#because i know how to be normal about things

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚖𝚒𝚌’𝚍 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it’s just you, paige and a camera you forget is there

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself—quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just… you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression���just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ‘Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you’re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates—just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess�� I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.

Outside, the city keeps moving—cars passing, lights blinking, lives rushing past. But in your kitchen, time slows down. The sauce simmers. The wine breathes. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.

[quibbs126]

I saw someone talk about what the hell is going on with the Saja Boys in the eyes of normal people post movie and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it

I mean first off there’s the question of the people at the stadium and how much they remember from that confrontation with Gwi-Ma and the Saja Boys. But even if they remember, the idol awards were international, they probably had fans that weren’t there, and how do you explain that they were actual literal demons trying to take their souls and have the rest of the world believe them?

And also in the grand scheme of things, the Saja Boys only existed for around 2 weeks. So in universe they were a group that showed up, released (as far as we know) one song that got crazy popular, won the idol awards by default due to Huntr/x breaking up, and then they immediately disappear from the face of the earth all within half a month. And the Huntr/x girls may or may not have killed them

It’d be even weirder once people start actually looking into these guys, because like, the Huntr/x fans know the girls’ backstories. When anyone goes to look for info on them and their backstory, even as just like, a documentary or video essay on the brief phenomenon that they were, they’re gonna come up completely empty. Like they literally don’t legally exist, and any documentation that might come up appears to actually be forged. No one knows where they came from. And Huntr/x can’t even be charged with killing them, because again, legally they never really existed, not to mention there’s no trace of any bodies

Possibly the closest thing they might ever find to proof of their existence is in centuries old documents, paintings and photos, which any sane person would assume isn’t them

Even if the world assumes the Saja Boys were some sort of publicity stunt secretly working with Huntr/x, there’s still no evidence the boys ever existed documentation wise, they literally just appeared out of thin air and then completely disappeared. Like at that point, I think people would start calling supernatural forces, which normally would sound crazy but it’s actually true here, and nothing else makes sense other than maybe actors who completely changed their appearance and identities for some reason

[farfromharry]

Summary: Lando’s girlfriend broke her leg and obviously he had to be the first to sign it

lando norris x reader

w/c 963

A broken leg, that was Y/N’s diagnosis. That and being incredibly clumsy. And she had been sulking about it for the better part of a day.

Lando had been scared to overstep. He knew she was upset, her movements for the next 2-3 months were limited, of course she would be upset. But he missed her. Being a boyfriend had taught him a lot about himself and one of those things was that he was extremely clingy when the right person was involved. He just wanted to spend time with her.

He gave it till 2pm the day after they left the hospital before he broke. He needed bribes and a smile and hopefully everything would go to plan.

The man knocked on the bedroom door, getting no response just as expected. “Are you still moping or can I come in?” It was a dangerous game he was playing. Poking the bear. Luckily for him, this bear had a soft spot. That soft spot was named Lando Norris. She was just as gone for him as he was for her. A match made in heaven.

A huff came from beneath the blankets. It made him smile. “Depends. Did you bring ice cream… or chocolate?” Her voice was quiet, like she was being shy about it. He knew her too well though.

“Chocolate ice cream okay?”

She lifted her head like she was checking he was being honest. The man waved the tub where she could see with a spoon in his other hand. For the first time in a full day, she smiled. “You beautiful man, get over here.”

That was his green light. He basically jogged over to the bed, throwing himself in beside her. He offered the ice cream and a kiss, both doing wonders to lighten her mood.

“How you feeling?” He brushed her hair from her face.

She frowned, curling into his side. “Like I can’t go anywhere without burdening someone.” Considering she had never used crutches, everyone agreed it was best to accompany her places in case she stumbled or fell. It was out of love. No one wanted her to hurt herself more than she already had.

Now it was his turn to frown. He couldn’t even begin to tell her how much of a burden she wasn’t. “I will literally carry you everywhere until it’s healed. You’re not allowed to be sad anymore.”

Unfortunately she knew he was being serious. “Lan, you can’t just—“

“Yes, actually, I can.” He raised an arm, pulled up his sleeve and flexed. “I have incredible biceps. It’d be a breeze.” He winked for good measure and she hated how it made her a little flustered.

It all started with his finger tracing shapes on her leg. That was probably where he got the idea from. Then it graduated to him shuffling down the bed, deciding he had to make his mark on her cast.

She didn’t know where he got the pen, probably in one of his many pockets for some random reason. It did take her by surprise though that he was just blindly helping himself. She might not have minded if he had written her a nice message or something. “Did you just sign my cast?” She blinked, blankly.

“Obviously, that’s what you do with casts.”

Her eyes flickered down to the ink now soaking into the plaster. It was there clear as day. The squiggly lines that somehow made up ‘Lando’ with a little 4 beside it. “No, Lando, you literally autographed it.”

He looked down with a furrowed brow, like he hadn’t even realised what he’d done. It was sort of a reflex. When a pen was put in his hand and he was supposed to sign something, that’s exactly what he did. His signature was scrawled mindlessly across the cast because that’s what he was so used to doing. Over the years he’d signed everything from skin to wrappers. Apparently now he even signed his girlfriend.

“Shit.” Any normal person would have felt guilty or even feigned it, but not him. Lando laughed, like, full belly laughed at his mistake. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The woman rolled her eyes. Admittedly she couldn’t help but feel slightly amused herself.

“I’ll fix it.”

“How?”

There was that evil grin on his face again. “You just eat your ice cream. Let me work my magic.”

She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. When it came to Lando sometimes it was better to turn a blind eye and let him do his thing. She sighed, doing as he said. As long as he didn’t draw something phallic like the child he was, she supposed she could get over it.

The man was concentrating hard. Every now and then she would glance at him, find him with his head practically buried in her thigh and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. It was adorable.

10 minutes must have gone by before he finally announced he was done with his masterpiece. “All done.” He sat back with a proud smile on his face.

When she finally took a look, it was like something a crushing teen might draw in the margin of their high school notebook. Hearts, everywhere, followed by a ‘Lando <3 Y/N.’ It was silly, but it made her smile and that was all he wanted to do. Plus now that he’d dedicated his love to her, at least everyone would know she was his.

“I love it, you’re a real artist.”

He beamed. It would be with her for the next 3 months so he was glad she liked it. He stole a quick kiss and then a bit of ice cream when she wasn’t looking. “Good, ‘cause I love you.”

[hedwig221b]

I recently realized that I’ve literally never read a teen wolf ff despite being a huge fan of the show and sterek. So now I’m on the hunt for a rlly good one to start with but I’m having a bit of trouble finding one that not only fits what I’m looking for but actually has good writing (no offense to the authors I just want my first one to be a good one that hooks me like Crimson Rivers hooked me into the marauders fandom😅)

so could you recommend me some that aren’t aus, not necessarily canon but canon is okay, werewolf or human stiles, with sterek (I do love a slow burn but doesn’t have to be), maybe some of your favorites?

What an honor to introduce you to sterek fanfiction omg! Here is a list of what I consider sterek classics (the canon kind), my beloved 💖

Hide Of A Life War by Etharei

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...” The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows by owlpostagain

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void. It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death. The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was. So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles finds a baby on the porch. It looks exactly like him. Well, this is awkward.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf. Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks. Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody. And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Pale Horses by Jana_C 

Being bitten had never been on his to-do list, but he could deal with that. Helping Derek Hale become a competent Alpha, though, that was so not in his job description.

A Similar String by snarkatthemoon 

Strong bonds made for a strong pack, and he needed a strong pack. They spent a long time in silence, Derek thinking hard about how he was going to cement the bonds. It needed to be done, and not just because they had the threat of the witch hanging over them, but for the good of the pack. It felt like hours had passed by the time he came around; he had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Stiles moving around on the couch so that his head was resting on Derek’s thigh, his long legs hanging over the arm on the far end. He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his heartbeat wasn’t as fast as it usually was, as if he was just on the edge of sleep. It should have felt weird, having Stiles in such close contact, but Derek found that it really didn’t feel weird at all. His head was a comforting weight in Derek’s lap, another anchor tethering him and keeping him calm and in control. . Or, the one where Derek meets a witch, gets his betas back, and seemingly develops a sense of humour. Also, Stiles is totally magic, manages to accidentally join a werewolf pack, and asks too many goddamn questions. What could possibly go wrong?

The One You Choose by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Hold Me Close (I'm Falling Apart) by ajeepandleather

“Wolves without an emissary are naturally turbulent because their instincts are wild. Subconsciously, you’ve been balancing them, but you aren’t tied to the pack so you aren’t getting a balance in return.” “So, they’re bleeding me dry. Always knew they were parasites.” Stiles smiled dryly. “You’ll need to attach yourself to an alpha soon. There are risks for an unbalanced druid.” “Like?” “Well, a disruption in balance may show itself in several ways. It’s a disruption in nature, so nature will twist and alter in an attempt to right itself.” “What does that mean?” Stiles was getting anxious. The vet was avoiding giving direct answers and that never meant anything good. “You’re magic is heavily entwined with your will, and your will is parallel to your mind.” “I’ll go insane.”

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

spiderweb of lies by pineneedlepants

Derek gets a chance to gain his alpha powers back. The only one throwing a wrench in those plans is Scott.

Sparks and shadows by Nival_Vixen 

Stiles has to figure out a way to maintain a balance between his spark and the darkness inside of him.

The Roads Not Followed by SylvieW

Scott decides to leave Beacon HIlls with Allison and her father. Stiles is left alone to deal with the supernatural troubles of his home town, so he turns to Derek. Years later, Scott’s new pack is threatened, and the only ones who can help them are the Hale pack and Derek’s powerful mate.

It’s Not Pretend When It’s Real by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“At least we got this far,” Stiles argued. “Could’ve been worse. For now, they know he’s taken by someone in the pack.” “Mm hm,” Lydia said, giving him a look. “You realize that you are now going to have to pretend to date Derek, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh no, what a hardship. That sucks, boo hoo.” He motioned Derek emphatically. “He’s like, my best friend.” “Hey!” Scott insisted. “He’s like, my second best friend,” Stiles amended. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. Right?” He turned to grin at Derek, who was scowling at him.

Running Up That Hill by maypoison

“Even before the pack joined together, Scott was trying to protect you. And he still is trying to protect you, even if it means leaving you out of all this.” Stiles does roll his eyes at that. “Yeah, but it didn’t work did it. I was still involved, and so was my Dad. We were nearly killed by Matt, and then Gerard.” “My point is, people change. Relationships aren’t always perfect. Scott's tried to kill me before." Stiles raises an eyebrow. "So, you’re saying that someone trying to kill you is just a small flaw in a relationship?" “We’re werewolves.” Derek answers with a shrug, as if that was a perfectly good explanation.

It Was a Wednesday by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?” Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping. Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death. “Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least. “Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?” “Yes.” “Why?” “How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

The More That I Know You (the more I want to) by LadySlytherin

When death, in the form of hunters, comes for a family of Kelpies seeking refuge in the Preserve - in Hale territory - the Hale Pack is too late to save them. Before he dies, the male Kelpie presses a precious bundle into Stiles’ arms and begs the Emissary to take responsibility for it, which an initially reluctant Stiles does. When he agreed, Stiles had no idea what the sight of him with a baby would do to his esteemed Alpha, Derek. If he’d known, he might not have been so reluctant to agree.

Wolf Cub by moodwriter

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

I know you mentioned no aus, but it would be a crime for me not to mention these absolute treasures that are staples in sterek fanfiction experience. The characters are on point, and the writing is magnificent

Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange. Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more. “You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?” “It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.” Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Cloaked in Gold by kaistrex (weishen)

Stiles' world tilts, the bed dipping as a weight settles over him, caging him in. Growling. His eyes flutter open in distant confusion as hot air sweeps over his throat and he stares up at twin beams of gold shining inches from his face. Werewolf. Stiles does the only thing he can. “DAD!” The werewolf jumps at the sudden shout, blanketing him tighter, and it’s only seconds until his dad is in his bedroom doorway with Melissa close behind, flicking on the light. Stiles' mouth drops open as he stares up at the thick eyebrows, sharp nose and perfectly groomed stubble of a golden-eyed and fanged Derek Hale. - When son of the Alpha, Derek Hale, ends up in his bed in heat, Stiles decides to use it to his advantage and secure the Bite for his sick stepbrother. As he and his family are welcomed into the Hale pack, Stiles grows closer to Derek than he'd ever dreamed he'd get, but with the fanged Soulbite of a born wolf on Derek's neck, he knows he's just setting himself up for heartbreak. Derek has a Soulmate out there, and it definitely isn't Stiles.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek. He looked extremely displeased.

The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

[masterlist link]

[owe-143]

Hi, if ur not too busy I was hoping I could request something for the saja boys?? Basically reader(fem maybe) is a human manager for the boys(kinda cliche, ik) but they the boys are demons and doesn't rlly care, because they have do manager stuff, but with how mystery was acting durring the meet and greets carries a spray bottle of water around, and gets abs a shirt the actually fits(kinda, don't wanna disappoint the fans) and at one point jinu is like "🤨 where/when did you get all that" and reader is like "🥲You boys stress me tf out, shud up. "

Any who sorry if this is too long, love your work!

✦Stressed tf out✦

A/N:Ty for requesting! I love this idea!! Thank you for reading my stuff hahaha

Warnings: swearing, kinda not proofread

Oneshot fic💗✨

Saja Boys x Manager!Fem!Reader

→Kpdh masterlist←

You scribbled final notes in your journal for the days events. The silence of your office was comforting and you could think. It wouldn't last long as a loud scream echoed the building. You couldn't help but sigh. You lift your fingers, slowly counting down

3

2

1

"Y/N! " Jinu burst through the door. His eyes were panicked. "Mystery, he is-"

"Biting Abby! I know! " You cut him off, shooting out of you seat. You slide the desk drawer open. A few necessities for the boys slept in the drawer. For any occasion. Hair brushes, fidget toys, spare devices and a ton more. You grab the spray bottle and signal Jinu to follow

Jinu's eyebrows raise. "Why do you have all this anyway" He asks. You scoff. You walk faster, approaching the lounge where the other boys were. Another scream erupted from the room. "Because no doesn't seem to work for you boys! " You snap, kicking the door open

The scene in front of you is nothing from the usual. Baby's sitting on the table even when you've told him multiple times not to. His eyes focused on his Nintendo ignoring the scene unfolding on the other side of the room

Mystery stands opposite Romance who has Abby right behind him. You stomp over, spraying Mystery with a reasonable amount of water. He stumbles back and growls. Romance rolls his eyes. He steps away from Abby to sit back down on the sofa.

"Thanks" Abby sighs. You glance over at him. You suddenly spray his face. Abby jumps back "Hey! What did I do?! "

"Nothing. Just felt like it" You say with a grin. You strut over to Baby. You raise the water bottle then spray the side of his face. "Get of my damn table" You hiss. Baby squints his eyes at you. Although, he doesn't dare to protest. Last time he did it was the bottle that hit is face. He slid of the table and sat beside Romance

Jinu dragged his hand down his face. "Sorry" He spoke "Didn't mean to bother you. Again" You shrug. "It's fine" You smile. You watch Baby and Romance have a back and forth with the Nintendo. Mystery sitting in a corner with his arms crossed. Abby was focused on a mirror trying to fix his hair.

The boys are more difficult to handle than you anticipated. Of course, being a manager is never easy for anyone. The Saja Boys were quite normal at first. Relaxed when you started managing them. That only lasted about a week.

You glance around the room. "You all have a meet and greet in the next hour. " The statement causes Romance to groan "Seriously? Can't we do it tomorrow?" Romance has been snappy as of recent. He has an attitude issue in general but it's gotten ridiculous. Abby snickered "What's your problem? " He asks looking over at Romance.

"You're his problem! " Mystery responds. You could sense an argument breaking out. Which would lead to more physical attacks. "That's enough. Meet and greet is today and that's fucking final" You grab the Nintendo from Baby's grasp

"Hey-"

"You've played this thing the whole week. Take a break" You walk over to the door. "If I come back here and you guys are still fighting, I'll start banning stuff"

None of the boys says a word. One thing they won't do is test your threats. When you sat you'll do something. It's most likely to happen. Like the one time you took away anything sweet. Baby lost it that week but it did teach him to stop throwing wet toilet paper at his members

You look over at Jinu, pulling the door open "Help them calm down, please? Not mad, just stressed. And extra help would be amazing" You say. Jinu opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. He smiles and nods. "Yeah. I can do that"

Hopefully Jinu, would be able to calm them down. For about 10 minutes top. But hey, gives you time to rethink your life choices

[flofaiiry]

the little things — michael robinavitch x reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a collection of relationship headcannons

warnings: fem!reader , a few of these are smutty but mostly fluff!! smut ones include mentions of oral f!receiving, p in v sex, kissing & maybe a teeny bit of dry humping. the rest are just cute & fluffy, also talks of a non sexual massage & showering together.

wc: ~1000

note: i haven't written anything in two weeks what the flip!!! anyways sorry about that here is my offering bcs this man has been on my mind heavy lately 🤲 gif is from this post!

✩ it does not matter how long you've been together- robby is eternally so so so down bad for you. this man's jaw will drop every time he sees you dressed up all fancy

✩ he’s normally the big spoon. he’s just so broad and warm it’s natural, he also loves knowing that you’re there. right there. secretly though, robby loves to be the little spoon. he loves when you wrap around him from behind, legs tangled with his and arms around his waist, your breath in the crook of his neck- it brings him back to earth after a long day.

✩ ^^ to expand on this he actually needs to touch you while he's sleeping. will pull you closer while he's asleep if he feels you're not right next to him.

✩ on the rare occasion he actually gets a little tipsy while he's out drinking with the pitt crew he will drunk text you misspelt nonsense how much he loves you and how pretty you are and how he can't believe you're his.

✩ holds your hand during sex!!!!! whether he's eating you out or fucking you he's got his fingers weaved through yours. he doesn't care that you're squeezing hard enough to cut off the circulation or leave little halfmoon indents from your nails in his hands, he just wants to feel you- feel every twitch of your body and know how good he's making you feel.

✩ he actually gets offended if you pay for things yourself. like if you’re talking about ordering food and he goes to get his card but you say it’s already on the way because you paid for it… he is just so confused!!! he knows you can afford it but that’s not the point!! he should be the one taking care of those things!!

✩ his hands are always warm and he'll always hold yours no matter how cold they are

✩ no weighted blanket is heavy enough for this man's anxiety- he loves when you fall asleep fully on top of him- encourages it even. if you feel yourself getting sleepy and go to roll off of him he'll just wrap his arms around you and hold you there. he does not care if he can't feel his arms after a while, he just wants you as close as possible & loves to be your human pillow!!!

✩ listens- like actually listens to all your song recommendations and tells you what he likes or doesn't like about each one. for him, nothing beats the smile on your face when you catch him listening to one while folding laundry or when it comes on his playlist in the car.

✩ won't let either of you go to sleep upset after an argument, always wants to talk it out after the yelling stops and make sure you know he's not angry at you.

✩ he's got great self control. can and will kiss you for hours. loves having you straddled over his lap in a sloppy & wet makeout sesh with both of his hands on your hips guiding you to grind harder against his ever hardening cock.

✩ can't cook for shit but he refuses to stand idle, so he'll clean up all the dishes and utensils afterwards.

✩ robby "forgets" shirts and hoodies at your place because he loves the way you look wearing his clothes. lets you believe you've "stolen" half of his wardrobe but little do you know he's bought most of that stuff because he knows you'll like it and that it'll end up becoming yours soon enough.

✩ keeps his eyes closed for a second after you pull away from a kiss- like he can't believe what just happened even if it's the one billionth time you've kissed him.

✩ looooves when you play with his hair- the gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp, the way your fingers rake through the strands. you'll stop because you think he's fallen asleep with his head in your lap, but seconds later you hear a little groan of dissatisfaction and he's dragging your hands back into his hair.

✩ robby gives a mean massage. strong hands and knowledge of the human body? you're like putty under him the second he starts pressing along your back and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the borderline moans slipping from you at the feeling of the knots in your muscles unravelling themselves.

✩ pet names include (but are not limited to): baby, sweetheart, my love, angel, pretty girl, etc etc.

✩ he buys a ring early. not freakishly early, not like a month into your relationship, but pretty soon after the first 'i love you' there's a little black velvet box sitting in his bedside drawer. he doesn't know when or how he's going to propose, but he knows that you're the one he's going to spend the rest of his life with, so he wants it ready for when the right circumstances line up.

✩ gets you flowers before a date, for your birthday, anniversary- even gets you 'just because' flowers whenever he walks by a cute shop or when there's a new vendor in the hospital.

✩ he is a capital G gentleman!! makes you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, gives you his jacket at the first sign of you being cold, does the hand on your back through a crowd thing, opens your door to the car before you get in, etc.

✩ his favourite position is missionary bcs he loves to look at you. especially the little faces you make when you feel good- it just eggs him on and makes him want to get you there that much more.

✩ loves loves loves to shower with you, sure shower sex is great but it's the closeness he's after. he's enamoured with the sight of the water droplets rippling down your skin, the feeling of your fingers working shampoo into his hair and just the warmth of your body against his while you stand in eachother's arms under the spray.

pls leave a comment & reblog with your thoughts! i would love to hear them <3

[everest81]

Even if I'm fine with being called specifically "dude" I fucking dies inside seeing that happen once before I transitioned. I didn't even have Tumblr or really grasped how bad it was but I knew in my gut that it was just... Evil. You're denying a woman's identity for what? Not being able to stare at her boobs the whole conversation? Because you think it's some fucking fetish for others to be happy?

For those who are just on the cusp of grasping it, but can't, try imagining someone doing that to a cis person

This is Kathy. Kathy has been a woman since birth, born with specifically female genitalia and body parts, and has a conventionally effeminate body type by 9/10 normal standards. One day, she gets hired by a tech company that has her testing out websites and occasionally games that are very very early in development.

Around a month or two after she's gotten to know the general group of people she's had to and will work with, a new employee named Toby is hired and put into her group. She doesn't know anyone named Toby, nor does any of her friends or immediate family members. A nephew of hers would gladly tell you about Ticci Toby, his second-favorite creepypasta behind Sonic.exe, but nobody knows any IRL Tobys.

Toby completely refuses to call Kathy by her real name, instead insisting that she's referred to by names like Kyle, or Kevin, ECT, when anyone has to refer to her when talking to him. He acts like someone's joking with him, insulting him, or making up a fake employee when anyone else on their team mentions Kathy by her real name. Toby also consistently uses passive-aggressive language about Kathy —or, should he also be by or going to the bathroom, glares at her and matters things she can't quite catch— whenever she goes to the bathroom, insisting that she should be using the men's room.

On one frightening —and possibly dangerous— occasion Toby physically blocked her from the bathroom by standing in front of the doorway and pushing her away from it. It doesn't matter how gently he pushed her, he still pushed her away from a basic necessity. This was Toby's first strike, according to her boss, but if you asked Kathy, "I cannot tell you how many times I've wanted to fucking punch that guy. He's so fucking annoying — I can never get shit done when I have to work with him in any capacity! Got forbid we have to have a meeting! He's either saying anything about anything else to stall time, or taking my shit and telling everyone that some fuckin'.... Mystery member's been busting his ass off for me in the background, or something...! It's always some Kieth or Kurt or-... whoever the fuck he's made up this week."

Everyone, especially Kathy, is incredibly uncomfortable with how Toby acts. Lately he's been getting especially aggressive, as his passive-aggressive remarks about her and her body have been evolving into outright insults and remarks about how "he's slandering God's image of Adam and mankind". Kathy still to this very day has no idea what happened between them, nor does she have any clue why someone like him wanted to physically assault her, beating her behind her office building with a pocket knife —almost slitting her throat— and scarring both her face and her psyche for the rest of her life.

Toby might have been arrested for assault and attempted murder, but she refuses to walk behind any building that vaguely resembles where she was attacked and almost killed... Because she existed.

I am so sick and tired of seeing the trans women around me being slowly hot coaled into the closet and into essentially being forced back into "Men who would really love being women but Can't because they Aren't". It is so painful stop fucking doing this to our trans women. Stop forcing them to be "Fine" with being called dude bro man he and biologically male stop it stop it stop it you are killing her. You are killing her.

[bitterreid]

🐛 Choose the latter, choose the latter 🐛

Summary: Your dad has a fondness for vintage cars. You have a fondness for his mechanic. A collection of times you run into Hawkins' resident freak-turned-car-mechanic and can't seem to stay away from him.

Wordcount: 4.1k (fluff/smut)

Contains: fem!reader x mechanic!Eddie, teasingggg, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, eddie being down bad, incorrect car facts probably, woops 

A/N: This came to me in a vision, def let me know if anyone wants a part two because I loved making this and I have more ideas for this pairing, title is from Finn's song which is a BANGER, also, am I developing a mechanic kink? Is that a thing? Does anyone else share this? It's starting to become a problem lol

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"You sure you need me today, Wayne? It's like, 700 degrees out." Eddie simply did not care enough to conceal the whining tone in his voice, already feeling the way his clothes stuck to his skin. 

"Stop complaining and be grateful you got a job at all, kid." Wayne tossed over his shoulder, used to Eddie's constant chatter by now.

"No, of course, yeah, yeah, but you see this? The soles of my shoes are melting into the pavement," Eddie clumsily put his foot in the air - soles completely intact - to show Wayne, who did not turn around. 

Slightly begrudged, Eddie continued his sulking pace. Not that he really minded his job, after all.

"Remember," Wayne said as he pushed the big doors to the garage open, "I need you to be on your best behaviour today. No antics, you get me?"

"Oh I got you," Eddie quips absentmindedly, too taken aback by the legion of vintage cars that awaited them. "These are all property of your supposed childhood friend? What is he? A mob boss or something?"

Wayne rolled his eyes, "Just a businessman, Eddie, and I mean it, no standing around either, he's been a customer for almost twenty years now, and I'd like to keep it that way. I even held his daughter when she was a baby, this is not someone you want to disappoint."

But Eddie was lost in the shiny contours of the expensive cars, trying to calculate just how much cash was gathered in this room alone. 

"Oh and make sure to keep an eye out for the neighbourhood kids, they like to sneak looks inside, so don't let them in, understand?" Wayne got no answer, "Eddie?"

"Yeah, yeah, let no one in, I'm not a toddler you leave home alone for the first time I'll be fine." He waved Wayne away, perusing through the rows of cars.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Half way through the day, the first kids popped up at the large doors. At first Eddie just heard giggles, then whispers, then he saw three little heads poke through the doorway, eyes twinkling in the bright sunlight.

"No, nu-uh, out, you three!" He felt like an old man yelling for children to get off his lawn. But it worked, the kids scurried away again, giggling and screeching in the process.

Eddie wiped the sweat off his brow, again, as he had done every ten minutes since he had gotten here. He was eternally grateful for the faint breeze every once in a while, but the white tank top he was donning was - besides smeared with oil - now also almost drenched. Great. Just as he was about to bend back over the 1957 Porsche, he heard more footsteps approaching. Wayne had left to go get them some lunch in the supermarket down the street, leaving Eddie to deal with the greedy little onlookers all on his own, but he was getting tired of scaring them away.

"Just go already! How many more times do I-" his tirade halted when he turned around to find you. Huh, he thought, okay, not the normal crowd, but he wasn't one to judge. "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

You cocked your head at him, cherry lollypop between your lips, your summer dress faintly blowing in the wind. "I can't?"

Eddie was somewhat taken aback. "This is private property" was his lame response, which even sounded unconvincing to his own ears.

"Is that so?" you replied idly, stalking forward and running your fingers over the hood of one of the cars. 

Eddie surged forward, "Hey! You can't just-" he grabbed your wrist, not hard, just to keep you away from the precious cars left in his care. All you did was smile up at him, completely unbothered.

Eddie was stunned, like all the files in his mind had been corrupted, and in pure desperation threw it back onto the old guy lecturing kids, "Listen here, missy," (missy, really, Eddie?) "You can't just barge in here, okay? I'm gonna need to ask you to leave, respectfully."

The cheshire cat grin on your face only grew at his words, "Ooh, respectfully? Well, if you ask so nicely…" Your tone was teasing, all drawn-out and suspiciously sweet. "I guess I'll see you around, then…"

"Eddie," he supplied, partly against his better judgement.

"See ya, Eddie." And then you were gone.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

"Wayne, I already know what you're going to say, but can I test-drive one of these babies?" Eddie harboured no hopes that the answer would be yes - ever - but daydreaming never hurt anyone.

All he got back from his uncle was a deadpan stare and a raised brow.

"Right, right." 

I was the next day, still doing check-ups on the cars, whose drivers' seats seemed to glint alluringly at him every time he popped their hoods. 

"Did I tell you about that girl who came by yesterday? That was weird,"

"Eddie. You've told me several times now, I think I get it." Wayne was changing the oil on one of the Ferrari's, wondering for the umpteenth time why, again, he had hired his own nephew?  

"Oh, right. Right." Eddie couldn't seem to get you out of his head, the way you had been so unfazed, your eyes trained on him the whole time, there was an undeniable pull towards the idea of you. See you around, you had said. Faintly, somewhere, Eddie hoped it was true. 

And it was.

Around noon, once again, you appeared in the door opening, this time with a different coloured lollypop and a dog circling your feet. Eddie took in the sight of you, radiant in the contrasting light of the doorway, but it wasn't him you were looking at.

"Mister Munson!" you exclaimed, a bright, honest smile taking over your features.

"Sweetheart, hey, how you been?" Wayne wiped his hands on a rag and came over to you, smiling almost affectionately.

"Not too bad, just making sure I don't melt, you know, in this weather. How about you? I see you brought help this year?"

"I'm good, honey, thanks, yeah, this is my nephew, Eddie." he gestured vaguely in Eddie's direction.

"Nice to meet you, Eddie," your smile was coy and well-practiced, with a glint of mischief behind your eyes that Wayne didn't seem to notice at all when he tumbled into a slew of questions, keeping you entertained. 

 "Tell me, how's your father, how are you finding college? Are you home all summer?" 

Eddie was gobsmacked. Could it be that he had commanded you to leave your own garage? Your own house? Oh how he wished the floor would grow teeth and swallow him right about now. Instead, he busied himself with polishing the same mirror roughly eleven times over, not so subtly eavesdropping on your conversation. 

"So, I'll be heading off now, gotta take this one out for a walk," you scratched the dog behind her ear, "See you later, Mr. Munson," you looked over your shoulder, smiling sweetly "and bye, Eddie." All Eddie could muster was an impressively fake smile until you rounded the corner.

"Wayne!!" Eddie exclaimed, throwing his dirty rag at his uncle, "what the fuck??"

"Hey!" Wayne scrambled to swat the rag away, "what now-"

"That's the girl! The girl that came by! The girl that I sent away!"

Wayne could hardly suppress his smile, "You sent the daughter of the owner away? Nice, Ed, real classy."

Eddie raised his hands in desperation, "You said his daughter was a baby!"

"Boy, I said I held her as a baby! Years ago! That's what you get for never listening to me," Wayne snickered.

Eddie groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I called her missy."

At that, Wayne couldn't help but properly burst out laughing, "Missy?! Well, you have only yourself for that one, don't ya?" This earned him another rag to his face.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

That afternoon, heat almost unbearable in the garage, Wayne had a plan.

"Eddie, fetch some water, will ya?"

"Water, from where? The store?"

"Nope," Wayne answered, barely looking up from the screw he was fastening, "the kitchen."

Eddie stood up straight, "The kitchen? You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"Why do you want to punish me, Wayne?"

"Boy, it's just some water, go fetch."

"I'm not a dog," Eddie mumbled as he wiped his hands and attempted to fix his untamed curls in the reflection of one of the windows. He stalked out of the garage and rounded the corner into your backyard. They had been given permission to help themselves to anything they needed, but normally Eddie made Wayde grab him stuff. Not that he was scared of you, or anything.

He climbed up the steps to your backdoor, looking down at his oil-smeared outfit that clashed starkly with the light blue kitchen tiles coming into view. If he was lucky, he would be in and out before anyone noticed him. He just had to find the cabinet you kept your cups in and get some water and he'd be a free man. Only, which cabinet?

This kitchen was about seven times as big as his own, with about seven times as many cabinets, which made the guess, somewhat… impossible. So he started opening doors, and shutting them as silently as possible after the so manieth cupboard of only decorative plates. (How many decorative plates could one family need?)

He was almost getting desperate, nearing the end of the row of doors, thinking maybe fancy people didn't use cups? Until he finally found them, shiny and sparkling. He grabbed the first one he saw, finally turning around towards the tap and-

"Jesus- oh my god, what the-" You were smiling at him from the other side of the room, languidly draped against the doorframe.

You cleared your throat, putting on fake wide eyes, "Um, sorry, you can't be in here."

"I, um, I just needed to get some wat-" he barely managed.

"This is private property" you mocked, a smile seeping through your tone. The twinkle in your eyes was what finally betrayed your agenda to him.

"Ahh, ha ha, real clever, I get it." he turned the glass over in his hands, trying to will his nerves away.

"Took you long enough," you chirped, pushing yourself off the doorpost and strolling towards him. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah, um, no, it's, it's for Wayne," could he sound any more like a middle schooler that got caught red-handed?

"Aah, then you'd want this," you said, pulling open the doors of your giant refrigerator and producing a bottle of sparkling water, "he likes this one the best." 

Eddie had never seen the drink before, probably too fancy to keep around in the trailer, "Thanks," he mumbled, taking the blue bottle from you.

"No worries," you started backing away into the doorframe you had come from again, while Eddie grew faintly more aware of a feeling blooming in his chest that somehow wanted you to stay. "Just, yell if you need anything else, alright?" 

And then you were gone. Again. The smile on your lips lingered in Eddie's mind for longer than he'd care to admit.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The next day, Eddie was determined to strike up a real conversation with you. Preferably one where he didn't scold you like a mean teacher or came off extremely clueless, if possible. But the day rolled by, and no sign of you. He even volunteered to get more water in the kitchen, hoping to run into you, but to no avail.

He had all but lost hope, until he spotted you in the garden. You were sitting at the far end, reading a book at a picnic table underneath a wooden arch covered in flowers. You were a vision, in your short shorts and the soft sunlight on your face, you could have stepped into any of those mushy romance movies Eddie pretended not to like. 

"Hey, Wayne, you go ahead and leave without me, alright?" Eddie said, hoping to sound casual.

Wayne glanced up from packing his things, inquisitively at first, but then he spotted you. "Sure, kid. Just one word of advice-"

Eddie groaned in anticipation of the words to come.

"Don't call her missy, alright?" a grin taking over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, I'll try for sure." Eddie rushed away from his uncle, checking his appearance one more time in one the windows of a particularly shiny Mustang. He looked like he just worked an entire day in unbearable heat, which he did, so at least that checked out, but it would have to do. He slowed his walk, tried his best for casual, and strolled up to you in your large, well-kept garden.

"Hey there," he said, alerting you of his presence, and slid onto the bench opposite you.

You looked up from your book, not startled at all, Eddie noted, and smiled at him, "Hi." 

Eddie smiled back, already scrambling for words, swallowing hard at the sight of you, framed inside a border of roses.

But conversation seemed to come easily to you. "So, which of the cars have you been dreaming of stealing the most?"

Eddie let out a surprised laugh at that.

"I bet it was the red Porsche, or the Black Corvette?" You raised your eyebrow, "or are you more of a convertible type, Eddie?" 

"Aah, you got me," he threw his hands up in surrender.

"Hmh, then I bet you'd like, the dark green one," you snapped your fingers, "the uh, um, what's it called?" 

"The 1955 Ford Thunderbird, with the 312 cubic inch Y-block V8 motor," Eddie blurted out, too enamoured with the car to curb his enthusiasm. 

"That's right," your smile widened, "See, I got you all figured out."

Oh, Eddie was in looooveee. And very much unable to play anything cool, ever, though he was willing to die trying. "And you? Any favourites you'd run away with?"

"Oh, I'm not really a car kinda girl, only really know what my dad tells me about them."

"Oh really? But I bet you have a favourite, right?" He was trying to throw all of his charm in the ring.

"Hmm," you pondered his question, "I guess I have a soft sport for the Porsche, the light blue one?" 

"The 911 T? Good choice, good choice, a lady with taste."

You laughed at that, "Yeah, you know how cars kind of have a face?"

"I, um, I can't say I do?" but he was intrigued by where this was going.

"Yeah you do, the headlights are the eyes, the bumper is the mouth, and that one just looks, kind? I don't know," your laugh was getting bashful now, almost shy, "Maybe I'm talking nonsense."

"No! No, I see it, sure, you're right, even, very friendly car. Real sweetheart." You swatted at his arm, only making his lopsided grin more fond. "No, I mean it, didn't even give me any trouble during its check-up."

"Isn't it exhausting, all these long days in this heat?" You asked.

"Eh," Eddie waved his fingers, "had better days, but it's alright, honest work, you know."

You nodded, "Seems like hard work… you must be tired." Your eyes were flicking over his body now, but your smile remained kind and compassionate.

"I mean, well, yeah, kinda…" Eddie was slowly getting flustered by your attention.

"Working with your hands all day, can't be easy…" you trailed off, fidgeting with the edge of your book, "You know, I admire that, the craft, I mean." You slowly stood up, abandoning your book and walking around the table.

Eddie swallowed hard, trying to stay cool and collected, as he couldn't tell where this was going for the life of him. 

You came to a halt behind Eddie, still musing aloud, "Not afraid to get your hands dirty, and, you have to be quite strong… right?" 

You trailed your fingertips over his exposed upper arm, just like how you had done to the car a few days ago, but this time, Eddie didn't stop you. Instead, he inhaled sharply, tracking your movements with his eyes. 

"Right, Eddie? I bet you're really strong, carrying all those things, lifting the tires…" You bent down, your face nearing his ear, to whisper, "I bet you work really hard, Eddie, and I think- " your lips grazed the shell of his ear and Eddie thought he might faint on the spot, "I think you deserve a reward for that."

Eddie felt a shiver run down his spine at your words, his eyelids fluttering to stay open. Your hands were on his shoulders now, while your lips dragged over the hot skin of his neck. Sparks ignited all over his body upon the soft contact, rendering him speechless.

"Right, Eddie? Don't you think you deserve to be spoiled a little? For all your hard work?" You planted small kisses all over his neck, and when his head tipped back - involuntarily - you moved on to the column of his throat. Not satisfied with his lack of response, you purred his name again, "Eddie?", which poured oil on the flames igniting in his belly.

"Y- yeah, I do." His voice was hoarse, even to his own ears.

You smiled against his skin, satisfied with his reply, "That's right, so do you want me to take care of you, Eddie? Spoil you? Hmm?" Your voice was velvet to the touch, the words curling around him in an intoxicating spiral.

"Yeah, yeah, I- I do," his mumbling was interrupted by a low groan that left his throat as you planted hot, open mouthed kisses on his jaw. He was pretty sure he was in heaven.

"Turn around then," was all you said, and Eddie couldn't obey you any faster, swinging his legs over the bench to face you, no doubt red-cheeked and with dazed eyes. And you, you were a vision. So innocent looking, just standing there with your sweet smile and your gorgeous legs, looking at him, of all people. 

Then, you slowly, ever so slowly, got on your knees in front of him. And oh god. Eddie thought he might lose it, might wake up from this daydream, might get told this was all a cruel joke, but the way you held his eyes as you sank down, this was his ultimate wet dream come true right before his eyes. He swallowed, by lack of anything else to do, as 'casual' had gone out the window a long time ago. 

You looked so pretty sitting in between his spread legs, Eddie almost felt the need to stop you right there and ask to take a picture. But he didn't, because you were reaching your hands up to his belt now, carefully unbuckling it. The metal sounds of the clasps sounded out of place between the twittering birds in your garden, but Eddie couldn't care less, so entirely enveloped by your gentle stare and careful hands.

"May I, Eddie?" you asked, voice still as sweet as ever.

All he could do was nod, vigorously, and lift his hips to help you slide his jeans down his legs. He was hard. Of course he was, who could blame him? He had been living out his own personal wildest fantasies for the last ten minutes. 

His breath hitched once more when your lips got closer to his length, but instead you attacked his thighs, planting sweet, soft kisses on the pale skin there. You were driving him wild, insane, mad, deranged, you name it. All of it the work of your plush lips on his skin.

Suddenly, a clear thought made its way through the fog in his brain "W- what about your parents?" There was a clear wobble to his voice, but he was under strict instructions from Wayne not to screw this up. 

You laughed a little, maybe at his question, maybe at his disheleveld state, "Out of town, Eddie, don't worry." 

"Oh," he swallowed thickly, "right, yeah. Neighbours?" 

"What neighbours?" you giggled, as indeed, your house was located far away from the rest of the town.

"Right, right," he couldn't think straight with your lips so close to his aching dick that was straining his boxers by now. 

You smoothed your hands up and down his legs, "Relax, Eddie, lay back, let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah…" he tried to chill, but the mix of nerves, butterflies and arousal in his stomach was a hard one to swallow. All of his efforts, though, went completely out the window as soon as you grabbed his dick through the fabric. A sinful, drawn out moan immediately escaped his lips upon the first experimental stroke you gave.

You giggled quietly, a matching heat catching on your cheeks as you leaned forwards and licked his leaking tip through his boxers. Another sound escaped him, and he was sure by now his mouth was hanging open, bewitched by the (un)holy sight before him.

"You like that, Eddie?" you purred, slowly working his dick over.

"Y- yeah, oh fuck, yeah."

"Good," you said as you finally hooked your fingers behind the waistband, pulling his boxers down. "Be as loud as you want, by the way, I think it's really hot."

The compliment, paired with the casual way you said it, made the burn on Eddie's cheeks even brighter, the blush now creeping down his chest as well. You looked absolutely angelic, and yet absolutely sinful, the way your beautiful face was framed between his thighs now, and your delicate hand wrapped around his dick. 

When you licked up his shaft for the first time, fire sparked right through his entire body, igniting something stronger, deeper, than he had ever felt before. Your tongue wrapped around his head next, while it glided between your soft, plush lips. Eddie was so gone, groaning in pleasure with every stroke. 

You worked up a steady rhythm, your mouth as warm and intoxicating as your touch. The way you looked up at him, all innocent and pretty, made Eddie's insides swoop, drawing a high-pitched whine from his which he didn't know he was capable of. 

His eyes wanted to roll back into his skull, but he fought to keep them open, not wanting to miss a single second. He carefully weaved his fingers through your hair, not so much steering you as just going along with your movements, craving more contact. "This okay?" he asked, voice raspy and deep.

You hummed around his dick, sending shivers of pleasure through Eddie's body. He was sure you'd be the death of him. 

Eddie was getting closer, though he tried to hold off from finishing for as long as possible, both to save his ego and to savour every last second of this moment. But your skilled movements and honestly just the mere sight of you kneeled between his legs alone made it extremely hard on him. 

His moans became breathier, and he knew that he was getting close. His heart was pounding in his chest, the muscles in his abdomen were flexing tight, and pleasure was clouding his brain to the point that the only thing that existed in the whole universe for him were you, and the way you looked, and felt around him.

"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart," he moaned the words rather than said them, "Oh, fuck, I'm so- so close." But you didn't stop. On the contrary, you kept going, even faster, sucking the head exactly the way he liked it. "Oh god, jesus, fuck," all kinds of profanities tumbled from hsi lips, feeling his high rapidly approaching. You looked up at him one final time, your big eyes locking onto his, and that's what did him in.

His orgasm crashed over him in burning, white- hot waves of pleasure, making him moan out your name over and over as he finished. His hands were still in your hair, feeling the way you carefully worked him through his high. When he opened his eyes again, he saw you wipe your mouth, a satisfied smile on your face.

Eddie was still beyond dishevelled, completely out of it, you name it. He watched you with wide eyes and pink cheeks as he caught his breath, still half in disbelief about what just happened. 

You licked your lips, still kneeling before him, "Was that good?" 

"Good? Good?" (Eddie's brain had stopped working like half an hour ago) "Sweetheart, 'good' would be the understatement of the century." He brushed your hair behind your ear, "That was, fuck, that was like, the best moment of my life." 

You laughed at that, finally standing up and dusting off your knees, "Ah, don't flatter me, Munson." Your smile was bright and warm, and Eddie found himself in deep, deep trouble. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆🐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

I am but a humble fanfic writer and i beg for your feedback guys :))))))) xxxxxxxx + If anyone has requests, tell meeeee, and lmk if I should make this a series :))))

[chaepink]

Private lessons | sub!oikawa toru

wc: 2.8k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, student x teacher relationship, professor!reader, reader is in mid/late twenties and oikawa is early twenties, college au, dry humping, begging, hair pulling, praising, teasing, choking, slight edging, pet names, a few mentions of "miss" for reader however can be ignored since no body parts are mentioned

note: lets see if i can still write good

"Professor? Can you go back and repeat that?"

You sigh and without turning around to see who asked the question, you begin repeating what you've just said out loud again. After all, you know exactly who asked the stupid question: Oikawa Toru.

Sure you're fresh out of college and new to the job but you're perfectly capable of dealing with all of the situations and problems that come with teaching. Your first year teaching sub-disciplines of biology passed by perfectly normally, with you even becoming one of the favorite teachers among the students.

So you weren't concerned when your second year began and you were prepared for most of the things that you assumed would happen.

But what you weren't prepared for was to deal with Oikawa fucking Toru, a senior who you've heard from your fellow teacher friends tends to be a constant pain in the ass.

He's the typical bad student. He's always bullying kids he deems inferior to him, hangs out with the frat boys, throws parties every week if not every day, and gets into fights. All while having girls surrounding him.

Oh, and he interrupts your teaching every second he gets.

That bastard has been the main problem that has suddenly made your job unenjoyable. He's been pulling all sorts of shit like making you repeat things at least 5 times each class, whispering crude remarks about you to his friend—even though he sits in the front of the room and you can hear each one—, and throwing paper balls and airplanes around randomly just to annoy you. Overall, he's a real nuisance during class.

And you know damn well that he doesn't even need or care for the repeating from the way he smirks at you when you're done and from now he has failed most of the quizzes and tests that you've given to the class yet doesn't go to you for any help.

No matter how annoying he is in your class, you can't be bothered to report him to the head of the school, afraid it would tarnish your new reputation as a teacher. After all, you heard rumors about how he's gotten teachers fired, and knowing his parents are somewhat influential, you'd rather not find out firsthand if they're true or not. All you can do is complain about him to your friends as you wait for the school year to end. At least his class is always the last one of the day, right? Yeah right.

Now back to the present.

As you finish repeating most of the things you already went over, you ignore the gaze burning into your head and quickly post the classwork on your laptop. However, right as you open your mouth to continue teaching, the bell rings and you can't help but let your shoulders slump as you look up to the students with a forced smile.

"I just posted the homework for this lesson that's due next class so don't forget to complete it! The semester is coming to an end so final grades will be put in soon."

As they pack up and begin chatting, a few give you sympathetic smiles as they exit, knowing what you have to go through during this class.

You don't bother to pay attention to the last person in the room as they walk up to your desk, stopping right in front of you.

"Professor? I think I need more help understanding."

You pause your typing on your laptop and focus on sorting the papers on your desk instead, trying to look busy but you're just trying not to look Oikawa in the eyes.

"Yes, Oikawa? What exactly do you need help understanding? If it's something that will take a while to chat with me about then I'm afraid that it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I have a lot of work to grade."

You quickly glance up at him and see the grin on his face. It's one that you've gotten accustomed to as it usually means he has something up his sleeve.

"Well mainly about today's lesson. I don't quite get it. Perhaps I even need a private lesson, don't you think?"

Right, you forgot to mention the rather obvious flirting he does towards you. It's almost as if your first year teaching went too well that your second just had to be the exact opposite.

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes as you answer back calmly without looking at him.

"If what I notice during class is right, you haven't been paying attention much. But I'm sure if you start doing so, you'll begin understanding the lessons better."

You hear him let out a huff at your lack of attention towards him before seeing two hands being placed on either side of your laptop. You frown as your eyes immediately look up at him.

He's closer now, leaning over your desk and the grin wider now.

"Oh come on professor, a private lesson can't hurt. You'll be able to teach me so much." Teach him how to behave perhaps. "And you can do it however you want, I'm not picky." The way he looks at you as he says the last part has you questioning if he meant it in another way. Knowing him, he most likely did.

You sigh before gathering your papers and you see Oikawa's grin falter slightly.

"Oikawa, I don't think a private lesson is necessary. Nor do I think it would benefit you in any way." You're so focused on the papers that you don't hear him walk around the desk to your side until he's right beside your chair.

"Please, professor?" You jump slightly in surprise before turning your chair to face him and you remember just how tall he is. He's right in front of you now and the way he said the word "please" has you tensing. He knows what he's doing and he knows that you know.

You suddenly realize the tension in the room and clear your throat. "This is inappropriate, Oikawa. I'm your professor."

He raises an eyebrow before stepping closer and smirking.

"Inappropriate? Just what are you assuming? I'm not doing anything inappropriate." He leans down slightly and you frown. Damn him and his good looks. No wonder you see him surrounded by girls on the daily.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You know what you're doing," you say sternly and his smirk widens. Oh, you want to slap that smirk off his face so badly.

You can't help but glance back at your laptop for a second before suddenly feeling a hot breath in your ear and a presence beside you.

"Please, professor?" A shiver runs down your spine. Before you can reply, you notice his tie dangling in front of you—one that's always untucked despite the uniform policy—and you can't help but grab it and pull it down sharply. He gasps at the sudden action as he stumbles and falls to his knees in front of you. His eyes immediately widen and a faint blush appears on his face.

You can't help but be in shock as well. If someone were to walk in at this moment, they would see the infamous Oikawa Toru on his knees, a blush on his face that's growing redder by the second, in front of one of the school's most popular teachers.

Oh, the rumors.

Even on his knees, he's still tall but you swear he looks smaller from the way he looks up at you in surprise.

You're still holding onto his tie and you realize, the way you're staring down at him, tie in hand while he's on his knees staring at you with widened—awaiting?— eyes; Oikawa kinda reminds you of… a dog?

Get your mind out of the gutter, [Name], you tell yourself, yet your grip on his tie only tightens and you notice him swallow hard.

You look at his neck and realize you must've accidentally tightened the tie somehow as well, pressing it right up against his Adam's apple.

"M-Miss?" You snap out of your thoughts, both the title and the stutter catching you by surprise. Looking at Oikawa, you see he's blushing harder, fists clenched on his thighs as he continues to look up at you with that look. Shit.

Then you realize he's not moving, not getting up, not pushing you away, or yelling at you. He's not protesting it. Rather, he's deciding to stay kneeling in front of you.

Does he want this?

You swallow hard as your eyes rake over Oikawa's body and you swear you see his body shiver slightly. You were always a sucker for pretty men anyways.

However, when your eyes finally reach his lower half, you realize why he's blushing so much, or why he's avoiding your gaze suddenly. He's hard, so obviously hard.

Oikawa looks so different from his normal persona that you almost want to laugh. The cocky, annoying senior that has always pestered you in class reduced to a blushing, speechless mess in front of you with a raging boner.

"I bet this is what you wanted, right? During a private lesson?" You see him tense up before lowering his head in front of you, muttering something quietly.

"Use your words properly." You notice him staying silent and wonder if you've misread him before he suddenly speaks- no, suddenly moves.

He slowly leans forward to lay his cheek on your thigh and your breath hitches at the sight.

"I'm sorry, miss." Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Despite how one side of your mind so desperately wants to put him in his place after everything he's done, the more rational part of your mind quickly reminds you that you're his professor and he's your student. Although you're only a few years older than him, this could get you fired or worse.

He must sense your hesitation because he then gently grasps your ankle and presses your shoe against his crotch, letting out a small whimper that makes the heat inside your stomach rise.

You curse under your breath before tugging his tie again and he gasps. Feeling him start to slowly rock against your shoe, you take it back and hear him whine pathetically.

"Was this your plan all along? To rile me up so I would snap and teach you a lesson?" You feel his crotch twitch slightly.

Oikawa swallows hard before lifting his head up and nodding. "Words."

"Yes, miss." You can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

"Well," you start and you see him looking up at you awaitedly. "Perhaps I will teach you a lesson, in my own way of course, since you said you weren't picky." He blushes, remembering his previous words. You have a feeling that although he wanted you to snap, he didn't expect it to go this way.

The pressure against his crotch snaps him out of his thoughts and before his mind can process it, his body already has and you see pre cum seeping through the material of his pants. He lets out a moan at the feeling of your shoe again.

"How about, I'll ask you questions about the class material" —you see his Adam's apple bobbing— "and depending on whether you answer correctly or not, I'll either pull back my shoe or help you cum."

His breath hitches at the idea and almost immediately nods. With his brain already foggy along with the realization that you may pleasure him, he fails to remember that he hasn't been paying the best attention in your class or learned the material well.

You already feel him slightly grinding on your shoe again but you keep it there, wanting to keep on looking down at his flushed face panting near your thighs.

"What is a similarity between transcription and DNA replication?"

His eyes immediately widen in surprise and you know you've stumped him already. Although you know the rest of your classes would be able to answer it easily, his mind is already too clouded with pleasure, it's almost funny.

He stutters out some sort of half-ass response that you know is definitely wrong before you feign a disappointed sigh and pull away your shoe. Immediately he whines out in protest but a stern look from you shuts him right up.

So now he follows your orders.

"What does the shape of a protein determine?" Groaning, he lays his head back on your thigh. His grip on your ankle tightens slightly as he pouts up at you, trying to convince you to do something else. With his hair right in front of you, you suddenly grab it before yanking his head back, emitting a rather loud cry of pain from him.

"Come on, Oikawa"—he lets out a whine at the way you say his name so sternly—"I thought you wanted this? So be a good boy and answer the question. Or perhaps I should just leave you here?"

He widens his eyes before shaking his head hesitantly. "N-No, miss." Oh, the thought of you just leaving him here has his cock throbbing. He's so hard, it hurts.

You stay silent and he realizes you're still awaiting an answer from him. You swear you see the cogwheels turning in his brain, the need to cum fueling it.

"The… function?"

It comes out as more of a question than an answer but you take it anyways. The second you grind your shoe back against his already stained crotch, he humps it like a dog in heat, his groans and whimpers filling the classroom.

You ask him another question and of course, he gets it wrong, mumbling some response that had nothing to do with what you asked. However, taking pity on him, you don't pull away your shoe and he takes it as a sign to speed up. Maybe he thought he actually got it right or maybe he realized that you felt bad for him.

Your hand grips his tie again, tugging it as he lets out a small groan, his eyes rolling back in his head slightly at the pressure against his throat. So he likes getting choked?

"You know, when you're making all sorts of loud noises like that, I wouldn't be surprised if someone were to come check up on his room."

You expected him to slow down, maybe even stop at the realization. But rather he speeds up.

"Maybe you would even like that, getting caught." His cock inside his pants twitches a lot, answering your suspicions so you continue. "Imagine what they would think, seeing a big bad senior like you on his knees for a teacher, rutting against their shoe like a fucking bitch in heat."

Your language catches him off guard, the total opposite of how you act when you teach. He can't help the blush that travels down his neck or the shock of pleasure that runs through his spine or the way his dick leaks more pre-cum, trickling through his pants and onto your shoe because holy shit was that hot.

But the whole situation wouldn't happen anyway. You know for a fact that this part of the college was practically empty, even more so after the last class. But Oikawa doesn't know that and the thought of getting caught turns him on more than he would like to admit.

"M-Miss, I'm close," he murmurs into your thigh, taking no action to slow down. You raise an eyebrow. Assuming that he hooks up with girls weekly, you thought it would take him longer to cum, or perhaps this whole situation is too much for him to process clearly that he just couldn't hold it in. It's cute.

Oikawa is quick to babble out pleas to cum, his voice rising in pitch as his absolutely sinful noises become louder. Some drool escapes from the corner of his mouth and his body feels hot, tears prickling the corners of his eyes from the intensity.

His eyes roll back again and you swear his brain short circuits when you press down on his crotch, his grip on your ankle tightening even more to keep you there. Oikawa can’t even think properly anymore, he just wants to cum. "Pleasepleaseplease-"

"Go on Oikawa, since you've been such a good boy during this lesson." The praise is what gets him. He throws his head back, revealing his neck that you want to grab so badly, and lets out a cry of pleasure. Immediately you feel the wetness on your shoe and you look down to see the wet stain on his pants growing even more.

Oikawa slumps back forward onto your thighs as his humping slows down before coming to a stop. Looking up at you, his eyes are glassy and glazed over and the sight makes your heart race.

He sighs before laying his cheek on your thigh and closing his eyes, murmuring something that you almost fail to hear.

"Thank you for the private lesson, miss."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[mooningningg]

𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 — prologue

PAIRING. assassin!sukuna x spy!reader — spyxfamily AU!

about. when a notorious assassin is forced to abandon his identity, the last thing he expects is to be ordered to build a new one—by faking a marriage and raising a child. but with a psychic kid, a mysterious wife who’s hiding something darker than him, and enemies closing in on all sides… sukuna’s new “normal life” might just be the most dangerous mission of all.

warnings. angst, violence, blood, cursing, adult content in some chapters, slowburn.

notes. I just jumped into a full on series fr, i can't stay on wattpad anymore. I really hope you all can enjoy this, message or comment be if you wanna be added on the taglist. and also I will appreciate feedbacks.

chapters. Materialist - Chapter 01.

It’s easy to disappear when the whole world already thinks you’re dead.

That’s what he tells himself as he sinks into the leather chair, the skyline flickering like a heart monitor flatlining in the distance. There’s a storm on the horizon, city lights warping against the glass like they’re underwater, like they’re drowning — and Sukuna wonders, idly, if that’s what it feels like to be alive.

No one calls him Ryomen Sukuna antymore. That name’s been buried in blood and bureaucracy.

He’s been six different men in three different countries in the last year alone. Sometimes he remembers their names. Sometimes he doesn’t. But the weight never leaves.

The weight of being watched, being hunted. The kind of life where silence is sacred and attachment is lethal. Where waking up means checking for red dots on the windows, where every knock could be a gun to the temple or a dagger to the spine. Where even in dreams, he’s still fighting.

He left the organization months ago. Technically.

But you don’t just leave something like that. You don’t leave an empire built on unsanctioned kills, whispered contracts, blood-soaked diplomacy. You slip away, like smoke. Like sin.

And even that’s a luxury.

His hands are still red, even when they’re clean. His heart still beats, even when it doesn’t want to. And lately, he’s started to wonder if there’s anything left of him that isn’t sharp or broken or hollowed out to make room for more violence.

What is a man supposed to become when he’s spent his whole life being a monster?

That question lingers in the room as he stares out over the neon skyline of Jujutsu City. Somewhere down there, people are living lives they don’t need to lie about. Laughing without checking who’s listening. Kissing someone they’re allowed to love. Sukuna wouldn’t know what to do with a life like that.

He’s always been good at one thing: killing without being seen.

But he’s tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes — no, this is bone-deep. The kind of exhaustion that makes your soul feel like it’s been scraped raw. The kind of tired that turns even silence into something deafening.

He closes his eyes. Thinks about the last mission. Thinks about the look on the boy’s face when Sukuna let him go. Thinks about how stupid it was — how human it was — to hesitate.

That’s why they summoned him again.

A black envelope lies unopened on the table, marked with the symbol of the organization. Simple, final. No return address, because it doesn’t need one.

He knows what’s inside. And he knows it isn’t optional.

But the voice that speaks from the shadows of the room — cold, robotic, almost bored — still slices through the silence like a knife.

“You’ve been compromised,” it says. “You want a new identity? You want to live long enough to use it?”

“Then bury the killer. Burn the name.”

Sukuna doesn’t respond.

His jaw ticks. His eyes stay on the city, pretending to look at something that isn’t slipping away from him again.

“We need foundation,” the voice continues. “You need to blend in. Be normal. Be forgettable.”

It pauses — and then delivers the final order with surgical precision.

Like it’s not the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever asked of him.

“Start a family.”

— Chapter 01. — Materialist —

[despairots]

MINISKIRT, chapter two of bite me!

baby saja x fem! reader | okia, this ones gonna be longer than the first one bc i realized i made it too short 💔💔 dw guys baby shows up he was originally supposed to show up in chapter three but yknow ❤️

story contains | thoughts of death but it’s nothing serious also reader’s actually personality cracks a bit

tag list | @enerofairy, @zomqiez, @ffcfffr, @mysteris-things

website. prev chpt … next chpt

A yawn escaped your mouth, stretching your arms over your hand as you left the tower to walk. If they wanted to find you, they’ll just give you call, and if they scolded you for walking out at night when demons come out, you’ll just wave them off.

You always liked this part after a concert, unlike the others who like resting on the couch while watching a movie, too tired to move. You often went out to walk, dead at night, with demons, unarmed, and coming back knowing you’ll get scolded.

‘It’s just comforting,’ you waved off, ‘I’ll be fine.’ you crossed your arms. You liked that they cared for you, it’s just sometimes it’s too much. You just want them to lay off your back for awhile. Yes, you know how dire the situation would be if you died, it’s all you think about whenever you’re out.

Scratch that, you think about it everyday. A crazy fan could sneak inside and straggle you, a stalker could threaten you, a demon could steal your soul, you could fall off a building. It’s not rare to not think about it, people think about dying everyday rather it be suicidal or not.

You’re just as scared at dying like any other human. It’s normal, it’s uncommon, it’s nothing bizarre. Fearing death is humane, that’s what often distinguishes humans and demons. The thought made you froze, since when did you start comparing humans and demons?

You never once did. Yes, your whole job was to slain demons to protect the world, but you never compared the qualities between humans and demons before. Some humans were more demonic than demons, but you didn’t have anyone—any demon—to back up your claim.

Maybe this whole job was getting to your head, and to think you wanted to go out on a walk to clear your mind but instead got compromised with the new thought.

You pulled your phone to check the time before noticing a notification about a new song. Furrowing your eyebrows, you clicked it, revealing the one song that was supposed to be released after your 2 weeks hiatus. Annoyance filled your body, sighing angrily and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Went out on a relaxing walk just to not be relaxed. God, sometimes you hated this job.

You loved the girls and Bobby, they’re the family you’ve always wanted but they can be a bit… how do you say it? They’re sorta irritating to be around? It’s just they change things so many times, and when they do, it brings you so much annoyance and anxiety. You have to work overtime, and it’s hard to balance this life and your personal life.

You’re not perfect, the opposite of that actually. You’re rude, snappy, and easily agitated, you clearly got it from your family. Despite being a sensitive soul, you are a terrible person, it’s written in stone and you never once bothered changing it. You only acted docile to survive, you never wanted to act like that but acting stupid helped you up to this point.

It’s not that you’re ashamed, you couldn’t care less about it. If someone came up to you and said that you’re a shitty person, you’d just laugh because they’re right. You don’t hide it often, it slips through the perfect facade you’ve crafted sometimes and all of a sudden you said something that earns you blinks.

Rumi’s contact photo appeared, sliding the button to the side and holding the phone against your ear. You took in a deep breath, ridding any snark you wanted to say to her because it’d be the opposite of what they’d known you as, also because you knew she just wanted to keep the demons down there forever.

“Rumi, hi! I saw the song, we’re already releasing? What about our relaxation?” You greeted, a tense smile on your face as you crouched down a lamppost, Rumi awkwardly chuckled on the opposite side, scratching her cheek, “Yeah, I know we’re going too fast, but the sooner the honmoon turns gold, the better. Just come back as soon as possible, promo starts tonight!” You gapped in surprise, grasping the lighter in your hand tightly.

You didn’t even get to sleep, or eat, or anything! Promo starts tonight? Are we serious? Biting the inside your cheek, you responded tensely, “Great, love it. Coming back now, bye!” You hung up before she could say anything back, a disgusted look on your face.

None of what you’re feeling is directed towards her, she’s the last person who deserves your rudeness. It’s just your fans knew you were going to take a hiatus, so dropping a song after a big world tour would throw everyone off. They would be happy, sure, you love to see them happy, but why now?

You groaned, slamming the side of your head into the metal lamppost, an unlit cigarette clutched in your hand, “No one appreciates the schedule anymore, great.” You let out a breathy laugh, running a hand over your hair. Fuck, you were going insane.

“Wow, you look pathetic.” A boy with teal hair commented, coming out the shadows with crossed arms. You looked him up and down, “Coming from the Wreck-It Ralph Sugar Crush fuck.” You snapped back, standing up to head back to the tower.

The boy huffed, either amused or offended by your comment, “Didn’t expect the angelface of HUNTR/X to be rude.” He mumbled underneath his breath, loud enough for you to stop in your tracks, “And you are?” Raising an eyebrow, you turned around to see him again, a smirk on his face.

Now taking a good look at him, his voice did not match his face. What is Gwi-Ma feeding his demons?

“You didn’t figure it out yet? You’re more slower than you look.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I know you’re a demon, why are you here?”

He just shrugged before disappearing back into the shadows. You stood there for a few seconds, staring at the spot he was just at, “Weird crackhead.” Last thing you commented before actually heading back.

You were exhausted, even after coming back from the walk. The new outfit you had to hastily put on scratched your arms and the boots were hurting your toes. The promo was done, for tonight at least, you still had the entire week to promote the song and you aren’t sure if you can handle it anymore.

Zoey plopped herself down next to you, eyes blinking at different times as she continued to sink into the couch. You blinked at her, looking around the room to find something for her before she groaned loudly and placed her head onto your lap, “I want kisses.” You sweatdropped at her words, twirling a strand of her hair.

“Zoey…”

She whined like a child, kicking her legs up, “Why are we promoting this song so early? I like how it’s trending and our fans love it, but I wanted to couch.” Zoey pouted, wrapped her arms around your waist, and buried her head into your stomach.

You sighed, taking out her space buns slowly and gently, “Me too, Zo.” She looked up at you with puppy eyes, making you tense up and sweatdrop.

She wanted something from you, you know it…

“Can I use your iPad?” The question made you blink, doesn’t she have one? Why ask you? Sensing your thoughts, she sat up, still looking at you, “I didn’t charge mine.” Sighing, you nodded, heading up to your room and coming back with your iPad in hand.

She squealed, snatching it away and instantly pressing youtube to start watching a video about sea animals. Honestly, you’re more surprised that she’s able to do all that in this uncomfortable outfit, “You’re not gonna change…?” She shook her head, her hair shaking along with it.

“Nope!”

“…You’re not uncomfortable with it?”

“Nuh uh.”

“…Okay.”

You left her alone, pulling the collar of the jacket away when it scraped the bottom of your chin. Whoever made this outfit uncomfortable will be fired, almost all your other costumes weren’t remotely close to how itchy this one is.

The quietness of your room kept making you drift back to the demon you saw, why the hell was he so rude? What was he doing there in the first place? How did he find you in the first place? Was he not gonna attack you? Why did neither of you attack eachother when you first found out?

You shrugged at the thoughts, throwing the jacket off and making yourself comfortable on your bed. The ceiling seemed to swirl together the longer your eyes stayed open, there was no reason a demon was clouding your mind, and not in a weird way.

More in a way of like; why was he in a human disguise? And why in the everloving fuck was he dressed like that? To be honest, you’re glad you got the last word in, there was no reason for him to call you pathetic when he looked like that!

Groaning, you threw a pillow at the door, Zoey being knocked back with the pillow falling down. The appearance of the girl made you sit up immediately, “Did you knock?” You snapped before taking a deep breath in and asking your question again calmly, “I did, for the past like 5 minutes.” She made herself comfortable on your bed.

“Do you like barging into my room?” Zoey just smiled with her tongue peeking out, “Do you like sulking in your room?” You snorted, shoving her aside gently when she started laughing. Zoey turned away when she saw you pull out pyjamas, getting knocked back onto the bed when you threw a pair at her.

She jumped up and down on your bed once she changed, letting you pick out a movie while sending her glares. You loved Zoey, she was like your little sister, but sometimes she can be a bit overbearing.

‘Little Women’ started playing which caused Zoey to let out a dramatic gasp, “Change it!” She tried snatching the remote out of your hand, pulling yourself away from her scratching nails while giggling, “Okay, okay—Zoey, stop it.” You held tightly onto her shoulder, seeing the guilty look on her face, making you feel immediately embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I know you were just joking but your nails are sharp.” You apologized, looking around the room to avoid looking at her. The tension in the room was a bit awkward before she just tackled you into a hug, repeating apologies into your neck, “Zoey, it’s fine. Just watch the movie.” You sighed heavily, letting her just make you into a pillow when she didn’t move.

Fuck that stupid demon. He quite literally is impacting your mood ever since he called you pathetic. You weren’t pathetic. An asshole, maybe, but pathetic? Now you were just catching strays from a demon you could’ve killed easily.

Matter of fact, why didn’t you kill him? Why didn’t you summon your weapon? Why didn’t he kill you? Whatever the case was, you’ll call him pathetic when you see him again, or not, to be fair, you don’t really care.

“[Name]?”

“Yes, Zoey?”

“Why’d your heartbeat increase?”

“Uhhh…”

Yeah, she never got an answer.

GOLDEN was trending all around Korea, you and your friends waking up early this entire week to do interviews about the song which caused you to be more snappy than usual. There was no reason for the song to be released so early, you understood Rumi’s reason, but you never understood why she would do it without consulting with any of you first.

All of you were exhausted after that last tour, just wanted to sleep and not get up for any dance practices or tv reality shows, or anything actually.

It was just promotion, promotion, day after day. You could barely get a twinkle of sleep without someone waking you up about an interview that you all need to run too. So yeah, the reasoning behind your attitude was justified.

“The first live performance is tonight!” Zoey announced, you tried to calm down the annoyance that was slowly bubbling inside, a fake smile on your face as you heard the cheers from the crowd and the honmoon glowing brightly. This day could not get any worse…

Turns out it can get worse.

Rumi kept coughing mid dance practice, earning multiple confused stares whenever she stopped. This was her third time, your concern for her shoving the irritation away as you handed her a waterbottle, “Rumi, I told you to take it easy.” She just smiled softly and took the water, “I just need 5.” She left the stage, shocking everyone.

“We go live in 10!” The three of you looked at eachother before following after Rumi, not finding her in the dressing room. You frowned, pinching the bridge of your nose, “What do we do?” Zoey and Mira looked at eachother and shrugged, also confused on what to do.

“Let’s just cancel it.” Zoey said, voice small as she rubbed her hands together. It wasn’t professional, canceling a show that was gonna happen in 10 minutes, but without Rumi’s voice or Rumi in general, you couldn’t perform the song.

Mira looked down with furrowed eyebrows, “How are we gonna tell Bobby? Or the fans? They’ll be mad at us.” Her comment made Zoey curl into herself, she was right. Fans would be mad, and they’d have a reason to, but it’s better safe and sorry.

“We’ll refund them, let’s tell Bobby and the rest before we head back to the tower.” You gestured for the three of you to leave the dressing room, explaining to Bobby who tried to keep himself calm when he was sweating bullets. When you offered to do it for him, he just waved you off, saying he’ll man up and do it.

On the drive back, your annoyance came back. It wasn’t Rumi’s fault, but she shouldn’t have pushed the release date so early if her thought wasn’t doing so well, “Another reason why we shouldn’t have released it.” You whispered under your breath, biting the thumb of your nails.

Mira and Zoey looked at eachother with concern. They’ve never seen you like this before.

The three of you waited for Rumi to head to a private ramen shop, dressed in comfortable clothes and waiting in the living room. She came down from the elevator, holding her arms close and a conflicted look on her face.

“I.. I’m sorry about the show.”

Rumi swirled her spoon around in the broth, “Rumi, it’s okay. I’m sure everything will be fine. Bobby can handle it.” Just as she ended the sentence, Bobby called claiming that he can’t handle it before Mira hung up when Rumi seemed to get more stressed out, “It’s okay, we can reschedule.” You smiled at her, “By the way, we pay Bobby 3%?” They seemed to ignore your question.

“I don’t know if that’s gonna be possible.” Rumi’s words seemed to confuse you all, “My voice, it’s in trouble.” She pointed out, all of your eyes widening, “Wait, in trouble? Then why did you push up the GOLDEN release?” You drank for your cup of tea, whispering an ‘exactly’ into it.

“Because we’re so close, and it’s so important.” Rumi answered, guilt laced into her words. Zoey sat up straight, “Okay, how do we handle this? What do we tell the fans? Maybe we should call Celine?” Zoey offered, an awkward smile on her face, “We’d know what she’d say, Zoey.” Mira blinked blankly at her.

“Oh, right, right.” Zoey cleared her throat.

“We are Hunters, voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen.” Mira and Zoey quoted, only the three of you chuckling while Rumi smiled at the attempt to cheer her up, “No, but that’s really bad. We got to hide it. We got to hide it and fix it.” Those words did not reassure Rumi.

“Rumi, why don’t we take a break? We’ll skip the Idols Awards this year and—“

“No, no way. It’s our most important show. It’s when we strengthen the honmoon for the entire year. We can’t skip it, we just can’t… Not when I’m so close.” She objected, eyes glossy. The three of you looked at eachother with worry, “Hey, we’ll get through this. We can get through anything, together.” Your hand placed itself over Rumi’s, reassuring her.

“Okay, we have 2 weeks to fix Rumi’s voice. Any ideas?” Zoey buzzed in her seat, “I do have 1 idea,” She trailed off, and knowing her, she did not have 1 idea.

You giggled into your cup, “Just 1?”

“Actually 57, but let’s start with my favourite! Don’t worry it’s totally legit.”

Didn’t seem like it…

[ashonheavenscloud]

p1harmony members when you don’t say “i love you” back

warnings: none!

a/n: requested! enjoy <3

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☆ keeho:

do NOT pull this stunt on keeho. he will be so offended and flabbergasted and he’ll immediately call it out. he says it quite often but always waits for your response. sometimes he might even say “i love you” first just to hear you say it back. so when you don’t respond as usual, instead just pecking him and walking away, he has to take a few seconds to recover from his shock.

he calls out to you, “what was that?” “what was what?” “what do you mean what was what, you didn’t say it back!”

waits in hopes that you’ll say it back now that he’s pointed it out—and will bother you to say it. if you’re stubborn enough not to give in, he’ll roll his eyes. “i see how it is. it’s fine, don’t say it then.” will act petty until you apologize or finally say the words he’s looking for.

will probably pretend to hold a grudge for a while after. makes you promise not to do it again, even if it was just a prank. is overall very dramatic about the whole thing. “you’re gonna have to say you love me every hour today to make up for what you put me through.”

☆ theo:

when theo says i love you, he doesn’t take it lightly. as someone who typically saves such words for special or intimate occasions, having you practically ignore him baffles him. when he comes behind you cooking and softly says “i love you,” your lack of response throws him completely for a loop.

stands there blinking for a second, wondering if you are too focused on cooking (but you’re just stirring) or didn’t hear him (even though his mouth is right next to your ear). cue more confused blinking as he waits for a delayed “i love you” back and doesn’t get one.

eventually his curiosity and confusion get the better of him. “did you hear me?” when you nod, he just stares at you. and doesn’t stop, even when you laugh. “theo, what are you doing?” more staring. you’ve broken him.

when you finally explain the prank, he comes to life again, exasperated. “ya! it’s not funny!” despite his show of annoyance he’s smiling, relieved it was just a dumb joke. goes back to normal the second you say i love you, with a kiss for good measure. “that’s what i thought.”

☆ jiung:

when jiung mumbles “i love you” into your ear while you’re cuddling in bed in the morning, he doesn’t think too much about it at first. he never really expects you to say it in return, he mostly just says it because it’s what’s on his mind rather than for a reaction or response. however, when he repeats the words later when you’re saying goodnight, and you still don’t say it back, he begins to feel like something is off.

immediately jumps to worrying. is something wrong? are you upset with him? or just upset in general? this isn’t like you at all, especially not twice. he waits for a couple minutes in case you bring it up, but when you don’t, he gently approaches the subject.

“is everything okay?” “yeah, of course! why?” “i don’t know, you just didn’t say i love you back earlier, and then again right now…”

he looks so genuinely concerned for you that you drop the act quickly and tell him that it’s just a prank. his worry melts away and he groans dramatically. “seriously? i thought something was wrong!” feels a little ridiculous for falling for it, but is good natured and laughs at himself. with his concerns eased, he repeats his goodnight, smiling when you, at last, say “i love you” too.

☆ intak:

intak LOVES saying i love you and LOVES hearing it from you, too, it makes him so giddy. so he notices it immediately when you don’t say it back when he kisses you before leaving for work in the morning. spends the entire day thinking about it, replaying the moment and trying to understand why you didn’t say it back. is both dumbfounded and anxious. did he upset you? are you mad? cannot fathom why you wouldn’t say it back unless something is wrong.

his concern would quickly turn into feeling kind of hurt and bummed about it. when he gets home, it would be obvious that something was bothering him by his posture and distractedness. you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he ruminates, constantly glancing at you with those inquisitive puppy eyes as you eat dinner like nothing happened.

doesn’t know how to bring it up and just goes kind of quiet, mind still trying to work out what to do and how to figure this out. while washing dishes, he’ll gather up his courage and gently ask you if there’s anything wrong. when you tell him no, of course not, he’s even more confused and worried.

he wouldn’t catch on ever and would just continue to sadly mull over your lack of response in his head so you’d have to tell him yourself that it was a prank. when you do, he practically melts into a puddle with relief. “oh my god, i thought i did something wrong, but i couldn’t figure out what-” will be extra clingy and will demand lots of kisses and “i loves yous” to make him feel better after being stressed about it the whole day

☆ soul:

in my head, soul doesn’t verbally say “i love you” all that often, preferring to save the words for special occasions and intimate moments. so when you don’t say it back, he takes it personally. will literally stare at you, waiting for you say it back

when you walk away instead, he stands in spot for a few stunned moments before following you. and staring again. and if you move again, he trails behind you, eyes practically burning holes in your head while he waits for you to give him the response he’s looking for.

after shifting locations three or four times, you are forced to acknowledge him with a laugh. “what?” “you didn’t say it back.” “what?” “i love you. you didn’t say it back.”

when you shrug and go back to what you were doing, it dawns on him that you’re probably looking for a reaction by pulling a prank. decides to make every effort to put you through hell until you confess your sins LMAO will poke your arm, get all in your space, continually demand you say it back until you finally give in and say it. and then you’re immediately forgiven. he kisses your forehead and goes back to whatever he was doing before like nothing happened, smiling to himself that he beat you at your own game

☆ jongseob:

please don’t ever ever ever do this to jongseob he will be STRESSED. he’s very conscious of the words “i love you” and the weight behind them and makes a point to say them to you at least once a day. when you’re curled up in bed together doing your own things, he gently kisses your cheek and says it.

when you hum in response instead of saying it back, he immediately loses his ability to think of anything else for the rest of the day. will play it off as nothing because he rationalizes that it’s not really a big deal. internally, he’s overthinking like nobodys business. why didn’t you say it back? were you just not feeling it? distracted? upset? maybe you’ve just reached that point in your relationship where you don’t feel the need to say it back every time. but you’ve never done that. are you upset with him? spirals. literally zones out and spirals.

later, he’ll make it more intentional: “you know i love you, right?” when you nod, he frowns. “okay, i’m not overthinking this, right?”

when you tell him it’s a prank, he sighs with relief and a bit of fond exasperation. “i was so stressed...” honestly finds it funny now that he’s not stressed about it, but will be a little petty for the bit. eventually just rolls his eyes, and relents with a “c’mere,” kissing you and telling you not to do something like that again for the sake of his well being

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

p1harmony masterlist

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[farfromharry]

Summary: Oscar’s girlfriend is starstruck over meeting Lando for the first time, the Aussie isn’t impressed in the slightest

oscar piastri x reader

w/c 1564

Oscar and Y/N had been together for so long that nothing surprised either of them anymore. In the past few years more than anything, Oscar’s life had gotten crazy and yet she adapted well to all of it. So much crazy stuff had happened during their relationship that she had sort of grown used to it. Every now and then she would attend a sporting gala or an award show– something normal people didn’t do. She was desensitised to it. Or so she thought. 

Being a fan of Formula 1 hadn’t come naturally to her. She learned to love it because it was what Oscar loved. For years he had sort of idolised a certain driver and she had heard so much about him that she started to rather enjoy watching him as well. Y/N didn’t realise just how much she had put him on a pedestal. Not until she met him for the first time. 

Obviously she was over the moon when Oscar told her he’d signed for McLaren, and would be teammates with the Lando Norris. It was exciting. For the first few months of them being partnered together, she didn’t have the chance to meet him. Her job and her degree kept her very busy. It wasn’t until Silverstone weekend that she was introduced to him in a manner that he would hold over Oscar’s head for years to come. 

Y/N had been to plenty of races in her life, but none compared to the size of a Formula 1 race. It was overwhelming, but knowing her boyfriend was part of it was thrilling. There were people here cheering his name. Who had travelled to see and support him. She was over the moon that people were finally starting to realise his greatness– even if McLaren had had a less than impressive start to the season. 

She was getting a tour of the McLaren garage for the first time. Oscar looked happy, truly, showing her around, showing off his car. Her heart soared for him. He was in his element. He was halfway through telling her about the new upgrades to his McLaren for the weekend when she interrupted. 

“That’s Lando Norris,” she whispered. 

Oscar nodded. “Yep. My teammate.” He must have seen them as he came into his side of the garage. His eyes fell on them and he smiled politely, in the way you did with new coworkers you were still unsure about. The pair were getting to know each other, but they hadn’t bonded as of yet. Lando started heading their way and Y/N positively freaked out. 

“He’s coming over here. Oh my god.” She turned to Oscar in sheer panic. “What do I do?”

The Aussie’s brow furrowed. Never had his girlfriend acted like this when meeting someone in the motorsport world. Why she was doing it now was a total mystery to him. “What do you mean? You act normal and say hello. He’s just a person.”

She was staring his way like he wasn’t real. “No, he’s–” There was a gasp and then suddenly she grabbed the material of his shirt in a rather tight fist. “He smiled at me.”

He had no idea what was happening. He knew his girlfriend rather enjoyed watching Lando drive, but he didn’t realise it was some sort of idolisation. Maybe she hadn’t noticed herself, not until the idea of meeting him was actually in front of her. She sort of needed to push this down though before he stopped in front of them or Oscar was never going to live this down. 

“Hey, man.” The 2 men shook hands, slight familiarity now displayed between them. Y/N knew better than anyone that sometimes it was hard to get Oscar out of his shell. Meeting new people wasn’t always his strong suit. Especially when the other was so extroverted. Slowly but surely though Lando was getting through to him. They were getting used to each other. She had no fears that they would be friends soon enough. “Excited for the weekend?”

Things felt more promising this weekend than they had all season. Whether it was because it was a home race with a warm crowd or that they finally had something good with their car, the whole garage was holding its breath. Their time would come, and it might be now. 

“Definitely. Seems like everybody’s chanting your name.” The amount of signs and shirts with Lando’s name and number was exceptional. Oscar could only dream. Australia had been welcoming but understandably they still favoured Danny. Maybe someday he could change their minds. 

Lando smiled. He had been a fan favourite for a few years, Silverstone of all places showcasing the most love. It never got any less surreal though. “You’ll get there.” The Brit was sure of that. Oscar was talented. 

The older man’s attention finally turned to Y/N who was practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Hi, I’m Lando.” His hand extended to shake hers and she squeaked in response. He was looking at her, talking to her. Lando Norris, Formula 1 driver, was giving her attention. Upon hearing the noise she let out, he glanced at Oscar with a furrowed brow. Silently asking what was happening. He met a lot of starstruck fans, but not a lot of starstruck guests. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N. She’s a bit of a fan apparently.” 

The grin that split on his face was downright evil. He was enjoying this. It was definitely a first, having a fellow driver’s girlfriend fangirl over him. He was painfully smug. 

Y/N swatted her boyfriend’s arm for exposing her. Now she just looked like a crazy person. “Sorry, I just really like watching you drive. You’re so talented.” Her boyfriend felt like he was having some sort of outer body experience watching this interaction. This woman in front of him was nothing like the woman he knew. 

“I like her already.”

Her hand reached out and gripped Oscar’s arm, squeezing. She didn’t even realise she was doing it. “Not as much as she likes you apparently,” he mumbled. Neither of them heard him.

A call of Lando’s name from somewhere in the near distance was Oscar’s saviour. He had never been so glad to get rid of the man he once considered an inspiration. He had a strong feeling this moment was going to keep coming back. What were the odds of Lando letting go of this huge ego boost? “Well, duty calls. Was nice meeting you Y/N. If I win this weekend I’ll be sure to dedicate it to you.” He waved as he headed back to his side of the garage for a chat with his trainer. 

Her jaw dropped. “Did you hear that? He’s gonna dedicate his win to me.” There were almost literal stars in her eyes as she watched him go. Oscar didn’t think she had ever even looked at him like that. She was even twirling her hair around her finger like some crushing teenager. Lando briefly glanced back over his shoulder, saw she was still looking. He offered a wink and a smirk, one that sent all kinds of alarms off in Oscar’s brain. He had never felt a wave of jealousy like it. 

Before he knew what  he was doing, his arm came to wrap around her and his lips glued themselves to her temple. Normally he really wasn’t one for PDA. Right now it felt necessary. His teammate knew what he was doing and he couldn’t help but laugh. Who knew Oscar was the possessive type? Not even him until now. 

“He’s never won, don’t get your hopes up.”

There was some sharpness to his tone. It was easy to pick up on for someone that had known him for so long. “Are you jealous?” The grin on her face was wide, teasing. She couldn’t believe it. She had literally never seen him like this before. He scoffed. Though his cheeks betrayed him, burning a bright red. “Oh my god, you are. Oscar Piastri is jealous!”

“I am not jealous.”

“You totally are.” The woman was overjoyed. It hadn’t been her intention to make him so jealous, but she was loving it. He always cared more than he let on. 

He huffed. “Tell that to the heart eyes you were sending his way.”

It was easy to forget that Oscar was still just a 22 year old in his first serious relationship. Sure they’d been together a while and he was pretty accomplished in his chosen job field, but it didn’t mean they weren’t young and still figuring out life. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her heart doing flips in her chest. At first she kissed his cheek, then his nose and finally his lips. Melting into her was completely against his will. That was just the effect she had on him though. “I love you, you big baby, not Lando.”

And he knew it was true. 

No doubt the story of how Y/N had fangirled over Lando would be brought up when she and Oscar inevitably got married. In fact the Brit told the story at any given opportunity. No matter how much time had passed, it would still rile him up. Oscar was never going to let her get starstruck again.

[infinityinakiss]

Do you have top 3 pazzi pics?

edit: so i'm blind and can't read apparently. just pretend you asked for fics cause i don't have the heart to delete this and i'll make another post with my pics. this is so embarrassing for me.

it'd be easier to pick a favorite child, man. i'm gonna spotlight a couple (a ton) of authors with my favorite fics by them, but just know i am absolutely in love with anything they write. this post is about to be so long.

@imaginespazzi - anything nivi writes is a godsend. golden hour broke me a thousand different ways, as i'm sure it did many other people, but if you like a fluffy fic, i reread their here's to eternity series whenever i wanna smile at my screen like an idiot.

@luvergirl-535 - actually so good and so funny, her that's so true series is like the perfect mixture of comedy and angst. she's such a wholehearted author, i love her writing so much.

@loeysoi - everything she writes is so beautiful. she says her favorite fic that she's written is thinking of you (while i'm up here), but i've got such a soft spot for weren't we the salt in the sea. lyra, if you see this, your writing is so lovely and if you'd like to update salt in the sea, i wouldn't be opposed.

@azzibuckets - trying to pick one thing that cessa's written is giving me anxiety, so just read all of it. also, follow her and put her notifs on, she's so funny. literally such a beautiful person to follow online.

@bucketgetter535 - wanna feel like you're 15 again and it is all so bright and fireflies aren't going extinct, but also everything is insanely complicated and nobody will tell you anything? read their fic this is not a cry for help (but it might be). i personally love writing that reads like thoughts, that doesn't try to be anything less than it is, and this fic is it. (also there is a little soft spot in my heart for i don't even like her.)

@theseh00perscanh00p - genuinely one of my favorite authors on here, reading their writing is like being given a tight hug (most of the time at least, this new series has been tearing my heart out.) par for the heart is so sweet, not very angsty, and i just love paige and azzi's character voice in it.

@raevpng - rae, i love your writing so fucking much, i basically live in your anons because you're so good and i feel the need to constantly glaze you. i am actually so obsessed with their new series only you, go read it now if you know what's good for you. their one shots are so incredible, bags is a personal favorite of mine.

@azzibueckers5 - their series i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song) is one of my top rereads, it's truly so well written and emotional and just everything that i don't think i can fully articulate how much i love it without kissing them on the cheeks like an italian grandma.

@sowerpatch - i've been so hooked on their series terms of play, the tension and the dynamic is so good and so addictive. paige in this fic has balls the size of australia and it always makes my jaw drop.

so yeah. there's my very short and sweet top 3 pazzi fics. totally didn't go overboard.

psa: i love that here it's normal to send an anon so you can really show the authors how much you appreciate em. but it has broken my heart to see people abuse the very thing i love about the fandom to make authors feel unsafe. this is your daily reminder that fic authors are people too and they have their own lives besides writing. try not to hound them too much about when they're gonna update, and always give them grace. they are creating beautiful art for free because they love to. don't ruin that for them.

and if you threaten authors and run them off the internet because they fear for their safety, you are the actual scum of the earth.

[im-not-here-achitchuchaly]

There was this girl who I was normal to (nice) in kindergarten and she was kinda abrasive towards me. My mom noticed that and suggested trying to make friends with her while we were getting picked up. I have no idea how to do that so I immediately ran up to her and said I liked her. This is the kindergartner equivalent of proclaiming your undying love. I didn't know that. So she was much worse to me. But I just kept being nice to her and by the end of the year she came around.

Here's the thing; I don't remember her being mean to me at all. I straight up did not notice it, because it was mostly verbal. It took over a decade after that for me to be diagnosed.

The reason? My parents knew something was wrong with me, but had no clue what to do about it because everyone gave them different answers.

i was a kid asking questions like "when you say to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10 do you mean relative to what i have experienced before or what i could theoretically experience in the future because what if i say 8 and then later i get twenty billion papercuts and i realise relative to that this pain is a 1" and they would reply "just focus on what you know, you literally had your foot ran over by a ford focus" and id say "well exactly but it could have been both feet which i know would surely be worse" and it still took years to diagnose me as autistic

[paucubarsisimp]

Heyy could you write something about Pau Cubarsí being jealous but it’s not a normal thing because he usually shrugs it off but this time some guy really got on his nerves? 🩷

només tu

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

summary: in which a random guy flirts with you and it gets on your boyfriend's nerves

warnings: none!

a/n: i tried putting catalan into it instead of spanish so lmk how it is!!

pau had never been the jealous type. not once. not even when he probably should’ve been.

he was quiet, steady—the kind of boy who didn’t need to raise his voice to take up space. he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. not on the pitch. not in interviews. not even when someone was clearly trying to flirt with you right in front of him.

and you liked that about him. the way he trusted you, the way he trusted what you had. you felt it in the little things—his fingers brushing yours under the table, the way he’d glance at you and smile like he already knew you were his.

but tonight? tonight was… different.

the dinner was supposed to be casual. just a little post-match thing with friends and a few people from the club. pau had played the full 90 and you could still see the faint marks of the game on him—grass-stained socks, a tiny red scratch on his knee, his curls still damp from the shower.

he sat beside you, relaxed and quiet, his hand resting on your thigh under the table in that gentle, familiar way. he wasn’t saying much—he rarely did—but he was there, completely. tuned into you like always.

then someone new showed up.

a guy from the media team. not a player, but familiar enough to be bold. he sat across from you and started talking—fast, confident, a little too smooth. and somehow, all his attention landed on you.

you tried to be polite. really. but he kept going. kept leaning in. kept laughing at things you didn’t even mean to be funny. touching your hand when you reached for your drink, brushing your knee under the table like it was nothing.

and pau… wasn’t smiling.

his hand tensed on your thigh, just for a second. then he shifted, sitting up straighter, eyes focused now—not just on you, but on him.

then came the comment.

“so… you and cubarsí? didn’t peg you for the quiet type. thought you’d be with someone more, i don’t know… fun?”

he said it like it was a joke. but no one laughed. and you barely had time to open your mouth before pau spoke.

calm. quiet. and sharp enough to silence the whole table.

“maybe she likes quiet.” a pause. his voice low but clear. “maybe she doesn’t need someone who talks too much and says nothing.”

you felt it before you saw it—his hand gripping yours under the table. firm. grounding.

the guy across from you let out a weak laugh, trying to brush it off, but no one really picked it up. the conversation moved on. awkwardly.

pau didn’t.

when you were walking back to the car, the night air soft around you, you finally broke the silence.

“you alright?”

pau didn’t answer right away. he was looking ahead, jaw clenched, curls falling a little over his forehead.

“i’m fine.” then a pause. “i just… didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”

you stopped walking, tugging his hand until he faced you. his brows were furrowed, lips parted like he was still figuring out what to say.

“he wasn’t anything,” you said gently. “you know that, right?”

he nodded. looked down. then finally met your eyes.

“i know. it’s just…” he exhaled, like the words were stuck somewhere in his chest. “he looked at you like you were something he could win. like i wasn’t even there.”

your heart softened instantly.

you reached up and brushed your fingers through his curls, tucking one behind his ear.

“pau… mi amor… you’re always there.”

he leaned into your touch, eyes closing briefly like it calmed him. then he opened them again and whispered, “ets meva, no?”

his voice was barely audible. catalan. a little unsure. a little possessive. soft in a way that made your heart ache.

“sempre,” you whispered back. always.

he stepped closer, slipping both arms around your waist now, pulling you in until there wasn’t any space left. the city could’ve disappeared around you and he still wouldn’t have let go.

“no vull compartir-te.” i don’t want to share you.

you smiled, pressing your forehead to his.

“you never have to.”

then you kissed him—slow, certain, sweet. and when you pulled back, he still looked a little serious, but softer. more at ease.

“you’re really not used to being jealous, huh?” you teased gently.

he laughed under his breath. “not until you.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09, @spidybaby,, @vicolette lmk if you want to be added!