes his free hand around to the small or your back, pushing you close as possible to him. Mingyu compensating for your lack of energy with his, as he kisses you deeply, something he’s always wanted to do. Every since he watched you draw random people at that campus fountain.

He pulls back as you pathetically try to chase his lips, as he kisses you chastely before speaking. “Y/n,” He breathes, “Fuck, you don’t know how long I wanted to do that.” He confesses, as he holds your face in his large hands.

You smile softly, “Mingyu, I—“

The box of charcoals clatter, as you accidentally drop it right next to the table of supplies. Sheepishly you bow at the students in class, not meaning to disrupt their focus.

You bend down to pick up the charcoal. What are you doing? It may be the third figure drawing class today, but dropping a box of pencils as you recount your days with Mingyu was horrible. Terrible.

Especially when you boasted to one of your friends as you shared a meal, Ah, Kim Mingyu? Thats over. Lets just focus on grad review.

You sigh, standing back up as you slide the box of art supplies on the table. Checking the time, you slide the notifications of Mingyu’s missed calls away. It was five minutes before class started, where the hell was the model?

And as if on cue, the other T.A. comes skitting towards you, pushing her glasses up as she avoids the boxes of supplies around the room. “Ah, Y/n—“ She starts, talking quietly to not cause alarm.

She stops in front of you, as you furrow your brows. Today the professor wasn’t in. As the consistent T.A., she trusted you to handle today with no substitutes. It wasn’t anything hard. You just helped set up the drawing horses and supplies, adjusted the lights and made sure the models were comfortable. It was easier especially when another T.A. was assigned to assist you today.

“Hm? What?” You ask, as you dust your hands.

She takes a deep breath, “Um, well, the model got food poisoning.” She starts. Leaning in so other students didn’t hear. “I just learned this right now, she’s like in the bathroom in the main hall throwing up like crazy.”

You frown, “What? Is she okay?” You say, straightening up, walking towards the front door grabbing your jacket off one of the stray art horse chairs.

She follows clumsily, “She’s fine! But she can’t model for this class. I know you’re in charge, but I panicked and just called whoever was on the emergency model list.”

You stop, causing the other T.A. to bump into your back, with a little squeak. A small what should have been insignificant memory flooding back.

“You’re TAing now? Seriously?” Mingyu asks lightly, as he fiddles with a loose strand of your sweater, the rough pads of his fingers pulling on it.

You slap his hand away disapprovingly, causing him to pout. “Yeah, just for figure drawing. I want to make a little money anyways, but working at the campus cafe is too time consuming.” You respond, as you continue to draw in your sketchbook. Outlining the foliage in front of you with your pen.

“Hm, what would that mean?” He asks, leaning forward to wrap an arm around your shoulder. Careful not to disturb your drawing, as he rests his chin on your closer shoulder. Watching you draw was his favorite past time nowadays.

“Just like, setting up, taking care of the figure drawing models. Things like that.” You respond absentmindedly.

“Models? Like, thats a job?” He asks, making you crack a smile. You forget how normal people knew nothing about art. You’re just glad he was openminded about basically everything.

You turn to look at him, “Yeah, the school hires people to pose for drawing. Its for studying.” You respond, as you tap your pen against the tip of his nose, where his beloved mole resided. Making him scrunch his nose, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Actually, I should write the emergency contact list. The professor updates every semester of models to contact if theres no shows, and the et cetera. I should just do it now so I don’t forget —“

“Add me on there then.”

You blink.

“Huh, what?” You say confused, looking at him with raised brows.

He straightens up, “You heard me. Add my number to that list. It sounds interesting,” He defends, his tone light.

You shake your head, smiling. “Mingyu, you don’t get it. You have to stand there naked, and do different poses every five to thirty minutes. Its not an easy thing to do.” You say, dismissing his words as nonsense. Sometimes he was too eager to try things just because they existed in your world.

Mingyu doesn’t falter. “Yeah I know. I just, it sounds cool. Also having a bunch of people drawing me, I don’t know… sounds nice. Also its like emergency contact right?” He says shrugging, “It’s not like it’ll actually happen. I know you’d never call me if it was an emergency, but just add me on it. If all models decide they’re not feeling it that day.” He suggests lightly.

You stare at him still in disbelief, narrowing your eyes. He scoffs, leaning forward to lean his forehead against yours as a challenge. A little goofy smile on his face, “What? Come on. Just add me to the list.”

The rational side of you knew this would never actually happen. Mingyu had no qualifications, and besides, there was a dozen other numbers to call before him. So you suck it up, sighing, writing his name down. Just for the sake that he’d shut up about it.

“Okay, fine.”

Your heart beats, eyes wide as you try to calm yourself. You didn’t want to release your anger against this girl for trying to fix the situation. It was your fault, really, in the first place to put his number on there. But this never was something that has happened before.

“Which number picked up?” You ask calmly, clasping your hands together as you focus on not exploding on your fellow T.A.

“Uh, just called the first one. He said he was on campus so he was down, and we only have five minutes till class—“

“Jesus, his name please?”

“Kim Mingyu.”

Oh fuck. Fuuuucckkkkk.

Mouth wide, and panicked eyes, you start to speak, before you hear the opening of the classroom door. You turn, and your face practically goes pale.

There he was — Kim Mingyu, just in a simple coat and pants. His eyes immediately landing on you. Its only been a month, but he cut his hair. Slightly shorter than you remember, as you tilt your head.

Stop it. You have to act normal.

You take a deep breath, trying to act professional. There was no time to question why the hell he’d even pick up and walk all the way here. Or why your heart was beating so fast, just looking at him.

“Um, escort him to the dressing room area.” You start, prying your eyes from Mingyu to the other T.A. “There should be a clean robe there too.” You inform, patting her arm as you beeline straight away from them.

You find a haphazardly stacked amount of newsprint, focusing on making all the edges match as you calm your heart. It’s fine, it really is.

For some reason Mingyu was interested in figure drawing modeling before. Maybe he just wanted to cross that off his bucket list, and had nothing to do with you.

The other T.A. comes back to stand beside you, “Is he comfortable?” You ask.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Just seems a little inexperienced,” She responds, scratching her cheek. “He asked if he had to take all his clothes off, and I was like, huh? Yeah? But other that that—“

“Yeah, alright.” You interrupt dryly. “Thank you. I’ll just take over after this.” You say, as you grab the timer from the table.

You walk towards the center, clearing your throat as the art students look up. “Right, hi. Professor Kang isn’t here today, but don’t mind. Today will be quite an easy day.” You start, crossing your arms.

Your eyes immediately follow to the ruffle of the dressing curtain, as Mingyu walks out in a fluffy robe. Brown eyes meet yours, and for a second you think this will be fine. Until the corners of his lips turn up, into a toothy grin only you knew so well.

That motherfucker. Bucket list my ass, he said yes just to mess with you!

You turn away sharply, focusing back on the class. “The model today is Kim Mingyu.” You say shortly, before stepping off the small platform.

You gesture for Mingyu to walk to the center, your face stone cold as you watch him step onto the platform.

He clears his throat, “Do I take the robe off now?” He asks cluelessly.

Great, just show everyone you have no clue what you’re doing. If this was a few months ago, it’d be cute. But Mingyu standing hopelessly waiting for instructions was annoying you, to say the least.

You nod, and immediately, he undoes his robe and lets it fall to the floor.

You can’t help but stare. Your lips pressed into a thin line, your body tense. Stop stop stop! You couldn’t give him a reaction. As an artist, it was normal to see naked bodies. It wasn’t a sexual thing, especially in figure drawing. But Mingyu wasn’t just an old man or something. He was a conventionally attractive, tall, well built man. In more places than one.

“Oh shit, he’s hot.” The other T.A. whispers to you, covering her mouth. You bite back your embarrassment, as you just send her a glare for her unprofessional reaction.

It doesn’t help that other people around the room are pleasantly surprised by Mingyu, as I see pink dusting around people’s cheeks. It was infuriating, to say the least.

“Holy shit, a hot model. Is this real?”

“I thought we had a middle aged woman today. Bro… score!”

“I’ve never stared so closely.”

“Alright, warm ups. Ten one minute poses.” You say plainly, holding up the timer and pressing down on it. Immediately, Mingyu nods, springing into action.

His poses were something else. They were a bit awkward, as he stood there. First putting his hands on his hips, staring at the ground.

But he started getting more comfortable. After the ten one minute poses were up, the other T.A. Adds a stool to the platform for Mingyu to sit on.

“One pose, 15 minutes.” You say, setting the timer again.

This time instead of looking at the ground, wall, or ceiling, he stared straight at you. His eyes unwavering. The sight makes your mouth go dry, as the studio lights enhance Mingyu’s features perfectly.

His face framed by the little curl of his bang, light bouncing off his tanned skin as the definition of his muscles are on display. The way his large shoulders balance his proportions, and his skin smooth and tightly wrapped around his toned torso. He always was working out, and it seemed like he kept that up, as your eyes trail from his abs to his bottom half. Your cheeks flushing as he’s so unabashedly bare in front of the whole room.

But it only propelled your anger. How could he? Just step into your domain — the art school wing — and just come here? Posing like a gangly weirdo, riding on his looks so none of the students complained. Staring straight into your eyes as a confrontation. So much it felt like he was telepathically speaking to you.

Why aren’t you returning my calls? Or, how does this make you feel? It was infuriating.

And as if satisfied in your attention on him, he smirks, like he won some imaginary battle. This idiot.

The timer rings, making you flinch against the supply table. Your cheeks flush slightly, as you clear your throat. “Another 6 poses, each 2 minutes.” You manage to choke out, pressing the timer.

As the figure session goes on for the next hour, Mingyu’s confidence was starting to irritate you to no end. At first what was awkward, was now overtly dramatic. His poses of showing off his muscles, flexing his back, it was too much. People were here to draw, not ogle.

You decided to play, not wanting Mingyu to have the upper hand. As Mingyu goes to pick up the robe off the ground, you yell, “Stop right there!”

Mingyu freezes immediately, mainly out of confusion. His eyes drifting to you, a slight furrow of his brows.

“Now, the model will stay still. Do you see how the arm connects to the shoulder blades? Please turn to a new paper and start focusing on that area.” You say, stopping Mingyu in an uncomfortable position in the name of education.

You eye how his leg starts to shake from holding it, but it only fuels you. “Now focus on the thigh muscle, we’ll hold this pose for another 3 minutes.” You say, a little glee seeping into your voice.

Mingyu’s eyes shooting up to glare at you, as you cock your head and smile.

You push Mingyu to do crazy things, like pretending to do a lay up for 10 minutes to talk about line of action. Or when you asked the students to move in closer to draw his face, having twenty people at once hyper fixate on his expression. Now, the class was fun. You completely turned it around.

The timer rings. “Alright, lunch break.” You say, as it’s half way through the 6 hour class.

Theres a collective sigh of relief, as students massage their wrists, and Mingyu putting his robe back on, but loosely. Letting his chest peek out through the fabric, as he walks around the room.

You watch as he circles, smiling and complimenting others.

“Wow, thats really good.”

“Whoa, really love how you drew that one.”

“Is that how I look? I’m flattered! Thanks.”

You huff, looking away as you catch a glimpse of him leaning over a pretty girl’s shoulder as she shows her sketches. Purposefully letting the loose robe drape his exposed chest as he examines the drawings.

Students get up to stretch their bones outside, getting lunch during the break. The other T.A. goes to check on something, leaving only you and Mingyu in the figure drawing room.

You stand, ignoring him as you walk towards the platform, readjusting the power of the studio lights. “Next part of the class is long poses,” You say, twisting the knob. “So it’ll be harsh lights. you just have to sit there, it’ll easy.”

You turn back around, Mingyu looking at you with a small smile, barely a yard away. His hands on his hips, as he looks down at you. “You know,” He drawls, his voice low. “This was a lot more fun than I thought.”

“Is it?” You respond bitterly, “Well I’m glad. Because you’re not gonna be paid for this.” You inform him, as Mingyu isn’t a real model signed with the school.

“Thats okay, I’m getting what I wanted anyways.”

You sigh, as you cross your arms. Deciding not to beat around the bush.

“What are you doing here, Mingyu?” You ask tiredly, finally looking at him straight, your brows furrowed. You boldly looking into his playful eyes.

His smug expression softens, almost reminiscent to how he would look at you before everything. He takes his bottom lip under his teeth, chewing as he looks at you.

“You seriously need me to answer that? Like always?” He says quietly, but with only you two in the studio, he could whisper from across the room and you’d still catch it.

“What, like you actually answer me with anything that makes sense?” You respond back tightly. Sighing, you relax your shoulders, biting your cheek as you glance away from him. A student’s messy pencil case catching your attention, albeit forced.

A deafening silence falls. Mingyu never really liked to fight anyways.

“You’re, you’re difficult, you know that?” He starts, as he ruffles his hair with his hand, as if that would release his pent up frustration. “When I got the random phone call that you guys needed a last minute model, I thought for a second it was intentional.”

He takes a step closer, “But of course not. You looked like you saw a ghost when I walked in.”

You gulp, “Well, to be fair, thats what you are now.” You say quietly. Avoiding his eyes.

“Oh? So I’m just dead to you?”

“No, that would be easier.” You snap, finally looking back to face his eyes. Mingyu’s jaw clenched, his eyebrows knitted, trying to figure you out like an abstract art piece.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a disappointed huff. “y/n.” He starts firmly, in a tone he barely used.

But of course, directed to you, making your skin crawl in the overly air conditioned room.

Hands on his hips, as he takes a long breath, his head facing down as he hides his expression. “For an artist, you’re really shit at expressing your feelings.” He sighs, his bangs hiding whatever you could gather from him.

“Fine.” He concludes, looking up, his shoulders more relaxed. “I’ll stop bothering you about it, since you’re so sure.” He says throwing his arms out. “On one condition.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, wary of whatever condition he was gonna propose. Mingyu could be unpredictable when you pushed him, making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

“Draw me.” He says finally. He glances at the clock on the wall, “They still have that lunch break. So just draw me at least once, before everyone comes back.” He proposes, turning around to walk casually to the platform, as if he’s assuming you would just do it.

Is he serious? You weren’t even together anymore, and yet he wants a free commission from you? Thats crazy, like you’d ever —

“Fine.” You say curtly, “Since you’re so desperate for my attention anyways.” You quip, walking over to the supply table, making sure your shoes stomp against the hard floor. You swipe some spare paper, clipboard, and some charcoal.

The second you were at an art horse in front of Mingyu though, your fire waned slightly. The dead silence of the room was deafening, as you adjust your clipboard. The sound of the metal clips thumping against the paper, the feet of the art horse squeaking as you adjust sitting on the worn wood.

When you gaze up at Mingyu, it was obvious. He really was getting what he wanted, and it was your undivided attention.

Once ready, the charcoal in your hand, Mingyu sits down on the stool, eyes steady on you as he grips the already loose tie around his robe with his large hand. Letting it fall, as he exposes himself once more in the bright lights you set up yourself. He kicks the robe away off the platform, set on you drawing him like this.

You blink back any feelings that threaten to show on your face, readjusting the charcoal in your hand as you avoid Mingyu’s eyes, pressing down to finally start a line.

Its been a while since you last drew figures, and it usually took an hour of continuous drawing before you really found your pace in figure drawing sessions. But it was different this time.

Your heart beats in your ears, a silence of the room highlighting the sound of your charcoal smearing against the newsprint — the sounds of your breathing and of Mingyu’s, as time passes. Agonizingly slowly, yet a focus every artist aches for.

Your hand moves accordingly. Outlining the contour of his silhouette, the way his neck slopes, the soft lines that shape his abs he always was working on. Pressing for pressure with your charcoal as you indicate the weight of him sitting on the stool, hands in his laps loose as you capture his likeness with ease.

But the focus doesn’t last for long, especially when you flicker your eyes back to his. Already flicking a stroke to mimic his right eyelid, before you still. Pressing the tip of your charcoal into the paper, crumbling against the grain as you stare into his large brown eyes.

Fuck. What are you even doing?

Why are you drawing him so intently, when you vowed just a while ago that you never wanted to see Mingyu again?

Your breath hitches, as you raise your arm, flickering back to your drawing. Charcoal in the air, swinging to run a huge line through your figure of him, to smear it, to destroy it, to —

Your wrist stops mid air, as you feel a warm grip tightening around you. Eyes wide, you unfocus on the paper, to look up. Somehow in your tiny melt down Mingyu got down from the platform.

He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. Jaw tense, “You were just gonna ruin it, weren’t you?” He asks you quietly.

You can’t help but knit your brows, a pained expression forming that matches the one in his eyes.

The charcoal clatters out of your hand, landing on the floor in broken pieces.

Tears start welling in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling. “You’re right,” You start shakily, “I don’t know… how to address anything unless I’m drawing.” You say weakly.

Mingyu’s eyes soften slightly, swallowing hard as the bright lights highlight the contour of throat bobbing. “Yeah, seems like it.” He replies carefully. You expected him to use this as a told you so, maybe give you a smug smile, like, I knew you weren’t over me.

But Mingyu was never like that anyways. No matter how much he craved your attention, he also wanted your peace of mind. A hard thing to ask from an artist like you.

His grip on your wrist softens, as he kneels down, getting eye level with you as you still sit on the art horse. Holding your hand in his, rubbing a thumb over the veins on the back of your hand gently.

“I miss you.” You finally muster, your eyes focused on his.

“I miss you too.” He responds back, before cracking a small smile.

You strain your brows into a furrow, blinking back the warm tears you naturally formed from the vulnerable moment. A shaky huff also coming out of you, as you decide to lean forward.

Inching your face closer, until the tip of your noses brush, Mingyu stiffening slightly as you shyly graze your lips against his lips. A small breath escaping his lips, fanning over yours before you finally part them.

Your lips against his — it was like home. Finding your way back after such a tumultuous and useless road. The warmth of his lips seeping into you, Mingyu as relieved as you are. His hands finding its way to the sides of your face, pulling you impossibly closer.

It only escalates, as you open your mouth wider to push your tongue against his, making Mingyu groan out as he meets you with similar enthusiasm.

He pulls you forward, off the art horse. Taking you down to the ground, maneuvering you until your back is against the hard floor. Covering you with his large frame, his weight pressing down on you in ways you were having such a hard time admitting you missed.

It was fast, and albeit messy and rushed. Like trying to make up for wasted time as you pull him close, hands wrapped around the back of his neck as your lips go numb, your teeth clashing.

You let out a whine, when Mingyu pulls away with a heavy breath, fighting against your attempts to pull him back for a kiss.

“Y/n — fuck, can we?” He asks hurriedly, his voice breathless. A look of want in his big eyes, but there was also a little responsibility.

First of all — anyone could walk into the studio any second. There was only a lunch break, sure, an hour. But at least half of it has passed.

As you take your bottom lip under your teeth, chewing at your swollen lip as you think. And Mingyu knows exactly what look you were giving him, and he wasn’t going to reject you. Not now.

He leans back in, crashing his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss, breath hot against yours, before moving to your jaw. Leaving open mouthed rushed kisses down your neck, as you move your hands down his back. Feeling the muscles you were forcing yourself to look away from during the whole first half of class.

Touching Mingyu was way better than just drawing him from afar. You’re sure on that.

He moves his hand down, to push your midi skirt up, bunching the fabric to your hips. Your legs exposed to the cold air of the studio, as he wastes no time to slide your panties to the side. Already wet and damp from the heavy making out, and partially to the adrenaline of being in such a risky place.

“Damn, already?” He says, with a slight tease to his voice, making you pinch his arm. He lets out a pained chuckle, before placing his thick fingers against yours core, a gasp escaping your lips.

It helped that he knew you so well already, your legs squirming around the sides of him as he runs his fingers through yours wet folds, his thumb circling your clit as he inserts two fingers in, stretching you out as you gasp, Mingyu attacking your neck with messy kisses as he gets you ready for him.

“Fuck, Gyu,” You whine, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as he curls his fingers, hitting the spongy flesh that makes you arch your back off of the floor.

You weren’t the only one worked up, Mingyu being bare this entire time. His dick pressing up against the inner of your thigh, hardening at the sounds of your pleasure.

Your hand shoots down to grab hold of him, helping him get hard as he lets out a moan, as you tighten your grip. Pumping him a few times, lining him up to you as he removes his hand from your entrance.

You both let out soft gasps as you hold his dick to swipe against you, coating him in your arousal, his tip leaking with precum.

He doesn’t even ask, he just knows, as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch. The friction from your pulled to the side panties, to the tight warm walls of your pussy, making him feel lightheaded with pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight baby,” He breathes, without even adjusting, he ruts into you roughly. Bottoming out as he knocks the wind out of you.

A whine escapes your throat, as you hold tightly around his shoulders, as Mingyu doesn’t slow his pace.

Its rough, its fast, and overall — desperate. The lewd sounds of flesh colliding echoing in the empty studio. Your mind going dumb at his fast pace, only focused on how he goes in, out. In, out.

The smell of his sweat, the way your hands run down his exposed body, all for you. He did this all for you. To get your attention, to get you back. God, does he even know how that makes you feel?

“Fuck, fuck,” He whines, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Already feeling a little fatigued from abusing your pussy so fast. But it was just too good, he missed it so much. So, so much. And he made it evident, as he pushes the back of your thighs higher to your chest, getting deep as he can. And fucking you like his life counted on it.

You feel the familiar build up of your orgasm, your walls tightening as you grip Mingyu’s shoulders. “Gyu, Gyu, I’m —“ You manage to choke out, as he moves his face from your neck to yours. Catching your cry with his mouth, drowning it as he kisses you messily.

You shudder, squirming under him as you feel the familiar high. Your body tingling with sensitivity and pleasure, as he overwhelms you with what can only be love.

He follows soon after, not being able to maintain his mouth to yours as he lets out a shaky grunt. Spilling inside you, his cum warm and filling, making your cheeks flush in contentment and relief.

He slows, stilling as you both catch your breaths. Pulling out of you with a reluctance. Pushing himself up, to lean back to sit. You follow as well, adjusting your skirt back as you push yourself up to your elbows.

Mingyu was a sight, as he always is. His tan skin glowing with a layer of sweat. The way his toned chest rises from catching his breath. The way his bangs are sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with a rush of blood. A satisfied look on his face, as he sighs, licking his bottom lip as he looks at you.

You can’t help but smile, a warm one. As you gather yourself.

“Lets get you cleaned up before the second half. Where did you throw your robe?”

“Oh fuck. I don’t know. You got any other ones?”

#seventeen #svt #kpop #seventeen smut #kpop smut #kim mingyu #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #svt x reader

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sceletaflores · 7 months ago

Note

Hear me out. Logan likes having his girl sit on his lap at any given moment. In private, he LOVES having her sit on his lap while cockwarming. He needs to feel close to his woman as much as possible because he does NOT play around when it comes to being loyal to a woman

nat’s note: oooo anon you’re so right…i’m sick just thinking about it. this lowkey got super fluffy but oh well i guess i'm just feeling soft today lol thanks so much for sharing <3 hope you love it!

• feat. logan howlett x fem!reader • 18+ SMUT MDNI •

Contrary to what most people might believe, Logan has a soft side.

Sure, it’s rare that you get to actually see it, but it’s there nonetheless.

It’s a tangible thing, as undeniable and alive as the very heart beating away in your chest.

This morning was the biggest hint Logan was in one of his once in a blue moon good moods, waking up to him dragging you back against his chest, not an inch of space between you. His strong hands wandering the soft planes of your body as he pressed kisses along the back of your shoulders.

It was like that for the rest of the day, like he had to have at least one hand on you at all times.

Soft touches in passing, big hands on the small of your back or your hips. Resting on your thigh as you both sat on the couch, cozied up against his chest after he dragged you into his lap the second you sat down.

You love every version of Logan, but something extra special always blooms in your chest when he gets like this.

He shifts slightly, not to change position, but just enough to remind you he was there, still inside you, still holding you close.

This was different than your usual sex. Logan falling into bed and insisting you get on top only to stop you when you fully sank down onto the dripping length of his cock.

There was no rush to move, no need to chase anything faster. It was like time had slowed down just for the two of you, a way to keep you suspended in this moment a little longer.

"God, you feel so damn good," Logan growls softly, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "Could stay like this all day, y’know that? Just you and me, baby."

You hum contently, arms circled around his broad shoulders so your fingers can toy with the soft hair curling around the nape of his neck.

You're not sure how long it's been, how long you've been pressed against him. Wrapped in strong his arms, thighs flush with his so the thick length of his cock can fill you completely.

It feels like it's been both hours and minutes all at once. The soothing beat of Logan's heart against your own chest, his hands rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips, coaxing you to relax further against him.

“Tell me how good I make you feel, honey,” he commands softly, his voice low and rough, vibrating through you like a hum from a deep, primal place.

You can't help but moan softly, feeling that delicious, lazy pressure building between your legs, tightening and building with each pulse of his cock inside you.

"Logan," you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you arch your back, trying to create more friction. "You feel so good."

“Yeah? You like that, baby?” He chuckles, fingers tightening around your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "You like keeping me nice and warm? Like the way my cock feels inside of you, hm?"

You nod, the heat pooling in your core igniting every nerve ending. “I want you to say it,” he urges, running his thumb along your bottom lip slowly. The easy movement slow and deliberate, like he's savoring the way your body responds to him.

“I love how you feel inside me, Logan,” you breathe, losing yourself in the intoxicating rhythm of his body against yours. “You’re so big, so deep…”

“Fuck, that’s it. Just like that.” His hand slides up your side, gripping the side of your face with a possessiveness that sends a shudder through you. “You’re mine darlin', and I’m gonna make you feel so damn good.”

“Yours,” you echo, a rush of heat pooling low in your belly.

Logan’s lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Say it again,” he mutters, his voice dripping with a mix of desire and affection that makes your start to heart race.

“Yours,” you whisper quietly, surrendering completely to the weight of his body and the heat of his presence. “Always yours.”

"Fuck," Logan groans, hands falling to your hips again, guiding you to start rocking back and forth slowly. "Tell me how good I am to you, baby."

"Oh," you squeak out, body slumping against his more heavily as his words course through you. "You're so good to me, Logan..."

“Good girl,” he growls, the praise making your pulse quicken. “You were fuckin' made for this, made for me. Just look at you, taking every inch,” He adjusts slightly, angling himself deeper, making you cry out as he hits that spot that makes your whole body light up. “Can you feel how deep I am? How much I want you?”

You choke out a soft whine, hips starting to grind against Logan with more purpose than before. Your hands fall to rest on his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his sweaty skin.

"Look at you," he says, voice going hushed like he's talking more to himself than he is to you. "Takin' what you need. Who's it for? Who's this cock for, baby."

You feel a rush of heat creeping up your cheeks at the raw intensity in his voice, but you can’t help but respond. You pick up the rhythm, sliding back and forth, the sensation making you dizzy with pleasure.

"Fuck, Logan," you groan lowly, voice small and breathless as your head lolls back to the ceiling in pleasure. "It's for me..."

"Who loves you?"

It catches you off guard, his words washing over you like a warm cloud of haze that travels all along your overheated skin to settle between your legs. Flaming the fire you feel raging inside of you.

“You love me, Logan,” you pant, the words spilling from your lips without hesitation.

And then, as if a dam had finally burst, he shifts the pace. Hips surging up to meet your frantic grinds, each thrust becoming a powerful wave that crashes into you.

You can feel the new urgency behind his movements, a beautiful mix of need and love that leaves you gasping for more.

With every stroke, the intensity builds, drawing you closer to the edge. “Logan, I’m—” you start, but he cuts you off with a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he takes you higher.

“Not yet,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Not until you say it again.”

The pressure inside you grows, and you feel yourself teetering on the knives edge.

“You love me!” you cry out, the words flowing like a river, freeing you as the dam breaks and pleasure surges through you.

Logan follows you into the depths of that pleasure, his release flooding you as he groans your name like a prayer, a promise, a vow.

You cling to him, holding on as if he’s the only thing anchoring you in this universe.

As the waves of bliss slowly fade, you both linger in the afterglow, hearts still racing in sync, bodies intertwined.

You lean against him, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms, the steady thump of his heartbeat against your cheek, his lips pressing soft kisses into your hair, and for a moment, time stands still.

“Can we just stay like this forever?” you ask, the vulnerability in your voice wrapped in sincerity.

“Forever sounds nice,” Logan murmurs, pressing another soft kiss into your hair.

You realize that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, because this is the side of Logan you cherish most. And the selfish side of you wants to keep it close to your chest.

You're proof enough that Logan Howlett has a heart, and that's all that matters.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

a/n: two works in two days? i'm like a god or something lmao once again i didn't know how the end this but when do i ever...

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vamptizm · 7 days ago

Text

THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x ex-teammate!reader

synopsis: draft night brings the spotlight, but all paige cares about is your new chapter together. you can’t keep your eyes off her and she can’t keep her hands off. between flashing cameras, whispered touches and a whole lot of eye fucking— you can’t wait to leave the after party.

warnings: fluff. nasty smut. dirty talk. switch!paige. switch!reader. oral (both receiving) fingering (p! receiving) strap-on sex (r!receiving)

word count: 6.9k lol

note: this took a while to finish cuz i’m lazy… so sorry but yeah i love former teammate reader like thats my shittt (anyway lmk if u wanna be added to my main/regular taglist) also idk if i properly proof read ts tbh

@brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @xxloveralways14 @prettygirl-gabi

It started in the massive hotel suite Paige had insisted on paying for herself, no matter how much you protested. She'd told you it was a once-in-a-lifetime night — her night — and she wanted everything to be perfect, down to the last rose petal in the oversized bathtub neither of you had touched.

The two of you got ready in separate areas of the suite, your glam teams swirling around you like little clouds of hairspray and lipstick, carefully keeping you from seeing each other before the big reveal. Paige's hair and makeup wrapped up before yours, her naturally striking features needing far less to glow.

It wasn't long before your own team was finishing the final touches. A dab of maroon lipstick. A spritz of setting spray. A gentle hand smoothing a strand of hair into place before sealing it all with hairspray. You sat still under their soft, expert touch, your heart pounding a little harder with every second — not from nerves about the cameras or the crowd, but for her.

A knock. Light, impatient.

"Can I come see the bride?" Paige called through the door, her voice teasing, giddy.

Your glam team exchanged knowing smirks as you bit back a laugh, heat blooming on your cheeks. You rolled your eyes playfully, giving them a nod. One of them called out, "Come on in, Romeo."

The door creaked open. First just her head peeking in, then the rest of her as she slid through the opening — and paused.

The second Paige laid eyes on you, she froze. Her breath caught audibly, her lips parting just slightly in awe. You were still seated, body facing away from her, draped in a black gown with a high slit that sparkled under the lights. It hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto your skin, dipping and hugging at the chest just enough to make her heart stop. Your hair was swept into a loose updo, face framed by soft strands, eyes rimmed in smoky shadows, lips painted a deep, seductive maroon. Femme fatale didn't even begin to cover it. You were art — and Paige was speechless.

And god, you weren't any better.

Your eyes raked over her slowly, shamelessly. She stood tall in a three-piece sparkly suit — a deep and ashy, dark brown that looked like it had been dipped in stardust. It clung to her frame in all the right places, tailored and sharp. Her beachy waves were tousled to perfection, her makeup darker than usual — eyeliner smudged just enough, blush warm on her cheekbones, lips a soft nude gloss. She looked dangerous. And all yours.

You stood, heels clicking softly against the floor, your team slipping out with satisfied smiles. You took a few steps forward until you were right in front of her — so close, you could feel her breath.

Her hands found your waist instantly, pulling you close with a possessive kind of tenderness, her eyes slowly dragging down your body like she was memorizing every inch.

And you mirrored it — gaze trailing over her black chrome nails, the rings on her fingers, the subtle glint of jewelry. You wanted to devour her. To tear every piece off just to see the flushed skin underneath.

But for now, you just stood there. Breathing each other in. A heartbeat before the world would finally see what only the two of you had known all along.

Your hands found solace on her shoulders, the rough shimmer of her suit catching under your palms. You let your fingers trace a line down the structured lapels before resting again, just feeling her there, grounding yourself in her presence.

"The bride, huh?" you teased with a grin, your voice low and warm as it echoed her earlier joke.

Paige's features softened — just slightly, but enough. Her gaze flicked down, and for a moment, you saw her disappear into the thought. You could see it all over her face: flashes of white silk, a crowded aisle, you waiting at the end of it — radiant, hers. She didn't think you could ever be more beautiful than you were right now... but something told her you'd prove her wrong again.

"I mean, it's fitting, isn't it?" she said, the smirk creeping back onto her face as her hands tightened around your waist. "Got my girl getting ready for the world to finally see us together."

You chuckled quietly, eyes soft. "Sure. Maybe one day."

And just like that, her heart stuttered in her chest.

Your perfume lingered in the air between you, thick and dizzying, but it was nothing compared to her — her grip on your hips, the look in her eyes, like she wanted to swallow you whole.

"Wanna kiss you so bad, mama," she murmured, breath fanning hot against your lips. Her voice was rough with restraint, and the weight of it sent a shiver down your spine.

You leaned in, your mouth close — so close — just barely brushing hers without giving in. The teasing was mutual torture. "Can't mess up my lipstick, baby. We've got, what, five minutes before Brittany busts in here yelling at us?" Your hand slid to the back of her neck, nails gently grazing her skin as you held her close.

Paige groaned quietly, rolling her eyes like a petulant child. "Yeah, yeah... whatever," she muttered — but her hands had already moved, trailing down the curve of your waist until they landed on your ass. She gave it a greedy squeeze and kept her hands there, possessive and smug.

You arched into her a little, biting down a smirk, doing everything in your power not to push her back onto the bed and climb into her lap. The tension buzzed between you like static. Just one move would set the whole thing on fire.

Right on cue, Brittany's voice rang from the other side of the suite. "Whatever you two are doing in there, knock it off — we've gotta head out now."

Paige groaned dramatically, burying her face briefly into your neck. "Cockblock," she mumbled, before stealing a kiss just beneath your jaw — a soft, sultry press of her lips that made you melt into her just a second longer.

She pulled back with one last squeeze of your ass. "Can't wait to show you off to the world, pretty girl," she murmured, lips curling into a smirk that made your knees weak.

Finally, the two of you stepped out of the room hand-in-hand like you owned the world — or at least each other.

Brittany stood waiting with crossed arms, one brow raised in that auntie way she had, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She plucked Paige's lip gloss from her bag without a word and dabbed it over her lips.

"Kids," she sighed with a fake huff and a real softness in her eyes.

The orange carpet was buzzing, cameras flashing like stars against a twilight sky. You stepped out first, the flashbulbs catching every detail of your sparkly black gown as reporters immediately swarmed your way—calling your name like clockwork. Rookie of the Year, WNBA champion, former Husky. The attention came with the territory. You didn't love the spotlight, but you knew how to own it when it was time.

Still, this wasn't your night. It was Paige's. You'd made sure of that by insisting she arrive a few minutes after you, allowing her the entrance she deserved—undivided and electric.

And when she finally stepped out, it was exactly that.

From where she stood a few feet away, Paige watched you pose. You looked every bit like a cover star—poised, graceful, devastating. Her heart kicked up in her chest as she took you in. You were a vision, and she was absolutely obsessed.

She wasn't even looking at the cameras when it happened—her body turned toward a reporter, mid-interview, answering a question about the big moment ahead—when her head suddenly twisted, eyes locking on yours as you passed behind her. It was like she'd felt you. Or maybe she'd caught your perfume in the air. Either way, her smile grew wide, involuntarily. And yours matched, just as quiet and private in the middle of all that noise.

It was nearly time. The orange carpet faded behind you, and the buzz of the venue took over as the draft finally began.

You hadn't seen Paige's second outfit yet. All you knew was that it was black—and she'd only told you that because she was desperate to match. You'd teased her for it, but you'd picked your gown with her in mind.

Instead of sitting with your new Dallas Wings teammates, like you were expected to, you were already tucked into a seat at Paige's table—right beside her parents and Geno—while she finished up press duties and changed. She had insisted you sit with them. No words needed to be said. The message was clear: you were hers, and she wanted the world to know it... without ever needing to say it aloud.

"Get out my spot, boy."

You turned at the sound of her voice, just in time to see her shoulder-bump her dad playfully.

And then—your breath hitched. The suit. That suit.

A black Louis Vuitton suit tailored to perfection. The deep V-neck of the blazer dipped low—dangerously low—bedazzled in beautiful black gems, catching the light when she moved. She wore nothing beneath it, and the amount of skin on display was enough to short-circuit your thoughts entirely. You wondered if you leaned just a bit forward, just for a second, would you catch a glimpse of her bare chest?

You already knew the answer.

She sat beside you, casual as ever, like she wasn't single-handedly wrecking your entire existence. "Just a heads up," she said, leaning in close. "I'm mic'd up."

You almost snorted—but you couldn't. Not with the way she looked. Not with her new hairstyle, slightly more neat than before, perfectly intentional. Not with her legs subtly spread and her hand draped lazily over her thigh. Not with that open blazer staring back at you, smug as hell.

You took a slow, measured breath and tried to remember how to think. The lights dimmed slightly and the commissioner approached the stage.

You felt her hand slip beneath the table and find yours, fingers lacing together. Her grip was tight, excited, grounded in something bigger than nerves. This wasn't fear. This was anticipation.

Your eyes met, and she squeezed once.

Then came the words.

"With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft... the Dallas Wings select... Paige Bueckers."

The weight on her shoulders lifted all at once—her mouth tugging into a soft, almost dazed smile. She stood, and so did you, your hand reaching to fix the slight scrunch in her blazer out of instinct, smoothing it down without thinking.

You expected her to hug her family first. Geno second. You figured she'd save you for last, maybe sneak in something later, off-camera.

Instead, she turned and kissed you. Right there. Soft, quick, but real.

You barely had time to register it before she pulled you into a tight embrace. And even though it hadn't been planned—hadn't even been discussed—it felt right. Natural. Easy.

Your arms wrapped around her in return, smiling against her shoulder, eyes a little wide but heart so full it nearly ached.

She moved on to her parents, to Geno, before finally making her way to the stage. The camera flashes picked up again as she accepted her Wings jersey and posed for photos, a confident grin painted across her face.

You looked up at her, your heart swelling in your chest as a tear slid silently down your cheek. You were the epitome of heart eyes. She looked radiant up there. Like she belonged. It was everything she'd worked for — and now, everything the two of you would take on together.

Her name echoed through the stadium.

Paige Bueckers. Dallas Wings.

You smiled, wiping at your cheek, still staring up at the stage like she hung the moon. Because to you, she always had.

Paige got swept up the moment she got off that stage — pictures with fans, videos, congratulatory hugs from just about every recognizable face in the building. You'd hung back with your Dallas teammates at first, still giddy with adrenaline from the draft and high on the electricity of it all. Your Wings hat sat perched on your head, pride swelling in your chest as you hugged, dapped up, and jumped with your new team. Nobody in that building was more thrilled to have Paige in Dallas than you.

After that, you found yourself surrounded by your UConn girls—Nika, Aaliyah, Aubrey, KK and everyone else. Screaming your lungs out together when Kaitlyn's name was called, jumping up and down with Aubrey when hers followed. Paige had jogged over at some point, catching the tail end of Kaitlyn's stage moment, joining your crew just long enough to plant a quick kiss to the side of your head and recording a few moments. It was chaos— but the best kind. And through it all, your eyes kept drifting back to her.

The after party was in full swing by the time you and Paige made your entrance, each of you having slipped into something a little more relaxed but still striking enough to turn heads. Her oversized, shimmery white button-up caught the dim lights just right, while the soft gray checkered pants hung low on her hips. Your outfit — hair down, a sparkly two-piece that shimmered with every step and pushed your chest up like a gift-wrapped secret — had her nearly stumbling the moment she laid eyes on you again.

Later, under the haze of neon and soft bass rumbling through the floor, you found yourself dancing with Nika and Aaliyah, swaying your hips to whatever song was flooding the space. Paige stood just across the room, still holding court, still playing it cool — until she wasn't. Her eyes kept finding yours like magnets. Your thighs squeezed every time they did. You couldn't stop thinking about the way her lips felt on yours. The way her hand had squeezed yours under the table. The way her eyes had traced your body in that black gown like she was starving.

When she started handing out shots, you knew what time it was. You weren't much of a drinker, but for her? Tonight? You'd drink the whole damn bar.

Paige made her way back to you with a devilish glint in her eye, already holding two shot glasses in one hand. She handed you one, but when you went to lift it to your lips, she stopped you with a cocky smirk.

"Nah, lemme." She tilted your head back with her fingertips, pouring the liquid down your throat like she owned you — and she kinda did. You coughed, laughing, a stray drop sliding down your jaw. Her tongue was on you before you could wipe it away, licking the trail down your neck with a low hum of satisfaction.

"Fuck," you whispered, eyes fluttering. The heat between your legs had long since stopped being subtle. Your panties were soaked, your body begging for hers.

She stayed glued to you after that — one arm slung around your shoulder, or curled protectively around your waist. Her chin pressed to your shoulder while you talked to others, her fingers occasionally brushing over the skin peeking between the hem of your top and the waistband of your skirt. You tried to stay composed, but her touches were calculated. She knew exactly how to unravel you without anyone else catching on. At least not yet.

By the time the clock hit 2 a.m., all hope of keeping things low-key was gone.

You were dancing on her now, her front pressed tightly against your back as your hips rolled in slow, hypnotic circles. Your ass ground into her hips every time the beat dropped, her kissing the tattoos on your arms, and hands gripped your waist like she was holding on for dear life. One slipped lower, guiding your body against hers until you could feel the heat of her through her pants. Her lips were at your ear, whispering the nastiest things that made your knees weak and your breath stutter.

You didn't even care who was watching.

It had been over a year of private kisses behind closed doors. Of lives where you had to stay away from each other, hidden dates, stolen glances, fake stories. Tonight? You were done hiding.

You turned to face her, lips brushing hers with every breath, your hands sliding up the firm line of her chest, palms resting against the shimmer of her shirt. "Take me home," you whispered into her mouth.

She didn't say a word.

Just grabbed your hand and led you out the back door, that same smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

The second the elevator door clicked shut behind you, Paige had you pinned to the nearest wall.

Her mouth was on yours with a hunger you hadn't tasted in weeks — not like this. Not publicly buzzed, not in celebration, not with months of restraint finally breaking like a dam. Her hands gripped your thighs before sliding up, catching under your ass to lift you effortlessly. You gasped against her lips as your legs wrapped around her waist.

"Wanted you all night, ma," she breathed into your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. "Looking like that... fuck were you thinking?"

"Thinking about you taking this top off with your teeth," you whispered, fingers tangled in her hair.

Her laugh was low, dangerous, sending a shiver straight through you. "You're not making it to the bedroom if you keep talking like that."

"Then don't make me wait."

She didn't. She carried you through the hallway, her hat tilted backward on her head, your body wrapped around hers like it belonged there. Which it did. You barely registered being pinned to the still locked door, too distracted by her mouth nipping at your jaw, her hand slipping between your legs, pressing through the thin fabric of your skirt. You whimpered into her mouth as she pressed her fingers harder against your core, smirking when she felt just how soaked you were for her.

The second the hotel room door opened, you guided her towards the bed, pushing her backward and watching her fall onto the bed, legs sprawled, shirt half open.

You took your hat off slowly, teasing, eyes locked on hers the whole time. Then you climbed onto her lap, straddling her with a slow grind that made her hiss through her teeth.

Her hands were on your hips immediately. "Don't start something you can't finish."

You leaned down, your lips brushing hers again. "I plan on finishing all night."

You kissed her hard, desperate, grinding against the firm heat between her legs. Her hands pushed up your top, fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach, then higher, until your bra-covered chest was in full view.

"Fuck," she muttered, pulling the fabric down and burying her face between your breasts. Her tongue flicked over your skin, her hands squeezing, kneading, touching like she was trying to memorize every inch.

You whimpered, your fingers digging into her shoulders. "Take it off. Please."

She obliged— unhooking your bra with one hand and carelessly throwing away to the floor. Immediately, her lips wrapped around your nipples, sucking and tugging on them, gently grazing them with her teeth.

Paige sat up, your legs still wrapped around her and now it was her turn to toss you onto the bed and on your back. The girl crawled over you, her eyes studying you like you were a deer and she was the starving lion waiting to tear you apart.

Her tongue trailed down your body, slow and dangerous. The blonde pushed your skirt up to your waist and when she finally kissed the inside of your thighs, you almost cried. But she didn't dive in right away. She teased. Kisses, nibbles, her nose brushing against the wet patch of your panties.

"You smell so good," she whispered. "So fucking sweet."

You whimpered again, arching into her touch. "Paige..."

And when she finally pulled your flimsy panties aside and dragged her flat tongue up your slit, you forgot how to breathe. Once. Twice.

She licked you like she was starved—fingers digging into your thighs, as your back arched and your hands scrambled for something—*anything*—to hold on to. That Dallas Wings hat still backwards on her head. She wrapped her arms under your thighs and pulled you closer, locking you down, owning the way your body responded to her. You could barely squirm as she dipped her tongue deeper into you. She moaned into you when you tugged her hair, the vibration making your legs shake.

Paige's lips tugged at your folds, your pussy slick with a mixture of your arousal and her spit, and every single time she wrapped them around your clit, it elicited yet another whine from you.

You mindlessly pushed her head closer to your pussy, feeling the tip of her nose against your clit while her tongue circled your entrance, dipping in and out — letting your wetness seep into her mouth.

"Tastes so fucking good." She mumbled against you absentmindedly, sending more tingly vibration up your spine. She could stay between your legs for hours, just lapping at your soaked pussy.

She didn't stop. Not when you gasped. Not when your voice cracked. Not when you almost crushed her head with your thighs. Not even when you came on her tongue, thighs trembling, mouth open in a silent cry.

You barely had time to recover before she was climbing up your body again, her mouth shining with you, her eyes dark and blown.

You were still catching your breath when she pulled away—her lips red and swollen from kissing you, eyes low and dark with desire. Without a word, Paige leaned in to kiss your jaw, then your neck, and finally your shoulder.

"Said you'd finish all night f'me, yeah?" she whispered, kissing your swollen lips again. "Wait here, I got something for you, baby."

You did as told, legs still a little shaky, heart still racing as the heat between them pulsed with anticipation. You watched her disappear into the walk-in closet of the suite, her shimmery white button-up shirt sticking slightly to her back from the sweat of your bodies pressed together on the dance floor all night.

When she returned, your breath caught in your throat.

The shirt was completely unbuttoned now, hanging loose and exposing her chest. Her pants were still on, but unzipped, just low enough to reveal the black harness hugging her hips, snug against her skin. And in place — her surprise — bold and thick, gleaming slightly from the lube she'd clearly already applied. She stood at the foot of the bed, letting you take it all in.

"Y'gonna let me fuck you?" she asked lowly, voice raspy from drinks and desire. Her eyes were on you — predatory, hungry.

You couldn't speak, only nodded, lips parted slightly as your thighs pressed together unconsciously.

Paige stepped forward slowly, her hand gripping your chin gently, tilting your face upward. "Told you I wanted to show you off tonight," she whispered. "But honestly? I fucking hated how everyone had their eyes on my girl.”

She flipped you over onto your stomach with little effort. Her hands found your hips, tugging the already hiked-up sparkly skirt a little higher, exposing you. She bent you forward until your chest met the sheets, arching your back just the way she liked it.

"You kept teasing me all night," she murmured behind you, dragging her nails down your spine. "Dancing on me like that... talking all sweet, acting innocent. You thought I wasn't gonna do somethin’ about it?"

You whimpered at the feeling of her lining up behind you, the blunt pressure just barely pushing against your entrance. "Wanted you to."

"You got it, baby."

Her hand slid up your spine, slowly, tracing the curve of your back like she was memorizing it. You felt her press a kiss to the small of it, soft and warm, just before her palm smoothed over your hip and her other hand settled firmly between your shoulder blades, holding you steady.

The first push was torturously slow — just the tip, easing in with deliberate patience. You gasped at the stretch, your body instinctively trying to push back for more, but Paige tightened her grip, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"Nuh-uh," she said, her voice dark and low, lips brushing against your ear as she leaned over you. "Y'gonna take it slow first, yeah? Want you to feel every inch."

And you did.

Paige didn't rush. She rocked her hips in gentle, controlled thrusts, just deep enough to make your breath hitch every time she bottomed out. The wet sounds between your thighs, the soft pants leaving your mouth, the way your fingers gripped the sheets — she drank in all of it, eyes locked on the way your body moved beneath her.

"You're fucking dripping," she muttered, almost to herself, voice thick with awe and arousal. "Knew you'd take me so good."

And then, just when you started to settle into the rhythm, thinking maybe she'd keep it tender tonight, she pulled almost all the way out—then slammed back in with a force that knocked the wind out of you.

Your moan was immediate, raw, punched from your throat. Face pressed down into the mattress, ass up high for her.

"There she is," Paige growled, hand fisting into your hair and yanking your head back just enough to keep you gasping. "That's the sound I wanna hear."

"Makeup's getting all over the sheets." You barely managed a coherent sentence.

Paige only chuckled, "On my life, i don't give a fuck."

She didn't hold back after that.

The slow, sensual strokes were over—replaced by quick, deep thrusts that had you clawing at the sheets, crying out her name. One hand stayed gripping your hip tight enough to bruise while the other slipped around to your front, finding your clit with practiced ease.

"Such a good girl," she murmured against your neck, voice ragged, "taking all of me like that. Look at you. Fuck—look at you."

"Eyes up, ma," Paige grunted, roughly grabbing your chin and turning your face toward the floor-length mirror just a few feet away. "Want you to see how fucked out you look when I'm guts deep inside you."

The sight had you whimpering. Your sparkly skirt was bunched around your waist, your thighs trembling, and Paige — shirt open, chest bare, pants low on her hips — looked like a goddamn dream behind you. One hand gripped your hip, the other pressed flat against your lower back, keeping your arch deep as she thrust into you again, hard enough to make the bed shake.

You chased her eyes and you saw her watching your pussy swallow her strap, her lips parted and eyes filled with lust.

"Fuck, baby," she groaned, watching her hips slam into you in the reflection. "Look at you takin' it so good. Dripping all over me, makin' a mess."

Your eyes fluttered but Paige's fingers gripped your jaw again, more demanding this time. "Nah, keep 'em open. Look at what I'm doin' to you. You see this? You feel how deep I am?"

You nodded, broken sounds spilling from your mouth that didn't even sound like words anymore.

"That's right," she purred. "You're mine. My pretty girl. Fuckin' mine."

She slammed into you again, rougher, and the mirror caught the exact moment your body gave out just a little, arms trembling under your weight. Paige growled behind you and pulled you upright by your chest, your back flush to her front now, her length still buried inside you.

"Can't even hold yourself up, huh?" she rasped against your ear. "I love you like this. So fucked out for me. So needy. You were waitin' for this, weren't you?"

You nodded frantically, breath hot, your hands clawing at hers where they gripped your body.

"Use your words," Paige demanded. "Tell me who got you like this."

"You, mama," you whined pathetically, helpless and aching. "Only you."

"Damn right. I fuckin’ own this pussy."

Paige was so fucking wet and her clit throbbing, begging for stimulation but there's only so much she could do while focusing on digging deep in you.

She bent you forward again, one hand now tangled in your hair, the other wrapped tight around your waist as she started pounding into you, relentless. You met her eyes in the mirror — dark, focused, full of hunger—and that look alone had you spiraling.

"Wanna feel you cum on me," she muttered, her voice deep and filthy. "Right here, on this dick. Make a mess f'me. Can feel you gripping my shit, mama."

The knot in your stomach began to tighten impossibly at the sound of Paige's sinful words and the squelching sound of your sopping cunt. You hadn't even had the chance to warn her before the rope snapped, your mouth falling open in a high pitched moan before it went silent. There was no doubt that you'd made a mess on her, just like she wanted it.

"That'sss it, mama," she grunted lowly, blunt nails digging into the skin of your hips. "Just creaming on this dick, hm?"

After the high, you collapsed onto your back, chest heaving, your lungs chasing air like you'd just run miles. The room spun just a little — not from the alcohol, not even from the high — but from her. From Paige. The way she looked at you like you were the only thing that existed in the entire damn world.

Paige's hand found yours almost immediately, her fingers weaving through yours, grounding you. Her other hand smoothed over your stomach, slow and gentle, tracing mindless patterns as she pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek.

"You're okay, princess," she whispered against your skin, voice warm and low and so full of something deeper. "Breathe for me."

You did, exhaling shakily as her lips moved across your jaw. She brushed your hair back with a careful touch, thumb caressing your cheek. You leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut, your body still trembling slightly from the aftermath.

"Still with me?" she asked, softer now, teasing but laced with love.

You nodded, letting out a short, breathy laugh as you sat up. "Barely."

That earned a quiet smile from her, and she pulled you close for a moment, your head resting against her chest as she kissed your temple and held you there.

But not for long.

You shifted, slowly, your muscles still warm and loose. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye and one last deep breath, you flipped the two of you over — her now beneath you, laid out again in all her glory.

Paige grinned up at you, winded in a different way, hands automatically resting at your hips. "Oh," she murmured, clearly amused, "we're not done, huh?"

You leaned down, your lips brushing hers just barely. "Not even close."

She stared up at you, her eyes hungry, her chest rising and falling just a bit faster now.

You took your time, letting your hands trail down her arms, then her thighs, coaxing them apart with slow, teasing pressure. She let out a soft breath, already pliant under your touch.

"You always look so fucking sexy. It's not fair." you spoke, as you began to work her pants lower — slowly, watching every flicker of expression on her face. She groaned under her breath, tilting her head back as the fabric dragged against her legs.

"Only for you," she breathed, her voice low and wrecked.

Once her pants and your skirt were discarded, you kissed your way up her thighs, gentle but purposeful, trailing soft touches over her hips. Her fingers tangled in your hair before you even got all the way up, desperate to feel more of you, to ground herself in the moment.

"You're killing me, mama," she rasped, the nickname slipping from her lips like a prayer.

You smiled against her skin, your breath warm against her stomach as you moved higher, the tension between you crackling like fire.

You pulled back slowly, your body tingling, your breath a little uneven. Paige whined quietly at the loss, eyes fluttering open, chasing your touch even as you sat up.

But instead of diving right in, you just... looked at her.

The room was quiet again, save for the heavy sound of her breathing. The sight before you made your chest ache — and something deeper burn.

Paige lay sprawled across the bed, her legs parted slightly, her arms loose by her sides like she'd completely unraveled for you. The oversized white button-up clung to her in the most sinful way, the fabric open and exposing every soft curve of her chest and waist. Her skin practically glowed in the dim lighting, flushed from heat and wine and everything you'd just done to her.

Your eyes traveled down her body slowly, drinking her in. The black boxers she still wore clung to her hips in a way that made your mouth go dry, riding low, the waistband stretching slightly over her stomach. She looked like a Calvin Klein ad, if Calvin Klein ads were made to ruin you.

"You're so..." You couldn't even finish the sentence, voice catching in your throat. Your fingers trailed lightly along the hem of her waistband, dragging just a little.

Paige's lips parted, her eyes hazy and wild with need. "Say it."

You let out a soft laugh, the pads of your fingers dipping just beneath the band now, teasing. "Perfect," you whispered. "You're perfect like this."

She smirked, but it was weak — dazed. "Then what are you waitin' for, ma?"

That was all it took.

You leaned back over her, your lips brushing her jaw, your hands firm on her hips now as you tugged the boxers down her legs — slow, like you wanted to savor every inch of skin as it was revealed. She lifted her hips for you without needing to be asked, letting you strip her bare, bit by bit.

Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, chest rising and falling in quick, eager breaths, legs open and waiting.

And when you crawled between them, her hands reached for you again — like she couldn't stand another second of distance.

It started out with you pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin of her inner thighs, teasing her torturously slow, trailing your way up higher inch by inch. You couldn't refrain from looking up at her with an infuriating grin.

You were eye level with her cunt in all it’s glistening glory— how could you possibly deprive yourself any longer?

The last bit of oxygen in her lungs was lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her to spread her folds, tongue darting out to lick a fat, painfully slow stripe up. Her wetness coated your tongue, slick and warm, and you couldn't help but groan before burying yourself into her.

Paige's back arched off the bed slightly, her hands twisted tightly in the sheets as you settled between her thighs. Her breath hitched and the sound that left her lips had you clenching your eyes shut for a second — like it physically hit you.

"Fuck—baby," she gasped, one hand flying up to push her hair back. "You tryna kill me or what?"

You hummed against her, teasing, "Just making up for lost time. Fucking missed this pussy."

Her thighs instinctively tightened around you, and her head fell back against the pillow, the open collar of her button-up slipping further down her shoulders, exposing more of that skin you'd already memorized. She looked wrecked — flushed, glowing, utterly undone. You wanted to etch that image into your mind forever.

The tip of your fingers teased her slick entrance, stretching her out with just the tip of two digits before fully sliding them into her. Moving your head side-to-side, your tongue laid flat against her, digits curving where she needed you most.

"Mama," Paige rasped, voice deeper than usual, breathless. "Right there—shit, right there."

You glanced up at her through your lashes, your smirk impossible to hide. "Yeah? You like that?"

She nodded, biting down on her bottom lip, then whined when you pulled away for a moment just to breathe.

"Say it," you whispered, fingers plunging in and out of her at the perfect pace. "Tell me how good I make you feel, Paige."

Paige's hands tugged at your hair with just the right amount of desperation. "So good. Like I was made for this," she panted, eyes heavy and glassy with need. "Made for you."

You didn't reply with words — you didn't need to. The way your mouth returned to her, slow and intentional, said everything. She cried out, her voice turning into soft curses, muttered praises, her thighs trembling.

"God, you're so fuckin' good," she near to whined. "My girl. All mine."

Her hips began to stutter and you knew she was close — could hear it in her voice, could feel it in the way her hand gripped your shoulder the longer you hit that spongy spot over and over, clenching around you.

"Don't stop," she begged, "please don't—"

You didn't.

The room was dimly lit, but the large mirror across from the bed reflected the scene perfectly — her sprawled out, makeup melting, skin flushed and glowing under your touch. She caught sight of it and groaned softly.

"Look at you," you whispered, glancing up. "Can't believe how good you look falling apart for me."

Paige let out a soft, broken sound—her head tipping back, hand reaching blindly for yours and interlocking. Her legs curled around you, heels digging into the sheets, trying to ground herself against the slow, deliberate way you devoured her. She looked a hot mess, but in the most angelic way possible.

" 'M s-so close— f-fuck." The girl stuttered, too deeply lost in pleasure to form a perfect sentence.

"I know, pretty girl. 'S okay, you can let go for me.”

Every flicker of touch had her unraveling — every movement echoed in the mirror, in the shallow breaths she let out, in the way her back arched off the bed.

And when she finally shattered, trembling and gasping your name, it was with a kind of reverence—like you were everything she'd been waiting for.

Paige was still catching her breath, chest rising and falling steadily. Her skin was flushed, glowing, lips parted as she blinked up at the ceiling, stunned and speechless in the best way.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh before slowly making your way back up her body, dragging your fingertips across her skin as if memorizing every curve, every freckle. She shivered at your touch, still so sensitive, and let out a soft laugh.

"Aight," she mumbled, her voice hoarse and blissful. "I actually can't feel my legs."

You grinned, settling beside her on your back with a deep exhale, heart still racing. "Good. I was aiming for temporary paralysis."

That earned you a playful smack to the arm, and Paige turned to face you, her cheeks still a little pink. She reached up to brush some damp hair away from your face, fingertips feather-light as she trailed them down your cheek.

"You really don't play fair," she murmured, eyes searching yours. "Ruin me every time."

You leaned into her hand and smiled, lips brushing her wrist. "You ruin me too, you know. It's very fair."

The two of you lay there for a moment, sharing slow breaths in the quiet, your bodies tangled under the sheets. Paige eventually pulled you closer, her arm hooking around your waist and her leg draping over yours, keeping you snug against her.

"I should've worn something uglier," she teased, burying her face into your neck. "didn't expect you to eye-fuck me the second I sat down."

You giggled, carding your fingers through the back of her hair. "Don't know what you expected when I could almost see your tits."

There was a long, blissful silence after that — the kind where words weren't needed, where the warmth of each other's presence said everything. Paige traced slow circles on your back with her fingertips while you lightly tickled her side, making her squirm and giggle before settling again.

Finally, she whispered against your skin, "We really did it. Same team, same future. You and me."

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. "You and me."

Wrapped in each other's arms, hearts steady and slow, you drifted off with the quiet hum of music still playing from outside the bedroom and the promise of so many more nights like this ahead.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #paige bueckers #paige bueckers oneshot #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fanfiction #uconn wbb #dallas wings #wnba #wlw smut

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koralira-kira · 1 month ago

Text

MASSAGE OIL ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆k. bakugo⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

pairings : k. bakugo x reader

genre : crack, slice of life, established relationship

synopsis : After a grueling day of dance training, you’re sore as hell and in desperate need of a massage. Luckily, your explosive hothead of a boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugo, is more than willing to help—until things take a hilarious turn. What was supposed to be a relaxing massage turns into absolute chaos when you both realize Katsuki grabbed the wrong bottle… and slathered you in lube instead of massage oil. Cue the shouting, the accusations, and the absolute mess that follows.

warnings : profanities... like ALOT. a hint of explicit jokes too!

wc : 1,457

notes : OMG i haven't written in A WHILEE. wrote this out since it just spawned randomly in my mind and i thought it was kinda funny sooo... why not make a oneshot out of it! :D ANYWAYS, i still got a heck tone of pending papers to do cuz let's be honest, school sucks. JK! still tryin my best to keep those gpa's UPP!! (i'm about to crash out and lose my shit... help me) LOL hope ya'll would like this one the same way as I did!

---

The living room was quiet except for the occasional scroll of a thumb against a phone screen and the faint sound of Katsuki sighing every now and then. Both of you were sprawled out on the couch, wrapped in blankets, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying each other’s presence.

After a whole damn day of training yesterday, your body was in absolute shambles. Everything hurt—your legs, your arms, your back—hell, even blinking felt exhausting. And naturally, you were complaining about it.

“I swear to god, Kats, if I have to do another goddamn windmill next week, I’m gonna fucking lose it,” you groaned, tossing your phone onto your stomach. “My body is screaming at me. Like, I think my muscles are planning a rebellion. My back, baby. My back is DONE.”

Katsuki, not even looking up from his phone, let out a short snort. “Well, no shit. You disappeared for a few months and then jumped straight back into training like some lunatic. What’d you expect?”

“That I’d have superhuman regeneration powers, obviously.” You rolled onto your stomach, dramatically burying your face into the pillow. “Ughhh, I need a back massage. Katsuki, pleaseee.”

“Tch. Fine, fine,” he grumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket. “I’ll get the oil. Wait here.”

You watched as he got up, stretching slightly before making his way toward your shared bedroom. You sighed in relief, smiling to yourself. Perks of having a strong-ass Pro Hero boyfriend—he gave damn good massages.

A few moments later, Katsuki returned with the familiar little bottle in his hand. He plopped back down next to you, tugging at your oversized top. “Take this off.”

You turned to him with a lazy smirk. “Oh? A lil kinky now are we, huh?” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows.

He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Shut the hell up and turn around, dumbass. Ain't tryna get you dicked down.”

Chuckling, you finally pulled your shirt over your head and lay back down on the couch, getting comfortable as he poured some of the oil into his hands. He rubbed them together before pressing his palms against your skin, starting slow, letting his thumbs dig into your tight muscles.

In all honesty, training was the pain in the ass. Especially since you just got back after a few months of taking break from dancing. Not gonna lie though, dancing was really you passion ever since you were a kid and it lead you to many great opportunities and achievements you never thought you'd reach. You've been through countless of stages and danced your ass in all of them.

Definitely you're not ashamed of that, cause who would? It was just that you and your crew were all busy for the last couple of months since competitions were just coming in and it was just too much to handle physically and mentally. That's why you took a little break but of course you also took your time to pass by your studio ever now and then. Checking out on the progress of the routine, just not entirely participating in the dance.

"Ohh yeah, press a little bit harder there, Kats."

"Yeah, yeah, quite moanin' your ass, I know I got magical hands."

"Hell yeah you do, babe." You grinned and Katsuki just chuckles.

A few minutes then passed by in comfortable silence before something felt… off.

You frowned. “Hey, Kats?”

“Hm?”

“You bought a new massage oil, didn’t you?”

“The fuck you mean?” Katsuki paused, his hands still pressed against your back. “I bought the same menthol massage oil we always use. Why?”

“Well… it’s not minty like usual. And it feels kinda… greasy?” You turned your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “Like, I dunno, it doesn’t feel the same.”

Katsuki huffed, shifting slightly as he lifted his hands and rubbed his fingers together, as if expecting the familiar cooling sensation to suddenly appear. “What the hell? It’s been a few minutes, and I don’t feel that minty shit either…”

Now getting suspicious, he reached down and grabbed the bottle from the floor to check it properly. Maybe he bought the wrong one by accident?

He flipped the bottle around in his hands, reading the label.

“…uhhh.”

Your head snapped up. “Katsuki, what the fuck do you mean ‘uhhh’?”

Katsuki blinked. Then blinked again. His red eyes grew about two sizes as he processed what he was holding.

You twisted your body slightly to look back at him, and the second you saw the bottle, your stomach dropped.

“KATSUKI.”

He flinched. “What?!”

“YOU STUPID FUCK. YOU USED FUCKING LUBE INSTEAD OF MASSAGE OIL?!”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched as he immediately went on the defensive. “ASSHOLE, THEY WERE IN THE SAME DAMN CABINET. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE?!”

“OH, I DUNNO, MAYBE READ THE GODDAMN BOTTLE?”

“I WASN’T THINKING ABOUT READING, I WAS THINKING ABOUT RUBBING YOUR WHINY ASS DOWN.”

You sat up fully now, chest still out, and slapped your hand over your face in pure disbelief. Meanwhile, Katsuki was still holding the damn lube bottle like it wasn’t already too late.

“This is actually insane. We are insane,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Oh my god, Katsuki, what if I had skin allergies or some shit? What if I just broke out in hives? Huh?”

“Well it hasn't happened before now did it? And plus, we’ll figure it out, dumbass,” he shot back, but his voice was losing the edge, turning into a chuckle as he finally started to process the absurdity of the situation.

You groaned dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “You're actually disgusting.”

Katsuki finally burst out laughing, tossing the bottle onto the coffee table. “You’ll live.”

Still pouting, you crossed your arms, glaring at him. “We’re never speaking of this again.”

“No, no, we absolutely are,” Katsuki smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “I’m tellin’ the whole damn crew. You got rubbed down in lube.”

“YOU’RE NOT TELLING SHIT.”

Katsuki laughed harder, leaning down to press a kiss against the side of your head. “Relax, dumbass. No one’s gonna know.”

“…Swear on your All Might figurine?”

Katsuki groaned. “God, you’re fucking impossible.”

You snickered before finally letting yourself relax in his embrace. As much of a disaster as that was, at least now you had a new inside joke to hold over him for the rest of your lives.

"Will you be a gentleman now and bring me up to go shower with me?" You batted your eyes at him.

"Aight, aight, we'll shower together, princess." He kissed you're temple and carried you bridal style towards the bathroom with you chuckling.

And if he ever fucked up again, you now had the ultimate trump card:

“You used lube instead of massage oil, babe. You literally cannot say shit.”

fin

---

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disneyprincemuke · 1 year ago

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the orange peel theory * fem!driver

how many men in her life would stop to peel an orange for her if she asks randomly?

pairings: f1 grid x fem!driver

warnings: -

notes: juSt a random idea i got when i dreadfully peeled oranges for myself ugh i hate being single sometimes

guys this is the last vr update today i swear i’ve got too much times on my hands actually

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

-> max verstappen, #1

would be in the middle of an interview after quali when she comes up to him with a mandarin orange in hand

max stops mid sentence to look down at her in confusion but will take the orange into his hands as she asks him to peel it for her politely

he would cover the mic and whisper “can this wait? i’m in the middle of something” and she shows him her hands, perfectly manicured white nails with a frown and says “i’ll stain my nails”

and he just does it, peeling the orange as he carries on with the interview after she walks away without him knowing

when he finishes, he turns to give it to her but she’s no longer there and ends up eating the orange during his interview lol

-> logan sargeant, #2

he’d be sitting in his garage minding his own business when she comes and sits next to him with a bag of mandarin oranges in hand

he doesn’t even need to be told

he immediately reaches out and starts peeling the oranges for her, even tearing away the white strands because he knows she hates those

totally nothing to do with the fact that he’s had a crush on her forever

everything to do with the fact that they grew up together and he’s too lazy to fight

-> daniel ricciardo, #3

he’s literally just walked into the paddocks for race day

he feels all cool with all the cameras

suddenly she runs over to him with an orange in her hands and a hopeful smile

“peel this for me please?”

he does it without question

he walks the paddocks with her while peeling her orange and even sparks up conversation with her

-> lando norris, #4

literally walks away when he sees her approaching him with an orange

she’s been doing it all weekend and he refuses to be a victim

also because he’s not that fond of peeling oranges

or oranges, for that matter

she tries chasing after him but when she finally catches up, he simply ignores the request to peel the orange for her

-> pierre gasly, #10

he’ll be literally walking over to the grid for the driver’s parade

looking pretty cool in his cool fits

an orange is presented to him without question

he grins at her and thanks her for the orange

walks away and eats the orange himself

-> sergio perez, #11

would also be in the middle of an interview when she comes up with an orange

would peel it because he’s a mega dad and he’s really taken a liking to her

excuses himself from the interview to do it for her real quick

would take one piece of the orange for himself

claims it’s the taxes for making him do it instead of doing it herself

-> fernando alonso, #14

takes the orange without her saying anything

he’s always seen with seb on race weekends and is very used to her antics

literally gives her the orange peel and one piece of orange

eats the orange without her saying anything

she’s in damn near tears because she really expected fernando to peel it for her without question

-> charles lerclerc, #16

is sad that she didn’t bring him an orange too

still peels it for her though

even though he was in the middle of some paddock game with carlos

asks for a piece and because she loves him and her crush is still very much present, she simply gives him the whole orange

-> lance stroll, #18

he’d have been coming out of his racing home minding his own business

they don’t interact often because she scares him

is almost scared to say no to the orange peeling and actually says no

mutters “i always knew you hated me” as she walks away

which then makes him chase her to peel the orange for her and apologise profusely

because lance and her literally never talk and it took up all her courage to approach him with this orange, she gives him half of the orange

-> kevin magnussen, #20

asks her if she's got an extra orange for his baby girl

she literally came prepared and gives one to cute baby laura

so now kevin has to peel two oranges for two babies

outrageous, if u ask him

-> nyck de vries, #21

has unfortunately departed by the time she decided to be a menace about the orange peel theory

she thinks about him often though

they're texting buddies actually

-> yuki tsunoda, #22

literally came prepared

he's got a packet of candy he bought when he flew back to japan for a visit

she gives him the whole orange

she literally peels the orange for him in exchange for the candy

-> alex albon, #23

was literally walking to the grid for the opening ceremony of the race weekend

says no immediately

but he does change his mind and asks if he can have half if he peels it for her

peels it and takes more than half of the share

-> zhou guanyu, #24

is delighted to even see her because they don't come across one another often

is kinda touched that she asked him to peel an orange but then is disappointed to find out that he's not the first victim and that this is all a tiktok trend for her

peels it anyway

asks her to bring an extra orange if there's a next time as payment

-> niko hulkenberg, #27

she literally cannot find him

doesn't get to participate in the trend

she only saw him once that weekend and it was at the opening ceremony and she only had 1 orange for alex to peel

and on the grid in his race car

-> esteban ocon, #31

absolutely ADORES her

peels it without question

peeks around her shoulder to ask if she's brought another one for him

she says yes and that he's the only one who gets one for himself because she loves him back

-> lewis hamilton, #44

this psycho literally approaches lewis when he's on an interview panel

but that's because he asked her to do it at that time so he has a excuse to escape the panel

he's just so tired of the panel interviews

giggling with her like demons as he peels the orange

-> carlos sainz, #55

peels it for her without question

the only one to ask her why she's got so many oranges to eat and hand out

also the only one to ask her if oranges have been the only thing she's eaten all weekend

inhumanly impossible to eat this many oranges in one weekend perhaps

-> george russell, #63

is literally tearing up because she came to him to ask to peel the orange

he heard from alex what she's been doing

he's been waiting all weekend for her and was sad that it seemed like she had no intentions on letting him participate in her tiktok

she feels so bad for him that she joins him in peeling an orange as well

-> valtteri bottas, #77

is confused because he's just minding his own business using his phone during the driver's briefing

peels the orange for her anyway

asks if oranges are her favourite fruit

suggests eating something less acidic to avoid a tummyache

-> oscar piastri, #81

if anyone's tired of her being a menace with all these oranges, it's going to be him

but because he knows she'll pick a fight if he says no

he will peel the orange reluctantly

takes a picture with the orange because it's the same shade as the mclaren shirt he is wearing

— bonus

-> liam lawson, #30

asks her to fuck off

only ask him to peel an orange when she's lost all the ability to peel one for herself

asks her if he can have one from her orange stash

she says no in tears because he cussed at her

shrugs and walks away

-> sebastian vettel, #5

this clinically insane woman has got this 4 time world champion peeling oranges on the pit wall during qualifying

has him throw her a peeled orange in between laps during qualifying

eats it in the car for a racing 'buff' before she drives out for a lap

she's got too many oranges so he helps her eat some of them

eating oranges = beating mclaren = beating oscar because they're all the same colour and have a correlation obviously

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @sadg3

#f1 grid x reader #fem!driver #female driver #f1 fem!driver #f1 female driver #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke vr #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #logan sargeant x reader #alex albon x reader #sebastian vettel x reader

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