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bueckets · 2 months ago

Text

The Hit List | 02.5

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Masterlist (TBA) | Part One | Part Two (READ BEFORE 2.5)

Genre: romance, slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, they fuck, n its hot n sweaty, cat n mouse

Description: What starts as a game of avoidance turns into something far more dangerous when old grudges and unfinished business crash headfirst into a truth neither of them are ready to face. Armed with a stubborn streak, a boyfriend you're trying too hard to believe in, and a simmering resentment that burns just as hot as desire, you swear you won’t let Paige win.

But when history keeps rewriting itself in glances, in touches, in words that cut too close—you start to wonder if you've had control of the game at all.

wc: 24k, yes, 24k

Authors Note: sorry this took forever, too many words so this is split into two parts (THIS IS part 2 chap 2)

Three Weeks Later

Midterms came and went, dragging you through hell and back. The sleepless nights, the cramming, the fucking Systems Engineering project that nearly made you throw your laptop out a window. It’s over. You survived.

And somewhere in between all of it—Paige Bueckers became just a name again.

Not a person. Not a presence. Not someone orbiting your every waking moment.

Just a name you see online.

A headline when UConn wins another game.

A clip someone reposts on Twitter, her pulling up from three like it’s muscle memory, making it look so goddamn easy.

Her life moves forward at full speed.

The season’s in full swing, meaning the team’s constantly gone—traveling for games, disappearing for days at a time, too busy to be anything but motion.

It’s weird.

Because after that night—after the fucking laundry room, after the way she felt against you, the way her breath tangled with yours—you thought she’d stick. Thought the weight of her would still be there, pressing into your ribs, twisting your stomach every time you caught a glimpse of her across campus. But she’s gone.

Not in the literal sense. You still hear her name, see her in passing, watch her run drills on the court like she owns it. But she’s not here. Not in the way that matters. She’s everywhere else—on screens, in headlines, living a life that no longer overlaps with yours.

And you hate that the only way you see her now is through a fucking phone. A video of her laughing on the sideline, hair damp with sweat, head thrown back like she doesn’t have a care in the world. A post-game interview where she’s loose, confident, rattling off the same media-trained answers like she’s never lost control of anything in her life. She’s fine. She’s thriving.

And the worst part? She probably doesn’t think about you at all.

So you adjust. You fall back into routine. Class. Studying. Work. You go to parties, sometimes. You drink. You dance. You make out with people whose names you don’t bother remembering. You kiss Eli again—once, just to see if it sparks something, if it fills the void she left behind. It doesn’t. It never does.

And then, just as fast as she disappeared—

She’s back.

It happens out of nowhere. One second, you’re dragging yourself through campus, brain fogged with sleep, the winter air biting at your skin, coffee scalding the tip of your tongue. And then—her. Right there. Like she never left. Like she hasn’t spent the last few weeks bouncing between cities, arenas, flashing cameras. Like she isn’t something bigger than all of this.

She’s standing outside the training facility, hoodie pulled over her head, joggers slung low on her hips, a duffel bag hanging off her shoulder. She’s talking to someone—one of her coaches, maybe—but she’s different. Not in the way she looks. No, she’s exactly the same, infuriatingly so. It’s something else, something in the way she carries herself, like she’s spent so much time away from this part of her life that she almost forgot it existed.

Like she almost forgot about you.

Your breath stutters. Your steps slow.

She’s close enough to touch. Close enough to reach out and prove she’s real.

And yet, she might as well be a ghost.

Because when she finally turns, finally glances up—she sees you. You know she does. But there’s nothing. No reaction. No flicker of recognition. No teasing smirk. No raised brow, no knowing glance, nothing. Just a passing look, empty and indifferent, before she turns away.

Like you’re nobody.

Like that night never happened.

Like you never fucking existed.

And it wrecks you. Because for the first time since this whole fucked-up, tangled thing started—

It feels like you lost.

Two Months Later

Dating Eli is easy. That’s the problem.

There’s no push and pull, no fire curling under your ribs, no moments where your pulse spikes so fast you think you might actually combust. There’s no game. No tension. Just quiet, steady comfort. He’s sweet—thoughtful, even. Picks you up for class sometimes, walks you to your dorm even when it’s out of his way, texts you good morning despite seeing you every day. A good boyfriend. The kind you’re supposed to want.

And you? You go through the motions. You hold his hand. Let him kiss you. Let him slip an arm around your shoulders as you walk across campus, even though it still feels foreign. Even though it still feels wrong. But you let it happen because it’s safe. Because he doesn’t make your stomach drop. Because he doesn’t wreck you.

Because he’s not her.

And that’s exactly what you need. Because Paige Bueckers doesn’t know you exist anymore.

She came back from the season like she shed you—like you were just something she outgrew. Whatever happened between you was nothing. A passing thought. A mistake so inconsequential she didn’t even have to acknowledge it. And if she doesn’t care? Then neither do you.

So you lean into Eli.

And when he invites you to a UConn game—something casual, something low-stakes, something he’s excited to take you to—you say yes. You say yes because it makes sense. Because this is your life now. Because Paige Bueckers is just another player on the court.

And that’s all she’s ever going to be.

The stadium is packed, the early spring air crisp, cutting through the warmth of the sun. You follow Eli up the steps, scanning for open seats, the scent of popcorn and hot dogs thick in the air. It’s different from the last time you were at a game. Not indoors, not under the blinding arena lights. The energy is looser, more relaxed, fans chatting easily, kids waving oversized foam fingers.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. It’s fine. It’s just a game. And you’re here with your boyfriend.

Eli finds seats near the middle, pulling you down beside him, arm draping lazily over your shoulders. You lean in, let yourself sink into the warmth of his body, let yourself pretend like this is all normal.

On the court, the team is warming up. Players jog across the pavement, stretching, shaking out their limbs. Your gaze drifts over them, detached, unfocused, not looking for anything in particular—

And then—her.

It shouldn’t feel like a fucking collision, but it does.

Your breath catches, body locking up as if it knew before your brain did. As if some deep, unshakable instinct recognized her presence before you could stop it. Paige jogs across the court, her shorts hanging loose around her thighs, her hoodie still on, dribbling lazily like she doesn’t have a single care in the world. Like she’s untouchable.

Your chest tightens. She still looks the same. Still is the same. And yet—something’s different. Maybe it’s the way she seems even more unreachable now, like she exists in a space just beyond your grasp.

You exhale sharply, force your gaze away.

You’re here with Eli.

You’re fine.

This means nothing.

Eli nudges you. “You good?”

You blink, nodding too quickly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He smiles, presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Get ready. She’s gonna put on a show.”

You force a laugh.

And when you chance another glance at the court—Paige is already looking at you.

But this time, she reacts.

Just slightly. Just enough.

A shift in her eyes. A flicker of something.

And then—she smiles.

Not big. Not obvious. Just the barest curve of her lips, like she knows. Like she sees you sitting there, tucked under Eli’s arm, playing house, pretending like you’ve moved on. And for the first time in months, you know—

She hasn’t forgotten you at all.

You don’t watch the game. Not really.

You hear it—the sharp squeak of sneakers against pavement, the shrill whistle of fouls, the deafening roar of the crowd when UConn scores. You see it—the blur of white and navy jerseys cutting across the court.

But your focus is off.

Because all you can feel is the weight of her presence.

And the fact that she knows you’re here.

It fucks with you.

Because it had been easy to believe she forgot. That she let it go, left you in the past, moved on like you were nothing. But now—now she’s looking at you between plays. Not constantly. Not obviously. Just enough.

A glance while she’s standing at the free-throw line, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling. A flicker of her eyes when she jogs back on defense, scanning the crowd, skimming right past Eli like he doesn’t even exist.

And that fucking smirk when she sinks a three-pointer, lets it hang in the air for just a second before she turns, wiping the sweat off her brow with the hem of her jersey.

It’s deliberate. Calculated.

And it’s working.

Heat curls up your spine, a suffocating mix of frustration and something you won’t name. Your arms lock tight across your stomach, fingers curled into your sleeves. Beside you, Eli cheers, completely oblivious.

You wish you could be.

You wish you could tune her out. Pretend she’s just another player on the court. Pretend she doesn’t get under your skin.

But she’s in your head again. She won’t leave.

And worse—she knows it.

The game stretches on, endless. Every second is another reminder that she’s still there. That she’s not just some passing thought, some unfinished mistake. She’s real. She’s here. And she’s still in this fucking thing with you, even if neither of you are saying it out loud.

By the time the final buzzer sounds, you feel like you’ve been through a war.

Eli’s arm tightens around your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “See? Told you she’d put on a show.”

You nod, force a tight smile, but your chest feels hollow, your stomach twisted into something you don’t know how to untangle.

Because the game might be over—

But this?

This is just getting started.

The crowd filters out in waves, a slow, steady stream of bodies stretching stiff limbs, shaking off the lingering chill, still thrumming with energy from the win. Eli stands, his hand warm around yours as he pulls you up with him, his voice easy, unbothered, spilling into the space between you with post-game analysis—stats, highlights, a play he wants to rewatch later.

You nod when you’re supposed to, hum responses that sound just engaged enough, but none of it sticks. Your mind is elsewhere.

Because she’s still here.

Not with the team. Not caught up in post-game celebrations or media duties. No cameras, no noise, no excuses. Just lingering.

Sweat still clings to the curve of her neck, damp strands of blonde hair curling against her skin. Her hoodie is pulled over her head, water bottle hanging loose from her fingers, body relaxed like she has nowhere to be. But she’s not just standing there.

She’s watching.

Not outright. Not obvious. Just enough.

And Eli? He doesn’t notice.

Because why would he? He’s here with his girlfriend, celebrating a win, caught up in the moment, assuming she’s just watching the team clear out, thinking nothing of it.

You, on the other hand—

You can’t fucking breathe.

Every nerve is stretched too tight, buzzing under your skin, prickling like static, like she’s marking you without even touching you. Like she’s still fucking with you, seeing how much space she can take up in your head before you break.

And the worst part?

She looks fine.

Completely untouched. Unshaken. Not like she’s been thinking about you. Not like this has cost her anything.

And that—that is what undoes you.

Because this was supposed to be over.

You were supposed to be fine.

But here you are. Crumbling.

Eli tugs on your sleeve, easy, unaware. “Come on, let’s head out before traffic gets bad.”

You blink, drag yourself back into the present, nodding too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

One step.

Then two.

And then—

You don’t mean to look.

But you do.

Just for a second.

And she’s still there.

And she smiles.

Not big. Not obvious. Just that same, slow, knowing curve of her lips.

Like she sees right through you.

Like she knows you’re unraveling.

Like she’s won.

It’s three days after the game when the email comes in.

You don’t think much of it at first, just another facilities request forwarded to you through the engineering department—something about a faulty vent system in the women’s basketball locker room. Nothing urgent, nothing particularly exciting, just another task to check off your list between classes and whatever project is currently draining your soul. You’re barely skimming the details as you type out a confirmation reply, promising to stop by that afternoon, when it hits you.

Women’s basketball locker room.

Your stomach tightens.

For a second, you debate forwarding it off to someone else. Someone more qualified, someone with less history hanging in that space. But that’s fucking ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s been three months. Three months since the laundry room, since she pretended you didn’t exist, since you started playing house with Eli like it was supposed to fix everything. Three months of routine, of pretending you don’t track her name through game highlights and Twitter clips, of pretending you don’t feel her presence like a ghost in the back of your head.

You should be fine.

This shouldn’t be a thing.

It’s a fucking vent. You’re going to walk in, tighten some screws, maybe clean out a filter, and walk right back out. No big deal.

And yet, as you step into the building later that afternoon, tool bag slung over your shoulder, the cold press of the metal door handle beneath your palm, you feel something coil tight in your chest, something uneasy and electric, something that tells you this won’t be as easy as you want it to be.

The locker room is quiet when you step inside, the kind of silence that feels thick, like it’s waiting to be broken. The scent of sweat and body wash lingers in the air, fresh from practice, steam still clinging faintly from the showers in the back. Rows of lockers stretch across the room, some still open, jerseys draped lazily over the benches, sneakers kicked off in pairs on the floor.

You exhale slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag as you move toward the vent panel along the far wall. The faster you do this, the faster you can leave. You crouch, fingers working quickly to loosen the first few screws, trying to focus on the movement, the mechanics, anything but the slight tremble in your hands, anything but—

“Didn’t think I’d see you in here.”

The voice is unmistakable.

That low, casual drawl, edged in something sharper, something teasing, something that shouldn’t still make your breath catch the way it does.

You don’t turn immediately.

You keep working, keep your gaze locked on the vent, pretend like your pulse hasn’t just doubled. “Just fixing a maintenance issue,” you say, voice as even as you can manage. “Won’t be here long.”

There’s a pause, a shift of movement, the unmistakable sound of sneakers against tile. She’s coming closer.

“Shame,” Paige murmurs, and fuck, you feel it.

The weight of her gaze. The presence of her body somewhere behind you, close enough to make the air feel different, charged, suffocating.

You grip the screwdriver tighter.

She shouldn’t be here. Not now, not after all this time, not when you’ve spent months convincing yourself she doesn’t matter.

But she is.

And she’s talking to you.

You swallow, working another screw loose, forcing yourself to focus. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

She hums, and you hear the smile in it before you see it. “Finished early.” A pause, and then, “Didn’t know you were doing this kind of work.”

Your jaw tightens.

Of course, she didn’t. Because you don’t exist in her world anymore, do you? Not unless she decides you do.

You finally turn, slowly, pushing up from your crouch, letting yourself look at her.

And fuck, that was a mistake.

Because she looks good, better than you remember, the months of training and travel and games only sharpening her in ways that make your stomach twist. She’s standing there in sweatpants and a UConn tee, hair damp from a post-practice shower, arms crossed over her chest, watching you like she’s curious, like she’s interested, like she hasn’t spent three months pretending you were just another passing face in the crowd.

And it pisses you off.

You force a shrug, tilting your head slightly. “Didn’t know you cared what I was doing.”

Her smirk twitches. Just barely. Just enough.

“Didn’t say I did,” she replies smoothly, but the way she’s watching you says otherwise.

There it is.

The push and pull. The old game slipping back into place like it never left, like three months of avoidance didn’t mean shit.

And you should walk away. You should finish the job and leave, act like you don’t feel this, act like she’s just another person in another room.

But you don’t.

Because something deep in you, something bitter and unresolved and desperate, needs to know if this still means something.

So you take a step closer, watching the flicker in her eyes as you do.

“Then why are you standing here?” you ask, voice low, steady, challenging.

Paige doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch, just holds your gaze, her mouth curving slightly, like she’s enjoying this, like she knows she’s getting to you.

“Maybe I’m just curious,” she says, tilting her head. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Three months.

Three months of silence. Three months of pretending. Three months of you thinking you were the only one who remembered, the only one who cared, the only one still feeling it.

And now?

Now she’s standing here, looking at you like she never forgot at all.

You don’t answer.

Because what is there to say? That, yeah, it’s been a while, and yet somehow it still feels like she never left your fucking head? That you’ve spent the past three months trying to scrub the memory of her hands off your skin, only to have them crawl back the second you laid eyes on her again? That seeing her at the game did something to you—something ugly, something desperate, something you don’t want to name?

No.

You won’t give her that.

So instead, you just lift a brow, forcing something casual onto your face, like her presence isn’t making your chest feel too tight. “Yeah. Guess it has.”

Paige watches you for a second longer, and you can see it happening—her weighing the moment, deciding how she wants to play this. Because that’s what she does, isn’t it? She plays. Gives you something, just a taste, just enough to make your stomach flip, before she rips it away.

And you should know better by now.

You do know better.

But then she shifts, weight rolling back onto one foot, arms still folded, her mouth quirking into that slow, almost lazy smirk—the one that’s never meant nothing.

“So,” she says, tilting her head, “are you gonna keep ignoring me, or are we past that now?”

Your pulse stutters.

Your fingers tighten around the screwdriver in your hand.

You weren’t expecting that.

For her to just say it. To acknowledge it, to drag it into the light, the weight of your silence, the way you spent months dodging her like it might actually fix you.

You scoff, shaking your head, turning back to the vent, to anything that isn’t her mouth forming words that fuck you up. “I haven’t been ignoring you.”

It’s a lie.

Paige knows it’s a lie.

She steps closer—just enough that you can feel the shift of air between you, just enough that you catch the faint scent of her shampoo, something fresh, something clean, something too close.

“You sure?” she murmurs. “Because it kinda seemed like you were.”

Your teeth clench.

She’s doing it again.

The push and pull. The little tug, just enough to make you stumble, to throw you off balance, to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with.

You exhale slowly through your nose, focus on the screw you’re twisting into place, force your voice to stay neutral. “You seemed fine with it.”

There’s a pause. Just for a beat. Just long enough that you think maybe—maybe—you landed something.

Then—soft, amused—Paige says, “You think that?”

And it’s not fair.

The way she says it, the way it slides under your skin, the way it makes your chest squeeze, makes you feel fucking stupid for believing, even for a second, that maybe she really had forgotten you.

Your fingers tighten around the screwdriver.

She’s playing with you.

And the worst part?

You let her.

You don’t turn. Don’t face her. Don’t give her the satisfaction.

But your voice is quieter when you say, “Why do you even care?”

Another pause.

Then—

“Maybe I don’t.”

Your stomach drops.

It’s so fucking typical. Just when you think she’s giving you something, just when she pulls you an inch closer, she yanks it away.

You clench your jaw, inhale sharply, force yourself to stay still.

And then—because you refuse to let her win this—you huff a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Of course.”

You finish tightening the last screw, closing the panel, standing up. You finally turn to her, tilting your head slightly, forcing something light onto your face, like you’re fine, like she isn’t doing what she always fucking does.

“Well,” you say, slipping the screwdriver back into your bag. “It’s been great catching up, but I have shit to do.”

You move to step past her.

But she shifts, blocking your path.

Not aggressively. Not obviously.

Just enough.

Just enough that you have to stop.

Just enough that you have to look at her.

Paige licks her lips, considering you, and her voice is quieter this time, almost thoughtful. “You don’t like when I do that, do you?”

Your stomach tightens.

You keep your face neutral. “Do what?”

She tilts her head slightly. “Give you something, then take it away.”

You swallow.

Because the fact that she’s saying it out loud—naming it, acknowledging it—makes your chest squeeze so hard it’s almost painful.

You force a shrug. “You do whatever you want, Paige.”

You step around her, adjusting the strap of your bag like the conversation hasn’t just sunk claws into your spine, like you aren’t already burning up from the inside out. You throw one last casual glance over your shoulder, just to make a point, just to show her this doesn’t fucking matter.

And then—

“Is he your boyfriend?”

It’s smooth, deliberate, cutting through the silence with the ease of a well-placed knife.

Your body goes rigid.

Not enough to be noticeable. Not enough to give her the satisfaction. But she notices.

You school your face into something neutral before turning back to her. “Yeah.”

The second the word leaves your mouth, Paige scoffs. Then—slow, quiet, like she’s really thinking about it—she laughs.

It’s not loud. It’s not obvious. But it hits.

It slides under your skin, needles into your chest, presses against something raw and unsettled.

You know exactly what she’s laughing at.

Not at Eli, not really.

She’s laughing at you.

At the fact that you’re standing here, pretending like that word doesn’t feel foreign in your mouth, like it doesn’t taste like something you don’t quite believe.

At the fact that you’ve spent months throwing yourself into a version of reality where he is the answer.

At the fact that she knows—she fucking knows—that if he really was, you wouldn’t be here.

Your throat tightens.

You square your shoulders. “Something funny?”

Paige shakes her head, smirk barely there, but sharp. “Nah.” A pause, her gaze flicking over you like she’s amused, like she’s bored. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”

Your fingers curl around the strap of your bag, tight enough to sting.

She tilts her head slightly. “Does he know you’re here?”

You force your jaw not to clench. “Why would it matter?”

Paige hums, the sound lazy, almost dismissive. “It wouldn’t.”

You don’t know why that lands deeper than it should, why it hits like something solid in your chest.

She doesn’t fucking care.

You exhale sharply, roll your shoulders, force yourself to act like you don’t feel like she just pressed a finger right against something bruised inside you.

“Well,” you say, tone light, detached, like this whole conversation hasn’t just put a fucking stone in your stomach, “great catching up.”

And this time, when you walk out—when you force your feet to move, when you push through the door into the cooler hallway air—you don’t look back.

You don’t have to.

Because you can still feel her there.

Still hear the low echo of her laugh.

Still fucking feel her.

And you hate that it still makes your chest tighten.

The locker room door swings shut behind you, but the conversation doesn’t leave with it.

It sticks.

It clings to your skin, coils in your stomach, presses into your ribs like something sharp and unshakable.

You walk down the hallway fast, like you can outrun the weight of her laugh in your ears, like you can erase the way she looked at you when she said that’s your boyfriend?—like the words weren’t just words, like they were something else, something heavier, something soaked in disbelief and mockery.

You should be over her by now.

But then why does your skin still burn? Why does your pulse still hammer against the inside of your wrist? Why does the way she said it—casual, unbothered, like it didn’t even fucking matter—make something in you want to break?

The night stretches out after that, long and restless. You try to study, but you can’t focus. You try to sleep, but every time you close your eyes, she’s there. Her smirk. Her scoff. The way she laughed like you were a joke. Like he was a joke.

You spend the next week avoiding places where you might run into her, avoiding anywhere that makes you feel like a live wire, avoiding thinking about her—

And it works.

Until it doesn’t.

Because the thing about Paige Bueckers is that she has a way of creeping back in, of making herself known, of pulling you back into her orbit whether you want to be there or not.

It happens at another party.

A packed house, music pulsing through the walls, the kind of night where people are drinking like they’re trying to forget something, where everything feels just a little too loud, a little too bright, a little too much.

You’re standing in the kitchen, fingers curled around a red cup, Eli close behind you, talking to someone you don’t know. His hand is warm where it rests on your hip, an absentminded touch, a casual claim.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

Until you’re not.

Until your eyes flicker past the crowd, past the shifting bodies and pulsing bass, past the open doorway—

And land right on her.

Paige is in the next room, leaning against the wall, head tilted, that lazy, practiced ease draped over her like armor. She’s watching something—someone. A girl. Pretty. Brunette. Standing too close, laughter spilling past glossy lips as she hangs on whatever Paige just said.

Paige isn’t even touching her. Doesn’t need to. Just standing there, looking, smirking, waiting. And the worst part? You know exactly what she’s doing.

Like she could have her if she wanted.

Like it’s not even a fucking question.

Your stomach knots, tight and hot. Not with jealousy—no, it’s worse than that. It’s recognition.

Because you know what it’s like to be on the other side of that look.

You know what it’s like to be wanted by her.

The ghost of it slams into you like a fist to the ribs—how it felt to have those eyes locked on you, sharp and knowing, pinning you down like a game she was already winning. How it felt when she had you right there and she knew it.

Your grip tightens around your cup, fingers digging in like it’s the only thing holding you together. Your breath stutters, the air too thick, the room suddenly too small.

She hasn’t seen you yet.

She’s too caught up in her game, too wrapped up in not caring.

So you do the same.

You force yourself to turn back to Eli, to play your part. You smile, lean into his touch, let him press his lips to your temple like it’s easy, like it’s nothing. Like it means something.

And maybe it works.

Maybe it doesn’t.

Because when you chance another glance—just for a second—

Paige is already looking at you.

And this time—

She smirks.

Slow. Deliberate. Like she’s been waiting for you to look. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she knows exactly how much space she still takes up in your fucking head.

And that’s when you snap.

You don’t think.

You move.

Your cup clatters onto the counter, liquid sloshing over the rim, but you don’t care. You slip out of Eli’s reach, push through the crowd—away, anywhere, somewhere with air that doesn’t taste like her.

Your pulse is a riot, hammering against your ribs, deafening in your ears as you shove past people pressed against walls, past laughter and voices swallowed by the music, past the tight, choking heat in your chest.

Your hands are shaking. Your breath is uneven. You need a second.

Just one fucking second to breathe—

And then—

A door swings open, and suddenly—

She’s right there.

Paige.

Still smirking.

Still looking like she has all the time in the world.

Still making your stomach feel like it’s caving in on itself.

Your chest rises and falls too fast, heat crawling up your neck, pooling low in your stomach, everywhere.

She leans against the doorway, casual as ever, the light behind her casting long shadows over the sharp angles of her face. She looks obnoxiously good, like she knows exactly how lethal she is.

She tilts her head. “What’s wrong?” she murmurs, voice low, teasing, like she already knows the answer.

And fuck her.

Fuck her for this.

For knowing you this well.

For still knowing you this well.

You shove past her, shoulder knocking against hers, but she moves at the last second, stepping just enough to block you—

And then—her hand.

Fingers curling around your wrist. Not hard. Not pulling. Just there.

You suck in a sharp breath.

She’s not holding you here. Not keeping you against your will.

But she doesn’t let go.

And neither do you.

The air between you crackles, thick, heavy, dangerous. The weight of something unsaid presses into your ribs, clinging to your skin, wrapping around you like a fucking chokehold.

Paige watches you.

And this time—

She doesn’t laugh.

She doesn’t smirk.

She waits.

And maybe—just maybe—

This time, you’re the one who moves first.

The space between you is electric, charged, something twisting tight in your chest like a live wire ready to snap. The hallway is dim, shadows stretching long against the walls, muffling the noise of the party outside, trapping you in this thing you’ve been running from for months.

Paige’s fingers are still around your wrist, not tight, not forcing—just there, anchoring you, keeping you from bolting like you probably should. Her eyes flicker over your face, searching, waiting, and fuck, you hate how easily she does this, how effortlessly she pulls you back into her gravity like you were never gone at all.

Your breath is uneven. Your pulse is pounding in your throat, but your voice is steady when you say, “What game are you playing at?”

She blinks, just once, slow and measured. Then the corner of her mouth curves, something smug, something dangerous. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Your stomach drops, rage curling up into your throat so fast it makes your vision go sharp.

You shove her.

Harder than you should, more than just frustration, more than just anger. It’s months of this—of her pushing, pulling, giving you something and then acting like it never fucking happened. It’s her laugh in the locker room, her smirk at the game, the way she looked at you through the crowd like she was daring you to react, to feel. It’s all of it—the way she still owns you and acts like she doesn’t even care.

Paige stumbles back a step, but her hand never leaves you.

Instead, she grabs your other arm, fingers tight around your biceps, steadying herself, steadying you. Her grip is firm, strong, the heat of her palms burning through your sleeves.

Her smirk is gone.

And when she speaks again, her voice is different. Lower. Rougher.

“I’m not playing at a game.”

Your breath catches.

Because it’s not cocky. It’s not teasing. It’s real.

Her hands flex slightly on your arms, like she’s bracing herself, like she needs you to hear this.

And you do.

It sinks under your skin, gets lodged somewhere between your ribs, breaks something open inside of you that you’ve been trying to keep sealed shut.

Your heart is hammering. Your whole body is buzzing, tight, waiting.

Paige is still holding you.

And she’s so fucking close.

You can feel her breath against your lips, can see the flicker in her eyes, the way her chest is rising and falling just as fast as yours.

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s both of you at the same fucking time, colliding like you were never meant to be anything but this.

Your mouths crash together, hot and desperate, months of tension unraveling all at once, burning through every nerve in your body.

Paige exhales sharply against you, hands tightening around your arms before sliding up, up, framing your face, pulling you deeper into it, like she’s afraid you might disappear again.

You fist the fabric of her hoodie, dragging her into you, needing her closer, needing more.

Her body presses against yours, her lips insistent, rough, a little reckless, like she’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

The hallway feels too small, the walls too close, your hands too desperate where they roam—her waist, her shoulders, the sharp edge of her jaw.

Paige groans softly against your mouth, and it wrecks you.

It fucking destroys you.

Because it’s real.

Because she wants this.

Because for the first time, she’s not taking it away.

You don’t stop.

Neither does she.

It’s all heat, all breath, all want. Paige’s mouth is rough, greedy, like she’s making up for every second you’ve spent apart, every time she pretended she didn’t see you, every time she smirked at you like this was just a game. Her hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt like she’d die if she let go.

You’re no better.

Your fingers fist in her hoodie, tugging her closer, dragging her against you, needing her body against yours, needing her to feel what she’s doing to you. The hallway barely exists anymore—the party, the noise, Eli—none of it fucking matters. Just her. Just her mouth, her hands, the way she kisses you like she’s starving for it.

Then, between kisses, between desperate little gasps, she murmurs it.

“I need you, baby.”

It wrecks you.

Fucking destroys you.

The word slips out easy, unthinking, raw. Not teasing, not smug, not calculated. Just real.

Your breath catches.

Paige must feel the way your body reacts, the way your nails dig into her arms, the way your hips press forward into hers, because she groans against your mouth and drags her teeth over your bottom lip.

You’re moving before you can think.

Paige is pushing you, guiding you back, back, until your shoulder blades hit a door, until she’s fumbling with the handle, barely breaking the kiss long enough to shove it open.

The room is dark, empty. Some random spare bedroom, barely furnished, barely even fucking registered because the second the door slams shut, Paige is on you again.

Her hands slide under your shirt, rough palms dragging up your ribs, fingertips pressing hard, desperate. Your breath is uneven, your body thrumming with something electric, something you can’t stop, something you don’t want to stop.

You don’t think.

You don’t need to think.

You just pull her hoodie up over her head, fingers tangling in the fabric for a second before it’s gone, discarded somewhere on the floor. Paige exhales sharply as you press into her, as your mouth moves against her jaw, down her throat, tasting, taking.

Her fingers slip into your hair, tugging just enough to make you feel it, enough to make you moan against her skin.

“Fuck,” she mutters, voice rough, breathless, like she’s unraveling, like you’re doing this to her.

You are.

And she fucking loves it.

Her hands move lower, sliding over your hips, gripping tight, like she’s anchoring herself, like she can’t stop touching you, like she’s making sure you’re real.

You kiss her again, harder, messier, pushing her back until her legs hit the edge of the bed, until you’re both toppling onto it, tangled together, all mouths and hands and heat.

Paige knows she’s winning.

You can see it in her eyes, the slow drag of them over your body, the way she takes her time, drinking in every reaction like she’s cataloging them, memorizing what makes you shiver, what makes you squirm, what makes your breath hitch in your throat.

She still likes the game.

She still likes to play.

But this time, she isn’t letting you pull away.

This time, she’s going to take everything.

Her fingers skim over your stomach, slow, teasing, just enough to make you feel it but not enough to satisfy anything. Her mouth follows, lips pressing soft, lingering kisses down, down, down, like she has all the time in the world.

Your head tilts back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut, but then she stops.

She stops completely.

The heat of her, the weight of her, everything—just gone.

Your eyes snap open, and she’s just looking at you, smug, comfortable, settled between your legs like she owns this moment, like she knows she has you right where she wants you.

Her fingers trail up your thigh, featherlight, barely there.

“You want this?”

Your stomach clenches.

She knows the answer.

She fucking knows.

You glare at her, shifting under her touch, frustrated, dizzy, so strung out you can barely think. “Paige—”

She smiles. Slow. Wicked.

And then, just as easily, “Say it.”

Your breath shudders out of you.

Because this?

This is her game.

She wants to hear you admit it. She wants to make you admit it.

She wants you to lose.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, your pulse a steady riot in your throat, in your wrists, between your legs where she still hasn’t fucking touched you.

But you can’t play this game forever.

Not when she already owns you.

Not when she already knows.

Your voice is thin when you say it.

“I want you.”

And the second the words leave your mouth—

She moves.

Paige grins, low and satisfied, and then she finally stops playing.

She knows she has you, like she’s been waiting for this moment, dragging it out, savoring every second of watching you come undone beneath her. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t give you everything all at once. No, she takes her time, letting her fingers trace the curve of your hip, pressing light, teasing kisses down your stomach, exhaling slow like she’s enjoying this, like this is just as much for her as it is for you.

You’re burning alive.

Your breath is uneven, your hands twisting in the sheets, thighs already trembling with the anticipation of her next move. But she doesn’t move—not in the way you need her to.

Instead, she just looks at you.

From between your legs, eyes dark, lips parted, expression unreadable, like she’s still deciding how she wants to do this.

Your stomach clenches.

“Paige—”

She presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate, her nails digging in just slightly when she grips your hips, holding you in place.

“Shh, baby,” she murmurs, and fuck, there it is again.

That word.

Casual, unthinking, sliding out of her mouth like she doesn’t even realize she’s saying it. Like she means it.

You shudder.

Paige notices. Of course, she does.

Her smirk curves against your skin, and then—

She finally stops playing.

The first press of her mouth sends a raw, electric jolt through you, your hips jerking up on instinct, fingers clawing into her hair like you’ll die if you let go. But she’s already moving—already fucking dragging this out like she wants you begging, like she’s savoring every second of your desperation. Her tongue flickers, slow and teasing, pressing, stroking, curling, soaking you with her hunger, her need.

She moans against your cunt like she’s been fucking starving for it. Like she’s been waiting, aching, dreaming of this moment for weeks, and now that she’s got you open beneath her, there’s no way she’s letting you go easy.

She drags it out.

Like she wants to ruin you.

Like she wants to tear you apart and put you back together with her tongue.

Your nails scrape against her scalp, hard enough to hurt, but she only groans, only pushes deeper, her tongue slipping, flicking, thrusting into the dripping heat of you. You’re gasping now, thighs trembling, back arching, breath catching in desperate, broken moans you can’t even bite back. You can feel her smirk, the way she’s reveling in it, the way she’s enjoying every single fucking sound you make for her.

Her fingers press in, spreading you, holding you open, her tongue working, her lips sucking, teasing, devouring—like she’s trying to drink every last drop of you. The obscene, wet sounds of her mouth on you make you whimper, make you grind down against her, make you clutch her hair so tight she groans into your slick heat.

Your body is shaking.

Paige tightens her grip, keeps you there, keeps you spread for her, keeps you exactly where she wants you—helpless, ruined, fucking wrecked on her tongue.

And just when you think you can’t take it anymore—just when the pleasure coils so tight in your stomach it’s about to snap—she fucking speeds up.

And you’re gone.

You don’t know if you scream her name. You don’t know if you sob it. But the pleasure detonates inside you like a fucking bomb, ripping through your body, setting every nerve on fire, leaving you shaking, gasping, falling apart beneath her mouth.

When you finally come back down—breathless, wrecked, soaked and still trembling—Paige is looking up at you from between your legs, her lips swollen, her chin glistening, her eyes dark and wicked.

Paige’s brow quirks up and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. You’re still gasping, still trembling, your body melted into the mattress, legs spread, thighs twitching from the aftershocks of what she just did to you. But she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t crawl up to lie beside you, doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath.

She licks her lips, smirks, and says, “I’m not done with you.”

And then she’s moving.

Crawling back up onto the bed, her body sliding over yours, her hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider before she finally lets her weight press down. Her skin is hot, slick, her breath heavy and sweet, her thigh slotting between yours as she pins you there beneath her.

Then she grabs your tits.

No teasing, no hesitation—she palms them, squeezes, kneads, rolling the soft flesh in her hands like she owns you, like she’s claiming every inch of you all over again. Her thumbs flick over your nipples, once, twice, before she leans down and takes one into her mouth.

The heat of her tongue, the wet pull of her lips—it makes you cry out, makes you arch into her, makes your hands fly up to grip her head as she sucks, hard, her teeth scraping just enough to make your whole body jolt.

“Fuck,” you whimper, thighs clenching around her, but she just chuckles against your skin, her mouth latching onto your other nipple, her fingers tweaking and rolling the one she just left wet and swollen.

Then her hand moves up.

She grabs your chin, tilts your face up, and before you can even process it—

She shoves her fingers into your mouth.

Her fingers, still wet from you, slip past your lips, pressing against your tongue, forcing you to taste yourself as she pushes them deeper. Your lips part around them, your tongue curling against the salty-slick heat of her touch, a soft, helpless whimper slipping from your throat.

Paige groans at the sight, eyes dark, lips parted, her fingers flexing inside your mouth before she pulls them out—

And spits.

Right into your mouth.

A hot, wet drop onto your waiting tongue, mixing with your taste, with the slickness she just forced you to swallow.

“Swallow it,” she breathes, her voice thick, rough, her fingers trailing down your throat as you do exactly what she fucking tells you.

And then her hand is between your legs again, fingers slipping through your soaked, throbbing heat, pressing in, pushing deep—

Fucking you all over again.

Paige’s fingers drive deep, knuckles sinking into the wet heat of you, her palm grinding against your swollen clit as you gasp, as you choke on the pleasure, your body arching into her touch like you can’t help it. Like you’re made for this. Made for her.

"Fuck—yeah," she groans, watching you, watching the way your body reacts to her. "You feel that? Feel how fucking good I make you take it?"

Your breath stutters, your hips rolling down against her hand, your mouth falling open, nothing but desperate little whimpers spilling from your lips.

Paige smirks, dark and wicked, pressing in deeper, curling her fingers just right, just enough to have you fucking shaking. "Bet he never got you this wet, huh?" she taunts, her voice thick with heat, with possession. "Bet he never made you moan like this."

Your fingers clutch at her shoulders, nails digging in, your head tilting back against the pillows as she fucks into you, slow but deep, deliberate, like she’s making a point. Like she’s proving something.

"You wanna lie to me?" she murmurs, lips brushing your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "Wanna tell me he’s ever made you come like this? That he’s ever had you dripping down his fingers like a desperate little slut?"

You whimper, shaking your head, unable to speak, unable to do anything but take it.

"That’s what I thought," she breathes, grinning against your throat, her teeth scraping over your pulse before she drags her tongue along your skin. "That little boyfriend of yours wouldn’t know what to do with this pussy if it fucking begged him."

She pulls her fingers out, slow and teasing, leaving you empty, aching—only to shove them back in, hard, deep, her palm slapping against your soaked skin as you sob, as you fucking fall apart.

"He ever make you scream?" she growls, fucking you rougher, faster, her fingers pressing against that spot inside you that makes your whole body jolt. "He ever make you soak the sheets like this?"

Your back bows, pleasure slamming through you, your nails raking down her back.

"You’re fucking mine," Paige groans, her mouth on your jaw, your throat, her tongue tasting the sweat on your skin. "This pussy? It’s mine now. Say it."

You barely manage to breathe out the words—"It’s yours"—before she presses her palm against your clit, her fingers curling just right, and you break.

Pleasure rips through you, white-hot and shattering, your whole body shaking, your vision going hazy as you come, as Paige fucks you through it, as she watches you, revels in it, grins like she just fucking ruined you.

And she did.

She fucking did.

——-

You wake slowly, the kind of slow that doesn’t feel like rest. The kind that feels like being pulled from something deep and heavy, like your body’s been wrung out and put back together all wrong. The sheets are soft, warm, unfamiliar, and there’s a weight draped over your hip—solid, steady, too much. Your breath stutters before your brain even catches up.

Paige.

She’s there.

Heat ghosts against the back of your neck, steady and unhurried, the rhythm of her breathing lulling, like sleep still has a hold on her. Her arm is slung around your waist, fingers curled lazily against your stomach, like she belongs there. Like she’s never left before.

And that—that is what makes your chest tighten.

Because this isn’t just some drunken mistake. This isn’t heat or tension or something you can chalk up to unresolved bullshit. This is her in your space, in your bed, in the quiet after. And she’s never stayed before.

Your pulse kicks up, your fingers twitch against the sheets. Last night slams into you all at once—the scrape of her teeth, the press of her hands, the way she looked at you, like she was done playing. Like she wasn’t giving you a choice anymore.

Your stomach clenches.

You don’t know what to do with this.

With her.

So you move, slow, careful, trying not to wake her as you shift out from under her arm. But the second you pull away, Paige stirs, her breath hitching, her grip tightening for just a fraction of a second before her eyes flutter open.

She blinks at you, still groggy, still soft, and for one, dangerous moment, she doesn’t say anything.

She just looks at you.

And you can’t breathe.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the softness vanishes.

Paige stretches, rolls onto her back, runs a hand through her hair, like she does this all the time, like she’s just woken up from any other night, not this one.

“Morning,” she mutters, voice rough with sleep.

You swallow, force yourself to move, force yourself to sit up and swing your legs off the bed. You don’t look at her.

“Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “Morning.”

You feel her watching you.

Feel her waiting.

For what, you don’t know.

But when you stand, reaching for your clothes, Paige finally speaks again.

“You leaving?”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt.

You could stay. You could let this morning linger, let whatever this is stretch out just a little longer.

But the longer you stay, the harder it’ll be to pretend like this isn’t something.

So you nod, still not looking at her. “Yeah.”

Paige exhales through her nose, shifts behind you, and you expect her to let it go, to brush it off like she always does.

Instead—

“You gonna tell him?”

Your stomach drops.

You don’t need to ask who she means.

Eli.

The name rings in your head like a warning, like something cold and sharp, and you hate that she’s the one who brought it up, that she’s the one forcing you to look at it when you were this close to just leaving without dealing with the weight of it.

You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second before turning to face her.

Paige is propped up on one elbow now, watching you with something unreadable in her expression, like she’s testing you, like she’s seeing if you’ll break first.

You lick your lips, pulse hammering. “That’s none of your business.”

Paige’s lips twitch, and for a second, you think she’s going to let it go.

But then—

She scoffs. Shakes her head. Leans back against the headboard with a lazy, almost bored kind of smirk.

“Right. Forgot you’re still playing house with him.”

Your whole body goes rigid.

She’s doing it again.

Tugging at you, pushing you, seeing what you’ll do.

Your jaw clenches, fingers fisting into the hem of your shirt. “I’m not playing anything.”

Paige hums, unconvinced. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Something inside you snaps.

Because how dare she?

How dare she act like you’re the one playing games when she’s the one who ignored you for three months? When she’s the one who smirked at you across a fucking stadium like she knew she had you? When she’s the one who—

You exhale sharply, shaking your head, forcing yourself to breathe.

This is exactly what she wants.

So you don’t give it to her.

You pull your shirt over your head, reach for your shoes, straighten up.

Then, voice even, you say, “This didn’t mean anything, right?”

It’s a test.

You can see the flicker in her eyes, the quick way her throat bobs as she swallows.

But it’s gone in an instant.

Paige shrugs, casual, careless, like she’s already over it.

“Right,” she echoes. “Just a good time.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t know what answer you wanted, but that—

That wasn’t it.

You nod once, sharp, then turn for the door.

And this time, you don’t fucking stop.

The door slams behind you, the force of it rattling down your spine, but you don’t stop moving.

You storm down the hallway, your breath sharp, hands curled into fists, every nerve in your body buzzing like a live wire. You don’t let yourself think. Thinking would mean feeling, and you can’t—won’t—give her that.

Not after what she just said.

Not after this didn’t mean anything, right?

Not after she agreed with you.

Just a good time.

That’s all it was. That’s all she wants.

You push through the front door, stepping into the cold air outside, your breath coming fast, too shallow, like you just ran ten miles. You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie, fingers curling against the fabric, trying to ground yourself, trying to—

Your phone rings.

Or at least, you think it’s your phone.

The vibration against your palm jolts you, and you pull it out, ready to decline the call, ready to shut the entire fucking world out.

But then—

You see the name.

Taylor.

Your breath catches.

Your chest tightens.

The cold bites at your skin, but suddenly, it’s like everything else stops.

Because this isn’t your phone.

This isn’t your hoodie.

You look down at yourself, the oversized sleeves, the familiar weight of the fabric, the scent clinging to it—her scent.

Paige’s hoodie.

Paige’s fucking phone.

And Taylor is calling.

Your stomach lurches.

Right back where you started.

The phone keeps ringing, vibrating steadily in your hand, demanding something from you that you can’t give.

You stare at the screen, at the name that shouldn’t be your problem, at the proof of what Paige just walked away from.

And something inside you snaps.

You spin on your heel, shoving back through the front door, retracing your steps, moving fast, fueled by something you don’t even have a name for.

You don’t knock.

You don’t hesitate.

You shove the door open, expecting her to be there, expecting her to still be sitting on that bed with her legs spread and that fucking look on her face, smug and satisfied and untouchable.

But she’s gone.

Just fucking gone.

Like she was never here at all.

The phone stops ringing.

Silence.

You stand there, chest heaving, hoodie too big on you, your fingers still curled around a phone that doesn’t belong to you.

The phone is still warm in your hand.

It shouldn’t matter. It’s just a piece of plastic, just a screen with a name that shouldn’t be your problem. But it is. The weight of it presses against your palm, solid and damning, the name Taylor burned into your retinas, a fucking mockery of everything that just happened.

Paige left.

Vanished like this was nothing, like she didn’t just dig her fingers into you and pull you under, like she didn’t just whisper your name against your skin, like she didn’t just look you in the eye and say just a good time before slipping away like a fucking ghost.

Like she didn’t just ruin you.

And if she thinks she gets to walk away from this untouched—

She’s wrong.

Your feet move before your brain even catches up, before you can think about how reckless this is, before you can stop yourself from doing exactly what she wants. Because you already know where she is.

Where she always is.

The athletic facility is quieter than usual this late at night, the halls dimly lit, silent except for the distant hum of vending machines and the soft squeak of your shoes against the polished floors. But the second you push through the doors to the locker room—

The silence shatters.

Laughter.

Voices overlapping, casual, easy, still thrumming from practice, still buzzing with energy. The kind of normalcy that makes your blood boil, because your world is fucking spinning and yet—

She’s here.

Paige is here.

Leaning against the lockers, towel draped around her neck, a lazy grin curling at her lips as she listens to something one of the girls is saying. Loose. Relaxed. Unbothered.

Like she didn’t just leave you standing in the wreckage she made.

Heat slams into your ribs, a pulse of something violent and ugly crackling under your skin. Your fingers tighten around the phone, nails digging in, breath sharp and unsteady. And before you even fully register what you’re doing—

You move.

The door swings shut behind you with a slam, the force of it cutting through the noise, making heads turn, making conversation die mid-sentence.

Paige doesn’t move.

Doesn’t flinch.

But her shoulders go rigid for half a second before she shifts—casual, calm, fucking unhurried.

Like she already knows it’s you.

Like she felt you coming before she even looked.

And when she finally does—

The smirk is already forming.

Already settling into place like armor. Like a mask. Like she thinks she still has control of this.

But she doesn’t.

You stop in front of her, too close, way too close, enough to make the other girls shift where they stand, enough to make the laughter fully die out, enough to make the air feel thick.

Paige stays leaned against the lockers, pretending, but her eyes flicker over you, sharp and calculating.

Assessing.

Waiting.

So you don’t make her wait long.

You lift the phone, hold it up between you. Let her see it. Let her know why you’re here.

And then—voice low, rough, barely steady under the weight of your fucking anger—

“You think you can just fuck me and play me while your girlfriend still calls?”

The reaction is instant.

The shift in the room is immediate.

Someone swears under their breath. One of the girls lets out a quiet oh, shit. Another shifts awkwardly, eyes darting between you and Paige like they just walked into a fucking war zone.

But you don’t look at any of them.

You only see her.

And Paige—

For the first time, she doesn’t have a comeback.

Her lips part slightly. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Her fingers twitch just slightly around the towel slung over her shoulder.

It’s subtle.

Barely there.

But you see it.

The hesitation.

The way she’s trying to catch up to you, trying to find the right move, trying to figure out how to pull back control.

But there isn’t one.

Because this time, you’re the one leading.

This time, she’s the one who doesn’t know what to say.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, pressing into your ribs, into your throat, into her.

Then—slowly—Paige exhales through her nose, shifts against the lockers, expression smoothing into something blank, something unreadable.

She tilts her head slightly, eyes flickering over your face, voice deceptively soft when she says—

“You done?”

Your stomach twists.

Not with pain. Not with embarrassment.

With rage.

Because she isn’t sorry.

She isn’t guilty.

She’s just pissed that you called her out in front of them.

Your grip tightens around the phone, your pulse hammering in your ears, and for a second, you think about throwing it at her.

Then, just as quickly, you step forward—lean in close, so only she can hear—

And whisper, voice like a knife—

“You’re a fucking coward.”

Paige’s jaw locks.

Her whole body tenses.

And that—

That’s how you know you landed a hit.

You hold her gaze a second longer, long enough to make sure she felt it, long enough to see the way her breath catches, the way her fingers twitch, the way she’s fighting to stay still.

Then—

Without waiting for a response—

You shove the phone against her chest.

She catches it automatically, fingers closing around it, but she doesn’t look down.

She just looks at you.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes sharp, dark, burning.

You should look away first.

You should be the one to turn and walk out.

But you don’t.

You hold her gaze.

Daring her.

Challenging her.

Waiting.

For what, you don’t fucking know.

But you can feel it.

Feel something shifting, feel something breaking, feel something coming.

And for the first time—

You think Paige might feel it, too.

But then—

She swallows.

Nods once.

Slips the phone into her pocket like it doesn’t matter.

Then—voice low, smooth, too fucking even—

She says, “See you around.”

Like this was nothing.

Like she didn’t just lose.

Like she’s already planning how to fucking win.

This is war.

749 notes · View notes

sugarverse · 4 months ago

Text

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

thirdyear!izuku x bitchy!black reader

synopsis: Izuku and you are forced to work together for a midterm project, and you're bent on not helping the nerd finish it.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: words like slut, cumdump are used to be degrading but nothing too far out oc, a petty slap on the cheek and thats about it? could possibly also tag as dubcon just in case, enjoy!

Izuku has known you since a little before joining uni. He was invited to move in early under the honors program along with Katsuki. Other groups who were also invited to join early were fall athletes, greek sororities and fraternities, and people in majors that take longer than 8 years to finish. As if an academic rival, hotheaded, bully from younger years wasn't enough.. you came along.

You had always had a class or two with him. Whether it be preliminary classes or your third year science credit. He doesn’t know why you don't like him, always calling him names just loud enough for him to hear or purposely shutting the door on him in pouring rain.. but the day he saw you at the buffet talking and laughing with Katsuki? His life was over. You made it hell. He thought you were so pretty when he first saw you.. but you were just such. a bitch.

Katsuki didn't have the same timed honors classes but slept in the same building. If he really wanted to avoid him, he could go to the library or study in one of the cafes. Then again there was the rec center.. or he could stay with a friend, even. But you. He couldn’t avoid you. No matter how hard he tried.

He'd catch himself staring at the door until you came in, seeing your hair done in different styles and colors but still be so gorgeous. you could pull everything off. there was also this shiny pink lip gloss you started wearing.. It frustrated him how much he thought about how soft they’d feel against his skin, He's never pined after a girl this long. Sure he's had girlfriends over the years, but you lingered in the back of his mind. And you thought of him like dirt under your BAPEs.

You were hardly ever late, walking in a few minutes before class starts to set up your computer, drink if you decided you wanted one that morning, and switch your music playlist over. The class itself was pretty easy, not too many essays or homework assignments. It was more projects and group discussions than anything, which was probably the only real frustrating thing about this class. As the last few people struggled through the door, the professor started writing on the board.

MIDTERMS.

fuck.

“This is the last project before midterms. you will be graded on..” You drowned him out, rubbing your temples as the mention of midterms came up. Another fucking project? Are you serious? Honors kids never really learned to.. well. play, very well with others. Mostly stuck up kids were pretty disconnected from real life because their mommies and daddies paid to get them into the dorms and therefore, classes, with average Bs and Cs. The other half of the class had their heads so far up their asses there wasn’t ever a moment they weren’t passive aggressive or came off in an ‘i’m right you’re wrong’ tone. The class let out a groan everytime he announced some dumbass idea like this but he still continues. what the fuck is my life??

You sigh to yourself, rubbing your lips together as you begin to pick at the little jewels on your nails. Was it worth it to just do the entire thing by yourself so you aren't depending on anyone? No reason to get docked another few times because someone can't finish their half. This shit was pointless. The frequent ice breakers were pointless. You knew most of these people already and-

“Mr. Midoriya and Miss L/n, Miss Teller and Miss Barnes, Mr. Andrews and..” Once again you drowned out your professor's words, eyes darting over to Izuku who was staring at your teacher gobsmacked. He could feel his face burn, jaw slightly slack before shutting it nervously. He glanced over at you to see if you had been paying attention, smiling at you and giving a small pathetic wave.

You squinted daggers at him, biting the corner of your mouth before giving a sympathy smile and turning to the assignment on the laptop. I guess it wasn't too horrible.. realistically I can make him do the work and spend the time doing more important work like studying for my major..

the mumbling, the stuttering, always staring, always being the first to leave for a quiz. it wasn't until you saw his name over and over again that it was a real problem. try hards are annoying. lucky for you, this one's a pussy.

As class ended, you packed your things and headed towards the door to leave. Izuku quickly caught up with you, snaking his way through the crowd of people leaving the lecture hall. “Where'd you want to um.. to meet up? Or when-”

you cut him off before he could go spouting at the mouth. “Not worth the effort, I have more important shit to do over the next few weeks than work on some lame project. Do it for the both of us, We both know you have nothing better to do.” You continue walking away from him and onto your next class.

He stands for a moment, sighing and flatting his lips together. It shouldn't be too hard to do..right?

He debated. this. repeatedly. He really didn't want to bother, but he needed your help. He had shit to do this week! Laundry was piling up, he hasn't been going to the gym as frequent, other classes and midterms on top of the project. But every time he tried to confront you about your attitude, you have some comeback or degrading thing to say.. You bat your dumb long lashes and smack your lip gloss against your lips. He hated how fast he gave up arguing back.. it made his pants a little too tight and his eye twitch from hell. However, he was not doing this by himself. He had a rough week as it was and he's tired of letting you push him around.

He knocked on your door the Sunday before it was due, listening to you shuffle around your room before opening the door in some short shorts and one of those girly tank tops with a small bow in the middle. He couldn’t help but stare at your bare collarbone, used to seeing your name littered across it with gold jewelry before his verdant eyes quickly averted themselves back to your sharp gaze. Before he could stutter out his reasoning for being there first, or even say hello, you spoke.

“What is it?” You scratched the top of your bonnet, yawning quietly. You slip a hand under your shirt to scratch at your stomach, watching the flustered man in front of you watch your every move just to dart his attention somewhere deeper into your apartment. “If it’s about that stupid project, i’d rather rot in hell than work with you.”

“It’s due tomorrow y/n, can’t we just get it done? I’ve done more than.. I wanna say seventy percent of it? But I have a life too you know-” He’s cut off by your laughter, watching you turn and head back to your couch. You left the door open for him to come in if he was really serious. which was a pretty low chance that he was. you guys have played this game before.

“That’s a really funny joke, izuku. ‘I have a life’, ha!” you tease, plopping onto your cushions and grabbing the remote.

“I know you have nothing better to do than school work, if you’re so close to done, finish it. I already made my own, virgin.” you fibbed, you started your own, but of course this was the one project you needed to genuinely depend on someone else. you unpaused your show, waiting to hear him shut the door in defeat.

Izuku stood in the doorway for a beat, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking in. He respectfully took his shoes off at the before shutting the door roughly behind him.

“Can you please.” He heard his voice begin to rattle with anger, taking a deep breath in and sighing before speaking once more.

“Can we just get this project done? Please.” The straps of his bag burned into his hand as he gripped it with vigor. He tried his best to control himself, watching you flinch at the shut of the door but at least he had your legitimate attention.

“Please stop making this harder than it has to be.” He stared down at you, his tone slowly fixing itself. He didn't want to be an asshole.

But he was serious. You weren't scared, but you did kinda feel bad. Normally picking and poking didn't make him too upset. He was pretty used to it by now. He sounded actually upset for the first time in a long time. You felt something in your brain tell you to finish this stupid thing, motioning to set up at the dining room table. you watched him set his bag down, listening to his anything but quiet muttering. “Thank you for not being a stubborn bitch, y/n..”

oh??

oh???

“What did you say?” you turned your television off, tossing the remote on the couch before storming over to him.

“Speak up. You got somethin to say in my fucking apartment then say it to my face, Loser ass bitch.” He was sitting down with almost everything out on the table, looking down into his bag to grab a few more things out from the bottom. You slammed your hand on the table as you spoke, the other hand resting on your hip as you tilted your head to the side. You wanted to see who the fuck he was talking to.

“I said,” He turned his body to face yours, face burning red from irritation with a prominent look of annoyance on his face. “Thank you for not being a stubborn. Bitch. All you have done the past few weeks is make it incredibly difficult to get something done that I know we can do in two days. Stop making this harder than it has to be. I’ve seen you on about every story any. time. Theres some fucking party. You have nothing better to be doing than sitting down and working.”

“What a fucking weirdo, you stalkin’ me now, Izuku? Nothin better to do than look for me on niggas snapchat?” You swipe the papers he set up off of your dining room table like a cat, not caring how close to being set up he was.

Come to think of it. The only parties you really went to were the ones Katsuki and his friends threw, the last two had been a tailgating party and someone's birthday but..

You smile, lowering yourself to be eye to eye with him. Your words came out dripping with honey but still so sour. “Is this because I hang out with ‘suki? You jealous I got my mind on someone other than you and making your life miserable, wimp?”

Your voice died out in your throat as he stood up, snatching your jaw hard enough to establish he meant business. You felt yourself trip forward slightly from a little tug, his blush pink lips twitching as if they wanted to smirk instead of looking so mean.

“Mention him or say one more thing about how im a ‘loser’ or a ‘virgin’ again, and i'll make you forget how to walk. Keep it up, y/n. I am not in the fuckin’ mood for your bitter. shit.” He watched your facial expression change, praying his hard on wouldn't poke your thigh as you two stood incredibly close to each other.

He was far from wimpy looking.. six foot four, athletic build, and freckles covered his face. He was attractive, smart, just never hung out with the people you hung out with. You knew that. But it didn't stop the names, or the picking. He never really tried to stop you, maybe when you'd take it too far but more often than not he'd just sit and look at you and.. well, listen.

You bit your bottom lip softly, blinking a few times before staring up at him with half lidded eyes. “Take the bitter taste from my mouth then.. Talkin’ a lot of game for someone who looks like he’s gotten pussy maybe, twice in his life?” The confidence in your voice had definitely faltered, It’s not like you haven't imagined riding this dummy until the sun came up. Hes just so fucking annoying. it would be incredibly satisfying to watch his damn near virgin ass cream under you. you just weren't expecting him to be so..

Shoving his lips against yours and mumbling your train of thought, Izuku pulled you close before snaking a hand down to grope your ass. You yelp in response, tangling your hand into his messy green curls. He walked you backwards until your legs nudged against the couch, hands roaming to touch what they could of your skin. He's wanted to for so long.

You slide next to the arm of the couch, whining softly when he pulls his lips from yours. He motioned down to the floor, watching you grab a pillow from the couch and set it under your knees. Finally speaking again, He starts untying his drawstrings. “I don't wanna hear anything out of you, we clear?”

“crystal, in fact, anything for-”

smack!

“What part of ‘I don’t want to hear anything out of you’ don’t you get? Is it too hard for you to comprehend?” He mocked your pout, continuing to speak as he tugged his joggers and boxers down to his knees. “Fleshlights don’t talk. Especially after how you treated me for so long.” He mumbled the last part, tugging his clothing down to his mid thigh.

Your eyes teared up from shock, not pain. He didn't hit hard, but it did leave a small sting on your cheek. You felt your back straighten, looking up at him with pleading eyes before muttering out a small apology.

is that how quick you'd give yourself up? He thought to himself, pink tip now sitting in front of your lips as it glistened with pre-cum. is this how easy it was all along? “Stick your tongue out. Too late to be sorry.”

You slide your tongue out slowly, staring up at him as you blinked the tears out of your eyes. he almost felt.. bad. was he being too mean? he tapped his tip against your tongue a few times, watching you move forward on your own to take him in your mouth.

...maybe not mean enough.

He positioned his hands behind your head, making a makeshift ponytail before pulling you closer to his groin. He stared down at you, letting out a small groan before sighing in relief. He began to guide you along his cock dreadfully slow, watching your eyes fill with tears. He let out a soft chuckle.

“Ah.. for as much as I hear you run your mouth, your pretty good at shutting the fuck up too. Use that tongue too, slut.” He let out a few moans under shaky breath, smirking and leaning his head back. You let your jaw go slack so he could use your throat how he wanted, trying to focus on the most important thing. breathing. Tears stream down your cheeks, trying your hardest not to gag against his cock.

“Gonna cum on your face..so y-..you’ll remember this and how fucking disgusting you really are.” He rutted into your throat sloppily, pulling away after you tapped his thigh a few times. He watched spit drip down your chin, hand going to rub his thumb over his tip.

You gasp to catch your breath, putting a hand on the ground and the other on your chest. Saliva had dripped down to your shirt, letting out a few coughs. You rub your tears away, wiping your chin. "Who knew someone like y..you could be so big n mean.." You look up at him, feeling the release of your hair.

“Suck my dick like I showed you and I won’t have to be mean.” His face was red and sweaty, cock twitching in his hand from the coolness of your apartment. You nod, moving your hand to help you keep up with such a messy pace he had.

You whimpered, hearing him degrade you even further. He called you a free use whore, a cumdump.. noticing the way your thighs clenched together before hovering a hand behind your head. He watched you quicken your pace, a whiny moan leaving his mouth when your tongue swirled over the nerves in his tip.

He shivered, breath getting shaky before pulling away from you to finish over your lips and watching the mess cover your face. His hard-on twitched as he let out a sighing in somewhat relief. there's no way that he was still going, right?

“Get on the couch,” He said in a calmly, panting and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He watched you scramble to get up, sitting on the couch and attempting to clean your own face before feeling him snatch your jaw up into his hand.

“Ready to finally do our fucking work? or does your slutty cunt want attention now?” He laughed at how disheveled you looked, feeling the wetness under your chin leak onto his hand.

you blink the tears from your eyes, trying to stutter out your response before he spoke for you. “Dumb Whore. Bet you do. You get to cum on my fingers first,”

You let out a whine whether volintarty or not, seeing his lip twitch into a small smirk. “What? My fingers aren't enough?” He moved ro rub at your clit, classused fingers pressing against you in slow circles.

“Whine all you want, You don't deserve anything more than my fingers.” He growled out, standing between your legs and opening them wider with his own. How embarrassing, to be folded up on the couch by someone you ‘hated’ so bad.

“Be lucky if I let you cum at all.” He tugs your panties to the side, dipping two fingers into you and curling them a few times. “Holy shit.. You’re soaked.” He spoke half in genuine shock and astonishment, half to degrade you. He lifted your leg to rest on his hip, pulling your panties down just enough to where he could rub your clit with his thumb and slid his fingers back in.

You squeak, knee nudging into his side as you twitch and squirm against his fingers in pleasure. They were thick, curling and poking at that spot deeper than you thought they'd go. He still looked irritated as ever, but there was definitely also a look of admiration in his eyes. He seemed to be focusing, moving his fingers faster before making a scissoring motion with his fingers.

It was a lot, cocoa-colored eyes trying to blink the tears away that wouldn't stop forming in your eyes. “iii...izu!!” you plead, back pressing even harder into your couch as he basically climbed on top of you to finger fuck you. “It’s too muuuch- sensitive!” you tried pushing his hand from your clit only to be met with his other hand pinning it next to you.

“I bet kacchan doesn't do this to you.. Make you feel this good..” And there was that constant muttering under his breath. It wasn't hard to understand it when he was in such close proximity to you, but maybe he assumed you couldn't hear him. was he really boasting to you or himself..?

no. he was jealous. you concluded, deciding to run your mouth a little, a small smirk forming onto your plump lips. you haven't done anything with katsuki and it wasn’t really on your list to fuck community dick. but if that's what izuku thought, so be it.

“M.. makes me feel be..better!” you struggle to say, feeling him pull his fingers from your sopping cunt. you feel the knot that had been building up so quickly start to dissipate, an annoyed huff leaving your lips in response. His smirk turned into a disappointed frown, gritting his teeth before letting your wrist go and pinning your knees to your shoulders with, frankly, big hands.

“I’m gonna hit your cervix till you’re shaking,” He stated, lining his tip up before sliding into you with one big thrust. you felt your thighs ache, the warmth of his cock making you shiver. you felt full, closing your eyes tight and pushing at the arm that pinned your legs down. you wanted to hold onto him, bite, do anything to calm down how good it felt. It was overwhelming in the best way.

He slammed into you, pulling back slowly just to slam even harder into you. His lips curled back into a smirk, watching your body jolt and moving his arms to rest on either side of you. He felt you embrace him, legs trying to wrap themselves around him. He smiled into your shoulder, thrusting faster into you.

“iiizuuu.. nnghh.. h-hah please..” you pleaded, clenching around him. “ ‘m s.. ngh sorry. ‘M sorrryyyy, izu.. I am!! “ your nails raked down his shirt, gripping onto the fabric as your eyes began to roll back in pleasure.

“Now you’re sorry?” He asks into your shoulder, pulling back to move your heels onto his shoulders. He gave slow thrusts, staring down at you and your attempts to catch your breath. you nod as if your life depended on it, feeling your orgasm get closer and closer.

He moves a hand to rub over your clit quickly, watching you writhe in pleasure before continuing to thrust into you. You were seeing stars.. so much so you ended up squirting on his t-shirt. He laughs a bit, breaking into a moan as he pulls out of you. He jerked the tip of his cock for a few seconds, cumming and ruining your shirt in return.

Letting out a worn out but soft sigh, Izuku sat next to you tiredly. you try to blink yourself back into reality, feeling gross with all of the different.. hormones. That happened to land on you and your clothing. “If you ruined my c..couch you get me a new one, nerd..” you huff out, sitting up and leaning onto his shoulder.

He leaned his head into your touch, hand wrapping around your waist. “Do you want my help to the bathroom so you can clean off?” He also needed to, but knew no way around your apartment and wasn't exactly gonna just leave you like this to search for one.

you nod, leaning into his bicep as he helped you towards your bathroom to strip you both of your soiled clothes. The project could wait another hour or so, right?

©if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

have a good day/night/whatever!

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potofsoup · 9 months ago

Note

i love your fourth of july comics every year but this years feels extremely optimistic about biden’s abilities in the face of him letting roe get overturned and funding a gen*cide at worst or letting it happen at best by taking the bare minimum of regulatory action… i mean can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands? and how do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?

Hihi! Thank you for reading and enjoying my July 4th comics every year! I am in a non-US airport en route to a month-long trip in a place with sketchy internet, so sorry in advance for sloppiness in my response (and potentially going radio silent).

But:

I don't think he "let" Roe get overturned, since that was the Supreme Court's overwhelming conservative majority, which really started with Mitch McConnell refusing to approve Obama's appointee and forcing it into a 2016 election issue. The fact that Trump got to appoint 3 Supreme Court Justices is what got us here.

Re: Biden and the Israel/Hamas war ... on the one hand, there's definitely more that he could have done, but on the other hand, they are a whole other country over there. It's Hamas that initiated the Oct 7 attacks and took the hostages. It's Netanyahu and his right-wing government who decided to retaliate to such extreme extent. Biden can talk about how he would really like Netanyahu to stop fighting and step down, but at the end of the day that's not his call, any more than he can stop the Sudan fighting that is near-genocidal either.

So, to come to your question #1: "Can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands"?

For me, it's a resounding YES. Guyz, he has passed so much good domestic policies. My spouse works in green energy and the passing of the Inflation Reduction Act halved his anxiety and gave him legitimate hope. The tumblr post I linked to in my comic has links to many of the other great things that Biden has done. Tbh I voted for him in 2020 because "a moldy onion is still better than Trump", and I've been pleasantly surprised. Like how he tried to cancel student loans, the Supreme Court overturned it, and then he came back 6 months later with a different way to do it that didn't lead to a court challenge.

Is he perfect? Hell no. There's tons of stuff that I wish he did more about, or he went further on, but also he's just one guy heading one branch of government who is heading into an election year. (Just like FDR promising not joining WWII, while behind the scenes doing all the Lend-Lease Act stuff). And "the people" have lots of demands, many of them conflicting.

I'd also like to push at the unspoken part of your question... "Can he really be trusted to do the right thing..." compared to whom? Because right now the answer is "compared to Trump." And compared to Trump... I don't even trust Trump to respect the results of a legitimate election. Heck, he might just take his favorite state secrets, sell them to the highest bidder (or just show them off to someone for funzies), and then claim Presidential immunity. A decent Democrat who got stuff done vs someone who probably wants to pardon himself and all his friends and do Project 2025 stuff is not even on the same level. (Do I wish that there was a viable Democratic alternative to Biden? Sure! But who?) Heck, at this point -- imagine if it's Kamala Harris vs. Trump. Who would you vote for?

As for your question #2: "How do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?"

We don't. But also what can we do besides showing up to vote?

Actually, I need bullet points for this:

The 2022 midterm elections brought in fewer-than-expected election-deniers into crucial electoral offices at the state level, which means that hopefully most state electoral boards will continue to have integrity

Yes, voting is harder but at least we can still vote. So it's about getting out there and getting your vote counted. For some states, it involves waiting in 8 hour lines. For some states, it involves bringing 2 forms of ID. Document. Track. Make sure it's dropped off in a real ballot box and not a fake one. Don't believe messaging that the voting is happening on a different day or location, etc.

A 50.1% majority is easily challenged. A 55% majority, less so. Which means getting people out to vote.

The more people know about and think about the reality of a second Trump term (versus being disappointed by a Biden term), the more they will be motivated to vote against Trump.

Finally, let's be real here: I'm braced for a 2nd Trump term. That said:

I'm still going to go and vote for Biden, because the only way to prevent a 2nd Trump term is to vote.

A Trump term where either the House or Senate is controlled by the Democrats will be *very* different from a clean Republican sweep.

Even with a clean Republican sweep on the federal level, States have so much more power now, and voting the state level stuff will help shore up Democratic goals for the future. States get to draw voting districts however they want. States get to decide on abortion policies. If you live in a deep Red state, there still might be things to vote for that make it easier to live in now, and turn it purple a few elections down the line.

So at the end of the day, it's "Vote AND". Vote and keep living your best life. Vote and tell others about Project 2025. Vote and have hope. Even if Trump wins, at least you'll have voted against him. Vote and stay to build up a progressive wave for the next election.

#long ranty reply oops #fun fact: my congressional district had a tied vote during the primaries... so literally every vote counted #and then was recounted and one person pulled ahead by <25 votes i think

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imdoingsortagay · 6 months ago

Text

And They Were Roommates

Summary: Rio get's a roommate in you and suddenly she can't function.

Warnings: Smut so 18+ , Rio doing suspicious shit, Top!Rio Vidal, Bottom!reader, pet names with this women, biting, some fluff, aftercare ( because it's important),

Word count: 3.4k

a/n: i was gonna spend a good week on this fic fuck it you get it now because my professors are already on midterm talk. also thank @yourlocalsaiko for the funny ask comment they left on the sneak peek of this for influencing me to finish this. And also happy birthday to @harknessdoll. If this does good maybe a part 2 or little series ????? who knows

Happy reading

Renting a small cottage in the middle of the woods, well not middle maybe like 10 miles away from town seemed like a good idea at the time. No having to deal with noisy neighbors, having a cute little driveway to not share with anyone and not to mention not being woken up to traffic.

It sounded like the perfect thing until you heard a loud bang that woke you from your slumber, who in the fuck was in your cottage.

“ Fucking hell,” you mumble to yourself. Good thing Kate had recommended buying that bat incase anyone came in, bedtime you do need to actually buy a weapon of some sort or at least invest in some security. The noise gets louder as you make your way to the kitchen, hear what seems to be a lady humming a tune while she’s looking for something to eat in the fridge.

“ You leave for a couple of years to explore and someone can think they can just move in ? In my cottage? In my home?” She mumbles to herself.

“ IM RENTING THIS PLACE YOU ASS” you yell as you try to hit her but her reflexes are faster than you. The lady quickly grabs the bat from you, throwing it somewhere in the kitchen but what she doesn’t expect you to do is bite her back.

“ OWWWWWWWWWWW”

Your smile fades quickly when the intruder quickly pins you to the kitchen floor preventing you from moving or biting her again.

“ Who the fuck are you and why are you even in my house” She asks you

“ Someone posted this place on a realtor site to rent and he’s been renting it to me for the past 6 months,” you explain,” can you let me go now, I promise not to bite you again I swear”.

“ Just cause I might have abandoned this place 40 years ago doesn’t mean some stupid man can come and rent it to some random person,” she tells you.

“ Does this mean I need to find another place to live?” You say after a bit of silence which makes the woman giggle. She felt bad that you didn’t know this was her home but it had been years since she had shared her place with anyone besides her ex partner.

“ If you give me whoever rented this place from you I might let you stay,” she pauses a bit ,” whatever your name is “.

“ Y/n and no totally will do that, he kind of gave me the ick when he was showing me places too. Like he recommended me this house in New Jersey but the vibe was off so I said no then he was flirting with me way too-“ the mystery woman covers your mouth to prevent you from yapping anymore.

“ Gonna visit this man right away in the morning y/n, he sounds terrible,” and she leaves you to head to the other bedroom,”

“ Wait what’s your name ?”

“ Rio,” she pauses dramatically ,” Rio Vidal, have a goodnight babe”.

________________________

After the weird encounter with Rio, she had left around 9am to go talk with Anthony the realtor, not telling you anything else besides a bye. Left you with the cottage for most of the day to finish some emails for work, clean up the mess from late in the night and even make a chicken soup for Rio, or at least for you if she didn’t eat meat. Just as a thank you for not kicking her.

“ Get Norm the email about next month’s projection sales,” you read around to nobody inside, wondering when she’d come back.

She’s a grown ass woman who looks like she can easily defend herself. There’s no need to worry where she might be going. Rio has known you for less than half a day I doubt she’s gonna tell you her whereabouts.

“ God that man is such a crybaby,” Rio announces as you hear the door open, pushing the relief away when she comes towards the kitchen to the smell of chicken soup. It smelled really good, she forgot how it was to not be the only person in this home or at least have someone even cooking at all.

Rio sees you in the kitchen, trying your very best to act chill around.

“ Here’s this back, I took care of Bob for you, “ she casually tells you as she goes towards the stove to serve herself some soup.

“ What do you mean ‘ take care of bob ‘ Rio? “

“ Don’t worry about it babe” and when you look in the bad you find a large amount of money.

“ All your rent money from the past couple of months from that fucking idiot” rio explains , you were gonna ask either way.

“ so does this mean you’re kicking me out ? I can pay rent don’t worry or if not I can try to find another place to move to since this is your house and all”.

Rio thinks about it. On one hand , she’s had this house for hundreds of years so there’s no need for you to pay rent. But on the other hand, you really didn’t know that this was her house so it would be rude to expect you to leave so soon.

You were a little cute after all so this could work in her way if she wanted.

“ I’ll let you stay on one condition,” you nod, too afraid to say anything due to her very serious demeanor.

“ Keep doing what you’ve been doing around the place, don’t disturb me when I’m in my room and when I need a favor you do it,” she states. Should be simple enough for you to follow.

“ You got it pretty ?”

“ Yes “

“ Yes what ? “

“ Yes Ma’am?” You say more as a question than a statement.

“ Good job honey” she coos, paying close attention to the way that you blushed a bit being called the pet name.

————

“ What the fuck are you even doing up at 7am?”

“ Good morning to you too princess,” she says as you walk into the kitchen, your slumber being interrupted by whatever she was doing inside. 8am was enough time for you to get ready for work, especially since you do remote work for the most part.

It’s only been a day since Rio had let you stay and to stay the change was a bit weird for you was an understatement.

Both of you have mostly been lightly joking with each other half of the time, maybe a bit of flirting to be honest but she’s pretty cute. Doesn’t help that she’s always calling you all these pet names.

“ Breakfast is on the table babe,” you see a perfectly set plate on the table for you,” based on what you had stocked up in the fridge”.

“ Thank you Rio,”.

“ No problem hot stuff” she says in the sweetest tone, leaving you alone in the kitchen to question what she might have planned.

———————

One week living with Rio and so far, she’s been wonderful as a roommate. Helps with dishes when you make dinner, keeps the living room spotless, a little loud at night but nothing you can’t handle.

For a Saturday night, Rio was unsure why you decided to spend it at home and not out like most humans would do.

“ Reading a book and enjoying some wine ? Boring “, Rio announces as she walks into the living room in her casual fit. Choosing to wear an oversized t shirt of hers and simple pair of shorts.

“ It’s too far for me to go out rio,” you tell the woman sitting next to you, not bothering to tell her to move. It felt kind of nice to have the other woman sit next to you and not just a pillow of yours like most of the time.

“ Awe someone as pretty as you doesn’t ever go out?” She coos.

“ Not when it’s again, way too far to travel to a bar,” you repeat to her and before you can even get a sip of your wine she grabs it out of your hand.

“ What the fuck ?” You yell back at her and before you can grab it back the woman in front of you chugs it.

“ We need something stronger babe,” she tells you as she finishes the last of the drink with no shame,” follow me “.

You don’t say anything when she grabs your hand, leading you to the one room in the cottage that she forbid you to going into, her room.

Even before she had shown up back to her place, Bob had told you the room could not be unlocked and the windows were covered to anyone passing by and you felt weird about trying to unlock it yourself. When Rio had shown backup you never even got a peek at the inside of her room either so you were a bit excited to see what it was like.

Was it just her room ? What colors did she choose? Is it decorated all nice or a bit of a mess ? Did she have anyone in it before you were ?

Wait, you guys are just roommates you can’t be thinking about that way about Rio at all.

“ Close your eyes I can’t have you knowing how to open my room door can we princess???” She teases you. God you were not gonna survive this.

A couple of seconds later you hear the door click open, Rio grabs your hand to lead you into her room and moves you a bit so you can stand in the middle of it.

“ Open those pretty eyes for me,” you give yourself a couple of seconds to adjust to the light in the room to see the woman. Of course the wall are in her signature green color, a nice dark green to compliment the rest of the room. Paintings you assumed she made herself in the spare time, a mini fridge with what you assumed is where the alcohol she was talking about and a nice queen sized bed in the middle of the room.

“ Your’re the first person that I’ve had in here since my ex by the way y/n,” she starts off, pointing at the bed for you to sit in,” Your room was a guest room we’d use for our friends and this was our room. “

“ What happened to your ex ? “ you as casually and Rio makes a face at your question.

“ Wait fuck I didn’t meant to intrude I am so-“

“ Baby it’s all good with me,” she assures you,” we broke up after ten years together because she wanted to explore other option in the world or whatever she fucking meant by that”. Least you know she’s single.

“ Last time I heard about her, she was living in some town with her current girlfriend and their two cats. Which good for her I guess, I mean she was never the committed type when we were together, all I say is good fucking luck to her current gal or whatever,” she mumbles the last part while looking for a specific alcohol bottle for the two of you. The atmosphere room was pleaseant, Rio must have worked a lot on the room to make it as comfy as she could.

“ You have any ex’s you wanna talk about y/n ? We only know the basics things about each other” Rio questions after finding the specific bottle of alcohol she was hiding for special occasions. She quickly finds her way onto her bed, placing herself on the right side of where you were sitting, as always leaving no space between the two of you.

“ How strong is that bottle of alcohol in your hand?” You ask and rio smiles.

This was gonna be fun.

_________________________

“ You did not fucking steal Lilia’s jewelry from her cause she accidentally stole some of your food ?” You laugh as she tells the story.

“ She was being petty with me for a tiny thing I did when we were living together y/n, and all I did was just give her a piece of her medicine is all” she shrugs then takes a big swig of the bottle infant of you both. It had been three hours since Rio had let you in her room and the both of you were talking about whatever as a way to get to know each other. An hour into this hangout session or whatever you both want to call it, rio had suggested you both cuddle with each other and in your tipsy mind you decided why it.

On the inside, Rio appeared to you as quiet, funny and a little bit mysterious if you had to be honest with yourself. What you didn’t know was that she had been internally been freaking out since she found you here in the cottage. She felt bad kicking you out but it had been a couple of years since she’s had anyone here since Agatha. Rio hadn’t had anyone in the house since then and even if she did for a one night stand, she’d use the guest room to do it and not her own bedroom, making up all sorts of excuses as to why she didn’t have anyone in her own bedroom when she knew the real reason.

She was afraid.

Agatha had been her first relationship all those years ago when they met in Salem, built this house together from the ground up, shared so many happy memories together here then decided she wanted to leave Rio because she wanted to do more than just stay in Salem. She was other that woman but her insecurities got the best of her and she hasn’t had a meaningful relationship since.

“ I don’t know how that would could fucking leave you when you look so fucking hot,” you blurt out of nowhere which takes Rio out of her thoughts. Well, at least she knows that you feel the same way.

“ You think I’m hot ? “ Rio asks quietly enough for you to hear.

“ The mysterious demeanor of yours, the hot ass outfit you had when you got here, and not to mention when I first met you in not to good circumstances you kind of made me blush so much” you explain while rubbing her arm. Her mind was going places as you were cuddling up next to her, yapping about how hot she was and then casually rubbing her arm as well.

Both of you were drunk and she wanted to test the waters and see how much she can get out of you, no harming trying to get any information out of you.

“ How about you come sit on top of me while we talk then princess? “ She asks with a bit of a smile.

You don’t think about it too much, Rio guiding you on her lap so you don’t accidentally do anything.

“ Rio did I ever tell you that you look super nice from this angle , like really nice,” you giggle. It’s been years since anyone has said anything nice about her and she’ stumped with how to respond.

“ Can say the same thing about you sweet thing ,” the woman under you says in the most cool way, only eliciting a giggle from you and a confused face from her.

“ Did you forget to flirt Rio? for a witch who’s been alive longer than I have , you sure don’t know how to flirt with someone when the opportunity arises, “ you say in a joking manner to the older woman.

“ I might not know how to flirt but there is something else I can do babe,” she teases.

“ Oh and what’s that honey?” You ask in a sweet tone.

In an instant, Rio quickly changes positions so that she’s on top of you, pinning your arms above your head so that you don’t do anything with your hands.

“ You look super pretty under me princess,” she holds your chin in place with one hand while other hand is still pinning you into the mattress, not that you’re complaining or anything.

“ Just fucking kiss me Vidal,” you beg and you feel the other woman’s lips on yours in an instant. She forgot how good it felt to be in bed with someone she actually had some sort of attraction to. She can’t handle the way that you whine into the kiss, wondering what other pretty noises she can get out of you.

“ God do you know how many times I fucked myself in this bed baby? We’ve barely known each other but your’re something special baby,” she tells you as she starts to kiss your neck, no shame in leaving marks all over your neck for anyone to see. The sound of your moans and whines while she marks your neck, Rio feeling you grind into her body to set any sort of friction and the feeling of her hands roaming your body make you never want to leave her bed anytime soon.

“ Take this thing off of your body baby,” she says helping you get up,” I wanna see all of you”. You chose the right night to not wear a bra because the moment she sees that you had nothing underneath your shirt, Rio is on your tits. Sucking on your left nipple while tasting your other nipple with no mercy.

“ Be good for your mistress while I suck on these titties babe,” she orders,” then maybe I’ll fuck you with my fingers, or you can grind on my thigh so I can see you fall apart above me”.

“ Fingers! Please! I’ll be good for your mistress” you whine under her touch, you would let Rio let you do anything to you if it meant being pleasured by her .

“ Good choice baby,” She says happily, her right hands going into your sleep shorts to feel just how wet you were for her.

Still got it, she thinks to herself.

“ I didn’t even do much to you baby and your pussy is soaked,” she smirks and you moan as she continues to tease you. It won’t take long for you to cum with Rio teasing your pussy combined with her dirty talk. Rio wastes no time in taking off your shorts and underwear before she inserts two fingers into your wet pussy, groaning at the way her fingers go in easily.

“ Maybe next time we do this you can let Mistress eat this pussy,” she says and you let out a long moan,” god just the way your finger are taking me just makes me want to make you cum over and over again”.

It doesn’t take long for you to go over the edge with her fingers going at a fast pace, Rio taking in the sight before her. Praising you as she helps you down from your high, no shame in tasting yourself on her fingers, excited for the text time she might actually be able to taste the real thing from the source.

“Brain feels floaty Rio ,” you mumble to the other woman as she brings you a bottle of water and a small rag to clean you off. You take the bottle with no arguments as she cleans you up. Rio helps you up a bit to help you into your shirt again, internally giggling as how cute you look at her. Looking at her like she was the only person on earth. She felt happy to be seen like that from someone after years of being alone.

“ How you doing baby?” She asks and you mumble as she pulls you closer to her body.

“ Fine,” you yawn ,” sleepy”.

“ Okay baby,” she chuckles,” We can talk tomorrow about us”.

“ I’d love that Rio,” you say before you fall asleep in her arms and Rio falls asleep not long after with a big smile on her face.

#lizs writing #liz thoughts 💭#rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal x you #rio vidal fanfic #rio vidal smut #agatha all along fanfic

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seeingivy · 9 months ago

Text

casual

suguru geto x f!reader

**loosely based on casual by my beloved chappell roan

—

in the three months that you spend with suguru geto, he leaves a sour taste in your mouth and it’s not only because he tastes like black coffee. and in the two months that follow, before your deeply unfortunate circumstantial reunion, the last five words that you uttered to him, the sentiment behind them, only seems to grow.

you can go to hell.

and it’s all you can think when he shows up to the emergency room – a pinkish sunburn across his nose, his hair messily tied back – and eyes dripping in a concern that fills you with a rage. and it’s a deep sigh that he gives you, before reaching for your hand.

“what happened to you, peach?”

the general education class that you choose to satisfy your values and ethics inquiry is the sociology of religion. counting all the stakes – a stellar review on rate my professors, a night class at the start of the week, and minimal homework – it makes for the most ideal choice.

“so what’s your major?”

the downside? the midterm and final project are group assignments. and on any other occasion, you would have appreciated it – getting to split the work, taking some of the load off and sharing the work with someone, except for the fact that you didn’t know anyone in the class – and for the most part, you were expecting some half-brained idiot that would make you do all the work.

you suppose it’s at least fair that he’s not horrible to look at. in the dimmed lights of your apartment, there’s something almost off putting about your partner, suguru geto. you count seven piercings across his ears – dangling silver pieces almost shining in the glint of the light – and the smallest rim of purple around his eyes. harsh cheekbones, a hard jaw, and wrinkles by his eyes.

“educational studies. what’s yours?” you state.

“computer science.”

you hum in response, filling the two glasses with water and snatching one of the peaches from its container before taking your seat across from him, noting that he has a dimple on the left side when he smiles in response to your gesture.

“did you want some?” you ask, holding the peach in between the two of you.

he shakes his head, slumping against the counter in what seems an almost unnatural pose – his long limbs spreading into the space underneath your chair. you wonder if he always had an unusual way of taking up space.

and it seems that as time goes on, he gets more and more unusual. quietly working through the portions that you split up, except for a few deep breaths here and there, though he would stop once in a while and would almost ask for approval of what he had written, waiting for some confirmation from you that it was okay with you.

“you’re comparing adam and eve to…orpheus? i’m not really familiar with that.” you state.

suguru nods, before turning towards you to explain. his eyes waver in the slightest as he turns over to you, his gaze flitting down to your lips, before looking back up at you.

“you don’t have to be polite. you really can have some if you want, it’s really sweet.” you state.

suguru smiles.

“maybe later.”

you shrug.

“so orpheus…”

“it’s a really old greek myth. orpheus and eurydice. to kind boil it down, eurydice is in the underworld with hades. and orpheus is trying to convince hades to let her return to the mortal world, with him.”

he scoots his chair a little bit closer to you and you’re able to note one thing – that there’s a resonance in his voice, that it hums in his chest when he talks.

“hades tells him that he’ll let him take eurydice with him, but on one condition. she has to walk behind him.”

“that’s not that hard.”

suguru grins.

“isn’t it?” he asks.

you pause.

“you’re being told by this big, all powerful god, that she’s walking behind you. but you can’t look. you wouldn’t even consider the fact that you were being fooled? that maybe she had decided not to follow?”

“i mean, i guess. i don’t think it would really cross my mind, i…i think i’d just follow out all the way til the end because i’d kind of have faith if that’s what i was promised. and that she’d want to come with me too.”

suguru pauses, like he’s almost taking in what you’ve said – like it’s the first time he’s heard it – and responds rather slowly.

“you’re rather trusting, aren’t you?”

you roll your eyes.

“is that such a bad thing? what do you think about it?”

suguru shrugs.

“it was a worthless pursuit in the first place. there was no way that he wouldn’t have turned around and looked back.”

“what do you mean?”

“it’s simple. he loves her. if he hears something that deceives him – like the sound of her tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back. if he thinks that she isn’t there, he won’t be able to get over it and he’ll turn around.”

you pause, mulling the thought over. and you suppose it’s true – that if you really did love something, it would be almost impossible not to check for the promise of their presence.

“i guess. so what? she goes back to the underworld?”

“yeah. it’s one of the most tragic love stories.”

“i guess it’s kind of romantic. that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”

and in the split second that the two of you stare at each other, he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, with the strong taste of coffee lingering on his lips.

you’ve kissed three people before in your life – the boy you sat next to in the seventh grade, your date to the prom, and now suguru geto.

the first was overwhelming. a quick locking of the lips, that at the time, made you nearly erupt into a puddle of butterflies. the second was lackluster. waxy from too much chapstick, abrupt from the fact that he was quick to shove his tongue in your mouth.

and the third was indescribable. only because you could feel it – something lingering under his demeanor that you couldn’t exactly place. there wasn’t a word for the feeling it gave you – though there was one that was close enough.

curiosity. about what that feeling is, about who suguru geto was, and why he felt so inclined to kiss you upon your third meeting.

you wanted more of it.

“you’re right, you know?” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips.

“about being trusting?”

he laughs.

“no. about the peach. it really is sweet.”

he leans back, eyes fixed on the reading in front of the two of you again, as you reach up to touch your lips, the sticky sweetness of the fruit gone from your skin.

suguru comes around often after the fact. always here and there, an almost abrupt and concise text testing the waters.

[suguru]: is your roommate home?

[you]: nope. she’s at the district.

[suguru]: can i keep you company?

[you]: okay!

and he always arrives promptly twenty minutes after the fact, to the point where you wondered if he lingered around just to get there as fast as he could. and never empty handed – with dinner, dessert, or a flower that he plucked out of the cement in his hands.

that was the thing that confused you about him.

after the very first time you kissed, he had made one thing very clear.

no attachments. you’re not together.

but yet, he’d show up sometimes and do nothing but kiss your forehead and sleep in your bed next to you. or make you do something entirely mundane – like watch toy story three with a sheet of cookies in your oven – or watch you study.

and in the two weeks you had known him, you knew better than to question. your curiosity never stopped you, but you found that you were always left with more questions than the vague answers that he gave you.

“hey peach?”

“yeah?”

“your mom is calling.”

you widen your eyes, immediately snatching the phone from him, and giving him a weary smile. and you side shuffle into the walkway between the laundry and your bedroom, pressing the phone to your ear and murmuring under your breath.

“hi mom.”

“hi doll. how are classes?”

you pick at the loose thread of your sweater, nearly breaking the seams of the sleeve, noting suguru’s curious eyes – that he’s very poignantly trying to hide – from the kitchen.

“they’re good, ma. what’s up?”

“right. i’m so sorry to do this to you, my sweet, but i won’t be home when you get back.”

“what?”

“we’re going on a trip to see sheila in new york. and well, her vacation is only during those dates and we want to spend as much time with her as we can.”

you sigh, the frustration tempering in yoru chest.

“i already paid for the tickets. i saved up for a month trying to buy a flight back.”

“darling, i know. i’m really sorry, but you know how it is. she just gets so stressed out that we just wanted to go out there and make her holiday nice.”

“and what about my holiday? you don’t want me to have a nice christmas with my family?”

you can feel it burning in your cheeks – that embarrassing feeling that’s been simmering in your chest since you were kid. a mix of an insurmountable amount of envy and dejection, from trying to vie for attention from the second that you realized you never had it.

“don’t try to make me feel guilty.” she scolds

“i’m not trying to make you feel guilty! i just wished you would have thought about me too.”

you hear an irritated sigh on the end of the line, which is your first sign that you had made a mistake. because if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was push your mom’s buttons.

you wonder if it’s because she sees herself in you – and that utter hatred that she has for herself was now placed on you instead.

“do you always have to be so curt with me?”

“i’m not being curt, i just…”

“maybe when i die, you’ll think back and wished that you had appreciated me more. been more understanding that i’m not just your mother, i am someone’s friend too. that i have my own life. and that at the very least, my friends like to call me here and there. acknowledge me while you do god knows what wherever you are.”

“okay, well, i –”

“enjoy your christmas. we’ll see you in the spring.” she states.

there’s a static on the other end of the line and you drop your phone, staring at the dark screen in your hands for the few seconds that follow. and you must have been standing there for too long, because a few minutes later quiet footsteps accompany you in the dimly lit hallway, suguru’s head obscuring the light from the bulb.

“hi peach.”

“did you hear all of that?”

“no.” he responds.

you look up at him and glare. and he reaches forward, hands soft on your cheek wiping away the wetness that you hadn’t noticed. you’re not sure when you started crying.

he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“you’re a liar. if you’re one thing, it’s nosy.” you respond.

he smiles.

“maybe when it comes to you. what happened, pretty girl?”

you shake your head, his grabby hands coming around your waist as he presses you closer to his chest. you can hear his heart thumping against your ear, the metal of his necklace cold on your cheek, as you heave a sigh.

“nothing.”

“oh, come on, peach.”

you look up at him, expectant and full brown eyes waiting for an answer, as you give in.

“i just thought i would be going home next week for break. but i think i’m just going to stay here.”

“because your parents are going to…”

“see their friends in new york.”

suguru frowns. you can’t tell if it’s pity in his eyes.

“it’s not a big deal. i just was expecting to go home, that’s all. and it’s not that big of a deal that i’m going to stay here, the weather is nice and it’s probably frigid cold there.”

suguru pauses.

“you’re going to be here alone?”

“yeah. my roommate is from the east coast.”

“you should come home with me, for break.”

you look up at him, eyes wide.

“what?”

“s’not that far from here, i usually just make the drive. there’s a nice coffee shop on the way that i always stop at for some energy. and my mom is really nice.”

you shake your head, almost too violently.

“i can’t just go home with you. i wouldn’t want to impose.”

suguru pulls back, his fingers fast on the screen, as he murmurs under his breath, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“you’re not an imposition to me, peach. i can’t leave my baby here alone.”

“sure. but to your parents, and…and staying rent free in your house.”

suguru grins, handing over the phone to you, as you read the texts on the screen.

[suguru]: can my friend come home with me for break? her name is y/n.

[mom]: YES!!!!!

[mom]: A GIRL!

[suguru]: not like that

[suguru]: but she’s sweet

[mom]: I’M GETTING EVERYTHING READY

you look down at the phone, noting the sweet heart emoji that he has near her contact name, the contact photo a picture of the two of them when he was considerably younger, hugging cheek to cheek.

“and i stay rent free in your apartment all the time.”

“suguru, this is…weird. i can’t just come home with you, that’s…that’s too much.”

he shakes his head.

“it’s casual. we’re just friends, you’re just coming home with me for break so you won’t be here alone.”

right. you’d almost be inclined to believe him – if it wasn’t for the fact that the time you spent around him, the more curious you got.

the more that feeling festered in you, wanting to know anything and everything about him, wanting to crawl deep into his skin and memorize everything and make sense of why he was the way he was.

“you promise?”

“for sure.”

“you’re a loser.”

mei mei is never one to mince her words. and you’re grateful for it – because it’s something that you need when you return from your two weeks stay in long beach with suguru over the break.

because despite the words that he told you, the ones that you didn’t really believe anyway, you come back in a worse state than you expected.

you think you love him.

because in the days of uninterrupted time that you spend together, you let your mind wander too far. because in the quiet moments that the two of you had – knee deep in the passenger seat outside the stupid coffee shop you stopped at, giggling in the bathroom when you went to dinner, and tangled in the bed sheets with him every night – you let yourself taste too much.

let your mind run a little too wild. thinking about meeting his friends at the pier he showed you, of living together in an apartment in the following year.

and the two of you teeter a dangerous line. putting each other as emergency contacts, swapping your wardrobe in between your flats, and showering together every morning – his soft hands massaging the shampoo into the roots of your hair.

“don’t be mean.” you state.

“i’m not being mean, i’m just saying that…”

mei mei sighs, cheeks in her hand, with an almost irritating look in her eyes – wholeheartedly judgemental. she just didn’t get it.

“look, he’s friends with todo. that guy i know from the finance club? and i asked around about him, apparently he loves to brag about how he gets girls off all the time. now either he’s talking about you – clearly not the way you talk about him – or he’s talking to someone else.”

you sigh. because you can’t even put it past him. because in the months you had known him, he was impossible to understand. a futile effort to read. impossible to touch.

“look, i’ll just ask him later.”

and when he comes around your apartment, well after mei mei has left, he brings a slice of peach cobbler that his coworker insisted that he take home with him.

“peach cobbler for my peach!”

you wince.

“that was corny. even for you.”

“i saw an opportunity and i took it.” suguru responds, shrugging as he loops his arms around your waist, chin resting against the top of your head as he eyes the pot of boiling ramen on your stove.

and you bite the bullet as fast as you can.

“do you see other girls?” you ask.

“huh?”

you swallow hard, dry patch in your throat, as you feel the sweat tickling the top of your forehead. it’s from the heat of the stove.

“do you see other girls? or guys?”

“no. do you?”

you shake your head. and you’re unsure how to word the next question – because there was something humiliating, too bare about having to admit that you want more to him – when things were so sweet as they were.

perhaps you should have known better. coffee was always bitter at the end.

“why do you ask?”

you shrug.

“dunno. was just thinking about us. and how we spent break together and all that.”

suguru presses a kiss to your hairline.

“yeah? did you have fun?”

you hum in response.

“yeah. i really liked the city. and your mom and your sister. it was really sweet of you to take me.”

you pause, wincing as you decide to be as blunt as possible.

“and i like you.”

he laughs.

“well, i like you too.”

“no, no, i like you. well, i more than like you, but i…i can’t say those words.”

there’s a silence. and his arms feel like loose limp noodles around you. and you realize now, that you made the wrong choice. you turn around, only to find hollow brown eyes staring at you, the makings of a frown on his face.

“suguru?”

he winces.

“i can’t.” he whispers.

“why not?”

and you’re not sure what it is, but it throws him into a panic. with his facial features scrunched up, eyes hollow, and nervous hands running through his hair.

“i just can’t.”

you cross your hands over your chest, the bitter contempt of rejection blooming in your chest, as you look down, picking at the scab on the inside of your palms as you ask again.

“i said i didn’t want any attachments.” he adds.

“i know. but can you blame me for being confused? you took me home to see your family.”

“as a friend.”

“you didn’t act like my friend while we were there.”

suguru groans.

“and that’s my fault, i know that but –”

that one stings. admitting that he regrets it.

“okay, well. that’s alright. maybe you should leave now, then.” you state.

“wait peach, no. i don’t want to leave, i just..”

you scoff.

“you don’t want to leave?”

“no?”

it comes out meek, almost timid when he utters it. a question. like he can’t even admit it fully – that he wants to stay. and it fills you with anger, searing red hot anger on the heels of being cast aside so nonchalantly, that it comes to a head then and there.

“do you really think so little of me?”

“what?

“i’m not good enough to be your girlfriend. but whatever else you want, that’s fine. i…i thought you thought of me better than some girl you just fuck around with.”

suguru sighs.

“you’re not some girl i just fuck around with.”

“am i not, though?”

suguru shuts his eyes, the look on his face is so pained – so miserable – that it irritates you.

“you’ve made it abundantly clear. that you like me a decent amount, but not enough to care about whether or not you’ll lose me.”

you bite down so hard on your lip that the taste of metallic blood fills your mouth, coupled with warm tears in your eyes.

“and for that, you can go to hell.”

“what happened to you, peach?”

you scoff, curling your nose at the old nickname, as he yanks the closest stool – his legs still too long to even be comfortable on the thing as he leans forward, noting the dried blood on your forehead.

“a car accident. you can leave now.”

suguru frowns, almost resembling a kicked dog, as he shakes his head. there’s something softer about his expressions now – something you’re sure is a byproduct of the time you spent apart or the fact that you have a broken rib – and you choose to ignore it for the time being.

“i can’t just leave.” he whispers.

“and why not?”

suguru shakes his head.

“you have a broken rib. and a deep cut on your forehead. forgive me if i’m concerned about you.”

“i can’t. knowing you, you’ll casually linger around here for a few days, and when you figure it’s appropriate to leave, you’ll be gone with the wind.”

the two of you sit there in silence, the harshness of the words hanging in the air between the two of you.

and yet again, suguru geto leaves you with a never ending pit of curiosity. about what he was doing here, to ask how he is – to make it a note to him that his cheeks look fuller, that his eyes aren’t rimmed red anymore, and that he looks good.

that you like the new hairstyle. that it killed you when he wasn’t around anymore. that you still want him to go to hell.

suguru twists the silver ring on his pointer finger a few times – a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth – before you break the silence, your curiosity getting the best of you another time.

“why are you here?”

“they called me. i’m your emergency contact still.”

“no, i gathered that. why are you here?”

suguru pauses, swallowing hard before responding.

“if orpheus hears something that deceives him – like the sound of eurydice tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back.” suguru states.

you scoff. vague again.

“right.”

“no, really. i got the call. and i didn’t think and just showed up. i just…just had to see you.” suguru states.

he pauses.

“it’s kind of romantic, don’t you think? that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”

you turn to glare at him, at the audacity of him repeating your own stupid words back to you.

“is it? because his carelessness left her in hell with hades.”

suguru scoffs.

“i never did tell you the end of the story, did i?”

you roll your eyes.

“orpheus becomes so distraught that he uses his lyre to charm death – just so that he can return to the underworld to be with her. and people debate how it happens, him being ripped apart by irate women or getting killed by the menades, but it does happen. he dies and goes to the underworld. and in some versions, people think that he reunites with her in the underworld. and she forgives him.”

“and why would she do that?” you ask.

“because he tried his best to do right by her. he was asked to do one thing – to stay away. and that’s what he did, because…because i know you’re right. because you do deserve better, i do think the world of you and think you deserve to be with someone who wants to be with you, the way that you want.”

suguru pauses.

“it’s not my fault that i can’t help but look back. i can’t do anything about the fact that i love you.”

you swallow hard, an embarrassing amount of regret – mixed in with that deep longing that he left in your chest – searing through you.

“in the casual way, right?” you respond, sarcastically.

he groans.

“it’s not casual at all. it wasn’t casual when i leaned forward to taste the sweetness of the peach on your lips – especially when i fucking hate peaches. and it wasn’t casual when i took you home with me, it was…i just couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. and it’s not fucking casual that i drove three hours when i was supposed to be home this weekend just because i the thought of you sitting in this room alone, in pain, was driving me crazy.”

you wince, turning to look at him. and it seems that in the mere acknowledgement of his presence by locking his eyes, it seems to fill him with something – something that puts the whisper of a smile on his face.

“what?”

“i turned around for you. i didn’t know i would, but now that i have, i…i realize that i probably always would have.”

“okay?” you whisper.

“are you going to forgive me for it? not doing it earlier, for…for not getting it right the first time?” he asks.

you pause, mulling the thought over. and the silence, he takes it as an invitation to plead his case.

“i’ll beg. i’ll get on my hands and knees if that’ll do something to make it better.”

you turn to look at him.

“you…you’re special. i haven’t forgotten about you and…and i know we had something. just let me fix it? i’ll get you a hundred gifts, i’ll tell you a hundred times and i’ll - oh!’

he reaches into his bag, shoving his arms into the depths of the pockets, before yanking out a little napkin and reaching forward, opening your hand and placing it in your palm.

“a tissue?”

“open it.”

and you oblige, unfolding the tissue to see four little gummy peach rings in the napkin, before turning back to him.

“peach rings?”

“for my peach! i eat them all the time now, even though i fucking hate peaches. i only had a few left so i grabbed what i had left when i ran out. and i ate some on the way on accident because i was nervous, worried about you and all..”

you look down, the sugary crystals on the candy almost sparking in the light, as you look back at him. and he's wholeheartedly different - not the cool, cold guy you left behind, but a weird mess of awkwardness and jitters, and maybe even the tiniest hint of desperation.

he seems wholeheartedly more touchable this way.

“you make no sense.” you state.

suguru frowns.

“i know. but i’m trying.” he responds.

and you sigh, wiping your hands at your side, before eating one of the candies. bitter at first, but sweet at the end.

“suppose that’s my problem then. i’ll have to figure you out.” you respond.

suguru’s face splits into a smile, his motions so eager as he leans over the railing of the bed, the angle entirely off as he leans forward to kiss you. and it’s entirely different from every other time you’ve kissed him – full and whole, a warm and tender promise behind it.

“you’re wrong, you know?” you whisper.

“about what?” he murmurs.

“the peaches. they taste good.”

he laughs.

“is that right?” he whispers, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips, as he wavers his eyes up again, to the cut on your forehead.

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the bandages, before pulling back, lips lingering over yours.

“i think i need one more to decide.”

an: idk.

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @yoontaedotin

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exhaslo · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober Day 20- Roommate!Miguel x Reader

*Requested by Reader ;) *

It was your third year of college and you had decided to get one of the dorm houses right next to the college. Finally! No more small apartment in a large dorm hall; no more random fire alarms because someone didn't know how long to cook popcorn; no more being locked out of your dorm room because you were in a shared bathroom; and finally, no more loud and obnoxious roommates. Having this house meant that you picked your roommate. You had your freedom.

What better than a roommate who is going to have their heads stuck in the books or at the library? You interviewed so many people, but only one caught your attention as the perfect roommate.

Miguel O'Hara

The man was not only eye candy, but one of the smartest students on campus. Correction, he was the smartest student. You were surprised when he was in the hunt for a roommate. The two of you got along and you decided to go with him. All you ever heard about him was either girls wanting to fuck him, or that he was a hardass who kept his head in the books. A perfect roommate.

Things were going smoothly for the first few months. You barely saw him due to your conflicting schedules, but he kept his part of the house clean. There was never any loud noise from his room, nor was there any reason to complain. The only little issue you were having was that he was too fucking sexy.

Lord did the impure thoughts start when you saw him exit the shower one day. You swore drool was coming out of your mouth as you stared at him. You would have never thought that Miguel was so fit. No wonder why all the girls on campus wanted to date him. The man had a body of a god!

"Perhaps I should charge a fee," Miguel said, waking you from your trance. Your face was flustered,

"Sorry! I was just surprised!" You admitted, hiding your embarrassment.

"Surprised it took you long enough to know why I like to hide here instead of the library?" You could have sworn you saw a smirk on his face, "Midterms are coming up. Let me know if you need help...studying."

Oh man, you were embarrassed. Since then, Miguel had gotten a little more snarky with you. In a playful manner. Honestly, it felt like he was pulling st your heart strings. The man was smart, hot and a menace to your thoughts. You were ashamed to say that you had thought about your roommate a lot at night as you played with yourself.

You weren't the only one. Miguel was pumping his dick in his hand every night to the thought of you under him. You were pretty dangerous to be around. Walking around in your underwear and a shirt; laying on the couch; hell, Miguel was even aroused by you cooking dinner. In his eyes, you were already his. He just hadn't sealed the deal yet.

"Argh, I hate men!" You cried out, planting your face onto the couch. Miguel was sitting on the side chair,

"Including me?" He asked, not straying away from his essay. You huffed, face him,

"No..."

"Good, now who do I have to beat up for annoying my precious roommate?"

"Hahaaa, just one of my classmates. We were doing a project and he had the gall to tell me I had no idea what I'm doing. I fucking major in the subject!"

As you were venting, Miguel was staring at you. He found it cute how red your cheeks got when you were angry. How tight your clothes were against your body. Miguel wanted to see you strip. To get lazy and comfy. It was something only for his eyes to see. He moved his laptop over his bulge, wanting to hide the fact that he was getting turned on from just staring at you.

"And then he had the absolute nerve after all that to ask me out! Like, why would I want to date a rude snob like him?! After I said hell no, he called me a bitch and went to shit talk me to his friends!" You whimpered, tears threatening to spill.

Miguel immediately went to your aid. He brought you a box of tissues, sitting beside you now. You rested your head against his shoulder, trying your best to not cry.

"I can beat him up for you, amor. (love). You can do so much better."

"Haha, thanks Miguel."

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

After that, you went back to your hard studies since Finals were around the corner. That boy who had bothered you prior stopped bothering you completely. In fact, he avoided you. It was strange, but you were happy about it. All you needed was to pass your classes. Miguel helped you study for midterms, perhaps he was willing to help you again for finals?

You were sitting in your shared living room, waiting for Miguel's class to get out. You were getting frustrated from trying to figure out stuff from another class. Glancing at the time, you inhaled deeply. There was still plenty of time before Miguel came home, you could use a little destress. Laying against the couch, you spread your legs and began to rub your clit was massaging you breast.

"Mhm, Miguel," You closed your eyes, imaging that it was Miguel toying with your body.

Raising your hips, you started to feverishly rub your clit. Whines coming out as you desperately wanted Miguel to touch you. You lowered your fingers to your aching hole, doing your best to finger yourself.

"Miguel!" You whined.

"Fuck," Miguel groaned as he walked through the door. You gasped loudly, fixing yourself,

"M-Miguel!? Y-Your c-class-?!" You panicked. Miguel hurried to your side,

"Don't you fucking stop now." He groaned, his hands making haste into your shorts, "Fuck, hearing your moans when I walk in. Cómo puedo contenerme? (How can I hold myself back?)"

You gasped as Miguel had you pinned to the couch. His hands quickly replaced yours and he entered two digits into your wet cunt. You moaned, arching your back into the couch as he pumped his fingers roughly. Your pussy clentching down against his hand whike your hips moved against his palm. His fingers were so thick, bigger than some of your toys. He was already stretching you out.

"Hah, ah, M-Miguel..." You whimpered a moan as he curled his fingers. Miguel licked his lips,

"Qué hermoso. Tu cuerpo se está desmoronando por mi culpa. (How beautiful. Your body just falling apart because of me.)" You trembled as you reached your first orgasm, "What a naughty roommate. Teasing me so much."

You panted heavily, never experience an orgasm like that before. You followed Miguel's gaze, watching him undo his pants as he licked his fingers. His pupils almost looked blown once he had a taste of you. It made you wetter. Finally, all of those wet dreams you've had of fucking your roommate was about to come true. Miguel cussed lowly as his belt got in the way.

"I never seen you this stressed," You teased, helping him undo his pants, "How long have you been wanting this?"

"Why do you think I became your roommate?" Miguel watched your reaction towards his large dick, "You?"

"Before midterms,"

You stroked his dick with both hands. His low rumbling groans were turning you on more. You brought your lips to his tip, licking the precum that had started to drip. You winced at the salty taste but continued to suck him. Miguel's hand rested on your head as you bobbed your head against him. It was difficult and you could not take him fully, but Miguel seemed to enjoy it. Tears formed from the corner of your eyes as Miguel forced your head lower.

Muffling against his dick, Miguel stopped, allowing you to breathe. You crawled over his lap, positioning his dick over your soaked hole. Miguel held your hips and placed you on your back before entering. The two of you moaned in unison. Miguel held your legs up as he stretched you out. Miguel was destroying your pussy and he hadn't even moved yet. You gripped the couch's blanket, raising your hips as he kept pushing himself inside.

"Looks like you need help with your finals," Miguel groaned, watching your pussy suck his dick as he finally fit his whole length, "Let me start by teaching this naughty pussy a lesson."

"Mhm, p-please," You begged. Miguel pulled back then slapped his length into you with force, "Ah~!" You cried out.

"Qué compañera de cuarto más cachonda. ¿A punto de romperse después de un solo empujón de mi polla? Tu coño fue hecho solo para mí. Mira lo mojada que estás, sólo para mí. (What a slutty roommate. About to break after just one thrust of my dick? Your pussy was made just for me. Look at how wet you are, just for me.)"

"M-Miguel!"

You gasped for air as he fucked your brains out. Each thrust was bringing your orgasm closer and closer. Miguel grabbed your breasts, playing with them as he sucked on your collarbone. His dick pounding you relentlessly. He had his body pinned against you like an animal in heat, refusing to let you go. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning into his ear as you reached another orgasm. Miguel shivered in delight and decided to reward you. He slammed his cock a few more times, filling your womb with his cum.

"Looks like you're going to need a lot more lessons, cariño (sweetheart). But don't worry, I won't charge my dear roommate."

"Y-You better not." You huffed. Miguel smirked as he gave you another slap of his dick, "W-Wait~ Mhm, d-don't...d-do that." Your whines turned into moans as Miguel kept abusing your poor cunt.

"After waiting this long, you really don't think I'm not going to fuck you dumb? Gotta make sure I keep tutoring you."

"Hah, hah, y-yes," You replied, throwing your head back in pleasure.

You did not care how many times you needed to ask Miguel for help. You knew that he would tutor you seriously. It was your payment that you really looked forward too. Anytime either of you were stressed, you two had some of the best sex. When it was time to renew your lease for the house, both you and Miguel did not hesitate to agree. Miguel was the perfect roommate. Perfect boyfriend. You were not letting go of him, and neither was he of you.

#kinktober #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel

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adieutristana · 1 month ago

Note

Could you write something about Jinx helping Reader study for her university entrance exam?

of course! thank you for the request <3

idk if this is something you’re actually going through but i wish you luck with your exams! :)

summary; jinx ‘helping’ her girlfriend study for her college entrance exams. she's got a unique way of helping.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, very lighthearted all around, r is applying for piltover’s academy, r is a top student, author doesn’t understand calc, r is in high school (18)

men dni.

"come on," she grumbles. "this is booooooring."

"i didn't say it would be fun."

pen scratching against paper and grunts of frustration are the only other noises present. you'd already gone through several workbooks and practice exams, mostly on the literary portion of the test. now, you're at the math and science section- and you know you're fucked.

you've been a top student your entire high school career. you studied diligently, took extra credit on every exam, stayed for school fundraising events, led clubs, even gotten involved in volunteer and charity work so your transcripts would stand out that little bit. the only thing you hadn't done was student government.

the academy was your top choice, your only choice since you were a kid. every boring homework assignment, every group project, every night spent volunteering was completed with the promise of the academy in mind. you knew entrance exams would be difficult, you knew that the academy very rarely admitted students from the undercity. but a part of you was convinced that you were the exception. your merits could charm the admissions officers.

so here you are, hunched over a table with stacks of textbooks beside you, scattered papers, empty pens, and a girlfriend who seems to want to do anything but study. transcendental functions. you'd never fully grasped it in class, but now you wish you'd studied harder. your teacher told you it wouldn't be on your midterm that year, so you didn't bother. stupid, stupid.

you barely understood the trigonometric functions, and now you're supposed to solve these during a timed exam? one that decides your path for the next four years?

"what's all this?" jinx asks, lazily toying with the edges of one of the pages. you've splayed out your workbook, scribbles in various colors around the words. highlighter and drawings of each model described.

"transcendental functions."

"huh?"

"transcendental functions."

an exaggerated huff escapes your girlfriend. she rolls her eyes and places her hands back on the edge of the table, peering over your shoulder at the words on the pages.

"i heard you. just dunno what the hell that means."

"i don't either, really." the pen falls from your grasp and onto the paper, but you don't stop to pick it back up. you've been at this for hours, and you're now at a standstill. a standstill. something so rare for you, that you don't know what to do when you're in the middle of one.

jinx seems to notice, at least. she leans back a little in her chair to look over the book, a bit more carefully now. rosy eyes skim over the words and equations, her nose scrunching. you'd think it was adorable if you didn't feel so damn defeated.

"let me look... i might know somethin'." jinx mutters, maybe more to herself than you.

the girl didn't exactly have a formal education. next to nobody in zaun did. you were one of the fortunate few who got the opportunity to go to school, and to do it long enough to graduate and have a chance to go to university.

still, jinx is a right genius. she'd figured out how to use hextech by herself before it was even established in piltover. she'd built several weapons without any outside help, she's unintentionally started a mini-revolution with her ideas. she'd invented several new contraptions out of pure boredom.

maybe jinx would see something that you're not.

dark brows knit together, and her eyes continue scanning over the pages. she makes little 'hmm' noises when she takes the time to really absorb the information on the pages. your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, and your eyes are fixed on the girl beside you. you trust her judgement and confidence, but there's a sliver of doubt. and you hate doubting jinx.

"right! so," jinx pipes, flipping back to the page you started on. "it says that you can't use algebra to solve for these... no addition or subtraction, yadda yadda."

a few notes of her own are scribbled down beside one of the models. she turns back to you, pursing her lips. "and they're used for growth and decay. you understand all that stuff?"

"kind of," you huff. you understand it in the context of algebra, but this doesn't use algebra.

"well, i don't- so we'll skip that part. but i'll try and help anyways." jinx has an amused lilt to her voice, almost as if this study session couldn't be the key to your future. "babe, this is serious."

jinx drums her fingertips on the open book. shaking her head in that way she does, so self-assured. ever the ego, jinx has.

"i know it is, toots! you've only told me a million times how important this is, that it could 'secure your spot in the freshman class' n' all that. but relax, okay? you're not gonna get a damn thing done if you're all... wound up."

your lips press together into a thin line. while jinx usually isn't the most rational person, she's right this time. maybe you are stressing a bit too much. you try to unclench your jaw and let your shoulders relax, a habit you've fallen victim to way too many times.

"you're just gonna worry yourself sick. no point in that." she mutters. jinx drives her words home with a little smack of her lips against your temple, and turns back to the textbook. "yeah.. you're right."

"i don't understand most of this, honestly," she says. though the girl leans against your shoulder, twin braids splaying out, and lets out an exaggerated hum. "but you're smart. you'll figure it out... nerd."

"shut up." you grumble. this only elicits another chortle from jinx, and she pokes you in the side.

"that tickles! stoooop!"

"nope!"

a few more minutes of jinx tickling you, peppering kisses across your face- and you're left breathless. spent. but you're much more relaxed than you had started out, and that's gotta count for something, right?

"alright, let's get back to studying," you sigh, and jinx rolls her eyes dramatically. but there's no actual annoyance to her, only fondness. she's always admired your dedication, even if she makes fun of you for the all-nighters you pull preparing for exams. even if she calls you a nerd and places herself in your lap while you're trying to do required reading for class. even if she turns your head and steals quick kisses from you while you type away, telling you that you're just so cute when you're concentrated.

looking over the words on the page again, it comes as a surprise that the words make a little more sense to you now. the models still look foreign, and the formulas are something you don't even want to think about, but you can at least make out the basic gist of these functions.

it isn't ideal, but it's a start.

"huh. it's making a little more sense now," jinx perks up at this, and lightly elbows your arm. "see? i told you that you'd figure it out! just had to relax a lil'."

you shake your head in amusement at the words, and nod. you pick your pen back up, and start jotting down your own notes on the sides of the pages.

"yeah, just had to relax a little. who would've thought?"

#jinx x reader #arcane x reader #jinx x fem reader #fluff #arcane x you #reader insert #sapphic #lesbian

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solarn-system · 11 days ago

Text

Who the hell gave a gravity bomb to a slugcat?!?!

I've finally finished backgrounds for each slugcat. I begun work on this like 2 weeks ago, but midterms kicked my ass and took all my time. I'm happy with this though...

Now what is my next project gonna be?... :]

#rain world #rain world fanart #slugcat #commisions open #digital art #rainworld art #rain world downpour #background art #background #rainworldbackgrounds #rw invenot #rw enot #rw sofanthiel #rw inv

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playerninth · 6 months ago

Text

P.S I LIKE YOU (TOO) ⪧ DAY 13 OF PIWONTOBER

non idol!jiung x fem!reader (smut mdni)

彡 – everything transpired after a single drunken mistake—you and your best friend getting inspired after watching: ‘to all the boys i’ve loved before’ one friday night after midterm week had dragged on. except, you weren’t lara jean covey. and no one’s exactly a peter kavinsky in your life. all you’ve got is a last chance to retake your econ class for the second time, and an undeniably attractive guy as a project partner. a thought you wouldn’t express out loud. but what if he accidentally receives your drunk written love letter detailing just how much you thought of it so?

author's note: the way this thing had a billion revisions before reaching this stage... anyway, although i'm incredibly late TT i'm still very excited to share with you guys yet another jiung fic!! also, i can't forget to mention how amazing @kisseobie and @sxfterhearts are for hosting piwontober & bringing the p1ece community together♡ it's my first time joining these sort of events, and i had a lot of fun writing! + apologies for any typos! :(

word count: 7.9k

warnings: smut, blackmail, make up sex, face-sitting, seven minutes in heaven

comments are welcome♡ i'd love to hear your thoughts!

despite being drunk out of your mind to the point you've written that piece of tangible regret, you remember the same night all too well—the clock ticks past after hours as the mingling whiff of alcohol and a box of left over pizza hangs in the air. you were surprised you've managed to drag yourself all the way to the weekend, remnants of grueling exams left unspoken between you and your best friend whom you share a dorm room with. midterms weren't really worth mentioning when you could drown in gossip and delude about your hypothetical boyfriends.

from random guys in class, to boybands, and above all: celebrities in cheesy romcoms you've rewatched an abnormal amount. that certain night's choice was a classic between you and your best friend: 'to all the boys i've loved before.'

except, you weren't lara jean covey. and no one's exactly a peter kavinsky in your life. yet, hell breaks loose when you receive a text from choi jiung one fated morning that had you unleash a piercing shriek, and thankfully, had locked yourself in a stall at an empty bathroom in the middle of your university campus.

not like that makes things any better than they already are.

enclosed within the four cramped walls of the bathroom stall was a feeling you'd never forget—the continuous drip of the leaking faucet and silence amplified the thudding beat of your heart. the screen of your phone glowing faintly as you stare at the message you've left on read for the past five minutes: a photo jiung had sent of the letter you've written that certain night after getting wrongfully inspired from lara jean's dilemma. unfortunately detailing an exaggerated confession on your unfiltered thoughts of jiung being totally attractive. hot, even. a running commentary on everything you wouldn’t express out loud.

this fiasco would probably cost you a couple of months avoiding a bottle of soju, because how are you going to dodge yourself out of this one? especially when his follow up message adds further salt to the wound—the envelope clearly stating your full name and address in bold, inked letters.

the seconds stretch out as the cramped stall started feeling a bit stuffier, your shaky fingers hovering over the keyboard in contemplation. you’d normally block him and just fail the damn class if it were like any other instance, except… it was your last chance to retake this subject. you couldn’t afford another fuck up.

[9:07] jiung: this letter’s handwriting strangely matches the one on your notes

[9:09] jiung: before you try to deny anything

all you ever wanted at that moment was to strangle yourself... because a love letter so vulnerable like that has no place being in a pile of notes, and to be given to your partner for a class project. when you thought handing him the material would be the end of it (after being utterly sick of his self-centered work ethic), but the universe had plans otherwise.

[9:13] y/n: it wasn’t something you’re supposed to see

[9:14] jiung: but i did

[9:16] y/n: i was drunk, okay? can we please forget about it?

[9:18] jiung: and people say drunk words are sober thoughts

[9:20] y/n: do i look like i care about stupid bullshit like that rn

[9:22] jiung: oh

[9:22] jiung: so you don’t care if people other than me see this letter?

[9:23] y/n: what

[9:24] y/n: you can’t just use that against me??

[9:26] jiung: let’s see how well this thing means so much to you then

[9:27] y/n: ???

and when you thought you’d never see the pulsating, message bubble as he types as such a dreadful thing, your nerves suspended in the most excruciating minutes. 9:28, 9:29… 9:30...

[9:31] jiung: main library, 2pm, this friday. oct 13

that was, a distant week ago. you figured you should probably show up this time, all in the name of having the existence of the letter stay between the two of you. even if it meant having to deal with the growing habit of waking up in the middle of the night from the anxiety crawling upon your thoughts. until once and for all, the day came.

your feet felt rather heavier that day, dragging your mopey figure through the winding halls of the university. the halloween spirit on campus feeling far too suffocating, the orange and black streamers hanging from the ceilings a mere blur. other people were buzzing about the upcoming university halloween party at the end of the month, yet all you ever wished was that you were some random skull decor perched at a corner, undisturbed. and that you weren't nearing the doors to the main library, a sight that you loathed with your whole being.

and there he was, choi jiung. the guy wreaking havoc in your life. okay, well—maybe not that actively, but he's been a constant force you're trying to push toward the back of your mind ever since you made such a stupid mistake, to the point you don’t even know how you could redeem yourself.

“hey,”

“hey.” you're surprised you even managed to croak out a reply, finding yourself unable to maintain eye contact with him for more than two seconds–pathetically.

you were about to claim the seat in front of him before he raises a familiar envelope nestled within his fingers, and you wasted absolutely no time at the chance. snatching the thing with vigor just to rip it to smithereens, earning a few glares from other people in the library. you couldn't care less.

jiung lets out a laugh underneath his breath, adorably irritating so, as he watches fragments of the letter fall before him like confetti. you finally settled on a seat across him, and the further time dragged on, the more it seemed to prove your written letter right.

he was undeniably magnetic, from the way his clothes drape over his shoulders, his bangs framing his face with its stark black—the waft of his perfume despite the distance. your gaze can't help itself from shifting over to his fingers with every turn of a page, almost as if he was the perfect distraction.

and that tie sitting on his collar, really? what was his major again? you couldn't be bothered to muse over whether or not academia fashion was a staple for whatever program he was taking, especially when you couldn't blame him. 'cause he truly held a sort of charm that makes you wanna ravish him right then and there. that you had to remind yourself: time and place, his glasses beginning to lean crooked subtly to the side before his finger pushed it further up his nose bridge. ultimately turning back to you—who already had eyes on him, locked.

jiung speaks, faintly registered in your currently preoccupied head. honestly, the only qualm you carry against him is that he wants to get things done, his way. which is partly the reason why this partner project has gotten awry, his ego clashing a horrible amount with your stubbornness. guess not everyone can have it after all.

of course you had to have it figured out eventually. even if it had to cost you biting down your tongue from spewing possible scathing remarks with his every word. due to the fact that any moment you tried to challenge his ideas, he'd quote all the lines he could possibly remember from your embarrassing letter. and it was only the librarian's stare pinning you down from grabbing jiung by the hair out of annoyance, because the both of you were causing quite a bit of disturbance.

“you know, i can't deny that little love letter of yours was kinda cute.” he leans forward, loving the way your face morphs into irritation.

“cute? you think it's cute that i accidentally confessed about—” you caught yourself, clearing your throat before rolling your eyes at him. “i mean, whatever. just concentrate.”

“hey, hey. finish it. about what? your quote on quote, suppressed feelings for me?” god, you so badly wanted to slap that smirk out of his face.

you could only manage to groan, running a hand through your hair. “no! i mean my deep annoyance at your inability to take me seriously, to take this project seriously!”

“excuse me, could you keep it down? this is a library.” you immediately turn towards the librarian, clutching a hand over your mouth at the realization that you might've… raised your voice a little too loud.

“sorry,” you muttered, eyes fixated on your notes sprawled over the table. “we were just—”

“working very loudly?” the librarian cut you off, and the worst part is–jiung still had the audacity to look at you with much mischief in his eyes. and that stupid smirk. “if you can’t keep quiet, i'm kindly asking you to leave.”

and that was… the last of what you've heard once you began gathering your things out of embarrassment, jiung trailing behind you like a lost puppy as you pretend you don't even know who he is, walking towards the nearest exit.

maybe choi jiung really is a constant force in your life. despite the day at the library being the last time you’d spend with him until presentations came tomorrow, it felt as if he never really left your mind. constantly drifting like a cloud over your head, lingering. and you so desperately wanted to bury him as a distant memory. busying yourself with other major projects, going out with friends, and the main event that the everyone’s been buzzing about for weeks: the awaited university halloween party.

it worked to distract you for the most part, lost within the crowd sprawled over the expanse of the green field, now only a crackle of grass beneath your heels. lights flickered along with the thump of the music’s bass. you watched the collective silhouette of people dressed in costumes, either tipsy out of their mind or buzz undying. you’d probably be seen with a red cup full of alcohol in hand, if you hadn’t sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t be touching a bottle of soju until a few months time. remnants of your little disaster from not too long ago trying to haunt you.

and so you turned to the cold air nipping at your bare skin, which you have to thank your skimpy little black dress for. the racy outfit you’d put together in an excuse to dress up as a witch, seductively at that. you partly regret bringing your witch hat with you despite contemplating about it a while ago, having to deal with the thing repeatedly slipping over your eyes. making a simple task of opening your phone to a flood of text messages, a challenge. after a couple of foiled attempts, you managed to get the gist—and that your friends are waiting for you at some frat house to join an after party.

the main event endlessly unfolds despite midnight fastly approaching. dragging your feet towards the front part of the crowd where it pulsed with much more energy, hopefully making your way towards the right direction of the area near the frat house. the music echoed like it wanted you to stay for a while, lose yourself to the beat as you tried to keep your witch hat tilted upright. not until another drag of the hat back up had your eyes flickering towards the dj manning the booth. keeping the night alive as lights hung overhead, casting a glow behind his figure and perfectly accentuating his side profile. yet the more your gaze traced the curve of his nose, the tousle of his hair as he let himself move to the rhythm.

for a split second the lights confirmed your suspicion, except you didn’t want to say anything. say his name, his everything, crawling back to your mind. you’d even forgotten why you were trying to erase him from your thoughts. maybe, just maybe… it wouldn’t be too bad to keep your eyes rested on him this time around. and it wasn’t as if you could turn away if you tried regardless.

there was something about catching sight of this side of him you never knew he had. at that moment, it felt like it was only the both of you existing in a bubble of your own. there was quite a distance between his position at the makeshift stage and yours below; nevertheless, the sparkle within his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. and in that moment nothing else mattered, the difficulty of trying to tear your stare away from him weighing over you.

no, no, no. not again. not this time.

the after party at the frat house, right.

reality comes crashing in once more, blinking rapidly as you tried to bump your way through the crowd. glancing everywhere you could to seek refuge, any way out, somewhere. mind racing with a mantra, “forget him forget him forget about him,” suppressing everything you’ve ever thought of the moment you laid eyes on him. chalking it up to the fact that it was probably your unrequited feelings for him hitting you like a brick. but… it wasn’t like you were ever serious about him, weren’t you?

your feet felt heavy trying to keep him out of reach, away from the taunt of his presence. the further you tried to push through what seems to be the edge of the field had you jostled within the crowd, and it didn’t help the flashing lights began disorienting your vision. you hastily fish your phone out, scrolling for past messages to double check the location of the frat house. except you realized, you weren’t really sure where to go from here.

your chest tightens. trying to take in sharper breaths as the mass of people were closing in around you, trying to push more, yet was met with more resistance. the smell of alcohol and loud noise started swallowing you, panic rushing through your veins. this is bad. this is really really bad.

and all of a sudden you heard a faint call, your ears picking it up with its subtlety. it was a brief echo through the music, until you heard it once more.

“y/n! over here!”

you swiftly whip your head around to scan the blur of faces, pulse quickening—at last, your gaze landing on someone familiar.

“i’ve been looking for you for ages.” he pants, trying to catch his breath from approaching you through the tight crowd. yoon keeho, although clad in a rather comical vampire costume, brought you a sense of relief.

“you okay? you look…”

“yeah, i’m just…. i got a bit lost.” you admit, lacing your fingers through your hair after finally taking off your witch hat.

keeho lets out a laugh beneath his breath, earning a piercing glare from you before extending a hand out to point. “you’re better off at the after party with me, everyone else is here so… it isn’t too crowded there yet.”

you hum, clutching your purse before following as keeho steps towards the way out. “come on,”

and at that, the both of you slip away from the field with its chaos, music fading far beyond the distance.

within the frat house lingered the scent of alcohol from a previous round of beer pong. it was dimly lit, but you’ll know empty red cups are strewn around from its hollow crunch beneath accidental steps. the door trickled bit by bit with newcomers, the party outside eventually simmering down to a hum, occasionally cut with bursts of laughter and constant conversation. thank god keeho had found you.

yet that was a while ago. you couldn’t decipher the exact time but it seemed way past midnight. it was a stark contrast to the huddle of people buzzing in excitement, your figure amongst them in a circle on the floor. it was probably, what… like the third or fourth round of seven minutes in heaven? the poor closet door slams open to another couple exiting, far too all over each other than you’d like to witness.

it was like that for the past thirty minutes, having to sit through rounds of people shutting themselves within the closet as you were forced to hear thumps against the wall hear and there—and you’d rather not find out what had gone on. the soju bottle in the middle of your formed circle felt like a threat as it waits to be spun, yet you couldn’t manage to grasp out of the situation from keeho’s grip on your wrist.

“you’re not leaving until the bottle points to you.” his fingers tighten his hold, his other hand bringing a drink up to his lips.

"keeho, i don’t know these people!” you whisper-shouted, narrowing your brows at him.

and it wasn’t helping that it was proving especially difficult to take him seriously with the vampire get up he had on. "that’s the thrill about it? and when i thought you’ll live up to your words when you told me you’ll get out of your comfort zone right after high school.”

it was probably your over-ambitioned self talking back then. “we’re only juniors. we have plenty of time.”

"plenty of time? you only have a year, y/n”

you didn’t bother responding, yet he’s still trying his best to provoke a reaction out of you. “no one really stands out to me right now among these strangers if i’m going to be honest. but… maybe you’ll find someone that’s your type—”

"keeho, how many times do i have to tell you that i really don’t give a fuck about anyone else here right now.”

"yeah, that! fuck.” he drags the end of his sentence in such an overly teasing tone, flashing him a look like he just said something so outrageous, because indeed it was...

"mess around a little bit, you know. get frisky in that closet or something.”

"seven minutes isn’t enough for that.”

“yeah, you would know.”

you were on the verge of landing a smack over his shoulder when a chorus of gasps erupted, drawing your attention.

and just your luck, the bottle points to you.

all you could muster was a defeated sigh, waiting for the soju bottle to spin once more to select the stranger you’d be stuck with in that closet for an excruciating seven minutes. except it never came, and only a hand reaches out to snap you out of your thoughts.

“shall we?” oh. it was that same voice you wished you weren’t at all familiar with, looking above the shadow looming over you. akin to a moth towards a flame. and it’s just a matter of figuring out who’s who between the two of you.

choi jiung, wearing a smirk that tugged on his lips that you almost wanted to slap off him, like always. you did—well, slap his hand away from your face, rolling your eyes before rising and rushing towards the closet door as he follows.

you almost missed keeho’s words, “is that…” a comment faint in volume when he recalls the day you told him all about your ‘jiung fiasco’ during a phone call.

you drowned in silence inside the closet, not even bothering to turn the light on. figures slumped against the wooden walls across each other. you hugged your knees to your chest, hyper aware of how cramped the space was and your paralyzing fear of having your legs accidentally brush against his.

all you could hear was the frantic hammer of your heartbeat within your chest, sighing in relief that he couldn’t see the flush creeping over your expression. him, well… the most you could make out from the dimness was the stupid mask you hadn’t realized he put back on.

“take that damn ghostface mask off before i punch it out of your face.”

oh, and you regret saying that, 'cause he truly took the mask off, “as you wish.”

he looked so unbelievably hot. annoyingly disproportionate to his simple costume of black fabric draped over his figure, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders just right. along with his hair falling over his eyes and—no. not another monologue of being down bad. enough.

silence hung in the air once more, not like it ever left, but the noise from outside seemed to have drained away and all it was in the moment were you and jiung, paused.

"so, what’s up with… the situation lately?” he speaks up, breaking the silence.

"you know…” you find yourself trailing off, voice small.

"know what?"

“the letter,” you finished his sentence, fragility within your words. “i never meant for you to see it.”

"you’re mad because i found out about it? y/n it’s just a letter—”

"to you, jiung. for me it was my vulnerable thoughts out in the open. t-too personal.”

your voice began to break, the air feeling heavier by the minute. the absence of sound failed to muffle the thud within your pulse. further amplified when he rests his hand over yours perched atop your knee, his touch noticeably warm. you didn’t pull away.

"right, i’m sorry. i understand, i shouldn’t have said that.”

“it’s okay. it was a mistake of mine and—i kinda… made it feel weird between us because of that.” jiung’s lips part in search of words, though you couldn’t see. his fingers tried fiddling with yours, an attempt to ease your tentative tone.

"weird how?”

"you know, ‘cause…”

"hm?”

"shut up,” fuck. you weren’t supposed to let that slip out of your lips, far too affected from how effortlessly attractive he sounded from a single, minor hum. and he didn’t even mean for it to come across like that. “sorry i, just. i can’t face you right now.”

"take your time, y/n”

yet how can you think straight when he says your name like that? the softness his voice held, the gentle tone making your heart skip a beat without fail.

"i was just caught off guard when you… did the whole blackmail thing. i’d—i thought you would just laugh it off or whatever.” you scoff lightly.

"i wouldn’t ever mock you like that. i mean, i kinda did… joke around with you at the library but! i meant it, lightheartedly.”

"mhm.” his fingers remain fidgeting with yours, your eyes drifting downwards. “i just, wanted some space. it was humiliating for me, okay?”

and then it hit jiung with a click. he might’ve went too far with the whole blackmail thing. “i get that. i never meant for you to feel that way, i just… wanted a chance to talk to you further. and spend maybe... a bit more time together.” he clarified, eventually lacing his fingers with yours, closely.

"but deep down i kinda knew you wouldn’t like, rat me out to whoever. it’s part of why i came to like you—sorry i… i know you don’t like me back and i keep talking about my feelings for you and—”

"i never said i didn’t like you back.”

"huh?”

"tell me, when did i ever tell you i don’t like you?”

the question looped within your mind. except all that there ever was is a cloud of uncertainty, his intentions slipping through your grasp like sand. what does he even mean?

"jiung, you’re confusing me.”

then all of a sudden you watch as he bursts into laughter, and you hastily grab his ghostface mask from a corner to playfully smack it against his head.

"you’re so unbelievably dense.”

you click your tongue, shoulders slumping in defeat. "it’s always been a problem of mine, i just don’t know how to handle my feelings.”

the next few words came out almost in a whisper, despite feeling your most vulnerable. “it’s probably why i… don’t have much experience with… this kinda stuff, unlike my friends.”

his fingers ceased playing with yours, now taking both of your hands in his, enveloped around yours like it were meant to be like that. warm.

“you don’t have to deal with this alone, y/n”

the moment wound down once more at the silence that fell.

"okay, look. i’ll just say it once and for all.” his tone is firm, almost commanding you to lift your gaze up at him. “i really, really like you. and i want to be with you. can we start over? please?”

you didn’t know what to respond at that instance. held frozen in place, but the rush of emotion through your nerves acted otherwise. all at once, it came washing over you like a wave.

"jiung?” you call out to him, as there goes another one of his hums. “you mean it?”

"of course i do.” he’s kneeling before you now, so damn close, it felt like your heart’s going to jump out of your chest. your pulse picks up, racing, as his other hand remains interlocked with yours and the other sneaks to caress your cheek.

jiung’s inching closer with every passing second, the air thick with anticipation as if it wasn’t already so stuffy from the cramped space. your eyes flutter shut while the only thing you could sense is the warmth of his breath against your lips. tilting your head subtly to the side, was that how they did it in the romcoms? failing to realize that you’re beginning to clutch his hand in yours harder that—“seven minutes is up!”

the closet door swings open without warning, your hands flying to push jiung away as his back meets the wall with a slight thud, watching the light stream into the cramped space. all over too soon.

yet it was just the catalyst to your eager desire; unable to take your hands off each other the moment you stepped foot outside of the closet. more like it was jiung getting rather handsy, his palm warm over the small of your back. even unabashedly pulling you closer to his side once you sink back down with the rest of the huddled group playing seven minutes. you’ve no reason to stay here anymore.

it came fleeting rather quickly, one moment he had you by the hand out of the door to that damned frat house, traversing through the empty, wasted field and towards the direction of the university dormitories. from the slightest ounce of privacy that touched your fingertips, you started yearning for more. as you reached the floor to your room, jiung wastes no time trapping you against the corridor wall, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“can i?” he mumbles against your skin, rather sensitive. and you would think he’s incapable of holding back a little kiss during the heat of the moment. except he still asks, lips beginning to ghost over you, bare.

"you don’t look like you could wait for—hngh, anything else.” you struggle underneath his grip, his hands fastening your wrists against the wall as he pushes against you impossibly closer. “i wanna hear you say yes.”

he follows, trailing further up that his nose subtly bumps on your cheek. you feel like you’re turning insane, the more time dragged on and he keeps holding back.

“please jiung, want you all over me…” you whine, a bit more when he finally presses a soft kiss over your flushed cheeks. he looked irresistible, pulling away to stare down at you with his eyes; glossed with hunger.

“even better.” and this time he inches closer once more, his lips hovering over yours tentatively, waiting for you to bridge the gap. and so you did, kissing him back with as much fervor. completely forgetting about the fact that this was the first time you’ve properly made out with someone, and you weren’t even quite sure if you’re doing it right.

it were as if jiung had a sort of sixth-sense, holding you gently by your jaw as your lips weave into a searing kiss, wet by the second as his tongue peeks out. sliding over your bottom lip. “i got you, relax.” he utters, the rumble of his voice traveling straight to your core.

jiung pulls away for a brief moment of oxygen, crashing his lips back to yours. sliding his tongue into your mouth this time ‘round, and you melt against him—weak in the knees as he rolls his wet muscle sinfully against yours.

“can’t get enough of you already,” it was a mystery how he manages to slip a few words here and there, from your pathetic state struggling to keep up with his desperate pace. proving truth to his words when the swirl of his tongue was followed by suckling on your own, that all you could do was mewl, you poor little thing.

it was dangerously risqué, anyone could simply walk into the sight of your sorry state, falling apart fully if it weren’t for jiung holding you up. keeping you upright despite the evident wobble in your knees as he continued to ravage you wantonly, done with his assault on your tongue that he’s moved to subtly bite on your bottom lip, bruised.

"mhmm.” you shudder, swallowing in a moan when he turns to the shell of your ear instead, tracing it sensitive, his spit cold once the air hit. and so he sucks, like he obsessively does, feeling every gentle flick of his tongue rush straight to your core.

you’re already so embarrassingly wet despite still being fully clothed, and his hands had done nothing but to remain over your cheek all this time. his nails raked against the thin fabric of your skimpy dress, mind turned to mush as the only thought you could render was that he needed to touch you right now. futher, more… more than you could ever fathom to beg for him out in the open.

“jiung…” you whimper, right against his ear. feeling his pants get uncomfortably tight that he just has to redirect his energy into smothering you, littering wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses on the expanse of your sensitive neck.

“yes baby?” it took him quite a while to respond, the petname sending a flutter in your chest. he tries to hold himself back before he began to litter nibbles over your skin.

his fingertips are a prickle over your body, finding yourself struggling to respond. mind blank, and you couldn’t even remember why you called out to him in the first place.

“mhmm,”

"you’re already so, horny. aren’t you?”

he’s met yet another smack to the shoulder, probably the nth time from yours this evening.

"don’t say it like that!” you tried leaning impossibly closer, your tone much less than a whisper.

nonetheless, jiung’s brain was equally as foggy, the impact of your hit disregarded. from his point of view, it was unbeknownst that your mind was swirling with how to break the looming silence. the only thing that had his attention in a headlock was the intoxicating sight of you, looking up at him, eyes glossed over in feral desire

your lips adorably bruised, proud of his insatiable work from earlier. your cheeks flushed and brows frustratingly knitted together. it was as if you’re wordlessly begging for him to kneel before you. in fact he would, right at the first syllable of anything you’d utter. and right past that was a sight behold, the swell of your breast, cleavage peeking underneath your outfit.

fuck, he needs you, mind driven towards delirium from his longing to touch. within the warmth from the palm of his hand, undoubtedly even better if he had his mouth on them, loving it wet. he needed you. so. so. badly.

"did you drink?” your voice was delicate, snapping him out of his trance.

“no.” and he was saying the truth. no sip of alcohol carried the same effect of his drunken want over your everything.

this time you took initiative, interlocking fingers with his as you dragged him towards your dorm room. every step you took in the hall felt electric, finding yourself fumbling with the key through the door as jiung’s hand teasingly dips past your waist.

at last pulling him inside, closing the door with a slam as you resume ravishing each other’s lips. you’re too dizzy at this point, his forehead pressing against yours as tries to keep you close. and with every step backwards goes a wet peck, bodies trailing toward your bed until your legs hit the edge.

and so he pushes you, gently, attempting to hold yourself up with your elbows toward the headboard. not until jiung grabs you by your thighs, nails digging over the plush—from that he abruptly yanks you back toward him and earns a surprised mewl.

“don’t go anywhere.”

“jiung, ‘m not.” yet he doesn’t answer anymore, resting his arms on either side of your head. you’ll never catch him without his lips on you, searching, sucking less than harshly that he might as well leave a mark. every nibble and flick of his tongue had you writhing beneath, and you couldn’t help but spread your legs open. hoping he’d take the hint.

he’s turning you breathless, with every press of his lips over your skin igniting such flame in your tummy.

“touch me jiung, please,” you finally cry out, driven crazy when your cunt’s clenching around nothing, wet yet untouched.

“where baby?” jiung rises from busying himself with your neck, only realizing just how much effect he had on you now that he’s gotten a proper view.

you lay there, helpless beneath his figure with your hair disheveled. lips parted from panting, chest heaving up and down.

“here,” you replied, out of breath. turning your head to the side abashed, that you couldn’t even grasp the fact that you’d reach this point. jiung meets your hands, letting you guide his hold toward your clothed breasts.

he couldn’t help a subtle smile tug on his lips, “you’re so damn cute,” jiung teases, swiftly pressing a kiss on your exposed cheek. “i’ll make you feel good, alright?”

please, you’d probably whine out, if you weren’t wallowing so much in the shame of drawing his touch right over your breasts. even so, he’s eager to pry you apart, relishing in the fact that despite your inexperience, you still push through, for him—communicating what you truly wanted.

and it left him with the inclination to fulfill it.

jiung groped your sensitive mounds through the fabric, turning your breathing ragged by the minute. god, you’re already so sensitive, and with every fleeting touch of his hands against your breasts, went to travel straight down to your cunt. sopping wet as you pushed your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the sticky feeling of your panties. proving useless. he then slips his fingers beneath the edge of your dress, thankfully strapless. right atop your chest, pulling it down until he’s met with the sight of your lacey little bra. “pretty,”

and yet he doesn’t show a single trace of rush carried in his actions, feeling you up to build the thrill, groping. “jiung...” you beg, reaching out to his wrist.

“patience,” he sounded curt, but the way he gently fondles your clothed breasts said otherwise.

right when he’s dragged as much of your dress down as he can, jiung catches you off guard—promptly sliding his hands beneath your bra that had your breath hitching. the warmth of his palms flush against your nipples, already perky, yearning for his touch.

jiung just has you pliant beneath him as the vulgar scene unfolds, tenderly groping, fondling your tits along with occasional pinches to your sensitive buds and making you mewl without fail. turns him on so so much, seeing you exposed so adorably that you had let go of all sense left within your body.

it didn’t take too long for him to come to a point, he couldn’t help himself anymore. the erotic sight of your desperate state rutting your clothed cunny up against his torso, helplessly. jiung finally hikes your bra up, your breasts spilling out of a fabric in such a way he can’t resist salivating over your vulnerable image.

and so he wastes no time. if you weren’t so lost within such a sensual trance that had your eyes fixated on the ceiling, you might’ve gotten the chance to catch jiung’s expression, his eyes completely glazed over. hungrily, he encloses his lips around your nipple, the warm wetness of his tongue swirling and flicking against the bud with abandon.

you swore your cunt begins to clench around nothing as he continued his work on you, skin erupting in goosebumps as he relentlessly sucks on the bud; lewd sounds filling the expanse of your dorm room. he doesn’t let your other breast get neglected, fondling its plush with the sporadic flick of his thumb over the bud over and over. ultimately urging you to hump against him suffocated in lust that’s taken over your whole being.

“ahh… jiung—” all you could manage to sputter out were pathetic whimpers, head thrown back as you sink into the mattress. his actions were a medley of flicking his hot tongue on to the other bud, switching, towards rapid kitten licks with his lips fully enclosed around it. eventually withdrawing with a short pop from the messy slick of his drool. once more diving back in to continue his feral abuse on your sensitive nipple. “feeling good?”

and you couldn’t even manage to choke out a reply even if you wanted to, drowning in suffocating desire. jiung pulls away, the hunger in him still begging to get satiated, his cock hard in his pants. a string of spit between your bud and his lip, glistening as it snapped.

anticipation overtakes you once more as he gently pushes your breasts together, flushed before craning back in to tongue over your swollen nipples, moving his head side to side in a frenzy. and you’re just so far gone, the warmth of his tongue licking over your buds with each turn. your already helpless state reduced to a mess, only able to splutter out hoarse moans. and he hasn’t even touched your needy cunt yet.

you had to pry him away from you, it was enough—more than enough before jiung manages to drive you towards an orgasm from merely stimulating your tits, having enough of embarrassing yourself in front of him. you’re not about to cum this early on, clothes barely taken off. you entwine your fingers through his hair, and just when he lets you breathe does he really see what he’s made of you.

sure, he looked disheveled as well, spit by the side of his lip. except you’re far worse, legs trembling from the growing wetness from your center, eyes lidded in a struggle to keep them open. blissed out of your mind and still, all you’ve ever wanted to see was jiung ravaging you like an animal.

“wanna take this all off, jiung…” he’s watchful, hooked on your voice that’s starting to turn a pitch higher than before.

“want more,”

lust bubbles within his chest, listening as you wish despite your struggle finishing sentences out of daze. “want to feel good with you,” your fingers try to reach beyond jiung’s chest, not making it far down but hoping he’d take the hint. swearing that the further you went without relief from your uncomfortable, sticky panties, the more you’ll spiral insane.

you began pulling the rest of your dress down in a hurry when jiung stops you. meeting your eyes glossed over as if you’re on the verge of tearing up from the pleasure, quite so. flashing him a puzzled look.

“i don’t have a condom with me.” he finally brings it up, fingers slowly tracing the curve of your wrist.

“me too…” you replied, sullen. jiung feeling guilty from discreetly thinking you looked adorable from the pout on your face.

at that moment you saw the instantaneous spark of idea carried in his eyes. any other day, you’d probably shoot him a glare, but now you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. especially when he’s had you wrapped around his finger, vulnerable and exposed, feeling your nerves ignite from the tension.

“you can sit on my face baby.”

“what?”

“sit on my face.”

he repeats it so matter-of-factly that it left you completely speechless, in a struggle to find the right words in response.

“jiung, i– it’s my first time and—”

“i know” his tone is reassuring, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “and i want you to know that i got you.” you could only conjure a feeble whine. ‘cause what does he mean with the fact that the two of you were just bickering a few weeks ago, and now he wants you to smother his face with your cunt.

“think of it as payback.” he spoke, his voice holding a honeyed warmth.

“use me however you want, after all, i’ve caused you enough problems with that letter.”

well, it was the last you’ve coherently heard of him that night. especially when everything he tried to say came out muffled while he’s got quite literally a mouthful of your dripping pussy. the lewd scene unfolds within the privacy of your dorm room, relieved that your roommate hadn’t decided to return yet. and if you could still recall whether or not these walls were soundproof.

everything that unraveled was such a filthy sight. your black dress, bra, and panties with it’s notable patch of your arousal on the fabric—discarded in a pile somewhere on the floor. it was the least of your worries when you’re currently sitting snug over jiung’s face, cunny rubbing against his wet, warm tongue that had your knuckles clenched and holding onto the headboard for dear life.

making sense of how the hell you’d gotten yourself in this position, taking into account that it’s your first time delving into anything frisky. however, you were running on nothing else but raging horniness, maintaining your desperate rhythm as you ride his face. grinding your hips in haste, folds slick as you use his tongue to get off. just so damn erotic.

it was truly pushing you towards the edge faster than you’d like to admit. his tongue sliding in and out of your pulsing hole, lightning fast. slick kitten licking against your clit over and over, when it isn’t the tip of his nose bumping on your pleasured, swollen bud.

fuck, it was a far more tantalizing sight as you turned to look behind you. through your lashes, watching jiung’s obscene state—his pants dragged down, jerking himself off, fast. his hand gripping his cock just right, up and down, wishing it was your pulsing cunt squeezing his shaft right now.

he made it a point, the next time he gets to ravage you senseless, you’d be crying out having enough of his cock plowing into your hole.

now it was just you you you, using him like he insisted you did.

jiung begins to amp it up, eager to send you towards your high. his tongue simultaneously slipping in and out of your hole before dragging back up, flattened to flick at your clit—god, it felt insatiably good, the pace in which you roll your hips on his face grew faltered. thighs turning wobbly as you neared your climax.

“hahh—fuckkk… jiung, you… you make me feel so good,” you pant, breathlessly fucking yourself on his tongue.

the best he could do was to hum in reply, against your clit, the vibration feeling insanely good as it travels straight to your core. his other hand grips harshly on the plush of your thigh, nails raking over the skin. almost forming crescents, vulgar and indecent, yet it all felt too pleasurable.

“i’m close, ‘m so, so close~” you whine out, your tangled fingers in his hair tightening. earning another moan that vibrated over your swollen, needy clit. your other hand struggling to keep leverage on to the headboard.

at this point you’re far too deep in pleasure, desperate to cum as you chase your high. turning crazy from how it felt so so good to ride his face, tongue working you toward it, the squelch of your sticky arousal dripping down his chin. more, more, moreee—rolling your hips over his face like you’re in such a rut, and it seems to be the case.

suddenly—you trembled, writhing in convulse as it came crashing over you like a wave. a particular bump of the tip of his nose against your clit before his relentless suckling pushed you teetering toward the edge. and he so desperately wanted to cum with you at the same time, stroking his cock faster. collecting part of your slick dripping down his chin to wet his shaft. jiung feels your cunt begin to gush, his nails digging deeper crescents into the plush of your thigh because you visibly couldn't handle the shake of your knees from the pleasure. his tongue, never ceasing to flick and flatten as he drags it on to your clit. over and over, lapping up your sticky cum.

“ahh–mhmh, jiung~!” you tug on his hair, fingers laced as you tried to squirm away from his grip. “no more!” yet he's making it difficult for you to do so, both of his arms locking your thighs in place as he began his endless ordeal of licking up your release. s'too much, too much–yet felt too fucking good, rendering you overstimulated out of your mind, merciless.

and when you've finally freed yourself from his grip, you stumbled back on to your mattress, disoriented. it was a blur, feeling yourself momentarily lose balance, suddenly collapsing onto the sheets. jiung immediately rose to his elbows, reaching toward you despite his voice beginning to sound like a distant muffle. concern was greatly etched across his face, “y/n are you okay?” you hear him, and yet it resounded like a distant echo, seeing his concerned expression the last few seconds before your vision slips into darkness.

his composure falters at that instant. had he pushed you too hard? he gazed down on your figure, laying there seemingly peaceful despite your exhaustion. once again you're vulnerable beneath his eyes. to him, jiung takes it as another chance to take care of you, his eyes tracing every outline of your features. and the gentle heaving of your chest that reminded him that he has to prove you that you can trust him.

“tired... ung, i'm okay,” you manage to mumble, and he releases a sigh of relief. almost moving to touch you before he realizes that he's… made quite a mess of his own as well. making a quick trip to the bathroom to clean himself up, stumbling upon bits of your clothes strewn over the floor.

he found you alrewdy fast asleep when he came back. making it a point in his head to go easy on you next time–he wouldn't admit, but the way panic surged through his nerves once you collapsed got him shaken. but in a few minutes he's gotten you into your matching pajamas, tucked underneath a blanket as he slides beside you. he holds your body close to his chest, “night baby,” you couldn't hear him; nonetheless, he still wanted to whisper to you sweet, pressing chaste kisses atop your head.

jiung turns to your bedside table, almost reaching out to turn off your lampshade when he stops to see an abnormally neon yellow sticky note stuck on the wall above that read in bold ink: ‘presentation monday morning’

the presentation.

oh god, you both have to do the presentation tomorrow at 8am.

fuck.

[1:47] kyo: y/n where’d you go???

[1:49] kyo: jiung’s not here too?

[2:05] kyo: alright damn

[2:06] kyo: i get it

#📂 playerninth's library #p1harmony x reader #p1harmony smut #choi jiung smut #piwontober24 #p1h smut #jiung x reader

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