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solecize · 14 days ago

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°⛧ ‧ ₊ 　　⠀mnemonic 　⠀⠀⠀　　⠀⠀　　⠀⠀ [2]

　　⠀　　⠀⠀　　⠀　　⠀⠀　　⠀　　⠀　　⠀　　⠀　 *ੈ ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ .ೃ

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: swimmer!jk x female reader, college au, slow burn friends to lovers to ??, fluff, angst, slice of life, coming of age

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, substance use, college party and hookup culture, mentions of greek life hazing, characters experiencing just about every feeling a lost college student goes through, depictions of and discussions surrounding mental health (depression, anxiety, substance abuse), disgusting amounts of yearning and clueless pining, yes he's her tutor at one point, yes they're in denial, also features other third gen idols, dare i say found family, there is a beach episode and a fireworks festival too lol

in which a little box of memories tells the story of how you and jeon jungkook slowly, but surely, fell in love against the backdrop of the growing pains of your college years. jungkook presents this box to you as a final gift at graduation and each item in the box is a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the forces that brought the two of you from strangers to friends to more.

⇢ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐱: masterlist. / prologue. / the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop. / ticket to the haunted horrors house (admission for two). / a worn out deck of cards. /handwritten no-bake cheesecake recipe. / cd soundtrack for stand by me (1986). / travel brochure to derry beach. / a clipping from the school newspaper. / pieces of confetti. / one empty tequila shooter. / epilogue & the final item.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: see masterlist for chapter summaries if u want also i edited this while fried so was it really editing

the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop

the first time he ever saw you was at the cafe at the student union centre.

the bean was situated at the bottom floor of the student centre building and was the most popular stop for pre-class caffeine. it was a pretty spot, as sunlight streamed in through floor to ceiling windows and overlooked the quad. at all hours, it was bustling and filled to the brim - the morning of the first day of classes was the worst of them all. the entire shop teemed with figures, some hunched over laptops and others pondering at the menu. you knew it would be busy, ignored the fact, and that was why you stood in line for a latte with a pained expression on your face.

“i’m going to be late,” you muttered under your breath, barely able to peek over the shoulder of the person in front of you to see just how far you were from the front counter.

there was only about ten minutes until the first ever lecture of your college years and there was still three people ahead of you in line. by your estimates, it would take about five minutes to get to the hall, maybe a solid three if you sprinted. sacrifices had to be made and something told you that you shouldn’t have stayed up all night with your roommate, doyeon, the night before. you needed coffee and you needed it now.

It was just a relief in general that you got along with her. one of your biggest fears going into college was even making friends after leaving your hometown. you dove headfirst into a new life in a new place and the least you could accomplish was befriend the person you were going to live with for the rest of the year. these were the thoughts that swirled your mind first thing in the morning as you got ready for class, which is why you were late in the first place.

by the time you placed your order and received your iced vanilla latte, you could have transformed into usain bolt. you were more than determined to get a running start out of the bean - a little too determined.

“ah! oh fuck, i’m so sorry.”

when you turned around, ready to make the sprint, you’d bumped directly into the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your life. you could say that with your chest, too. he was tall, extremely beautiful eyes, and something about the way his smile reached them made your heart skip a beat. it was a sheepish grin, embarrassed by the collision. his dark hair fell just around his eyebrows, one of them adorned with an eyebrow piercing. needless to say, you did, in fact, have a type and this guy fit the bill like a glove.

“no, shit, i’m sorry!” you managed to sputter.

unfortunately for you, as glorious this meet cute would have been perfect at literally any other time, you were running late from class and your latte was now spreading across the floor. thankfully, none of it ended up on either of your clothes. you could physically feel your life drain from your body, knowing that you were going to fall asleep in the lecture within the first couple minutes without your coffee.

the empathy in this man’s eyes knew this, too, and they suddenly lit up. he then thrusted his own plastic cup in your direction.

“here, do you wanna take mine? i’m not in a rush,” the mysterious man insisted and you could have jumped into his arms, giggling like a school girl.

the very first time jungkook caught your eye, you felt like you had been struck by a lightning bolt. then, the sharp electricity itched your chest and planted sparks of a feeling you’d never felt before. it was a repetition of thunderous growls that sunk beneath your skin, booming quietly over the years and as you fell in love with him. it was sparks in your bones and in your veins, of jungkook who permanently rumbled in your being.

in this moment, you remained collected. there was no way you were going to act like a total fool in front of this beautiful stranger. you took an extra second to give him a once over, he wore a hoodie that read ‘springfield university swimming’ and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

you feigned reluctance. “oh, no, i couldn’t - it’s my fault anyway.”

“no, seriously, you look like you’re in a rush,” he shook his head rapidly. “i insist. it’s just a regular iced coffee, but you should have it!.

as much as you wanted to stay at the bean and flirt your way into getting his number, the reality struck that you had about two minutes to make it to your lecture.

finally, you nodded and smiled gratefully. “thank you, thank you - you really just saved my life!”

“no worries, have a nice day!”

as you ran off, you could only wish that you got his name. little did you know, you would run into him again and again and not only would you get his name, it became the one constant in your life for the next four years.

by now, it was two weeks into the semester and you found out that your roommate, doyeon, was a type a brainiac. she also happened to be in the same major and declared that she would help keep you on top of your work. despite the quiz for your intro to sociology class carrying a very low amount of weight for your final grade, she insisted that the two of you hold a study session a few days prior.

it was by luck that jungkook would be one of the few souls lingering around the bean in the late evening. the early september sun hugged all corners of the coffee shop with its curtains streaming in from the darkening skyline, as you gazed out into its streaks of ember and rose. you sighed, wishing that you were outside instead of studying for your first quiz.

“it’s literally friday night, why are you studying?” a random voice quipped.

you eyes shot up, seeing two guys approach your table. the one who spoke looked somewhat familiar, but the first bit of college had been such a blur. you were introducing yourself in all your classes to dozens of faces and were meeting all kinds of people on campus, in the dorms, and just about anywhere else. you didn’t expect your first semester to be so high-paced and you were struggling to remember names.

the second one, though, was definitely familiar. something nagged at you and you weren’t sure what. you hoped that you weren’t staring, but you were trying to calculate where exactly you’d seen him before. his eyes trailed over to you and recognition began winding at the back of his head. then, it hit you.

he was the one who you crashed into on the very first day of the semester, the mysterious man who selflessly sacrificed his coffee for you before class. your heart dropped and you wanted to shrivel up and hide because that meant it was the same boy who watched you throw up outside the dorms last weekend.

doyeon looked up and rolled her eyes upon their appearance. “because our free time isn’t being taken up by pledging for those kappa gamma losers like you, seokmin.”

the boy - seokmin, as doyeon called him - laughed. “it’s kappa alpha psi. i won’t be such a loser in a few weeks when you’re begging me to get you into one of our parties,” he said.

“sure, sure,” she replied, not convinced. “oh, y/n. this is seokmin, my cousin. seokmin, this is my roommate, y/n.” doyeon gestured to him, already looking back at her notes and disinterested in the conversation.

seokmin and doyeon could not be more than complete opposites. from the first moment that you met doyeon, she gave you sophisticated, old money vibes. she just looked like her parents owned a beach house on the coast and spent her summers at country clubs. it was intimidating at first, considering your family’s financial background was the complete opposite, but she ended up being much more down to earth than you expected.

meanwhile, seokmin wore expensive yeezys with mud stains on them, his polo shirt had its collars popped up and his tennis bracelet could blind you. that didn’t take away from his character, though, as he held out a friendly handshake.

“hi, nice to meet you,” seokmin flashed a smile that reached his eyes. “this is jungkook, we’re on the swim team together.”

“we’ve met,” you and jungkook both said in unison, which forced you to resist a wince.

jungkook, instead, chuckled at you. “i didn’t take you to be the type to study on a friday evening.”

you sighed, feeling the embarrassment creep up on you in the form of reddening cheeks. to your left, doyeon was confused and looked between the two of you. you figured that you would tell the story instead of giving her questioning look a silent answer.

***

last weekend, you came to the conclusion that college was going to be really, really fun - or so, you kept slurring, as your other roommate, yeri, helped you into an uber. it was the end of the first week after moving in and she convinced you that it was a good night ot get loose. she was definitely the party girl out of your trio that dormed together and was ecstatic when you accepted her invitation to join you at a bonfire party that night. it was one of the first things she said to you actually, as you met just ten minutes before the party - yeri was already a social butterfly by the first week of school and had been getting up early and leaving late nearly everyday.

“it’s so fun, i love it here,” you sang, as yeri giggled at you and pushed your legs into the car.

earlier that week, on the very first day of move in, you had an inkling you would wind up in this sort of situation.

it was apparently a well-known fact across the student body that stratton hall was one of the least desired residence buildings. it was a poorly designed dormitory with strange floor layouts and an air-conditioning system that worked on a system of luck, maybe some prayers. the walls were also notoriously paper thin. worst (or best, depending on what kind of student you were) part of it all was that it was a party hall. students were loud and loved to have fun. that was definitely why some students hated stratton, or that it was the only dormitory that had three people rooms.

the idea didn’t really occur to you to mind. it would have made more sense that you would, as you were an only child and never had to share a space in your life. if anything, you were a bit desperate for friends.

a strange feeling pooled in your stomach after your mom dropped you off and you were left alone with no one to even share the news with. you walked away from your hometown and didn’t look back on your old life, which meant the people in it were also a memory put behind you.

the falling out you had with your childhood best friends after high school ended was not only timely, but deceivingly painless. it came at a time where you had to pack up regardless, so you made sure the change wasn’t something to dwell on. you figured you would make new friends in college, but nobody could have prepared you for how empty you would feel on the very first day.

there was no one to tell about how you were now eighteen and on your own, which meant that you could do anything you wanted. buy a lottery ticket and some cigarettes. if you ever failed college, you could go ahead and sign up for the military. you could get one of those butterfly tattoos you keep seeing on your pinterest feed. the possibilities were endless. . .but, no one to share these thoughts with.

“oh!”

a pretty girl with dark hair hauling a louis vuitton suitcase burst into the room, as if she didn’t mean to open the door with such force. her eyes were wide like a doe and she caught her balance by clutching onto the timber door.

for a second, you forgot that other people would be living in this room. after shooing your overprotective mother away, you dragged all your boxes inside by yourself. the room was just as small as you expected, but the scene outside framed a view of the quad and let sun pour in a way that made the eggshell white walls sparkle. there was a bunk bed and one twin bed. you claimed the latter, not feeling bad about it. you had just plopped down to test the mattress for how cardboard-y it would feel, when she walked in. or, rather, nearly fell in.

“hi,” you started. “er, doyeon?”

it was a lucky guess, a real fifty-fifty chance based on your papers from the housing department, and you got it right. she nodded with a smile that belonged into a toothpaste commercial. you liked the sunglasses perched on top of her head, they were tiny black circle lenses and pulled back her hair in a way that just the perfect amount of strands fell out in the front, framing her face. she had long eyelash extensions and wore jean shorts with a plain t-shirt.

doyeon walked up to you, not even blinking at the fact that you took the twin bed. “nice to meet you,” she extended her hand.

you were grateful for her instant warmth. otherwise, you would have probably second guessed every single interaction, hoping that she didn’t secretly hate you. doyeon made it clear that she was genuinely looking forward to living with you.

making friends on the first day of college was akin to making friends on the first day of kindergarten. everyone was hopelessly trying to make friendly eye contact and propped their doors wide open, crossing their fingers that the people passing by in the hallway would say hi. most people filled out their “get to know us!” piece of paper and pinned it to their doors by the end of the week.

you and doyeon became friends as fast as any kids on the playground. the first day of college was just like the first day of kindergarten, where these things came fast and naturally.

after a bit, it became obvious to you that doyeon was struggling with meeting new people, but she also wanted to try hard. she seemed shy and you admired that she wanted to move past it.

she admired your confidence that shone in your easy smile and casual suggestions of what you wanted to do together, automatically considering her a friend. the two of you went to the dining hall together for the first time ten minutes after this meeting.

“do you know anyone else here?” you asked, digging into your mess of a salad. the salad bar in the dining hall had an insane amount of options and you piled a little bit of everything onto your plate.

honestly, you panicked. you’d never seen so many choices at once and the line moved at lightning speed. you were pretty sure you ended up putting three different dressing onto your meal.

doyeon picked at her lasagna. “my cousin, that’s it,” she replied. “i hope we meet our other roommate soon.”

“do you think she’ll also want to do a spa night with us?”

“maybe she can braid our hair since we don’t know how to.”

you thought for a moment. “that would be nice.”

there were some signs of life from your third roommate - kim yerim - but, never her actual presence. by the time the two of you returned from the dining hall, she had moved her belongings onto the empty top bunk and claimed a desk. she put up her taylor swift records on the wall and laid out pink, satin sheets on her mattress. after that, she seemed to constantly come home later than everyone else and wake up earlier, leaving before either of you could have a conversation with her. you saw her several times in the middle of the night, her figure turning on the top bunk and it felt like she was a sleep paralysis demon that only appeared at ungodly hours. by the time the sun rose and your eyes fully opened, she was always gone.

at this point, you were starting to wonder if she was a weirdo or she hated the two of you. maybe she didn’t like the fact that the two of you claimed your beds. but, she was leaving cute little post-its on the door that said “have a good day!<3” and she filled out the get-to-know-me form. you discovered that she preferred to be called yeri and that her favourite movie was legally blonde. all green flags.

you and doyeon had been speculating that entire week about when you two would finally meet your third roommate. it was nerve wracking to share a space with two other people for the first time in your life and you’d hit it off with doyeon, so you were praying that yeri wouldn’t turn out to be some obnoxious monster that you would have to be stuck with for the rest of the year. it was a little scary, how she snuck in and out like a shadow without being seen for the entire week. doyeon had a habit of staying up late to read and even she had yet to meet yeri when she came home.

the behaviour was bizarre and you thought she was going to be insane.

instead, yeri turned out to be a blonde ray of sunshine that bursted into your room at around six pm on the first friday of the semester, clutching a box of muffins that she bought for you and doyeon. she apologized for not being around, since she was determined to attend every single orientation week event, and introduced herself with a smile.

with one glance at her seemingly boundless energy, you finally understood. she was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement and you could totally see how she could survive off of three hours of sleep if her body was so naturally full of energy.

doyeon chuckled awkwardly. “i was thinking you weren’t real.”

“i’m an early riser! oh, and my parents didn’t leave after helping me move in until today,” yeri explained. “they insisted i crash at the hotel a few times.”

she had just entered the dorm and both you and doyeon thought you were seeing a ghost, not believing that it was actually yeri in the flesh. apparently, she had made an effort to explore campus and do just about everything offered to freshmen.

it was easy to talk to her, though. yeri swung her legs happily as she sat at her top bunk, chatting with you and doyeon like she’d known the two of you her whole life. in addition to attending all the orientation week events, yeri also made it her mission to seek out just about every extracurricular activity at the club fair.

“i’ve signed up for model un, cheerleading, the pre-med students association, ceramics club, acapella. . . “

you blinked. extracurriculars hadn’t even crossed your mind since arriving at college. maybe it was something worth considering if you wanted to make new friends.

“were you home-schooled or something?” doyeon blurted out, genuinely concerned.

meanwhile, yeri giggled at the statement and shook her head.

your roommates to be completely different from you, yet you would find out that these girls would become your closest friends and would complement you in ways that you’d never found in people before. the three of you spent the next thirty minutes formally getting to know each other.

you learned that doyeon was, in fact, loaded. she said her dad owned a “few” businesses and that was all you needed to know. yeri had all brothers, which was why she was so excited about living with the two of you, even if it was in the dreaded three person dorms. you mentioned casually that your parents just got divorced earlier in the year, but didn’t delve too much into it. not yet.

introductions wouldn’t last long that night, though, as yeri told you and doyeon that she was off to a bonfire party and invited both of you out. of course, doyeon declined, opting to stay in and read a book. on the other hand, yeri’s sparkling eyes were difficult for you to say no to.

and, in a matter of time, yeri was cheering you on by the murky local beach water, as you took a shot of vodka straight from the bottle. and again. and again. the person encouraging you and helping you walk?

jeon jungkook.

this boy just showed up everywhere, it seemed.

“you’re really good at this!” yeri exclaimed, as if your face wasn’t scrunching into one of complete disgust after the first.

the sun was already slowly going down by the time you arrived, as the first glimpse of the stars danced in the sky and twinkled upon you. you didn’t think hard enough to dress properly for the occasion, as yeri left your dorm wearing just itty bitty jean shorts and a tank top, but she didn’t seem to be as bothered by the sea breeze as you were. you chose to wear baggy jeans and a tube top, which was exactly what you were donning all day, and ended up being left shivering as soon as you arrived at the beach. you tried to stay close to the bonfire, which was difficult to do when the crowd began increasing as the night went on.

this went on for hours and if asked today, you couldn’t remember too much of it. you remember college kids lamely singing along to pursuit of happiness on someone’s busted up bluetooth speaker. at some point, a random beer was shoved into your hand and you hated every sip of it, but felt awkward without anything in your hand, so you kept it as a prop. yeri introduced you to all kinds of people that were blank faces in your memory that night.

all blank, except one.

“jungkook! i didn’t know you were here!” yeri waved happily to an oddly familiar man, along with his friend. “y/n! this is jungkook! we went to high school together.”

when you looked up and saw who jungkook was, it took you a second to recognize him from the bean. he didn’t seem to realize, though, which you attributed to the mystery liquid swirling in the red solo cup clutched in his hand. he was as incredibly attractive as he was the first time you saw him, now wearing a maroon hoodie and jeans.

“nice to meet you,” jungkook said, “oh, this is jaehyun, my roommate.”

jaehyun didn’t seem like the type to enjoy people on a cold beach with drunk people. you thought he was initially pretty shy, hands stuffed in his pocket and the eyes behind his black frames often gazing into the distance during conversation. he had on a polite smile, but didn’t spoke unless spoken to.

meanwhile, the other male was more at ease. you noticed he was chatting with a few other partygoers before yeri approached him, easy jokes and chatter flowing out of him. he’d been in a pretty laid back mood, sipping on the disgusting jungle juice that someone brought. he greeted yeri with a familiar side hug and then, he noticed you.

right then and there, jeon jungkook wasn’t entirely drunk.

though he was introducing jaehyun, his own eyes remained fixed on you like glue. for a moment, time seemed to stop, even if it were for a split second. it was a foreign feeling warming your chest when his eyes were locked on yours, just as it was when you met at the bean. you tried shaking it off, but it wasn’t necessarily unwelcome. the feeling was inviting and so were jungkook’s eyes.

nobody seemed to notice this synergy except yeri, whose lips stretched out into a devious smile. “do you guys want a shot?” she offered, pulling a flask out her back pocket. you didn’t even know she had that. her sneakiness elicited a laugh out of you and that was when you realized that you were properly tipsy.

without hesitation, you nodded enthusiastically and she handed it to you with a sly smile.

“what is it?” jaehyun asked, just as you brought the opening to your nose and gagged at the sharp attack on your senses.

yeri laughed, “don’t do that, silly! that’s the last thing you wanna do. c’mon, y/n, it’s all you!”

you caught jungkook’s amused expression watching in the corner of your eye and realized that there was no going back now. even yeri’s face read ‘don’t you embarrass yourself in front of this cute guy,’ so you squeezed your eyes shut.

the liquid burned your throat and you nearly gagged it back up once you threw your head back with the flask. your newfound friends were the only reason why you didn’t, as they cheered you on. without opening your eyes, you held out the flask for the next person to take.

“let’s go, jungkook!” jaehyun let out an amused chuckle, clapping.

you watched jungkook take a healthy shot out of yeri’s flask like a pro, in spite of the shudder he made after completing the job. as yeri and jaehyun took their turns, jungkook turned to you in low conversation.

“i’m not a big drinker. . .” you admitted, as the warmth of whatever liquor you drank began to spread across your body.

your parents were always the strict type and upon choosing a college hours away from home, you made it your mission to try and do things you were never able to do. go to parties late at night. drink until you were drunk. all sorts of things that you wanted to shape your ‘college experience’. taking shots out of anything was a new development for you.

he flashed one of those dangerous boyish grins at you, the kind that mothers warned their daughters about.

jungkook said, “nah, you did good. going out of your comfort zone tonight, huh?”

truth be told and although you would never admit it aloud, you entered college blazing and desperate to make friends. this was a new start and you were more than eager to forge a friendship with yeri, with whoever sat next to you in lectures - hell, you were trying to even make friends with the janitor in the science building.

“something like that.”

the ‘something’ ended up being several more shots until standing straight became a chore.

you were having the time of your life, taking polaroids and playing volleyball until the time swept by like wind. at some point, after one drink too many, you took a look at your phone and when the words kept moving in your line of sight, you mustered enough self awareness to call it a night.

you liked this. maybe you could get used to college. subtracting the way your stomach churned after all those drinks would also be nice.

at this point, the party split up into different groups by nightfall and you were nestled in a small circle with her and a few other people. others were slowly starting to leave due to the bite of the sea breeze picking up by the shoreline. the party was still lively, as animated conversation weft between everyone with music continuing to play in the background.

“yeri, uhmmm, i think i should go back now,” you poked her arm. “i’m not feeling too, erm, well.”

thankfully, she agreed in an instant to return to campus with you. yeri took one look at your face and didn’t hesitate.

“of course! i’m getting cold anyway,” she said, completely ignoring the jacket loaned to her from the random boy sitting on the left.

at the same moment, sitting in the same circle around a small fire, jungkook noticed the two of you getting up to leave and also stood up. he mumbled something to jaehyun, busy wedged in a conversation with several girls fluttering their eyelashes at them,. he nodded and bade his friend goodbye.

jungkook already caught up to you before you got too far, eyebrows raised.

“you guys going back to campus? i’ll order the uber,” jungkook offered, stifling a laugh at yeri, who was fumbling with her phone - too drunk to get past the passcode screen.

looking back, it took a while to realize that it wasn’t just you and yeri in the uber, but jungkook, too. he’d been the one to open the door for the two of you, ensuring that nobody left anything behind, and even managed to get into yeri’s phone for her to text whoever she needed to. even if he was several drinks in himself, his watchful eye put you at ease.

midway through, you had no choice but to roll down the window of the uber, desperately needing fresh air or else the contents of your stomach would surely end up on the floor of the car.

“erm, so you guys are high school friends?” you asked casually, hoping it would take your mind off of the impending disaster in your body.

by now, yeri was actually knocked out in between you and jungkook. her phone was still lit in her lap and she seemed to be mid-text, now with her eyes closed and mouth hanging open. you thought it was actually cute and a weight was lifted off your shoulders - you were grateful to find a friend in your roommate. you had a feeling that you and yeri would stick around each other for a while. meanwhile, jungkook looked over at her and snorted.

“actually,” he began, “yeri used to date my older brother. we’re not super close, but we know each other enough - she’s the only other person from our high school to come to school here.”

that was surprising, as you thought they were actually friends, but you’d also stick by any sense of familiarity if you had someone like that. you came to college without knowing a single person and it’d been one of the most stressful experiences of your life, regardless of whatever adventure your parents promised you would embark on.

“are you from somewhere far?” you asked.

jungkook hummed in confirmation. “yeah, out of state. what about you?”

“about four hours away down south,” you answered. “still so crazy to me. . . how so many people here are from all sorts of places.”

you were definitely a little bit too far in the deep end if you were swinging your feet, making philosophical remarks out of your ass. jungkook either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, instead entertaining your thoughts with meaningful nodding.

“i was a bit nervous about coming here, worried i’d be weird or stick out too much since i’m not from around here.”

that was one of the first thoughts you had when you arrived at school. you were second guessing every move, every word you said, because you were so concerned with making friends and creating a good impression on everyone you met.

you sighed. “so, i’m not the only one?”

“i almost wanted to turn back when my parents left me alone in my dorm room,” he revealed.

“that’s a bit hard to believe,” you commented, which made him raise an eyebrow at you. “we just met, but you seem like the kind of guy who’d make friends and get through college just fine.”

jungkook said, “oh yeah? why so?”

maybe you had it all wrong. you always thought that beautiful people could have everything they could ever want in the palm of their hands. you found it to be one of those natural abilities that pushed you towards success in life - having people drawn to you, being personable, and not wandering around like a fly on the wall. it took quite the amount of liquor for you to even muster up the courage to not be so shy.

jungkook was just that. he’d been making random people laugh all night and took shots with strangers like they’d been best friends for years. but, then again, so were you and you weren’t that kind of person.

when you didn’t answer, jungkook smiled. “my brother told me all about how college is the place where you find yourself and blah blah blah. but, honestly, maybe he’s onto something.”

those words were the same ones stuck to you like a tattoo. it made you smile - you weren’t alone in clawing for some semblance of a new identity.

“didn’t realize fresh starts would be so nauseating,” you murmured, now clutching your stomach after the driver went over a particularly bad bump in the road.

jungkook laughed. “you’re real funny, y/n.” even though you were thoroughly inebriated, the compliment still made your cheeks burn and momentarily made you forget about how the car ride almost just made you throw up.

thankfully, the bump happened just seconds before the driver pulled up to your dorm building. you breathed out a sigh of relief now that you were free from the sickness of the car ride. after thanking the driver, you nearly burst out of the car.

at this point, jungkook shook yeri awake and she groggily stepped out of the car.

“hey, when did we get he - oh! y/n, are you alright?”

yeri scurried over to where you dashed to, now down on your knees and hurling the contents of your insides into the nearest container you could find. unfortunately, it was a pot of daisies outside of stratton that fell victim to your drinking.

she didn’t hesitate to come over and hold your hair back. you couldn’t hear much, except her words of encouragement and the feeling of her rubbing your back like a mom.

“i’m - ergh,” you were cut off by another round of vomit, “never. drinking. ugh - again.”

little did you know, this would be a moment between you and yeri that you would never forget. she would bring this night up about as often as she could for the next four years.

meanwhile, jungkook walked over to the nearest vending machine, conveniently housed just outside of stratton hall, and bought a bottle of water. before he generously handed it over to you, he had also taken a few gulps. you didn’t notice, still heaving over the damn potted plant.

“shh. . .good job. now, drink up!” yeri said, putting the bottle in your hand, before alarm flashed in her eyes. she frantically patted down her pockets. “crap! i lost my keys.”

you groaned. “shit, i’m so sorry - i left mine on my desk.”

yeri scratched her head. “aw man, i hope doyeon doesn’t hate us for this. . .i’ll call her now,” her shoulders dropped, as she walked away to make the call. luckily, you knew doyeon wouldn’t mind.

“i’ll stay by until you guys get into your floor,” offered jungkook, who was now sitting on the bench beside you. “i live on the third floor here with jaehyun.”

you forgot he was there and now you were embarrassed that he witnessed all that. jungkook didn’t seem to mind, though, completely unaffected. he was too focused on examining your face, as you became initially self-conscious that he was just randomly staring at you. you clocked in that he was also not sober yet either. you realized he was in deep thought when he finally tilted his head at you.

“i know you. we met at the bean,” he concluded, as if solving a riddle.

“recognized my look of distress?”

“i seem to keep giving you beverages whenever i run into you.”

you laughed, making a crackling sound when you squeezed the water bottle. “yeah, that was me,” you said. “thanks for that coffee, by the way. you saved my life.”

“i was hoping i’d run into you again,” he mused. by now, you realized that he was conversing with you as you were still hunched over the potted plant, so you swiftly rose to your feet as smoothly as you could.

you cleared your throat, trying to act casual. “why so?” you asked slowly, unsure what the tone implied was. there was no way he was. . .flirting with you? no, it was the liquor playing games on you.

“y/n! doyeon is coming down to let us onto our floor!”

you and jungkook both jumped at yeri’s shrill voice. she might have woken up the entire block with that yell.

the last thing you wanted to do was keep doyeon waiting, considering it was three in the morning and even if she was awake, she was likely tucked in bed. but, there was also some nagging part of you that didn’t want this conversation with jungkook to end. you weren’t sure why, but you just seemed to be lost in a trance with him. he also seemed disappointed that you were to leave, as his shoulders fell slightly with yeri’s announcement.

he smiled. “have a good night, y/n.”

“hold on.”

jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, as you fiddled around for your wallet. you thankfully found the piece of cardstock that you were looking for right away and handed it to jungkook.

“what’s this?” he asked, examining the front and back.

“it’s the loyalty card from the bean. i bought four coffees, so the fifth one is free,” you explained. “you can have it - i owe you one, don’t i?”

when you walked into your dorm room that night, yeri was already fast asleep, despite having only been a few steps ahead of you. doyeon was, like she said she would be earlier, reading and tucked into bed after unlocking the door for you. you offered an apology, but she only waved it off with a giggle, clearly amused by you two.

before drifting off into sleep, you noticed how bare the dorm room walls were and decided you would buy some posters the next day. thoughts of string lights and polaroids wrapped your mind, as you wondered if you would see jungkook again.

***

and that was the last you remembered of jeon jungkook from that night.

now, he was standing in front of you, at the very coffee shop where you first met and you watched as the memories played back for him in front of his very eyes. eventually, his recollection came back to him and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

this was your third meeting now and you wondered if it was this easy to run into someone on a campus full of thousands of undergraduate students.

(you realize by junior year, after watching several friends falling victim to unfortunate situationships, that running into people you would rather die than see is, unfortunately, common.)

doyeon and seokmin looked between the two of you strangely.

“uhm, jungkook and i met at a bonfire at the beach last friday,” you explained, eying him. “he’s the one that called you, doyeon, to help yeri and i get back into the building when we were locked out.”

he was too kind for his own good, considering he waited patiently to ensure that his barely an acquaintance of his brother’s ex girlfriend and a random girl would make it home safe.

“oh! that was you?” doyeon nodded slowly. “thanks for that, you’re really nice for helping out.”

jungkook chuckled, “no big deal. it’s nice seeing you again, y/n.”

his eyes fell on you and you stifled an ugly, nervous laugh.

you managed to swallow down the weight of embarrassment. “are you off to another party tonight?”

“nah, we just wrapped up practice and shit was tiring as hell. we’re just gonna call it a night, maybe game,” jungkook said. “not all of us are party animals like you.”

that was definitely far from who you were. the morning after the bonfire, you continued to further swear up and down that you would never drink again. even now, thinking about alcohol made you shudder and you were convinced that you needed several more business days before you could even consider going out, whether there was alcohol involved or not.

“hilarious,” you laughed dryly at him.

meanwhile, doyeon was just growing irritated with her cousin. ”you made the swim team?”

“pft, obviously.”

“you’re awful. you couldn’t even get a scholarship,” she shot.

seokmin rolled his eyes. “that’s what walk-ons are for, stupid,” he said. “kook’s the scholarship, though, he’s freakin’ amazing.”

as the two went back and forth, you and jungkook shared an entertained look. they fought like siblings and their clashing personalities didn’t help.

“anyway, no party tonight, but we’ll be going to the tailgate next saturday, though!” seokmin continued with enthusiasm.

doyeon began to grumble. “seokmin, you know i don’t go to those things,” she began to wave him off.

“what tailgate?” you asked.

jungkook shrugged. “it’s the parking lot party before the big football season opener. campus security doesn’t really care about drinking at these things, so it usually ends up being crazy every year.”

“you’re so boring, doyeonie, just show up once,” seokmin pleaded with his cousin, before turning to you. “y/n, tell her!”

“can you leave us alone, we’re trying to study,” she snapped before you could answer and it was more of a command than a request.

both you and jungkook were not prepared to get in between them, instead continuing to observe the argument with amusement. eventually, doyeon cussed at seokmin enough for him to concede - at least he did after she physically swatted him out of her space.

“hey,” jungkook spoke up, which made you turn to him. “if you change your mind about the tailgate, let me know.”

it took a second to realize that he was now pulling a random notebook out of his backpack. jungkook then tore off a random page and began scribbling on it. it was his number.

now, you were not the kind of girl to throw up in front of someone you just met and have the confidence to hang out with them again. in fact, you could have probably gone without seeing jungkook ever again for the next four years out of sheer shame. however, you were too preoccupied with the fact that a boy was giving you his number. you were also fixated on the fact that he’d written it down, old school - who does that anymore? these days, guys only ever wanted a girl’s snapchat or instagram.

you gingerly took the paper, still baffled that it just happened. seokmin and doyeon were still bickering next to you, before jungkook took it upon himself to finally interrupt.

“let’s go, seokmin,” he insisted, exasperated that they were still going back and forth.

seokmin rolled his eyes, but gave up. “yeah, yeah, i’m coming,” he said. “bye y/n, nice meeting you!”

as doyeon muttered profanities under her breath about her cousin, you were trying to not make it obvious that the piece of paper with jungkook’s number literally burned into your palms. you could have squealed like an idiot. instead, you slid it into your anthropology binder and pretended to go back over your notes for the quiz.

⇢ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @fancypeacepersona @petiteparler @lanie97 @httpjeonlicious @bleumornings @rpwprpwprpwprw @kikiflwr @kissyfacekoo @knivesdoingcartwheels @joyjunk @jksusawife @haru-jiminn @fancypeacepersona (reply to be tagged and if i forgot to tag you!)

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jadeshifting · 3 months ago

Text

— A GUIDE TO CLASSES AT EVER AFTER HIGH.

MYTHOLOGY. taught by Mrs. Psyche

this class delves into the legendary tales and divine histories of various magical realms, exploring the origins, powers, and legacies of gods, mythical creatures, and legendary heroes. Mrs. Psyche, an expert in ancient lore and celestial wisdom, guides students through epic sagas, divine rivalries, and the cultural significance of myths across Ever After. expect interactive lessons, dramatic reenactments, and the occasional visit from an actual deity if you’re lucky—or very unlucky

HOMEWORK. expect essays on the morals and hidden meanings in classic myths, plus creative assignments like rewriting a legend with a modern twist PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show curiosity about myths from all cultures and always be respectful of love deities—Mrs. Psyche takes their stories very seriously AVOID MISHAPS. don’t mix up gods from different pantheons in your presentations—calling Zeus “a Norse deity” is a one-way ticket to an exasperated sigh

KINGDOM MANAGEMENT. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

future rulers, nobles, and aspiring leaders learn the ins and outs of running a kingdom, from diplomacy and lawmaking to organizing grand balls and handling royal scandals. the White Queen, known for her composed yet commanding leadership, teaches strategy, ethics, and governance through real-world scenarios, often incorporating Wonderlandian logic puzzles to test students’ problem-solving skills under pressure

HOMEWORK. drafting decrees, designing economic policies, and writing conflict resolution strategies fit for ruling a kingdom PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always address her formally, take notes in impeccable script, and never question the importance of royal protocol AVOID MISHAPS. never suggest solving political disputes with a sword—she insists that diplomacy, not duels, is the mark of a true ruler

ADVANCED ELFONOMICS. taught by the esteemed Fairy Queen

this elite course teaches students the intricate financial magic behind running a kingdom, from managing enchanted trade routes to understanding the unpredictable fluctuations of the golden bean stock market. the Fairy Queen, with her keen business acumen and ancient fae wisdom, ensures her students master the art of wealth accumulation, resource allocation, and the occasional negotiation with mischievous leprechauns

HOMEWORK. balancing enchanted budgets, predicting market trends in fairy-tale economies, and occasional field trips to enchanted banks filled with gold PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep your calculations accurate and your economic theories sound—Fairy Godmother investments rely on precision, not guesswork AVOID MISHAPS. don’t accept enchanted gold from leprechauns or trickster fairies—it will vanish overnight, and your grade will disappear with it

GRIMMNASTICS. taught by Coach Gingerbreadman

a fast-paced, action-packed class that combines acrobatics, endurance, and skills fit for any fairytale hero or heroine. with Coach Gingerbreadman’s lightning-fast speed and high-energy training style, students practice enchanted obstacle courses, daring escapes, and storybook stunts that would make even the most daring adventurer sweat. the class focuses on developing strength, flexibility, coordination, and agility, blending magical elements with traditional gymnastics techniques

HOMEWORK. none! ( whew ) but in class, expect daily obstacle courses, tower-climbing drills, and team challenges that involve fleeing from imaginary witches PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep up, move fast, and don’t complain—Coach G is all about agility and endurance, and he does’t slow down. ever AVOID MISHAPS. never eat anything left unattended in the gym—there’s a 50/50 chance it’s either an energy-boosting enchanted snack or a curse-laced trick. you never know!

CHEMYTHSTRY. taught by Professor Rumplestiltskin

a mix of potions, alchemy, and enchanted chemistry, this course teaches students how to brew everything from love potions to transformation elixirs—if they can handle Professor Rumplestiltskin’s cryptic riddles and tricky assignments. with an emphasis on magical reactions and the delicate balance of ingredients, students must be precise, or they may find themselves accidentally cursed or turned into gold

HOMEWORK. brewing potions, analyzing alchemical reactions, and testing the properties of enchanted elements PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. follow instructions to the letter—Rumplestiltskin loves precision and has a zero-tolerance patience for careless spell-mixing AVOID MISHAPS. never, under any circumstances, agree to any kind of “trade” with the professor in exchange for an easier assignment. it’s not worth it, trust me

DAMSEL - IN - DISTRESSING CLASS. taught by Madam Maid Marian

a staple for traditional storybook heroines, this class teaches the fine art of swooning at the right moment, perfecting the helpless-yet-charming gaze, and calling for help in a voice that carries across enchanted forests. Madam Maid Marian ensures her students master the delicate balance between appearing vulnerable while subtly manipulating the situation to their advantage—because even the most distressed damsels know how to work a fairytale in their favor

HOMEWORK. practicing swooning, perfecting a well-timed gasp, and composing letters of woe to imaginary rescuers PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always act appropriately dramatic when learning proper distress techniques—anything less than peak theatrics is disappointing AVOID MISHAPS. don’t accidentally outshine the prince in a rescue simulation—nothing gets you on her bad side faster than saving yourself ( no matter how blitheringly useless your rescuer may be )

CREATIVE STORYTELLING. taught by Professor Jack B. Nimble

in this dynamic and expressive class, students learn how to craft compelling narratives, whether for written tales, theatrical performances, or enchanting oral traditions. Professor Jack B. Nimble, known for his quick wit and lively teaching style, encourages students to think outside the storybook and experiment with different genres, endings, and perspectives, ensuring their own tales are just as spellbinding as the ones that came before them

HOMEWORK. writing fairytales with unexpected endings, crafting riddles, and creating engaging oral stories to be performed in class PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be witty, be original, and never deliver a boring story—Professor Jack lives for quick thinking and clever twists ( students still whisper about the time he literally fell asleep in the middle of a student’s story ) AVOID MISHAPS. avoid clichés at all costs—it says in the syllabus that if he hears “once upon a time” too often, he might jump out the window in protest

ADVANCED VILLAINY. taught by Mr. Badwolf

for those embracing their darker destinies ( or just wanting to understand the mind of a villain—it’s an elective, too ) this class explores the art of scheming, deception, and tactical villainy. Mr. Badwolf, with his menacing charm and years of experience causing trouble, teaches students how to craft masterful monologues, execute dramatic entrances, and plan foolproof plots—complete with an emphasis on avoiding the classic pitfalls that lead to a villain’s downfall

HOMEWORK. devising foolproof villainous schemes and identifying weak points in heroic plans. bonus points for sabotaging another student’s assignment PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show ambition, strategy, and more than a little bit of wicked flair—Mr. Badwolf respects students who think like masterminds AVOID MISHAPS. don't act heroic in class—while he tolerates reform-minded students, he won’t hesitate to assign extra homework as punishment if he feels anyone's too generous or kindhearted

FASHION DESIGN. taught by Mrs. Fairy Godmother

a dream-come-true class for aspiring designers, where students learn to craft magical ensembles, enchant fabrics, and create garments that are both stylish and spellbinding. with Mrs. Fairy Godmother’s expertise in transformation magic, students practice stitching together gowns that change color at midnight, boots that walk on air, and accessories infused with fairy dust. bonus points for those who can design an outfit fit for a royal ball and an epic quest. the class blends traditional design principles with a touch of enchantment, encouraging students to create outfits that reflect their unique personalities and tell their own fairy tales

HOMEWORK. creating mood boards, sketching outfits, and crafting magical garments with enchanted fabrics PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always keep your workspace neat and clean, and your designs fabulous—Mrs. Fairy Godmother has high standards for both AVOID MISHAPS. never leave unfinished projects unattended—one rogue swish of a wand, and your dress might sprout wings or turn into a pumpkin

BEAST TRAINING & CARE. taught by Professor Poppa Bear

from training fire-breathing dragons to taming mischievous talking mice, this class prepares students for handling all manner of enchanted creatures. with his warm but no-nonsense approach, Professor Poppa Bear teaches students how to communicate with beasts, provide proper magical care, and even ride or befriend some of Ever After’s most fearsome ( or snuggly ) creatures. the class emphasizes the importance of empathy, respect, and responsible stewardship when interacting with enchanted beings

HOMEWORK. taking notes on enchanted creature encounters you have outside of class, studying their habitats, and practicing magical grooming techniques. assignments are much easier for students who have their own mystic beast as a pet PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be patient, compassionate, and firm—Professor Poppa Bear believes good beast tamers must balance kindness with authority, and he won't hesitate to crack down on students he feels aren't being tolerant and kind with the creatures AVOID MISHAPS. always double-check what you're feeding the creatures—accidentally giving a griffin a fire-breathing potion will not end well

CROWNCULUS. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

a blend of advanced mathematics and royal economics, this class teaches students how to manage kingdom finances, calculate treasure values, and strategize for economic prosperity. the White Queen ensures that students grasp complex numerical concepts while also understanding the practical application of numbers in ruling a kingdom, proving that math isn’t just about numbers—it’s about power and magic, too

HOMEWORK. solving royal tax equations, balancing enchanted budgets, and calculating castle construction costs PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always show your work neatly on your notes, respect the logic of numbers, and never bring chaos into her perfectly ordered classroom. loose fairy dust or torn paper is a one-way ticket to getting sent out to the hallway AVOID MISHAPS. never argue that "magic can just fix the math"—that’s a fast track to an exasperated glare and extra equations ( though she'll pretend you were chosen at random for them )

ADVANCED WOOING. taught by Dr. King Charming

whether it’s serenading a princess from a castle tower or sweeping a prince off his feet at a royal ball, this class covers the fine art of courtship. Dr. King Charming, an expert in chivalry and romance, teaches students how to compose love letters, master ballroom etiquette, and perfect the dramatic, wind-blown hair flip. special guest lectures from famed love interests ensure students are well-versed in only the most effective wooing techniques ever after

HOMEWORK. writing needlessly lengthy sonnets, practicing your dramatic entrance, and perfecting grand romantic gestures PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. exude confidence, use flowery language, and always demonstrate princely manners—Dr. Charming believes wooing is an art, and it helps if you act with decorum even outside of tests and assignments AVOID MISHAPS. don’t mix up your love letters—accidentally delivering the wrong one can lead to legendary levels of fairytale drama ( Dr. Charming won't admit how he knows, but he seems suspiciously adamant on it )

COOKING CLASS - IC. taught by Professor Momma Bear

a cozy yet rigorous class where students learn everything from baking enchanted pastries to brewing hearty, storybook-worthy stews. Professor Momma Bear, warm but strict, teaches students the magic of home-cooked meals and how to avoid common culinary disasters—like accidentally putting a sleeping spell in the soup ( more common than you’d think. shocking, i know. ) bonus points for anyone who can craft a meal fit for both a royal banquet and a humble woodland picnic

HOMEWORK. baking enchanted pastries, perfecting porridge temperatures, and learning potion-infused cooking in the communal kitchens—they're open late at night, which is when lots of students do their best work PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. follow the recipe to a T, respect the kitchen space, and always clean up after yourself—Professor Momma Bear runs a strict but cozy classroom, and surfaces need to be crumb-free for that to happen AVOID MISHAPS. never leave the oven unattended—one careless mistake and your muffins might gain sentience ( or explode )

DARK SORCERY. taught by Baba Yaga

for those required to ( or foolish enough to ) dabble in the shadows, this class explores the ancient and forbidden arts of dark magic. Baba Yaga, cryptic and terrifyingly wise, teaches students the ethics of wielding power, the risks of curses and hexes, and how to summon forces beyond mortal comprehension—strictly for academic purposes… of course. students who can keep up with her demanding lessons will most certainly find themselves walking the fine line between greatness and peril, just as intended

HOMEWORK. expect assignments on hexes, shadow magic, and extremely ethically questionable but highly effective spellcasting techniques PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be respectful, but not a suck up... listen carefully, but don't hang onto her every word... and never waste her time—Baba Yaga is a fickle old witch who does not tolerate foolishness AVOID MISHAPS. don’t touch any of the professor’s personal artifacts—one single misstep, and you might find yourself cursed for a week ( or a lifetime )

WOODSHOP. taught by Mr. Geppetto

in this hands-on class, students learn the craftsmanship of enchanted carpentry, from crafting magical furniture to carving living marionettes ( though talking puppets are strictly optional. ) taught by the legendary woodcarver Geppetto, the course emphasizes precision, patience, and the importance of working with enchanted materials—because nobody wants a table that turns into a frog mid-banquet

HOMEWORK. crafting intricate wooden figures, repairing broken fairytale objects, and designing enchanted furniture to be presented to the class while Geppetto ooh-s and aah-s encouragingly and inspects it from every angle PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. pay attention to detail, measure at least twice before cutting, and never be careless with your tools ( wouldn't wanna lose a finger... or more ) AVOID MISHAPS. never bring anything to life by accident—Mr. Geppetto still has opinions about unexpected animated puppets, most of them aren't as perfect as his

DEBATE. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

a battle of wits, logic, and eloquence, this class teaches students how to construct compelling arguments, navigate royal negotiations, and win verbal duels with precision. The White Queen is a master of both reason and Wonderlandian riddles, and she ensures her students can debate everything from kingdom policies to whether a dragon’s hoard should be considered taxable income. though, of course, you always have to shake your opponents hand before and after a debate—and sometimes halfway through, too ( “debate is nothing without decorum, dears” the teacher chirps. )

HOMEWORK. researching historical disputes, and crafting persuasive speeches and arguments to perform in class PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. speak clearly, argue with logic, and maintain perfect etiquette—she values reason and refinement above all else. a perfectly crafted argument could be given zero-sum marks if you use foul language while presenting it AVOID MISHAPS. don’t descend into nonsense logic—Mrs. Her Majesty and the subject of debate as a whole has no room for "because I said so" as a defense

GEOGRAFAIRY. taught by Professor Jack B. Nimble

a whirlwind tour that covers every enchanted land, hidden kingdom, and magical realm, this class ensures students can navigate their way through both real and mythical landscapes. Mr. Jack B. Nimble, quick on his feet and sharp in his knowledge, teaches students how to read enchanted maps, locate legendary landmarks, and survive the treacherous terrains of places like the Swamps of Sorrow or the shifting sands of the Ever After Desert

HOMEWORK. memorizing magical trade routes, mapping enchanted forests, and planning efficient royal journeys, especially for high-stakes travel like royal carriages or valuable trade stocks PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. stay sharp, think fast, and always be ready for pop quizzes—Professor Jack moves just as quickly as his name suggests AVOID MISHAPS. don't mistake one enchanted swamp for another—some have quicksand, others have talking alligators, and both will fail you the test

DRAGON SLAYING. taught by Dr. King Charming

an action-packed course for aspiring heroes and knights, this class covers everything from identifying dragon species to the safest techniques for confronting ( or befriending ) them. Dr. King Charming, ever the gallant warrior, teaches battle tactics, shieldwork, and the art of delivering a victorious speech while standing atop a defeated beast. students are encouraged to find creative, non-lethal ways to deal with dragons—because a slayed dragon often makes for a very angry dragon mother ( you don’t wanna deal with one of those )

HOMEWORK. designing battle strategies, practicing swordplay ( safely and with supervision ), and studying legendary dragon encounters PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be courageous ( he hates students who cower ) and cultivate a healthy respect for dragonkind—Dr. Charming does not tolerate arrogance or killing out of malice AVOID MISHAPS. never mistake a friendly dragon for a feral one—Dr. Charming is not amused by unnecessary heroics or violence without reason

RIDDLING. taught by Professor Sphinx

a brain-twisting class that challenges students to master the art of riddles, trick questions, and mind-bending wordplay. Professor Sphinx, with her cryptic wisdom and smug amusement, pushes students to think in loops, uncover hidden meanings, and craft riddles so clever that they impress even her. only those with quick wits and sharper tongues will excel. there’s a silent booth tucked into the back of class where students can take solace in five minute time-outs if they get a riddle-induced brain-ache

HOMEWORK. solving some of the most famous and ancient riddles from fairytale history, crafting the trickiest trick questions, and debating paradoxes ( there has to be some end ) ( spoiler alert: there isn't ) PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. think outside the box and embrace the art of wordplay, she appreciates students who attempt to match her riddlish intellect ( though they never fully can. ) never give an obvious answer—she doesn't tolerate laziness AVOID MISHAPS. don't answer a riddle too quickly—Professor Sphinx loves watching students squirm in confusion, she'll snap if you think one is "too easy"

POISON FRUIT THEORY. taught by Mr. Henchman

a darkly fascinating course that delves into the study of enchanted produce, venomous flora, and the alchemy of cursed concoctions. Mr. Henchman, an expert in apple-related treachery from first-hand witnessing, ( and doing most of the dirty work himself shhhh ) teaches students how to identify, craft, and counteract, certain poisons—purely for academic purposes… of course. only the most careful and exceedingly precise students avoid an accidental nap at some point

HOMEWORK. identifying toxic ingredients, testing non-lethal potions, and studying famous fairytale poisonings—students are absolutely not permitted to handle lethal poisons outside of class time, no matter how funny Mr. Henchman thinks it would be PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be cunning, precise, and always ask about antidotes—surprisingly enough Mr. Henchman values ambition and intelligence over blind villainy AVOID MISHAPS. this should go without saying, but don’t ever eat anything from the classroom—regardless of whether it’s an extra-credit challenge or a standard study subject, it’s all dangerous

HISTORY OF TALL TALES. taught by Professor Paul Bunyan

a larger-than-life class where students study the greatest exaggerations in folklore, from beanstalk-climbing farm boys to men who lasso tornadoes. Professor Paul Bunyan, with his booming voice and legendary stature, teaches the importance of hyperbole, embellishment, and how a good story can shape the world. except storytelling assignments where size does matter, and extra credit for every surreptitious golden object you can cram into your tale

HOMEWORK. exaggerating your own legendary feats into tall tales, researching folklore heroes, and reenacting famous larger-than-life moments PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show enthusiasm for exaggerated storytelling and never question the truth of a tall tale—Professor Bunyan appreciates a good yarn, says puzzling into it "takes away the fun" AVOID MISHAPS. don’t get caught underestimating the size of the stories—or of Professor Bunyan’s pet blue ox, Babe

DIPLOMACY 101. taught by Mrs. Fairy Godmother

an essential course for future rulers, ambassadors, and anyone hoping to survive royal politics, this class covers the art of negotiation, conflict resolution, and fairy-tale-level etiquette. Mrs. Fairy Godmother, an expert in wish-granting diplomacy, ensures that students can turn any total pumpkin of a situation into a golden carriage of opportunity—preferably before midnight

HOMEWORK. drafting peace treaties, mediating minor disputes between friends or classmates, and practicing polite yet firm negotiation techniques PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. mind your manners, choose your words wisely, and never raise your voice—Mrs. Fairy Godmother believes in charm over conflict, and that manners always win AVOID MISHAPS. try not to use magic to solve conflicts too quickly—diplomacy requires finesse and effort, not a bibbidi-bobbidi-bandaid

CASTLE DESIGN. taught by the Three Little Pigs

a structural and aesthetic architecture class that teaches students how to design the perfect castle, from grand ballrooms to impenetrable fortresses, and everything else a benevolent ruler ( or evil sorcerer ) could need from their abode. the Three Little Pigs, having learned their lesson more than once after their own architectural mishaps, are now experts at crafting with only the pinnacle of quality materials, and they guide students through the balance of beauty and functionality, ensuring that no tower is too tall and every drawbridge is both sturdy and stylish

HOMEWORK. drafting blueprints, constructing model castles, and ensuring defenses against huffing and puffing in your structures PLEASE THE PROFESSORS. always prioritize structural integrity in your projects—they still have very, very strong opinions about weak materials AVOID MISHAPS. never, ever suggest using straw or sticks unless you want a three-pig class-long lecture on the merits of proper fortification

BEWITCHING SONG. taught by Ms. Aquata of Atlantis

a mesmerizing music class where students learn the magic of vocal enchantment, from siren songs that lure sailors to sleep, all the way to battle hymns that rally armies. Ms. Aquata, hailing from the royal family of Atlantis with her haunting voice and knowledge of forbidden harmonies, trains students in the delicate balance of melody and power—reminding them that some songs come at a price

HOMEWORK. composing enchantments through song, practicing vocal spells, and analyzing the most famous fairytale musical enchantments ( of course, the teacher is partial to songs from the tale of the Little Mermaid, though she pretends she doesn't have favorites ) PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. stay in tune and on key, embrace the magical melodies, and never mock merfolk music—Ms. Aquata takes her siren songs very seriously, even if they sound like dolphin noises to the untrained ear AVOID MISHAPS. avoid singing the wrong notes—one slip, and you might accidentally charm your classmates into an impromptu dance number ( music magic can be... fickle )

ANGER MAGICMENT. taught by Mr. Badwolf

a course designed for students with fiery tempers and villainous bloodlines, this class focuses on channeling rage productively instead of, say, blowing houses down. Mr. Badwolf ( you know… the Big Bad Wolf ) with his own history of temper issues, teaches students techniques in deep breathing, mindfulness, and how to redirect fury into something slightly less destructive—like competitive sports instead of rampaging through villages

HOMEWORK. journaling your emotional responses on the day-to-day, practicing breathing exercises, and resolving conflict without growling PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep your temper in check, use calming techniques, and don’t provoke classmates—Mr. Badwolf knows firsthand how bad anger issues can get, he has no tolerance for trying to set off others AVOID MISHAPS. never howl in frustration—it sets off an automatic... pack response from Mr. Badwolf, leaving him embarrassed and you in detention

EXPERIMENTAL FAIRY MATH. taught by Dr. Sandman

a mind-boggling fusion of numbers, magic, and dream logic, this class teaches students how to manipulate enchanted equations, calculate impossible probabilities, and solve numerical riddles that make reality bend. Dr. Sandman, a master of both dreamscapes and abstract concepts, guides students through numerical paradoxes and whimsical calculations that only make sense if you never think about them too hard

HOMEWORK. solving numerical paradoxes, creating reality-warping equations, and exploring mathematical dreamscapes—make sure you can get back to your dorm when you're done studying, though PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep an open mind, embrace dreamy logic, and don’t expect normal numbers—Dr. Sandman sees math through a magical lens, try to see things from his point of view AVOID MISHAPS. never fall asleep mid-equation—you might wake up inside a calculated alternate reality

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iflyfirstclass1 · 5 days ago

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gguk-n · 7 months ago

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Jokes In The Cloud (Carlos Sainz x Comedian!Reader)

No Face Claim. All the pictures are from Pinterest.

CONGRATULATIONS TO CARLOS ON WINNING HIS SECOND GP THIS SEASON!!

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user and 2,389 others

punchlineprincess Vacationing with the people who get on my nerve the most

y/bff/user you forgot to take me😔😔 punchlineprincess y/bff/user sorry bbg, next trip with you alone😘😘 y/cousin/user you annoy us more🙂 y/mum/user not a nice thing to say Y/N punchlineprincess y/mum/user I was joking😅😅 user1 if someone saw her IG they would think she's a model😍😍 user2 God I've seen what you've done for others, when is it my turn🥲🥲 user3 pretty and funny. I want her!!❤️❤️

{Reader's POV}

The gears in my head my turning, I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I still had to refine my script; I was sure I could do it if I have a few hours. "Sweetheart, dinner's ready" my dad called out from the bedroom door. "Dad, I have to leave" I stated. "To where?" my dad asked, walking in. "You know that Netflix special I was gonna film" I began, he nodded along, "well, they want to film it on Monday" I finished. "That's in a day" he stated. "2, since it's in New York" I explained. "Cassidy will send me my tickets, but I think I'll be leaving now" I spoke. "Sorry about ditching the family trip. I know how important it was for you" I mumbled. "It's okay, darling. This is bigger. This will catapult you to fame like you always wanted, I mean I'm already so proud of you but this is still bigger" he explained trying to calm me. "Me and your mum will help you pack, come on" he said and called my mum.

The two of them helped me pack my bags. He explained how my Netflix special would be filmed soon and I would be leaving soon to everyone. All my younger cousins and nieces and nephews were so excited. Cassidy sent me the tickets. I made sure to pack everything while my mum fed me, it was chaos in the best way possible. "I'll be leaving now" I hugged my parents good bye. "Can't wait to watch it" my aunt spoke patting my back. "Mention us" one of my younger cousin's spoke. "I'll try" I laughed. My niece kissed my cheek wishing me good bye. My nephew wasn't ready to let me go yet, my brother had to pull him off me.

I waved good bye as the taxi left the resort, my family waving back as I disappeared. The ride to the airport was short, I was too busy going through my material to notice when I reached the airport. I paid the taxi driver and hauled my luggage to the check-in desk. The person behind it, checked me in and I was headed to immigration. This was the first time I noticed that I was sitting first class. When did my manager have this kind of money to book first class. I'd have to bring it up with her once I had the time.

I got done with all the formality and headed to the waiting area, where I spent my time going through my script and tweaking it ever so often. I downed a RedBull to try to align myself to New York time, so that I can combat the jet lag.

As the speaker's announced the boarding for my flight, I grabbed all my stuff with the plan to finish it up on the plane. The air-host lead me to my seat. I noticed a man sat on the seat next to mine, he looked an awful lot familiar, until it hit me that it was Carlos Sainz; my heart started pounding. I walked up to my seat, put my luggage away and sat down. My hands were shaking by the time I sat down, pulling my laptop out. I started typing away with shaky hands. "Is that a script?" a voice came from beside me. I turned around to find Carlos with his head turned, trying to figure out what's written. "Yeah, I'm a comedian, this is a script for my show" I tried to speak as confidently and calmly as possible. "That's cool. I'm Carlos, Carlos Sainz" he introduced himself. "I'm Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N" I shook his hand. "I'm a Formula One driver, maybe you'e heard about me" he further elaborated. I know, I've been obsessed with you for years, my poor brother has to listen to me talk about you for hours after every race, analysing the whole race. I have a fan account called carloslover, were the thoughts running through my head. "Yeah, I must've heard about Formula One some where" I said tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Well it's nice to meet you" Carlos said. "It's nice to meet you too" I said with a smile. "I'll let you get back to your work" Carlos said pointing at my laptop.

I spent a couple more minutes working on it before I was disturbed by Carlos, not like I was complaining; "I'm sorry but I'm kind of curious about what the script your working on is about" Carlos spoke slowly. "I'm filming a Netflix special in New York. So, I'm fine tuning my script" I chuckled. "Oh, sorry for disturbing you" Carlos replied sheepishly. Damn, he looked so cute, I caught myself fawning at him. "Ah, it's nothing." I quickly looked away, "I love when people are interested in what I do" I smiled. "Then, I will continue to annoy you a bit" he laughed. "Be my guest" I smiled back.

A few more tweaks and a good hour later, I was able to close the laptop, happy with the script I had at hand. "I'm guessing you're done" Carlos chimed in. "I am" I said stretching a little. "Maybe you could practice a bit with me" Carlos suggested. "I do want to practice my crowd work" I thought out loud.

"So, Carlos are you really a full time driver or a model? I can't really tell" I said. Carlos's face turned red, "Is this how you do crowd work?" he trailed. "I, no, can't let the opportunity to flirt with a man as handsome as you go" I smirked. Carlos's blush only deepened, "So, I'm special" he laughed. "Obviously" I shrugged. "If it's anything, I thought you were a model and not a comedian" he retorted. "I get that a lot. But doesn't work in my profession when people don't think pretty people tell good jokes" I retorted back. "I've never heard any of your jokes, but I'm sure you're funny since Netflix wants you" Carlos said. "Hope so" I said holding up my hands with crossed fingers.

I felt like the time flew by, as Carlos kept me company. Just as the flight was about to land; "Will I see you again?' Carlos asked hopefully. "You could, if I had your number" I remarked. Carlos pulled his phone out and handed it to me. I put my number in and called myself. "I'll see you soon." I winked as I saved Carlos's number. "Can't wait" Carlos replied, smiling at me as we grabbed our luggage to leave.

Cassidy was waiting for me as I exited the airport. "I'm so sorry, I should've checked my emails" she apologised grabbing my bag. "It's fine, let's go. I'm exhausted" I replied grabbing my bag back. We caught an uber back to the hotel. I rehearsed my script with Cassidy for the next few hours, trying not to memorise it so it would sound genuine.

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user and 2,378 others

punchlineprincess Done filming my first special, can't wait for it to air🥹🥹

y/bff/user I'M SO EXCITED🤭🤭 user4 I'll watch it just to see that outfit😍 user5 so pretty😍😍 y/mum/user so proud of my baby💖 y/dad/user my baby's all grown up😭❤️

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user, carlossainz55 and 3,289 others

punchlineprincess Joked my way into his life🫣🫣

y/bff/user ooohhhh who is this??👀👀 y/dad/user what is this behaviour y/n??? user6 OMG!!! I love this❤️❤️ user7 the best couple ever and idek the guy😅😅 user9 y/n being sporty wasn't in my bingo card🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ user10 the golf date!!!❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 user11 I want to go to an art museum with my lover and imitate art like that😏😏 user12 this is so Carlos coded plus he's in the likes😣😣

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user and 5,378 others

punchlineprincess I may have gone overboard for the premier at home🥲😅

y/bff/user I'M SCREAMING WHILE WATCHING IT🥹🥹 y/mum/user my baby❤️ carlossainz55 so proud of you ❤️Liked by Author user13 what does Carlos mean by that, like he knows her🙂👀 user14 the funniest shit i've watched in a while🤣🤣 user15 loved this so much!!!❤️🤣 user16 finally the real comedian that's getting the recognition she deserves😂😂

punchlineprincess

Liked by carlossainz55, y/bff/user and 1278,340 others Tagged carlossainz55

punchlineprincess Sorry I'm not normal about my boyfriend winning his second race this season😭😭

carlossainz55 I think having you there was my lucky charm🍀❤️ punchlineprincess carlossainz55 aww!! but it was your big brain and hard work❤️❤️🥹 y/bff/user aww!! watching both my babies win respectively 😭😭Liked by carlossainz55 and punchlineprincess y/dad/user good job Carlos👍 Liked by carlossainz55 user12 I should've known after those dates🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ user20 seeing her hug his mom when he won was so cute😭😭 user21 the most unlikely couple🥹🥹 user22 I get it Carlos, I get it😍😍 user23 Vamos Carlos!!👍👍 user24 I want a full timeline how everything went down😩 user25 I'm so happy I got to witness this race😭😭 user26 she was so sweet to all the fans and even took pictures with us!!😭🥹

After the race win celebrations on the podium and the team, after the interviews when I finally got him all to myself; "I'm so proud of you baby" I whispered as I pressed a kiss on his lips. "I'm so happy you got to see me win" Carlos mumbled not letting go. "I can't believe instead of watching you on TV I got to watch you in real life" I said pulling away. "I don't know why you lied to me when we met" Carlos laughed. "Well I couldn't tell you I'm @ carloslover on Instagram and Twitter and I've been in love with you since you debuted" I laughed. "I think I wouldn't have paid much attention since you're so pretty" Carlos smiled running his hands down my sides to rest on my waist. "Well I'm a Carlos lover and I am Carlos's lover. It's a win win" I smiled, "You and I both, princessa, you and I both" Carlos captured my lips in another, yet steamy kiss pulling me closer so my body was touching his, "You are all sticky and smell of champagne", I mumbled against his lips trying to pull away but Carlos pulled me closer, "No" he muttered and continued kissing me. He walked back to sit on the couch pulling me down with him, straddling his lap. He pulled me closer, our bodies touching, his hands roaming mine before they found home on my ass. We pulled away slightly breathless but Carlos than started his assault on my neck, sucking on my sweet spot near my collar bone while pushing me down on his lap. I could feel him grow under me. I pushed him away, "Nope" I said firmly. "No?" he asked cocking his head to the right with his big brown puppy eyes, "We're not doing it here. Let's get back to the hotel, maybe after you smell a little less like alcohol, I'll think about it" I said getting up. "Y/N" he whined holding my hands as I stood in front of him. "Not even for today's race winner" he pouted. "No. Baby, this is your work place. I will do anything and everything you want but out of the paddock" I said. "The car?" Carlos perked up. "Carlos, darling, we'll be on the headline tomorrow reading Carlos Sainz Jr knows how to celebrate his win in Mexico with girlfriend in his black Ferrari" I said. "Fine, Let's go back soon. I can't wait" he humphed before going to change out of his race suit. "I love you" I called out. "También te amo" he called back.

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iflyfirst-class · 1 year ago

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connorsui · 3 months ago

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UNLIMITED ACCESS!

This was wonderfully requested by my beloved @madam8 who gave me such a beautiful idea for a sylus date and I couldn't let go of it until I completed it 😭😭🩷🩷 like it's so cute that even when I was studying I kept thinking of new ways to end the fic or new scenes to add into it. --- it was ...AAUGH- my heart ...tho I do apologize for how long this one took out ur girl was busy trying not to fail classes 💀💀 ...lol 💅🏻

p.s if you see my corpse surrounded by flowers anywhere you can blame it on this ask ✨️ I LOVE IT

It started, as most things with Sylus did, with...

extravagance.

He had a habit of planning nights that felt more like events—private rooftops overlooking the shimmering city skyline, candlelit dinners in places that required reservations months in advance, evenings where the very sky seemed to bend to his will.

Luxurious. Impeccable. Always grand.

And while you loved those moments—loved him—there was something else you had been craving lately.

Something... simpler.

So one evening, as he idly twirled a glass of dark liquor between his fingers and casually mentioned taking you to a private villa on an island, you leaned into his space, resting your chin on your palm, and asked—

"Why don’t we do something more…plain? Just for the day—I mean."

Sylus stilled slightly, red eyes flickering toward you, waiting.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love our dates," you continued, "but I think it’d be nice to just do something fun. Silly, even. Maybe a little childish?"

A playful smile curled at your lips.

"Just… something where you don’t have to rent out an entire skyline to impress me."

He raised a brow, surprised. "You wish for something plain?"

You grinned. "Exactly. So let’s just have a normal date. Like—oh! What about an amusement park? Or an arcade? Or the fair!"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a measured movement. "Your ideas are enjoyable… I wouldn't mind indulging in them."

"Yeah! It’ll be fun, I promise. We can see what rides you like, if you’ll actually tolerate roller coasters, or if you’re one of those people who insists they’re too predictable." You smirked. "Oh, and you have to try winning me something from one of those carnival games."

He regarded you with that ever-neutral gaze, quiet and considering, before finally murmuring—

"For you, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling that request."

You smiled, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek, already excited for whatever simple, carefree date he would plan.

Or so you thought.

Because somehow—somehow—things escalated.

Instead of just buying tickets like a normal person, Sylus had decided the best course of action was to…

Buy. The. Entire. Damn. Park.

Your favorite amusement park, to be exact.

And now here you stood at the entrance, staring up at the massive sign that should have been buzzing with families, groups of friends, and screaming children running past in excitement.

Instead, it was silent.

The ticket booths? Closed. The parking lot? Void of life.

The only people here were you, Sylus, and the staff, who stood patiently, waiting only for the two of you.

You turned to him slowly, your brain still buffering.

"Sylus… I—when I said I wanted a fun day with you… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Sylus, as usual, looked completely unbothered. "Did I get the wrong park?"

You blinked. "…No, but—Sylus, what—" You gestured at the empty surroundings, struggling to form a coherent thought. "You didn’t have to—How did you even do this?"

He tilted his head, as if you had asked a genuinely confusing question. "I bought it."

You took a deep breath. "No, I know that, but why?"

Sylus blinked at you, expression calm yet calculating, like he was trying to gauge whether you were actually upset.

"Would you prefer a different one? I can acquire another if this one isn’t to your liking."

You choked. "Acquire—Sylus, I meant let’s just have a normal day at the park! With other people! Like… buying tickets, not—not monopolizing an entire amusement park for us!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient. I don’t like crowds."

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, fair, but I’m not even sure how to react to this." You ran a hand down your face, staring at the vast, empty park. "Do I just… accept this? Should I ask you to sell it back? Is it even going to open to normal people when we're not here?"

Sylus exhaled softly, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His red eyes, sharp yet steady, held an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I wanted you to have the best experience," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate—like he was peeling back the layers of his thoughts just for you. "No interruptions. No strangers ruining our time. No one else pulling your attention away."

His thumb ghosted along your jaw, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

"I wanted today to be ours. Every moment, every ride, every second—only for us."

Your heart squeezed at the weight of his words.

Sylus was always confident, always in control—but this was different. This wasn’t about power or extravagance.

This was about ...you.

He had done this for you.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ability to turn something so ridiculous into something that made your heart melt.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples before looking up at him again. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

His lips twitched, almost smirking. "Would you expect anything less?"

You huffed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

His hand slipped from your chin to your wrist, fingers curling around it as he tugged you toward the entrance.

"Then let’s stop worrying about it and enjoy it as much as we can."

You let him pull you forward, your brain still catching up to the fact that this was happening. That you were about to experience an amusement park that was literally all yours for the day.

And honestly?

You weren’t going to complain.

But as you walked in, something felt... strange.

The park was…alive?

Despite the complete absence of other guests, the workers were still here—acting as if today was a completely normal day.

Vendors stood at their booths, flipping burgers, making cotton candy, lining up pretzels under warming lamps. The game stalls were manned, workers casually leaning against counters, ready to hand out prizes.

The park’s parade performers were still marching down the street. A princess in a poofy dress waved at you. Mascot characters moved in synchronized greetings, despite the fact that no one was here but you.

It was… surreal.

Sylus squeezed your hand as you slowed to take it all in. "I told them to proceed as usual. It would’ve been eerie if everything was frozen."

You turned to him. "So… it’s like the park is still running, but we’re the only ones who get to experience it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don’t you think it’s better this way?"

You inhaled deeply, looking around again.

Sylus watched you carefully, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course! I mean—” You hesitated again, glancing around as your expression softened. “It’s nothing wrong, I promise! I love that you did this, I do, but…” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair before looking up at him again.

“I just—I wanted this day to be special not just for us entirely, but to have a moment together surrounded by everyone and everything.” Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. “The chatter, the energy, the crowds moving past us. The chaos of it all.”

You shrugged, a little sheepish. “I know you don’t like being around too many people, and I love that you wanted to make this day perfect for me, but part of what makes an amusement park so special is the shared experience, y’know? That feeling of being one in a sea of people, laughing together, screaming on rides, getting bumped into by kids running past, standing too close in lines because there's no choice…”

Your words trailed off as you searched his gaze, unsure how he’d react.

For a moment, Sylus didn’t say anything. His red eyes remained locked onto yours, unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his fingers idly traced over your knuckles, as if considering your words carefully.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose—slow and measured, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“…I see...I- ” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a shift in his tone.

He glanced around, taking in the completely empty pathways, the stalls with no customers, the parade performing for no one but you two. The sight of the workers, stationed and waiting, but missing the usual life of the park.

Sylus was pragmatic. He saw a problem, he solved it. Simple. To him, the best way to ensure you had an amazing day was to remove all obstacles—the crowds, the noise, the inconvenience of waiting in lines or dealing with other people.

But now, as he watched you, something seemed to click.

“…Would you like me to open the park?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you mean, like, right now?”

He nodded once. “If it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered. "Sylus—I didn’t say all that just to guilt you into—”

He raised a brow. “It’s not about guilt. You wanted to share this moment with people and I took that possibility from you” He pulled out his phone as if he could undo an entire park shutdown with a single call—which, knowing him, he probably could.

You stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh, reaching to stop his hand before he could dial. “Okay, hold on, let’s think about this rationally—”

Sylus merely looked at you, waiting for what you were bound to say next.

You exhaled, lacing your fingers with his properly. “Look, it’s okay. I love what you did, and I will enjoy this day with you.” You squeezed his hand. “I just needed a moment to process it, that’s all.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his red eyes scanning your face as if committing every little twitch of emotion to memory. Then, his gaze flickered past you, landing on a nearby booth.

A teddy bear stand.

Without a word, he turned, gently tugging you along by the hand.

You blinked in surprise. “Wait—where are we—?”

He stopped in front of the booth, staring at the rows of stuffed bears lined up in varying sizes, from tiny keychains to ones nearly as tall as you. His jaw was set, unreadable, but his grip around your hand was firm.

“Sylus?” You tilted your head at him, watching as he eyed the game—a classic ring toss setup.

“I failed to give you what you really wanted,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You should at least receive something in return.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it.

Soft, but laced with frustration.

Like he was genuinely bothered that his attempt to make you happy had missed the mark.

“Sylus…” You squeezed his hand, stepping closer. “You don’t have to win me anything—”

He ignored that, already rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. His focus was entirely on the game now, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the distance, the weight of the rings stacked beside the booth’s attendant.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Sylus said nothing, simply holding his hand out for the rings. The worker—completely unphased, as if watching an overpowered, absurdly rich man win rigged carnival games was just another part of the job—wordlessly handed them over.

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Sylus, you really don’t have to—”

The first ring landed perfectly on the bottle.

Your mouth snapped shut.

Another.

And another.

Without missing a single shot.

The worker gave a small, almost-impressed nod. “Pick your prize.”

Sylus turned to you, expectant.

You stared between him and the game, caught between laughter and disbelief. “This your way of an apology gift?

“And would that change anything if I said yes?”

“Sylus –”

You huffed, shaking your head before pointing to one of the bigger teddy bears—one with a white soft, plush face and an oversized red ribbon around its neck.

Sylus retrieved it without hesitation, turning to face you fully as he held it out.

“ you sure you didn't have me in mind? ” he said simply.

You giggled at him, your fingers curling around the soft fabric as you accepted the gift. “mayyybee”

It wasn’t about the bear. It wasn’t about the game.

It was him.

Sylus, who never half-assed anything. Who overthought in ways you weren’t always aware of. Who, despite his arrogance, still hated feeling like he had let you down.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“…You’re too much at times” you murmured, hugging the teddy bear to your chest.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Says the one getting emotional over a stuffed animal.”

You shot him a playful glare, but when he reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, you softened.

“....Still,Thank you, for everything-- I mean” you murmured.

Sylus didn’t say anything, but his grip lingered—just for a second—not thinking of letting you go.

But as you continued walking, you caught the way his fingers brushed against his phone once more, a brief flicker of thought crossing his expression.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not secretly opening the park back up again ….behind my back…are you?”

His lips curled, amused. “...perhaps”

#suiwrites🍒#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #lads x you #lads x mc #lads sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus x reader #lnds sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader

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bucketbueckers · 5 months ago

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LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot

synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more.

notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she pushes the armrest up and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb

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akirasarchives · 4 months ago

Text

[00] Valuable Addition.

Summary: You wouldn’t say you’re in debt, but the dwindling money in your bank account is looking that way. Oh yeah, and a man in a suit won’t stop bothering you about playing a stupid child’s game.

— warnings: usual squid game behaviour, female reader

platonic squid game x reader, side romantic moments but it’s for the plot

[ 12TH, MONDAY, 08:47 ]

The subway station is busy. Businessmen, students and elderly passer-bys push past and shove into you as you stand clueless next to one of the big subway posters. Despite living in Seoul for so long, you barely know your way around and you’re at mercy to the beehive system. And it takes no prisoners.

You’ve been trying for the last 10 minutes to get the attention of anyone, but each person either ignores you or runs on to grab their train, but with each train passing your anxiety grows. It feels as if time has stopped around you as the vibrant chatter of people around you turns into mumbles and whispers as you attempt to understand the subway line. Even as you trace what you think is the blue line, it eventually turns into purple and now you’re on the other side of town!

With a heavy sigh, you turn to face the crowd once more. The crowd had thinned out in the last 10 minutes of your lone confusion and with a quick glance at your phone you see that it’s quickly approaching 9am.

It’s now or never.

“Excuse me, sir!” You tap the shoulder of the nearest well-dressed businessman. The man, seemingly in his 30s or early 40s turns and flashes you a charming smile. He dons a freshly pressed, steel grey suit made of soft, rich fabric. From a quick glance, you can tell the suit is made of expensive material as you spot tiny workings of the logo within the fabric itself. You feel as if you're staining the suit by touching it.

I just had to ask the good-looking one.

“May I help you?” He asks, using his free hand to smooth down his already wrinkle-free suit. His smile drops over time, yet he makes an effort to make it appear that it meets his eyes. Though, working in hospitality makes it easy to spot a false smile.

“I am sorry to bother you, but can you tell me which train takes me to Hannam-Dong?” You glance down at your phone. Foolishly, you forgot to check which train took you in the direction of the job interview you had scheduled today for a big company which would pretty much pay off the majority of your tuition fees in one wage. You practically burst into tears when the conductor told you that you purchased a ticket for the wrong line. The image of the money decreasing from your bank account due to a stupid purchase made you want to scream.

“Are there no ticket inspectors?” He hums, looking around. He looks around and almost comically turns in a circle before sighing. As if you couldn’t feel stupid enough for thinking you had to use a different line, the man in front of you had to make a theatrical out of it.

“I think it is this line.” He motions at the platform on the other side with the hand holding his expensive looking briefcase. You watch as it swings, seemingly empty.

“Thank you, sir!” You bow your head and smile, taking off before you finish the sentence. Soon enough you’re lost in the crowd again and hopefully not too late for the train.

[ 13TH, TUESDAY, 08:29 ]

Stupid nepotism. Yesterday, you arrived at the interview 10 minutes early despite the subway fiasco but you were informed that the role was filled that morning by an “experienced candidate who met the needs of the role”. Do you want to know who the candidate is? The CEOs nephew who just left high school and took a business class.

Now what? You’re at the same subway station waiting on the train to take you to your part-time cafe job 10 minutes away. Usually, you would walk it seeing as you don’t really like throwing away ₩1500 on a ticket that takes you 6 stops away but the torrential rain outside and your cheap umbrella were blocking you from walking 15 minutes.

The ticket crumbles in your hand as you fiddle with the flimsy paper. Maybe this was God’s sick way of telling you that you’re too ahead of yourself or that you’re destined to continue spending money that you don’t have. You trace over the price stamp, thinking over what you could’ve spent the money on.

Maybe a shitty cup of ramen?

“May I sit here?” A smooth voice breaks you from your trance. You glance up, straightening your posture. It’s the man from yesterday, gleaming down at you with the same formal smile. Again, it doesn’t reach his eyes yet you nod, shuffling to the right to allow him space on the bench.

“How was your interview?” He asks casually as he sets his briefcase beside him. He turns his back to you as he traces the cool metal edges of the case, popping it open with ease.

You gape, “How did you know I was going to an interview?”

“Well, you were dressed well and now you are in an apron. I assume you don’t go everywhere in a formal blazer.” He cracks open the briefcase as he casually explains. He’s weirdly observant, but his comment on the apron makes you glance down. Each wrinkle and subtle stain becomes more noticeable, but reminds you of each gruelling hour you put into the place. Each penny earned.

You can’t help but get lost in thought, barely processing as thick blue and red folded paper is passed into your eye-line.

“I am assuming you’re a café worker… That can’t pay much, no?” He motions at the cafe’s coffee bean logo on your black shirt. You nod, still dumbfounded by the paper squares.

His stare is so intense it leaves you a bit flustered so you naturally let out a nervous laugh, swapping your attention to the time on your phone. 10 minutes until your train...

“Um, no, I suppose not.” You reply, albeit awkwardly. He hums, satisfied with your late and short answer. Oddly, this is not one of the weirder conversations you’ve had at the subway station.

He shifts so that he’s facing you, “Let’s play a game, you know Ddakji, right?”

You glance between the paper and his face. He looks so sincere, but you can’t read his eyes. They’re deep, black almost and oddly… mischevious for a middle aged man. Honestly it’s quite disturbing.

“Each round you win, you’ll get ₩100,000. How about that?” The expression on your face coaxed him to continue. Perhaps you looked just as perplexed as you feel.

“Who are—“

“If I win, you pay with your body.”

… Is this man fucking crazy? You want to just leave the station but at the same time you’re so intrigued by what the fuck this man wants. Surely he has better things to do? Was he carrying the ddakji with him yesterday too?

The way he sits still as if he’s a mannequin is also quite disturbing. It’s as if he’s giving you time to process the question but you’re not debating the game, you’re debating just running out in the pouring rain.

“Well?”

“Railway line through Cheongpa-Dong is now boarding. Please board.”

You stand quickly, jolting the businessman with your speed.

“My train is here. Bye.”

[ 13TH, TUESDAY, 22:09 ]

The whole day the scenario played through your head. You were so caught up in thought that you burned yourself with the steamer and spent 10 minutes in the office running your hand until cool water. Even then, your mind wandered back.

It’s just so odd. You’ve never seen him before but now twice you’ve spoken to him. Has he always been there and it’s just more obvious now? Does he offer everyone this game? Is he following you? Does he know where you work?

You barely knew the time. Each drink passed by in seconds and each customer morphed into each other. Every time a man entered the shop in a suit, your heart pumped ferociously.

You can’t tell if you’re terrified of him or excited for the interaction. Maybe he’s just a fucking weirdo who walks around with ddakji in hopes of getting to slap people.

Plus, you could do with the money. Even if you win just one round, it could pay for your phone bill or electric meter.

The walk home isn’t exactly easy either. It’s dark and each corner turned, you’re expecting to see him waiting under a streetlight for you holding those red and blue squares.

“If I win, you pay with your body.”

Unbothered, he extends the squares towards you. It feels as if you’re sucked out of your body as you stare at him. Time slows and no one else is there. Did he just ask you to sleep with him? What in the world could that mean? Is this man a trafficker and he has his eyes set on you? The questions flurry through your brain in a span of mere seconds, yet you still feel the cool air pass over your skin as the train rails in beside you. Your hair falls into your eyesight as you gape at him.

“Well?” He motions towards the cards.

What in the fucking world.

[ 16TH, FRIDAY, 22:35 ]

The pile of unread emails grows in your inbox. Failure to attend lectures, the price increasing of your off campus housing, monthly payments that leave you with just under ₩145,000 to survive for a month. It’s unbearable. You’ve gotten used to the growl in your stomach and the lightheadedness that comes with the fatigue of hunger. Missing night outs with your friends, walking long distances until your feet ached and slaving away at work for nasty people while your eyes threatened to close. It’s all becoming a bit much, especially as your final year in University comes to a close.

The burn on your hand doesn’t help either. It’s right between the juncture of your thumb and index finger on your right hand and it aches when any sort of warmth meets it. You can’t afford to throw away money on soothing gels at the moment, so you bear with the pain. It’s already been a few days, so hopefully it disappears soon. You hope anyway.

Walking home in the dark used to scare you but as needs be, you’ve gotten used to it. Work looms over your head as your feet trudge through fallen leaves and debris kicked up by bikes and feet. The walk from work to home isn’t too bad, the area can be sketchy at times but you’ve learned to keep your head straight, don’t make eye contact and keep a hand on the box cutter you keep in your right side coat pocket.

Luckily, you’ve come across most of the same people. An older man always passes by, seemingly walking home from work and always flashes you a smile. A few students usually run by too and the occasional office worker. Most times however, it’s quiet.

Unlike tonight.

Faint sounds of slapping, cheering and grunting bounce off the walls of the buildings surrounding the dark streets. You can’t tell where it’s coming from, who it’s coming from or why but you prefer to keep it that way, but as you grow closer to a dimly lit side street, the noises become louder.

You sigh, hand grasping the box cutter. Your thumb presses onto the button, holding it steady in case you need to use it.

Keep your head straight, [y/n]. This doesn’t involve you.

You can’t help but flicker your eyes to your left as you walk past. A man lies cowering on the ground as he grasps his face with his hands. He’s whimpering, blabbing something to the taller, well-dressed man that hovers above him.

Is that the man from the subway station?

You quicken your pace. Your feet fall over each other as you attempt to walk away as naturally as possible, but you accidentally kick up some rocks as you scatter past. The suited man turns, casting his eyes on you. The pit in your stomach grows as you continue walking with urgency, daring not to look anyway but forward.

I am so fucked!

[ 22ND, THURSDAY, 12:09 ]

“Long-time, no see.” A shadow casts over your figure, effectively blocking your view of your phone screen. You glance up at the man that is effectively disturbing one of the only peaceful moments you’ve had lately.

He’s dressed in a black variant of the steel grey suit you saw the past couple times of meeting him, but he still carried the same stupid suitcase. You sigh, swiping your music app closed and locking your phone with a click as you use a hand to cover your eyes.

Always with the same fake smile.

“I don’t want to play your game, sir.” You try to reject as kindly as possible, but you’re kind of freaked out that he found you once more. He looks slightly disheveled, as if he’s been toying with his hair or the heat today had worn him down. Weirdly, he looks more human, though little emotion lingers behind his eyes.

“That’s unfortunate. I brought it with me.” He lifts his suitcase higher into view. You frown, glancing around at other patrons. You take the time to unplug your earphones from your ears as he seems to ground his feet into the pavement before you.

He’s hard to get rid of.

“You bring it everywhere with you.” You reply, a bit more harsh than you’d want to but he seems amused by it. Suddenly, the image of him hovering over the cowering man flashes in your head.

Don’t piss him off.

You grasp your iced coffee, ignoring how the condensation soaks your hand. The subtle clinking of the ice works to calm you down as your heart begins to race at the thought of being in the position of the cowering man.

“How did you—“

“Bread or lottery?”

You blink.

“What?”

He shakes his hands, “Bread or lottery?”

“I don’t want to choose.” He seems to hold back something as he sighs.

“No matter what you choose, nothing will happen.” He assures you.

He is determined.

“I won’t have to ‘pay with my body’?” You reiterate what he said at the station. He cocks a brow, but nods nonetheless. It’s odd, it’s the most emotion he’s ever shown and it’s because you threw his words back at him.

You don’t quite fancy the idea of taking food off of him, despite its packaging being intact, so you motion for the lottery ticket silently. He hands you it quickly, fetching a spare penny from his blazer pocket. His hand lingers on your own as he passes you the coin, causing you to stare at him. His lips curl at the corners and you feel as if you just fell into a trap.

“Go ahead.” He almost sings, shuffling to stand over you.

The weight of the coin in your hand is replaced by a ton of bricks. Since when do scratch cards look so intimidating?

The lapels of the salesman’s blazer graze against your back as he stares at the blue sheet with you. You’re effectively caged against the bench that you're sitting at as he extends over your left shoulder and rests against the table.

A shaky exhale passes your lips as you stare at the sheet. The coin shakes in your hold as you begin to scratch, revealing a seven.

“Just three sevens, easy, right?” He chimes in, leaning closer to your face. The smell of his clean, fresh and most likely expensive fragrance wafts past your nose, reminding you just how close he is.

Each scratch feels like it’s taking a lifetime to reveal, but you eventually reach a second seven. You dare to glance to your left, marvelling at how close he is. You can see each fine detail across this enigma of a man’s face. In the short few seconds, you notice his asymmetrical eyes, the whisper of facial hair around his mouth and the dark excitement lingering within his eyes.

Eventually, you scratch away the last box.

“Congratulations, Miss.” The salesman hums, as he stands back straight. The hand he used to rest against the table slips up your arm to press firmly against your shoulder.

You’re astonished. I won? Seriously?

“No way.” You whisper, staring at the sheet. ₩500,000! It’s not the largest amount offered in the lottery but it’s a damn good amount for you. You can pay off a bit more of your loans and maybe afford a half-decent meal tonight.

You barely take notice as the suited man lifts his briefcase once more, and turns to look back at the park. The homeless people he once targeted are still filing through the bread he stomped on and destroyed, bar the one he left over for you. He grasps it in his hands, mulling over his options.

“Excuse me!” He yells out, tossing the bread in the air and catching it. The small crowd of people scattered around the pile of bread and some passer-by’s stop.

You gape, staring at his back.

“You can thank this young lady here for the bread!” He tosses the bread into the pile of people with a sharp throw. You watch as the homeless crowd revenge against each other, shouting and yelling their demands for the food.

You stand from the table, slipping the winning sheet in your handbag and grasping your mostly melted coffee.

I should cash in and go home.

“Hey, did she win?” A gruff voice yells out. You freeze, staring at the businessman. Anyone with any sort of wit would say no, right?

“Of course.” He smiles, standing to the side so the crowd peeps a better view at you.

He’s just fed you to a pack of very hungry wolves.

You want to say something, but the sight of about 10 people suddenly rushing towards you causes the words to die in your throat. You clutch your bag strap and almost drop your coffee as you scramble over the bench you were sitting on.

However, a barrier is formed before you. The crowd stops, staring at the swinging briefcase that blocks their path to you.

“Hey! We deserve that money!”

“You deserve nothing.” The salesman spits back. The disheveled man looks astonished, glancing between you and your new bodyguard.

“You got your card and she got hers. Play fair, weren’t you taught that in school?”

The homeless man is visibly rattled, mumbling and spewing out insults.

“I am not the one who made that decision. You are the one who threw it away!” He shouts. Suddenly, he steps forward and swings his case out, causing the crowd to fall back. Some fall over themselves and create a domino for the ones at the front.

As he revels in the chaos he creates, he misses how you slip away into the crowd.

[ 25TH, SUNDAY, 10:57 ]

“Miss, I understand you are a student but I am also a landlord, I can only wait so long without payment.” Your landlady frowns as she stands outside your door. You scramble around, picking up the last remaining notes you earned from the lottery ticket.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Kwon! Please, take this ₩300,000 I have. I promise I will get you the rest on Friday! I get paid then!” You plead, passing the money into the woman’s hands. She’s quite frazzled, pulling back her hands as you grab them to slot the notes into. Usually, the money would come out of your bank account but you locked your card as you can’t afford for her to take the last of your money.

She splutters, backing up as the money falls to her feet. You scramble to pick up the notes.

“Miss, your rent is ₩900,000 a month. You missed out a part of last month too! Where did you get this money from?” She quizzes, watching as you recount your notes. She wasn’t wrong, you were short about ₩250,000 last month and you were damn lucky she let you off on it.

“I understand, please take this to cover some of the money I missed out on.” She takes the money, sighing as she flicks the notes between her fingers and passes you back ₩150,000. You try to refuse but she uses your previous tactic on yourself.

“Take this. Listen, my granddaughter is in a place like you so I understand, but you cannot keep living like this. What happened to your last job interview? You told me you would never be short on money again!”

Your gaze drops to the floor at this point. Again, you’re forced to remember how the opportunity was practically ripped from your hands before you had a chance to even try.

“He gave it to his nephew.” You reply.

Mrs. Kwon sighs, glancing at the other tenants' doors. None of the neighbours ever cause her as much trouble as you do, yet she finds it hard to evict you. Even now, you look like her granddaughter, defeated and at the mercy of the world.

“Just pay me what you can on Friday. I will give you until your graduation to sort this out, okay?” You nod, thanking her profusely.

Maybe I should play that game of ddakji…

[ 1ST, SATURDAY, 14:26 ]

“Are you crazy? Some man keeps asking you to play ddakji and you’re going to say yes?” Your coworker pales as he finishes mixing up some drinks. You nod, glancing back out at the glass doors. The café is quiet today despite the few regulars, so you find yourself able to fall into conversation with him quite easily.

“Ddakji?” Your other coworker, Junhee, pops her head out from the kitchen. You nod, expecting the same reaction from her but it never comes.

“I’m good at that. Try to hit it with the folded part down.” She smiles, popping back in.

“Hey! Why would you tell her to do that?” Yunho scolds, passing the drinks to the collection station. You can’t help but laugh as you round the corner to pass the cups to the customers. They are used to the usual bickering behind the counter so they pay no mind as the two talk back and forth. Most of your customers are students anyway, so they don’t care much as long as the drinks and food taste nice.

The fight continues into the night, even as Yunho is locking up and watching the shutters fall.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?” He offers, but both you and Junhee decline. Yunho is nice, almost a bit too nice so you don’t want to feel like you’re taking advantage of him.

“Me and [y/n] will walk home together. Thank you, though.” Junhee answers. Truthfully, she doesn’t live far from you but she is closer to the café than you are. You know she’s struggling a bit with rent too and you’ve both discussed the possibility of moving in together, but she is having trouble with her boyfriend so you don’t want to pry and become the main reason she leaves him. She hasn’t told you much but it is financial and she fears she may be pregnant.

As you fall into pace together, Junhee begins to wring her hands nervously. You know she’s holding out on telling you something as it’s the same thing she did before she told you what Myunggi did.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, glancing at her shorter fame. Despite her hair hanging over her eyes, you can see the worry spread across her face,

“Listen, [y/n], I played ddakji with the same man.” Junhee stops in her path. You pause. He had played with her?

“The businessman?” You ask, to which she eagerly nods.

You step closer, looking around nervously. “Did you pay with your body?”

“Yes. He slapped me.”

“He what?”

Junhee throws her head back, “I won every time, but the last round I missed. He slaps you if you fail to flip the ddakji!”

As concerned as you should be, it feels as if a lightbulb blinks above your head.

“So what you’re saying is that I just have to be good at ddakji?”

“What I’m saying is to be careful! He gave me this card too…” She fumbles in her bag, pulling out a cream card with a circle, square and triangle printed onto it. She flips it, displaying an address.

“He said to go there in 3 days. He didn’t really explain it much but he said there were still some spots open.”

[ 3RD, MONDAY, 23:07 ]

“I can’t believe my eyes.” He muses, “I almost think you’ve been looking for me.”

“And what if I was?” Defiantly, you meet his dark gaze. As long as Junhee was telling the truth and he was only going to slap you, it would be easy. It’s not like he’s going to knock your tooth out.

Hopefully.

“Give me the blue one.” You hold your right hand out, requesting the brightly coloured square. He fumbles with his suitcase as he attempts to not look as excited as he is.

He sets the red square face down onto the pavement. Yes, pavement. You caught the fucker as he was stalking down the back alleys near your house as he was probably on his way to find another player.

“You know, you’re one of the first to ask me to play.” He hums, watching as you steady your two feet. Truthfully, you never played ddakji but the guise of the game was nothing too hard to grasp. Plus, you practised a little in your house.

“Try to hit with the folded part down.”

Junhee’s word echo throughout your head as you fling the card down with a bit of force. As told, the red square flips round.

“You’re good. Here you go.” The businessman passes you ₩100,000., the first of the night.

[ 3RD, MONDAY, 23:18 ]

“Alright, last round. You have almost emptied me out.” He motions to his discarded case. The last ₩100,000 sits pretty, almost beaconing you to take it straight from its place. But, you must play fair right? Even the businessman thinks so as you remember back at the park when he fed you to the crowd and saved you at the same time.

“I’m starting to think you’re a lucky charm for me.” You laugh, taking the blue square from his hand. Since he showed up, you’ve started to notice a stronger cash flow and hopefully the card he’s bound to give you continues the lucky streak.

But, instead of laughing or seeming amused, he flashes you a sinister smirk. You stare as he fixes himself. He had long abandoned his blazer, instead opting to roll his sleeves up and really give the game his all seeing as you had won 5 rounds. You have to admit, his disheveled state wasn’t the worst sight to look at.

“I think I’m quite the opposite.” He replies, hands smoothing down his waistcoat. You try to shake off his reply as he’s most likely trying to throw you off your game.

Maybe I shouldn’t be playing ddakji in a dark alleyway with him. Alone. At 11pm.

Tearing your gaze away, you return to the form that has won you five rounds. Steady feet, steady arms and steady breathing aided you in your last rounds and it’s almost as if it’s become second nature to you.

The square leaves your hands in a flash and you don’t bother to look as you stand proudly. A large thwack jumps off of the brick walls surrounding you both as you stare at him with nothing but pride on your face.

But…

Why is he coming at me?

Within a flash, the man’s left arm swings into your peripheral and you squawk as you jump back, throwing your arms out to push him away. Your eyes clench closed as your heartbeat thumps so loudly, it sounds as if there’s drums in your ears.

“You dodged me. That’s not fair.” You stare incredulously. The speed at which he swung at you would’ve landed you on your ass in a second flat. Junhee never told you that. With a dumbfounded expression, you look to the ground.

I missed.

“You tried to punch me. What the fuck?” You scatter, grasping your bag from the ground. You don’t need that damn card, what the fuck was Junhee on about? Is she crazy? Why is she going to that place tomorrow?

“I told you. If you lose, you pay with your body.” He explains casually, as if he didn’t just try to send you to the e.r. “Plus, I was going to slap you.”

“You would’ve knocked my fucking tooth out!”

“It was your choice to play, now stand still for me.”

You step back as he steps forward. Like Hell you’re letting him lay his hands on you.

“I don’t like people who don’t play fair. Please don’t make me hate you after we had so much fun.” He stresses, caging you against the brick wall. Your eyes flicker around, attempting to find a way to slip out. But, he’s read your mind, kicking a nearby bin over on its side.

“I never agreed to you hurting me.” You retaliate, flinching as he brings his right hand to your left cheek. Your eyes clench once again, but the delicate touch of his hand makes you gasp.

What is he doing? Is he seriously caressing my cheek?

The dim light from the nearby street lamps cast a soft light across his features, softening his appearance. If you weren’t so goddamn scared for your life and it was a man 20 years younger, maybe you wouldn’t mind this.

This is a textbook murder. What the fuck have I done?

He sighs, his fingerprints tracing a light pattern across your cheek. Each touch tingles, reminding you of where he’s touched. It’s similar to how your ex boyfriends would hold and touch you. It’s wrong, so wrong.

How can I think of Haejo right now!?

But, that’s until he gets rougher. Soon, he’s manhandling your face, using his thumb and fingers to hold your face in place by your chin. You spew complaints, twisting your body and using your hands to attempt to push him away.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to not talk to strange men on the street?” He sneers, disliking how you’re gradually dislodging yourself from his grasp. You ignore him, focusing on punching, shoving and kicking. You’re so distracted you don’t notice how his hand drops from your chin until it hits you.

He hits you.

You’re yelping, falling and scraping against the brick wall as tears cloud your vision. You’re crumbling, falling into yourself as you cry fat tears. Your ears are ringing and your face feels hot to the touch.

I’m reporting this fucker to the police.

“Fuck you!” You shout, looking up at his figure. Suddenly, you are the man you saw a few weeks ago. He stands unwavering, almost enjoying your crouched form. You can barely see between your tears and clumped lashes and you’re almost one hundred percent sure your mascara has streaked across your eyes, but you don’t care. You’re so fucking angry and scared, you’re shaking as you look at him.

“You agreed to play.” He’s right, but so obnoxious about it. He crouches to meet your form, staring at you as if you’re nothing but a scrawny child or animal. You might as well be.

Suddenly, he flicks a card between his index and middle finger, dropping it into your lap. It clatters and lands on the dirty ground, but you recognise the shapes Junhee told you about.

“Go to the address tomorrow. You’ll be the most valuable addition yet.”

With that, he leaves.

masterlist

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game series #squid game fluff #squid game smut #gong yoo x reader #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho x reader

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fligniuz · 2 months ago

Text

sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final.

word count: 5.5k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; dumbification if U squint; praise; oral (m! receiving); pre calc lol

notes : crossposting my shit to tumblr and starting with arguably one of my greatest uses of free will in history. title frommm:

You have a bit of a dilemma.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that you had a dilemma, have had one for quite a while now—your current grievances are merely extensions of a constant, one raging, blood-thirsty, borderline psychopathic problem of a class. MTH121, Concepts & Applications, is the only remaining mathematics credit required for your degree, and, coincidentally, absolutely no one told you that that’s really just a fancy name for pre-calculus. Because the universe hates you.

Your final is tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. If that wasn’t bad enough, your brain has utterly fucked you; months spent poring over formulas and right triangles amounts to nothing in the moment, every relevant fragment of knowledge completely foreign to your burnt out, sleep deprived, caffeine ridden psyche. So here you sit, “studying”, armed with just your textbook and Khan Academy tutorials.

Is it too late to switch majors? Yes, you decide, massaging your temples as you take another glance at your notes. A mass of numbers, variables, and scribbled matrices clogs the pages, complete with your near ineligible annotations, details added in the heat of a lecture. You never knew there could be so many different types of numbers. Solve for x. 5 + 2x to the 2nd power = 8x. Factor x3 - 3x to the 2nd power - 4x + 12. Find the vertex of the function f(x) = x to the 2nd power + 4x + 3. Determine the value of x if the sum of the following sequence converges to 5. How any of this is relevant to your future non-mathematics degree is beyond you.

What the hell is a vertex again? And what does it matter? You’d rather be sleeping, or drunk. Whatever.

You have one saving grace. Since your freshman year you’ve been employing a little cheat-sheet, your one-way ticket to having math explained to you in a language understood by plebeians like yourself: one Luigi Mangione, a friend of a friend of a friend, possibly the smartest guy you know (and you’re far from the only person to voice that opinion). Your self-appointed tutor—and unfortunately for you, probably the most appetizing of any of the frat guys you’ve met in college, to put it chastely. The actual knowledge is just a bonus, really, because unlike other tutors you’ve worked with Luigi seems to actually care; he wants you to walk away from him with a solid understanding of the material, rather than a temporary knowledge that gets your homework done but is absent from your memory by the time of your exams. And it’s hard to write off the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

…Pretty damn hard, actually. Because—in all honesty—you’re really into Luigi. Another thing that’s hard to do is get your math homework done when you’re busy fucking yourself with your fingers, like you tend to do after your time with him, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he would fill you, pin you down underneath him, smirk at you and tell you dirty things like that’s my girl, that’s my good fucking girl, that’s it, give it to me, show me how pretty you look when you come all over me like this…

Great. At this pace, you’ll never get anything done.

Your phone buzzes.

About an hour ago, you sent him a photo of your current predicament: your laptop and notebook open, and you sitting criss-crossed in front of it, an exaggerated pout on your lips. A few moments later, you sent another, this time of your middle finger pointed directly at your professor’s official portrait. Now, he responds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Come over. In like 15

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : And I better not hear any complaining when I make you actually do the math

Your crush feels elementary, like you’ve got the hots for the nerdy jock on the playground that’s miles out of your league and that every girl on planet Earth is fighting tooth and nail for. You respond:

no promises :P

You pray to your lucky stars that you can study as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

You told him you wouldn’t complain, and you’ve tried, you really have. But dividing radicals is fucking stupid and useless and the more you look at your paper the more these numbers and symbols really start to look all the same to you, just scribbles, meaningless scribbles of made-up concepts that have nothing to do with your career prospects whatsoever. Who gives a flying fuck about solving equations with these weird ass numbers that normal people don’t even use?

You must be thinking out loud, because Luigi laughs next to you on the couch. He is laughing at your frustration. What an emotionally supportive tutor. You groan and thread your fingers through your hair, massaging your temples.

Still smiling just slightly, he starts to gather up your things. “Alright, look, how about we take a break?” He glances over at you, still holding your head in your hands. “Yeah, let’s take a break for a minute.”

He gets up from the couch, disappears into the kitchen for just a moment. Comes back with a glass of orange juice. For you. You try not to think about how pathetic it is that the most romantic gesture a man has done for you in the past three years is bring you juice. Instead you watch him, sipping slowly—no pulp, he knows you so well—and peeking through your eyelashes as he scuttles around his dorm, just the two of you alone together, while he throws some laundry into a basket and absentmindedly closes doors of unoccupied rooms. You have never noticed how defined his calves are before, nor how his curls bounce just slightly when he walks fast or how his shorts sag on his hips just right, just enough for you to get a peek of his V-line and the waistband of his boxers when he raises his arms to stretch—

Nonchalant. Demure. Mindful. You are failing so hard at the one thing you’ve forbidden yourself from doing: staring at him until your eyes are practically burning holes in his clothes and he’s melting into the floor. Not entirely your fault. He should’ve known to dress modestly around you. Around anybody, for that matter.

Luigi comes to sit by you now. As you tuck your hair behind your ears you can feel his arm move to rest along the back of the couch, almost around you, but not quite.

“Hi,” you say, propping your head up on your arm.

He smiles at you. You can’t even look him in the eye. “Did you think more about your radicals?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

You swallow the conspiratorial intuition that he has to be fucking with you. Maybe he sees it on your face. Can smell it on you. Something.

“I was trying to think of some things I’d rather be doing,” you offer. “Instead of math.”

Your heart feels three beats faster all of a sudden, and when did he get so close to you? Your thighs are touching, his knee brushing against yours. “And what did you come up with?” he asks.

Oh, fuck. He’s definitely fucking with you. Right? He has that goddamn smirk on his face, that one that makes your insides twist with a feeling reserved only for boys who look at you just like this, like you’re busted, like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about every second you’ve spent sitting next to him doing algebra. You want to kiss it right off of him.

“Nothing,” you lie, sitting up straight and trying to pretend like you really are interested in your studies. “Here, will you show me how to do it again?”

He calls your name. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to look at him; the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head makes his intentions entirely clear. When your eyes meet his he inches closer, and all you can manage to do is stare at his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, stern and warm enough to boil.

If he truly knew what he was asking for he wouldn’t be asking at all, you think. Not unless he was prepared for whatever your fervent need has in store for him. Embarrassment feels bright red and prickly on your skin. “I shouldn’t say.”

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

Oh. Oh. All bets are off, now. This has officially progressed from studying to “studying”.

Luigi lets you lead, his hand settling on the small of your back as you come a little closer to kiss him, properly. You hear him giggle before your lips meet; the curve of his smile against you is unmistakable, casting sparks through your body and down your thighs. He tastes like spearmint. You learn quickly that he is a fantastic kisser, and his tongue finds yours with curious excitement when your breathing starts to pick up. Without question, he claims the expanse of you, drinking in your essence, licking, biting. Those irresistible curls demand attention, and so you thread your fingers through his hair, your hand sweeping from behind his ear to the nape of his neck. Luigi shivers under your touch, exhaling softly against you.

When the fingers of his left hand raise to grasp your leg, you stop kissing him only to swing your body over his lap so that you’re straddling him. Luigi breathes in deep then, like his nervous system collectively seizes at the feeling of you so close. To give him room to breathe you stop short of settling all your weight onto him. Lips meeting once more, his hands greet your hips; his touch is warm, and timid, like you’re made of sand, like you might collapse and dissolve into immeasurable particles between his fingers.

He groans into your mouth. Murmurs your name. “This isn’t very productive,” he quips.

“Intellectually, no,” you agree, nails brushing the back of his neck. He has goosebumps. A ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his lap; there are two layers of clothes between your bare skin but he is impossibly warm against you. “But what about physically?”

Luigi smiles, and fuck, he is too fucking beautiful. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

And so you kiss him again and again and again, your heart doing backflips inside your chest when his big hands glide lower, and lower, thumb toying with the waistband of your skirt, and lower still, until he’s gripping your ass. You can’t help but nuzzle against the growing stiffness underneath you, poking between your thighs—and you definitely can’t help but love the way he grinds back, hips meeting yours with just as much enthusiasm. Fuck. About an hour ago you were working through polynomials and linear equations, and now the dreamiest guy you’ve ever met is hard for you, holding you in his lap. You might as well thank your professor.

When Luigi sucks at your bottom lip for a few euphoric moments, you make the most pathetic sound into his mouth, and he growls, his hands suddenly coming up to grasp your hips and hold them steady. “Was this your plan all along?” he rasps, his lips moving swiftly to the side of your face, your jaw, the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Sharp teeth graze skin and you whimper. “What do you mean?”

“What, now you’re playing coy?” Luigi finds the pulse point in your throat and bites, softly at first, then harder when your fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. “You didn’t want to study. You called me because you wanted to get fucked, because you knew I’d want to touch you just like this, didn’t you?”

This boy is out of his mind. First he practically eye-fucks you while schooling you about imaginary numbers, and then he “scolds” you like he’s disappointed in your lack of interest in algebra, like he’s mad that you can’t resist him for being so damn gorgeous. That half-hearted meanness in his tone leaves butterflies in your stomach, in no way helped by the feeling of his tongue sliding over your collarbone.

“No,” you mutter. It’s not completely a lie. You really did need his help with the math, which he is really good at…but you can’t deny that you were really hoping you two would end up like this, with him kissing your neck all over until you’re speckled with purple and pink. You don’t even care about the obvious evidence of him on your skin—you want his entire dorm hall to know just how well-acquainted the two of you are by the time he’s done with you. The thought of everyone knowing you’re his makes you weak.

Luigi is kissing you again, slowly and deeply, one hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. His touch is too much and not enough simultaneously, your need overwhelming, and your hips are searching desperately for friction, rolling against him eagerly. So much for nonchalance.

He grasps your chin, firm but not at all painful, and flashes you that pretty smile, tutting, “I don’t believe you.”

Your mind is far too preoccupied with thoughts of his touch in other places to try to formulate a witty rebut. You opt instead to kiss him harder and sneak a hand between your bodies, tracing over his chest, down his carefully crafted abdomen, and then over the front of his shorts, groping his hard cock through polyester. Luigi groans into your mouth. He is big, almost intimidating, and imagining him inside of you has your body feeling hot all over.

As you palm the outline of his length through his trousers, his hands make their way underneath your sweater, the sudden warmth of him jolting through your torso. You look up at him through your lashes and he smirks.

“Do you want to sit on it?” he asks you, entirely stoic despite the weight of his words.

You kiss him, still squeezing his cock. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”

Fuck. You have him wrapped around your finger. How could he possibly say no when you ask so sweetly? Luigi is instantly pulling down his shorts for you, the rustle of fabric making your head spin. He’s left in just his boxers and a sweater that you quickly help him shrug off, too. Once you have him undressed, he takes a moment to survey you, your cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, hair tousled from his hands. You feel a surge of confidence now that you have his full attention and so you pull your top up and over your head, smiling when he reaches behind you to help you with your bra. He has it and your skirt off in just a few seconds, leaving your combined clothes to pile up next to the couch.

You shift so that you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him, wearing only your panties, watching him watching you. He is grinning, his cock standing proud, and you know you must be blushing by the way his teeth flash from under the curve of his lips. You feel gooey and hot in the pit of your stomach. Swallowing your shyness, you reach forward to take him in your hand. He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening on his slit, and so you begin to stroke him, starting at the head of his dick and spreading slick down his shaft. His cock is probably the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, at the very least a runner-up for his face: tan and thick, his girth evenly distributed, and big enough to have you feeling your heartbeat between your legs. There is a prominent vein along the underside of him, ending at his frenulum. He pulses with each movement of your hand.

Once he’s as wet as you like, you come closer to tease him with your tongue, licking up the base, tracing his vein, passing over his slit. Luigi groans—“fuuuuuck, baby,”—and threads his fingers into your hair, tugging hard.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he rasps. “You asked for this. Show me what that mouth can do.”

Your lips are halfway wrapped around the head of him and when you moan at his words it vibrates through him, his abs flexing deliciously. You move further down, then, mouth closed around his length, applying light pressure on your way back up. He’s too big to take all of him at once and so your left hand grasps the length you can’t reach, pumping gently. You start a subtle, easy rhythm, evenly paced and obviously satisfying enough to have Luigi panting and swearing above you: your mouth starts at his tip, sucking gently, then gliding lower, until you can feel him in the back of your throat and you’re nearly gagging on him—and then you move upward again, cheeks hollowing around him, finally reaching the head of him once more. Rinse and repeat. It is organized. Formulaic. Your process leaves you practically drooling on his cock, spit collecting at the base where you are stroking him. Fuck. You haven’t pleased a guy like this in quite a while, and under any other circumstances you’d probably feel a bit insecure about your work; but it’s difficult to justify any doubts you might have, what with the noises coming from above you:

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes, just like that, fuck yes,” Luigi moans, fingers knotted tightly in your hair. “Oh my god, your mouth…”

You slip your free hand into your panties, middle and ring finger rubbing your clit.

As your ministrations intensify, his reactions do, too. You can feel his thighs and hips tensing in an effort not to fuck into your throat. But you made a promise to yourself; you want to take the entirety of his length in your mouth before all of this is over, and so you move your left hand down to his balls, kneading him and carefully lowering your face until your nose is pressed into the curly hairs of his groin, his cock as deep as it can reach. And Luigi keens, head thrown back against the couch, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the armrest tight. You can feel him twitching in your throat.

There are a few blissful moments of you sucking him just like this, sinking him deep into your throat and pinching your lips around his tip, and you almost wish the two of you were recording because the sounds he makes are top tier jerk material for at least the next few months. He’d be a natural on camera. You want to commit every second of this to your memory.

When he goes quiet for a moment you open your eyes to look at him. You find him staring down at you, mouth agape. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks.

It’s difficult to answer with his dick in your mouth, so you settle for moaning around him again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts, his voice sweeter than sugar.

You could sit here sucking him off for the rest of your life—you could die with his dick in your mouth—but you regrettably begin to feel your jaw aching, knowing full well that keeping this up will have you hurting. Not that you really mind. When you begin to sputter and tear up around him, he grabs both sides of your face and pulls your mouth off of his cock. You are crying, just a little, crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks, your throat raw.

Luigi looks down at you sweetly. “Oh, baby,” he coos, wiping your wet face dry with his thumbs. “That’s my perfect girl. So good to me. Come here.”

He welcomes you back onto his lap with open arms and a smile. He is warm, so warm and soft against you, you could fall asleep just like this. But he is kissing you now, so slowly that you feel dizzy, and so you ground yourself, fingers embracing his curls. His hands move to your hips, grasping the waistband of your panties, teasing you, rubbing the fabric against your heat. When he finally has them off his fingers are instantly examining you, collecting your slick, slipping through your folds.

“Let’s see about a little reward for you, hm?” he whispers, capturing your lips with his.

You kiss him eagerly and arch your back so that your thighs spread wide enough for his fingers to enter you with ease—not that it would be difficult without, considering that you’re so wet you can hear him touching you, even over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Two long digits move inside of you, stretching you, massaging that spot that makes your knees buckle and your eyes cross, plus a few more that you never knew existed. His touch feels so good, just how you imagined, and you have to lean forward into the crook of his neck to keep yourself upright, your teeth sinking into a firm shoulder. Luigi makes a gruff sound, almost a chuckle, and his cock jumps at your whiny, choked noises when he adds a third finger into your pussy.

“So needy, aren’t you?” he teases. “Have you been thinking about this, gorgeous? About sucking my cock and taking my fingers like this?”

You nod, because of course you have. In that exact order. Who wouldn’t?

Luigi smiles at you, soft and adoring. You make a curious sound and his fingers depart from you, lingering at your entrance until you grind down into his lap. Your cunt brushes against him, raw, hungry, slathering his cock with your slick.

“I want you,” you whine, grabbing his face and kissing him again. “I want all of you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His hands are guiding your hips, moving you slowly against him. “Tell me about it.”

Well, you would, if your brain weren’t short-circuiting at the moment. His fault. You mumble into his ear, something about infinity, something about the way you hug your pillow at night and all the times you’ve fucked yourself stupid thinking about this very image of you and him together like this. But there are countless words for your endless feelings, words you would preach to him from high places if your body had the agency to; your attraction to him is primal, but neatly arranged, layered, wrapped up with variables galore and multiplying with each moment you spend in his presence. A mess, no doubt about it, but one you can control, a tangle to unravel, an equation to solve. Nothing less. You aren’t sure of how this ends but you know that you need him, bad, more than you knew was possible before.

You crash into him, mouths colliding, everything that you left unsaid spilling into your embrace. Words are hard. Kissing Luigi and grinding your warm, throbbing cunt against him takes much less brainpower.

He is speaking to you when you pull away: “Baby, just a second, wait right here, let me get something.” Gently you are pushed from his lap and he disappears into his room momentarily, leaving you waiting, alone, aching for him, until he rounds the corner again with a familiar foil packet, finding his way back to the couch and sweeping you on top of him once more.

“Hi. Sorry.” And now he is fully yours.

You whine and wiggle against him the second the condom is on.

“Shh,” Luigi whispers, “I got you, ‘s okay, gorgeous. Gonna take good care of you, yeah? Don’t you worry. Gonna give you just what you need, baby.”

The tip of his cock is pressing into you, then, slowly easing himself inside, and fuck, he fits just right, fills you up perfectly, has you seeing stars already. The sound you make when he bottoms out is a hop, skip, and a jump away from pornographic. Luigi purrs underneath you.

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” His hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you, and from this angle you can feel just how much he stretches you out. And then, as he begins to roll his hips: “My sweet girl, working so hard, can’t even think for yourself, can you, beautiful? That’s okay, baby. I can do all the thinking for you, you just sit back and let me work it out for you, yeah? Don’t think. Just let me please this pussy.”

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. Every single word he says into your ear shoots straight to your cunt, the mere sound of his voice so near you electrifying. He’s deep, and with your thighs spread wide like this you just have to take advantage of the perfect angle to rub your clit against him. You can’t help but squeal into the crook of his neck each time his hips ram up into you, thighs clapping against your ass; by the way his muscles tense you assume it must take much of his energy, and yet he pounds you like you weigh nothing in his lap, exerting himself like it’s a cakewalk so long as he can watch your face shrivel up with overwhelming delectation. You can tell that he loves it when you tug his hair or bite him, and so you do it every chance you get, just in case your hushed utterances in his ear fail to make your message clear enough:

“Luigi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, oh, fuck…”

As he paces himself Luigi wraps his strong arms around you, one caging your waist and the other pulling tight at your hair. Your neck is arched and exposed, leaving him free to smother his love all over you in sharp, uneven hickeys. You needed this, so, so bad, and you tell him exactly that, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you and holding him tight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. “You can have whatever you want with me. Anything.” His lips meet yours, fleeting, and then, with the slightest hint of a grin: “You earned this, baby.”

You groan directly into his ear. It’s straight from your dreams, you think, like you’ve been swept from your bed in the midst of the night and dropped right here, in the lap of the sweetest, smartest, most handsome boy you’ve ever so much as looked at, bouncing on his cock while he kisses you like you’ll float away if he lets go. The two of you work together to heighten each other’s inevitable undoing, like a function of sorts; Luigi pushes and you push back, meeting his hips every time, your clit brushing against him just right, and him breaching unknown depths of you, hands roaming, learning you inside and out.

“My sweet girl,” he grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours, driving into you with precision. “This is all yours, baby.”

Sweat starts to gather at his hairline and you can feel him shuddering in your arms. Kissing him, you press down on his toned chest, pinning him against the couch, and Luigi is practically singing for you, little grunts and babys and murmurs of your name traveling through your ears and echoing in your mind. You want this to last forever. His hips slow to a stop when you begin to move on your own; you raise yourself up, resting all your weight on your knees, with him sliding out of your cunt until just the tip is still inside—and then you drop down, letting him sink back into you quickly, slick and smooth, his cock so deep you can nearly feel it in your stomach.

Fuck. You love this. You love the way his hands grip your ass, your thighs, rubbing your back, moaning your name and kissing behind your ear. You love the way he looks at you. The pupils of those dark eyes are blown wide, watching you move, worshipping how your tits bounce, the gyration of your hips, the blush of arousal all over you, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. The sounds of sex and the shameless way he takes in every feature of your body have you feeling hot and ready to burst. You moan his name, drawn out and raspy.

“Yes,” Luigi groans. “You’re so pretty on top of me.”

Even through the haze of your pleasure you smile at his praise. He is telling you everything, every single thought that passes by in his mind, as if there will be no proof of how good he fucked you once you leave his dorm, as if every word will dissipate into thin air and leave you waiting, unsatisfied, hanging on the edge: “You take it so well, baby, my sweet girl, so perfect, so perfect just for me.”

His big hands are all over you. One cups your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, with the other splayed over your hip. You start to feel dizzy, anxious for his attention, a little bit crazy. Close. Luigi must notice the way your eyes screw shut and your pussy squeezes him tight, because his hand moves down your chest, over your stomach, and then to your clit, circling his fingers with purpose. He wishes—almost—that you were beneath him, so that he could replace his hand with his mouth, trace down your body with his lips and bring you to your very edge with his tongue, over and over again, until you’re begging him to stop.

He settles instead for kissing you, hard, slowly, lingering. “You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby.”

You nod, moaning, “yes, yes, me too,” your noises pained and rough in your throat.

The way his cock slams into you with each movement of your hips is ruthless, bruising; he’s kissing you so sweetly and you can feel your climax churning in your abdomen, rippling through you. It knocks the air from your lungs. Sex with him hurts so good. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Gonna come,” you huff. There are fingernail-sized dents in his skin. “Gonna come for you.”

Luigi nods, whispers, “good girl, such a good girl,” and circles his fingers over your clit as fast as he can manage.

You tense around him at that. You can’t even count how many times you’ve come imagining those very words whispered in your ear by the very man that you’re riding right now.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?”

You nod wildly, and everything feels so real all of a sudden, like you’ve been floating mindlessly in space and you are crashing down into reality. His teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck and his hips start to pump again and by the time he’s meeting your thrusts you’ve had enough, thighs shaking, and he starts moaning into your ear so that you know he’s right there with you, and fuck, he’s really trying to kill you—

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. A 5’11, dark haired and brown eyed muscle truck that looks at you like you are the only good thing left in the world.

For a moment there is only your deep panting and his equally spent breaths as the both of you rest, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, yours combing through his sweat-soaked curls. The dorm is quiet, calm, almost with an air of innocence, completely unswayed by the heady aftermath of what the two of you just did right there on the couch. You lean back and look into his eyes, brooding and trained entirely on you. And he has that stupid grin on his face, the one that gives both of you away for good, the one that screams we’re not the only ones who know what we’ve been up to.

You want to kiss it right off of his beautiful, beautiful face. But right now you just sigh, lean into his shoulder, and let him hold you tight. Tonight you will walk back to your dorm, all the way on the other side of campus, where your roommates will be waiting for you, likely getting ready for bed. You will walk inside and they will watch you without a clue as to whose hands have been on you, whose name has been on your lips, whose cock has been buried to the hilt inside of you for the past hour. Your legs will be aching—you are sure of it.

Your roommates will ask you, “how’d it go?”, completely unaware of what your wobbly smile really means, how you really spent your time with your cute tutor.

And you will respond, “oh, great,” with a barely masked giggle. “I’m gonna ace my test tomorrow.”

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fic #flig’s work

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chrisgetsmewetter · 2 months ago

Text

His first baddie

Pairing: blackfem!influenser x soft!dom hamzah

summary: your finally in canada for your collab with hamzah and martin. but when hamzah picks you up and feelings are confessed one thing leads to another

warnings: pnv, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!), eventual smut, just freaky, pet names (baby, mama)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: HURRY DINNERS READY!! mama cooked yall up a feast bcs i starved yall long enough. the smut is lowkey in more hamzahs pov and idk how to feel about it so give me y’all’s opinions. lastly pleaseee give me some requests please im bored out of my mind idec who its about. LOVE YALL😘

here you are four years later with over 12 million subscribers on YouTube when Hamzah dms you on Instagram.

you would be lying if you said that it you weren’t a little salty that Hamzah never contacted you after the freak show tryouts but to be fair you never reached out to him either.

You just assumed that you were both so busy and consumed with the newfound fame, and subscribers.

and when time was right, you guys would cross paths again one day. and today was that day

Hamzahthefantastic

Hey long time no see! i seen that you’ve gotten really big over the last 4 years and me and martin were wondering if you wanted to come on our channel and do a video? it’s totally fine if you don’t want to but if you do feel free to message me.

your heart dropped to your ass. so now hampshire wants to collab after not talking to you for 4 years? yea he didn’t owe you anything, but it still hurts because you thought something could’ve happened there. But you’ve never chased no boy and you weren’t gonna start now. despite you feeling like he didn’t make an effort to talk to you, at least he contacted you now, and maybe something may grow between you two. you click the message confirming that it was the real hamzah and now you know u need to lock tf in

theoginstagrambaddie

hey hamzah, i would love to collab with you guys !! just lmk the details xx

……

2 days later you’re in the toronto airport with a fresh blond lace install. you didn’t even have to pay for your flight. right after you sent the message, hamzah he sent you the digital plane ticket. first class from LA to toronto, impressed wasn’t even the word.

You step out of the airport, the heavy doors sliding open with a quiet whoosh. The air smells different here, crisp and fresh, carrying a hint of salt from the sea. Your heart beats faster, each step your closer to the moment you’ve been dreaming of for years.

The crowd rushes around you, people pushing past each other, their voices blending into a hum. You clutch the handles of your cheetah print suitcases, your fingers tightening as your eyes scan the faces. And then you see him.

Hamzah.

He stands near the railing, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, shifting on his feet like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hair is cut into an outgrown blond buzzcut, curling at the ends, his face is sharper, more grown-up than the last time you saw him through a screen. and.. way more muscular and built.

But his smile , that same crooked, awkward smile that no doubt always made you smile.

You freeze, a smile creeping onto your face. It’s like time stops, and suddenly you’re seventeen again, staying up late to watch his streams and videos. Your heart beats painfully, the weight of lost years pressing against your ribs.

He starts walking toward you, slow at first, like he can’t believe you’re really here. Then faster, until he’s right in front of you, close enough that you can see the slight tremble in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft but steady. His eyes search yours, and you wonder if he feels it too the invisible force pulling you closer.

“Hey,” you breathe out, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat. You want to say so much more, to tell him how you never stopped thinking about him, how your heart used to skip every time his name popped up on your phone.

But before you can, he pulls you into a hug. You melt into him, your face pressing against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a memory you never wanted to forget. His arms tighten, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“it’s so nice to finally meet you,” he whispers, voice breaking slightly.

You close your eyes, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“it’s amazing meeting you too” you say, melting into the hug

….

You walk out of the airport, dragging your suitcase behind you, and before you can even think about how heavy it feels, Hamzah rushes over

“Let me get that,” he says, grabbing your luggage. He lifts it like it weighs nothing, and you catch yourself staring at his biceps flexing through his sweater

He throws the suitcase into the trunk and wipes imaginary sweat from his forehead. “I’m basically a bodybuilder now,” he says, flexing his arm, which shows lowkey a lot of muscle. “I should start charging for this.”

….

The car ride is quiet at first, the kind of quiet that makes your heart race. The city blurs past the windows, and every few seconds, Hamzah taps the steering wheel like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

“So,” he finally starts, glancing at you with a crooked grin, “how is the celebrity life treating you?” you visibly cringe at the word ‘celebrity’

“well you know it has its ups and downs, but i love making money for being myself. and also im definitely not a celebrity”

hamzah scrunches his face up “boi water you talking about you literally walked on the new york fashion week runway, was on the front cover of vogue, and went to the met gala what do you mean you aren’t a celebrity”

you sit there trying to come up with a quick comeback but you can’t..

“exactly, clock that” hamzah sticks his tongue out just a little bit

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and your stomach flips every time he looks at you. The car smells like vanilla and maybe him, it makes your head spin.

He clears his throat “Anyway, we’re going to Martin’s for the collab. He’s already set up the lights and stuff. I told him not to make us look too ugly on camera, but, you know, he cant do nothin right”

You let out a loud laugh, and he grins, proud of himself. “i’m deadass so excited to meet martin, that’s my twin”

hamzah scrunches his face up at you again. at this point he’s acting sassier than chase.. “how is he your twin and you never even met him boi”

“i think you’re just hating.. lemme get the aux” you say going to apple music and connecting it to the car

“if your music taste is bad im taking your ass back to the airport” hamzah says as he turns the volume up, and as soon as he does Lipgloss by Charlie and Cupkkake starts bumping and yall get hype

after an hour of yall singing songs and catching up, you pull up to Martin’s house, and when Hamzah turns off the engine martin calls him. comes to find out him and mandy left to get lunch,

“shit i’m so sorry, if i would’ve known martin wasn’t here i would’ve taken you to your hotel”

“oh damn, i actually didnt even book a hotel, i meant to text you and ask you which one i should book, bcs i’ve never been here before”

“no worries i have the perfect one, ill pay for it.” hamzah said casually while typing on his phone

“you don’t have to do that hamzah you already paid for my flight here, i don’t like people spending a lot of money on me”

he puts his hand up “i’m already paying for it. you deserve to enjoy canada while you’re here. it’s the least i can do since i was stupid and didn’t contact you for four years”

Your heart starts pounding, and all you can do is look at anywhere but him and hope he doesn’t hear how loud your heart is beating.

“it didnt bother me,” you obviously lied. “we both just got caught up in fame, dont stress yourself out about it” you said while you fidgeted with you nails

“no but that’s the thing, it has been stressing me out. i guess i never reached out because i thought that you were so out of my league, and it would be weird if i confessed liking you since we only met online, and i knew nothing about you” hamzah confessed lowly

you didn’t know how to respond, so you acted out of impulse and kissed him

hamzah is caught off guard by the sudden kiss, but he quickly responds, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

"wait-" he starts to say, but cuts himself off as he deepens the kiss. He pulls back after a moment, breathing heavily. “we just met, i don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable” you shake your head “you aren’t hamzah i want this”

"Fuck it, that’s all i needed to hear. I've wanted to do that for so long." he interrupts himself, kissing you again, this time with more passion. He moves his hand to your cheek, cradling it gently as he continues to kiss you.

"God, I've dreamed about this," he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss for a moment. "You're so damn beautiful." he says, his voice filled with emotion.

A low, strangled groan escaped Hamzah's throat as you climbed into his lap, straddling him in the driver's seat. He could hardly believe this was real, that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. His hands flew to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulled you unimaginably closer to him

"Shit" he grunted, feeling your soft ass mold against him. He was already getting hard, his cock twitching and swelling in his jeans as you sat on top of him. "You can't just... fuck..." He panted softly, his eyes dark and intense as they roamed over your face.

One hand slid up your side to cup the swell of your breast through your top, giving it a gentle squeeze. He could feel how your nipple stiffened under his palm, and it made him groan again.

"Tell me you want this too,", his voice low and heavy with need. "Tell me I'm not imagining this." Because damn, he needed to hear you say it. He needed confirmation that you felt the same way. “hamzah, i need you” you whimper as you slide off your top

hamzah's eyes widen as you remove your shirt, revealing your perfect frame and cleavage. "shit" he breathes, his hands immediately going to your waist.

"You're perfect." he says, burying his face in your chest, inhaling your scent. He kisses and nuzzles your chest before lifting his head up to look at you.

"can i take this off" he begs, his voice husky with desire. “yes please” now you wouldn’t call yourself “easy” but in this case.. it’s hamzah

He reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, pulling it off and tossing it aside. "oh god" he mutters, taking in the sight of your bare, pierced boobs. "So fucking beautiful."

Without hesitation, he leaned down and wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

“Fuck, baby," you groaned as he licked around your nipple, his other hand gripping your ass tightly, pulling you harder against his straining boner. He was rock hard now, his cock throbbing with the need to be inside you.

But he tried to focus on worshipping your tits, determined to show you how much he adored your sexy body.

He switched to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. Sucking, licking, and lightly biting the sensitive skin as he groped and caressed every inch of your skin.

"Your tits are fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice muffled and heavy with lust. you’re a moaning mess, you never thought in a million years you would let someone do this when you “just met”

but the years of pent up attraction, and a bit of anger led you to not giving a fuck anymore. you want hamzah, and he wants you “hamzah please i need it”

Hamzah's heart raced as he heard the desperate plea in your voice, feeling you tremble with need in his lap. He knew exactly how you felt and he was just as desperate, just as turned on. The way youre grinding on his hard cock was driving him insane with lust.

"Fuck, you're killing me baby," he groaned, finally pulling his mouth away from your perfect tits reluctantly. He gazed up at you with eyes that burn with desire, his chest heaving. "Tell me what you need, baby. Tell me how to make you feel good."

His hands slid down to the hem of your short skirt, slipping underneath to grip the soft cheeks of your ass. He squeezed and slapped the it, pulling you harder against him as he rocked his hips up to meet yours.

"Is this what you need, baby? You want me to fuck you right here in the car?" he growled, his voice low and rough with lust. "I'll give you whatever you want. Just say the word."

“hamzah.. please fuck me” you plea in desperation

that’s all he needed to hear because In one swift, almost violent motion, he slid down his sweats, freeing his massive, throbbing cock. It sprang out, slapping against his abs, leaving a smear of precum on his skin.

“can i?” he begged, tugging on the side of your thong, and as soon as you nodded he yanked your panties to the side "Fuck, baby, you want this big cock inside this tight little pussy?" he snarled, gripping your hips tightly as he positioned you over his straining erection.

“are you sure you’re ready?” hamzah checks despite you saying yes the other times, and again you immediately nod your head yes

as soon as you give him permission he burys himself to the inside of your tight, velvety walls. A strangled moan tore from his throat as your slick heat engulfed him, squeezing his cock like a vice.

your eyes instantly roll to the back of your head in pleasure "Ohhh fuck, baby" he cried out, his head falling back against the headrest as he savored the feeling of finally being inside of you. "You're so fucking tight, baby. Shit, you feel amazing..."

He started to move, thrusting up into you roughly, digging into you over and over, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. The pornographic sound of skin slapping against skin filled the car as he fucked you, chased by your cries of pleasure.

"Yes, just like that Hamzah! Don't stop," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life. your hips met his brutal thrusts eagerly, taking him as deep as he could go.

"Shit, your pussy is gripping me so fucking tight," he grunted, sweat beading on his brows from the speed he was going . "I'm not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like this."

He slid a hand down between your connected bodies to rub at your clit, wanting to feel you come undone on his cock. "Come on baby, cum for me. I wanna feel this pussy cum on my dick" he demanded, his voice a low, lust-filled growl.

The car shook with the force of his thrusts, the windows fogging up from the heat of your love making. “shit h-hamzah i’m gonna cum”

"shit, yea baby, cum for me, I want to feel this pussy clench around my dick” he groaned, slamming up into you harder and faster, driven by your approaching orgasm.

one hand was rubbing furiously at your swollen clit, feeling it throb and pulse under his touch. and the other makes its way to your throat. He could tell you was right on the edge, your velvety walls starting to and tighten around his throbbing dick.

"That's it, mama. Let go for me," he encouraged you softly, his voice strained and heavy with his own building orgasm. his hand slightly tightened around your neck causing your orgasm to crash down, which made your mouth gape open and let out a long moan

hearing, and feeling your orgasm caused his cock to pulse and twitch inside you as his own climax approached rapidly. and with a long pornographic whimper Hamzah thrusts up one final time, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as it unloaded rope after rope of his hot, sticky cum deep inside your fluttering pussy.

"shit, shit, shit" he shook, his body shuddering and jerking uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm of his life crashed through him.

As the waves of his climax began to subside, Hamzah slumped back against the driver's seat, panting harshly. He pulled you down for a sloppy, desperate kiss, all tongues and teeth and passion. "Holy shit," he finally gasped out, cupping your face in his hands. "That was... fuck. That was incredible."

He searched your eyes, searching to find any regret. "You okay? im sorry if went too hard” you shook your head instantly “no hamzah, that was amazing”

hamzah slowly lifted you off of his lap and gently sat you on the passenger seat and scurried to get some napkins. you open the ceiling mirror and see that you mostly still look good.

“i don’t want this to make things weird, i actually want us to be something more” hamzah looks at you deeply, meaning every word he said while wiping your thighs. you smile sweetly at him “i want that too hamzah”

“what do you want to eat?” he says while starting the car up again.

#hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah x reader #black reader #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x reader smut #hamzah x black!reader #hamzah fic #hamzahsmut

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