#just. be mindful of what we are saying to authors in comments please!

[justwonder113]

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🎧 Shutting you up mid argument with a kiss - Hyung line edition 🎧

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Maknae Line

📖 Summary:  Basically what the title says 🤭

⚠️ Warnings:  Cursing as always; Arguments; kissing; fluff; angst but nothing too extreme; Suggestive ending at Chan's part. NOT PROOFREAD

🖋️ Author’s Note:  Saw a gif of a man shutting a girl up with a kiss and got inspired so hopefully you'll like it. Will do a reverse version too so stay tuned~

📝 Word Count:  3k

📜 Masterlist: | ☕ Ko-fi:

💬Reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

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Chan

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To say that you were pissed off would be an understatement. On a broad daylight in front of you this bitch had the nerve to flirt with your boyfriend! Even worse, apart from ignoring your whole damn existence like you meant nothing she made him uncomfortable!  

Like you just wanted to enjoy a peaceful meal, a peaceful evening with your sweet, overworked, always busy boyfriend and instead of that you were now practically seething in your seat while Chan awkwardly but still firmly rejected the girl. 

“Baby you’ve not touched your food in a while. We can go home if you want?” Chan’s concerned voice brought you back from angry and mean things you were thinking about a waitress you were doomed to be served by today. 

 You felt bad. “No...” - You started unsure of what to say. “You wanted to try this place for a while. Let’s just eat okay?  I promise I’m fine.” 

Chan didn’t look convinced.  You saw his eyebrow rise in question but he didn’t say anything and as if sensing  your inner turmoil he started rubbing your hand with his thumb, He hadn’t let go of your hand since you first sat down here. Sometimes it infuriated you how perfect he was. How handsome, kind, gentle, loving, understanding... Even now he was the one feeling uncomfortable but the first thing on his mind was to check on you.You alsmost felt bad feeling angry. 

Almost. 

To be fair you really tried to keep your cool but you were human after all. 

“It’s just some people have no shame! I mean I was right here! She just ignored me! You were holding my damn fucking hand! Of course it means we’re dating or do we have to start making out for her to get a hint?” You grumbled out all annoyed.  Looking up at Chan to take your side you noticed that the expression on his face had changed. Instead of an awkward smile he had on he was now gazing at you with amusement written all over his face. His eyes like a crecent moons and his adorable dimples showing.  

It wasn’t fucking fair he looked this damn good! 

“Don’t smile at me like you aren’t in fucking trouble!”  You watched as confusion washed all over his face. 

“Why am I in trouble?” 

“Oh I will tell you! You are too kind!” You point it out like it’s a huge problem which sounds ridiculous but unfortunately for both of you it is. 

“How is me being kind a problem? Isn’t that a good thing? Should I be evil?” Despite Chan’s playful tone and his amused smile confusion was as clear as a day on his face. 

“Shut it I’m still talking and you’re on thin ice!” The glare you gave him instantly made him shut up. 

“Sorry darling, please continue.” Softly kissing your hand he straightened up and tried to look serious. Tried being the key word. You really tried to keep your composure. 

“You can’t just smile at everyone like that, Chan,” you snap. “That waitress was eating it up. You were practically handing her your number with those puppy eyes.” 

Chan blinks, caught between confusion and guilt. “I was just being polite—” 

“That’s the problem!” you cut in, voice slightly rising against your better judgement. “You’re too polite. Too nice. Too—you. And you don’t see it, but people take advantage of that. You think they’re being friendly. I see it as them testing boundaries.” 

You sighed. “I shouldn't have to sit through a meal watching someone throw themselves at you while you smile and thank them for it like it’s normal. I trust you. I know you won’t betray my trust. It's just... Fuck I don’t know how to explain. I don’t want someone to make you uncomfortable like this. It’s not just about me getting pissed.” 

You exhale sharply, half-angry, half-exhausted mostly grumbling like an old cartoon character. “I should just—I don’t know—write ‘taken’ on your damn forehead in permanent marker or something like mark you up or some shit like that.” 

Chan’s expression shifted at that — something flickered behind his eyes. And then, without a word, he leaned forward over the tiny table, cupped your jaw with one hand, and kidded you. The kiss was firm, sure, leaving no room for argument — just the press of his lips saying everything he hadn’t yet taking your breath away just like that. 

When he finally pulled back, he murmured, breath warm against your skin, “Then I guess I’ll just have to show everyone I’m already yours.” Another short but loving peck, and you’ve already forgotten just what had you worked up anyway. “Is that good with you darling?” The teasing glint in his eyes and the smug grin he was barely hiding made you snap back to reality. 

“Oh fuck you!”  How did he manage to always fluster you was beyond you. He was taking advantage of how much you loved him really. What a tease. Made your heart throb and everything...

God you loved him. 

“Later baby.” He leaned in and sealed your lips again, not that you were against it. Also, you just loved how sour the mood of a certain waitress got after Chan’s very much public display of affection. A win was a win. 

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Lee Know

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The day started out great. You had a day off and you had spent it all day cuddling with your boyfriend and his adorable fluffballs till noon, you had a great breakfast and you two even went out to hang out with the guys. You decided to have a game night. There were also few other close “friends” invited.  

The thing is you and Minho were always a team whenever you played because both of you tended to get overly invested in games and usually it resulted in chaos. But today others had an interesting idea. Since there was an even amount of you Felix and Jisung came up with the idea to randomly split into pairs. That’s how you ended up being paired with Minho’s biggest enemy- Kim Seungmin. Not that you had anything against him, in fact you loved that chaotic little gremlin, the literal chaos incarnate.  

Minho didn’t seem to appreciate that at all. 

At first you thought that he was sulky because he and Innie lost to you and Seungmin in many games, declaring you the winner of the night. But now as you two were heading towards your shared house the atmostphere had really shifted. 

Even the air felt heavy in the car. It was quiet. Too quiet. Like the storm was brewing.  

After you felt Minho glance at you for the nth time this whole ride you just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. 

“Okay what is the problem? You had been sulking since we left.” 

Minho looked at you for a second, his face unreadable. “I’m not sulking.” Flat, so dry. 

Yeah right. 

“Please like I’d miss something like that after knowing you for years. You’re literally pouting Min! You only do that when you’re annoyed...”-You poused for a second-“or jealous.” 

“I’m not pouting.” a displeased scoff from him.

Ypu scoff in return. Yes, it's very mature..“Oh please like you can fool me.” 

"I’m fine.” 

“Minho. Why are you upset” 

He laughed now dryly.

“What is funny?"

“It’s funny you noticed, considering you were too busy all evening laughing at everythingSeungmin had said, like he’s the funniest person ever. You didn’t even bother to look at me from time to time. What a cute little pair you were." Minho's voice was cold, so cold it made you shiver. He never talked to you like that.

How dare he?

“Are you fucking serious right now?"

Another glance

“Completely” 

"So what? Am I not allowed to laugh at someone else’s joke? What if my boyfriend takes it as me flirting? What do you not trust me now"

"You think this is about trust?" Minho asked after stopping a car in front of your house. He looked at you, he really did. For a first time in the last 2 hours. "No. It's about the fact that you know exactly what you do to me when you smile like that—and then you go flashing it at everyone else. So fuck me I guess." 

"Excuse me? I’m not yours to—"  

You barely desipher the click of his seatbelt before his hand is firmly on your jaw and his lips are on yours. The kiss so raw and passionate speaking so many things at once. "Yeah, you are." He whispered against your lips before connecting them all over again. You swear you feel like you’re melting.   "You're mine."

“You won’t get out of this with a kiss you know.” 

"If you don’t want me to kiss you, don’t look so damn kissable when you’re angry." Only Lee Minho would he able to say this in the most nonchalant way.

Still it made your heart flutter.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes." You grumbled as you avoided his gaze. You didn’t want him to see how flustered he got you.

“You love me.” 

“I do.” 

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Changbin

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You loved your boyfriend. He was your love, your joy your happiness. He meant everything to you. Like there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him. But sometimes you just felt like strangling him. Like the way Homer Simpson strangles his son Bart. Or at least smack him. 

You two were supposed to have a date in this fancy restourant that recently opened up. You barely managed to make a reservation it was already packed for next 3 months.

Well, you were supposed to go and enjoy your date. The key word being supposed.

 Because he didn’t show up.   

You waited and waited. 15 minutes he didn’t answer your call. 30 minutes. Still no answer and no call. An hour- nothing. The pitiful gazes from the restaurant staff and other people around you became too much, but you still waited. An hour and a half... You just couldn’t take it anymore, so you left. 

You had barely taken a few steps from the restaurant when you saw him running full speed at you. 

“Baby I am so sorry!” You heard him huff out between laboured breaths. 

“Forget it, let’s go home.” The sound of your voice sounded so foreign to you. So emotionless. So empty. 

Changbin quickly caught up with you and stopped you by gently but firmly grabbing your wrist. “Baby please!” He sounded desperate but you didn’t care. You were fed up. You just wanted to go home. 

The desperate call of your name made you stop. And something in you snapped. ”Unbelievable! You forgot! Again! And now you act and sound like you’re the one hurting?” 

“Baby please, listen to me for a second.” He pleaded but you were done listening, 

“Do you even care Changbin? Or am I just some afterthought in your schedule?” You finally asked it, you really did. 

"I—No, I do care! I just lost track of time. I was in the studio, and-” You didn’t let me finish. Scoffing you started to talk. You were done being forgiving and understanding. This time you would speak up for yourself. "Studio. Right, always the studio. Always work. Always something more important than me! You didn’t even text, Changbin! You could have at least warned me instead of making me look like a pathetic fool in front of all these people! You could have fucking answered one of the many fucking calls. “ You knew that his schedule was a nightmare, but you weren’t asking for much. You knew that his mind was occupied with work, but would it kill him to think about you from time to time? 

Changbin looked like he was physically hurt by  your words. "I know. And I’m sorry, I really am!” 

“Sorry?! Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I was sitting there alone, waiting for you! I looked like an idiot, Changbin! Do you even know how...” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, you barely even had time to realize what was happening but one second you were pouring your heart out to Changbin in the middle of nowhere and the next second he was kissing you so desperately like you were the air he needed to breathe.

like you were his lifeline.

He held you like he was afraid you would disappear. 

The kiss itself was so raw, so desperate, so passionate and urgent. You didn’t even know how to react. Your whole body begged you to reciprocate to return the passion. It begged you to hold onto him and never let go, but at the same time you heart ached so much...  

His hands were so warm and gentle holding your face. His whole body was warm. All you wanted was to nuzzle against his strong sturdy frame. But what frightened you more is how weak you were for him. It’s like you could physically feel how the frustration, the anger- all melt into the heat of the kiss as the seconds passed. 

Eventually he leaned back. His eyes  glistening  like he was seconds away from crying. You don’t even realize when you started crying yourself. You only realized when Changbin gently wiped them away. “I messed up. But please, don’t say I don’t care about you.” He took your hands in his and kissed every knuckle making your skin crawl in anticipation. Not breaking eye contact. His eyes speaking for himself , in the language only you two could understand. Something just you two. “You’re my heart.” Another kiss, on your wrist now. And your heart leaped in your ribcage.  

“I love you so much baby.“- He muttered against your skin as he now migrated and kissed both of your cheeks. His touch purely electrifying. “Please trust me on that.” A broken voice and a final kiss on your forehead and you finally give in. 

“You’re on thin ice...” You finally mutter out after a few seconds of silence and Changbin looking like a literal sad puppy instead of a dwaekki. 

A biggest grin comes up on his face immediately. “I won’t break your trust again bunny! I promise.” 

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Hyunjin

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It starts the same way it always does. 

You said something—something important, something you needed Hyunjin to hear—and he just nodded, absently, like your words were some kind of background noise to whatever thought was occupying his head. 

Like now. 

You were sitting across from him, watching, waiting for even the slightest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. But instead, he was staring at the floor—no, not even staring. Spacing out. 

You could feel your fingers tighten around your drink. Your heart clenching in pain from being ignored yet again. “Hyunjin.” You called out agan but somewhat you already knew you would be ignored again.  

And there it was - Silence. 

Your heart sinked further. 

“Hyunjin.” You called. His head jerked up, eyes wide, almost guilty. “Huh?” 

Oh, there it iwas. The proof that he wasn’t listening. 

Your voice sharpened, your tone cold. “You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” 

“i’m sorry darlin I must have spaced out. What were you saying?” There it was. He asked you to repeat yourself like it was nothing special. Did he even realize just how much he tuned you out? Were you not interesting for him anymore? 

“God Hyunjin you always do this.” It’s like you could feel the headache manifesting. 

“What? What did I do wrong?” He fully sat up now. God was he serious? 

“Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s the problem, Hyunjin—you don’t listen! 

Hyunjin looked taken aback for a second but he quickly started to defend himself. “That’s not true, I...” You didn’t let him finish. 

“It is! Every time I try to talk, you brush it off. You nod along, say, "Yeah, yeah," like it’s nothing! Like I’m some background noise in your life!” You paused a second to take a deep breath. You felt like you could cry any second now. You felt so fragile like you could crack any second.  “It really hurts Hyun...” 

Seeing your defeated state he paniced " I swear, I...” 

"No!”  You interrupt, quite harshly also. “No, don’t just "I swear" me! Because the moment I get serious, the moment I actually need you to listen, you always...” 

Hyunjin moved. Quick, decisive, like he already made up his mind before you even finished your sentence. His lips crash against yours mid-rant, stealing your words, your frustration, your breath. The world tips upside down and all that's left is him—his touch, his warmth, his absurd, infuriating way of handling things. He pulls back just enough to whisper—soft, teasing, smug in the way only Hyunjin can be and get away with - “See? You’re not arguing anymore. Perfect balance.” 

You’re actually speechless. It was like the anger and sadness evaporated but now all you felt was confusion. Being in a relationship with him sure was a rollercoaster. You were flustered, scandalized, fuck you would be clutching your pearls if you had any on.  

You were dizzy. You could barely stand on your two feet. Your heart was going absolutely crazy in your ribcage!

“That—That doesn’t help your case at all you asshole!” Not able to stop yourself you smacked his arm which made Hyunjin giggle. 

Leaning in he wrapped his arms around you and gently brough you to himself. “I’m sorry my love I promise I will be more present from now on.” As if to make his point come across, he laned in to kiss your forehead gently. 

Bergundigly you wrapped your hands around his waist.

As if you could stay mad at him. 

“You better Hwang!” 

Hyunjin flinched like you slapped the shit out of him. “Baby! Not my last name!” 

Served him right. 

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✧･ﾟ: Thank you for reading! :･ﾟ✧ 

If you enjoyed this story, reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. 💬🖤 

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[bucketbueckers]

BIGGER IN TEXAS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth (and some plot, as a treat)!! language, light alcohol/body shots, oral, fingering, strap, fuck ass cowboy hats, freak shit im talm bout inittttt, slight overstim, mirror, light choking (author is unoriginal we know this), reader is honestly thirsty as hell but so is paige, idk how to tag smut properly just know im losing my spot in heaven for this fic

wc: 10.5k

synopsis: A Dallas Wings rookie and a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader walk into a club together. What could possibly go wrong?

notes: i wasn't ovulating when i drafted this but i am now! maybe tmi. sinners changed my life and my main takeaway from that movie is everyone is a munch and thats a life philosophy i think everyone should have. make sure you all say "thank you kali uchis" because i actually got insane writers block after waking up this morning but her album saved me. not much to say but im actually going to hell for this so please make it worth it and hit up my inbox pls and ty 🫶 as always i hope yall enjoy!

Let the record show that you weren’t serious.

Okay. You were like, 50% serious. As in if you were presented with the opportunity, you would take it, but if any of your friends were to ask about it, you would probably deflect.

You realize now that you tend to get a little overzealous on Twitter – it’s far more unhinged than your Instagram is, where you share pictures of your everyday life and action shots as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You have less followers on the bird app (it is not X), you’re a little more…real, and as a bonus, your mom doesn’t follow you, so you feel like you can be a little more insane on there.

Although you’d probably apologize to her later – because one of your recent tweets is going a little crazy.

It didn’t start as anything crazy. Being a Dallas athlete, you kept up with nearly every sports team – the Mavericks, the Stars, the Cowboys, obviously, but you loved the Wings, too. You watched the WNBA draft as did countless others in the country.

When the Wings admin posted the Welcome to Dallas, Paige Bueckers! tweet, you’d giggled to yourself, mostly because you were nursing a Chili’s margarita and because she looked insanely good in the graphic.

You retweeted it, typing, welcoming you into dallas w open arms @.paigebueckers1 🤠

Then, almost like an afterthought, you commented on your own retweet, typing, and with open legs 🙏

You didn’t think much of it. Obviously. You didn’t have a huge following and if anyone asked, you’d just be kidding. The next ten minutes are peaceful as you finish off your margarita and scroll aimlessly through TikTok, keeping one ear out for the next draft pick. And then your phone starts blowing up.

A bunch of likes. A few people retweeting your second comment with various laughing or crying emojis. But what makes you pause is the notification reading Paige Bueckers has liked your tweet!

Oh. You click just to make sure, and – yeah. Definitely the one about having open legs.

Any other day, this would probably be mortifying, but today you’re a little emboldened by the margarita in your veins and you can’t help but think this is a little funny. You’ll probably regret it later when everyone remembers that you’re kind of a public figure and decides to flame you for being a little unhinged on main. For now, though, it’s not that big of a deal.

When you wake up in the morning to an unread DM from Paige – who’d followed you back, mind you – on your Instagram, you suddenly realize that it actually is a big deal.

Paige 💕: I’m flying into Dallas on the 23rd for media Paige 💕: If the offer still stands maybe you could show me around the city?

You stare blankly at your phone. Then you blink once. Twice. You power off your phone, press your pillow to your face, and you scream.

You weren’t serious, but you think you’re being presented with the opportunity – and, well, who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

After you finally come back to your senses, you reach for your phone again, navigating back to your DMs with Paige. You only have to contemplate for a few seconds before your fingers are flying across the keyboard.

You: i’ve been known to be a thorough tour guide You: let me know what your schedule looks like and i’ll show you the pretty parts of dallas

Her response comes quicker than you were expecting.

Paige 💕: Looking forward to it 🫶 Paige 💕: Not sure how Dallas compares to you but I can be open minded

Admittedly, you have to reread her message twice to fully grasp the cheesy pick-up line, but you hate the way it makes your cheeks flush. You’re not sure how to respond to that.

You settle for screaming into your pillow again.

The week passes by quickly. You and Paige talk — a lot — truly enjoying getting to know each other during your rare moments of free time. Paige is busy with flights and appearances while your schedule is packed with practice and learning the audition choreography for the next season of DCC. 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but think how nice it is. There’s no expectations. You’re both athletes with a combined two hours of free time. For now, you’re just content to see where this goes. You enjoy her company, and honestly, you’re really into her. Paige flirts relentlessly, but you can tell there’s an undercurrent of respect and admiration that makes you feel like that feeling is mutual, too. 

She texts you a picture of the Dallas tarmac when she lands on the 23rd, a coy reminder that you did promise to show her around. Paige has media for a good portion of the day, though, so you know you won’t be seeing her for a while. You tune in for a little bit of her rookie press conference, and no, you weren’t cheesing while listening to her speak. But if you were, that wouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.

You don’t hear from her for the next few hours, which doesn’t bother you. You do get a call from one of your squadmates, Lielle, asking if you’d be down to hit the club before the DCC season starts – and who were you to say no to that?

You settle for a light, natural makeup look, throwing on a blue, mesh, halter corset top that sparkles in the light and a pair of cropped, white denim shorts. They’re long enough to cover what they need to, but it’s the perfect club outfit – something with the right amount of tease and will make you feel confident enough to truly let loose.

Lielle picks you up along with a few other of your friends who tease you relentlessly for your actions on Twitters – it’s no use defending yourself, although they’re nearly howling in excitement when you point out that Paige is in your DMs, so you’re probably doing something right.

You and your girls enter the club with high spirits, the atmosphere already electric, and two of your squadmates break away to find a table while you and Lielle make your way to the bar to order shots and drinks for everyone. Lielle leans over the bar, already laying it on thick for the bartender, who grins politely like he’s seen just about every variation of whatever game Lielle is playing.

On the bright side, he does end up discounting your drinks on account of being a DCC fan, which makes you think Lielle never truly had a chance, anyways – but a cheaper drink is a cheaper drink, especially in Dallas. Lielle walks away with a wink and the drinks in her hands as you remain to order something for yourself. The bartender has just slid the drink your way when you feel the heat of someone’s body next to yours. At first, you’re alarmed, but you soften when you hear their voice, followed by finally looking at their face.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” In person, Paige Bueckers is so much taller than you’d anticipated, which is probably a really stupid thing to say for a professional basketball player. She’s tall, her cologne a heady scent of warm vanilla and something distinctly floral, and she rests her arm against the bar in a way that’s devastatingly casual and dangerously alluring. Paige is wearing a black and white striped Nike sweater, the very same she’d done media in, a look not befitting of the club but you can’t help but think about how perfectly her it is.

You crack a coy smile, taking a quick sip of your drink for some liquid courage, because Paige is staring at you like she knows exactly what she wants from you and your heart thrums because if she said the word, you’d be willing to give it to her. “What, is this place too scandalous for a cheerleader like me?” you joke, and the heat of her gaze travels down your body in one quick motion.

“Nah, nothing like that,” she assures you. “Just didn’t think that out of every club in this city, I’d be lucky enough to run into you my first night out.”

“Seems we’re both feeling a little lucky tonight, huh?” you say, and she laughs gently under her breath. Paige holds out a hand to you. In lieu of a shake, you settle for hugging her instead, which she relaxes into immediately, her hands resting respectfully at the small of your back. “It’s great to finally meet you in person,” you say genuinely, pulling away at the right moment. “You enjoying Dallas so far?”

Paige shrugs a little, a smile on her face and gratitude on her tongue when the bartender slides a drink her way, too. “Haven’t got the chance to see much,” she says honestly. “Was in media all day, then I stopped by Costco so my apartment looked a little less pathetic. Now I’m here. Something about rookie initiation, according to Rike, but I think she just wanted someone to buy her drinks.”

You laugh. “Look at you already taking care of people,” you comment, your grin widening at her playful expression. “You’re here with your team, then? Where are y’all sitting?”

Paige purses her lips, her eyes squinting as she peers through the dim lighting of the club. “I think over there?” she says, pointing at the VIP section towards the back. She’s closer to you now, her chin resting just above your head, and you follow her gaze. You can’t help your smile, something she picks up on immediately. “What’s funny?”

“I think your team’s already hitting it off with mine,” you say, easily spotting Lielle handing a shot to Arike and clapping when she downs it in one go. You don’t think Lielle is drunk yet, but she has a natural excitement and zest for life that makes her the easiest person in the world to befriend.

Paige huffs a little under her breath, amusement lacing the sound, and her hand finds your waist. “Must be meant to be,” she says to you. Despite yourself, you preen, your smile widening when her hand finds your skin. “After you.”

Paige walks almost protectively behind you, the crowd of club-goers parting instinctively for the both of you. When you make it back to the VIP section, both of your teams cheer – like they know something you don’t – which causes a blush to rise on your cheeks and a nearly smug expression to take over Paige’s.

Introductions are swift, if a little unnecessary. You’d run into many of the Wings players before, having made a genuine effort your first year as a professional cheerleader to show up to many of the Dallas sports games.

Before you know it, Arike has ordered more shots for the table, and Paige slides into the booth next to you with a dangerous glint in her eye and two shots of tequila in her hands. The table is lively, raucous, with Kelsey – one of your squadmates – going shot for shot with Aziaha James and Lielle and Arike instigating.

But here, now, in this little corner you and Paige have tucked yourselves into, you’re enjoying the intimacy of the moment far too much, feeling as though you’ve been afforded far more privacy than you actually have.

Paige presses one of the shots into your hands, a loose smile on her face. “To Dallas?” she asks you, raising her glass.

You tap yours against hers, a matching smile of your own as you agree, “To Dallas.” You down your shots in one go, the liquid warming your belly pleasantly. “And to Twitter,” you add a little jokingly, but your blush deepens when Paige smirks, raising a thumb to your lip to wipe away the excess tequila beading on your mouth.

She sucks her finger into her mouth, humming a little insufferably, and you’re burning for an entirely different reason now. Your gaze hones in on her hand, flicking between her lips and her eyes. And, sure, she was constantly flirting with you over text. You knew she was feeling you as much as you were feeling her – but to watch her behave so confidently in front of you, to unravel you like it was nothing… The confirmation makes you ache. It reminds you that you’re not the only one feeling the warm buzz between the two of you.

“You always that forward?” Paige asks you, referring to your tweet. “Or am I just lucky?” Her words are punctuated with a heated grin, one that makes you shift in your seat. You hope that she didn’t notice, but you see the way her eyes darken and how she leans in a little closer to you.

“Only when I’m tipsy, apparently,” you mutter. You glance up, taking in her expression, the curiosity and desire in her eyes. Your lips quirk into an amused smile. “But I don’t think I have to tell you about the effect you have on people.”

“Good thing I don’t really care about other people,” she says, her gaze dropping down again. You can’t tell if she’s looking at your lips or your chest, but it makes warmth bloom under your skin, anyways. Paige makes eye contact as easily as she drinks you in. It’s disorienting, unwavering. It’s almost like you can see exactly what she’s thinking by the way her pupils dilate. Her fingers brush against the inside of your wrist, setting each and every one of your nerve endings on fire. “But you? Didn’t know I was affecting you like that.”

“Oh, you’re not,” you laugh, which just makes her laugh, too, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. Dangerous because you know you’ve already given in. Any other attempt at saving face or trying to look a little less down bad is just meant to make you feel a little bit better – like she hadn’t already won you hook, line, and sinker the moment you promised to show her around Dallas. 

“Lying is a sin,” Paige murmurs.

“Lust, too,” you retort.

Paige’s subsequent grin is a little too wicked. “Touche,” she agrees, and you can’t help but lean into her touch when her hand splays over the expanse of your toned waist, her thumb brushing your skin like she’s trying to memorize every shift in your muscles. Her voice drops a few decibels, only loud enough for you to hear as she presses in closer to you. Your hair raises when her lips ghost across your temple, the shell of your ear. “You’re already burning for me, though. Probably soaked through these fucking shorts, aren’t you? So why pretend you ain’t?”

“Paige,” you whisper, your heart beating a little faster, pounding against your ribcage. Your hand finds hers, linking your fingers together, and you don’t stop her when she maps out every inch of skin not hidden by your top. If anything, you arch into it slightly, enjoying the heat of her palm against your belly. She grins like she knows, like she’s already called the Uber and is thinking about how she can ruin you in the car without alerting the driver.

“Jus’ say it, mama,” she murmurs, her breath hitting your ear. You should feel some type of way for how easily your body betrays your brain, pressing further into her without your permission. “Tell me what you want and we don’t gotta play these games in front of your girls.”

Your mouth opens, the words getting caught in your throat when Paige finally grips the meat of your thigh with her hand, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to claim.

But before you can give into the feeling of it all, the bubble of peace between the two of you is broken by Lielle exclaiming, “Who wants to do body shots?!”

Breathless, you glance up at Paige, who stares back at you with mischief. She squeezes your thigh gently, whispering, “Be good,” before tugging you to your feet and towards Lielle, who holds the salt, lime, and the bottle of tequila. You sigh a little, already feeling like you could combust.

Your combined teams cheer when Paige volunteers you. Her smile, which is borderline smug and nearly possessive, makes your skin burn, but her eyes betray the ease in her features. She scans her teammates like she’s waiting for one of them to think that they could take her place.

Kelsey clears space on the table while Lielle uncaps the bottle of alcohol. One of the other Dallas rookies – JJ, you think her name is, extends a hand to help you onto the table, but all it takes is one glaring look from Paige to make her raise her hands in surrender. Paige steps up, her gaze dark, and she grips your hips, raising you onto the table with a weightless ease. Her eyes never leave yours, watching you with rapt attention as you lean back, getting comfortable.

“You good?” she asks, her hand resting over your stomach, which rises and falls steadily under the heat of the moment. You nod quickly, needing her hands on her body more than you think you need air, and she allows herself a quiet smile as she reaches for a lime wedge. Gingerly, she holds it out to you. Your teeth part at her wordless command, clamping down on the lime, trying not to wince at the taste. Her fingers linger on your lips, pupils blown wide, and it makes warmth coil low in your belly when you realize just how reciprocated this feeling is.

She reaches for the salt next, uncapping it, too, and meets your eyes with one last unspoken question. You don’t hesitate before you nod, uncaring of where she lines up the salt. You are surprised when she leans down, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, wetting the skin there so the salt can stick. You hardly register the wolf whistles around you, far too focused on the satisfied, focused grin on Paige’s face as she sprinkles the salt on your skin.

Finally, Lielle hands over the bottle of tequila, and you try to steady your breathing as Paige pours a generous amount in your navel. A drop slips, trailing down and soaking into the fabric of your shorts. You swear you can hear Paige’s breath hitch, but the club is too loud for you to be certain.

Lielle is probably recording. There’s no way she isn’t – she’s the life of the party, and whenever you wake up tomorrow, you’re sure you’ll find the video of Paige doing a body shot off of you on her close friends. But right now, when Paige is staring at you like you’re the only person in the room, like she can’t wait to get you alone and ruin you? You can’t think about anything but the blonde athlete and how willing you are to let her unravel you.

With one last glance to check in on you, Paige leans over you, caging you in with her arms. Her head dips down, licking the salt off of your chest with a devastating slowness. You catch the edge of her grin as she trails her lips down your torso, settling at your belly and drinking the tequila directly off your stomach.

Her tongue probes for the last drop and she presses a farewell kiss to your skin that makes your breathing stutter. Then, finally, she makes her way back up to your lips, her skin a little flushed, and she parts her lips to take the lime wedge in between her teeth.

But Paige isn’t through with you. You watch with wide eyes as she punctures the flesh with her teeth. She takes the lime wedge in between her fingers and with her free hand, she cups your jaw, her thumb brushing against your lip. You adhere to the silent demand, your lips parting again, and she presses down on the bottom row of your teeth with her thumb, keeping you open as she squeezes the juice of the lime into your mouth.

You shudder, eyes slipping shut in a non-physical pleasure – Paige hasn’t even touched you yet, but you feel like you’re ready to fall apart. The lime juice makes your face contort from the sourness, but you hardly think about it when your eyes blink open once more to take in Paige’s lazy expression. She’s already gone – her smile wide, reverent, satisfied, proud, and she discards the lime peel.

Paige removes her finger from your mouth, closing your jaw for you, her features softening with pride as you swallow the juice dutifully. You barely hear her whisper, “Good,” before she helps you off of the table, steadying you when you sway a little unsteadily, and the both of you make every effort to ignore your friends.

They don’t focus on the two of you for too long – JJ is helping Kelsey onto the table to keep going, so you take advantage of their distraction and pull Paige down to your level by her collar. She grins insufferably, like she knows she’s teased you to the point of no return. Her smile widens when you demand, “Take me home. Or we’ll cause a scandal in the middle of this club.”

Her lips brush against yours. “Uber’s already here,” she informs you, her expression far too satisfied. If you were any less pussy drunk, you’d probably hate yourself for being too easy, but all you can think about is how her skin would feel against yours.

You let her pull you through the club. You let her hands linger on your hips when she helps you into the Uber. And without so much as a noise, you part your legs for her in the car, letting her fingers trace the inside of your thighs discreetly. Paige doesn’t give you what you need – you knew she wouldn’t.

You keep your reactions tempered, even when she leans in closer to you, her nose brushing against your ear as she whispers filth that the driver is none the wiser to. And when you make it to her apartment complex, you hardly hear the driver’s farewell before she guides you out of the car, through the apartment lobby, and into the elevator.

Paige’s grip on your hips is tight, like you’re not sure if she’s trying to keep you close or trying to restrain herself from defiling you in the elevator. Either way, you don’t mind. You press your hips to her front, grinning in satisfaction when her fingers tighten and her breath hitches, a groan building in her throat. The ding of the elevator breaks you both from your stupor and you follow her to her door, watching in amusement as she fumbles with the key in her haste.

“Do you remember my tweet?” you ask a little offhandedly, sliding your fingers under the hem of her sweatshirt. She curses under her breath when your fingers find her waist, splaying across her abdomen – it’s more for your pleasure than it is hers, feeling her muscles jump under your hold. Her eyes are a little wide and blown out when they meet yours.

“S’all I’ve thought about for weeks,” she confesses, finally getting the lock to turn. Her words give you pause as she throws open the door. Catching you by surprise, she picks you up, one arm looping under your ass, and your arms slide around her neck for stability as she shuts the door behind her, making sure to turn the lock back.

It’s all speed from there. Paige kicks her shoes off in the entryway, her hands gripping the back of your thighs as she blindly walks the both of you through the hallway towards the bedroom. You silently thank her coordination as an athlete, more so when she starts mouthing at your chest like it’s been the only thing keeping her going. Her tongue darts out, wet against your skin, and she hums against your breast as she tastes the residual salt from the shot and the sweat. Paige nips at your skin and holding onto her tighter with a wordless sigh is all you can do to keep it together.

Finally, she finds the bedroom door, throwing it open without a care in the world. Paige deposits you safely on bed and then almost falls over herself following – the dichotomy makes you ache, the way she’s so desperate to get her hands and mouth on you, but the evident care she makes sure to treat you with despite her need. You want her to turn you out in every single way she’s thought about since draft night, but the respect is touching.

She clicks on the dim lamp at her bedside, her eyes returning to your figure when her vision adjusts. She shakes her head like you’re not real, her hands touching your hips, your waist, your breasts covered by the thin material of your top. You’re sure she’s burning this image into her mind forever – you’re doing the same. You may never be able to forget the image of Paige Bueckers hovering above you, eyes wild and gone, messy like you’re already five rounds deep and not just pent up from fucking around in the club.

The first press of her lips against yours makes you keen, arching into her exploring hands while yours cups her cheeks. You’ve thought about this for weeks, too, how it would feel to have her on top of you like this. She tastes like a tequila shot and something distinctly fruity from the cocktail she was sipping on. Combined with the lime juice on your breath, your kiss is intoxicating for several different reasons, and the heat coiling in your belly reminds you of how badly you want this.

She tugs your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it back and letting it snap back before her lips find every inch of your skin. The hinge of your jaw, the tender spot on your neck that makes you thread your fingers through her hair to pull the tie loose, the dip in your throat where your moan vibrates against her lips. Paige is ravenous. Like there’s a million different things she wants to do to you before the sun comes up. You’d let her.

“Thought about this forever,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse and wrecked. Your breath stutters, back arching to help her untie your halter top and letting her pull it off you. She goes almost painfully silent when she takes in your breasts fully, your pebbled nipples. “Fuck.” Her curse sounds like a filthy prayer, one that you’d give up almost everything to respond to. One of her large hands splay over your breast while her mouth finds the other one, alternating between kneading and sucking and here – you’re sure you could fall apart completely, your hips jumping up for contact.

“You don’t know what that stupid comment did to me,” she continues, almost to herself, but she knows you’re listening. She feeds off of the way your breath hitches as she pulls back long enough to rip her sweatshirt and sports bra off in two quick motions, the chains around her neck tangling briefly before they trail cold caresses across your stomach when she leans back down to take your skin in her mouth. Your jaw falls open in pleasure, gripping onto her, the sheets, anything to stay rooted.

“Looked at your page, and those–” Her fingers find the waistband of your shorts, popping the button and pulling the denim off while she rambles. She falters when she takes in the white lace covering your body, a low, wrecked groan spilling from her lips at the sight of the wet patch at the apex of your thighs. Paige brushes her fingers against you, relishing in the way your hips jump and your whispered plea.

“Those stunts you do,” she continues finally. “That fucking uniform is sinful, you know that? Got myself off thinking about you, how good you’d be. You offered yourself up and all I could think about at the presser was how many different ways I could get you to come for me. I wonder if I could do it without my hands.”

You’re not coherent enough to tell her she could probably do it with words alone, but you reach for her and pull her back to your lips, kissing her hungrily, like you’re on death row and she’s your only chance of salvation.

Your hands explore while her kiss disorients you. Finding the waistband of her pants, you reach for the belt, undoing it. Paige helps you pull her pants off, leaving her in a dark pair of boxers. Her skin is impossibly warm against your palms as you press your fingers into the small of her back, undoubtedly leaving marks.

She pulls back to trail her lips down your body, sucking marks everywhere, her hands holding you like she’s afraid you’d float away if she didn’t keep you rooted.

Paige doesn’t make any effort to strip you out of your damp underwear – if anything, she stares at it like she’s more proud of it than getting drafted first overall, and she presses her lips to the skin just above your waistband until it blooms red and purple. She soothes it with a kiss, her expression far too smug and satisfied.

“You’re soaked,” Paige murmurs, pressing her thumb to your cunt again, her grin widening when you moan, your hands shooting down to grip her hair. She makes eye contact with you and sucks her thumb into her mouth, eyes slipping shut as she tastes you. You can’t help the curse that tumbles from your lips. “That ‘open legs’ offer must have been a cry for help, huh?” she teases, but her voice is rough, like the very taste of you is a drug and she’s addicted. “Nobody else doin’ it for you?”

“No,” you admit, cheeks burning under the weight of your confession. The truth is you’d stopped looking after a while, but now, with Paige tucked between your legs and staring at you like you’re the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen, you briefly consider the fact that she’s going to ruin you for anyone else. For yourself.

She grins again. “Shame,” she murmurs, her lips trailing down to the inside of your thighs, where she presses gentle kisses. “Someone got to you before me and they couldn’t even make it worthwhile.”

She nips at your skin, the pain blooming into pleasure instantly. Your breathing comes to you a little faster the closer she moves to your aching cunt, but she soothes you with a hand to your belly. “I got you, mama. Gonna be the best you’ve ever had. Swear.”

You don’t doubt it, your head already swimming, and she presses one last kiss to your clit through the damp material of your underwear. It makes you jolt, but she steadies your hip with her hand as she pulls the lace to the side slowly. You can’t help but gaze down at Paige, locked in on the way her eyes glaze over with desire when your cunt is finally revealed to her.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Maybe it’s been a fire that has been slowly burning ever since she initially hinted at flying out and taking you up on your offer. Now, all you can focus on is the way her hands grip your strong thighs, holding you open as she dives in to lick a long, slow stripe up the length of your slit.

You both moan in tandem – yours of pleasure and hers in awe. You’re dripping onto her comforter, hardly able to feel much remorse about it, but something tells you that Paige is really fucking into the fact that she has you so pliant beneath her.

Her tongue is exploratory, drinking in every drop of your arousal, her brows pinched together as she focuses on building you up. Her nose brushes against your clit while her tongue finds the source, licking you clean like she’s stranded in a desert and you’re the only thing that could satiate her thirst.

She’s wild, her tongue everywhere all at once, muttering messily into your cunt about how you “taste so fucking good,” but you’re sure you fall apart completely when her lips close around your clit and she sucks.

Your brain is mush. You’re not sure if you want to keep your eyes on her or let your head fall back into her pillows, unable to process the pleasure fully.

Paige makes the decision for you when your eyes slip shut and she nips at your clit gently – not enough to hurt (even though it sends a surge of pleasure up your spine, anyhow), but enough to get your attention.

The message is clear – she wants your attention. Thinking about how she’s probably getting off from you watching her makes the heat coil in your stomach, ready to snap at any given moment.

You tangle your fingers in her messy hair, pressing her deeper into you, head tipping back in pleasure when she doubles down on her motions. Paige is ravenous, tongue circling your clit, never once stopping or slowing.

Not until your thighs are shaking from pleasure. Not until the tears bead at your waterline. Not until she encloses her lips around your clit again, her cheeks hollowing from the pressure, and releasing you to drag the arousal from your entrance to your clit, coating it completely.

You’re wholly unprepared for the first press of her fingers against your entrance. Paige doesn’t push in – not yet. She drags her fingers through your folds, soaking them, listening and looking for your reaction as she probes deeper.

The first finger sinks in until it reaches her knuckle, punching a breathless moan out of you, and she curls her finger as she pulls out. She’s a quick study – learning what you like and how much pressure she needs to unravel you completely. But she’s slow, not adding in another finger. You get the message instantly when her eyes find you, her gaze dark and imploring.

Not above begging, your voice is hoarse, rough from your moans, your lips split-slick and bitten. “Please, Paige, keep going,” you request, clenching around the single finger in you. “More, please, fuck–” The words get caught in your throat when she smiles against you, taking your clit in her mouth again just as she slides in a second finger. Too far gone, you can’t help the repeated, delirious ramble of “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” or the choked out, “So fucking good.”

The more vocal you get, the more she gives you. Her lips and her tongue speed up, flicking against your clit with a devastating intensity. Paige’s finger’s scissor inside you more firmly, sliding in deeper with every thrust, particularly timed with her mouth. It’s a Pavlonian response. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can’t find it in yourself to be too embarrassed by how loud you are.

You chant her name, breathless little sounds that sound more like pleas than sentences. The grip on her hair must be painful but she never slows. She’s fucking you closer and closer to the peak, and when it finally arrives, warning her is all you can do.

She’s heedless, her pace somehow intensifying even more, and you come with a sob that’s a mix of her name and a string of curses as the pleasure washes over you.

Paige doesn’t stop, drinking in every drop of you like she’s parched, her fingers slowing as they work you gently through the shockwaves. You’re breathless, stuttering through the euphoria, gratitude lacing your words.

When she pulls away, the bottom half of her face is slick with your arousal, her tongue darting out to catch the edges of her lips, but it’s like drops of water in a bucket. For all intents and purposes, she’d been drowned, but her grin tells you she would have been more than happy to go out that way.

Boneless and limp in bed, she trails her lips up your body until she finds your lips, kissing you deeply and allowing you to taste yourself on your tongue. The taste is heady, something you’d probably attribute to the taste of her, too, and you can’t help but moan against her lips, your body burning under the touch again.

“Don’t think I’m letting you tap out so soon,” she murmurs, squeezing your waist and peering down at you. “We haven’t even started.”

“Greedy,” you say teasingly.

Her subsequent grin is sharp, nipping your lip gently. “And proud,” she states, already leaning over and digging through the drawer of her nightstand. When her hand comes back into view, she’s holding a strap and the harness.

The sight of it makes your brows raise – it’s modest in size, but it’s still bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, both in length and girth. “What?” she asks, a smirk appearing on her lips as she fastens the harness around her hips.

“It’s big,” you point out obviously, but the heat is already licking at your skin again as you stare at it longingly.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” she retorts. The strap hanging from her hips makes your mouth water, and you suppose this is what you wanted anyway – for Paige to ruin you. She glances at you curiously, able to read how your hesitation washes away. You’re safe with her. She wouldn’t hurt you. That thought alone makes you a little more hungry for it. “Trust me, you ain’t gotta worry.” She drags her fingers through your folds again, raising it to the lamplight and showing you how they shine. It makes you blush, but her smirk is a little insufferable. “But, I mean…if you wanna try something smaller–”

“No,” you disagree a little too quickly. She raises a challenging brow, one that infuriates you. She’d been mean all night – teasing you and working you up. And, sure, she delivered, but you think that she deserves to be knocked down a peg or two.

You wrap your legs around her waist, and in a quick motion, you flip the both of you over, straddling her waist with your hands on her chest. She’s a little breathless, eyes wide and pupils dilated, yet you can spot the impressed look in her gaze. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Didn’t say that,” she says, her eyes drinking you in, the fucked out look on your face and she bruises covering your skin. Her hands find your waist, pulling you onto her fully – onto the strap – and she guides you into a slow grind, taking back the control seamlessly as you gasp. Paige grunts, too, the strap pressing back into her clit, and the fact that she’s feeling as good as you are makes you tremble with want.

“You insinuated it,” you argue, a little miffed.

She grins like your indignance is cute. “Just tryna be in you, mama,” she says, tugging you down a little harder, and it punches a moan out of you. “You gonna let me do that or are we gonna sit here and argue all night?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but you don’t say much else, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she gazes down at where your centers connect. “That’s what I thought.” Her words are mostly said to herself.

She grips the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down your legs – you adjust to help her pull them off, and she throws them to the side.

Now that you’re completely bare, she pulls you down onto the strap again, your arousal coating the silicone. The unrestricted contact makes you shiver and you loop your arms around her neck for stability while one of hers finds your waist again.

With her free hand, she reaches for the base of the strap, guiding it to your entrance and holding you steady – the tip of the strap brushes against you, but she doesn’t allow you to move.

Her eyes are zeroed in on where you’re clenching around nothing, your arousal leaking out of you. Then, finally, she pulls you down slowly, controlling each and every small movement. Your breath hitches when the head breaches inside, pressing into you, and Paige kisses all over your chest to soothe you.

“Good, that’s it,” she murmurs, lips encircling a nipple as she pulls you a little further down. The stretch is delicious, splitting you open, her hands mapping out your skin. She grips the flesh of your ass in one large hand, the other reaching around to rub featherlight circles on your clit to distract you.

The sensations are overwhelming in the best way possible. Her mouth drags wet kisses across your body while she listens for your reaction. Paige lowers you further down, drawing a drawn out moan from you, and you feel her grin against your breast as you tighten your grip around her neck, pulling her tighter against you.

“Perfect girl. Taking me so well,” she coos. Her body is impossibly warm against you and you can feel yourself relaxing into it, wanting to sink down completely, but she doesn’t let you. “Want you to feel good, baby. Don’t rush it.”

Still holding onto your annoyance from earlier, you can’t help your slight eye roll as you nip at her neck, sucking a matching hickey into her skin. She hisses, letting you fall another inch before gripping your hips tightly. “Would feel good if you just fucked me,” you state, staring at her with an expression that’s borderline pathetic. “What’d you say earlier? Just tryna be in you?”

“Think you have a patience problem,” she muses. “I’d heard so much about this southern hospitality bullshit growing up in the north, but it seems like you got a manners problem, too. I gotta teach you how to say please and thank you?”

You barely resist a sigh. Instead, you let your lips pucker out in a pout, the motion drawing Paige’s attention immediately. You press closer to her, your breasts dragging against her chest, and she sighs from the feeling. “Please, Paigey?” you beg in a near whimper, taking the hitch in her breathing as a sign that you’re doing something right. “Just want you to fuck me. Been good for you all night, haven’t I? And I promised to welcome you to Dallas. Let me make you feel good.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but the way her throat bobs tells you she’s minutes away from flipping you over and making you forget your name. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers.

“I’m yours,” you respond, and that’s enough for her. Paige drags you down the last few inches, bottoming out. You moan into her neck, the hand at the small of your back pressing you into her. You’re sure that you’re soaking her lap, but judging by the way her hips rut up into yours, she likes knowing how fucked she has you.

Her hands settle at the bottom of your ass, pulling you up as she mouths at your chest, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. You sink down on the strap again. The sound is obscene, drawing a gasp from you, and you repeat the motion.

Up, then down. Up, then down, beginning to set the pace for yourself, but making sure you grind at the bottom of your strokes to make sure that Paige is getting off too. Her eyes are hooded, darting from your face, to your chest, to the apex of your thighs where you’re soaking the strap.

“Fuck,” she groans, her voice rough, and it sends white hot desire up your spine. She speeds up your motions, the veins on her hand protruding from the effort of keeping you upright, her jaw unhinging in awe as she stares at you. 

You allow yourself a small smirk, your right hand tilting her head back, revealing the expanse of her throat as you grind down onto her. With your ears so close to her mouth, you can hear every stutter in her breath, every jilted moan she tries to hold back, the hiss of pleasure when you bite down, sucking dark marks into her skin. 

When her motions start becoming desperate, her hips bucking up into yours in time with every drag down like she’s trying to chase her high, you reach down for her hands, tangling your fingers together and pressing them into the pillows over her head. 

“Really?” you murmur, your lips ghosting the dip in her throat. “You’re this close just from helping me get off?”

She laughs a little, something that sounds like a sob mixed with a whine, and her jaw falls slack in a low groan when your lips attach to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Can’t help it,” Paige manages. Her lips are slick, bitten raw, so you kiss her deeply, swallowing the sound she makes when you grind down especially hard. “Think you like it, though.”

“Mmm,” you hum. You speed up your motions, feeling your thighs and your stomach burn with the effort, but also feeling yourself teeter on the edge of crashing down completely. Your thrusts draw out another moan from Paige, one that makes you grin – because she’d tried so hard to keep herself together, to pretend she was here to fuck you and not the other way around. “Think I just like you.”

That makes a lazy smile appear on her face. Paige pulls one of her hands out of your grip, inching towards your throat and tangling in the necklace there. “Yeah?” she goads, her tone a little insufferable. “Didn’t – fuck – didn’t think I affected you.”

You’re still rutting against her, sweat beading on your temples as you argue, “You don’t.”

But that just makes her grin turn a little more smug. She releases your necklace, her fingers pressing lightly into the sides of your throat, squeezing once in warning. It makes your hips stutter, your breath catching. “Keep lyin’, mama,” she mutters, something dark in her eyes as her fingers trail down your body. One tweaks a nipple, kneading a breast as you gasp. Then, she goes lower still, bracing her large hand over you while her thumb finds your clit, rubbing messy circles through the slick there.

You lose your rhythm again, whimpering, but you keep going despite the exhaustion. It’s less about your pleasure now. You need to get Paige off, to tear down that ego of hers, to silence her for once. Even as you stare down at her, your eyes a little hooded, you realize she enjoys receiving as much as she enjoys giving, and there’s truly no winning with her – she’s getting off either way. 

“Actin’ like I don’t know you already,” she continues, her thumb as ruinous as her hips – as ruinous as her words. “What you like. What you need.” You could fall apart like this – her words picking you apart piece by piece, her thumb reminding you that she has you right where you want her. Paige gazes up at you, her pupils blown wide, but you can make out the challenge in the blue of her eyes – she’s daring you to get smart again.

But you’re just as competitive as she is. Without faltering in your movements, you lean slightly, reaching for the cowboy hat perched on her nightstand. It has Paige stitched on the bill. Her jaw falls slack again as she watches you slide it over your head.

“You talk too much,” you retort, and then you’re doubling down again. You can tell the image of you wearing Paige’s hat is doing something to her – the way it bounces in time with your thrusts, combined with the wrecked sounds leaving your lips, the slick sound of the strap deep inside you, the fact that Paige wants you so bad it makes her stupid. 

It doesn’t take much longer after that. You and Paige were already pent up. Her thumb quickens on your clit, her free hand gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise as she drags you up and down relentlessly, her own hips meeting yours. You can tell she’s getting close when her breathing turns ragged and her face burns red. You’re right there with her, digging your nails into her shoulders for stability as you push yourself to your high.

Part of you expects Paige to open her mouth again, to say something slick that would leave you trembling, but you don’t give her the chance to. You pull her face to yours, silencing your cries with her lips. You shiver when she bites down on your bottom lip harshly, soothing the sting with her tongue. “‘M close,” you manage breathlessly, holding onto her tightly – feeling as though your orgasm would wreck you completely. 

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice choked. “Let go, mama, I’m right here.”

So you do, the pleasure washing over you completely as you cry out, sagging onto her body bonelessly, the cowboy hat falling off to the side of the bed. Paige drags you against the strap, riding out the high, her jaw slack in wordless pleasure while her body burns. She doesn’t still until you push her hands off of you, the overstimulation buzzing under your skin.

Your thighs are still trembling, your breathing uneven. You hardly have the energy to slide off of the strap, so you settle for holding onto Paige, tucking your head into the crook of her neck where sweat glistens and the lingering scent of her cologne remains. You shift, feeling the soaked comforter beneath both of you. It’s enough to make you groan.

But then Paige is shifting, too, the strap brushing against a spot inside you that punches a moan out of you. You don’t have to look up to know she’s smirking. “Chill,” you admonish, your body still sizzling. You don’t know how she still has the energy and the stamina to go after she just turned you inside out, but she moves her hips again, on purpose this time, and the heat coiling in your belly returns tenfold. “You’re insatiable.”

“Look who’s in my bed,” she says as if it explains everything. You just shake your head, amused by her. Paige’s fingers trail down your sides, brushing against your skin while she presses featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. “Know you’ve got one more for me, don’t you?”

You can’t find the words, but you don’t need to. You grab onto her chain – mostly to hold her in place, and you kiss her – deep, lingering, soft despite the moment prior. She grins against you, sliding the strap out as she maneuvers you. The emptiness makes you sigh, but the shift doesn’t take long. She angles you until you can see your bodies in the mirror across her room, your breath catching at the insinuation.

You watch through the mirror as she reaches for the cowboy hat again, settling it over her messy curls. Her smile is determined – like she’s not quite satisfied, not content with the two orgasms she’d pulled from you; ravenous like she can’t wait to have you again. It shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but the flame is licking at you once more and you can’t help but succumb to the fire.

She wraps her right arm around your waist, pulling you up to a kneeling position while she settles in behind you. The strap brushes against you. The sensitivity makes you jolt, but Paige soothes you with a hushed murmur, her hand pressing against your stomach and keeping you tethered. “Want you to watch,” she whispers in your ear. Her right hand abandons your waist to hold you by the jaw, gently tilting your head up until you make eye contact through the mirror.

You’re rendered breathless by the sight – Paige’s body eclipsing yours, the hickeys adorning your skin, the slick between your thighs that shines from the lamplight. Paige isn’t much better, either. Her hair is a mess, the hat on her head skewed to the side, her neck littered with your teeth marks, skin shining from exertion. For stability, you hold onto the arm that’s wrapped tightly around you, pushing back against the strap.

“Can you do that for me?” she asks, pushing her hips forward, dragging through your folds. You nod quickly, letting out a soft whine when the tip of the strap catches your sensitive clit. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop.”

“I will, Paige, promise – just…please–”

She hushes you again, kissing your neck. “I got you, baby. Relax for me, okay? Gonna give it to you. Just need you to be good for me.” You nod again, melting into her body, and with the hand not holding you upright, she guides the strap to your entrance. You moan softly as she slides inside with little resistance, bottoming out as she murmurs, “That’s it, perfect girl. You take me so well.”

You can’t muster the words to respond to that, so you lean your head on hers when she drags the strap out, then pushes back in with a devastating slowness that you feel throughout your entire body. Your body is still buzzing with oversensitivity, but the slowness of her thrusts helps to ground you.

She glances up to the mirror to ensure you’re still looking at her – which you are, enraptured and unable to look away – before she trails her lips down your neck, pressing gentle, wet kisses to your overheated skin.

She’s softer now. Soft in a way that makes you clench around the strap breathlessly, tilting your head to give her more access to your neck. She recognizes that it won’t take much to build you up again, more focused on making sure you enjoy every second – every motion, every push and pull of the strap. Paige plants a kiss on every hickey she’d left on your body, her actions borderline reverent in a way that makes you want to come for her again and again and again.

With one arm still wrapped around your chest, holding onto your jaw, the other wraps around your hips, holding you by the stomach.

Unable to look away, you tighten your grip on her arms, trying not to fall apart too soon. Your stomach coils, already close, but Paige moves slowly, her thrusts hitting deep, and you’re all too content to float along the current of pleasure. Her lips still ghost across your body, licking the salt off of your skin, pressing gentle apologies to the dark spots on your neck.

“You want more, mama?” she murmurs in your ear, a gentle check in despite the question. You hardly have to think about it before you nod. With the hand braced over hers, you drag her left hand down, her fingers finding your clit with ease.

She doesn’t apply much pressure, just enough for you to feel it without overpowering the sensations. You don’t let go either, guiding her motions, moving it further down to gather more of your slick before bringing it back up to circle your clit.

The slide makes it impossibly sweeter – she tightens her circles, pushing deeper inside you with the strap, the tip brushing against the spongy spot inside of you that makes you keen.

Paige doesn’t slow. She doesn’t speed up. She keeps her pace deliciously consistent, the strap dragging in and out of you deliberately, her fingers working you up in tandem.

Her free hand keeps your gaze locked on the mirror, watching her as she kisses your neck, the shell of your ear, listening to her breath heavily as if she’s feeling everything you are, too. That thought alone makes your hips stutter, pressing back into her.

She soothes you with gentle whispers. “So good for me, baby,” she’d say, or she’d time the circling of your clit with a deeper thrust, murmuring, “You feel me? Want you to feel good.” And the stupid hat makes you unravel a little bit more – it hangs off of her head loosely, threatening to fall at any moment, but all you can think about is how you rode her wearing her hat, how she claimed you in the club and how she made you fall apart wearing something with her name on it. You’re hers now, and honestly, you don’t hate that idea.

It doesn’t take much longer before your eyes are slipping shut, confessing, “Close, P,” in a hoarse voice. The sensations are overwhelming – her hot skin pressed against yours, the strap sliding through you and hitting spots you’d never knew existed, the maddening feeling of her thumb against your clit, her breathing against your ear, the pounding of her heartbeat against your back revealing just how close she is to falling apart, too.

“Okay, baby,” she whispers, her motions never slowing, kissing your neck again. But she presses her fingers a little more firmly to your clit, her free hand tapping against your cheek to gather your attention.

Your eyes blink open, finding the mirror again, the ruined look on her face. She looks desperate – not to get off, but desperate to watch you get off. “Want you to watch yourself.” Her voice is a little broken, almost begging, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. “You look so pretty when you come for me, you know that? Wanna watch you do it over and over and over again.”

“Paige,” you gasp, the sound coming out like a half-sob, half-whine, the pleasure building and the heat coiling.

But she hardly hears you, her eyes glazed over and pussy drunk. Her jaw hangs slack like she’s the one being fucked, her breathing uneven and heavy. “You feel so good,” she rambles. “Like you were made just for me. Can’t get enough of you. Please, mama, wanna see you fall apart for me. You’re so good, so fucking perfect–”

The coil snaps, white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, electricity down your spine, and all you can do is sag back into her one final time, moans tumbling from your lips while she works you through the aftershocks.

Her hips and her fingers slow, murmuring incoherent sentences into your ear, her words dripping in both gratitude and a satiated desire like watching you get off finally quenched a thirst she’s been harboring for years.

You don’t have to say anything, either – it’s like she knows your body by heart now. Gingerly, she slips the strap out of your soaked cunt and detaches her fingers from your sensitive clit. As much as you’d love to feel her skin against yours, her hips dragging against yours, you can barely keep your eyes open. The final aftershocks dissipate, your thighs calming, the pleasurable fog in your brain clearing.

“You still with me?” she asks softly, smoothing the hair at the crown of your head with her clean hand.

At that, all you can do is muster a laugh, your eyes opening blearily. “Yeah,” you say, “no thanks to you, though.”

“Hmm,” she scoffs, amusement in her eyes. “Coulda sworn this was exactly what you wanted. You know, open legs and all.”

“Alright,” you deadpan, attempting to roll on your side, but you can’t summon the strength. You settle for some weird half angle that’s hardly worth the drama of the moment. “Goodnight!”

“No way,” Paige laughs. “C’mon. I need you awake. Lemme run you a bath and change these sheets so you can rest, okay? You good with that?”

You meet her eyes again, your smile softening at the gentle earnestness on her face. If she hadn’t already ruined you before, you’re sure you are now. But there’s something in her eyes that promises this might not be a one night thing after all. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing her closer to plant a chaste, affectionate kiss to her lips. You feel her grin. “You’re gonna have to carry me, though.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” she assures you, crawling off the bed and unbuckling the harness on her hips. She throws it haphazardly into the adjacent bathroom and you try not to laugh when something clatters to the floor. Paige picks you up with ease, one arm looping under your knees and the other wrapping around your back. She sets you on the edge of the tub as she heats up the water, helping you into it gingerly and tossing in a eucalyptus bath bomb for your aches. Before she leaves to swap the sheets, she plants a soft kiss onto your forehead.

You soak for a few moments until she returns, offering you a small smile before she slips in behind you. Her body is almost as warm as the water and twice as soft. She massages the shampoo and conditioner into your hair and jokingly points out her assault on your neck with a mixture of pride and concern. You tell her she’ll have to buy your concealer in bulk but when she murmurs, “As long as I get to see you again,” you find that you don’t really care about the marks on your neck as long as you get to keep this annoyingly charming, devastatingly beautiful athlete in your life.

Paige helps you out of the tub, your eyes drooping once more, dressing you in a pair of her boxers and an oversized t-shirt from her college days. She guides you back to bed gingerly, the sheets fresh and clean, and you have your head on her chest before she’s even got her head on the pillow. She grins because it doesn’t bother her at all. You smile because her heart’s pounding and you think you know why it is.

Just before you fall into a blissful, exhausted sleep, Paige’s voice cuts through the fog once more. “About that offer,” she whispers, tapping on the leg you have slung across hers. “Does it expire?”

She jokes, but you can hear the truth of her question beyond it. She’s not referring to your legs. Not literally.

Your smile is tired, but it’s no less affectionate. “For you?” you echo, drowsiness lacing your tone. “No. It’s renewable.”

“How long?”

You’re quiet for a beat, just enough to consider your words.

Is this something you want? Relationships can be hard. Tricky. But something about Paige tells you she’s in for the ride. That you can trust her – with you and your heart.

So you press a kiss to the hinge of her jaw, feeling her cheeks stretch with a smile, and you make her a promise:

“As long as you want.”

[marvelstoriesepic]

Change your mind

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Natasha drags you to an NYU baseball game. And despite yourself, one player catches your attention.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Bucky’s charm; Bucky being flirty; Bucky showing off; Reader checking out baseball players lol; Reader not being interested in baseball (at first)

Author’s Note: I've been craving some flirty college Bucky after all the angst I've been writing. So that’s what I came up with. It is also meant as a little celebration fic because I've got over 1500 followers and that’s so amazing! Thank you so much!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Divider by @thecutestgrotto ♡

Masterlist

You haven’t been to a single game since the semester started - since any semester started, to be real. And honestly, you have been content with that. Satisfyingly so.

Your time is better spent attending to assignments, slogging through your part-time job at the library, or doing literally anything else besides sitting in the stands and watching a bunch of guys chase a ball around a field, or whatever the hell this sport even is about.

Baseball isn’t your thing, it never has been and it never will be.

You’ve been complaining about it the whole way here. Dramatically so, but you didn’t care. Your best friend can handle you and your antics.

“You know, I can think of at least a dozen things I should be doing right now instead of this,” you grumble, trailing behind her as she weaves through the crowd in search of seats.

Natasha sighs sharply and throws you a glare over her shoulder. “God, would you quit whining? This is good for you.”

“I fail to see how,” you shoot back, adjusting the strap of your bag as you begrudgingly follow her.

But Natasha just smirks. That dangerous little smirk that means she’s about to say something you won’t have a comeback for. “You know,” she muses, eyes darting playfully in your direction. “I didn’t think I’d have to twist your arm to come watch a bunch of hot guys running around out there.”

A brow of yours lifts. “Alright, hold on-” you jab a finger in her direction “-I never said I was against that part.”

She scoffs, clearly pleased with herself, and you grin, nudging her with your elbow as the two of you settle into your seats.

“Besides,” you continue, voice dripping with amusement. “I don’t think you should be making comments like that when we both know you’re here for one guy in particular.”

Natasha only shrugs, all nonchalant, but the corner of her mouth tugs lightly upward. “So what if I am?”

You snicker. “I mean, nothing. I just think it’s cute how whipped you are.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lip is still twitching. Natasha and Steve have only been dating for a few weeks, but you see the way she looks at him. And as much as you complain about being dragged here, you suppose watching your best friend fall stupidly in love is kind of entertaining.

Even if you have to suffer through a baseball game to witness it.

You lean back against the hard metal bleachers, arms crossed as your gaze falls across the field.

It’s a decent night, warm with just enough of a breeze to keep the air from feeling stifling. And even though you’d rather be anywhere else right now, you can’t deny that seeing Natasha like this - light in her eyes, a weird softness in her expression - makes the whole ordeal slightly less painful.

Steve is out on the field, stretching with his team, and Natasha is watching him with this reserved kind of smile. The kind that sneaks up on a person when they don’t realize they’re doing it. You smirk to yourself. Yeah, she’s got it bad. But honestly, you are happy for her. They look good together, and she certainly deserves someone who looks at her the way Steve does.

Natasha must catch you watching her because she suddenly turns, an all-too-knowing glint in her eye. You don’t like that look.

“And who knows,” she says, spreading her legs out in front of her, voice hinting at humor, “maybe your future husband’s down there right now.”

You snort, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “Oh, yeah, sure. He’s just waiting for me to sweep him off his feet in the middle of a stretch.”

She smirks. “Could happen.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, no thanks. I'm all for watching a bunch of hot guys get all sweaty and run around in tight pants, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” You gesture vaguely toward the field. “That’s just spectating. Everything else is a hard pass.”

Natasha quirks a brow, tilting her head at you. “Oh, come on, Y/n. It’s not that bad.”

You shoot her a look. “Nat, the last guy I went out with, Peter Quill, you remember?-” You don’t wait for her nod “-he told me, verbatim, that he doesn’t believe in seasoning his food. And the guy before that showed up to our date in cargo shorts and a fedora and spent two hours explaining why The Wolf of Wall Street is the peak of cinema.”

She winces. “Oof.”

“Yeah. So forgive me if I’m not that eager to throw myself back into the trenches.” You pause. “Also, I’m super busy.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head as she turns back toward the field. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be sure to put in a good word with one of Steve’s teammates.”

You scoff. “Wow, generous and delusional. I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.”

She nudges you with her shoulder, smirking. “The luckiest.”

Huffing, you sink deeper into your seat. Well, at least there is one upside to all of this. If nothing else, you can at least appreciate the view.

Your eyes wander over the team as they move across the field, warming up, adjusting their gloves, casually tossing a ball back and forth.

And yeah, you can admit it - objectively speaking, they look good. Athletic builds, toned arms, legs that fill out those pants just right. It’s a nice view, even if you’re not about to go throwing yourself into the dating pool again, so soon.

Your gaze drifts back to Steve, mostly because he’s the only one you actually know - if only a little. But before you can really focus on him, someone steps into your line of sight, half-blocking the blonde from view.

The number 17 fills out your vision.

Your head tilts instinctively, curiosity sparking before you know it. The guy in front of Steve is tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy stance that suggests he’s completely at home out there on the field.

His uniform fits him in a way that makes you annoyingly aware of just how well built he is - jersey stretched firm across his upper back, the sleeves tight around his biceps, pants snug in all the right places. His chestnut hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck underneath the baseball cap he is wearing, and he stands so casually confident that it makes it impossible to not look at him.

Have you maybe seen him around campus before? You should have, right? Someone like him doesn’t just blend into the background. Maybe in the halls, in one of those massive lecture rooms, passing by in the library, maybe when you're on shift. But you are sure, that if you saw that guy, you would have remembered him.

“See something you like?”

Natasha’s smug voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you catch the smirk she is throwing your way.

Scoffing, you tighten your arms around yourself and glance back at the field. Number 17 is still standing there, talking with Steve, completely unaware of the fact that you’ve just spent the past minute analyzing every inch of his backside.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deny, keeping your tone even.

Natasha snorts, bumping her knee against yours. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

She nods her head to the field. “For dragging you here. For the eye candy. For giving you the opportunity to meet your future ex-husband.”

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

Inevitably, your eyes move back to number 17, and you can’t help but think that if you haven’t seen him before, why it feels like you should have.

He’s turning.

Wait, he’s turning.

Your breath hitches and stays stuck in your throat uncomfortably, and suddenly he’s looking at you. Did he feel your eyes on him? Does he somehow know that you eyed him up like a complete creep? But just as the heat of panic can spark in your chest, you realize he’s not even looking at you.

He’s looking at Natasha.

Your shoulders loosen slightly. Steve also has turned his gaze toward the stands, his affective smile directed at your friend as well. He probably told the brunette that she’s here.

Number 17 lifts a hand in a casual wave, movement smooth, and even that simple gesture kind of looks way hotter than you want to feel right now.

Natasha only gives a small, lazy nod in return.

You expect the brunette to turn back around after that, to go back to whatever pre-game thing they were doing. But he doesn’t.

His attention shifts. To you.

Your stomach makes a flip before your brain can decide how to handle it.

His eyes are sharp, the exact color lost to the distance, but it seems to be something blueish. His expression is unreadable, his head tilting slightly as if assessing you. The stadium lights cast a glow over his features, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, and the way his mouth seems to settle into something just shy of a smirk.

Immediately, you whip your head around to Natasha, eyes wide.

“Do you know that guy?” you ask, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Natasha doesn’t even bother looking at you. She’s still watching Steve, her lips curving higher as if knowing what she’s doing.

“He’s Steve’s best friend.”

You blink. “Steve’s best friend?”

Your gaze falls back to the field against your better judgment but Number 17 has already turned back to Steve, talking to the blonde who now is sporting a smirk just like Natasha’s.

“You never mentioned him before,” you comment, though it comes out a little too measured.

Natasha of course picks up on it immediately.

“Should I have?” she counters, dragging the words out just a little.

You narrow your eyes at her but she only continues smirking.

And again, your gaze falls back to Number 17. God, why can’t you stop checking him out. The white baseball pants of his do absolutely nothing to hide the strength in his legs. His hair at his nape is slightly messy from running around and you wonder if it would feel soft if you put your hands on it.

You shake that thought right off again.

It’s not like it matters.

Still, you shift in your seat, arms tightening. “I just think it’s interesting that you never brought him up before when he’s his best friend.”

Natasha exhales a laugh through her nose, finally glancing over at you, her eyes glinting with something mischievous. “I mean, I could have.”

“And you didn’t because…?”

“Because,” she says sultry, shrugging one shoulder. “I figured you’d meet him eventually.”

There is something pointed in the way she says it, something deliberate, and you don’t like that it sends a small tingle of anticipation through you.

“So, what’s his deal, then?” you keep going, not even knowing why.

Natasha hums, stretching her limbs languidly. Her voice is sly. “His deal?”

“You know,” you press, trying not to sound too interested, although, fucking hell, you are. “Like, what’s his major? Have you seen him around before?”

She turns to you again, and oh, that look on her face is entirely too smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You huff. “Nat.”

Her smirk only deepens. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Before you can answer, she looks past you, over your shoulder, down the steps.

Her expression doesn’t change but her smirk gets a little too satisfied, a little too wicked.

You quickly follow her gaze and, oh shit.

A heavy beat thuds against your ribs before your heart remembers how to move properly as your eyes follow the unmistakable figure making his way up the stairs.

Number 17.

And he is coming right toward you.

You inhale sharply, sitting up a little straighter, trying to act like this isn’t throwing you off balance. His steps are easy and unhurried as if giving you the time to check him out some more. And even though you should know better, you do.

His uniform is wrinkled from warm-ups, the fabric clinging in ways that are frankly unfair, and his dark hair curls enough to look annoyingly good.

He reaches your row. And despite the fact that Natasha should logically be the person he came up for, he isn’t looking at her when he speaks.

His eyes land directly on you.

“Steve sent me up,” he says, voice low and smooth, a pleased drawl rolling through his words. “Said he forgot his water bottle or somethin’.”

You blink and try to shake off what his voice does to your body. Crossing one leg over the other, you feign indifference.

“Yeah,” Natasha says, sounding way too delighted. “She’s got it.” She slaps your arm lightly with her hand.

You turn to her confused. “Huh?”

“I asked you to put it in your bag since mine’s smaller.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know it’s Steve’s,” you mutter, then glare at her for a second before reaching down to retrieve the damn thing.

Natasha looks triumphant.

When you pull the bottle free and hold it out to the guy standing in front of you, he takes it with his fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels very intentional.

“Thanks, doll.”

His tone is silk spun into sound and hell, it glides over your skin, making it prickle underneath your sweater.

He has the bottle now but doesn’t step away yet. His eyes linger on you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before,” he remarks, studying you with open interest. His lips tug a little as if he is holding back a full grin. As if he is pleased.

You meet his gaze and swallow, keeping your expression open but neutral even as something sparks under your skin. “Yeah, it’s my first game.”

His lips press together like he’s trying not to fully smirk. “No kiddin’.” There is something about the way he says it that you can’t place.

You lift a brow and tilt your head slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just figured I woulda noticed you before, is all.”

Oh.

Oh, damn.

You know flirting when you hear it. And that was flirting.

You clear your throat, but a smile is trying to makes its way over your mouth. “Do you say that to all the girls in the stands?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Nah. Just you.”

Heat winds through your stomach. Because there is an easy, matter-of-fact kind of confidence in his voice.

Biting his lip, he studies you some more. Eyes intensely on you. “So you ain’t much of a baseball fan, then,” he hums. His voice is a low timbre.

You scoff, but can’t help the amused smile lifting your lips. “Not quite my thing.”

“Maybe I can change that.”

You almost choke on your next breath, because oh. He’s good. And hell, that came fast.

Natasha cackles. You ignore her.

Your fingers play with the fabric of your jeans. “Smooth,” you assess, unable to help the wry lilt in your voice.

He grins. Lopsided. Charming. Devastatingly handsome, oh god so help me. “Yeah? That workin’ for me?”

You roll your eyes, but it’s all for show. “Debatable.”

Natasha snorts.

His smirk is deep. There is a twinkle in his blue eyes. He stares at you like that for a second.

“I’m Bucky.” His voice is softened a fraction. His tone is genuine.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

His head moves to the side a little, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And you are?”

You tell him your name and his gaze lingers, his smirk edging into something thoughtful.

“Huh,” he muses.

You frown slightly. “What?”

He shrugs, still watching you, maybe even looking a little bashful. “Dunno. Just- I like it. Suits you.”

That somehow feels worse than the flirting.

You feel your face heat and you hate that Natasha can probably see it.

There is a shout coming from the dugout. “Barnes, get your ass down here, now!”

That must be their trainer Fury.

But Bucky stays standing there, looking at you for a beat longer, biting his lip and scratching the back of his neck. Then he takes a step back, spinning the water bottle once in his hand. “Guess I’ll see ya next game, doll,” he charms.

You blink, eyebrows up. “That’s a bold assumption.”

He just grins, throwing you a wink. “Nah. I got a feelin’.”

And just like that, he turns, heading back down toward the field, leaving you sitting there slightly dazed.

It takes a moment for your brain to start working again.

You feel Natasha leaning in but are not ready to meet that sly expression.

“We both know you’ll be here next time.”

Infuriatingly, you know she is right.

“I hate you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The game kicks off, but you are not watching it the way you thought you would.

Because he’s on the field.

And, well damn.

You tell yourself you’re just curious. That’s all it is. You’re not actually watching him. You’re just keeping an eye on him. Casual observation. A purely academic interest in how the game works.

Except, the longer you watch, the more you have to admit that he is good.

Really good.

His movements are seamless. It’s like an unbroken flow of precision and control as if the game is merely responding to him, not the other way around. He’s so natural, seems so at ease, and yet he moves so fast and sharp.

You can see the innate understanding he has, of how the game breathes. It’s impressive.

When he’s at bat, his stance is balanced to perfection, knees bent just enough, shoulders loose but poised. The pitcher winds up, releases, and before you can even register it fully, Bucky crushes that ball.

The sound of it is sharp, a crack that echoes through the field.

You track the ball as it soars high, way over the outfield. And then he’s running. He’s a cloud of white and navy as he rounds first base, feet hitting the dirt hard.

Natasha whistles low beside you. “Not bad, huh?” She doesn’t hide her smirk.

You press your lips together, determined to be neutral. “Yeah, well. Maybe I was just expecting less.”

Your best friend lets out a half-amused, half-exaggerated breath through her nose. “You weren’t.”

You want to throw her a glare but that would mean you’d have to take your eyes off Bucky and somehow you can’t manage that.

So you only huff and lean further into your seat.

But even as he plays, you can’t shake the feeling that perhaps he somehow tries a little more than necessary.

There are subtle indications. The way he lingers just a bit longer when he looks up toward the stands, the slight, extra flourish in the way he moves. The exaggerated ease of it all.

Oh, hell.

As he rounds third base, his gaze snaps up.

Right at you.

And he winks.

Your stomach plummets. Heat boils along your spine, and you freeze for half a second, caught completely fucking off guard.

The grin he shoots you is smug and holds a knowing edge, seeing the way your eyes are already on him, seeing your reaction, and thriving on it.

Natasha grasps your arm, gasping. “Oh my God.”

She is overly dramatic on purpose and you hate it.

You tear your gaze away from him and glare at her. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I'm starting,” she laughs, delighted. “That guy’s showing off for you.”

“He is not,” you hiss, trying and failing to ignore the warmth along your neck. Spreading and spreading up to your cheeks.

“That was textbook showing off, babe.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of the reaction she wants to see.

But maybe she’s not wrong.

The game continues, and despite your best efforts, your eyes keep finding him.

The more you watch, the more obvious it becomes.

The smooth way he catches the ball in the outfield, hardly needing to look before launching it straight to second base. The way he moves just a little bit slower after a play like he knows there are eyes on him. The way his grin sharpens when he hears the cheers, the teasing comments from his teammates.

And apparently, Steve notices, too.

Because after a particularly showy throw - one that was definitely more dramatic than necessary - Steve jogs past him and smacks him on the back of the head.

You faintly hear Bucky’s startled grunt from the bleachers.

Natasha snickers beside you.

Steve is muttering something to him, but the brunette only grins, backing away with his arms outstretched and shoulders pulled up in an unbothered shrug. And his eyes immediately find you. You look away hastily.

Your best friend leans in, voice low and teasing. “Change your mind about dating yet?”

Sinking lower in your seat, you move your hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous.”

But even as you say it, you glance back at Bucky.

And he’s still looking at you.

This time, you don’t look away.

Another smack lands across the back of his head and he is forced to drag his eyes away from you to grumble at the guy who is grinning from ear to ear, enjoying whatever the hell this is between Bucky and you.

“You’re actin’ real thirsty right now, Barnes,” the voice of the other player sounds out, loud enough for you to make out some words. “Hey, I mean, I get it. She’s cute. But can you focus, man?”

Flustered, you shove your hands between your thighs and curl a little bit inward.

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky warns, rolling his shoulders and throwing a hard look at his teammate before jogging back to his position.

You don’t miss the way he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair after lifting the cap for a moment as if he is trying to gather himself.

Your heart is beating in a weird rhythm. Your hands are a little sweaty and you hate that Natasha notices.

“Well, well,” she teases, watching Bucky get into position. “Looks like you’re a motivator.”

“Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it’s this much fun,” she grins, eyes swimming in mischief. “And clearly not when my best friend’s about to have my boyfriend's buddy ask for her number.”

It’s your time to smirk. “Boyfriend?” you chirp. “I'm sure Steve would like to know you calling him that behind his ba-”

“There’s no turning this around, babe. I’m the one with the power here,” she chides, but she is suppressing a smile. “No go ahead and continue to watch your future boyfriend.” She turns your shoulder forward to the field.

“He’s not-”

“Watch.”

You do.

And the longer the game goes on, you try to keep telling yourself that you’re going to stop watching him. But no matter how much you try to focus on anything else - the scoreboard, the crowd, even the actual game - your eyes don’t listen.

They keep wandering back to him. To the way he moves, his effortless command of the field.

It’s the way he seems to own every second he’s out there like he is meant to be on the field. And he seems to love it. His body moves with an instinctive kind of grace, muscles shifting under the snug fit of his uniform, every motion thought through but natural.

When he takes his spot at shortstop, you admire the confidence of his stance. He’s completely at home. He stands relaxed but his eyes are sharp and focused, scanning the field.

And when the ball comes his way, his gloved hand snatches it mid-air before his arm whips it across the diamond in a clean throw.

It’s irritatingly impressive.

You try to convince yourself that he plays like this all the time - that this isn’t for you at all - but there is something nagging at the back of your mind. Something in the way he carries himself, the extra little flair in the way he moves.

He really seems to be putting on a small show and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the only one in the audience that actually matters to him. You don’t know how to feel about that.

Natasha catches you watching again. “Mhm,” she hums, knowingly. Not at all subtle about it.

You throw her a burning look. “Shut up, Nat.”

She smirks and tilts her head. “You want to be the one he’s showing off for.”

You release a sharp breath, looking at the darkened sky faintly lit by the stadium lights. “If I did, I’d be enjoying it, wouldn’t I? I just think he’s- trying a little hard. Like he’s-”

You don’t get to finish that sentence because the crowd erupts again. The score is tied. This is the final inning.

Your throat constricts as Bucky walks up to plate, adjusting his cap like he’s been waiting for this moment. He taps the bat against the plate once, twice, and tilts his head at the pitcher. You watch the way Bucky’s muscles coil, the readiness, the concentration.

The pitcher winds up. The stadium is silent.

The ball is pitched.

Bucky swings.

Crack.

The sound echoes across the field as Bucky swings and connects perfectly, the entire stadium staring with bated breath. The ball rockets up into the night sky, impossibly high, soaring straight over the center field fence.

It’s gone. A home run.

The crowd erupts, students leaping to their feet, fists pumping, voices carrying through the air. Natasha is already up, grabbing your wrist and yanking you up beside her.

“That’s your man,” Natasha yells over the noise, pointing at the field. “That’s your home run, babe!”

“Oh my god, Nat, he’s not-” you start, but you are cut off by the thunder of feet around you, students leaping onto the bleachers, fists raised, chanting his name.

Just like the others, you are watching Bucky jog around the bases at a confident pace, brushing a hand through his sweaty hair again.

You’re honestly a little overwhelmed with this whole thing. Trying to catch up to the way Bucky moves as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for him, like sending a ball out of the park is just something he does on a casual Tuesday.

And then, just as he crosses home plate, the team swarming him, he turns his head up.

Right to you.

The whole world seems to slow for just a second. Your breath is lost in your throat when your eyes lock. There is a heat in his gaze, but it shifts from exhilaration to something softer. He beams up at you for that special moment, blue eyes shining under the stadium lights, his grin wide.

Your pulse hammers in a way you really don’t want to acknowledge.

You are clapping, like all the others.

And there is something changing in his expression. The corner of his mouth curls in a way as if he can’t believe what he is seeing. His confidence falters for a brief second, replaced by something almost sheepish. His hand scrubs over his face, attention caught by his teammates, but there definitely is a hint of pink dusting his cheeks at your small cheers.

The other players pull him into a rough embrace and for a moment you don’t see him at all, the rest jumps around him in celebration.

“Alright, come on, let’s get down there,” Natasha says, grabbing your wrist again.

“Wait, what?” you sputter as she pulls you toward the railing, making her way down the steps, dragging you with her.

“You are not going to be the only one still sitting while your boyfriend-”

“Stop that-”

“-just won the damn game,” she finishes, waving you off as you scowl at her.

Before you know it, you’re at the very front of the stands, your hands coming together as the roar of the crowd vibrates through your bones.

You see Bucky looking over the chaos, his arms slung around his teammates, his chest rising and falling from exertion, when suddenly, his gaze catches you again.

That bright, wide grin now definitely softens. In a shit, you really were watching kind of way. His blue eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read every single thought rushing through your head right now.

Natasha is practically jumping beside you, cheering happily, so you don’t want to be a bummer and start clapping again. Looking at him.

His smile tries to widen, but Bucky bites his lip. And then, he actually looks bashful.

He dips his head just slightly, running another hand down his face, and this time it’s him looking away first.

But not before you catch that tiny flicker of something almost shy. For all his confidence, for all the easy charm he’s been throwing at you, all the flirtatious lines, something about your reaction to him is what makes him falter that little bit.

And oh how it does something to you. You don’t even fight the little smile on your lips as Natasha bumps her shoulder into yours.

“Shut up,” you murmur, but it sounds too light.

Natasha smirks. “I didn’t say anything.”

You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest to hide the way your hands are still itching to continue clapping.

The roar of the crowd slowly begins to settle, the energy of the game remaining charged in the air. The bleachers empty languidly, students pouring onto the field or shuffling toward the exits, their excitement buzzing in hurried conversations and triumphant chants.

The players begin filtering off the field, disappearing into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. Some of them are still exchanging shoves and laughs, adrenaline still pumping through their veins.

Bucky walks alongside Steve, his uniform tightly handing off his frame.

But before he disappears with the rest of them he glances behind one last time. And, of course, it’s at you again. You shiver.

His glance is just a flicker of blue under the harsh stadium lights but it’s just a beat longer than you would expect. As if he is making sure you’re still here. As if he is worried you won’t be when he comes back out.

Then he’s gone.

“You see that?” Natasha assesses, leaning her weight into one hip, arms crossed.

“See what?” you ask, obviously annoyed.

She’s unbothered. “That boy just looked at you like a man checking to see if his car’s still parked outside.”

You groan. “God, shut up.”

“That never worked on me. You should know better.”

With an impish grin, she tugs at your wrist and guides you away from the bleachers.

“Come on, we’re waiting for them,” she says, already pulling you toward the tunnel exit.

“What? Nat-”

“Well, I’m waiting for Steve,” she says, “and you, my dear, have been eyefucking his best friend all night, so don’t even try to act like you don’t want to see him again.”

“Okay, come on,” you defend. “I have not-”

“-been staring at him, sure,” she interrupts, her smirk widening. “But only every time he wasn’t looking. Which, by the way, wasn’t often.”

You groan again but follow her anyway, because, at this point, you’re not even sure if you’re protesting for show or out of actual resistance.

Minutes go by as more people slowly tickle away, leaving only a few clusters of them lingering around, chatting under the lights.

The air is still warm, but the breeze carries enough of a chill to make you shift on your feet, arms folding over your chest as you wait.

And then, Steve and Bucky emerge from the locker room, side by side.

Steve’s blond hair is still damp from the shower, his team jacket slung over one shoulder. The moment he spots Natasha, his whole face softens. His stride quickens as he reaches her and he pulls her in for a kiss that is far sweeter than you expected from someone fresh out of a game.

Your best friend, for all her teasing confidence tonight, melts against him, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket.

You feel happiness for her but you look away, feeling like you’re intruding on something intimate.

And before you can prepare yourself, Bucky is standing right in front of you.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says, voice lower, less playful than before.

His hair is damp too, looking darker like that. He doesn’t wear his cap anymore, short brown tendrils resting on his forehead. His uniform is gone, replaced by a dark hoodie and jeans. And yet, he still looks every bit like the man who just stole the game with a home run. He looks handsome. You can even admit that.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll leave with Nat,” you answer, voice a little quieter than you would have liked it to be.

Bucky smiles. He shifts his weight, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Well, had to make sure you actually enjoyed yourself,” he says, tipping his head to the side, smirk slowly appearing. “Didn’t want you to suffer through it since you’ve already been dragged out here.”

You huff out a small laugh, looking at the ground before up at him again. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Not terrible?” he echoes, feigning offense. “Sweetheart, I won the damn game. You were cheerin’ for me.”

It’s as if he needed to say it out loud. As if he’s been telling that to himself the whole time.

You bite your lip. Those nicknames will send you tumbling to the floor if you’re not careful. “Yes, well. You put on a good show.”

He grins something slow and smug. “And here I was thinkin’ you weren’t much of a baseball fan.”

You shift, laughing softly. “Still not, really.”

He hums, studying you so deeply. In a gentle way. But he takes his sweet time and it’s making you nervous. “I’ll change your mind.”

Your stomach does something weird - something that has everything to do with the way his voice dips slightly, the way it rumbles out so smoothly.

You narrow your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “I’d like to see you try.”

Bucky chuckles softly, rocking on the balls of his feet. He can’t stop watching you, moving his eyes around your features, your whole frame, as if wondering where you have been the whole time. He looks like he is trying to read every little thing written across your face.

Your chest feels a little too tight, and your pulse picks up the longer you look at him, the longer he looks at you.

The air is cooler now that the game is over, the heat from the crowd dissipating into the open night, and although you feel plenty heated up by his gaze and presence, you instinctively rub your arms, shifting on your feet.

“You cold?” Bucky’s voice is lower, and there is a soft gentleness to his tone, that sounds so sincere, you feel your knees grow weak.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve got an extra jersey in my bag,” he offers as if he didn’t even hear you, already moving. “Or you can take this one-” He seems about to shrug off his hoodie instead.

You quickly hold up a hand to stop him. “No, really. I’m okay.”

Bucky pauses, squinting at you, mouth quirking as he eyes you a second longer. Then, as if he’s figured something out, his lips form a real smirk again.

“Alright,” he concedes easily, his weight tipping slightly to one side, then back again. “Guess I’ll just give it to you next time, then.”

You freeze just slightly, blinking up at him.

Next time.

You don’t quite know what to do with that.

You clear your throat, forcing words out. “Yeah. Next time.”

Bucky beams.

It’s a full-on, dazzling grin, cheeks high and rosy, eyes bright in a way that makes something overturn in your stomach.

He looks way too pleased with himself now. And you are way too aware of how warm your face feels.

You try to push yourself past the sudden rush of flustered energy. “Well, I guess I will see you around campus, then.”

Bucky hums, considering, still not taking his eyes off you. “Maybe,” his head turns to the side, making a pause. “Or I could just make sure.”

“Make sure?”

He pulls his hands from his hoodie pocket, adjusting his footing and running a hand through his hair, messing with the damp strands a little. He might just seem the slightest bit nervous.

Flipping his palm up expectantly, he looks at you with a glint of hope in his eyes. “Your phone.”

Your stomach does that turning-over thing again as you realize what he’s going on about. “Oh.”

You are fumbling to grab your phone out of your bag, fingers perhaps wavering a little and you are glad that Natasha is preoccupied at the moment to see this. Unlocking it, you hand it over to him.

Bucky takes it gently, fingers brushing yours. Again, it feels intentional.

The glow of the screen illuminates his face as he punches in his number, and presses to call himself so he’ll have your number as well before handing your phone back to you.

You glance down.

A new contact. Bucky Barnes.

Bucky watches you with a soft smile.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve calls, still standing with Natasha. You don’t see the triumphant smile those lovebirds share, busy trying not to show your disappointment of the night coming to an end. “We heading out?”

Bucky sighs, but he doesn’t break eye contact with you just yet.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he murmurs.

“Guess so.”

His feet shuffle against the floor. He seems not quite ready to end this conversation, taking a slow step backward, not turning away from you.

“See you next game, doll,” he says, words landing softer, quieter in a way. He speaks as if it matters.

You fidget with the sleeve of your sweater and let out an almost shy laugh. “Sure.”

Bucky smirks, holding up his phone and waving with it when walking further backward to Steve. “I’ll remind you.”

You watch him walk off with his best friend, watch him throw another grin over his shoulder at you, still feeling the heat that won’t stop tingling along your skin.

Your own best friend throws her arm around your shoulders.

This time, she keeps her mouth shut. She knows she doesn’t have to say anything anymore. There is no denying it any longer and you are well aware.

Because yeah, you might not be into baseball.

But you might be into Number 17.

“Flirting is a promise of something more.”

- Milan Kundera

[misayani]

HONEY (R U COMING?) — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x  fem reader

◜arrogant and bratty reader (044) recruiting se-mi (380) for the second game

𔗨 author's note — wasn't seeing enough fanfics for my baby so ... [lowercase intended]

"i dont see anyone else that's good enough for us" you hear gyeong-su comment with a huff. 

you're currently standing with three idiots—thanos, gyeong-su, and nam-gyu, slightly distanced from the three with your arms crossed against your chest and while your twirl your hair. 

"yo thanos, what are we going to do?" nam-gyu's irritating voice cut through all the noise of other people communicating.

thanos turned to him, his head bopping, motherfucker's high again. "i don't fucking care man, let them come to us. i mean, who wouldn't want to be with the great thanos!" 

both men chuckled as nam-gyu speaks up once again, "what about you 044? make yourself useful, can't just sit pretty doing nothing eh?".

"and you call yourself useful?" you scoff as you turned around to face the three, eyebrows raised. thanos smirked at you as you sighed, "fine, i'll make myself useful. no one would probably even care to join you, even if you begged." 

"you bitc—" nam-gyu would've reached you already if it weren't for thanos holding him back while cackling at the both of you.

with one last huff, you strutted your way to the crowd, scanning around the room for someone who met your personal standards—hot, unbothered, and most specially, a woman. 

your eyes landed on a person wearing a jacket with the number '380'. with a confident smirk, you walked towards the woman whose back is facing you and talking to someone.

"leave." your voice broke their conversation as they both looked at you. you eyes were darted to the boy specifically, him being the one you told to leave.

"w-what?" the boy stuttered, looking at you bewildered.

you furrow your eyesbrows, taking a step closer to the boy, "do i seriously need to get you hearing aids? i said leave." 

the boy scrambled away before you can even take your second step to him. with a pleased smile, you turned to the utterly attractive woman who looked at you with an amused expression.

"join me." short and straight to the point. you were confidently sure that she would just say yes and come with you— surely, who in their right minds would turn down a pretty girl's offe-

"why should i?" she voices out. oh. my. fucking. god is her voice so alluring. her looks already made your legs feel like jelly and then comes her voice?— yes lord.

snapping out of your fantasies, you furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at her with an expression that read 'how dare you?' 

"a-are you serious? why shouldn't you?" you looked at her up and down in attempt to intimidate her, but really just an excuse to check her out.

"can't just expect me to join you after rudely making the boy i was talking to leave, sweetheart." she crosses her arms as she made her way closer.

sweetheart. heat rushed to your cheeks and you scoff, rolling your eyes. 

"what do you want me to do then? he doesn't look like someone who's good enough to join forces with in a death game like this anyways." you rebut. 

"and you think you're good enough?" she smirks at you. before you could even utter another word, she straights up and looks down at you—caused by height difference, making you feel small— and chuckles.

"what's your name and give me one good reason why i should join you."

you told her your name, which made you sound too eager for your liking, before you straightened yourself up and flicked you hair to the back.

 "i'll make sure you win. team up with someone who actually looks like they're capable of winning instead of someone who looks like a lost puppy." your eyes darted to the boy she was talking to earlier who was now talking to other people before returning your gaze to her.

she crosses her arms and brings a finger to her mouth to bite down on and stares at you, which made you scream internally. what the fuck. how can someone be this hot?

after some silence between you two, she spoke up "fine. but if i lose, i'll come for you."

huh. 'come for me?' won't be such a bad idea, right? the thoughts made you smirk as you boldy traveled your eyes over her figure. 

"oh, i think you have me mistaken. i won't mind at all if you came for me" your voice sounded innocent, but your words were laced with an obvious innuendo.

"oh?" she smirks. before you could even let her finish her sentence, you speak up once again to avert the topic.

"how will you come for me if you die anyways?" you roll your eyes to try and hide your flustered state. "which, by the way, you won't. my group is decent, me being the best member of course." 

and as if on cue, thanos and the two made their way to the both of you, his annoying voice dominating the noise surrounding you. 

"there you are doll, been lookin for you." you scoff at his words as thanos turns to face 380, which you still don't know the name of, "and who is this señorita?"

you opened your mouth to say something but 380 beat you to it. "se-mi. she recruited me." she says, nodding to you. 

moanable name. you thought.

"really? another woman? you already make this team weak." nam-gyu yaps as he turns to face you, saliva escaping his mouth. filthy.

you scoff as you step away and point your finger at him, "fucking shut your mouth. you haven't done shit to this team. your ass can't fucking talk." 

before a fight between you two broke out, gyeong-su already restrained nam-gyu. thanos whistles, "well. there's that."

the purple-haired man throws his arm over your shoulders and faced nam-gyu. "let's not talk shit now eh? we're a fucking team!" he yells as he raised his free arm up, "try not to kill each other off, we still have games to play."

nam-gyu rolls his eyes and se-mi watches the scene unfold, snickering.

"now come on my folks, come on." thanos frees you from his hold as he walked through the crowd, arms spread as if bragging, with nam-gyu and gyeong-su following.

your lips unsubconsciously turn into a pout as you turned to face se-mi, who was already looking at you.

"cute." she eyes you up and down and starts walking towards thanos' direction. your mouth opens as if you let out a silent gasp at what she said and just stared.

she realized you weren't following so she stopped and turned her head to look at you.

"coming?" she smirks

oh i'm definitely coming.

@misayani

[scorpiosbite]

the first time drew saw actress!reader.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── when drew was forced by madelyn to come watch this new show with her and the rest of the cast he didn’t expect to have his heart captured by the mesmerising woman on the screen.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in 2023 during the filming of obx 4 which is when game of thrones started airing in my timeline also actress!reader is anywhere between 19-22 years old.

drew was sprawled across the couch in his hotel room, aimlessly scrolling. after a long day of filming under the hot and heavy sun of morocco, he had no intention of doing anything that required effort. his plan was to simply scroll until his eyes got heavy and he knocked out, but knowing his insomnia that wouldn’t be until the early hours of the morning.

glancing at the time displayed on his phone ten pm it read, he let out a heavy sigh, though his body ached with exhaustion, his mind would not shut off. but before he could put down his phone and try to force himself to sleep, a knock sounded on the door “yeah?”

“drew! its maddie.”

“maddie?” he spoke softly, what’s she doing up at this time. usually she was asleep the moment she got back to the hotel. “come in, its open.”

she came tumbling through the door, coming to a stop in front of the couch where he laid. drew couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched her. “what’s up?”

“drew! you gotta come watch this new show with us!” her hands were placed on her hips as she looked down at him.

drew sighed, a noise of exhaustion. “i can’t be fucked getting up, cline.” her face scrunched up, ready to dispute him.

“drew you have to! the last episode of season one just came out and i watched the first episode when it aired and it was so good that i stopped watching so that we could binge it all when the season finished!”

recognition sparked on his face. “wait is this game of thrones? i remember you saying how good the first episode was, like two months ago.”

madelyn’s face grew excited at the fact that he remembered. “yeah! please please, you have to come watch it, jd, bailey, chase, laci, rudy and austin are already in my room waiting.”

drew mulled over the idea for a moment. either he could rot in his room until his call time tomorrow or hang out with his friends and possibly watch a good show, if maddie’s high praise was anything to go by.

“yeah, alright let’s go.” he stood up from the couch, stretching his arms and grabbing his phone to follow maddie, who was already halfway out the door, unable to wait any longer.

when they arrived at her room, the first episode was already lined up on the screen, the hbo logo blaring in the dark room. drew greeted everyone and then took a seat on the spare love seat by the window. “you guys get forced too?” he questioned.

“yup.” jd breathed out. “nah i’ve been wanting to watch this, i remember hearing about it when they started filming, it’s supposed to be like super graphic and vulgar.” madison commented. “shit, really? i know nothing about this show, other than the fact that cline can’t shut up about it.” austin added. chuckles sounded across the room, and madelyn yelled from the kitchen where the popcorn she was making turned in the microwave. “y’all are about to thank me!”

drew simply sat in silence, with the amount maddie was praising this show, his skepticism grew, no way this show was that good. someone pressed play as soon as madelyn was seated, he didn’t see who. the intro song of the show blasted through the room and drew settled back into his seat.

“yo, pass me the popcorn?” chase rolled up the bag and chucked it across the room from where he was sat, drew caught it with ease.

he couldn’t lie, the show was good, fifteen minutes in and he was hooked. and just when he thought that it couldn’t get better, you came on the screen.

“holy fuck who is that?” jd’s voice rang out, but drew felt as though his voice came from somewhere far away. he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. “she’s beautiful right?” madelyn sighed out. mummers of agreement sounded from the people sitting in the room. “her name’s y/n y/l/n.”

“y/n” drew repeated to himself softly, almost as he was testing the feel of your name in his mouth. rolling the syllables on his tongue, in that moment he decided that no other word would ever compare to the way your name felt on his lips.

dressed in a flowing dress with daring cuts exposing your seemingly soft skin, he wondered what would it feel like if he ran his palms along the smooth expansion. your hair sliver, long and loose to play visenya targaryen, the last targaryen, the daughter of rhaegar targaryen and elia martell. drew felt as though no one had ever looked more stunning in the history of the world.

“drew? you all good man?” someone asked, he didn’t know who, he couldn’t hear or think of anything beyond you and the performance you were giving. “i think starkey’s got a crush.” rudy sang out, and the rest laughed. but drew couldn’t care less, too busy watching you.

they watched two more episodes and as the third episode came to an end drew finally broke out of his trance. while the rest occasionally made comments during the show drew could not tear himself away from the screen, afraid that if he looked away he would miss you.

“i gotta hand it to you, cline, i’m hooked. that shit was amazing!” carlacia grinned. “i fucking told you guys!” she retorted back. “but aside from that, starkey? what did you think?” she smirked at him.

“yeah, that was good.” drew’s body tingling “that’s it? just good? you don’t wanna talk about the moon eyes you were making every time visenya came on screen?” drew cheeks tinged pink. “yeah, she’s pretty.” “aye, shot your shot man, she’s so fine.” madison teased.

as drew made his way back to his room he looked at the time, two am, damn he didn’t even realise time had passed that quick. sliding into his bed after taking a quick shower, he couldn’t help himself but run a quick search of you on google. “fuck.” the soft curse slipping from his lips, just when he thought you couldn’t get hotter, he saw pictures of you, not in costume, naturally a brunette, he was so fucked. fuck it, he quickly searched up your name on instagram.

you were laying in bed scrolling through instagram when a notification popped up.

drewstarkey started following you. follow back?

first one, do you like it? if you do i’ll keep writing. reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated.

[eicsferrari]

never met - op81 smau

summary: people start making up rumors about oscar and yn. problem is they never actually met

face claim: random girls from pinterest

a/n: this is chaos but it was fun to write hope you like it

masterlist

જ ♡ જ

gossipf1 singer yn and oscar piastri are reported to be dating according to inside sources

view all comments

user5 please let this be true

lando rue, when did this happen?

user14 helppp what is lando doing here

user3 my two worlds colliding

user7 she's not good enough for him

user8 ?? he's not good enough for her

yn inside sources who??? i never saw this man in my life😭😭

user10 he's a formula 1 driver

yn oh i only know lewis hamilton aka the goat aka the loml

user10 fair

yn he looks cute tho👀

sabrinacarpenter no yn!

yn 😊😊

જ ♡ જ

yn posted a story

caption: this is the man yall think i pulled? Damn thank u

replies

↪sabrinacarpenter you are insane😭

↪lando +61 12345678 text him

જ ♡ જ

yn jazzy nights are my favorite

♡liked by sabrinacarpenter, oscarpiastri and others

view all comments

user6 best night of my life

sabrinacarpenter i'm in love with you😍

yn me when i see you

user1 oscar liked...

user4 don't start

user1 i just stated a fact

user9 obsessed with your voice, i want you to sing me to sleep every night

જ ♡ જ

gossipf1 yn and oscar spotted hanging out after her concert

view all comments

user8 i fear this couple would be too iconic

user4 just... no

user5 i dont know this man my ass

yn in my defense i really haven't met him then!

lando it's true i can confirm

lando i can also confirm yn was oscar's most listened artist last year

oscarpiastri why are you here?

lando gossip is my bat signal

જ ♡ જ

yn trip made it out of the groupchat

view all comments

lando groupchat and it's only two people

yn get off my comments

lando i got you his number and this is how you repay me?

user9 lando tell us who it is🙏🏼

user3 if lando set them up it has to be oscar

user7 i'm in love with her aesthetic

user5 white shirt=oscar

user14 stop we don't know

sabrinacarpenter did my invite get lost in the mail?🤨

yn babe i'm sorry he means nothing you are the love of my life

જ ♡ જ

oscarpiastri posted a story

caption good company yn

replies

↪user4 gossipf1 ended up setting you two up huh

↪sabrinacarpenter i remember when i was the one taking her pictures...💔

જ ♡ જ

yn sorry osc i go where lewis goes🏎️

view all comments

oscarpiastri 😐

user4 osc🥺🥺

scuderiaferrari everyone is a ferrari fan ♡liked by author

francocolapinto hamilton fan first, a girlfriend second. i respect that

user5 did he just confirm that they are girlfriend and boyfriend?

mclaren 💔

yn sorry😔

charles_leclerc i approve son oscarpiastri

yn forza ferrari!

user26 we lost her to a sports guy...

જ ♡ જ

oscarpiastri posted a story

caption prettiest girl is in fact my girlfriend

replies

↪yn giggling blushing throwing up kicking my feet🥺🫶🏼

જ ♡ જ

yn posted a story

caption he's still mad i did not wear orange

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↪lando it's papaya not orange😡

yn same fucking thing

lando it's not !!

yn ok but the word papaya is so ugly

lando YOU TAKE THAT BACK

જ ♡ જ

yn the rumors are now true, i'm his favorite artist and he's my (second) favorite driver

view all comments

user18 she's gorgeous😍 he's just there😐

francocolapinto yes yes you might kiss but did he ever say he wanted to learn your language just to understand your jokes? i don't think so

yn call me when you are his top artist on spotify loser

user12 don't mind me i'm just patiently waiting for the love songs this will inspire

oscarpiastri you are never going to let me live this down, right?

yn you are stuck with me and my bad jokes sorry bro

sabrinacarpenter just remember she was mine first papaya boy

oscarpiastri noted🫡

જ ♡ જ

oscarpiastri she finally wore papaya

view all comments

user2 she's so hot🥵

yn not that word again😭

lando i will block you if you keep hating on the papaya

yn do it i dare you

yn i look so good tho

oscarpiastri you always look amazing

yn i love me a boy who can sweet talk

lando god stop being cheesy on main🤢

yn weren't you going to block me??

lando i should have

yn just do it you coward

user23 yes yn put the car guy in his place!

lando why are you supporting her when your page is dedicated to me??? are you a fan or a hater?

user23 i'm your biggest fan! but i support women's rights and women's wrongs so i'm with yn

yn HA even your fans like me better😛

lando you stole my teammate and now my fans what else do you want from me😭😭

જ ♡ જ

lando posted a story

caption disgusting

replies

↪yn disgustingly cute yes

lando whatever helps you sleep at night

જ ♡ જ

oscarpiastri posted a story

caption dont let their online banter fool you, they are friends

replies

↪yn babe don't expose us like that😔

જ ♡ જ

oscarpiastri 🧡

view all comments

yn DELETE what if lewis sees this?

user21 she's so real

lewishamilton i feel betrayed

yn nooo💔😔 you will always be n1 in my heart

oscarpiastri 😐

yn deal with it

yn i am so incredibly proud of you and i love supporting you🥺🧡

oscarpiastri thank you for being here<3

જ ♡ જ

yn posted a story

caption i'm going to tell my kids this is their dad

જ ♡ જ

yn posted a story

caption just kidding, i love you oscar

replies

↪ oscarpiastri i love you more❤️

[alisonwritesimagines]

Count On Mom ~Batfamily Imagine~

Summary: The kids try to get Bruce to get away from the computer. Luckily, there is always one person who can take his mind out of anything including Batman duties. You.

Author’s Note: Haven't posted much in a while and I kept seeing a lot of Batfamily stuff at the last convention I went to so here we go!

BatFamily Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: boob flashing, hint to smut

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

Three of the batkids stared at their adoptive father as he had been stuck in front of the screen in the Batcave. None of the moved as they watched Bruce in some kind of trance.

“How long since he moved?” Dick asked Cassandra and Jason.

“A day,” Cassandra monotonous answered.

“I think he blinked a minute ago, does that count?” Jason asked.

“It’s official. Alfred called it. He said he’ll bake cookies if we can get Bruce to stop working,” Duke said as he walked into the batcave.

"Step aside," Jason said as he cracked his knuckles. "This will be over in no time."

As the kids began to try to get Bruce to move away, no effort was made to moving Bruce.

"I got an idea," Dick said as he took out his phone.

You felt your phone ring, making you put the groceries down onto the kitchen island so you could answer your phone. You had just gone to the store to grab some ingredients to make dinner for tomorrow's dinner.

“Hello?”

“Hey mom! Are you and Damien almost done with grocery shopping yet?”

“We just got home. Why?”

“We’re trying to pry Bruce off of the computer in the Batcave and Alfred said he’d make us cookies if we get him away from the screen.”

“I’m on my way,” you say with a chuckle at the end.

"Already began to bake the cookies. I know you'll be able to get him away," Alfred told you.

"Of course I can. That's my superpower in this family," you joked.

When you got to the Batcave, you saw your husband tiredly staring at the screen in front of him. The dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep made you upset but you knew there was one thing you could do that would always get his attention.

"Aw my poor husband," you say.

"You got this mom?" Jason asked you.

“Step aside kids and close your eyes,” you tell them as you walked over to your husband.

“What are you going to do mom?” Dick as as he covered his eyes. The rest of the kids quickly covered their eyes to avoid to see what you were going to do.

You climbed onto Bruce’s lap before lifting both your shirt and bra in front of him. Bruce quickly snapped out of his daze before looking up at you with a smile.

“Tempting me my love?”

“Maybe,” you smile as you pulled your shirt and bra down.

“Let me have my cookies and you can have me,” you whispered into his ears as you stood up.

“Okay kids. Enjoy Alfred’s cookies,” you say as you headed out.

The moment the kids uncovered their eyes, they watched in shock as Bruce already began to make his way towards you.

“Leave it to mom for getting Bruce to do anything other than his Batman duties,” Jason said.

"I wonder how she does it," Duke says out loud.

"Because dad's got it bad for mom," Dick tells him.

By the time Bruce got to you, you were eating your chocolate chip cookies that Alfred had made with Damien. You winked at your husband as you kissed Damien’s head.

“Alfred, why don’t you and the kids go out for a bit? It’s lovely outside,” you tell him.

“Of course,” Alfred said before walking over to get the rest of the kids. You began to head upstairs to your room, knowing that you had stirred something in Bruce.

“You coming Bruce?” You called out. You smirked as you heard Bruce’s fastened footsteps.

You let out a laugh as you felt him pick you up. You held onto him as he rushed over to the bedroom.

“I owe you some alone time don’t I?” Bruce asked you with a smile.

“Yes you do. Now, while everyone is out of the house, why don’t you make it up to me?” You asked him.

“I plan to," Bruce said before kissing you passionately.

[aperrywilliams]

That Wasn't Fake (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Request: Can you write a Spencer fic where the reader is kind of quiet and shy when she begins working at the BAU, and Spencer has a crush on her, and then they have a case, and she has to like to seduce the unsub lowkey and everyone kind of like...how is she going to do this shes not very outgoing but when she does shes really good at it, and everyone is surprised and impressed.

Summary:  You're shy and reserved. Spencer has a crush on you, and unbeknown to him, you have a crush on him. Maybe the cat can get out of the bag when you have to step aside of your comfort zone to catch an elusive unsub.

Word Count: 4.2k (no self control here)

Warnings: Words like 'fuck' and 'bitch'. A rant about self-doubt. Typical CM stuff: unsubs, killings, etc.

A/N: Another request I loved! It should have been a little shorter, but I'm having a hard time getting to the point these days. Please keep sending requests!

---------------

Spencer knows it is inappropriate, but he can't help it. You're coworkers, and that itself sets a boundary, so he shouldn't be thinking of trespassing.

But the crush he has on you seems to grow every day.

He doesn't know if it is your beautiful smile, the kindness you show in everything you do, or the enthusiasm you put into every task you are committed to. Since the moment he saw you pass the bullpen glass doors, Spencer knew he was damned.

From that moment, Spencer knew he wanted to know you and learn everything about you. About what you liked, what you hated, and what your fears and dreams were. Everything.

But not much after that revelation in his mind, he understood it wasn't going to be easy to get to you.

You were extremely shy and reserved.

In fact, your first interaction - when Emily introduced you both - consisted of a wave of your hand and a timid 'nice to meet you.'

He thought as time went by, you would loosen and become less bashful and quiet. And in part, he was right. As the months passed, you began to feel more comfortable within the team. You laughed at Luke's jokes, you commented on Rossi's stories, and you could even - when the stars aligned - crack a joke yourself to Tara or Matt.

But beyond that, no one knew much about your life outside of the BAU, unlike JJ, who always talks about her kids and her husband, or Matt, who talks about his kids, too. Or Tara, who recounts her failed dates. Or the same Luke who always shows photos of Roxy.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be an enigma. But Spencer Reid loved decoding enigmas.

At first, he turned his interest in you out of mere scientific curiosity. However, internally, he knew it wasn't just that.

It started with small random questions about the times you worked together: Is this coffee okay? What was the last book you read? Do you think we should buy some donuts for the team?

If you were honest, it picked your interest why, from all people, Dr. Spencer Reid was so adamant in making conversation with you.

From what you knew and from what the team said, Spencer was not a person very interested in things other than work or books. But suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked you what the last movie you saw was or something like that.

You always answered his questions; however, you would have liked to be much more talkative and engage in longer conversations, but your nature stopped you.

'What if I don't have anything more interesting for him to say?'

'Does he just talk to me because he feels sorry for me?'

And that was the big issue: you have never had problems with the way you live your life. You're pretty satisfied with what you do in your job and out of it, too. But you have always thought you are too 'simple' to entertain people's interest.

And to be honest, being surrounded by people with so much experience and big things happening in their lives still intimidates you a bit. So, you usually refrain from talking too much about yourself or anything for that matter.

But with Spencer, things are a bit different. He's always checking on you but respects your boundaries. He has learned that sometimes you just don't want to talk, and he doesn't push.

Despite his interest beyond the professional, Spencer would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Being able to share time with you will have to be enough for him.

In a way, he has become your protector. He is your backup during interrogations or in situations where you can feel awkward, like the times when some police officers tried to flirt with you and got too close. Sure, you know how to turn them down, but sometimes guys don't get the memo and keep pushing. You're too shy to yell or be aggressive about it.

The team also understands the way you are, and they know it does not make you any less professional. However, they have always been careful not to take you too much out of your comfort zone.

---------------

A whole two weeks and five murders later, the team is stuck trying to catch an unsub who has preferences for killing women after club nights. The profile says he is not interested in just any woman but in those between 25-30 years old who like to flirt with several men in the clubs. But it is not just any type of flirting; it is the type that is initiated and dominated by them. In short, he likes to kill women who are the opposite of submissive. He sees them as predators on a hunting ground.

Another finding in victimology is that the women he kills, in addition to having a specific age range, have very similar physical characteristics. And similar to you.

All his victims have your build, eye color, hair color, and height. It gets to be creepy to a certain point. And it's something difficult to ignore.

Bouncing information and possible strategies, the team agrees they need to be proactive to get him to show up before another killing happens.

"Okay, what options do we have?" Emily asks.

"The witnesses haven't gotten us anywhere," Luke complains.

"Although we've narrowed down his hunting grounds," Rossi shrugs.

"Yeah, we know the clubs where he likes to hunt," JJ backs Rossi.

"But although the profile, we have yet to learn about what to look for there. I mean, we know what the unsub wants, but not how he looks like." This time, it's Tara who speaks.

You've rarely seen Emily bite her tongue when she wants to say something, but it's clear that she has something on her mind, and she doesn't know how to put it, or maybe the problem is something else. You look at her out of the corner of your eye, and she looks back at you; what do those eyes say? They look like they're even apologetic.

It's a fraction of the time before she comes back to behave like herself.

"We need to lurk him. It's the only way," she says. And everyone's eyes - yours included - are on her immediately.

"Lurk him?" Matt repeats.

"Yes. And all we know who should be the one going undercover to do that," Emily adds, looking at you this time.

That's it—the elephant in the room.

Of course, you're the ideal candidate. Well, you're perfect in the physical aspect because if we talk about the victim's personality and yours...

There's silence in the room, and you can feel like the team's eyes are all on you.

Do they expect you to say no? To refuse? From your perspective, it's not a question; it's more like the option you all have to catch the guy.

"It's true (Y/N) would be the closest to the unsub type, but there are a lot of things to take into account," Matt says. And you know perfectly well what's behind his words, even if he doesn't say it directly.

And that's okay; it's perfectly plausible they have their doubts. It is not enough to look like the victims for the operation to work.

But if there is one thing you are sure of, it's that you will always give your all to your job, even if that means becoming a completely different person.

"I can do it," you mumbled so quietly that if the AC weren't in the lower setting, people wouldn't have heard you.

"But (Y/N), you know about this guy. It's dangerous," Matt points, a frown on his face.

"Not to mention he likes rough interactions," Luke adds.

"You don't have to do it if you feel uncomfortable." This time, it is JJ who voices her opinion. And you know, that's the closest reason to the team's main concern.

And the fact you can blow up the entire plan.

Spencer stays in silence. Internally he's freaking out thinking of you having to lurk on the unsub, but he knows you are a professional. And he feels a kind of deja vu.

When he was younger, the team would have said the same about him doing something like that. Spencer knows what it's like when people baby you, making you feel insecure. Sure, he hasn't had to worry about that anymore. Spencer is almost forty, and no one would dare to tell him he can't do something. Not after all the things he has been through.

"JJ is right, Bella. You don't have to do it. We can think of another way," Rossi backs JJ.

That's when Spencer notices the slight frown on your face. It's invisible to everyone but him. He knows it's there.

You stay collected, even when everyone on the team has something to say about how bad the idea of you going undercover to lurk the unsub is.

Emily is who stops everyone's rant.

"Guys, hey. If (Y/N) is telling us she can do it, we're going to do it. Of course, we'll be there to back up her and catch this unsub."

And this is how the discussion is settled.

Emily sends everyone out with a task to prepare for the night. Today is Friday, and the unsub will surely be stalking some new victim. The chances are high.

When it's just you and Spencer in the room, he still looks at you in silence.

"Do you also think I'll not be able to pull off this mission and I'm going to ruin everything?"

You downcast your gaze, exhaling deeply.

"No. I don't think that," Spencer clarifies, and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes. "You are more than capable, (Y/N). The team is worried because you'll be out of your comfort zone in a dangerous situation."

"The team? Not you?" You narrow your eyes to him.

You try not to sound accusatory, but if you're as scared as everyone, you also are fed up with the other's doubts.

Spencer closes the distance between you both but doesn't invade your personal space.

"Of course, I'm worried too! I don't want anything bad to happen to you. But I trust you and your judgment."

Your heart does flip-flops, and you're not sure if it's because Spencer is worried or because, despite that, he trusts you—or both.

"You do?" You ask, not so convinced.

Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And we'll be there when you catch the guy."

If that is the reassurance you need, you don't mention it. Instead, you grin at Spencer as a promise you'll do your job just how you are supposed to.

---------------

You insist on getting ready in your hotel room. The only assistant you ask for is Emily. She was the one who trusted you first in this, so you'll take every piece of advice she can give you before this night starts.

Everyone has a role in the plan.

Rossi will be the chauffeur who will drive you to the club.

Luke and Spencer would be in the club, mingling with the patrons. JJ, Matt, and Emily would be in the van monitoring the whole situation with cameras and earpieces. Rossi would keep his facade as a driver so he could be at one of the entrances. Tara would be at the club, too, eyeing nothing suspicious going on in the bar because there is a chance the unsub is getting help from the bartender.

When you are in front of the mirror applying the last touch of makeup, Emily is looking at you with a stare you can't decipher.

"What?" you ask, and Emily chuckles.

"Please, don't take this in a bad way, but I never thought I would live the day of seeing you using clothing like this. And Jesus, you look so hot!"

Your cheeks redens.

"It's a little bit odd coming from my boss, don't you think?" you muse, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

"Point taken," Emily raises her hands in defense. "Although I know someone who is going to run out of breath after seeing you."

You let out a scoff. It's not a surprise for you. The BAU girls - boss included - have been trying to set you up with Spencer since forever. You don't entertain the idea only because you don't think it's possible and not because you don't like the concept.

"Come on, don't say that. You are not helping to my nerves."

"Sorry, I'll shut up. We should go, though," Emily says, checking her watch.

One of the SUVs drives you to the van parking point. You needed to review the operation details.

At the back of the van - or commander point - JJ, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Matt, and Spencer see you come up with Emily.

For the best US profilers, they're not doing a good job hiding that they are gawking at you. Surely, no one imagined seeing you in such a revealing outfit. Outfit that, without a doubt, suits you extremely well, highlighting all your body attributes.

Spencer feels like he died and was resurrected after seeing you.

"Okay, guys, we need to check the details again," Emily announces.

The plan is in motion, and everyone is in position.

As expected, you arrive with Rossi at the club, who opens the door for you and helps you descend from the car. Rossi gives you a reassuring smile before letting you go.

Like a switch, you are no longer the shy SSA (Y/L/N). Now you are the woman who is going to take what she wants and attract the unsub attention doing that.

Your walk is determined, and your eyes send out flames of confidence to those who look at you. The music is very loud, something that would usually bother you, but not now. This needs to feel like your environment. That's how you like it, you tell yourself.

Almost instantly, you start to attract the looks of men who are eager for a woman like you.

You exude determination, and you don't go unnoticed.

Walking into the club, you make brief eye contact with Luke, who is on the dance floor. You see Spencer perched in a booth, nursing a beer.

At the same time, Tara is stationed at the bar.

"Remember (Y/N); the unsub expects the woman to approach men. The flirt needs to come from you," Emily reminds you by the earpiece hidden in one of the earrings you're wearing.

"Show time," you mumble to yourself.

You walk seductively to the dance floor, where a young man is dancing with a blonde. You approach and whisper something in his ear. That makes the boy completely lose interest in the blonde and start dancing with you. You smile and cling to the man's body, who wastes no time and takes your hips as if they were his possessions.

That dance certainly has nothing innocent about it. You continue whispering things in the boy's ear, and he looks more and more excited. Once you consider it a reasonable amount of time to have attracted attention, you leave the boy alone and head to the bar. Just a few meters away from Tara, a suspicious man is staring at you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as you order a drink. When the bartender passes it to you, you make subtle eye contact with Tara, who nods, indicating that the drink is clean.

You look next to you and see another man not so subtly looking at you. You know the unsub's profile, and you can't be intimidated or dominated by another man. You are the one who calls the shots. Otherwise, this will not work.

Before the man makes his attempt to seduce you, you turn to him, and with a penetrating look and disdainful voice, you stop him.

"Sorry, honey. Don't waste your time. You're not my type," and with that, you leave to move to the opposite side of the club. The guy huffs, and you're almost sure hearing him call you 'bitch' under his breath.

JJ, who's following the cameras inside the club, sees someone who looks suspect.

"Hey, this guy has been peeking at (Y/N) the entire time, and look, he clenched his fists when (Y/N) turned down that guy at the bar."

Emily confirms JJ's observation before giving you the next instructions.

"(Y/N), you're doing great. We have a possible target. So we need to raise the bet."

You know exactly what Emily means. You both had talked about the strategy to follow, having more details about what you should do than the rest of the team.

Matt and JJ look confused at each other but say nothing.

Your next step is to find another dude to seduce before delivering the coup de grace.

Luke and Spencer keep an eye on you. And while Luke is pleasantly surprised by your audacity, Spencer can't help but feel his stomach tighten. He tells himself it's because he is afraid something bad could happen to you, but inside of him, it's that and the fact of seeing you flirt with other men.

Just like you did with the guy on the dance floor, you attract the attention of another man; this time, you take his hand and pull him to the dance floor.

JJ and Matt's jaws drop to the floor. If Tara, Luke, and Spencer could do the same without giving themselves away, they would have done it, too.

As if it were your second nature, you laugh and move to the music. The man seems to enjoy the moment so much that he takes a bold step by leaning in to kiss you. You let him get closer until his lips are almost on yours. But before touching each other, you pull back with a malicious smile.

"Naughty boy. I'm who says if you can kiss or no," you pout, faking disappointment. Dizzed, the guy cocks his head and sees you walk away.

Matt chirps now. "It's him. Look boss," he tells Prentiss, pointing to the same guy JJ saw before.

There is no longer any doubt that it is him. Now you just have to catch him red-handed.

"(Y/N), we got him. It's time for the last play," Emily tells you.

With Emily's instruction, you go to the bar for another drink before heading over to where Spencer is sitting.

He tries to play it off, but he has no idea why you're approaching him.

"Is this seat taken, handsome?" You ask, with your drink in hand.

"N- no. Please," Spencer gestures to the booth on his front, but you opt to perch to his side. Spencer thinks he never has been this close to you. He looks at your eyes, and it's like you are a totally different person. It's a little bit contradictory for him, to be honest. He already likes you just as you are, but this version of you? It's driving him insane.

Some resemblance of your true self looks with a kind of curiosity the nervousness on Spencer. You don't think much about it; you assume he's playing the nervous guy who is baffled by you.

The thing is, Spencer isn't playing. He's definitely baffled by you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, masking your question with a seductive smile.

"Yeah. Are - are you?" Spencer stutters a bit—something that is perfect for the plan but embarrassing for him.

You get closer to him to speak in his ear.

"This was Emily's idea," you tell him before kissing his ear and gently biting his lobe.

Spencer's breath hitches in his throat, and he thinks he's going to pass out any second. You're not doing it better: your heart is also pumping hard from the adrenaline. Of course, you had imagined something like that with Spencer, but only in your erotic dreams. You wouldn't dare do this on any given day.

You keep teasing Spencer, who, despite the nervousness, tries to play along. If this is the closest he will ever have you, he wants to engrave this in his memory.

"Just a little push, (Y/N). We almost have him," Emily instructs by the earpiece.

You swallow as subtly as possible as you wrap your arm around Spencer's neck, pulling him closer to you.

It's only a second between that action and the fact that you're kissing Spencer like it's your last meal.

Spencer doesn't know how to respond, and you were counting on that; it was enough time for the unsub to notice that you were the one who chose her last prey.

When Spencer is about to reciprocate the kiss, you murmur a 'sorry' into his lips and quickly pull away, giving him a disdainful look—which you hope he understands is fake—before getting up and walking toward the back exit door.

As expected, the unsub follows you towards the back door, and while your back is turned, he believes he has the advantage to attack you. What he doesn't know is that Matt and Luke are ready to lunge at him the moment he tries to touch you.

Everything that happens after is too fast.

The unsub is detained and taken to a patrol car while the team gathers around you, congratulating you on the successful operation. They all apologize to you for their previous apprehensions. You tell them that you understand and that there is no need to apologize. And it's like the switch has been flipped again since you came out of the femme fatale role.

But something is wrong. Spencer is not in the group. You see him a little further away, near the exit door of the club. Emily notices the looks between you both, and she sends the team on different tasks to close the case, leaving you and Spencer there.

There's something in his eyes that you can't decipher. You think it's resentment for using him without warning him what you were going to do.

You shyly approach him.

"It's me again," you tell him, pulling a face. You don't know what to say to make the situation better. Spencer nods.

"Yeah. You did it great, by the way," he compliments you. But it doesn't feel good like Spencer's compliments usually do.

"Look, about the kiss back there-" you start. He needs an explanation as a bare minimum.

"I know. It was fake," Spencer cuts you off.

Those words shouldn't hurt you as they do now. But isn't that the most reasonable thing to believe? The you in the club weren't you, so all you did inside was pretend.

Everything except that kiss.

If it's true you couldn't enjoy it the way you would have liked, you will never forget his lips on yours.

A tense silence takes over the moment. This is not okay.

You can't afford to lie to one of the most important people in your life, even if telling the truth takes you out of your comfort zone.

What the hell! Tonight has already been a total of 180 from a usual day for you.

"It wasn't," you mumble, and you see his eyes flicking to yours in a second.

"What?" Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Everything was fake, but not the kiss," you say with a stadied voice this time.

Spencer's heart races again. If you say you didn't fake it, then what he felt on your part at that moment was real?

"It wasn't fake?" He asks for clarification. You nod.

A smirk forms on Spencer's lips, seeing your cheeks redden.

There you are. The girl he had fallen for in the past two years.

"Well, you know that I am a man of science, right?" he tells you, and you frown because you have no idea where this is going.

"I know," you say with some hesitation.

"And as a man of science, I need evidence of things, you know?"

Now, you are the one who smirks at him.

"Evidence, huh?"

"Yep," he says, emphasizing the 'p' and swaying his body on his feet. You hum.

"I believe I can provide the necessary evidence if you need them," you concede, and Spencer's eyes sparkle with excitement.

Now, he is the one who reaches out and cups your cheeks. Your breathing quickens, but that doesn't stop you from standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips with his.

This time, there is no unsub, no curious eyes are looking at you, there is no rush, there is no femme fatale role, and above all, this is not fake; it's as real as the fact that your heart beats for him, and his for you.

------------------ 

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

[enbplvr]

HIDE-AND-SEEK

Pairing: Jungwon x fem!reader

Summary- Wanna play hide and seek with your obsessed boyfriend? Too bad. He never loses. And you always do. Maybe try hiding better this time.

Mentions- Yandere behavior, psychological fear, dark manipulation, toxic obsession, rough sex, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, talking through orgasm, eating cum, sadism.

Author's note: Hi! This is my second time writing a fanfic, so please show a lot of love.♡Please ignore any grammatical mistakes, as English is not my first language. If you don’t enjoy this type of fanfic, please kindly back off. Hate comments will be deleted!

Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction and is not intended to reflect reality. The characters depicted here are fictional versions and do not represent their real-life personalities or actions. Please don't take this too seriously—it's all for fun and delulu purposes.

For better experience play this playlist♡

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Here we go again — another little game of hide and seek. Y/N always runs, always hides… but Jungwon always finds her in the end. No matter how many times she tries to escape, he catches her. Every time. And now, it’s happening again. She’s hiding. He’s coming for her — just like always.

"Looks like we’ll have to start the game all over again." Jungwon's voice is calm — almost teasing — as he steps closer, closing the distance between y/n and him.

He’s close. Too close.

Jungwon moves slowly, as if savoring the moment. Y/n feels the warmth of his breath before y/n feels his touch — his fingers hovering near y/n's waist, not quite touching, but letting y/n feel the weight of his presence.

His lips brush just beside y/n's ear, and then he leans in whispering, “You really thought you’d get away this time again?" Jungwon chuckles lowly, the sound deep and unsettling.

“That was cute. Really. The way you ran barefoot through the hallway, trembling with every step while I was right behind you…- chasing u".

Jungwon clicks his tongue mockingly.

“But baby, come on. You know how this ends. It always ends the same — with me… and you… right back here.”

A pause. A breath. Then—

“Hide better this time, baby… ’cause last time?” He smirks, voice dripping with menace. “You lost way too quickly.” His hand finally lands on y/n's waist — firm, possessive.

“Let’s make it fun this time, yeah?” “Run. Scream. Beg.” Jungwon leans even closer, lips almost touching y/n's skin. “I’ll still find you.”

"Now go. Run." His voice drops to a whisper. "Before I change my mind and catch you right now." "And just remember — never let me catch you. Because if I do… You won’t like what happens next."

Y/n freezes. Her instincts scream. Run.

Y/n sprints. Heart pounding.

Y/n didn't look back.

Y/n never look back.

He’s counting now. Slowly. Calmly.

Y/n darts into the hallway, breath catching as she stumbles over herself, adrenaline pumping so loudly in her ears it almost drowns out everything else. Her bare feet slaps against the cold floor, her body trembling as panic grips every muscle. She doesn't look back — she can’t. Looking back means losing time, and with him, every second counts.

Y/n finds the dusty storage room — dark, forgotten, and suffocating. She slips inside, nearly tripping over an old rug. The air is thick with dust, her breath ragged and shallow as she ducks behind a corner of stack of boxes and moth-eaten curtains. Y/n's arms wrap tightly around her knees, trying to make herself small. Invisible.

THEN—

“Shall we start, my love?” Jungwon says sweetly.

“10…

9…

"Don’t pick the kitchen again, Y/n. That’s too easy. Just like last time. You always think the obvious places are safe. But I know you too well for that,” Jungwon says while laughing softly.

8…

7…

"I hope you’re trembling already.”

6…

He begins humming. It’s gentle. Childlike. Innocent. The lullaby is not meant to comfort y/n. It’s meant to terrify her. To remind her that no matter where she hides — he’s coming for her.

5…

4…

"Maybe try the attic. Or under my bed,” Jungwon muses, almost fondly. “I love when you crawl."

3…

"You know I can feel you, right? Even when I don’t see you, I know exactly where you are."

2…

1…”

His voice lowers to a dangerous whisper.

“Ready or not… here I come, angel.”

Y/n clamp a hand over her mouth. Her whole body trembles — shoulders tight, knees drawn to her chest, heart beating so hard it echoes in her ears.

A distant door creaks open. Then another.

Each sound slices through the silence like a warning. He’s getting closer. Moving slowly. Patiently. Like a predator savoring the fear of its prey.

Y/n didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to breathe too loud. Because she knows — he’s not just looking for her. He’s listening to her— her breathing, her heartbeat.

Jungwon’s voice calls out, cheerful and almost sing-song, “Where are you, love? Come on, don’t be shy now. Make a sound for me, why so quiet? You asked for this. Make it easy for me." He laughs — low, amused — the sound crawling under y/n's skin and sending chills down her spine.

Then his tone shifts, playful yet cold.

“Hide and seek is such a simple game. You hide. I find. But in our version… you never get away. Not really.”

His footsteps echo as he walks past the storage room. Y/n holds her breath, every muscle in her body tightening, praying he doesn’t double back.

He pauses. Hears a creak. Comes back.

Jungwon’s voice slips through the silence, soft and dangerously close, just outside the door y/n is hiding in.

“You breathing fast already? I love that,” he murmurs, the amusement curling in his tone like smoke. “It means your body knows I’m close… even if your mind keeps lying to you. Pretending you can escape.”

The door creaks open slowly.

He steps inside — deliberate, silent, confident. Like he already knows where y/n is.

Y/n bites her tongue hard, the taste of iron blooming across her mouth as she tries not to make a sound. Not a breath. Not a sob. Nothing.

“Hmmm…” he hums, pretending to search. “Maybe here? No? Or here…”

Y/n hears him opening a cabinet. Then the scrape of fabric as he slides under a table. Every movement is precise. Controlled.

He’s not really searching. He doesn’t have to. He’s hunting. And worst of all — he’s enjoying it. Because he already knows exactly what corner y/n is curled up in. He’s just letting the fear sink in a little deeper.

"You always hide so cute. All curled up, breathing hard. I bet you're already sweating, aren't you?" Jungwon’s voice is soft — teasing. He’s savoring this — Her panic, Her fear of getting caught.

The way Y/n's body trembles even when he hasn’t touched her yet. "You’re shaking, aren’t you?" he continues, voice dropping lower. "I haven’t even laid a hand on you… and you’re already trembling."

A cruel chuckle slips past his lips.

He loves this part. The part where you still think you can hide from him somehow.

His voice drops lower — smooth and dark

“Where are you, love?” There’s a mockery of tenderness in his voice, like he’s genuinely enjoying this. He chuckles softly.

“Always running… always trying to slip through my fingers.” Footsteps echo softly as he moves like he's just dragging out the moment to watch y/n squirm.

“But you forget, love…” he continues, his tone dropping to a near-whisper, “…I always catch you in the end.”

He’s not rushing. He doesn’t have to. Because this isn’t a chase to him. And knows he always has the upper hand.

“You were so quick today. I’m impressed.” Jungwon’s voice is laced with mock disappointment, teasing. “It’s almost like you don’t want to be found.” A quiet laugh follows, casual—cruel. “But you do, don’t you? You want me to find you. You need me to.”

Then—clang. Something drops. Metal on tile. The sound is sudden, jarring. Y/n nearly screams. Her heart stutters.

“Oops.” His voice is soft, dangerously calm now. “Did I scare you?”

He’s right outside the room. So close y/n can hear the weight of his breath. Then—nothing. Silence. Thick and suffocating.

He’s waiting. Listening. Like a predator crouched in the dark, grinning at the helpless sound of her breath.

“I can hear you, angel,” he murmurs through the wall. “You should’ve stayed quiet.”

A pause. A low, cruel chuckle.

“But then again… I like it when you make it easy for me.”

“I hope you’re hiding somewhere smart, love…” Jungwon said, his voice soft — almost fond, but laced with a dark promise that made y/n's blood run cold. “Because once I start looking, I won’t stop.”

A beat passed. Then his tone dipped lower, more possessive. “Not until I have you again.” Y/n pressed herself tighter into the shadows, heart pounding, lungs aching to stay quiet. But deep down, she knew — he’d already started. And Jungwon always founds her.

Jungwon hummed softly, the sound eerily gentle as it floated through the hallway. “You know… I love when you do this,” he said, almost like he was reminiscing. “Running… hiding… pretending like you don’t want me.”

The silence between each of his footsteps was worse than the sound itself — heavy, stretched, threatening. He was close. Too close. Then he stopped. Right outside the room y/n is hiding in.

Jungwon’s voice dropped to a thoughtful murmur. “Hmm… maybe you’re in this room?” A beat passed. “No… maybe,” he chuckled darkly, fingers brushing the doorknob, “or yes.”

Jungwon’s voice floated through the tense air like a lullaby laced with venom. “Knock knock… is my little dove hiding behind here?” he called out, his tone light and playful — a predator cloaked in sugar-sweet words.

Y/n didn’t answer. She didn’t dare.

“That’s fine,” he murmured, just loud enough to reach your ears.

And then — slam — the sound of a door being yanked open echoed like a gunshot down the hallway. But not your door. Not yet.

Silence followed, heavy and suffocating, before his voice returned — a soft chuckle slipping through his lips. “Ah… you tricked me,” he said, amused. There was no real frustration in his voice — only anticipation, and that edge of darkness that always bled through when he was enjoying the chase.

“That’s alright,” he whispered, footsteps resuming — slow, calculated, savoring the moment like a wolf circling its prey. “You want to make this more fun, huh? Then I’ll play along. I’ll let you think you’re winning. That you’ve outsmarted me.”

He stopped again, breathing quiet. The air around you stilled. “But just remember, Y/n…” he added, voice dipping lower, more dangerous. “The longer you hide, the worse it gets when I finally catch you.”

Jungwon’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “You know what’s funny, baby? All the people in the world… and you’re the only one I ever wanted. The only one who belongs to me.” His tone softens, almost loving — almost. “And yet… you still run. Why? What are you so scared of? Me?”

He stops. Something sharp clatters— sudden, deliberate. “You should be in this room only,” Jungwon mutters, low.

His footsteps echo across the dusty storage room floor, slow and steady, and when he speaks again, it’s soft — eerily tender.

“Are you here?” he whispers. “Come on, baby… this isn’t fun anymore if you stay quiet. Say something. Anything. Let me hear you breathe.”

Y/n presses her lips together, trembling. A single bead of sweat slips down her temple.

“You’ve gotten better at hiding,” Jungwon says, his voice echoing faintly as his footsteps approach, slow and deliberate. There’s a taunt in his tone, a cruel sort of praise. “But not smart enough.”

Y/n presses a trembling hand over her mouth, heart hammering so hard it. The walls seem thinner now, every creak amplified, every breath a risk.

“I gave you a head start,” he continues, his voice drawing nearer with each step.

“A full countdown. Ten to one. That’s love, isn’t it? I even hummed for you this time.”

He chuckles — low, mocking, cold.

“But you still chose the same pathetic corner of this house. Again.”

Y/n didn't dared to move. Not even a twitch. His voice drops to a soft murmur, almost tender, almost loving — and somehow that’s worse.

“Why do you do this, Y/N? Why pretend you don’t want this? Don’t want me?”

The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until he whispers again — this time so close, so precise it feels like he’s close to you, really close.

“Are you scared right now?” Then A pause. A breath. “Good. Fear makes your heart beat so beautifully.” His words are laced with twisted affection. “I can hear it.” “I wonder… how long it’ll take for you to accept that you belong to me?”

Jungwon’s voice floats through the thick silence. His footsteps draw closer with every word, slow and heavy, as if he has all the time in the world. As if he enjoys stretching out the fear from inside y/n's body.

“Did you really think these stack of boxes and moth-eaten curtains would keep me away?” he asks, his tone shifting into a mockery of warmth. “My love… I built this house for you.” His words echo, crawling along the floor and up the walls until they reach y/n. “There’s nowhere in here you can hide that I don’t know about.”

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to disappear into the shadows. But it’s useless. Y/n can feel him — the weight of his presence into the room.

A pause. Then —

The curtain rips away. There he is.

Towering above you. His expression is soft — disturbingly soft — like he’s gazing down at something fragile, precious.

He kneels, not like a man offering comfort, but like a hunter admiring his prey. A slow smile curves on his lips as he tilts his head.

“Found you,” Jungwon whispers, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind y/n's ear.

Y/N screams — raw, panicked.

She twists, pushing off the floor, legs scrambling beneath her as she tries to bolt. She doesn’t think. She just runs.

But she barely makes it two steps.

A hand wraps around her wrist — fast, unrelenting.

Jungwon yanks her back with ease, and her body slams against his chest.

“You really thought you could run now?” he growls against her ear, breath hot, voice laced with cruel amusement. She kicks, struggles, but he just laughs — low and dark.

"Shhh… it’s over now. You’ve played enough. You always fight when I get close…" Jungwon whispers, his voice a soft, chilling lullaby as his fingers curl tighter around y/n's arm, drawing her in like she was never meant to leave.

Y/n's body stiffens, panic clawing up her throat, but she can’t move — not with him holding her like this. His lips brush her ear, breath hot and deliberate. “I’ll make sure you never even think about hiding again.”— a promise more than a threat.

“No! Let me go! Please!” Y/n cries out, voice laced with raw desperation, thrashing in his grip. Her hands push at his chest, her nails dig into his wrist — but nothing loosens his hold.

Jungwon’s eyes darken, a smirk playing on his lips. “Let you go?” he repeats, almost mockingly. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

He leans in, his breath brushing against y/n's skin as he whispers. “I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

"Why are you doing this?" Y/n says with a trembling voice

"Because no one else gets to have you. Because I love you too much. Because I know what’s best for you. And if I have to break you to prove it… then I’ll break you. Gently. Lovingly. Over and over again. Until you stop running and hiding," Jungwon says, voice laced with obsession.

He pulls back slightly, just to look into y/n's eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dark and wild. His smile is sweet—too sweet. Deadly.

Y/n turns her face away, trying not to let him see her tears. But he notices. He always notices.

"Don’t cry, love. It makes me angry. Not at you… At the world. For making you think you needed to run from me," Jungwon says while gently cupping y/n's face.

"Jungwon—please… this isn’t you!" Y/n begs. "Oh Y/n… This is exactly me. This is who I’ve always been. You just… didn’t want to see it," Jungwon laughs darkly.

“This—” he breathes, eyes glinting with the satisfaction of someone who’s already won, “—this part of me is what keeps you mine."

"See, you’re not even trying, love. I told you to hide better,” Jungwon says mockingly. "Let me go! Just let me GO!" Y/n begs. "Let you go?" Voice turning eerily calm. He tilts his head. "That would mean losing the best part of me." A long pause. "And I don’t lose."

Jungwon leans in slowly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into a whisper. “ Now Tell me, love… why do you keep running from me?”

He doesn’t sound angry — he sounds curious, like he genuinely wants to understand.

“Do you not like the way I take care of you? I keep you away from everyone who doesn’t deserve to touch you. Isn’t that what you wanted? Someone to love you completely?”

Y/n’s voice breaks, panic laced in every syllable. “You don’t love me… You own me. You’re not protecting me — you’re suffocating me!”

Jungwon pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression unreadable.

Then, his tone shifts. Calm. Detached. “Wrong answer.”

“If your brain refuses to understand in word we’ll try a method.” A smile tugs at his lips. “A method your body won’t forget. Maybe then you’ll finally stop hiding.

Without warning, Jungwon grabs Y/n by the waist and lifts her effortlessly onto his shoulder. Her world flips — stomach pressed down against him, hair falling forward, legs dangling behind him, trembling violently. Every breath feels like it might crack her ribs from the inside.

"Put me down!" Y/n cries, voice already fraying at the edges. “Jungwon, what are you doing? please—just stop!. But he keeps walking — slow, steady, unbothered by her panic.

“What am I doing?” Jungwon chuckles darkly, shifting Y/n slightly on his shoulder so he can speak closer to her ear.

“I’m giving you a method,” he says slowly, — each word edged with unsettling calm.

“One — so you won’t run from me.”

“Two — so you won’t hide.”

“Three — so you won’t even think about escape.”

“Four — so the idea of leaving me never dares to enter your pretty little head.”

“Because I’m done with your games, love. All that running, all that screaming... and for what? Just to end up right here again". He says coldly.

Y/n struggles weakly, but it only makes his grip firmer, more possessive. Her legs shake harder now, the adrenaline crashing into exhaustion, her body giving up before her mind can.

As jungwon kicks the bedroom door open and walks in, throwing y/n gently onto the bed. He looms over her, his body language both dominant and seductive. He leans down, one hand on either side of her head, trapping y/n beneath him. "Missed me?"

Before y/n can respond, Jungwon captures her lips in a sudden, intense kiss. It's demanding, almost aggressive - a clear display of his dominance. His hands roam over her body possessively as he deepens the kiss, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

He breaks the kiss leaving Y/n breathless.

“You made it farther this time. I’m proud of you.” Jungwon says proudly

“But you still don’t get it, do you?” His tone drops, colder now. “This isn’t about winning or losing. This is about you belonging to me. No matter how many times we play… the ending is always the same.”

Then jungwon begins to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, his lips and tongue leaving a burning path. He nips at her collarbone, her chest.

His voice drops dangerously low as he feels her turning her face away —trying to resist him. "Looking away from me my love?"

“ You know? I'm wondering…” Jungwon murmurs. “Should I Strip away every piece of who you used to be? Turn you into someone better for me?"

Hearing this, Y/N finally looked at him, her eyes glassy with emotion. Her voice trembled, but she spoke anyway.

“I didn’t love you for all this, Jungwon…” she whispered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

Jungwon’s expression shifting into something darker.

“Then why…” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and broken. “Why did you make me fall in love with you… if you didn’t want to be mine?”

Jungwon’s smirk faded slowly as he studied her face.

“No answer, huh?” he said, voice quiet, almost mocking. “It’s okay, baby…”

He leaned down again, lips brushing her cheek as his hand slipped behind her neck.

“If you weren’t mine before…” his voice dropped, dark and possessive, “then I’ll just make you mine now.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, but she didn’t move. Her breath trembled against his skin, her hands curling into the bedsheets.

“You can’t just—” she tried to say, voice shaky.

“Oh, but I can,” Jungwon whispered. “And you’ll let me. Just like you always do.”

Then jungwon pushes her legs apart further with his knees, his fingers slick from her arousal. He leans down to whisper in her ear, his voice dripping with dominance. "You're dripping wet for me." He slides two fingers inside her, pumping slowly. "If you didn't want to be mine...then why is your pussy so fucking eager for my touch?"

His eyes darken with satisfaction as he curls them against her walls. "See?" He pulls his fingers out and shows them to her, glistening with her arousal. "Your body knows who it belongs to."

He sucks his fingers to his mouth and wipes them clean, his tongue lingering on each digit to ensure he gets every last drop of her essence. "Fuck, always so sweet especially when you're scared and shaking in fear for me." His voice is low and dangerous, filled with amusement and satisfaction.

"I wanna taste your fear, wanna taste you, wanna taste how you tremble for me, all of it." He starts with soft, gentle kitty licks on her inner thighs, working his way up until he reaches her core. Without warning, he tears through her clothing, revealing her to him completely.

He dives in, his tongue parting her folds and delving deep into her core. He licks and sucks, tasting every inch of her as he promised. His hands grip her hips tightly, holding her in place as he feasts on her pussy, making her scream and shake beneath him.

His tongue circles her clit before plunging back into her entrance, fucking her with it like he would his cock. He can feel her trembling, hear her breathless moans and screams filling the room.

"No, no, no..." She whimpers softly as he continues his relentless assault on her sensitive pussy. Jungwon suddenly stops licking and bites down hard on her inner thigh, making her scream louder than before.

"If you don't like my Tongue, then how about my Cock? Will that work for you, huh? I should just Fuck you with my Cock instead".

"Mmmf," She lets out a muffled moan as Jungwon pulls his pants down roughly he positions himself at her entrance. Her pussy lips part easily around his thick head, already stretching to accommodate him without any lubricant needed. She's so wet from his tongue work already that he slides in smoothly.

She gasps loudly as he pushes deeper into her wet pussy without warning or mercy. Her nails dig into his shoulders, leaving moon marks on his skin She's so tight around him, squeezing every inch like she never wants him leave. Her head falls back, mouth open in silent scream of pain and pleasure.

"I'll fuck this pussy till you're not making those damn sweet moans for me," Jungwon growls, increasing the speed of his thrusts. The room fills with wet slapping sounds. "I'm not gonna stop until u won't stop hiding from me again. Get that into your fucking senses."

As Jungwon watches her, the realization slowly sinks in — she’s not being responsive to his words, to his aggressive love-making. Completely still. Not fighting. Not speaking. And somehow… that unsettles him more than anything else.

He pauses. His expression unreadable. Then, in a fluid motion, he reaches behind her and lifts a pair of black headphones.

Y/N’s eyes widen. “Jungwon… what are you doing?”

Before Y/N can react, he gently places them over her ears. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slips the headphones over her ears, gently.

A slow, distorted melody begins to play. It’s haunting — almost familiar. And beneath it… his voice. Looped. Whispered.

"You belong to me… You belong to me… You belong to me…”

Y/N jerks, trying to shake them off, panic building. The sound clings to her — wraps around her mind. But Jungwon is already holding her down — not with violence, but with a terrifying gentleness. His hand slides to hers, pinning her wrists with ease.

She claws at the headphones, trying to rip them off — “Stop it! Jungwon, stop—”

“No, no,” he says with a faint smirk. “Listen. This is how you learn, baby. Every time you hear those words—you belong to me—I want them to echo inside you. I want them to sink into so you always that remember you’re mine."

Tears fill her eyes as she screams his name — her voice desperate, trembling. She begs him to stop. But her cries only seem to satisfy him. His breath fans over her lips, He leans in, pressing his forehead to hers, and smiles.

“Now that’s more like it,” he whispers. “All your screams… all your tears… they’re all for me. That’s how I know you’re still mine.”

She sobs, but he only tilts his head in fascination, like almost proud. As if he's admiring her pain like observing a masterpiece.

“So breakable,” he whispers. “But I’ll fix you. Piece by piece. Strip away all the parts that don’t serve me. And what’s left?”

as His fingers trail along her cheek. he leans in closer, his breath brushing her ear, "YOU, exactly how I want you."

Y/N’s body trembles beneath him. Her breath is shallow, choked with sobs. The twisted melody still hums in her ears — "You belong to me… You belong to me…"

Her strength is gone. Her resistance, shattered. And all that’s left is the fear.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice barely audible. Her eyes fill with tears again, spilling down her cheeks. “Please… just stop… please, I-I can’t take it anymore.”

Her voice breaks.

“I’m begging you, Jungwon. Please… no more.” She looks up at him, eyes wide and full of defeat. “If this is what you wanted… fine. You win. Just… stop hurting me like this.”

“I won’t hide… and I won’t run,” Y/N says, her voice trembling, eyes locking with Jungwon’s despite the tears in them.

Jungwon's voice was low, laced with mock sympathy.

"Aww, my baby is apologizing now? How cute…" He brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face, a smirk playing on his lips.

"But you’ll really be sorry once I fuck you and bring you back to your senses."

He tilts his head, that twisted smile. He leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching, his voice a whisper.

"Now, if you're truly sorry..." he leans closer, voice dropping, "...then spread your legs for me. Wider."

Y/N trembled beneath him — from fear, from his words, from the suffocating reality that no matter how far she ran… he always found her.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered, “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to keep you. Forever.”

“And just like I said…” he continued, “you’ll always end up right here. With me, because no matter how many times we play this game, Y/N… the ending never changes. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

A single tear slid down her cheek — and he smiled, brushing it away like it was precious.

“Now No more running. No more hiding. Just us. Always.” He says softly.

Also, a huge shoutout to my bestie for helping me out with the smut part — couldn’t have done it without you. Your dirty mind saved the day🤭

ACC TAGLIST

@sun4kiss @ceramini @ikeukiss @wemalyri @swiftjay23 @mayisreadingrightnow @beecakescafe @elikajinnie @rikihyph @luvdumpling @puddingkittypawzz @icepshrince @bamboobibi @slut4hee @sheepsgf @yourstrulyjjong @624sun @hkkeww @giannan04 @rsier @y-vening @wintersgf1 @jungwonxies @enha2fearless @doigottathough @wonely @cherryw0n @wonwon1e @jungwonyoii17 @secret-moonstruck

TAGS

[nxtaliaistyping]

hii i recently became obsessed with your writing and links theyre so good😖do you think u could write something about tim drake getting nasty w his s/o like him being really into eating pussy or maybe give a few more link reqs ?? anyways luv uu

Tim Drake being a nasty boy lmao

Authors note: oh darling, flattery will get you EVERYWHERE on this blog. Thank you very much for your sweet comments.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, kinda public play

“Christ Tim!”

You harshly whisper at him, feeling the breath on your ear as his hand wanders down. Nursing your drink, you glance around the packed gala to ensure nobody was looking in your direction, or they’d see your boyfriend attempting to grope your ass over your tight dress.

“C’mon birdie, it’s not my fault.” He mumbles, but withdraws his hand just the same. “I wouldn’t be so desperate if you’d have let me-“

You cut him off with a slight slap of his arm, knowing what he was gonna say before he finished. Tim hated these things, charity gala’s full of stuck up rich folk who cared more about their public image than helping whatever group the gala was pledging to support. But being adopted by practically the richest and most philanthropic man means he has to make appearances, much to his dismay.

You’d had to practically drag him out of bed and into a suit, before you started to get yourself ready. That’s when he started, kissing up and down your neck and collarbones as you were applying your moisturiser. But it quickly escalated to him practically crawling under your vanity and begging you to let him eat your pussy.

Any other day you’d have let him, sinking back into your chair and letting him lap at you like an obedient puppy. But you knew if you let him you’d never get to the gala, and his dad would have had another stern talk with Tim about the responsibility of public life and image, so you pushed him away, ignoring the neglected throb of your clit.

But it didn’t stop him from trying, in the car over when he groped at your thighs. He grinned when you couldn’t hold back your smile, before huffing when you told him you weren’t changing your mind.

So now you were both stood like wallflowers, watching the elite of Gotham schmooze over expensive shrimps and champagne, while you try and ignore your pussy leaking.

“Tim, can’t you just pretend to enjoy yourself?”

He smirks, leaning in and biting your ear playfully. “I know how I’d really enjoy myself”

“Oh yeah? Well I don’t think that your father’s guests would appreciate you fucking me over the buffet table.”

“Babyyyy.” He whines, “you know I don’t mean that. I meant we could go someplace…”

You laugh softly, shaking your head a little at his antics. He hums, his hand holding your waist and pulling you into him. “Birdie I’m serious…I bet I could make you cum so quick we’d hardly be gone.”

“Bit cocky of you, Drake.” You tease, but god you can’t deny you’re tempted. The boredom of such a stuffy party has really set in, and as his fingers dance along your back, you get the sense he’ll achieve his wants regardless.

“I’ve got the skills, what can I say?” He laughs softly, before squeezing your ass a little. “C’mon…please?”

You sigh, thighs pressed together before relenting. Giving him a playful glare, you whisper to him. “Alright. You have five minutes.”

That’s how you find yourself with your back pressed against the wall of an empty corridor, and Tim sinking to his knees. He rolls the tight fabric of your dress up, exposing your wet panties.

“And you say I’m the desperate one.” Tim taunts at you, before you playfully roll your eyes.

Undeterred, he gently places a few kisses on your inner thighs, dragging his tongue up and causing you to shiver a little. He gently nibbles, before you whimper gently.

“Tim…thought you were on a time limit.”

“Can’t I appreciate my girl? Especially when I’m about to do my favorite activity?”

Despite the tough face you’re attempting to put on, you can’t deny the teasing lilt of his words makes you blush. But alas he pulls down your panties, eyeing up your dripping cunt with a facial expression that screams desire.

He leans in and sniffs, causing your blush to deepen at how truly desperate he looks down there, before he sticks out his tongue and licks a broad stripe along your folds. You whimper softly, as he repeats the motion a few times, before he really gets stuck in.

The sounds are obscene, as he delves in like an explorer, nose brushing against your clit as he practically makes out with your hole. Hyper aware that you’re both still semi in public, you clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle any more noises. You don’t want to get busted because one drunk social climber decides to leave the gala early and explore, only to find Bruce Wayne’s son with his tongue up his girlfriend.

Your hips gently rock into his face as he continues to slurp and suck every part of your pussy. Shaking his head, he ensures no inch is spared from his appendage. He plunges his tongue into your hole before licking up and flicking against your clit quickly just to watch you shiver.

When he pulls away for breath, the lower half of his face shines with a mixture of spit and your juices, but he doesn’t stop for long before diving right back in.

“I love how you taste.” He says against you, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You try and thank him, but you don’t trust yourself to not moan loud enough for someone to hear, so you keep quiet. A hand tangles its way into his hair, and you tug gently to manoeuvre him into the right area.

He can tell you’re getting closer, reading your body language well, so he doubles down on your clit. Moaning into you, his nose is practically completely covered with your pubic hair due to how much he’s pushing his face into you, not wanting to breathe anything that isn’t your smell.

With a choked warning, you cum in his mouth, small gasps and moans escaping you as your fist locks in his hair. Your chest heaves with shaky breaths as you come down, but Tim doesn’t stop. He licks at your folds, your inner thighs, attempting to drink up every last bit of cum that he can.

“t-tim…” you moan out, knowing you both have been gone for too long.

“I know I know.” He mumbles, not being able to resist a few more laps at your hole before reluctantly pulling away. “I could have given you another one birdie.”

You laugh softly. “I know babe.”

Just then, you hear someone walking down the corridor, and you quickly yank your panties up while Tim stands and pulls your dress back down. Just in time for Jason to come round the corner.

“Tim, been lookin’ for you everywhere. Bruce is gonna make his speech, wants a picture with everyone afterwards, get your ass back inside.” He says, eyeing you both.

“We’ll be right there.” You reply, attempting to smile normally, to which Jason hums.

The older brother turns to leave, but not before looking over his shoulder. ‘And Tim dear? Wipe your face before you get in.”

[33forthew1n]

⋆.𐙚˚ bent out of shape ⋆.𐙚˚

🏎️❣️ charles leclerc x pilatesyoutuber!reader 🏎️❣️

trope: fake dating

SMAU- faceclaim: alexandra st mleux

synopsis: due to recent rumors swirling around about charles's relationship ending due to infidelity, ferrari's pr team is scrambling to fix his image. enter: yn, a popular pilates youtuber in need of more subscribers. whose to say they aren't a match made in (pr) heaven?

WARNINGS: swearing

a/n: hope you enjoy 🥹 interact however you please!

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

everyone in the paddock knew how it went with charles and his relationships. he dates a girl for a few years, gives her a bullshit excuse that ends the relationship, then runs to their best friend. it was a tried and true method, really.

so, why was this time so different? well, his ex-girlfriend alexandra amassing over two million followers meant she had become popular both in the paddock and online. with popularity came fans and with fans came the inevitable hive mind. said hive mind was now commenting on every one of his instagram posts with hate.

now, did charles really care about the hate? no, not really.

on the other hand, ferrari's pr team made it quite clear they did care.

after all, the prancing horse had an image to maintain and it wasn't one of two timing and scandal.

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

"we saved your ass the last two times this happened, charles. what the hell do we do now?", exclaimed mia, charles' pr manager.

"is it even that big a deal? so what, they took pictures of me and her friend kissing? like you said, it's happened before. we can just wait a few weeks and everyone will have forgotten about it by then", replied charles in exasperation, clearly not seeing the big deal the team did.

"you know how popular she has become, charles. she has serious brand pull and we can't lose out on any sponsorship money at all", mia said, rolling her eyes at his idiocy.

now the team were at a stand still. what do they do regarding charles' image and the team's brand pull?

"e-excuse me?", a pr intern interjected, raising her hand as if she was still in grade school.

"uh...yes?", mia asked.

"how about we bury this scandal by faking a relationship with someone popular and well liked. not an a-lister, but someone that the press would be more interested in than a nobody", said the mystery pr intern.

"you know what...that's not half bad."

"wouldn't be the first time you've started dating an hour after breaking up with your previous girlfriend", said mia, dragging charles as if it was a pastime. "geez, thanks. i don't know how i feel about dating someone random just for likes. what do i tell my family?? my friends? i don't think this is a great idea at all", charles said, obviously hesitant to participate in the intern's master plan.

"it's either this or we put you on a strict no dating ban. you pick", mia threatened.

"ooook, looks like we're being extreme. fine. fake dating it is".

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

throughout the next few days, charles' pr team looked for a possible "girlfriend".

yet, they struggled to find someone perfectly suited to the job.

that was until charles jokingly suggested a pilates influencer with a steady 5 million subscribers on YouTube (in hindsight he should have known better than to even jokingly suggest anything to help). a 24-year-old spanish woman who goes by "ynlates" on all social media.

ynlates

Liked by 865,537 users

ynlates hey angels 💕 long time no workout so...new video's up on on my channel @ynlates! 30 mins of full-body pilates for all my baddies 🧘‍♀️

view comments ⬇️

madfit LOVEEE what a good sweat 😅💦

^❤️ by author

fitwithjojo bbg what a bod ❣️ good one!

^❤️ by author

randomuser092 the only workouts i'll do :)

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

and so the ferrari pr team went through all her social media profiles; from looking for a sketchy background to seeing if she had been in any public controversies. after a 2 day long search, yn came up clean.

now it was time for them to contact her.

To: ynlates@business.com

Cc/Bcc, From: mia@ferrari.pr.com

Subject: PR Opportunity

Greetings, Yn Ln. This is Mia, Charles Leclerc's head of PR. If you are unaware, Charles Leclerc is a Scuderia Ferrari Formula One driver and we would be pleased to see the two of you collaborate together on a project. With this project we aim to boost your following and improve Charles' image. We would like to see you in person on 26/1 at Maranello, Italy. If you are interested we will send you plane tickets, book your hotel, and pay all expenses. Sinceretly

Mia (Head of Scuderia Ferrari PR)

and so Ferrari waited. and waited. six days after mia had sent that email, she got a response.

yn was more than happy to. if mia was just 1% more pessimistic, she'd question yn's sanity. but, whatever. she had to get charles out of these murky waters and fast.

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

yn had never been much of a sports fan. her best friend, hannah, on the other hand never stopped yapping about formula one. lando norris this, DRS that. yap yap yap.

so when she got an email from a mia individual she clicked on it and to her suprise it was f1 related. ok, maybe not "here are some race tickets from a mysterious sugar daddy" but it was still about the motorsport. just seemed like a scam, but she still decided to respond by accepting the offer to go to italy out of sheer curiousity.

when the "mia" lady sent her the tickets and all the information she started panicking. "what the hell is this "pr opportunity" and how is it worth a whole ass italy trip?" yet, before she could truly freak the hell out, she called hannah. "han. i think i'm going to meet CHARLES LERCLERC in a week??", she stressed into her phone.

"h- WHAT THE HELL?? CHARLES FRICKING LECLERC??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?", hannah yelled into her ear.

there goes her hearing.

"his pr lady sent me an offer for a collaboration of sorts, i don't know!!! i mean, what can a pilates youtuber have to collaborate with a formula one driver for?"

˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

turns out, a lot.

a whole fake relationship lot.

after a tour of ferrari headquartes in maranello, mia got right down to it in a conference room.

"liking italy so far?", mia asked yn innocently.

"oh, yes. thank you so much by the way! it's all wonderful, i'm not quite sure how i can pay you all back", yn responded, wide-eyed and confused at how this even happened.

"by dating our driver for a few months and helping us clean up his image? haha, just an idea!", mia said, throwing the idea out there as if she was asking for a simple favor.

dating their driver....as in charles?

she hadn't even met the guy.

she must have said that aloud as mia's next words were "we can arrange a meeting tomorrow if you accept our offer".

and so the next day, yn arrived at a little ristorante by the seaside. she wore a casual letterman jacket and jeans to meet her new potential boyfriend. "God, this is so strange", she thought to herself.

"ciao. are you yn?", she heard a male voice ask her as he sat in the chair opposite to hers.

"ciao, yes. yn ln. you're charles, i assume?"

"oui. uh- so my team told you about their offer? what do you think of it?", charles asked her.

"it's certainly an offer. may i ask though, what does a formula one driver gain from being seen dating some youtuber?", yn asked him in return.

"i have sponsors willing to pull out because of this stupid scandal. my team can't afford it and it is not fair of me to not do anything i can to keep the sponsors happy. not after all they have done for me and my career", charles said with all the genuinety a man could have.

now she sees why he's her best friend's favorite driver.

"look, i'm willing to help you out. but, in return i just ask that you protect me from hate. i've seen how badly sportsmen's girlfriends are treated and its unfair to them. can you do that for me?"

"yes, of course. would you like to order?", charles offered.

and so they ate dinner in lighthearted chatter under the moonlight.

then, as charles offered to drive her to her hotel they both heard the unmistakable sound of cameras clicking pictures. "fuck", said charles.

"let's go before they catch your face", charles whispered to her.

deuxmoi

Liked by pierregasly, cl16hq, and 3,016 others

deuxmoi New WAG? Charles Leclerc spotted in Maranello eating dinner with a smiley woman. Looks like someone's getting over their ex quite quickly. Who do you guys think @charles_leclerc 's new girl is? Another friend of an ex's? view comments ⬇️

user1644 already? damn he's faster than the SF25...

charlesfan16 what an invasion of privacy 😬 yikes...

f1fangirl092 "liked by pierregasly" WHAT DO YOU KNOW THAT WE DONT FRENCHIE 😞❌🥖

leclercfanboy09 bet this one won't last the season

randomuser0286 why does she look like @ynlates??

randomynfan09 omg...ur not wrong 😅

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

yn had barely met the guy and already she was the talk of social media. every new story she posted, she got dozens of replies about charles and if they were dating.

at least, she got tons of new eyes on her page.

on charles' side of the equation, he was panicking. he wasn't over his ex and he worried if this was too fast for him to be moving on (though his subconciousness kept reminding him she was his FAKE girlfriend).

yet, charles knew this must have been much scarier for her than for him. after all, he was used to the crazy attention from fans and yn was certainly not. and since a few eagle-eyed fans had put two and two together, he knew she must have been getting DMs about their "relationship" already.

Charles Leclerc

charles_leclerc

Bonjour, Yn.

How have you been since the paparazzi pictures?

Hey, Charles. It's been scary but not horrible. Just something to get used to I guess, haha.

I've been meaning to ask you something.

Uh-oh. Already breaking up with me?

Lol, no. 😅

Would you like to come with me the Monaco Grand Prix?

Monaco? As in the crazy rich place?

Monaco as in my home country. It's a big deal for me. It would mean a lot if you came to see me race.

Oh! I see. I could try to move some things around. Could I stay with you?

Yes! I'll send you the details when we get closer to the date.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

leading up to the race weekend, yn and charles got much closer. they texted, called, and sent each other little gifts. yn sent charles some music sheets she found at a vintage shop while on a brand trip once while charles sent yn a new pilates set from a sponsor brand.

next thing they knew it was the weekend of the monaco grand prix.

yn arrived in monaco shortly before charles' media day duties began. he picked her up at the nice airport and drove her to his apartment in monte carlo.

"oh wow, charles. this is stunning. thanks for letting me stay with you this weekend. i know your probably overwhelmed and have to be laser focused, but you still took the time out of your week to tend to me", she smiled through her words.

"it's nothing, really. thanks for coming and supporting me. you'll have lots of fun at your first grand prix," charles promised her.

and that she did. come friday, yn made her paddock debut.

kymillman

Liked by ynlates, charles_leclerc, and 7,892 others

kymillman YN LN, CHARLES LECLERC'S NEW LADY?

Today, at the Monaco Grand Prix (evidently also Charles' home race) we have the pleasure of seeing Charles Leclerc's rumored new girlfriend stun the paddock. Yn Ln is a 24-year-old Spanish fitness influencer who Charles was recently photographed with. Would anyone like a video on her?

view comments ⬇️

annapetra902 very pretty 💕😍

f1fan02834 why is everything about their partner's these days?? so annoying and tabloidy

asmleuxfan0283 LOL she's trying to be alex 😬

overall, she was well recieved by charles' friends and coworkers. yet, how his family reacted to her was what truly interested her. though she wasn't his real girlfriend, something deep inside her heart wanted to be loved by his family.

at the ferrari hospitality, she saw a man around her own age that looked strikingly like a blonder charles. she heard charles call him over to where they were sitting, "thur, c'mere".

"oui. hello. and you are?"

"hi. yn...uh charles'...."

"my girlfriend. thur, meet yn ln. she's a fitness youtuber and we've been together for a few months", charles said, smiling all throughout his reveal.

the shock on arthur's face was evident. "had he not mentioned me at all to his family?", was the only thing yn was able to think at that moment.

then an older lady walked up to charles and snuck in a quick hug, "cha, ça va? (how's it going) qui est ton ami? (who is your friend?)"

"yn, this is my maman (mom). maman, this is my girlfriend- yn ln", charles said introducing the two most important women in his life. well, hypothetically the most important women of his life.

"oh! dear, sorry tor assuming. how are you, dear? cha didn't mention a girlfriend to us, but i'm glad to meet you", his mother said, fumbling over her words a bit.

charles blushed, clearly embarassed. in that moment his engineer called him over and he left yn with his family. he sheepishly smiled and mouthed a "sorry" to her as he was forced to go prepare for the race that starts in just a few hours.

yn herself felt a bit awkward too but decided there was no better time than the present to spread her social butterfly wings. and so during the lead up to the race she got to know charles' mother and younger brother.

she learned his mom, pascale, was a hairdresser in monaco and that she was the kindest soul she could ever meet.

she learned that his younger brother, arthur, was also in motorsport and that he was very much like charles but much snarkier and bolder.

she very quickly got on with the both of them and they told her it would be their pleasure for her to stay with them to watch the race together.

she texted charles, "good luck. you can win this one!! 😌❤️" and put her phone away promptly to go back to their conversation.

honestly, yn didn't know what to expect from the race. she hadn't watched a full race ever, but she does know enough to not make a complete fool of herself. her best friend had quizzed her on basic facts and little tidbits she should know before she left to monaco so she hoped that would come in handy.

yet, she hadn't expected to see her "boyfriend" win his home race. arthur and pascale were overjoyed and she could see charles' pure bliss when he was up at the top step of the podium.

after media duties, she congratuled charles and gave him a hug. maybe not the type of hug that established couples give, but it was a hug that gave her butterflies and charles another reason to smile.

"dinner, mon chéri (my darling)? i can get us in anywhere tonight. you say it, we go there", he said with the biggest grin on his face.

yn hadn't really expected a dinner invitation, instead thinking he would go party with his mates. "really? you wouldn't prefer to be with your friends at a club tonight?"

"pfft. as if. i have the prettiest woman in my monaco on my arm during the best day of my life. why would i spend it without her?", charles said, looking into her eyes like they were oceans he could drown in. the moment was intimate, that much they both knew. their relationship went from one of favors to friendship to...whatever this was. they weren't official but it was obvious to the both of them that they cared for each other so much more than they ever meant to.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

dinner was marvelous.

if yn wasn't already falling for charles, she certainly was now.

he pulled her chair out for her, ordered her favorite wine (how did he even remember that??), complimented her more times than she could count, but most of all he listened. he would ask her questions about herself that would leave her talking and talking and talking, yet he never once complained or made her feel like she was too much.

it was as if they were actually dating.

as they walked out of the restaurant, arms so close she could feel his jacket on her skin, she said to him, "you know, charles. this is like my ideal date. nice restaurant, good food, and even better company. you really know how to make a girl feel special."

"it's not hard to make an already special person feel their worth", he replied with sincere honesty in his eyes.

"if you keep saying things like that i'll think what we have is actually real", she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

"and what if i wanted us to be real?"

"i wouldn't say no", she said, now looking into his eyes.

"then, yn ln, would you like to be my real, not at all publicity stunt, girlfriend?", charles asked her with the biggest smile on his face.

"don't have to ask me twice. yes, cha, a million times yes", yn replied.

then charles leaned closer and held her face with both hands. he smiled down at her and then kissed her with the most beautiful amount of emotion and passion that yn had ever experienced.

though they may not have been actually dating the past few months, there was no doubt in either of their hearts of where they stood together. they were in love. through all of his bad race days, media speculation, her burnout, and their joint support for the other; they had grown to care for each other in a way neither of them had ever expected.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

the next day, yn woke up in charles' bed unexpectedly alone. she had been staying with him for the past two weeks, ever since she had arrived to see the grand prix.

then, when she rubbed her eyes to get the sleep out of them charles appeared.

"mon ange, good morning", charles smiled to her.

"good morning, cha. you're quite happy for morning time", she giggled.

"of course. i'm with you, why wouldn't i be?"

"charmer. what are we doing today?"

"well, before we do anything, could you check your phone for me?"

"you're acting suspicious, cha", she said, jokingly side-eyeing him.

charles_leclerc

Liked by ynlates, maxverstappen1, and 2.2 million others

charles_leclerc With my girl ❤️ @ynlates

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ynlates my love 🥹💕

^❤️ by author

charles leclerc mon ange 😘

scuderiaferrari loveliest couple in the paddock ❤️

user1644 they've only been in the paddock once??

scuderiaferrari ok and? point still stands 🙄

pascaleclerc 🤩🤩 un si charmant couple

^❤️ by author

"oh, cha. you didn't have to", yn said happily.

"non, i did. now that we are really together, i feel like screaming your name over the rooftops", charles insisted.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

two months later, it was the summer break and yn and charles had decided to spend it in monaco.

very recently, yn had started spending time with lewis and roscoe at the garage and loved every second of her time with the pup.

every day she would say to charles, "cha, you know you looove roscoe. wouldn't you like one of those?"

just last week he had said, "mon ange, i think YOU want a puppy. but, you know i'm not home often and taking care of it would end up just being your responsibility which i don't want to put that on you."

"charlie, i would be okay with caring for it! i need a friend for when your not around", she begged with puppy dog eyes of her own. they left the conversation there but little did she know that charles' masterplan had just begun.

he got in contact with the local rescue center and visited them on an off day. he hadn't really felt a connection to any of them until he saw a miniature long haired daschund with the name "leo" on the cage.

after signing the papers, he took little leo home to surprise yn.

"baby, close your eyes. you remember how you kept asking about a dog and i said no?"

"yes. sheesh, way to rub salt in a fresh wound, cha", she answered.

"non. open your eyes", he said with a smile on his face.

upon opening her eyes, she instantly fell in love with the pup in front of her.

"charles, oh my God. he's so cute! what's his name?"

"the rescue named him leo but we can change it if you want", he said, happy with her happiness.

"oh, leo leclerc. it's perfect. thank you, thank you, thank you charles!"

"you're welcome mon ange. he's worth the smile on your face", charles grinned.

ynlates's new story posted

ynlates

lando HES SO CUTE

charles_leclerc proud dog mom 🤩

monacorescue thank you for adopting this doggo!! ❤️🐾

lilyzneimer omgggg hes the cutest 🥹🥹🥹

𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

the season had been...eventful to say the least. charles and yn got together but also ferrari finally got their shit together. when the drivers got back from summer break, the grid quickly realized that ferrari's latest upgrades worked like a wonder and turned their dumpster into a rocket. and as if just he was just waiting for the moment to arrive, charles seized that opportunity and began to build a decent gap in the championship.

now that it was abu dhabi weekend, charles was 15 points ahead of oscar who was valiantly fighting to get ahead.

charles qualified first that weekend and oscar was just .006 seconds behind in second.

he knew he had to give it his all to win to this race and take home the championship.

yn was at the race, too. he wanted to show her that all her support wasn't for nothing. all the nights away from each other and the late days he spent training were worth it.

and that he did. oscar and lando in third had decided that fighting between themselves was more fun than getting the win so he went ahead and built a gap that he couldn't lose.

and once brian told him there was just one lap left, tears built up in his eyes. memories of countless laps in go karts as a kid, sleepless nights where he wanted to just fall asleep instead of go on the sim, and the heartbreak of missing that top step all came to mind.

most of all, yn came to mind. all the support she gave him and the love she showed him was what got him through all the rough times in the past year.

yet, now his moment to shine had come.

brian's voice came up in the radio, "CHARLES, SEI CAMPEONE DEL MUNDO. FERRARI IN CIMA!"

"YESSSS. FERRARI IN CIMA. GRAZIE A TUTTI", charles yelled into his radio in utter bliss.

in the garage, yn was in tears. she had heard charles go on and on about what it would mean to him and his family if he would win a championship. but, to come home with both the constructors and drivers' championship was a dream he hadn't let himself imagine that year.

in parc fermé, charles ran up to yn and she placed a kiss on his helmet. "i knew you could do it, my love. world champion!!!!"

"i couldn't do it without you, mon ange. é tutto grazie a ti", he said with tears as big as his smile in his eyes.

ynlates

Liked by f1, charles_leclerc, and 300,893 others

ynlates 🥹🥹❤️ MY LOVE DID IT. Number One in the world! In red! World class act @charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc ❤️ could not have done it without you

^❤️ by author

scuderia ferrari our champion has never looked so good ❤️🏎️

f1 2025 WDC in red! 🏎️🏎️🏎️

lewishamilton Mighty year, mate. Congrats 🙏🏾

it may have all begun with a pr stunt, but it ended with a relationship that had as much love as it did good publicity.

[secretaccountlol]

Tell me i’m good while im weak.

GENDER-NETURAL READER X MARK GRAYSON.

This is a smuttyyy Drabble 18+ no minor plz!

Warnings? : Dom!Reader x Sub! Mark. Reader does call mark some names and teases him a lot. Mark is..a pervert in this lol and soooo pathetic. Also degradation and praise galore. He also like.. lies bout bein sick lol.

Synopsis: Mark has a kink. Praise and degradation, and once you find out you're happy to help him out with it.

I got a beta reader in this hoe! Shout out to lovely, wonderful, stunning @sobbingscripter

Thank her ! Now you won't be subjected to my horrible dyslexia lmao

—-

Author note; Now,, all I kinda went lil crazy with the dialogue, it's like filthy?? Srry if he's a lil OOC, I just wanted to write a down right pitiful mark.. and I think I succeeded!

This is my first ever invincible Drabble! I don't tend to do them very often, so enjoy. Hey btw .: I like comments and reblogs tell me what you think okay?

Mark has a praise kink. You didn’t realize it at first,of course.

Who just randomly daydreams about their good friend’s kinks, not you, at least not intentionally.

It started simple, you had tutored Mark. With all the new hero shit he’s been thrown through, getting his grades up in college was the most difficult thing for him.

That’s when you graciously helped; late night study sessions with him after missions, early morning calls to go over answers before exams.

An unexpected call at 8:30 am in the morning wakes you, and it's Mark screaming about the 80 he just got on the test, worth 60% of his grade.

Your sleepy grin is all you remember as you promise to bring celebratory drinks later, “Good job, Mark! I knew you could do it!”

He pauses before you yawn, letting him know you’re going back to sleep now.

You don’t notice the breathy, stuttered goodbye he says as the phone clicks off.

Next time you're at Comic Con; he’s dressed as Séance Dog, you didn’t tell Mark what you were gonna be dressed as, with you adamant of it being a surprise for him.

His breath falters when he sees you, your legs out and oiled in a “sexy” invincible leotard.

“Surprise~”

Thank god, he was sitting and he had a cape because the boner he popped was massive.

“You look great!”

Your giggle pinpoints his cock, “You look even better, what a good boy you are!” You ruffle his hair, his eyes widen.

“Wha— good boy?”

“Oh, pfft sorry—, cus you're Seance Dog! He’s a dog, dogs are always good boys!”

“Right right right,” Mark’s ears burned, think cold thoughts, think cold thoughts.

“Speakin’ of, the panel of authors and animators is about to start. We need to get there like now, cus I already know people are fightin’ over seats.”

You skip off, not bothering to look behind you, and thank god because if you did, your eyes would be glued to the fucking snake in his pants.

‘ they said I'm a good boy, i'm a good boy, ’ kept chanting in his mind.

His cock did not know a moment of peace that night, with your words echoing through his mind.

His bedsheets dripped with sweat and cum as his cock softened for the 12th time.

Used tissues littered his room as he milked the last bit of cum.

Your phone call shakes him out of his sex haze, it’s a daily ritual of y’alls. You talk about your day and he does the same, trying to keep a sense of normalcy, with him being a hero, it’s hard to see each other every time.

You again, don’t notice his wavering voice as his hands pick up the pace again. His poor cock is beaten to hell, as the sloppy noises fill his room, his mouth press in a thin line.

“Mark, you okay?”

“Yea— yesyesyes, I’m okay…”

Your brow furrows, “Okay, we don’t have to keep talkin’ y’know? I can hang up if your bus—“

“Nonononono, please don’t hang up!” His words rush out in a whimper before he can stop himself.

“Okay! Jesus! ‘M sorry I won’t hang up. You're a needy lil thing today, aren’t ya?”

Mark whines, an honest to god whine. Silence insues, he fucked up.

“Mark, are you sick or somethin’?”

“I— I.. yes!” Mark does a terrible fake cough, “Mmhn, ‘m catchin’ a cold”

“Aww poor baby..”

A whimper slips through his lips, “yes, yeah yeah… mhn… poor me.”

“Wan’ me come over and take care of you, ya big baby?”

“Yesyesyes please,” another muffled plea from Mark as his fingers brush the tip of his head..

“Okay, I’m on my way with chicken soup!”

*Click*

Mark blinks, a dopey smile plays on his lips.

Oh shit.

Oh god, he wasn’t thinking straight, he’s not even sick! His bed creaks from the sudden upright movement.

His eyes darted around his room, oh shitshitshit.

His body zips around his room as he picks up his tissues and throws his soiled sheets in the washer, putting fresh linens on in the span of a second.

The next second, you were already knocking at the door.

“Maaarkkk, you in there buddy?”

His hands move in frenzy, rubbing his nose as hard as he can to make it a rosy red, jogging side to side to give himself a sweaty appearance, and finally a wet, cold folded cloth placed over his forehead before unlocking the door and hastily making his way back to his bed.

Clearing his throat before he speaks, mustering up his best “sick” voice, “Doooorss opppewwennn!!”

The door whines as you enter, Mark’s ears twitch as he hears you set down the homemade soup.

Clashing dishes in the kitchen before your feet shuffle into his room.

Your eyes ooze sympathy when you see his face.

“Awe, my poor baby.”

Mark throws out a helpless whine as he motions grabby hands for you to come to him.

“‘M sooo siick.., think I got somethin’ from space travelin’ too much.”

You back up slightly, “you’re not— like contagious are you?”

Mark shakes his head rapidly, shit. ‘Think, think, make up a lie, make up a lie.’

“Noooo, uh—“ he coughs, “Robot says it isn’t..annd who am I to argue with a super genius!” He coughs another time, for good measure.

“Uh okay!” You slink back over to him, flopping down next to him. “Here, big baby open your mouth up for soup.”

Mark’s mouth opens with a pop, light pink adores his cheek, god he’s pathetic.

“God, you’re shameless, aren’t ya?”

“Immm sickkk—!” He’s definitely milking it, but can you blame him, hearing you pity him like this, it gets him going.

”It’s kinda cute,” you spoon more liquid into his mouth. “I like takin’ care of your needy ass.”

“You do?” His eyes flutter, if he wasn’t ‘sick’, you’d mistake his tinted cheeks as a blush.

“Mm, yeah I like taking care of my friends and family. Plus, you take care of the whole galaxy, Mark. The least I can do is look after you when you need it.”

Mark blinks, then blinks again.

“Sorry layin’ it on too thick? My bad.” You pull back the spoon trembling slightly, the soup swishing around.

His hand hastily grabbed your wrist, “No no not at all, please praise me more.”

“What?”

“Praise me ..more, please”

Your heart burns, bubbling with desire. Shit, should you feel this way about your best friend especially when he’s sick? Is he even in the right headspace?

“You’re.. such a good hero, Mark. I feel so safe when you're around.”

Mark’s breath caught, “‘more?” His fingers squeeze your wrist softly, then release.

“Mark, you’re not — you’re not in the right headspace you aren’t.. you don’t know what you’re sayin’...” your hand caresses over his as you lick your lips.

“If— if I was in the right headspace, would you?”

You bite your lip, sighing “ Yes.. yes—“

“I’m not sick.”

“What?”

“I’m not sick, I lied. Please praise me now.”

Your arms snatch away from him, “You little liar!”

He pouts, sitting up, removing the cold towel. “I wanted you to take care offf meeee!”

“You could’ve just asked, I’d come over regardless!”

Your arms cross against your chest, “you don’t even deserve my homemade soup!”

Mark whines again, “nooo I like your souuup!”

“Why’d you lie! If you like my soup you, again. Could’ve just asked!“

“I—..it’s cus I don’t know! I just thought.. I just couldn’t think of anything else..to get you here.”

“Mark..” your eyes rake over his face. A cute pout plays on his lips and his brows furrowed like a puppy being scolded.

“I just .. mm, thought if I played sick you’d praise me more..”

“Oh..? Oh!” You kiss your teeth, as you stare at your best friend.

“Mark, lift your bed covers for me real quick.”

“Why..” his eyes narrow.

“I think you know why—“

“Noooope.”

“Dude, you totally have a boner right, don’t you?”

“No— I- don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!”

You shift your eyes to the rising spot in the covers, point a finger, “Right.. uh-huh..” your face deadpans.

His legs shoot to his chest nearly knocking the wind outta of him.

“Shit.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert dude! Wait wait! Is that why you sounded like that over the phone? Oh my god were you—?”

Mark's eyes dart away from yours, bury his face in his hands after.

“Oh my god, you were! You were jerkin’ off to my voice!” The shrill of your voice carried through his apartment.

“I— SHHH! Keep your voice down!” Mark grabs your collar, the jerky movement causes you to bend over him awkwardly, your chest over his lap.

“Augh- sorry! Shit sorry. I — just— “

Your hand brushes against his cock as you sit up, a strangled groan graces your ears as he grabs your hand again.

“Sorry again— uh don’t touch ther—uh!”

Your other hand grips his covered cock running your fingers over it.

“Tsk no, Mark, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I— “

Devious grin splits your face as you rip the covers off him, a rush of cold air cools his body, your eyes stare at his boner.

“Ha, got a third leg here, huh?”

“Dude— this is so embarrassing, please don’t tease me..” his hands tug across his face as he speaks.

“Nahh, you said you wanted to be praised, right?”

Another whimper slips past his lip.

“Mark, be a good boy for me, use your words.” God, you were having too much fun mocking him.

“Fuckkk! Don—don’t talk like that!”

Your hand inches into his thin boxer, a hiccup in his breath as you cup his cock.

“You sound so pretty right, you know that?”

“Mmhn no— I “

“No, you’re right, you sound so deliciously pathetic right, I never thought I’d hear you this way.” Your lips ghost the side of his face as you start to pump, a soft sob bubbles from him.

“Imagine everyone knowing the mighty Invincible is such a whiny bitch in bed, hm?”

“Stooopp being meaaan!” Mark’s pitiful wails heighten as his cock twitches in your hands.

“Oh, so you like bein’ degraded and praise? Tsk, what a combooo..!”

“I don’t—! I- just your voice and I’m- I’m over—whelmed! Right now, okay!”

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re throbbing like you’re about to blow, are you? Hm?” Your tongue drags against his ear as your lazy tugs cloud his mind.

“ ‘m nooot! “

“Okay, can you be a good puppy for me and only cum when I tell you to?”

“Uh-huh, yesyes,” his throat bobs, “I can— I can be a good boy, please.”

“Aw okay, I believe you,” your lips slip down his neck, earning another groan, your teeth nip his skin.

“Let’s see how long you can hang on.”

oh, he was fucked.

You realize, he doesn’t just have a praise kink, he has a degradation kink too.

—

[shadowkoo]

Oh, Baby!

→ Summary: Your brother has finally come around to the fact that you’re in a “serious” relationship with his best friend. However, that doesn’t stop Jungkook from testing his limits…

↠ jungkook x f.reader | 4.1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, brother’s best friend, post-college au, vegas wedding au

→ Warnings: explicit & unprotected sex, fucking in a tiny airplane bathroom, fucking in a pool, getting fingered in an elevator, getting caught by your brother a lotttt, teasing, dirty talk, needy!jungkook, drunk sex, alcohol consumption, hangover symptoms, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, exhibitionism

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @studiosev7n @lapydiaries @bangtanwritershq @cosyhomenet

→ Author Note: the long-awaited second part to Oh, Brother! I hope you all love it as much as I do! Check out all of the installments of The Oh! Chronicles series here! If you want a teaser/spoiler for part three, you should join my personal discord server (I’ll be sharing a snippet soon!) As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated!

The bathroom door opens suddenly, and a pissed-off-looking Jaemin is standing there. His eyes drift to you sitting on the bathroom sink with your dress hiked up, then to Jungkook, standing in between your open, exposed legs, with his jeans loosened around his waist.

Jaemin’s face flushes crimson, the fury unmistakable as his eyes lock onto the scene unfolding before him. His fists clench at his sides, every muscle in his body tensing with barely contained rage.

Across from him, Jungkook lets out a nervous laugh, the tension crackling in the air around them.

“Oh, brother….”

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓…

Jungkook taps incessantly on your shoulder, not stopping until you switch your attention from the view from the small window to him and take out your airpods.

“God, this flight feels like it’s never going to end. How much longer?” Jungkook whines, shifting in the seat next to you.

“We only have an hour left. Suck it up,” you reply, popping your airpods back in and restarting your music.

He gives you that classic puppy-dog face he always uses when he’s not getting enough of your attention.

You sigh, taking them out again. “What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow when he still says nothing. Before he can answer you, the overhead speaker crackles to life as the flight attendant makes an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent into Las Vegas shortly. Please make any final trips to the lavatories before returning to your seats, fasten your seatbelts, raise your tray tables, and ensure your seat backs are in the upright and locked positions.”

You're headed to Vegas for a post–college graduation celebration for Jaemin, Jungkook, and Jaehyun. It was originally supposed to be a guys’ trip until they found out you were coming. Then, suddenly, everyone invited their girlfriends. You didn’t mind, though. Honestly, you only wanted to come because you didn’t trust Jaemin and Jungkook not to get into another fight.

Jungkook had been unbelievably sweet the first time, he took everything from Jaemin without throwing a single punch back. He knew it was against the bro code to date you, sleep with you, or even think about you. You were so off-limits, yet he couldn’t resist you.

Once Jaemin finally cooled off, he and Jungkook talked things out after a month of silence. Since then, things have been smooth for the most part. Just a couple of minor arguments over dumb stuff, like best friends tend to have.

Still, you can’t shake the feeling that this trip has disaster written all over it. That’s why you were so dead-set on coming along. Jungkook caved first; he’s never been good at saying no to you. Jaemin agreed the next day, realizing that if Jungkook was bringing a girl, then he had an excuse to invite Kira, the girl he’s secretly in love with. And not wanting to be the odd one out, Jaehyun decided to invite his not-so-sneaky link along too.

“Will you come to the bathroom with me?” Jungkook asks, already rising from his seat, clearly expecting you to follow without question.

You blink at him. “What for?”

He doesn’t bother answering, and instead throws a look over his shoulder that makes your stomach flip.

With a sigh, you unbuckle and trail after him toward the back of the plane. He stops outside the lavatory and taps the door, eyes then noticing the small green indicator light that reads Vacant.

Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, he quickly opens the door and ushers you inside. He slips in after you, locking the door behind him.

You’re immediately squished together, your back nearly hitting the tiny sink.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, annoyed and slightly breathless. “Both of us can’t fit in here.”

“I need you,” he murmurs, eyes dark and intense.

“Now?” you hiss. “You couldn’t wait until we’re in the luxurious king-sized bed that’s waiting for us?”

He leans in, brushing his lips along your neck. “I always need you,” he breathes. “I always want you. I always crave you.”

He presses hot, desperate kisses into your skin, moaning like he’s been touch-starved for days as your fingers tangle in his hair. His breath stutters against your neck when you tug just a little, pulling him closer.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t you want to join the Mile High Club? Now’s the perfect chance…”

His hands drift lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your sweatpants with maddening slowness.

You roll your eyes, breath hitching. “And what if we get caught? Then we’re joining the No-Fly List instead.”

But before you can talk yourself out of it, his fingers dip between your thighs, and your argument dies in your throat.

Your back hits the mirror as he kisses you hungrily, all lips and tongue. The cramped space is forgotten the second he slips two fingers inside you, teasing you with shallow thrusts and curling them to hit your sweet spot.

“Jungkook,” you mewl, clutching his shirt to pull him closer, needing more.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers now circling your clit, taunting you for what’s to come.

“Please fuck me,” you breathe, eyes glazed. You're already too far gone to care about consequences.

That’s all it takes. In one swift movement, he yanks your pants down, followed by his own. Wasting no time, he buries his thick cock deep inside you.

You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he starts to move, fast and rough, rocking into you over and over. Thank god you’re in the air, where the engines are loud and the small bumps of turbulence cover up any noises coming from the small space you two occupy.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, as he adjusts his hips to a new angle that has you on the verge of coming undone.

Jungkook is mid-thrust when someone starts aggressively knocking on the door.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

You freeze. He doesn’t.

“Ignore them, baby,” he growls into your ear, voice thick with lust. “I can’t stop now. Not until I come in this sweet little cunt of yours.”

His pace doesn’t falter as he speaks, hips slamming into yours.

“Fuck, I’m so hard for you. You’re dripping for me, so tight and so perfect. You hear that?” he grunts as he bottoms out again. “That wet little pussy’s begging for it. You’re such a cock-hungry slut, look at you.”

You moan, vision blurring, every filthy word driving you closer to the edge.

“I can feel you gripping me,” he pants. “You gonna come, baby? You want me to make you come all over my cock?”

You nod frantically, unable to form words. Everything in you is coiled tight, seconds from unraveling.

Your body arches against him as waves of pleasure crash through you, every nerve lit up, every muscle trembling. You clamp around him, moaning his name as your orgasm rips through you.

Jungkook doesn’t stop. He groans against your neck, fucking you through the aftershocks, his pace stuttering as he loses control.

“Fuck–” he chokes out, hips jerking as he buries himself deep one last time. His release shoots into you in hot, pulsing streaks, his whole body tensing as he moans your name one last time.

When it’s finally over, you gather yourself with a flushed face and shaky hands. Jungkook presses one last kiss to your temple before using some toilet paper to wipe his come that’s leaking out of you. You both try to straighten your clothes in the tiny mirror before unlocking the door to escape.

After opening the door, you’re met by the impatient glare of a teenage girl.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble, sliding past her quickly. And then your heart drops.

Standing directly behind her, arms crossed and jaw tight, is your brother.

Jaemin stares at you both for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then he mutters, “God, you two act like newlyweds—fucking everywhere all the time.”

You can practically feel Jungkook smirk beside you. Cheeks burning, you drag him back to your aisle before he says something that would escalate the ordeal.

Turning your head back around once seated, you make eye contact with your brother who’s face looks just as pissed off. Like he’s silently calculating whether joining the mile-high version of Fight Club would be worth the federal charges.

The first few nights in Vegas were a blur of flashing lights and endless drinks. You danced until your feet ached and woke up with memories that felt like a dream. Last night was a well-needed break. The group opted for a low-key evening, which involved a quick dinner, a few drinks by the resort pool, and an early night to recharge.

Today, you’re still taking it easy. Lounging in the private pool that wraps around your suite, a hidden oasis high above the Vegas strip. The sun is warm on your skin, the water cool against your lower half as you lean on the edge and take in the view.

You close your eyes, breathing in the stillness, until the balcony door slides open.

“Where is everyone? All the rooms are empty.” Jungkook asks as he steps out, towel slung around his neck, sweat still clinging to his post-gym glow.

You tilt your head toward him without opening your eyes, resting your head on your arms. “Jaemin and Kira went to brunch earlier. And Jaehyun’s taking Sophia shopping as a way to make up for flirting with the hostess last night.”

He chuckles, stripping out of his gym clothes and easing into the water beside you.

“I told everyone we’d meet in the lobby at 10. DJ Johnny doesn’t go on until 11, so we’ve got plenty of time to get to the club.”

He hums in agreement, arms sliding around your waist as he pulls you close. For a moment, the two of you just float there in silence, the city stretching below and the desert sun catching the water in shimmering flecks.

“You look happy,” he says softly, his eyes scanning your face.

“I am happy,” you reply, smiling up at him.

He kisses you lightly at first. It’s sweet and unhurried, like he’s savoring this moment with you. But then it shifts. His lips grow firmer, more insistent. The hand on your waist slides lower, fingers pressing into your hip as his tongue parts your lips. The kiss deepens, turning molten. Your body responds instantly, pressing into him as heat begins to build beneath the surface of your skin.

His mouth trails down your neck as he pushes you gently against the pool’s edge. The water laps around you as his hands roam, exploring you, teasing you beneath the surface. You gasp when his fingers find their way between your thighs, and he smirks against your skin.

“Think you can handle me? I’m fully recharged and overflowing with energy,” you tease with a grin.

“You know the gym doesn’t drain me. If anything, it just pumps me up,” he murmurs, voice low and full of promise as he presses his hard length against you. “Think you can handle me?”

You chuckle, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in for another kiss. He pulls the material of your bathing suit bottoms to the side before thrusting into you, the water adding a slow, gliding rhythm to every thrust. The city sparkles behind him, but you can’t take your eyes off his face.

“I love you,” you moan, breathless, pulling his face back to yours for another scorching kiss. Your lips crash together, tongues tangling, bodies clinging beneath the water like you’re trying to melt into each other.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Jungkook growls against your mouth.

He grips your waist, lifting you just enough to slip out of you, only to slam back in, hard and deep. The water ripples violently around you as your hips meet with perfect timing repeatedly. You toss your head back with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut.

A low groan escapes him as he watches you come undone. One hand braces behind your back, the other reaches up to tug at the strings tied behind your neck. With a practiced flick, your bikini top slips loose and floats off beside you, forgotten.

His eyes darken as he stares at your bare chest, his mouth instantly descending to taste you. Jungkook leaves hot, wet kisses trailing over sensitive skin as he sucks a nipple between his lips.

You're lost in it, lost in him, until a familiar voice breaks your spell.

“Oh, shit,” Jaemin curses, immediately turning away, hand thrown up to shield his eyes. “What the fuck, you guys? Seriously?!”

You shriek, instinctively trying to cover yourself, but Jungkook barely flinches, holding you firmly against him, knowing that his broad shoulders hide you from your brother’s view.

From inside the suite, Kira peeks out, drawn by Jaemin’s raised voice. Her eyes widen the second she takes in the scene of you straddling Jungkook in the pool, easily able to figure out what you guys are up to.

Moving quickly to Jaemin’s arm with both hands. “Let’s go,” she says brightly, dragging him back toward the suite. “Give them some privacy.”

Jaemin mutters under his breath, still scowling. “Fucking hell. I take it back, you’re worse than newlyweds. At this point, you’re like like fucking horny teenagers.”

He throws a glare over his shoulder. “Jungkook! Don’t make me fuck you up again, bro. I will! Geez!”

“Oh, come on, Jaemin,” Kira laughs, tugging him away before his temper flares. “Don’t be such a cockblock. See you two later!” She shoots you a wink just before disappearing inside, her voice echoing faintly, still teasing Jaemin for his unlucky streak of catching you two.

You make a mental note to buy her a thank-you drink tonight.

But that thought vanishes the second Jungkook thrusts up into you again, dragging you back into the moment. The water splashes around you with every movement, slapping softly against the tiled edges of the pool.

Your head falls back, mouth parted in a silent moan as your body clenches around him again. And this time, there’s no holding back.

You’re not exactly sure how you ended up here.

When you and Jungkook slipped out of the club earlier tonight, ditching your friends in a whirlwind of whispered giggles and stolen touches, you figured it would end in another wild quickie somewhere. And to be fair, it started that way. He had his hands all over you in the back of the taxi, his mouth on your neck as the Strip blurred by.

But then, the car dropped you both off at the far end of Las Vegas Boulevard, where you ran straight into a group of strangers who swore they’d partied with you on your first night in town. Whether they were right or not didn’t really matter; they bought you shots like old friends and kept them coming, one after the other, until the world tilted sideways.

And somehow...you agreed to Jungkook’s crazy idea.

Now you’re standing inside a chapel bathed in neon pink light, next to a man in a bedazzled Elvis costume who smells faintly of old cologne and too much hairspray. Jungkook is holding both of your hands in his, his fingers warm and solid around yours. His grin is so wide it practically splits his face in half, his eyes crinkling with drunken joy as he watches the impersonator read the vows.

“Do you, Jeon Jungkook, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Elvis says in a dramatic drawl.

“I do,” Jungkook replies without hesitation, his voice thick with emotion, and maybe tequila. “With my whole heart.”

He slips a thin silver ring onto your finger. One he bought just minutes ago from a display stand outside. It’s slightly too big and also a little tacky, but somehow perfect.

Now it’s your turn. You blink up at him, your heart thudding wildly in your chest.

“I do,” you say softly, biting back a giddy laugh. “With my whole heart.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Elvis impersonator declares with flair, throwing out his arms. “You may kiss!”

Jungkook’s hands envelop your face as he kisses you, sealing your fate.

The handful of drunk couples that are waiting for their turn cheer loudly as Jungkook lifts you straight off your feet. You wrap your arms around his neck, squealing as he carries you bridal-style down the narrow aisle and out of the chapel, laughing the whole way.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say breathlessly, still laughing as you cup his jaw and guide him into another messy kiss.

“I can’t either,” he says against your lips, eyes shining. “But god, I’m so ridiculously happy right now.”

He sets you down and pulls you close, forehead pressed to yours.

“Mrs. Jeon Jungkook, you make me so fucking happy. I love you, baby. So much.”

You can’t stop smiling and neither can he.

The next morning, your head feels like it’s still spinning. The light bleeding through the hotel curtains is too bright, stabbing straight into your skull. You groan and crack an eye open, trying to piece together where you are, and more importantly, what the hell happened last night.

Bits and pieces flash into your memory.

The pounding bass of the DJ set. Clinking shot glasses. Jungkook’s laughter against your ear, both of you cracking up about something that felt hilarious at the time. Though now you can’t recall a single detail.

You shift beneath the sheets, rubbing your eyes, when something cool and metallic catches your attention.

You pause, blinking.

There’s a ring on your finger.

A ring.

You yank your hand back and jump upright, heart now thudding in your chest like it’s trying to break free. In your sudden panic, your elbow smacks straight into Jungkook’s face.

“Ow! What the–” he groans, rolling onto his side. “Babe, what was that for?”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, scrambling out of bed.

Still half-drunk, half-hungover, and fully spiraling, you make a beeline for the bathroom and immediately hurl the remnants of last night into the toilet.

Your knees hit the cold tile as you clutch the porcelain bowl, your mind spinning even faster than your stomach.

Jungkook is at your side a moment later. Sleepy, shirtless, and concerned, he crouches beside you without saying a word, gently pulling your hair back and rubbing slow, soothing circles across your spine.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Once you’re fairly certain your insides are empty, you lean back on your heels, wiping your mouth with a towel and groaning.

“I feel like death,” you mumble.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook says with a lazy smile, though his eyes are scanning your face carefully. Searching. Bracing.

He stands, reaching into the shower to turn on the water. Steam starts to fill the bathroom as he undresses and steps inside, then turns to hold out his hand for you.

You hesitate.

Your eyes drop to the ring on your finger again, then flick back to his face.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. You can tell he’s watching you closely, reading every micro-expression, seeing if you have any doubt. There’s no trace of regret in his eyes, but there’s a quiet question behind them.

What are you feeling? And are we okay?

You reach for his hand and step in beside him.

You wash up quickly, letting the hot water rinse away the hangover haze clinging to your skin. Feeling clean doesn’t solve everything, but it helps ground you.

After drying off and throwing on fresh clothes, you sit on the edge of the bed and breathe for a moment. Jungkook's quiet, giving you space, but you can still feel his eyes on you.

Then, finally, he breaks the silence.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Let’s get some breakfast and cure your hangover before you spiral again. I got a text from Jaemin, they’re waiting for us in the lobby if we want to join everyone for brunch.”

You nod, grabbing your phone and purse before the two of you leave the suite and step into the elevator. Oh god…how are you going to tell everyone…

Jungkook speaks again once the elevator doors close. “Well, last night happened.”

You exhale, almost laughing. “Yeah. I guess it did.”

You start picking at your fingernails, nerves creeping in again as the elevator begins its descent. Jungkook notices instantly.

“Hey,” he says, catching your hands in his. “Don’t do that. Don’t second-guess this. I’m happy. Let’s be happy.”

You look up at him. He gives you that soft smile, the one that always manages to settle your heart.

He pulls you into a hug, wrapping you up like he’s trying to shield you from the chaos of the outside world.

“It’s not how I imagined it, not even close,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “But you know what? I love that I get to call you my wife now. I like that I’m your husband.”

He leans back just enough to nuzzle into your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin in a quiet, reassuring gesture.

And for a moment, your worries melt away. Because if nothing else, you’ve got him. And maybe that’s more than enough.

His hand squeezes your waist as the elevator descends, and you feel his fingers trailing lower, skimming the hem of your skirt with intent.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, glancing toward the mirrored walls, but he’s already moving, slipping his hand beneath the fabric like he owns you, because, well, after last night…he kind of does. And you kind of like that.

His fingers find your heat instantly, and your breath catches in your throat.

“So wet already,” he hums against your ear, voice low and dangerous. “You want to get caught, don’t you?”

You press your back against the elevator wall, heart hammering as his thumb begins to circle your clit.

It feels so good that you can barely stand. The pressure is building fast, your thighs trembling as he slides two fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he curls them just right.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he says, nipping your earlobe. “Look at yourself. Watch how fucking wrecked you look when I touch you.”

Your gaze finds the mirrored wall. You see your parted lips, the way your chest rises and falls, the dark hunger in Jungkook’s eyes as he watches you unravel.

He moves faster, fucking you with his fingers, thumb pressed tight to your clit.

“Scream my name, baby. Who makes you feel this good? Who makes you come uncontrollably?”

“Jungkook!” you cry out before you can think.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you gasp.

“Wrong,” he growls. “Try again.”

“M–my husband,” you stammer, on the verge of falling apart. “My husband makes me come uncontrollably.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, voice thick with pride and lust. “That’s fucking right, wife. Now come all over these fingers. You’ve earned it.”

And you do, trembling, legs barely holding you up, biting down a scream as wave after wave crashes over you.

As the elevator nears the lobby, he slowly pulls his hand from between your thighs, sucking one of his fingers into his mouth like he’s tasting the best thing he's ever had before returning it for more.

“Wow,” you pant, trying to catch your breath. “Being married already has its perks.”

He smirks, using his other hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Baby, we haven’t even started collecting the benefits.”

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the lobby, and the doors slide open with an almost theatrical slowness, just in time to reveal a very pissed-off-looking Jaemin standing directly in front of you.

Judging by the way his jaw is clenched and the murderous glare aimed at the two of you, he definitely heard the tail end of that little scene. Probably more.

“You’re married?!” Jaemin’s voice echoes through the lobby, loud enough to turn heads. A few bystanders pause mid-step, curious and mildly entertained by the drama unfolding in front of the elevators.

Thankfully, he hasn’t seemed to notice Jungkook’s hand still slick from where it was between your thighs before he reluctantly slips it away.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder, letting out a sheepish laugh. “Well, the honeymoon’s off to a strong start. Guess your newlyweds joke actually fits now…”

Jaemin takes a slow, threatening step forward and Jungkook tenses beside you, instinctively bracing for whatever’s coming next, whether it’s a punch, a lecture, or both. But when his eyes flick back to yours, and he sees the worry written all over your face, his shoulders square a little more.

Whatever’s coming, he knows it’s all worth it.

“Oh, baby…”

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

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[taylor-titmouse]

hey i want to talk about how you should be promoting your work as an erotic author/illustrator

i'm writing this up because the marketing aspect of my work as an erotic author/illustrator is a science to me, and also because i'm the guy who gets unreasonably annoyed when i see other creators not properly advertising their work. you presumably want to make money off your work. this post will be written under the assumption you want to make money off your work but are doing a bad job at it. it will be very confrontational. if you read this and feel attacked you're right and i am attacking you.

this is geared toward selling erotic comics/writing/books/art as products. i will probably write more than one post about this subject so if i didn't touch on something you want to know more about, comment/send me an ask and i'll keep it in mind for the next one.

i will start with my first and least specific but most important point:

DON'T GET FUCKING CUTE

hi are you paying attention. i'm gripping you by the sides of your face. do not get fucking cute with what you are trying to sell. you are not a big enough property to get cute, nobody LIKES it when big properties get cute, and you are selling porn. you have to own this. you have to be up front about this. don't be tongue in cheek, don't be all teehee i wonder what this could be~, don't be secretive. you are selling a product. you have to fucking act like it. you are an adult selling pornography to other adults. i am GRIPPING your HEAD you NEED to understand this.

and to be clear when i say 'cute' i mean coy. i don't mean cutesy, as in the aesthetic. you can be as hello kitty pastel ten emojis a post uwu as you like when you're building your audience and generating hype. but when you start trying to sell, don't be vague, don't be sarcastic, don't mislabel your work as a joke and assume everyone is on it. because they're not.

you must always assume 75% of the people seeing the thing you are advertising have no fucking idea who you are. and that includes a huge chunk of the people who already follow you. they do not know who you are or what you've been working on for two months or why they should care about it. they just got here. somebody just reposted it. they are seeing it for the first time. most people are only looking at social media for a tiny chunk of their day. they are not keeping up with you. you cannot get cute about what you are trying to sell because nobody knows what it is until you tell them.

okay are you still with me. we are going to talk about clarity now.

YOU GOTTA TELL ME WHAT IT IS

good lord the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's comic or book and had no idea what's actually in it or what it's about. who are the characters? why should i care about them? what do they do in it? what is the premise of this thing you want me to spend $5 on? why would you not tell me? i'm shaking you again. please i have to know what i'm buying i only have so much money to spend on porn.

porn, arguably more than any other genre, relies on knowing exactly what is in it. you do not want to surprise your readers with a kink they were unaware of! and on the flip side, you do not want to miss out on your target audience! if your book contains a hot spider babe laying eggs in an elf, you have to say so. not just so people who don't want to read about eggs know it isn't for them, but so the people who are egg crazy can see that and go "oh fuck YES i love EGGS here is my $5 and an extra $2 tip for catering to me specifically". a contents/features list is as much an advertisement as it is a warning!

as for re: who the characters are and why should i care, i'm sorry but you need to learn how to write sales copy. you have to write blurbs. you have to get good at the shit that goes on the back of a book. we all hate it but we have to do it. i want to know who the characters are and what the context is. i, personally, am not interested in contemporary stories as much as fantasy and historical. please tell me what genre this porn exists in so i know if it aesthetically appeals to me. pull some books off your shelves and see how they do it. hell man go look at mine.

while you're there, note that every single book of mine has a sample of what's in it. this feels like such a no-brainer to me but again! the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's work and they don't show me what their work looks like! you gotta give me the first page or two! just enough that i know if i like the way your writing sounds, or the way you draw your comics! i don't know you! i am not going to trust that you're good at what you do just based on a cover. the cover is to get me to this step, it is not the only step. you have to show me that you're worth spending my money on!

to put it less cynically, you want to catch my interest. you want me to go 'oh i want to see more of this', you want me to go 'ahh i want to know where this goes!' you need to get me invested and craving more. earn my $5!!!

YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT EASY TO GIVE YOU MONEY

hey go look at your bio right now. go look at your pinned post. do you have a link to your patreon there? do you have a link to your itchio/gumroad/whatever? do i have to click more than once to get to the places you want me to go to give you money? why? why are you making me click twice? have we learned nothing from every website making you click an extra time when they make some stupid UI update and how much it pisses us off? i have already given up, i have forgotten you, i am not giving you my $5 today. put your links in the easiest places to get to them.

god literally as i was writing this post i went to go find somebody's itchio to see how they described their work and it was not anywhere on their profile. grabbing you and shaking you PUT THE LINK WHERE I CAN FIND IT. don't make it hard! make it easy! i am a dickhead sitting on the toilet scrolling, saw your post, and was interested enough to read further. but you made me go to your bio to find your linktree and oops i have already gone back to my timeline to look at the boobies in the next post. stop wasting precious bio space on DNIs and put your fuckin links there!!!

this is more for the twitter people, but: just put the link in the damn post. just say the word commission. just say it's for patreon. "wuh wuh the algorithm" it is not the damn algorithm it's that everybody hates advertising and nobody wants to retweet ads. putting slashes in the words doesn't do anything and you look like a fool. i have posted so much art that says it's 'a commission for ___" and it did exactly as good as any other art despite having the word commission in it. and by doing the slashes you just made it impossible for anybody to search your account for your commission information (which should be at the VERY LEAST in a post under your pinned tweet if you're not actively posting about them being open).

okay that went on a tangent i'm going to back to the point of putting the link in the tweet. put it in the first post. not in the first reply. don't tell them to go to your bio. put it in the post people are actually going to share. it's fine to put more information in the thread but people are only ever going to share the first post. so put the link there. you have to make it easy. putting links in tweets can hurt you algorithmically, even in the replies. so you're better off having it in the post that actually gets seen and shared. i don't want to open the tweet and scroll to get to your sales page where i ASSUME you will have put all the information anyway. put it in the tweet that just got retweeted by itself onto my dash!

also you have to share it a ton of times. i repost my shit every few hours when i'm trying to push a new product. as i said before people are not 24/7 looking at their timelines. they missed it the first time. they missed it the second time. they didn't get paid yet that week but they were after the eighth time and you reminded them again so they finally bought it. that i will still get sales every time i repost a book ad weeks after release says there are always people who missed it, or who only just showed up.

abandon your pride and shill. shills pay their bills. anyone who gets annoyed about it isn't giving you money in the first place. don't worry about looking like a sell out. don't apologize for plugging your own work. post about it often, post about it in different ways. post about it. post about it. you are not going to make money if people don't know you have something to sell them. if you want to make a career out of it, you need to act like it.

I DON'T HAVE A FOURTH POINT

kisses your forehead. i'm sorry for yelling at you. i've been making and publishing and selling adult art for the past two-three years and have got myself to the point where it pays my rent, and i got there by paying attention to what does and does not work.

please do your best to make money. i want you to make money.

as i said above i plan to write more posts on this subject, such as cover design, how to actually write sales copy, and best practices with running a patreon, but if there's things you would want to hear more about leave a comment or send an ask! i will probably be less aggressive on future topics. these are just things that have grinded my gears for a grip.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hey I hope you've having an amazing day/evening/night. This is my first time requesting something😅, and I was wondering if you could possibility write something like what you did with my type but the reader having natural auburn curly hair, with freckles thinking that she's not his type or something along those lines.

Gold in Snow

Summary: you and lando are in a relationship but you're reserving hate comments about you being a ginger, with freckles because the fans don't think you're his type

Song: Golden Hour · JVKE

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Another podium finish for Lando, another shower of champagne soaking his expensive suit. You watched from the relative calm of the garage, a small smile playing on your lips.

He looked genuinely happy, and that, more than anything, made the constant noise and pressure of Formula 1 palatable.

You’d been dating Lando Norris for almost a year now. A year of stolen moments, whispered secrets in hotel rooms, and navigating the chaotic whirlwind that was his life. A year of pure bliss…mostly.

The “mostly” came in the form of comment sections. Forums. Twitter threads dedicated to dissecting every pixel of your existence and comparing it to the accepted prototype of a WAG – Wives and Girlfriends – in the F1 world.

You were… different.

They’d say it with a thinly veiled, almost clinical detachment, but the message was always the same: you didn’t fit. You were too… ginger. Too freckled. Too… you.

The ginger part bothered them the most. Lando was a global superstar, practically sculpted from marble, with a smile that could melt glaciers. He was everything they wanted him to be: conventionally attractive, charming, and effortlessly cool.

And you? You were… well, very, very pale. Your hair was a fiery halo, and your skin was dotted with a constellation of freckles that bloomed fiercer in the summer sun.

“He likes the exotic look,” one comment had sniped. “She’s probably got a killer tan when she’s not hiding in the shade.”

You’d chuckled then, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach your heart. Exotic? You’d spent your life battling sunburns and jokes about having no soul.

And killer tan? Honey, you burned so fast, lifeguards would start applying sunscreen just by looking at you.

You tried to ignore it. Lando certainly seemed to. He showered you with affection, praised your quick wit and sharp mind, and constantly reminded you how beautiful he found you, flaws and all.

But the insidious comments burrowed under your skin, planting seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to weed out.

You saw him heading towards the garage now, adrenaline still buzzing through him. His eyes found yours, and that signature Lando grin spread across his face. Your heart did that familiar little flip.

“Hey!” he said, pulling you into a hug. He smelled of champagne and victory. “Did you see that last overtake? Unbelievable!”

You laughed, burying your face in his still-damp fire suit. “Yes, I saw it. You were amazing, as always. Just try not to spray me next time, okay?”

He pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You seem… quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. “Well, we’re flying back tomorrow morning. We can just chill in the hotel tonight. Order some room service, maybe watch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, meaning it. Just the two of you, away from the cameras and the judgment.

That night, as you lay in his arms in the dimly lit hotel room, the familiar ache in your chest returned. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were somehow… undeserving.

“Lando?” you whispered, the sound barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled into your hair.

“Do you… do you ever read the comments? About us?”

He stiffened slightly. “I try not to. You know how toxic that can be.”

“But you do read them, right? Sometimes?”

He sighed, a heavy sound that vibrated against your chest. “Okay, yeah, sometimes. But I don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just… noise.”

“Noise that says I’m not good enough for you.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours in the dimness. “What? That’s ridiculous. Who says that?”

“Everyone. Online, anyway. They don’t think I’m your type. They think I’m… too ginger. Too freckled. Too… plain.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. “Hey. Look at me. You are absolutely stunning. Inside and out. You are intelligent, funny, kind, and you have the most beautiful smile in the world. And yes,” he added with a mischievous grin, “I also happen to think your hair is gorgeous, and your freckles are like little constellations scattered across your skin. They’re unique, just like you.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “But they say…”

“They say a lot of things. People are always going to have opinions. But their opinions don’t matter. Only mine does. And I think you are perfect.”

He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, tender kiss that chased away the doubts, at least for a moment.

But even as you melted into him, a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of your mind: He’s just saying that. He has to say that.

The knot in your stomach tightened with each passing day, each new photo plastered across social media. You and Lando, laughing at a restaurant, holding hands at the airport, just being normal.

What shouldn't have been a cause for concern, was. It should have been a happy bubble of romance, but it was quickly becoming a breeding ground for anxiety, a place where your insecurities festered and grew.

Because under each picture, nestled amongst the supportive comments and heart emojis, they lurked. The whispers, the not-so-subtle digs.

"He could do so much better." "She's not even his type." "Another generic influencer." And the worst of it? "Ginger + Freckles = No."

You knew it was irrational. Lando loved you. He told you every day, showed you in a million little ways, from the way he held your hand to the way he looked at you with genuine adoration.

But the internet had a way of burrowing into your brain, planting seeds of doubt that blossomed into thorny vines. You found yourself scrutinizing your reflection, picking apart every freckle, every strand of your fiery hair.

Was it too much? Was it enough? Were you enough?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lando's voice startled you, pulling you back from the precipice of your spiral. He was standing in the doorway of your shared flat, his racing helmet tucked under his arm, a familiar mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Just thinking about this weekend," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Excited for the snow."

"Me too! Max and Steve are already counting down the hours. You're coming to the slopes tomorrow, right?"

You hesitated. "I… I have something I need to do in the morning. I'll meet you guys up there later, okay?"

Lando frowned, his blue eyes searching yours. "Everything alright, love? You seem a bit off."

"I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just… a doctor's appointment. Nothing serious. I'll explain later. Promise."

He didn't look convinced, but he knew better than to push. "Alright. Just text me when you're on your way. Drive safe.”

He kissed your forehead, the warmth of his touch a brief comfort against the chill that had settled within you and left.

The next morning, the drive to the snow mountains felt endless. Each mile was another step closer to the potential storm brewing in your head.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous, that you were letting faceless strangers dictate your feelings. But the seed of doubt had been planted, watered, and was now taking root.

When you finally arrived at the ski resort, the crisp mountain air did little to soothe your nerves. You walked into the reception area, the scent of pine and hot chocolate thick in the air.

"Name?" the receptionist asked, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

"It's… uh… Y/L/N, party of Lando Norris."

The receptionist's fingers clicked across the keyboard, and she looked up, a polite professional smile gracing her lips. "Ah, yes. Mr. Norris's party. You're all set. Here's your lift pass. Your equipment rental is just through those doors. Have a wonderful day."

You collected your ski boots and poles from the rental shop, the familiar weight grounding you slightly. You'd been skiing since you were a kid, practically born on the slopes.

It was one of the few places you felt truly free, truly yourself.

You strapped on your skis and headed towards the main lift, scanning the crowd for a flash of Lando's familiar McLaren Racing beanie or the boisterous laughter of Max and Steve.

The lift carried you higher and higher, the view expanding to reveal a breathtaking panorama of snow-covered peaks and pristine valleys.

For a moment, the internet, the comments, the doubts, all faded away. You breathed in the crisp air, feeling the thrill of anticipation course through you.

As you reached the top, you spotted them. Lando, grinning and waving, Max, already carving down the slope with reckless abandon, and Steve, carefully navigating the beginner trail.

You took a deep breath, pushed off, and let gravity do its work. The wind whipped through your hair, the sun glinted off the snow, and for the first time that day, you felt a genuine smile spread across your face.

You were good. Really good. You weaved and turned, carving graceful arcs in the powder, your ginger hair a vibrant streak against the white landscape. You glided past other skiers, feeling the rush of adrenaline as you navigated the slopes with practiced ease.

You found yourself on a black diamond run, moguls stretching out before you like frozen waves. This was where you belonged, where you felt alive. You took a deep breath and launched yourself into the challenge, navigating the bumps and dips with precision and skill.

Suddenly, you heard a whoop of excitement and a familiar voice. "Wow, check out the ginger ninja!"

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple of guys, clearly impressed by your skiing skills.

You grinned, threw them a wink, and continued your descent, the compliment a small spark of warmth against the doubt that still lingered.

The crisp mountain air bit at Lando’s cheeks, painting them a matching shade to the gaudy orange ski suit Max insisted he wear. He shifted his weight from one ski boot to the other, impatience radiating off him in visible waves.

He’d been waiting at the base of the slope for what felt like an eternity. Max was already halfway up the mountain for his third run. Steve was content to nurse a lukewarm hot chocolate and offer unsolicited advice on Lando’s form, despite the fact Lando hadn't even put his skis on yet.

"She's taking her time," Steve commented, taking another careful sip. "Probably intimidated by the black runs."

Lando rolled his eyes, though fondness softened the gesture. He knew you weren't intimidated by anything. This was more than likely your first time on the slopes, so you were probably taking it easy.

You were a natural athlete, thriving on competition, but you’d also confessed, with a sheepish grin, that skiing looked deceptively easy on TV.

He was about to tell Steve as much when Steve suddenly straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, there's your girl!"

Lando spun around, instantly forgetting the cold, the wait, and Steve’s irritating commentary. He searched the throng of skiers snaking down the slope, his heart doing a little skip. And then he saw you.

You moved with a surprising grace, your skis carving effortless arcs in the snow. Sunlight caught in your fiery red hair, turning it into a cascade of glittering copper. Each freckle seemed to dance on your skin, illuminated by the mountain sun.

He knew, objectively, that you were beautiful. He saw it every day. But seeing you now, flushed with exertion and radiant with joy, took his breath away.

He froze, utterly captivated, as you approached. You navigated the final stretch with smooth confidence. “Show off,” he muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You slowed to a stop, kicking up a spray of snow just inches from his boots.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, laughing. You pushed your goggles up onto your forehead, revealing eyes the color of warm honey. "Sorry! How long have you been waiting?"

Your cheeks were rosy, your breath misting in the cold air. Lando stared, speechless.

"Baby? What's wrong?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern. You reached out, your ungloved hand gently touching his cheek. The cold stung, but he barely noticed.

He swallowed, his voice a low rasp. "You're beautiful."

The words were a whisper, almost lost in the wind. He hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly, so…exposed. But the sight of you, framed by the snow-covered peaks, had rendered him incapable of coherent thought.

Your eyes widened slightly, and a blush bloomed on your cheeks, a delicate counterpoint to the healthy glow of the mountain air. "Lando," you said softly, "you okay? Are you coming down with something?"

He blinked, shaking himself slightly. "No, I'm fine. More than fine, actually. You just…you look incredible."

Steve coughed pointedly beside him. Max, having apparently teleported from the top of the mountain, snickered. Lando shot them both a warning glare. They knew how self-conscious you were, especially around his racing colleagues.

The comments section of his social media had been a cesspool ever since you two became public. Hateful words about your appearance, thinly veiled as concerned opinions that you weren’t “his type,” were a constant, ugly background noise.

He knew it bothered you, even though you tried to brush it off with a laugh and a casual, "Haters gonna hate." But he saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes when you thought no one was looking.

He hated those comments, hated the people who wrote them, and hated that they had the power to make you feel anything less than extraordinary.

He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Ignore them," he said, his voice firm, his gaze locked on yours.

You looked confused. "Ignore who? Max and Steve?"

"Everyone," he said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Anyone who makes you feel like you're anything less than perfect. Because you are. Perfect. Just the way you are."

The blush on your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head slightly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "You're sweet," you mumbled. "But I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

"Good," Lando said fiercely. "You're mine. And that's all that matters." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, ignoring Max's exaggerated gagging noises.

He pulled back and met your gaze, his expression serious. "Listen to me. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not beautiful, or that you're not good enough, or that you don't belong. Because they're wrong. They’re absolutely, unequivocally wrong. You’re amazing, inside and out. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re fiercely intelligent, and yes, you’re unbelievably beautiful. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you."

A tear, born of emotion and the biting wind, escaped your eye. "You're going to make me cry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Good," Lando said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Let them see you cry. Let them see how real and how beautiful you are. Don't hide anything. Don't let anyone dim your light."

He knew his words were bold, maybe even a little cheesy, but he meant every single one of them. He wanted you to know, deep down, that he saw you, truly saw you, and that nothing anyone said would ever change that.

Max, surprisingly, had stopped snickering. He clapped Lando on the shoulder. "Alright, mate, enough with the declarations of love. Let's hit the slopes. Before I get frostbite."

Steve nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Lando. You can gush later. Right now, let’s see if your girl’s got what it takes.” He winked at you. “No pressure.”

You smiled, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Pressure is my middle name," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's go."

Lando grinned, relieved to see the familiar spark back in your eyes. He squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.

He watched as you adjusted your goggles and clicked your poles into the snow. He felt a surge of pride watching you. He knew the comments would still be there, lurking in the shadows of the internet, waiting to pounce.

But he also knew that you were strong. You were resilient. And you had him.

He grabbed his own skis, a newfound confidence coursing through him. He would protect you, always. But more than that, he would celebrate you, every freckle, every fiery strand of hair, every brilliant facet of your being.

As you pushed off, gracefully navigating the gentle slope, Lando felt a lightness in his heart that had nothing to do with the altitude. He knew, without a doubt, that their love story was just beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

He followed you down the slope, his orange ski suit a beacon against the white snow. He caught up to you easily, skiing alongside you, matching your pace.

"So," he said, grinning mischievously. "Think you can keep up with me, ginger?"

You laughed, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the mountains. "Try me, Papaya boy."

And with that, you kicked it up a notch, leaving Lando in your snowy wake.

He laughed, his heart soaring.

He pushed off, determined to catch up, knowing that even if he never did, he would be perfectly content just to chase you, forever. . . .

The papaya coloured dress hung on you, a vibrant splash of sunshine in the sterile white bathroom. It was Lando’s favourite colour, or so he claimed. He said it reminded him of McLaren, of speed, of… you.

But all you could see in the mirror was a canvas of imperfections.

Your reflection stared back, a stranger dissected and judged. The fiery red hair, usually a source of pride, now felt like a neon sign screaming "OUT OF PLACE."

The constellation of freckles scattered across your nose and cheeks, tiny sun-kissed stars Lando often traced with his fingertip, seemed like blemishes, flaws magnified under the harsh bathroom light.

The original plan, a simple elegance of no-makeup and loose waves, lay discarded. You'd envisioned a carefree evening, a confident entrance with Lando by your side.

Now, the thought of facing the public, the prying eyes, the inevitable whispers, felt like climbing a mountain of anxiety.

Social media had been a minefield lately. Ever since your relationship with Lando Norris became public, the comment sections had become a breeding ground for toxicity. Most were overwhelmingly supportive, celebrating your love.

But a persistent undercurrent of negativity gnawed at your confidence. The "fans," or rather, the internet trolls masquerading as them, were relentless.

“She’s not his type.”

“He could do so much better.”

“Ginger? Really? He's lowering his standards.”

The worst were the comments picking apart your appearance. The freckles, the hair, the perceived lack of "glamour." They painted you as an anomaly, someone who didn't belong in Lando's world. It was absurd, of course.

Lando loved you for you. He told you every day. But the insidious nature of online hate was that it seeped in, whispering doubts in your ear when you were most vulnerable.

Tonight, facing a McLaren party filled with glamorous personalities and industry insiders, the doubts had reached a crescendo. You grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, dabbing at the corners of your eyes, fighting back the overwhelming urge to cry.

The reflection in the mirror blurred, the colours swam, and the vibrant papaya felt like a mocking reminder of everything you weren't.

That’s when you heard the familiar click of the front door.

“Y/n?” Lando’s voice echoed through the house, a warm, comforting sound that momentarily cut through the anxiety clouding your mind.

Panic seized you. You couldn't let him see you like this, a mess of insecurities and mascara-smeared cheeks. You needed to compose yourself, to build up a façade of confidence before facing him.

Quickly, you turned the small lock on the bathroom door. The click was loud in the sudden silence.

“Y/n?” he called again, his voice closer now. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just… just getting ready,” you managed, trying to inject a lightness into your tone that felt utterly fake. Your voice wavered, betraying your true state. “I’ll be out in a second.”

You heard him pause outside the door. “You sure? You sound… different.”

He knew you too well. He always did. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears away. “Just a bit of a headache. Nothing serious.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken concern. You could almost feel his presence on the other side of the door.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But don’t rush. I’m happy to wait. Do you want me to get you some water?”

His thoughtfulness, his unwavering care, only made the guilt swell inside you. He was so genuine, so supportive, and here you were, hiding from him, consumed by the petty insecurities fueled by strangers on the internet.

“No, I’m fine,” you insisted, a little too quickly. “Just… give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Alright,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. You heard him move away from the door. “I’ll be in the living room.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning against the cool porcelain of the sink. This couldn’t go on. You couldn't let these hateful comments dictate your life, dictate your relationship.

Lando deserved better. You deserved better.

Taking a deep breath, you turned on the cold tap, splashing water on your face. You grabbed a towel and gently patted your skin dry, removing the remnants of your almost-attempted makeup.

You looked at yourself again, really looked.

The fiery hair, the freckles, the flaws… they were all part of you. They were what made you unique, what made you you. And Lando loved you for it. He saw beauty where others saw imperfections.

He saw strength where others saw vulnerability. Why were you letting the opinions of anonymous strangers outweigh the love and adoration of the man you adored?

You let out a shaky sigh, a weight lifting from your shoulders. It wasn't a complete cure, the insecurities wouldn't vanish overnight, but it was a start.

With newfound resolve, you took another look at the papaya dress. It shimmered under the light, a vibrant symbol of sunshine and joy. You smoothed the fabric down, a small smile gracing your lips.

You unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out.

Lando was standing in the living room, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as you entered, his face immediately lighting up. He was wearing a simple dark suit, impeccably tailored, but it was the genuine warmth in his eyes that truly caught your attention.

He took a step towards you, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. The smile widened.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice laced with admiration. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You blushed, the compliment genuine and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

He closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, tracing the familiar pattern of your freckles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “You seemed a bit… off earlier.”

You hesitated, the urge to brush it off still lingering. But you knew you couldn't hide from him. He deserved the truth.

“I… I saw some comments online,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “About… about me. About not being ‘your type.’”

His expression darkened, his eyes hardening with anger. “Don’t you dare listen to those people, Y/n,” he said fiercely, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

“They don’t know anything. My ‘type’ is someone who is kind, intelligent, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. Someone who makes me laugh every single day. Someone who challenges me and supports me, even when I’m being an idiot. That’s you, Y/n. That's always been you."

He paused, his gaze searching yours, making sure you understood the sincerity of his words.

"And as for the… the physical stuff," he continued, his voice softening again. "Your hair is the most beautiful shade of red I've ever seen. Your freckles are like little constellations, guiding me through the darkness. And that little dimple you get when you smile? Drives me absolutely crazy."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough, Y/n. Because to me, you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude, of love.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I love you, Lando,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his jacket.

He held you tight, his arms a comforting embrace. “I love you too, Y/n. More than you know.”

After a long moment, you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you.

Lando was right. You couldn't let the negativity of others define you. You had his love, his support, and that was all that mattered.

You looked at him, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Ready to go to this party?"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. And just so you know, I'm planning on spending the entire night showing you off to everyone. They need to see how lucky I am."

He took your hand in his, his fingers interlacing with yours. As you walked out the door together, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The haters could say what they wanted. You had Lando, you had your love, and that was more than enough. The papaya dress suddenly felt like armour, not a target.

You were ready to face the world, hand in hand, imperfections and all. . . .

The party was exactly what you expected: loud music, flashing lights, and a sea of familiar faces from the F1 world – drivers, team principals, engineers, and their partners.

The sheer volume of people made your anxiety prickle, but Lando kept a firm grip on your hand, navigating you through the crowd.

He introduced you to what felt like a hundred people, his arm possessively around your waist, his smile beaming. You tried to focus on the conversations, to be witty and engaging, but the whispers seemed to follow you, phantom echoes of the comments haunting your mind.

“Lando’s with her?”

“She’s… different.”

“Not exactly what I expected.”

You squeezed Lando’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself. He seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, his attention solely focused on you.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the music.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s… great.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching. He knew you better than anyone, and he could see the forced cheerfulness masking your discomfort.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “If you want to leave, we can. We don’t have to stay here.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here. With you.”

He smiled, relieved. "Okay, but seriously, if you change your mind, just say the word."

Just then, a tall, lanky figure approached, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Lando! Mate, good to see you.”

“Oscar!” Lando clapped him on the back. “Good to see you too. Oscar, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar offered you his hand, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You shook his hand, trying to gauge his expression. Was there judgment there? Pity? You couldn’t tell. “Likewise, Oscar. Congratulations on your season so far.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile genuine. "It's been... interesting, to say the least." He paused, then gestured to a woman standing beside him. "And this is my girlfriend, Lily."

Lily stepped forward, her smile warm and inviting. She had kind eyes and a simple elegance that immediately put you at ease. "It's lovely to meet you, Y/N. Lando talks about you all the time."

You blushed, glancing at Lando, who just winked. "All good things, I hope?"

Lily laughed. "Of course! He's completely smitten."

The four of you fell into easy conversation, discussing the season, the pressures of being in the spotlight, and the challenges of maintaining relationships in such a demanding environment.

You found yourself relaxing, the tension slowly draining away. Lily was refreshingly down-to-earth, and Oscar, despite his reserved demeanour, had a dry wit that you found endearing.

As the conversation flowed, you noticed Lily subtly steer the topic towards your interests, asking about your work, your hobbies, and your passions.

She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, not just as Lando’s girlfriend, but as an individual.

“So, Y/N” Lily said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “Lando tells me you’re a writer? That’s fascinating! What kind of writing do you do?”

“I dabble in a bit of everything,” you replied, feeling your confidence grow. “Short stories, poetry, some freelance journalism. It depends on what sparks my interest, really.”

“That’s amazing,” she gushed. “I’ve always admired people who can write. It’s such a powerful way to express yourself.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “It is. I’m useless at it. Give me a steering wheel any day.”

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, your earlier anxieties fading into the background. You were having a genuine, enjoyable conversation, with people who seemed to genuinely care about you.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise. “Lando, darling! There you are!”

A woman, dripping in diamonds and designer clothes, glided towards you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe with blatant disapproval. You recognized her as the wife of a prominent team principal, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper judgment.

Lando’s smile faltered slightly as he turned to face her. “Genevieve, good to see you.”

She completely ignored Oscar and Lily, her gaze fixed on you. “And who is this, Lando? A new… acquaintance?”

You felt your cheeks flush, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. You knew what was coming.

Lando’s arm tightened around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “This is your girlfriend? How… interesting.” Her tone dripped with condescension. “Well, congratulations, darling. I’m sure you’re very happy.”

She turned back to Lando, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lando, darling, you really could do so much better. Don't you want to think about your image?”

You felt your heart sink. This was it. The moment of truth. You braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of negativity.

But then, something unexpected happened. Lando’s eyes flashed with anger, and his grip on your waist tightened protectively.

“I’m perfectly happy, thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “And Y/N is more than enough. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

He turned his back on the woman, effectively dismissing her. He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, still reeling from the encounter. “Yeah,” you mumbled. "I'm okay

Lily stepped forward, her expression fierce. “Honestly, some people are just ridiculous,” she said, her voice laced with scorn. “Don’t let her get to you, Y/N. She’s just jealous.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got nothing better to do than spread negativity. Ignore her.”

Lando squeezed your hand. “They’re right. Don’t let her ruin your night.”

You looked at them, at Lando, at Lily, at Oscar. You saw genuine support, genuine kindness, genuine acceptance. And suddenly, the weight on your chest lifted. The comments, the whispers, the judgment – they didn’t matter.

You had people who loved you, who supported you, who valued you for who you were, not for who the internet thought you should be.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not going to let her ruin my night.”

Lando grinned, relieved. “That’s the spirit. Now, how about we get out of here and go somewhere more… private?” He winked suggestively.

Lily laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Oscar, you’re driving, right? I’ve had one too many cocktails.”

As you walked away, hand in hand with Lando, you glanced back at Lily and Oscar, a warm feeling of gratitude washing over you. You had found unexpected allies, people who saw past the surface and appreciated you for who you were.

You were still an outsider, still a ginger with freckles, still not “his type” according to the internet. But tonight, surrounded by love and support, you didn’t care. You had Lando, you had friends, and you had the courage to be yourself.

And that, you realised, was more than enough. The papaya dress no longer felt like armour, but a symbol of your strength, your resilience, and your unwavering commitment to being true to yourself.

You were you and you were happy. . . .

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername and 867,879 others

landonorris

Happy anniversary to my beautiful girl. Two years. Two years of laughter, adventures, and learning to love you more fiercely every single day. I know the internet can be a dark place, especially for someone as radiant as you. Don't listen to anyone who talks about you bad, especially those whispering nonsense about "types." They see a snapshot; I see the whole damn masterpiece.

Your fiery hair is sunshine on a cloudy day, each freckle a tiny star mapping out the constellation of my heart. They don't see the intelligence that sparkles in your eyes, the quick wit that keeps me on my toes, or the unwavering kindness you show to everyone you meet. They don’t see you. You are everything I could ever want, and more than I ever deserve. So, happy anniversary, my love. Let's keep painting our world with joy, ignoring the noise, and celebrating the beautiful, unique you. I love you more than words can say. ❤️

comment has been restricted

[sunrizef1]

Water

Pairing: George Russell x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Authors Note: a George win fic ur welcome

yn

liked by georgerussell63 sabrinacarpenter and 6,114,871 others

yn woman

load comments…

user1 oh my god she's so stunning I can't

user2 pretty pretty girl

user3 loml

user4 ahhh I love her

user5 my fav 🩵

sabrinacarpenter I'm in love with you

yn 😘

user6 she's so beautiful I can not

user7 🤩

user8 lmao George Russell in the likes 😭 like me too king ✊

user9 he's so real

user10 new music when

user11 MAKE ME SWEATTT

user12 MAKE ME HOTTERRRR

user13 prettyyyyy

user14 I think I love her

user15 lmao George Russells shooting for the stars here

tommyhilfiger ❤️💙

liked by yn

user16 queen sh*t

user17 woman 🤩

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yn

liked by georgerussell63 lewishamilton and 6,998,881 others

yn water

load comments…

user18 I 😭 love 😭 her 😭

user19 that color is so pretty on her

user20 🇿🇦🇿🇦🇿🇦

user21 love of my life

user22 my wife and bae frfr

user24 summer vibessss🌅

user25 GAH DAYUM

user26 LMAO not Lewis also in the likes 😭

user27 lol George recruited him

user28 THEY NEVER HAD A PRETTY GIRL FROM JOBURG

sabrinacarpenter the prettiest 🤩

yn no u

user29 GIRL I LOVE YOU

lewishamilton 👋

yn 👋

user30 girl wtf is Lewis doing

user31 RIGHT like what 😭

user32 pretty pretty 😘

user33 I know George is absolutely fuming over the Lewis yn notice

user34 he's singing that should be me right now

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yn added to their story

user34

now girl who tf is that

user35

NOT A MAN

PLEASE

user36

Girl… George Russell or nothing

user37

No one tell George

user38

Not my wife having a secret boyfriend???

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yn

liked by georgerussell63 alex_albon and 15,111,211 others

yn make me sweat

load comments…

user39 WHO TF IS THAT

user40 nah girl ur not slick

user41 she knows we can see him too right?

user42 JUMP SCARE

user43 not a man…😔

user44 can we talk about how pretty she is

user45 yeah, right? Every ones talking about the second slide but she looks so so good 😭

user46 😍

user47 if that's anyone but George Russell I'm gonna end it all

user48 girl that is not him

user47 and how tf do you know that

user49 wait who's that

user47 an f1 driver who's been in her likes for a while

user49 he's just been in her likes??? Girl that is not him 😭😭

user47 a girl can dream 😔

user50 so pretty 😍

user51 George Russell is screaming somewhere

user52 why are yall talking about a man who was just in her likes a lot??? If she was rumoured to be daring every man who likes all her posts she’d be dating like 200 guys 😭

user53 my favorite girl

sabrinacarpenter soft-launching our relationship??? 🤭

yn ofc bbg 🫶

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georgerussell63

liked by yn lewishamilton and 9,007,887 others

georgerusell63 🌅

load comments…

user54 GEORGE NO

user55 lmao, man saw yn got a man so he decided it was time to move on

user56 gotta respect it

user57 who is she 🥲

user58 HEY KING

user59 lock in Russell, you're on my fantasy f1 team this weekend

user60 its not a George Russell post if he's not shirtless

user61 😍😍😍

user62 he looks rly good

user63 and who the hell is that

user64 not my husband finding a gf, rude 😔✊

user65 YN QUEEN DONT LOOK

user66 lmao she liked. I think she's happy her post didn't kill him

user67 why does no one think that that might litteraly by yn in the post

user66 cuz… that's unrealistic

user67 girl why???

user66 they would 100% not vibe, that man says things like “holy moly!” unironically and she wrote “water” they are not the same 😭🙏

user68 just glad he's happy 😊🤞

user69 pls win this weekend George I love you so much and you're the only thing keeping my Mercedes fan mind together

user70 king George lol

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yn added to their story

user71

QUEEN ARE YOU AT THE AUSTRIA GP???

user72

A Mercedes girl, so real

user73

Lmao George is gonna explode

user74

I need you and Lewis in a room together

My two favs 🥰

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yn added to their story

user75

BOYFRIEND SPOTTED

user76

Hey queen…

Pls don't let lando win…🙏

I'll give you my first-born 😔✊

user77

Don't let the sprint race fool you Bbg

We can win trust me

This isn't who they are

We are so fast

Don't let this represent Mercedes in your mind

user78

Don't let qualifying fool you queen

we are not fast

Do not keep your hopes up

We are going to crash and burn

Hopefully not literally

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TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yn added to their story

user79

IS THAT KING GEORGE

user80

HOLY MOLY

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yn

📍Austria

liked by georgerussell63 formula1 and 15,888,112 others

yn Geo!!! Im so so so proud of you, my love! I'm so grateful that I got to be there for your first win and just as thankful to see the second one. I see the work and the effort you put in week in and week out and I can not think of a person who deserves this more than you. You're so wonderful and perfect and there's no one I'd rather have spent the past two years with. One of the best experiences I've ever had was seeing the love of my life on the top step of the podium and I pray ill get to see it a lot more because I'll be by your side for every single one. I love you, congratulations baby ❤️

(p.s. He's my only muse 😘)

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user81 WOAHHHHHH

user82 GAH DAYUM HOLD ON A SECOND PLEASE

user83 holy shit

user84 2 years??? Be so fr

user85 you're kidding

user86 wait I love them

user87 lmao throw back to all of y'all saying they'd never date each other

user88 CONGRATULATIONS GEORGE

user89 AWWW I LOVE THEM

mercedesamgf1 we’re glad to have you queen 🫶

liked by yn

user90 she calls him geo??? 😭🫶

user91 forget that, she called him baby 😭🫶

user92 wait, not my new favorite couple???

user93 QUEEN WAG

user94 girl, he's the wag

user95 TWO YEARSSSSSSS

lewishamilton 🫶🏽

yn 🫶🏽

user96 waitttttttt why are they so perfect

georgerussell63 thank you so much for being there, I love you ❤️

yn i love you too, I'm so proud of you ❤️

user97 WATER IS ABOUT GEORGE????

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@casperlikej @evie-119