#it could take some time for things to get rolling

[thisrots]

prompt: how to have sex?

jinx x fem!reader

𖦹 warnings/synopsis: study sesh with the school (virgin) nerd who has a weird obsession with you gone… right? college au, loser/perv/nerdy!jinx x fem/cheerleader/popular!reader, sub-ish!top!jinx, power-ish!bottom!reader, strap usage, squirting, size-ish kink?, some (very little) pain receiving, that’s ab it me thinks

𖦹 word count: 2.2k (i did NOT mean to make it this long💔)

“I—uh, don’t really know what to do with all… this.” Jinx poked at the hot pink member that hung between her slim thighs, cheeks painted a pretty pink as she watched it bounce back up. Her pert tits were on display, only wearing a pair of black little lace panties. Her glasses were holding on by a thread, scrunching up her nose to scooch them back up.

This was supposed to be a study session. I mean, the books were laid out all over the floor, papers and pens ready to be used. Yet somehow, someway, Jinx ended up naked and strapped up (with your strap on, keep in mind) in the middle of your room.

“Jeez, aren’t you supposed to be a smart girl, Jinx?” You mocked, taking slow steps over to her, pulling her jaw back up to you. You scoffed lightly, pushing her glasses back up for her, staring into those big baby blues. Your other hand ran down her happy trail, vanilla white skin erupting into goosebumps, gripping onto the length.

“You fuck me with it. That’s what you do.”

“Well—obviously! I-I know that,” She huffed, gulping down her nerves the best she could, gaze lingering back down to the foreign object. She’d dreamt of this day for so long, the constant stares at your plush ass and spilling-out-the-shirt boobs, sneaking into the locker room to sniff your day worn clothes while you cheered, taking it as far as creating a ritual of only imagining you late at night when she fucked herself stupid against her fingers, wishing she was knuckle deep in you instead.

Just for her to of course, like the perverted loser she was, not know what the fuck to do to you.

“Just, don’t know how to—uh, motion with the ocean, if you get what I mean, heh.”

God, was she a painful virgin. Poor thing had only ever touched herself before you. So really, how could you expect her to know what to do with someone like you? You sighed, rolling your eyes as you began to discard items of clothing one by one.

“Alright, alright…”

Jinx watched in awe, doe eyes lighting up the second your boobs bounced out of your shirt, gawking at every jiggle and movement of them. She followed your curves down, admiring every bit of you she could before you looked back at her, choking on her spit as she quickly looked away.

A sly smile formed on your lips, I mean, you weren’t oblivious. You knew full well she was completely whipped, tight around your finger like a perfectly tied ribbon.

“Guess you’ll be the one learning today, nerd.”

Sure, maybe Jinx didn’t know what she was doing, but fuck was she eager. You laid there, hands holding your thighs up and apart, giving Jinx the perfect view of your slick cunt.

You could’ve sworn her eyes popped out of her head the second you pulled your legs up, wide eyed excitement shown all across her face, slit nice and spread, glistening hole already dripping against your sheets, the head of the toy pressing against your velvet entrance.

She’d always imagined what your pussy would look like. The different angles of it, how your clit would greet her excitedly every time she spread your legs apart, sticking her tongue in between your sticky strings of arousal, having the perfect mental image of how warm and inviting those slippery, wet folds would be.

Safe to say, she’s got pretty spot on imagination.

“You breathing okay over there?” You teased, legs reaching over to rest your ankles on her shoulders, lightly tapping the side of her head with your foot. “Go ahead. Thrust your hips forward, push it inside.”

She shook her head, gulping harshly, letting out nervous giggles as her clammy hands gripped onto your thighs. “R-Right, right. Just gotta—uh, push it inside! Easy enough, right? Yeah—heh, yeah. I-I’ll count to three. One, two—”

You groaned out, eyes rolling from her slowness. “My Goooddd! Jinx, I swear if you don’t jus—” Your sentence was cut short by her pelvis slamming into your walls, whole ten incher slipping right into you, a strangled gasp caught in your throat as the tip just barely poked at your cervix. “Mhhhfff! Fuck, warn a girl, would you?!”

“Shit—‘M sorry, sorry! Are you okay? Just, thought you wanted me to get it over with! S-So I figured—”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Your lungs filled with a deep breath, collecting yourself before letting it back out through your mouth. “Y-You’re already inside. Now you have to thrust, slowly. Got it?”

Jinx nodded quickly, staring at you through her lenses, the grip around her fingers denting at your plush skin. Slowly, but surely, she pulled her hips back, bucking them forward, creating a rhythm as you instructed her with every little movement, sharp eyes watching your hole as it gripped around it, sucking her in for more.

“H-Holy shit, ‘M really fucking you—ahh!—shit, s’tight…!”

She was panting now, trying her best to not falter her pace. That was one thing about Jinx—she’s always been a fast learner. Your pussy was making obscene noises, ones she’d only heard in the porn videos she constantly rubbed her pussy raw to, completely melting against you as her lips pressed up against your calf, moaning into it with each thrust. Your jugs were bouncing with each fuck inside you, nipples hard and staring right back at her.

And you? You sounded like an angel, soft groans and cute whimpers repeatedly playing over and over in her head like a broken record. She could feel her little hole leaking out more and more by the second, painting a picture perfect memory of your fucked out expression in her brain for future usage.

This—no, you were definitely better than any porn she’d ever seen. And all you were doing was lying there, taking her cock beautifully, creating the most delectable aroma of sweat mixed with your juices—the same tang she’d savored when she stuffed her freckled button nose into your slutty little panties. You should really start using a lock, you know.

“S-Speed up a little, would you?” You commanded, biting into your bottom lip as she did so. Eager little thing looked like a dumb mutt that was humping a toy for the first time, moaning more than you were at this point, her whole body shaking from the adrenaline. She was adorable, glasses foggy and pushed up against her face as she kitten licked your calf. Bangs messily stuck onto her forehead, and you just knew her pink little clit jumped with each grind against the leather.

“That’s it, t-there we go—Nghh!—Oh, fuck—!”

Jinx, unknowingly, had just found your g-spot. Your eyes rolled back, heavenly pleasure filling your body, hands full of your sheets the second her head poked at the spongy wall. She gasped lightly, hips stuttering as she looked at you with fearful eyes.

“W-What just happened? Did that hurt? Was that too rough? I-I’m sor—”

“N-No! Don’t—don’t stop, okay? That was good, so good. Want you to fuck me right there. Can you do that, my smart girl, huh?” Your eyes gleamed with desire, making a little ‘c’mere’ motion at her, watching as her petite body hovered over yours. You pulled her glasses off, tossing them aside, cupping her flushed cheeks in your hands.

“I believe in you, ‘kay? Fuck me hard and rough. ‘Cause let’s face it,” Your thumb ran over her pouty bottom lip, smirking softly, whispering tauntingly, “You and I both know how much you’ve always wanted to fuck this pussy, pervert.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have riled the girl up like that, because as soon as those words slipped out of your mouth, you saw something switch behind her pupils. Something red, scolding hot, yet so fucking hungry for more. She suddenly pulled herself back up, pushing your thighs up against your chest, leaning over you as she began to roughly drill against that rigid and addictive spot over, and over, and over.

And oddly enough, you didn’t resist. Your body wanted this, to be used as nothing but a fuckdoll, ankles jelly like as they flopped against her shoulders. You were sure she was bruising your insides, the lanky girl being stronger than you thought. Her abs flexed with every grind, powerful hands holding your thighs in place and leaving purple marks against your skin.

This little loser of yours was fucking dangerous.

“I-I’ll—hnng!—fuck you so good, toots, s’fuckin’ good you won’t want anyone else to fuck you ever a—hah!—gain!”

Your swollen bud was twitching at her in morse code, telling her how much fucked out pleasure you were in. Your loud moans and mewls echoed in the room, Jinx’s whines and raspy grunts bouncing off of them, and who could forget the deliciously lewd sound of her hips slapping against your now cream spilling cunt?

“This is my pussy, isn’t it? Listen to her—mm!—all weepy ‘n slutty for me! Stuffin’ you up, real nice ‘n full… Yeah, yeah this is allllll mi—”

“J-Jinx! Hnnggg! Shut—the hell—up!”

Who would’ve known such a quiet, innocent looking thing would be such a goddamn blabber mouth during sex? Or worse—such an undeniable little freak? It was totally no secret that she was a porn obsessed weirdo, sounding like she’d come straight out of a badly directed scene.

Admittedly, you always wanted her too. You’d secretly wear provocative outfits because you knew damn well she’d lock eyes with your curves and blur out the world around her. Once you even wore your cheerleading uniform without under shorts, making her spill her energy drink the second you bent over because you’d ‘accidentally dropped your pencil’. It was amusing, her painful desperation, and you’d make sure to take every single last one of her virginities. But of course, you were nice enough to start off with her fantasy:

Fucking you so good you forgot your own name.

And she was doing exactly that. Your gummy walls spasmed around her, watching as the bulge of the toy disappeared only to pop back up against your abused cervix, moans choppy and ripping out from your chest. Your brain had turned into mush, whorishly fuckdrunk as your lidded eyes hazily looked up at her, watching Jinx lose herself completely inside you. Her tongue was lapped out, drool dripping along your swollen tits, her slimy wetness dampening up her panties, practically dripping at the seams.

“F-Fuck—Ugh, y-you’re totally—guhh!!—drooling all—over—me!”

She strained out a reply, just barely, too busy focusing on your jugs and sloppy pussy to really give much of a fuck. “Mmhhmm…! I know, ‘m sorry, c-can’t—help it! So hot, y-you’re so fuckin’ hot, doll face. Totally g-gonna cum from this—mmfff!”

Your head whipped up, jaw slacked from her words, scoffing as you furrowed your eyebrows at her. “Y-You’re gonna cum?! Seriously?!”

“Oh—Ohoh, fuck y-yes I am!” Jinx started, letting out tiny snickers as her puffy bundle of nerves screamed out in pleasure, sliding up and down along the harness. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, cum with me. C-Cum with me, yeah? I’m right there—!”

Your hands tugged on her messy, long braids, her face twisting up as a pathetic moan escaped her lips from the pain, guiding your sweet puppy into your climax. Your orgasm sparked deep in your lower stomach, breath coming in and out quickly, pressure building up as your walls fluttered around her length.

Fuck, was Jinx irritating. Her inexperience was annoying, the way she fucked was annoying, even the way she was about to make you absolutely gush all over her was so, undeniably, fucking hot.

Wait, what?

“Oh, that’s it! Jinx—‘m fucking coming! Coming so—hmmmgghh!—h-hard—!”

You could’ve sworn in that moment, all you saw were stars exploding all around your head. Your orgasm was shameless, brutal, gut fucking wrenchingly good. Other people had fucked you, sure, but this was the best sex you’d ever had. And you did not say that lightly, nor would you say it out loud. Ever.

Your cunt spewed out spurts of warm liquid all over Jinx, more and more drenching her cream colored skin with each buck, completely scratching up her arms as she milked every last drop of squirt you had in you.

“Yeah, yeah, y-yeah, ohhhh—fuuhhcckk yeaaahh!” Her eyes rolled back, gutturally moaning out, gaped teeth sinking into her bottom lip, filling up her poor panties with her oozing substance. It stuck onto her swollen pussy lips, painting the inside of her pretty thighs white. If this is how she came from simply fucking you, you really couldn’t imagine how she’d be once you took a turn on her.

She pulled out soon after, her dead body weight falling right onto yours, huffing loudly.

“Oh, gross! You’re all sweaty and drooly, get off!” You lightly pushed her, to which she did not budge. “Jinx! Off! Now!”

“Mm, I did a lot of work, cut me some slack!” She started, really only not wanting to get up because her face was completely stuffed in between your boobs, giggling to herself.

“You know, I can totally help you study from down here, sweets.”

(p.s. she totally snuck ur panties in her backpack n took them home with her. you know, as a keepsake <3)

[kdh-tally]

Huntr/x and The Saja Boys being Jealous

Prompt : How Huntr/x and the Saja Boys would react to their partner being flirted with. @erisanix

Author’s Note : I’m so sorry it took me so long to get to this 😭 Hope you enjoy!!! So it was only after writing this (and preparing to publish this) that I realised you probably meant partner as in the reader... I'm so sorry- and will rewrite this if you want

Abby when someone flirts with Mira

The two of them are working out.

Neither of them need it but Abby insists that they work to keep their muscles in shape (insert unnecessary flexing here)

Some dude decides to work out next to them and when abby leaves to grab them water, the person takes their chance to talk with Mira. 

His first reaction is to laugh. 

Like, genuinely finds it funny.

How did anyone have the audacity to flirt with Mira???

“You’re trying to flirt with her?”

“Oh… you’re serious.”

He’d walk over, arm casually slipping over her shoulder as she glares at the person trying to make a move on her

He wouldn’t say a thing first and would just stand there smiling.

Normally, most people would use their brains and back off once they see that:

1. Mira isn’t interested

2. This huge guy with muscles in standing by her like a body guard and could very much easily beat them up

However, lets say the person keeps going

While Abby knows fully well that Mira can handle herself, he likes playing knight-in shining armour.

“She’s taken” he’d smirk condescendingly at the person (who is now shaking in their boots) 

He doesn’t get jealous so much, but will get competitive.

It also gives him an extra EXTRA confidence boost knowing that he (and romance ig 😒) is actually Mira’s boyfriend.

“You think she’d want you? Try again in your next life.”

(He wouldn’t say this in front of Mira of course cause she would obliterate him)

Once they’re gone, he’s gentle and playful again.

“I feel bad for them”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember how long it took me and romance to convince you to go out with us?”

“Yea-”

“And you liked us” he pointed out in disbelief “That poor person bro. They stood no chance” he’d shake his head dramatically watching the flirter walk away defeatedly.

Romance when someone flirts with Mira

They were both in the practice room. Mira testing out new lyrics with him and Romance just watching her.

A new staff member, who wasn’t briefed on any of the relationships between the groups, attempts to make a move on Mira.

Romance is smiling the whole time.

He doesn’t take the person seriously.

“Oh, you like her? Cuteeeeee. Same.”

Would hug Mira from behind mid-conversation (knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to attack him for the PDA in front of the innocent (and flirty) bystander), his chin resting on her shoulder as he more or less stares at her in awe.

“Isn’t she just perfect?” he’d say, looking smugly into the flirter’s eyes.

He, like Abby, is so confident in his position as Mira’s boyfriend that he has no need to be jealous.

And to be honest even if he did feel jealous, he used to be a powerful demon. Hiding a dead body wouldn’t be that difficult for him.

He wouldn’t mind outflirting the flirter to their face.

He would also let Mira do most of the rejecting.

He lowkey finds it attractive when she goes all “Sorry but I’m already in a relationship”

His head is filled with hearts and flowers and all he can think of is  ‘she loooooooves me~~’

But, If Mira gets visibly annoyed or uncomfy (and that would take a lot to happen), his smile turns sharp.

“You can leave now,” he’d say, eyes narrowed as he more or less forces the person away with his sharp gaze.

His tone is so obviously threatening.

Later, he’d make Mira and Abby laugh about it.

“You know I’m prettier than them, right?” he’d tell the two while laying across their legs on the couch.

Mira would roll her eyes but she wouldn’t disagree.

Abby would give romance a proud high five (or whatever it is bro’s do…)

Definitely throws in some extra flirty lines that night, just to remind her of the whole encounter.

Mystery when someone flirts with Zoey

The only Saja boy that would get seriously jealous.

This could go two ways though. 

He could either get super protective over Zoey to the point where it’s lowkey animalistic…

I’m basically saying he might start barking at whoever is flirting with her 😭

Based off of his behaviour in the movie i’d feel like he’d try to freak the person out so they’d leave 💀

The more likely option would be for him to just freeze.

Doesn’t speak. Just stares.

You can feel how uncomfortable he is with the entire situation.

Lets say the two are hanging out after practice hours and they encounter a group of fans, one of them thinking they actually have a chance with Zoey.

I feel like Zoey would be completely oblivious to the fans' intentions cause she just wants to believe in the good of everyone. 

Remember how she said the Saja boys were magicians even though it was really obvious they were demons 💀

Mystery, after attending to his own fans, just stands behind Zoey and watches,

He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him but it obviously does.

He can’t stand still.

Crosses his arms. 

Shifts weight between his legs. 

Backs up a step only to come back up.

He won’t interrupt the conversation. Honestly he might just leave.

But Zoey usually finds him sulking in a corner later.

“You okay?”

“Why must you be so nice to people?” he be all frowny while flopping around on the floor”

“Thank you? she let out a small laugh before sitting by him and moving the hair out of his face.

“I don’t want you to be nice to everyone…” he’d be all flustered but still very upset. “Just me.” a small pause, “and huntr/x and the saja boys i guess…”

She ends up comforting him because his jealousy would manifest as confusion and anxiety.

Poor boy fears she’d still leave him because he used to be a demon.

Starts to lowkey improve his posture and fix his hair next time they're out. 

He thinks no one notices but zoey does.

Jinu when someone flirts with Rumi

The pouty jealous one.

Not in a sad and anxious way like Mystery, but more in a ‘stop giving them attention Rumi~’ way.

Doesn’t react at first. He’s quiet, watching and assessing how serious the situation is. 

If Rumi laughs at something the flirter says?

His jaw drops in disbelief. Like her audacity??

“Wow. Guess I’m just a background character now.” • Said this to no one but himself. He said it outloud.

Will walk up after the conversation ends like:

“So… did you have fun Rumi?”

“Who was that?”

“Do you like them more than me? Be honest. I can take it.” (He cannot.)

Rumi: “You’re literally the only person I want Jinu.”

Jinu, perking up instantly: “Okay :)”

Still clings to her for the rest of the day, just in case.

He could get super protective though.

They’d probably be out on one of their dates that apparently aren’t dates…

They’d stop for food at a restaurant and the guy taking the order is just so annoying and persistent about getting Rumi’s number.

At this his eyes sharpen, jaw clenches slightly. You’d only notice if you knew him.

He does not interrupt. He’d look to see how Rumi handles it.

If she looks uncomfortable?

He steps in immediately with that low, casual tone he has “You okay Rumi?”

He’s not even trying to be threatening. He’s kinda just making in known that he is the boyfriend.

Even Rumi is flustered with just how protective he’s being.

When they’re walking back to the company, his hand hasn’t left her waist at all.

“Some people just don’t seem to know when to stop talking” he’d mumbled under his breath.

Mira when someone flirts with Abby or Romance

If they flirt with Abby:

Someone’s trying to compliment his abs and muscles.

The person is being all sweet n touchy like

“Omg! You must work out really hard~~”

And he can see Mira seething in the background so he tries to make the interaction seem as friendly as possible. 

She's watching it all happen with the flattest expression known to mankind.

Abby's being polite. He’s all smiles like “ooh thankyou :D” 

Mira’s patience is running out FAST.

She's standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows twitching.

In her brain she’s absolutely berating the person. 

“Can’t they tell that he’s taken??’

However she’d also be in denial about her jealousy. 

“Like what do you mean jealousy? I was just worried that the person was wasting their time on you muscles brain” is what she would say if ever confronted about the situation.

She’d eventually calm down until Abby chuckles at one of their jokes.

Her head slowly turns and her eyes are comically wide.

She lowkey looks deranged…

“You think they’re funny?” • “No– I was just–” • “Mm.” 

She’d kick him out of her car and leave him stranded on the street.

Eventually walks up casually, a hand on Abby’s bicep.

“Sorry, this one’s taken. But nice try.” Smile = threat.

Later in private?

She’s berating him.

“You’re such an attention seeker”

“I didn’t do anything..” he’s flabergasted

If they flirt with Romance:

Mira doesn’t even pretend to be calm.

The issue here is Romance is the type to flirt back. Not cause he’s a man whore or anything but he just loves when Mira acts all possessive about him 💀

She’s standing behind Romance while the flirter is mid-sentence, her arms crossed, lips pursed.

She’s giving them the look she normally uses to scare off demons before killing them off.

Romance obviously finds it hilarious and adorable.

Mira does not.

She doesn’t speak, just raises one brow at the poor soul.

This person must be blind or something cause they just keep talking???

Oh yea- Where did they meet the flirter?

The two went shopping for books. Yes. Books.

Romance thinks the best way to learn about human culture would be by reading as many novels as he can get his hands on. 

This leads to the shop owner flirting with him as they try to recommend good books to read.

The flirter slides him a very steamy looking book and winks at him “This looks like something you’d enjoy if you know what I mean”

When the person keeps talking, Romance is smirking. • “You’re gonna die~” he whispers, all happy.

Mira steps up between them. • “If you value your ability to walk and want to keep your store, I suggest you shut up.”

Romance: 🥰

He won’t shut up about it later.

“I’ve never felt more loved.”

“You threatened violence for me.”

“Tell me again how you’d break their legs.”

He’s just a girl.

Actually he’d probably love saying “I’m just a girl” 💀

Zoey when someone flirts with Mystery

She’s oblivious at first.

Like I said up above, she’ll probably think the person is just being friendly.

“Oh my god, Mystery, they said you have pretty hair! Isn’t that sweet?” • Mystery is trying not to freak out

Eventually, she catches on.

She’ll see the flirter get all up in his space. They’d try to touch his hair, or interlink their arms, literally anything to have physical contact.

Mystery is physically recoiling.

“Wait a damn minute…”

Her whole vibe changes.

Remember how she “ended” mystery in the movie?

“You’re just my type 🤩 Oh well�� stabs

Yea that switch up is how she’d treat the flirter.

Her voice is still sweet, but it’s weaponized sweetness.

“That’s my boyfriend.”

One sentence. That’s it.

The air gets colder. The fan who was flirting? Gone.

She then turns to Mystery like nothing happened.

“You okay?”

“You scared them away.”

“Good.” sips her drink

She becomes extra clingy later too. Not because she’s insecure.

She’d do it to reassure him that she wouldn’t be going anywhere regardless of how many people try to flirt with him.

Random compliments and forehead kisses.

“Your hair is pretty by the way.” she’d say this while tying it up into a bun to admire his face. “I’m the only one allowed to touch it though”

“Of course Zoey,” his voice is practically a whisper as she clings onto him.

Rumi with someone flirts with Jinu

They went to the movies together. A new lego movie came out and the last one Jinu saw was years ago so he begged Rumi to take him to see the new one.

She goes to collect popcorn, leaving Jinu to take his seat, and when she returns, someone is in HER chair. Flirting with HER boyfriend.

She’d try really hard not to react.

She wants to be chill. Really, she does.

But the moment someone says “Hey, what’s your name?” and reaches out to his arm?

She’s considering summoning her weapon and wiping their head off clean.

My girl is staring daggers.

Probably the most over protective in the group (could rival Mira)

After all, the guy died for her. Why would anyone even think they could try to flirt with him???

Stares daggers.

Jinu is too polite (and oblivious. The guy used to be a 400 year old demon. Anything he used to know about flirting is now irrelevant)

He smiles. Maybe even giggles just because of how nervous he is. • That is what breaks her.

She walks over calmly, “Sorry. That seat’s taken.”

If the flirter protests? “By who?

“By me. Go find another one.” Rumi’s losing her patience and the movie is about to start.

“I actually like it here,” they’d lean a tad bit closer to Jinu to spite Rumi.

Let’s not forget that Rumi is half demon though!! “That wasn’t a suggestion.” Her voice gets a bit more dangerous and unstable.

Once they’re alone again, she teases him about it.

“Did you like the attention?”

“Nooo– Rumi, no, I was scared. ☹️”

“You were giggling.”

“IT WAS A PANIC GIGGLE!!”

The next time they go out, she’s in his hoodie. Hair down (out of the braid 😋). Holding his hand. The message is clear: • Don’t even look in his direction.

[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.

[faithsmadhouse]

Don’t touch||Max Verstappen x reader

Summary — during an interview max treats y/n like she doesn’t mean anything to him so she does something about it

Word count —880

Warning—mean reader. Thigh riding, maxs thighs (that deserves a warning)

The press conference was over, but the sting of it still burned under Y/N’s skin. His clipped tone. The way he wouldn’t even look at her just stared past her like she was nobody. Like she wasn’t the woman who knew every inch of him. The woman who let him fuck her senseless most nights.

By the time she stormed into the hotel suite, her heels were in her hand, jaw tight. Max followed, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, tossing her heels aside. “Don’t Y/N me now. You treated me like I was just another fucking mic in your face. Like I was invisible.”

His eyes darkened, jaw working. “You know why I have to—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” She stepped closer, chest heaving. “You want to act like I’m just some reporter? Fine. Let’s play that game.”

Max reached for her, but she slapped his hands away. Instead, she shoved him down onto the edge of the bed, climbing into his lap. She could feel the tension thrumming in his body, the way his hands flexed at his sides, desperate to grab her. But she didn’t let him.

She spread her thighs, settling onto his leg, her skirt riding up high on her hips. Her bare core pressed against the thick muscle of his thigh, no panties, not tonight and the friction made her gasp.

His nostrils flared when he felt how wet she was already.

“Fuck, baby—”

She cut him off, grinding down, slow and hard, dragging her clit along the line of his muscle. The heat of him burned through his jeans, the pressure exactly what she needed.

“You don’t get to fuck me tonight, Max.” Her voice was breathless, but firm. “You don’t even get to touch me.”

His eyes widened, pupils blown. “Y/N, come on—let me feel you. Let me have you.”

But she shook her head, hips rolling in tight, needy circles. “No. You don’t deserve it. Not after tonight. You want to act like I’m nothing? Fine. Watch me take what I want.”

Max groaned, fists clenching in the sheets beside him. His cock strained against his jeans, but she didn’t even glance at it. All she cared about was the steady drag of her slick pussy on his thigh, the way her body trembled with the effort to keep control.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growled. “You think you can tease me like this? You think I won’t flip you over and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name?”

Y/N moaned, grinding harder, chasing the edge. “You can’t do shit. You don’t get to do anything but sit there and watch.”

Max’s breath came ragged now, sweat beading at his temples as he watched her ride him. “God, baby look at you. Making a mess on my leg. You’re gonna come just like this, huh? Fucking yourself on me?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “That’s all I need. Not your cock. Not your fingers. Just this.”

He growled low in his throat, but didn’t move. He couldn’t. She’d told him not to, and the last thing he wanted was to give her a reason to stop. His thigh flexed under her on instinct, giving her that extra pressure, that perfect angle.

“Fuck—Max—just like that—”

“Come for me, baby,” he rasped. “Show me how good you can make yourself feel. Show me what I’m missing.”

Her body shook, hips jerking as the orgasm tore through her, her moan raw and desperate as she kept grinding, riding out the wave. She collapsed against him, breathless, heart pounding against his chest.

Max’s hands hovered, aching to touch, but he didn’t he waited.

And when she finally looked up at him, eyes dark and sated, she smirked.

“Next time you want to treat me like a stranger on the grid,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dripping with satisfaction, “remember this.”

She drew back just enough to meet his gaze, smirking at the way his jaw clenched, the raw hunger in his eyes. Then, with maddening softness, she patted his cheek—mocking, tender, cruel all at once.

“Good boy,” she added, voice low, teasing.

Max’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling as he fought the urge to grab her, to flip her over and bury himself inside her until she couldn’t speak, until she begged him.

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Y/N climbed off his lap, her thighs slick, leaving his jeans dark with the mess she’d made of him. His thigh glistened with her arousal, a stain of her victory. His cock strained against his zipper, painful and leaking, but she didn’t spare it a glance.

She smoothed her skirt down, legs still shaking faintly from the intensity of her release, and turned toward the bathroom, tossing him one last look over her shoulder.

“You can take care of that yourself tonight, champ.”

And then she was gone, leaving Max sitting there rock hard, soaked in her slick, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, desperate for a taste, a touch, anything.

But all he had was the memory of her, riding him like she didn’t need him at all.

[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume six — sympathy for the devil

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, mental health and depression struggles, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: please heed the warnings this chapter! plenty of talks of mental health struggles and depression so tread lightly and take care of yourselves :’) i’d also steer clear of comments until you finish the volume! enjoy 🫶

✦ ── word count: 4k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume seven

art by outdmilk on twt

Your body jerked awake, eyelids flipping open, and not a remnant of sleep clinging to you as your alarm sounded—blaring and echoing off the walls of your apartment with no forgiveness.

Your blank stare bored into the old fan above your head as it rotated, feeling your body sink into your bedsheets, no sense of autonomy as you moved on autopilot. Your throat felt throttled, like a pair of hands had settled there and steadily squeezed—each passing second a threat on your breaths.

Days moved like you were waiting for old age to take you, but holding out for something you could not grasp in your mind.

A persistent and uneasy lump in your gut anchored before each shift, right after a night of tossing and turning, futile attempts of finally sleeping decently. 

It was routine now.

Wake up exhausted, get dressed, drag your feet to work, clean tirelessly, eat some bland frozen meal from the corner store, and resign to your prostration well before the sun retires.

That’s what consisted of your life before your hike, and two weeks well after your hike.

But for some reason you couldn’t place, it’d felt heavier than it had in the past.

You swayed softly before the mirror, lids hung low and jaw tense.

You slugged into work, eyeing Mei Mei as she counted cash at her desk, barely sneaking a peek at you as you rolled the ache in your shoulder. “Not surprised to see you here,” she spoke in an unimpressed tone.

You shoved your bag into your locker, rubbing the crease in your forehead. “You got any work for me?” You wasted no time cutting to the chase.

She hummed, undeterred. “My 7 AM isn't gonna be making it, stomach flu. Mind picking up for the both of you?”

She asked as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

You sighed heavily, before scanning for your work supplies to shove into the company van. “Sounds perfect.”

For all of the years you’d known Mei Mei, the sole thing she’d prioritize was how much she could fill her pockets. It’s what made her a wonderful business woman… and a shitty boss.

Your shoulders drooped far more than they normally did. You were constantly fatigued, your eyebags as evidence, and you had little to no appetite.

You threw yourself into work, telling yourself that it would pass, ignoring the calls you were receiving from your mother.

Her texts were proof enough of you not picking up—asking you for your dress measurements as she had found the perfect boutique to get you fitted for the wedding.

The thought of having to doll yourself up to see your ex-husband be remarried to the women he wet his dick with while the two of you were still betrothed was a sick joke.

Your trepidation slowly spiked with each passing day, a nauseating mass of mental ailment turned physical plaguing you that had you dry heaving on more than one occasion.

Your back ached regularly as Mei Mei accepted the amount of shifts you’d been picking up without protest.

You rarely spent time in your apartment, and when you were there you were knocked out.

Shoko offered to hang out far more than she normally did, but you’d dismiss it with a wave of your hand, ensuring her that you were fine. You could see the worry swimming in her hazel eyes, but you refused to acknowledge it.

You couldn’t acknowledge it. You shoved everything down into your stomach, because you knew that if you didn't, it’d begin to eat away at you more than it already was.

It had frayed the edges of your psyche, days blending into one thick and blurry montage of rest and work, a corroded hole the size of a softball in your chest endlessly leaking.

Sleep was your only escape.

“Hey, I brought those tuna sandwiches you like,” Shoko offered one afternoon, sliding you a lunchbox while the two of you sat plopped on a kitchen counter island, legs dangling off like school girls ditching class.

The owners were waiting on the contractors to finish the marble backsplash, so the two of you were in charge of last minute cleaning.

Your bleak gaze drifted over to the lunch bag she’d set next to you. 

Tuna sandwiches.

Your stomach grumbled at the thought.

You zipped it open and dug into the foil wrapped food, a thick sigh of relief leaving you while you shut your eyes.

“Thanks, Sho.”

You recognized this pattern of yours, allowing yourself to get so lost that you could hardly pick yourself back up—barely noticing how bad it was until others began to gather the scattered pieces you’d left behind on your account.

So when three weeks had passed of the same worrying behaviors and self-destruction, you called in for a sick day.

Your migraines only seemed to grow with each passing day until you couldn’t see out of your left eye.

Thank God for PTO.

You took the day to clean up your place that'd managed to become quite the mess. It was a little unfair that you were spending your one day off from cleaning like this, but it was dire.

And somewhat therapeutic.

You had to shuffle through your things, frowning at your lack of hygienic nature in your depressive state.

You needed to pull up a stool to wash your forgotten dirty dishes because of the blisters on your calloused feet.

You tossed most of your dirty laundry into a washer and dryer set that actually worked without leaving your clothes damp.

And you finally emptied out your rucksack that you’d stuck into the back of your closet, too exhausted to deal with it at the time.

You dumped the heap of your belongings onto the floor, sorting out what needed to be washed and what needed to be tossed.

Unfortunately, there was no way that you could bring all of the clothing that Sukuna had brought for you, but you did bring the METALLICA shirt. 

You couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

It smelled like pine trees and detergent.

You set it aside and continued sifting through.

Upon discovery of the water filter shoved into the recesses of your bag that went unused, you were irked that you even brought it in the first place.

Beside it, your fingers brushed against something hard. Uraume seemed to have stuck a bone into your backpack, making you quirk a brow.

You’d miss that mutt.

But as you sorted through, you couldn’t help the ache in your chest that seemed to spindle it.

Your finger grazed against your ankle subconsciously, the scarred skin making your body warm with just a touch.

You peered towards your window, eyeing the thick drapes that shielded the sun from filtering in. 

You missed having no routine. You missed the smell of wet dirt and smoke. You missed the steady and expectant banter followed with half-assed apologies. You missed the swaying and croaking of trees that kissed the sky, the sighs of wildlife, the sunlight glittering off grass-slicked with dew, the mist settling in the morning that clouded the patio and coated the glass windows. You missed being awoken by the tapping of woodpeckers, the whines of flies you’d let in when you tried to air out the place, the scent of wild mint and herbs.

The feel of his couch while you drifted into a slumber that rejuvenated you.

The feel of his clothes on you.

One taste of that life and you were forever unsatiated.

You inhaled sharply.

And in an incredibly idiotic and impulsive action, you picked up your phone and dialled your boss's phone number.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

Wood chips and weeds crunched beneath your sandals that displayed your white-polished pedicure.

The sounds of sawing and muffled male voices intoned, the whistling wind in the afternoon sun making you fidget. 

There were giant logs of tree trunks being moved from one location to the next, manned by stocky men in massive forklifts and lumber racks. There were a few rusted pick-ups hauling workers in their truck beds, axes slung over their shoulders as they cackled mirthfully between each other.

You were envious.

Your gaze flitted across the scene. There had to be at least 50 people working, but you couldn’t recognize the one who’d drawn you here.

You adjusted the hem of your sundress, glancing back at your parked Honda Civic in the grass.

This was stupid.

This was really, really stupid.

“What’s a pretty little lady like you doing ‘round these parts?’

Your head swung back around, shielding your eyes from the unrelenting sun as a man peered down at you, tilting his head to give you a slow once-over. 

You really should’ve brought shades.

He had raven-black hair with a taper fade, the top swung to one side. There was a limp cigarette between his lips, his hands shoved into his jean pockets.

“Oh, uh. I’m looking for someone,” you spoke, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Really? Yer husband work at the sawmill?” He queried, pulling the cigarette from his lips to puff smoke into the sweltering afternoon air.

“No, a friend. But I think he works here. I’m not sure. I know he lives up in the forest and this is the closest sawmill so…” you trailed off, pursing your lips.

The man hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Ah. You here to drop off lunch or somethin’?” He continued, jutting his chin to the bag in your hand.

You furrowed your brows. “Uh, yes. I am…” You emphasized before shaking your head, interrupting yourself. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

The guy chuckled, giving you a soft smile. “The names’ Shiu.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Shiu,” you responded, reaching a hand out to shake his and introducing yourself.

“Likewise. Say, what’s your friend's name? Maybe I can point you in the right direction.” He offered, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

You perked up at that, rolling on your heels. “Sukuna. Ryomen Sukuna, are you familiar with that name? He’s about, oh God I dunno, nearly seven feet and he’s got pink hair and—.”

“Sukuna,” he chuckled, cocking his head. “That bastard?” He tossed his head back with a boisterous laugh, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it. “What kinda business does a pretty girl like you have with a man like that?”

You frowned at his bluntness. A man like that? He is an ass, but he wasn’t an ass incapable of companionship. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

He shrugged, peering behind him to wave at a coworker who patted his shoulder and exchanging a greeting. “The guys’ fucking hostile, a beast. Not to mention his uh… moonlighting, for a lack of better wording.” He simpered at his own words.

…Moonlighting?

You shook your hands in front of you, a confused chuckle leaving your lips. “I’m sorry, I think we have the wrong person.”

“Oh, hon. I’m positive we don’t,” he spoke with finality, a lilt of knowing in his voice. “Only one Sukuna ‘round these parts.”

You opened your mouth to reply, mind swimming with confusion, before he interrupted you with a wave of his hand. “Listen. Today’s his day off, but he’ll be on stage tonight. I’ll take you on one condition.”

You took a reluctant step back. “Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t know—.”

“Just buy me a drink. Nothin’ else. You get to see your little creature, I get a free drink. A win-win.”

“Okay.”

He grinned at that, before the two of you exchanged contacts and he quickly got back to work, running a hand through his shortly-chopped hair.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, walking away with your eyes cast to the ground as your mind swam with questions.

You drove your car down to a motel nearby, tossing your things on the stiff bedspread and collapsing against it just to stare at the beige ceiling shittily decorated with cherubs. 

For the life of you, you could not decipher Shiu’s words.

Sukuna? On stage?

God, it made no sense.

You fiddled with your thumbs, anxious as time passed on, snacking on the turkey sandwich and barbeque chips you’d packed for Sukuna that nearly went to waste.

Maybe he was a poet. Liked to wrangle the stage with his brutish look but gentle tongue, a soft touch to juxtapose himself.

You don’t know if you’d like to see him croon a sonnet.

Maybe he sang. …No. That makes no sense. You’d heard him attempt to hum some tune in the shower and it was like nails on a chalkboard.

A dancer? Could those giant limbs be of contemporary servitude?

Nearly every explanation had you stuck at a crossroads, dragging your hands down your face in frustration.

But around eight o’clock, just before the sun went down, you received a call.

On the other line, Shiu was beckoning you to the edge of town. It was a whetted area, sharp and pretty crime-ridden, whatever could consist of a red-light district in the hick outback’s.

You drove your car up, windows up in case someone decided to throw a glass bottle through it.

You checked your makeup in the mirror for reasons you couldn’t explain.

You hopped out of your parallel parked car, locking it and checking your phone again for the address that Shiu had sent you as thick nimbus clouds settled in the sky.

It looked like it was going to rain.

You could feel your hands turn clammy, padding down the sidewalk and avoiding the despotic gazes tossed your way and picking at your freshly manicured nails.

You probably shouldn’t be here.

Nonetheless, you stopped in front of your destination, eyes bouncing between your phone screen and the sign in front of you.

A pawn shop.

You itched your scalp, wondering if Shiu was a jerk who was just messing with you.

A pawn shop did not have a stage, nor a bar—you could clearly see just peeking in. There were a variety of items lining dusty displays and shelves, incredibly disorganized and nearly filled to the brim with expensive, aged, and loved trinkets. Jewelry, musical instruments, firearms, you name it. They had it all.

Cupping your fingers to see through the somewhat frosted glass, you watched someone pass what looked to be a silver ring glinting beneath the fluorescent lighting to the heavyset cashier perusing a newspaper catalogue, and the cashier only nodded, handing him a wad of cash.

The next guy, who seemed to be a companion of the first guy, spoke to the cashier who just jutted a thumb to the curtain behind him.

The two guys chuckled, walking past him and stepping in, now shielded from the eyes of passersby.

You frowned, a sudden restiveness washing over you. But, you stepped away from the glass just to walk into a broad set of shoulders hitting your back and nearly trip over yourself.

“Oh! Sorry—.” You started in an octave too high and spun around, peering up at a man with a low rimmed hat, head tilting down towards you.

His heady and thick cologne made your nose scrunch.

Across the side of his face you could barely make out were jagged scars, as if he’d been attacked by a pack of wolves. But God, did he look incredibly familiar. 

If you didn’t know better—.

“Scuse me, ma’am,” he grinned kindly—though it only made you queasy—nodding his head and stepping past you. 

He strode into the pawn shop, the cashier folding his magazine after the strange man uttered a few words and allowed him behind the curtain.

What the hell was behind the curtain?

Did you really want to know…?

Bzzt.

You glanced down to your purse, shuffling through it to slip your phone out. You had an incoming text lighting up your screen.

Shiu: You shouldn’t have an issue getting in. As long as you let them know you’re here for the round. Shows starting soon.

Huh? 

You stared at the text for a moment, skimming your fingers through your hair and racking your brain.

Was this really something you wanted to go down to see?

Well, part of you was incredibly interested in seeing what was behind the curtain. Another part wanted to see a friend you hadn’t seen in nearly a month. And another part wasn’t sure if it was smart for a lady as dressed up as you to go to some obviously illegal underground club.

You huffed.

Adrenaline. This was the very first sense of pure adrenaline you’d felt since… Well, since you’d last seen Sukuna.

Would you die for a taste of adrenaline?

Maybe. If it was a quick, painless death.

But from the looks of these parts, that kind of demise didn’t look plausible. Besides the prostitutes shuffling around the sidewalks, there were no other women besides you.

And not any women in a white sundress with an expensive side bag you’d splurged on for today and dewy makeup.

“Shit,” you muttered, clasping your eyes shut.

This was a horrible idea.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

There was no issue getting past the cashier.

Though he did give you an odd look at your get-up—as if you were the first woman dressed up like you he'd ever seen step foot into this place.

Your fingers curled against the corduroy fabric of the curtain, steeling your nerves, before you pulled them to the side.

Before you was a set of winding stairs—shabby and steep.

You padded down them in your sandals, worrying your lip between your teeth, praying you wouldn’t somehow accidentally embarrass yourself but clumsily tripping and eating shit.

But as you descended, the sound of muffled music and a booming voice echoed, enough to spike a vibration in your veins.

Your heart rate only picked up from then on.

A group of men were close behind you, chuckling about something and barely taking notice of you shuffling faster.

“ARE… YOU… READY?”

An audience roared at what sounded to be an announcer, whistles and hoots sounding along with boisterous laughs.

There was no way this was a quiet jazz club like you’d hoped.

Light began to dwindle into darkness, fog swimming up the stairs as midnight nearly engulfed you.

And when you finally made your way down, you reached a massive archway with white lights strobing against the walls.

Your eyes narrowed as you stepped into the massive venue, scanning around and taking in your surroundings.

There was a large ring smack dab in the middle of the dark room with floodlights tethered high-strung wood beams flickering and a chanting audience, bodies pumping their fists over their heads and clinking bottles of beer that sloshed out and onto the concrete floors.

A firepit was nestled off to the side, old men in cowboy hats and blazers yelling across to each other though they were mere few feet between them.

Your fingers tightened around the clasp of your bag, biting the inside of your cheek.

A boxing ring? Had Shiu taken you to a boxing ring and expected you to believe that Sukuna of all people were in the throes of such an act?

You made your rounds across the back of the audience, wanting to perch yourself in a corner of the bar until you could spot Shiu, but it seemed that he had been waiting for you.

“Tryna’ worm your way out of paying for my drink?” He pressed with a smirk, stopping beside you with a short glass in his hand as he watched the stagehands set up a cage around the ring.

You frowned at his accusation, jutting your chin towards his hand. “Looks like you’ve got yourself covered,” you scoffed, folding your arms over your chest.

He clicked his tongue, glancing down at you from his shoulder. “You think this is enough to keep me down all night?”

You sighed and resigned to his nettles, turning behind you to wave at a bartender before glancing at Shiu. “What’s your usual?”

Shiu paused for a moment, before turning towards the bartender. “Whiskey. Neat.”

You laughed at that, tossing a leg over a stool and seating yourself. “Nice. You’re quite the moocher, aren’t you?” You teased, resting your chin against your fist.

Shiu chuckled placidly, taking a seat beside you. “Hey, this is a win-win situation, is it not?”

You narrowed your eyes with a tug of your lips, before turning to rest both of your elbows on the counter, leaning back lazily. “Could say you’re winning more than I am. Where the hell did you bring me anyway?”

You shuffled through your bag to grab some cash to toss on the counter while you awaited Shiu’s response.

He opened his mouth to explain himself, but stopped short. “Ya know, I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

You frowned at that, but before you could question his cryptic words, the lights began to dim.

The audience leveled to a quieter hush as a man in a suit walked into the cage, a smug grin on his lips as the cylindrical spotlight zeroed in on him.

Shiu leaned down to whisper into your ear as it began. “You’re in for a real treat, sweet thing.”

Loud clangs of metal grating metal rang throughout the room, the announcer grabbing hold of the cage walls and shaking it. “Ladies andddd gentlemen. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

A tall and shirtless man with a bald head followed close behind him, cracking his knuckles against his skull, a sly grin painting him.

He turned towards the audience, waving his hands and riling them up.

He was met with roars of excitement and a plethora of boo’s, only heightening the tensions and thrill in the venue.

“So the newcomer of the evening,” the ring announcer continued, placing a hand against the man’s bare shoulder. “Is a fellow lumberjack, like most of you lot. And I’ve gotta say, plenty of you have got faith in his victory with the wages betted tonight.”

The bald man flexed his biceps, yelling as his friends in the audience seemed to hype him up.

“Though, I do gotta let you know,” the announcer’s voice turned wistful into the microphone, peering up at the bald man. “This is your last chance at an out. Once the cage is locked…?”

He cupped a hand around his ear, turning his microphone towards the audience who only chanted loudly in response, Shiu joining in on it with curled fingers around his mouth. “THE CAGE IS LOCKED!” They bellowed.

“Mhm,” the announcer affirmed, redirecting his attention back to the newcomer. “You ready?”

He pointed the microphone at the man who only screamed into it. “Fucking ready to kill him!”

Your eyes shot open, spinning your head towards Shiu. “What the hell did you bring me to?” You yelled over the audience.

“Don’t worry. It won’t get too messy,” he chuckled drunkardly, taking a swig as he watched the bald man make rounds around the cage.

“Well, then,” the announcer beamed. “Bring him in.”

The audience chanted in response.

“BRING HIM IN. BRING HIM IN. BRING HIM IN.”

From the shadows, you could make out a massive form emerging, fists limp at his sides.

His unruly pink hair stuck out of the bleak and dull room, dressed in a wifebeater and blue jeans.

Arms and face decorated in thick black ink.

The same dog tag you’d found in his drawers dangled from his neck lackadaisical.

His bare feet padded onto the canvas floor made of vinyl, a scowl etching his face… but it was unlike anything you’d seen before.

“Sukuna…” you whispered out into the humid air, fingers curling against the edge of your seat as you leaned forward, orbs focused on his movements.

“It’s just getting started,” Shiu stated over the unified chants, eyeing you with a knowing glint in his eyes.

The starting bell rang and the audience only hailed louder.

“The human freak of nature…”

Your eyes washed over his form, basically radiating with such a nonchalance undeserved for a fight that it worried you.

“The surviving mutant…”

Your heart stalled as a familiar metallic sound rang in your ears and your gaze found his fists—spikes… or… sheers? protruding from them.

“THE ONE AND ONLY…

…WOLVERINE.”

continued thoughts & comments here

[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.”

[demie90s]

nika muhl with a moody temperamental fem who likes to press her every nerve until she cracks and gets mean in a kinky type of way

Trigger Point

Nika Muhl x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You’re a moody piece of work—sharp-tongued, pouty when you don’t get your way, and always poking at Nika just to see how long it takes her to snap.

Word Count: ~ 1.7k

Warnings: SMUT. Emotional manipulation, dom!Nika, bratty/submissive reader, rough smut, choking, degradation, possessive behavior.

Genre: Smut, Angst, Power Play, Emotional Tension

It started with the gum. You knew better than to chew it like that around her—open-mouthed, loud, obnoxious—but something in you enjoyed the way Nika’s eye twitched every time your jaw popped. Sitting across from her in the UConn locker room, legs spread, head tilted like you were innocent, you chewed slow and wide and grinned when her knee bounced faster.

“You good?” you asked, blowing a bubble and letting it snap.

She glared, tying her shoe like it personally offended her. “Fine.”

“You sure? You’re kinda moving like you got beef with the air.”

Nika didn’t answer, but her jaw clenched. You could see it, just under the skin. She looked real pretty like that—angry and pretending she wasn’t. Tall. Mean without trying. You loved pushing her. You didn’t know why y’all were dating, but you’d die before changing a damn thing about the chaos.

She’d been patient this week. Too patient. Letting you get away with little things. You’d “forgotten” to answer her texts. You’d rolled your eyes when she corrected your layup form. You’d flirted, blatantly, with some blonde from the dining hall—short, loud, didn’t even hoop. Not your type in the slightest.

But Nika didn’t say shit. Not then. She’d just watched. Waited. Let it build like steam under the surface. Today, though, you had plans.

You leaned against her locker after practice, towel hanging around your neck. Your sports bra clung tight. She walked out of the shower, hair wet, fresh-faced, and fuming for no reason—until she saw you.

“You’re in my way,” she muttered.

You smiled sweetly. “What’s the Croatian word for please again?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Makni se.”

(Move.)

“Mmm,” you hummed. “That’s not ‘please.’ That’s not even polite.”

“I wasn’t trying to be polite.”

You raised your brows. “Damn. You always this rude after a rinse?”

“Only when I come out and see you.”

“Ouuu.” You laughed, stepping aside like it was your idea. “You missed me, huh?”

She yanked her towel off the hook and ignored you. You could see it again—her jaw. Her clenched fists. Her patience stretching thin.

“So…” you said slowly, like you weren’t about to drop a grenade. “Are you gonna be mad if I say I think I’m gonna go to that party Friday?”

She looked up, stiff. “The one I told you not to go to?”

You tilted your head. “I don’t remember that. When did you say that?”

“Two days ago.”

“Oh. My bad.” You smiled again, too wide. “I don’t be listening when you talk like that.”

Her silence was deadly. You weren’t done.

You walked around her slowly, brushing your fingers along her arm, knowing damn well what it did to her. “You know I saw that girl again today. From the dining hall.”

Nika closed her locker slowly. “What girl.”

“The blonde. The one with the…” You waved vaguely. “You know. The voice. And the eyeliner.”

Nika’s nostrils flared. “I told you she was thirsty. Why the hell are you still talking to her?”

You shrugged. “She funny. And kinda sweet, actually. She offered me a cookie…coconut.”

“You allergic to coconut.”

“I didn’t eat it. I just smiled.”

She stared at you like she wanted to throw something. “Prestani se zajebavati sa mnom.”

(Stop fucking with me.)

You blinked like you didn’t understand. “Huh? Say it again slow. It sounded cute.”

Her voice was low and warning now. “Ne igraj se sa mnom danas. Ozbiljno.”

(Don’t play with me today. Seriously.)

But your smile sharpened. “I like when you speak Croatian. It makes you sound even meaner.”

You saw the shift in her face—the twitch in her cheek, the bite she was holding back. You were winding her up on purpose. Fact-checking her. Talking back. Refusing to listen. Teasing. And now this—speaking her native tongue like a weapon.

“You’re in a mood,” she muttered.

You leaned in close, lips almost touching her ear. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just like seeing you like this. All tense and angry and holding back.”

She stepped away from you, hand clenching the towel hard.

“Nika,” you cooed. “You look like you wanna hit something.”

Her voice dropped. “You’re lucky I don’t.”

“You wouldn’t,” you smirked, licking your bottom lip slowly. “You love me.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared. And for the first time all week, you saw it—her breaking point. Not soft. Not sweet. Not even loving.

Mean. Just like you wanted. She was getting there.

⚠️IVE NEVER WRITTEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS!! WORK WITH ME!!⚠️

I knew she’d seen the post the second I stepped into our dorm. The energy was different—thick, sour, electric. Like static before a storm. I got in late, same as always, and played it off like I didn’t feel her tension humming through the walls.

I took my sweet time peeling off my jacket, kicking my shoes off like I hadn’t just posted a picture in a cropped tank and barely-there boy shorts with the caption, “Should’ve come over when I asked.”

Nothing technically wrong. But enough. Enough to look single. Enough to piss Nika off.

I was under the blanket, pretending to scroll like I hadn’t done it on purpose. Like I wasn’t still in the mood to play. But when the door clicked open and I heard her drop her keys with a deliberate thud, something in my chest stuttered.

She didn’t say a word. Not “hey,” not “you up,” not even a passive-aggressive comment. Just silence. Ominous and way too calm.

Then her shadow fell across the room. I kept my eyes down, suddenly too aware of how short my sleep shorts were. She walked straight past me, reached down, grabbed my phone off the charger, and—

Clack. Tossed it to the floor.

My mouth opened. “What the fu—” She didn’t let me finish.

A sharp tug and I was yanked straight out of bed, blanket and attitude left behind as my knees scrambled for balance on the cold tile. Her hand wrapped firm around my wrist. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t need to.

I pushed her too far. And still—my heart was racing, thighs clenching, stomach fluttering like I was scared. But not enough to regret it.

“Nik—” I tried, half-laughing, half-bracing for her to pop off. But her voice cut through me like a blade.

“Shut up. I mean not a fucking word.”

My mouth snapped shut before I could blink. Something about the way she said it—flat, deep, that dangerous Croatian tone—knocked all the smartass out of me in one breath.

I didn’t even try to pull away when she dragged me by the wrist across the dorm and into her room, slamming the door behind us.

Maybe I thought I could still be cute about it. Maybe I thought she’d pin me, roll her eyes, threaten to break up with me again for the tenth time this month.

But nah. She didn’t speak.

She didn’t even look at me when she moved to her closet, yanked her old beat-up UConn hoodie off the top shelf, and pulled a belt down from the hook inside.

And that’s when my body went still. Like…oh.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, legs open just enough, and pulled me in again by the hips. I let her. Still acting dumb. Still not believing it. Still smiling, even as she pulled me over her lap like I was a toy.

But then I felt the belt.

She looped it around both my wrists, cool and slow, tugging it tight behind my back. She didn’t even say a word while she did it. Just wrapped, pulled, and fastened it. My hands were locked. Her grip was firm. My brain? Empty.

“Nika,” I whispered, suddenly breathless. “Wait—what are you—”

“I told you not to post that shit.”

Her voice was so calm I wanted to scream.

Not loud. Not shouting. Just disappointment mixed with possessive fury. The type of fury that simmers instead of explodes. That burns.

“You live in this dorm with me,” she said, her hand running up the back of my thigh. “You wear my clothes. Sleep in my bed. Then you get online and act single?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lie. Not tonight.”

I stopped breathing when I felt her fingers trace the seam of my shorts, lifting the fabric to expose more skin. Her thumb dragged over the curve of my ass like she was planning out a map of pain.

“You like attention so much,” she murmured, nails dragging sharp down my thigh. “We’ll give you some. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

And then—SMACK. My body jerked forward. The belt didn’t budge.

My head dropped forward with a sharp gasp. “Nika—shit—”

She tilted her head, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Count.”

“Wh—what?”

SMACK. “I said count.”

“O-one.”

She hummed like that was acceptable. Not pleased. Not gentle. Just not disappointed for a second.

SMACK. “Two—fuck, babe—”

“I’m not your babe right now. I’m the bitch that’s gonna fix your attitude.” That’s when I really stopped smiling.

Because her hand wasn’t letting up. Her rhythm was slow, spaced out. Just enough time to breathe between each slap—never enough to recover. And with my hands tied, I couldn’t even pretend to be in control. My body twitched against her lap, skin stinging, core throbbing with each hit. And she knew. Of course she knew.

By the time she got to six, I was panting, forehead resting against her knee. Then she stopped.

I blinked. My chest still heaving. She rubbed her hand slowly over the welts blooming across my skin, soothing like she was proud of her work. Her other hand reached up to grip my jaw and force my face up to hers.

“Look at me.” I did. Of course I did. I’d never not look at her.

Her brown eyes were darker than usual. All that rage, all that repressed athlete fury—it was there, simmering under the surface, but channeled now. Controlled. Sexy as hell.

“You wanted to play games?” she said quietly. “You wanted this, right?” My lips parted. But no sound came out. She gripped my jaw tighter.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good.” She let go, let my head fall back down. “Then take it. And if I hear one more smartass thing come out of your mouth before I say you can speak again, I’ll gag you and double the count. Understood?”

I nodded, dazed. Sore. Dripping. This wasn’t a fight. This was a warning. A lesson. A blueprint. Baby, I was only on lesson one.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[starrbishops]

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.” 

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you. 

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him. 

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock. 

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

[jj-one]

thinking about getting on my knees and grinding on channie’s boot or him pressing it against me maybe even kicking a few times 🥺

OMG I LOVE THIS?!;&:@/@/ i’m totally normal ab this i swear >< but ok so i’m imagining like idol!chan x stylist where there’s a power imbalance between you but you’re willing to do anything to keep this job sofkdkss ok i’ll shut up let’s get into it cw: dubcon, power imbalance, heavy degradation, mean dom!chan (guys pls remember that this is fiction and this doesn’t represent the real him in any shape or form !!)

working as a stylist for one of the major big 3 companies meant you were constantly surrounded by artists, bright, fluorescent lights that are almost headache inducing, long hours— and the quiet pressure of keeping your pathetic crush on chan buried under the guise of professionalism. usually, he made it hard in the worst way with his sweet voice and soft glances, teasing you without even trying, rolling up his sleeves while making small talk that made you weak in the knees.

but today? he wouldn’t even meet your eyes.

he was dead silent, face stone-cold while you touched up his outfit, muscles tense beneath your fingers as you fixed the hem of his blazer. and when you finally dared to speak, something innocent, like asking if he needed anything, he looked at you like you’d just snapped a thread inside him.

“come with me.” his voice was sharp, hand clamping around your wrist, tight enough to sting. you barely had time to react before he’s dragging you down the hallway, past the set, and into one of the vacant storage rooms, filled with racks of old stage outfits and mirror-lined walls. he kicked the door shut behind you and locks it.

you stood there frozen as he looked you up and down, his eyes dark, breath uneven. unsure of whether to speak in fear of agitating him even more. obviously he didn’t come in here to “chat” but you were still confused on what his intentions were.

“you always look at me like that,” he says through gritted teeth, “like you’re just begging to get fucked stupid right in the middle of hair and makeup.”

your lips parted out of shock by his words, but nothing came out. you couldn’t deny it. he could see it written all over your face.

that’s when he grabbed your jaw roughly, forcing you to look him in the eye. his thumb brushed your lip, but there was nothing tender about it.

“you wanna help me take the edge off?” he cocks his head to the side. “then shut up and do exactly as i say.”

before you could even protest, he stepped back and shoved his boot between your legs. the toe of it hitting your inner thigh, parting them with unrelenting force.

“now ride it.” he orders, “make yourself cum on my fucking shoe.”

you whimpered, thighs trembling already. the leather was stiff, unforgiving— and so wrong, so dirty, you felt the rush of heat to your face instantly.

but you did as you were told.

hands bracing on his thighs for anchorage, you ground your soaked cunt against the toe of his boot, your panties already sticking to you, the seam pressing between your folds. the boot’s laced ridges rubbed against your sensitive clit as you rocked forward, desperate and aching.

“fuck,” you breathed, forehead dropping to his chest. “fuck, chan—”

the polished leather curved between your thighs, pressing perfectly against your swollen bundle of nerves with each desperate roll of your hips. you weren’t supposed to like it. you weren’t supposed to moan like this. your body grinding shamelessly on the leather boot of the man whom you thought could do no harm.

chan was watching intently. breathing hard. staring at you like you were some pathetic, messy thing meant solely for his pleasure.

“what a slut,” he murmured, looking down at you like you were so beneath him. “look at you. getting off on my fucking boot. where’s that pretty pride now, huh?”

you whimpered as you rutted against it, slick coating the exterior, thighs twitching with every stroke over your throbbing cunt.

“chan… please—”

“you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he hissed, yanking your hair so your back arched deeper. “you wanna cum like this? fuck yourself dumb on the same shoes i wear to practice?”

you weakly nodded, hips stuttering with need.

“then earn it,” he snarled, his boot suddenly pulled back, just enough to make your clit miss the pressure. your body jerks at the sudden loss. “i wanna see you ruin yourself on it. cry if you have to. fucking beg.”

and you did.

whining. pleading. hot tears spilling from your eyes as you rode his boot again, rocking your cunt down on the solid leather, against the worn toe cap like it was the only thing that could make you feel human again.

“you thinking about sitting on it?” he mocked, his voice sickly sweet, “bet you’d take it too. bet i could make you cum just from this, without ever touching my cock.”

you sobbed, fingers clawing at his thigh, humping more erratically now, chasing a high you couldn’t quite reach.

but of course, chan wouldn’t let you.

he kicked forward— enough to make your hips jolt, letting out an elongated sigh.

“c’mon,” he coaxed. “be a good little toy. show me how much you love humiliating yourself for me.”

your body spasmed, right on the edge. orgasm hitting you like a wave of fire, and you screamed his name, shaking and twitching as slick gushed down your thighs, coating the laces of his boot with a luminous shine. you collapsed, body quaking, chest heaving, feeling disgusted with yourself yet too lost in pleasure.

he just laughs, speaking to you in the same condescending tone he’s been doing all day.

“good girl,” he whispered, crouching beside you as you lay there spent. “we’ll shine them with your mouth next time.”

[daydreamgoddess14]

Slow Burn 🔥

Bucky x f!Reader

Allll the tropes - you can never have too much cake, friends! There's only one bed, injured on a mission, friends to lovers...

I am still under the influence of a heatwave 🫣 I also now appear to be writing sex acts I've never written before. It's like an unofficial mini-series 😂

Bucky Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: face-sitting, oral (f receiving).

Alexei was going to pay for this. You weren't sure how just yet, but you'd think of something. Some suitable punishment for accidentally giving you enough explosive to level a whole building rather than just get you in the door.

You dug through your bag until your fingers closed around what you needed. An ancient tub of moisturiser. Picked up in a gas station more than a year ago, a totally unknown brand - probably banned from sale in the US. Probably not containing even a milligram of aloe.

Luckily it still smelled cool and fresh, still looked usable. Behind you, the bathroom door opened.

“How's the shower?”

“About as good as you'd expect.” Bucky grimaced.

You spun around with a wide grin just as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Your grin disappeared, taking your bravado with it.

“There was me hoping for a huge walk-in with one of those rainfall things,” you muttered.

“Afraid not. I wouldn't even touch anything if I were you.”

Your expression must have said it all because he followed up awfully quickly, “I just mean, like, the walls, not yourse-”

His low voice petered off, the tips of his ears went pink.

“Well, yeah. Obviously,” you scoffed, filling the awkward silence.

The whole place was gross.

You hadn’t planned on a motel.

It was just a quick job - plant the charges, blow the door.

Instead, half the bunker went up in flames.

The burn on your shoulder said enough.

Bucky had dragged you clear of the fire, complaining the whole way to the motel about you not wearing your suit.

“If I’d been wearing my suit, I’d be peeling melted polyester off my skin right now,” you snapped.

He didn’t say another word.

Not until you got to the motel and found, befitting your terrible luck, one full-size bed. Not even a queen.

You passed him as you headed for the bathroom, and you could swear his eyes flicked to your shoulder, just for a second.

You closed the door firmly behind you.

You were friends. Kind of.

There was no need for this to be so… awkward.

You showered fast, following his advice and keeping your hands to yourself, and in the short time you'd been gone, he'd found the spare blanket and lay it on the floor.

“You can't sleep there,” you said before you were even fully back in the room. “It's disgusting. There's probably roaches.”

He didn’t look up. “I’ve slept on worse.”

You hesitated.

“The bed’s not that big,” you muttered. “Just don’t, like, spread out.”

He eyed the bed, then your shoulder.

“You should take that side. You’ll roll onto it otherwise.”

You arched a brow. “Since when are you the burn expert?”

“Since I carried your crispy ass out of a fire.”

You choked on a laugh. “My crispy ass? That’s what we’re calling it?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you for a second too long, then said, “get in the bed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it.

You took the side he pointed to and climbed in first, turning onto your side. He followed a second later, back to you, a careful few inches of air between your bodies.

The silence was too quiet. Too full.

He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t mean don’t touch yourself earlier.”

You sniggered in the dark.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

He didn’t reply.

You lay still, hyper-aware of his presence a few inches behind you. His warmth. The shift of the mattress every time he moved.

Eventually, his breathing evened out.

Yours didn’t.

You didn’t know when you drifted off. Only that when you stirred again, it was still dark - just the faintest sliver of morning pushing at the curtains.

You didn’t move, you kept your breathing steady, even as you felt the bed shift slightly behind you.

His arm reached across you, slowly and carefully, for something on the nightstand. He was trying not to wake you. A soft scrape of something plastic. A quiet lid twisting open.

Then the slow slide of your top strap down your arm.

The cream felt cool. Soothing on your angry skin. His fingers worked it into your skin, gentler than they had any right to be.

He was being careful. Methodical.

But he lingered.

His thumb dragged lightly just below the edge of the injury. Too low to be part of the job. Too light to be innocent.

You kept your eyes closed, imagining his hands moving further down. It was all you could do to keep your breath steady, let alone your hips.

And then, as if you weren't already in pieces, you felt him blow lightly over the burn. Your skin cooled and tingled and you couldn't help the sigh of relief that fell from your mouth.

Even to your own ear, it sounded like a broken moan of pleasure.

You clamped your mouth shut, eyes pinching closed with embarrassment.

His hand froze.

You could feel the way his body went still behind you.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low. Strained.

You didn't move. “Do what?”

“Make that sound.”

You could’ve died.

He drew in a slow breath, his fingers still resting lightly on your shoulder.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” You paused. “But then you started touching me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” he said softly.

“Shouldn't you?”

You rolled onto your back to look at him, the burn smarting against the rough bedsheets.

“I’ve thought about it,” you admitted quietly.

“Fuck. Me too.”

“So,” you said finally, but trailing off into nothing.

“So if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m gonna kiss you.”

You snorted, “no you're not -”

He dipped down quickly and caught your mouth with his.

You gasped, surprised by his boldness, and felt him go still above you. Before he had time to doubt himself, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him down onto you.

He resisted, just a little, and pulled back.

“Your burn,” he muttered against your mouth.

“‘s fine.” You leaned up to kiss him again, but he twisted away from you.

“Not like this,” he said roughly. Then, after a breath, “c’mere.”

He shifted, rolling to his back, hands guiding your hips as he pulled you with him.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, the restraint in every movement.

“You sure?” you whispered.

He huffed a laugh, one hand skimming your thigh.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been sure since Berlin.”

You sank into his kiss, half sprawled on top of him, your hands buried in his hair, his mouth hot and hungry against yours.

There was a quiet urgency in the way he kissed you - like he’d been holding back for months and now didn’t know how to stop.

The kiss deepened, his hands everywhere and yet careful to avoid hurting you. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.

He looked at you, really looked at you. His voice dropped.

“How’s is it?”

“Better than in my head,” you smirked. He rolled his eyes and gestured to your shoulder. “It’s fine. It's nothing.”

His fingers brushed down your arm gently. “I want this to be good for you. Easy.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smile widening. “Are you saying I’m lazy?”

“No,” he said, leaning in, his mouth just by your ear. “I’m saying I want you above me. Comfortable.”

He lay back slowly, still watching you.

“Sit on my face.”

It wasn’t a question.

You blinked, heat licking up your neck - and not from the burn. “Bucky, I -”

“You don’t have to move. You don’t have to do anything.” His voice dropped, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let me make you fall apart.”

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured our first time,” you laughed nervously, trying to reach for another kiss.

“No?” he grinned, pulling out of your reach. “Because I’ve definitely pictured it. Just relax, I've got you.”

His hand trailed down your thigh to the back of your knee, pulling your leg further over him. You shifted, your knees bracketing his hips, and sat up, peeling off your thin cami.

His eyes drank you in, dark and focused, but he didn’t reach for you.

“I could just stay right here,” you teased, rolling your hips against him. “Ohh, fuck -” you sighed. “Please, Bucky.”

His hands skimmed up your thighs, slow and steady. “Then lose the rest for me, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, wriggling out of your underwear as his grip tightened, guiding you higher up his chest.

You hesitated again, your breath shallow and heart pounding. His eyes were locked on yours - not teasing, just openly wanting.

“I’ve never…” you started, then couldn't finish.

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I want you to.”

He didn’t rush you. He just waited with all his quiet intensity focused entirely on you.

You moved up his chest slowly, his hands steady on your thighs, guiding. When you reached him, hovering just above his mouth, he looked up at you like you were something sacred.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

He lay back expectantly. “Not even a little. I knew you'd look perfect up there. Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

He hooked his hands around your thighs and pulled you down. You reached out to grip the thin wooden headboard to steady yourself.

As his broad tongue dragged a long, slow stripe through your pussy, your thighs clamped around his head, half in shock, half instinct.

“What if I fucking suffocate you?” You asked, horrified.

He rolled his eyes, and in them, you knew he was grinning into you.

“Do your worst, baby,” he said, muffled against you. His voice sent vibrations through your body, he held you a little tighter.

His tongue worked you open with a pressure that had you throwing your head back. By the time he swept it over your clit, your hands had given up clinging to the headboard for dear life, and were palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between your thumb and index finger.

“God, Bucky -” you rolled your hips, willing yourself to look at him.

He reached one hand up to cover yours, you swapped them so that yours covered his, kneading your soft curves.

He moaned into you, the sound enough to make you grind down against his tongue.

You reached behind and wrapped a hand around his thick cock, weeping and aching. He fucked up into your fist, each thrust in time with the flick of his tongue inside you.

When his lips closed around your swollen clit and sucked, your legs shook and your vision went white, his name tumbling from your mouth.

Your grip on his cock tightened as you writhed against his mouth.

Hot, sticky ropes of cum painted your back, your ass - he came hard in your hand, roaring into your cunt.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed, shifting back on unsteady knees.

He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making you tremble again.

Still catching your breath, you lifted your hand - slick with his release - and brought your fingers to your lips. Bucky groaned low in his chest, watching as you licked the taste of him from your skin with deliberate, languid strokes.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes blazing.

He surged up suddenly, sitting against the headboard and dragging you down with him, hands firm at your hips. You slid easily down the broad plane of his chest, letting your legs fall to either side of his thighs until you were straddling him again, skin sticking to skin.

His mouth found yours in a messy kiss, all hunger, no restraint - tasting himself on your tongue.

You rocked your hips without thinking, still pulsing around the aftershocks, still needing.

“Bucky…” you breathed against his jaw, your voice raw. “I want more.”

His hand slid up your spine and he blew lightly over the warm skin on your shoulder. “Yeah?”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his cheek. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

He stilled, grip tightening just slightly.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked, low in your ear. “Gonna need you to say it again.”

You smiled against his skin, grinding your hips against the hard line of him. “Please. I need you inside me. Want you to fill me up.”

A rough sound left his throat.

“God,” he muttered. “Thought you’d never ask.”

When he finally pushed inside you, you knew you’d never need to ask again.

[alanisstonedd]

MDNI

bum!ony that sees you walking your route to work when he starts crashing with his hb, always outside on the corner chopping it up when you stroll by minding your damn business. mad cute but wayyy outta his league. you got it all together, and he’s practically the opposite

bum!ony that swallows his pride to holla at your fine ass when you’re waiting to cross the street one day. you giggle at some one-liner he drops & he’s hooked.

bum!ony who forms a lil bond with you on the corner before it gets serious. it’s a lil routine — you giggle at him on the way to work and throw him a clever line on the way back home. he loves y’all’s lil game & is honestly happy with whatever attention you give him.

bum!ony who is so surprised when you ask him to lunch on your way home one day. he jumps at the opportunity not even tryna front like he’s not excited.

bum!ony who charms you on the date. you don’t even seem to care that he spends too much time on the corner to have a consistent job. that smile? the way he looks at you? that rough, slightly unreliable sex appeal he oozes? your guard is embarrassingly low. but what can you sayyy — he makes you feel a way. a way you’re not ready to let go of.

bum!ony who moves — in as a “friend” — when his hb gets booked. you figure, he’s not exactly a stranger & you can’t let him go homeless! he said it’d only be until he could get on his feet so it’s fine! you have the extra space, it’d be a waste basically.

bum!ony who gives you foot rubs in exchange for his laundry done - unspoken ritual of course. his hands do tend to wander tho… sneaking up to your thighs to sink his fingers in.. you just smile & do that cute snicker he likes, courtesy of the two blunts he rolled for you earlier. no clue how he’s getting all this loud since he still don’t got a J O B

bum!ony who leaves his socks in the floor just to see your pussy print when you bend over. matter fact, you catch him looking quite a lot. always “grabbing sum real quick” when you’re in the shower, “accidentally” peeking his head in your room while you’re changing for a quick question. but you appreciate how comfortable he is — taking it as a compliment to your hospitality.

bum!ony who starts rubbing on your booty whenever you bring up his unemployment. mumbling some excuse while he licks his lips at you. taking your accidental moan as the go ahead to start dragging you into him. you can never stay maddddd he’s like crack.

bum!ony who man-spreads on the couch with just his draws on. print fully out. he palms it when you walk by. dragging you into his lap for a “hug” because you look like you had a hard day apparently. he’s the best hugger tho so your happy self don’t mind. you feel a little guilty honestly - feeling like a slut for getting so wet when he was just trying to get comfy.

bum!ony who starts sleeping in your bed when the couch gets to “uncomfortable”. his big ass frame taking up half the bed. his half-chub somehow finding your booty in the middle of the night. he’s just so big, you might as well start cuddling. he’s even worse then… lowkey humping you “in his sleep”. yall end up tangled with his head smack on your tits, mouth open and snoring over your nipple.

bum!ony who gets so horny when you cook for him. which is every night bcs he doesn’t help you with shit. you end up laying on top of him making out, letting him push into you bcs you gave him blue-balls baby. duhh. he takes you back to your bed and fucks all the calories off, drilling you into the mattress like a rag doll.

bum!ony who teases you when you leave your laundry out in the living room — about your panties specifically. talking out his ass about the lil lacy thing to the point you put it on to show him how wrong he is about them. and oh is he wrong… makes you ride his face with them pulled to the side, all over the couch.

bum!ony who humps you while you wash the dishes. that’s it

bum!ony who tricks you into sex with his fine ass face after he misses another job interview. kissing all over you cuz he knows it distracts you. dicking you down sideways with a hand on your tit and more empty promises in your ear. but you don’t even hear none of it over the slapping of his hips and the squelch of your cream all over him.

bum!ony who loves when you have a bad day at work bcs you don’t ask him about a job and you fuck him like a toy. using him for that nut. your hand moves to his neck and you start fucking out the frustration you’ve built up at his bum ass. its animalistic.

bum!ony who randomly comes home with a BAG one day. like serious money. first thing he buys is some lingerie for you to model for him. might take some photos while you doing ya thang for posterity ofc.

[saltnsugarbear]

I'm gonna stay faithful (to the devil I know) (18+)

summary: After you don't respond how Carmy wants to a compliment, he gets a bit,,,, authoritative

title from: "The Devil I Know" by Suki Waterhouse

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: smut MDNI!!! Carmy's mean (like,,,, like mean), use of derogatory words during sex (bitch, brat,), Claire again :/, what i suppose could classify as subspace, brat tamer Carm :), reader wears a skirt (important for plot), afab reader genitalia, unprotected sex, i lean so heavily into being horny and pathetic, ✨️pull out method✨️, I cant think of anything else?

side note: hey hi everyone say thanks Olive again for helping with dialogue and just,,,,, everything ever. everyone say thank you olive because I should be paying her

series masterlist!

You've been bugging Carmy all day since his morning text. The sunrise from the L tracks.

Carmy had started sending them early in the month, sometimes just the sunrise, sometimes with an added message. This morning, the photo is tagged with a short, "Looks like you."

The text made you scoff, rolling your eyes while you tap out a short, "You're annoying"

For an hour, Carmy leaves you on read. At first, you think he's tied up with the kitchen until Sugar sends you a brief, "Carmen's being annoying again."

Her complaint garners your sympathy and a brief, "Isn't he always annoying?" which gets a heart reaction from her. You switch chats between the Berzattos, going back to Carmy where he's still left you on read.

You: Carmen...

You: I'm messing with you, Carmy.

Carmy reads your messages but doesn't respond. You let him keep you on read for another twenty minutes before you message him again.

You: are you pouting rn? really?

Bubbles appear a couple of times before he responds.

C: No.

You: Nat says you're being particularly annoying today

C: She's being annoying today..

You can hear the grumble of his voice, an attempt to redirect your attention.

You: Carmy...

You can practically hear the sigh fall from his lips as you watch the bubbles go. And they stop again. You've seen this pattern with Carmy enough times to cut it short.

You: Need me to make it up to you later?

You: Maybe during lunch?

You: ;)

The last message is a tease, enough to clarify what you could mean. And enough that he stops typing for a minute. Then he starts up again.

C: Can't get away for that long.

You huff, knowing there's an obvious option here.

You: Or....

You: I could come there..

The response is instant.

C: No.

Then.

C: Can you wait til after?

You groan, burying your head in your arms on top of the counter. You're hiding long enough that he messages two more times.

C: You can, can't you?

C: Then I can come take care of you.

The words on the screen make your face flush and it's embarrassing because he's not even there. You keep your face hidden like there's some way he can see you from the restaurant.

You: You're evil, btw

You: I guess I can wait... But I'm not happy about it.

C: Yeah, yeah..

Unfortunately for Carmen, when you want something, you're persistent.

Which, for him, translates into his phone pinging in his pocket. You send him a few things each time he's away, just to tease him and to gift him with a surprise when he comes back to his phone.

It starts as idle chatter, comments as you go about your day. Telling him about the errand you have to go run, mentioning the woman with her cat in a stroller when you get there, telling him about the lingerie set you saw at the store and how you think he'd like the color.

After noon is when he starts getting frustrated. Not at your messages, but rather that he can't just leave.

The tipping point is the picture you sent him. Nothing graphic or noteworthy would make him squirm until he could get his hands on you. Instead, you've attached a selfie, taken at an angle, so it's like he's towering over you. In the photo, you're wearing a sweater over a collared shirt and a plaid-patterned skirt that pools onto the bench you're sitting on.

The picture is bumped up when you send another text.

You: Company lunch :P

You: You know how I feel about free food

Something inside Carmy twinges. His gaze flicks back up to your skirt before he types a response.

C: I thought you had the day off?

You: Apparently they couldn't schedule the lunch for another day

You: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: They're arriving! See you later ;)

"It's open!" You call over your shoulder and then turn back to your phone. Carmy enters your apartment easily, and you can already hear him grumbling about leaving the door unlocked while he toes off his shoes.

"I don't know why I knock anymore." He tells you, and you brush him off.

"No one is going to come into my apartment, Carmy." You sigh, turning onto your back. "Other than you."

Your reason makes Carmy shake his head as he walks over. You tuck your legs in to make room for him on the couch, sitting up straight.

"How was your lunch?" Carmy lets his head fall back against the couch when he looks at you. You give him a short shrug, laying your head against the cushion as well.

"Lame, but they paid for me, so that's a win." You give him a bright grin. He nods, bringing a hand to fidget with the edge of your skirt. "Just like.. Getting everyone out of the office, talk about something other than emails and deadlines. How's the restaurant?"

Carmy lets out a ragged sigh, turning to face the ceiling. You listen as intently as you can, course correcting when you find yourself getting distracted. At some point, you forget and start tracing his features with your eyes. Then it's easy to remember why you invited him over.

As he continues to tell you about how Richie thinks they should decorate for Halloween, you silently sling one of your legs over his thighs. Carmen pauses briefly, watching while you push yourself onto his lap.

"Are y'serious right now.?" Carmy grumbles, hands raised as you get settled. You give him an exasperated huff, adjusting how you're sat.

"I was being serious all day.." You complain, rocking your hips into his for affect.

"Can't go five fuckin' minutes without it, can ya?" He scoffs, resting his hands on your thighs when you stop moving. He's smirking up at you, blue eyes bright while he teases.

"You said you'd take care of me, Carm.." You whine, rolling your hips again.

"And y'can't wait a little longer?" He taunts, squeezing your thighs.

"I've been waiting all day," You emphasize this by shifting your hips. You try and make it look like you're adjusting how you're sat, like you can't get comfortable. Carmy shakes his head with a huff, watching as you squirm.

"Thought I was annoying.." He says, holding you in place, and you let out a frustrated whine. As if you can't believe he's bringing it up now of all times.

"Told you, I was messing with you," you tell him, hands resting on top of his. He hums at that, tilting his head to one side as he studies you.

"I want an apology," He says, and it catches you off guard.

"What?" Your brow furrows in confusion. Is he serious right now? You're sitting on his lap, and he's thinking about an apology?

"I want an apology." Carmy reiterates, a sternness finding its way into his voice. It makes something in you seize for a moment, and then you can breathe again.

"What are you, twelve?" You scoff, rolling your eyes. He stays quiet, content to squeeze at your thighs while he waits.

"No. I told you I was joking." You sit up straighter, chest puffed with some sort of defiance. Carmy raises an eyebrow at your antics, clearly unamused. When you don't say anything else, a small sigh escapes him.

"Apologize," He lets it sit in the air for a moment. "Or I won't fuck you."

Your stomach twists. There's something in his eyes that almost makes you believe him. But you're not going to give him the satisfaction of folding first.

"Who said I invited you over to fuck?" You're bluffing. He can tell even without the tone in your voice but he thinks it's cute how you're trying to play it off.

"You're kidding me.." Carmy scoffs, hands sliding further up your thighs.

"You lounge around dressed like this? Huh? Even the lace?" He brushes over your clothed clit, making you inhale sharply.

"You're bein' mean," You whine, lifting your hips slightly. You watch as Carmy rolls his eyes, pouting when he pushes you back down onto his lap.

"Oh, don't pout, you started it. Being a brat while I was being nice."

You huff pathetically on top of him. You look down at where your hands rest on his stomach, pinching at his shirt fabric quietly.

"No, stop, look at me-" Carmy grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him. "- Quit it. You did this."

You whine from low in your throat, the sound muddled by the way he's holding your face. You blink at him a few times, trying to ignore the pressure behind your eyes. He sighs heavily, hands leaving your face to find your hips. Carmy moves you easily, pushing you off his lap and back onto the couch.

"Hey!" You squeak, watching wide-eyed as he stands up. You watch him adjust his jeans silently before he starts to head to the door. Your stomach dips watching helplessly as he starts to slip on his boots.

"Wait, wait, wait.." You stumble off the couch quickly. Carmy doesn't get very far before you're standing in front of him, a poor attempt in stopping him from leaving. He stops as you press yourself against him, clinging onto his t-shirt.

"I told you I was joking." You whine, blinking away the pressure of tears.

"I didn't laugh. An apology. Or I leave." He says it firmly, and you know he means it. The huff you let out is pathetic and it makes him raise a brow. He forces you back two steps, bullying his way to the door. It's embarrassing how quickly you're falling to your knees to keep him in place.

You're slightly frantic in your movements, hands flying to his belt. Carmy watches you as you struggle with the buckle, tugging at it impatiently. You have to keep him from leaving.

"No. Hey-" Carmy grabs your chin again, making you look up at him. You sigh miserably, blinking up at him as you feel tears starting to well up.

"I said an apology. You can hear me, can't you?" His tone is condescending as he looks down at you. You whine softly, looking anywhere but him. Carmy lets go of your chin, letting you pout in front of him.

"You really want me to leave, hm?" He hums, shifting just slightly. You're quick to shake your head, moving your hips a little. "Doesn't seem that way. That's too bad. Think I'll go-"

"'M sorry!!" You cry out, shifting on your knees, resting some of your weight on his foot. Your hands clutch at his thigh as you rock softly against his boot.

"Yeah?" He asks you, pressing harder against your core. You whine miserably, grinding against the toe of his boot. "Repeat it for me, baby.."

"Carmyy-" You whine. He hums, taking a step back and watching you scramble at his leg to keep him from leaving. Something about it makes his stomach dip, and makes his head hazy.

"I'm sorry," you get out. "Please, Carm, please-"

"Finally..." He grumbles, taking a step back from you. You're able to glance the tent in his pants before his movements block your view.

You squeal softly as Carmy grabs you under your arms, moving you to the couch. He drapes you over the armrest, a throw pillow nestled against your stomach.

Carmy 'tsks' softly behind you, lifting your skirt and exposing the backs of your thighs to him and the air. He watches as you squeeze your legs together, squirming under his gaze.

"All that beggin' and whinin' got you this worked up?" He asks, pressing his thumb against your underwear, dragging it down to where he knows your clit is. His hands gone as quick as it came before they're gripping the sides of your underwear.

You gasp when you hear the tearing of seams, Carmy moving to the other side and ripping it too. The air's cold on the skin of your ass and cunt, pressing your thighs against the side of the couch like it'll do anything.

"Look at that mess," Carmy grunts before the remnants of your underwear land on the center cushion. "All that cryin' and you still ruined 'em."

The center of your underwear is darker than the rest. It's embarrassing, and it makes your face flush. You tuck your face against the cushion, as if you can hide from the blood rushing to your face.

"No," Carmy says from behind you, a hand coming under your face, lifting you away from the cushion. "Look at it."

He grips your jaw and turns you back to the direction of your ruined underwear, making sure you look at it.

"See the mess you were makin', humping my leg?" You whine at his words, clenching around nothing. You inhale sharply as he presses his erection against your ass, rocking his hips slowly.

The feeling of denim against your core makes you moan softly, pressing your hips back into him. He brings a hand to your waist and gives you a firm squeeze.

"Quit that," Carmy shoves his hips against you, pressing you back up against the couch. Once you stop squirming, Carmy lets go of your face and shifts behind you. The sound of him undoing his belt makes your thighs clench. It clinks as he shoves his jeans and boxers off, letting his cock rest against your ass.

You inhale softly as he pulls his hips back, brushing the head over your entrance. You're glad you took in a breath because when he pushes in it feels like the winds been knocked out of you.

"Fuck- Carm-" You groan, clawing at the armrest under you. The stretch still feels like you're being split open even after a few days without him.

He doesn't give you long to adapt before he's starting a steady rhythm. You lose any train of thought you could have had, effectively lost as Carmy picks up the pace. Moans tumble out of your mouth, rocking your hips back to meet Carmy's movements.

Your head is hazy, reeling from the way Carmy's fucking you. In the past, Carmy's been firm and attentive. Nothing like how he is today. Today, Carmy is like you've never seen him, rough thrusts and rougher hands. He presses your hips down against the armrest, you already know there's going to be finger-shaped bruises there.

"So good, Carm-" You groan, panting against the couch cushion. He scoffs behind you, rolling his hips into you.

"Such a fuckin'-" Carmy starts, but cuts himself short. His breathing is ragged behind you and you can't help the whine that escapes you when he gives you a particularly sharp thrust.

"Such a fuckin' bitch.." He grunts out, hand sliding up to hold the back of your neck. "Cryin' t'get fucked."

"Carm-" You choke out, reaching back for him. "Carmen-"

You squeal softly as Carmy grinds his hips against your ass, fingers brushing the side of his thigh. He takes your wrist in a firm grip and presses it against your back. You press your calf against his, rolling your hips back into his. You breathe out heavily against the cushion, an awful attempt to fill your lungs.

"Please-" You choke out, feeling how he twitches inside of you. "Carm- please- give-"

You sob into the cushion as he slams his hips into you again, effectively cutting off your pleading. You don't have time to think before Carmy pulls all the way out, making you sob again.

His hands are heavy on your hips, pulling you back and off the couch. You're panting as he turns you over, picking you up easily. Your mind is foggy as he carries you before setting you down on a mattress. His hands feel like they're everywhere, as he tugs off your skirt and you try to take off your shirt. Carmy tsks softly and lifts the shirt over your head before laying you back down. You watch quietly as he tugs off his own shirt.

"Carm, please," You whine, grabbing for any part you can reach. Your chest heaves as he lines back up against your entrance. The slow stretch of him makes your jaw drop, eyes fluttering shut as you grab at Carmy's shoulders.

Carmy places a hand above you on the bed as he pushes his hips flush against you, making sure you feel everything. Having him over you makes it easier for you to grab at him, digging your fingers into his back as he grinds into you.

"Look at you.." He breathes softly, giving you a shallow thrust. "Just needed my cock and you start behavin', huh?"

Your words are slurred when you whine out and the look on Carmy's face makes you flush. His eyes are dark as they meet yours and you watch as his jaw tightens, breathing out heavily.

"Didn't come over here to hear y'whining.." Carmy grumbles, grabbing at your chin and shutting your mouth. That doesn't stop a noise from escaping your lips, stifled as he tries to keep you quiet.

It's almost natural.

The way his hand slides down to your neck.

The feeling of Carmy's hand around your throat makes your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as he grinds his hips into you. A groan tears from your throat as your back arches off the bed, hands grabbing for Carmy's arm to ground yourself.

You watch as he lowers himself to rest with his forearm against the bed, punctuating the movement with another shallow thrust. Carmy starts a steady rhythm, looking down at where he fucks into you. It's not long before the tensions building low in your stomach again, squeezing your thighs against his hips.

"C- Carmy- gonna- please let me-" You struggle to finish a sentence, fight to find the words past the feeling of Carmy fucking you the way he is. You don't get a response from him, just a few more rough thrusts. That's enough to send you over the edge, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm washes over you.

"Shit," Carmy grunts, pressing his forehead to yours as he feels your walls clamp around him. "Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel ya.."

He sighs against your lips, closing the small distance as he grinds into you. Your hips rut against him without rhythm, making Carmy groan into your mouth. It's a mess of tongue and spit as he moves his kisses to your jaw, nipping at the juncture under your ear.

The sound as Carmy continues to fuck into you is sinful, filling the room along with your heavy breathing.

"Carm- Carmen, need to feel-" You choke on a sigh, being shut up by a soft nip against your collarbone. Carmy picks up his pace, the sound of skin against skin being chased by his heavy breathing. He trails kisses and bites back up your neck, timing his bites with each thrust.

It makes you whimper into Carmy's hair, grabbing at his back and shoulders as you teeter along overstimulation. He makes it to your mouth, tugging on your lower lip gently with his teeth. You whine quietly, "Bear..."

"Fuck-" Is all you get from him before he's smothering the words against your lips. His pace gets sloppy and frantic as he kisses you. You think you might be able to live like this the rest of your life.

Carmy groans into your mouth, hips rutting into you erratically. He's swears quickly before he pulls out, making you whine before you feel his release on your stomach. You sigh when he pushes his hips into the back of your thighs, feeling his cock twitch against your skin.

You wait as he reaches for a kleenex from your nightstand, wiping off your stomach and stepping it on the surface. With your skin mostly clean, Carmy slips an arm around your middle and presses himself against your side. You hum as he presses soft kisses to the side of your face, whispering sweet things against your cheek and hair.

Once he's done holding you, Carmy falls into his aftercare routine. Pressing kisses to your skin while he cleans you up, helps you dress, and tucks you back into bed.

You grumble at him softly when he gives you a parting kiss, leaving the room for longer than you'd like. You can hear him shuffling around the apartment, the sound of cabinets opening and closing and water occasionally running.

Soon, Carmy is back with water and something else in hand. You lift your head to catch a glimpse of whatever he's got and blink slowly.

"Y'didn't have to.." You mumble, eyeing the plate he sets on your nightstand. Carmy makes a noise before he leans over you, grabbing an extra pillow for support.

He waits silently as you sit up, eyes catching how your nose scrunches in discomfort. Carmy quiets you with a quick kiss before you can make a comment at him. Instead, you hum quietly and take the plate when he sets it in your lap, making a noise of complaint when he parts.

Once you're settled, Carmen crawls over your legs before he lays next to you on top of the comforter. He grabs the extra fork from the plate as you collect a bite, eyeing him while he pokes the food.

"That was hot," You say through a mouthful of food. "By the way.."

Your words surprise a laugh from Carmy and make his face flush while he continues to pick over the plate.

"You'd say that about whatever I did.." He mutters, collecting a bite while he avoids looking at you. His words make you huff, nudging him softly.

"Shut up..." You tell him, letting Carmy steal from your plate quietly.

You eat in silence, taking in Carmy's sex-mused appearance. There's angry red lines slopping along his shoulders and the curls around his neck are messy. You quietly admire the fading hickeys along his chest, left by you a few nights ago. He taps your thigh softly, motioning towards the plate when you've been staring for awhile.

"Eat." He tells you. Carmy watches as you take a few more bites before he starts to collect another.

When you're both done, Carmy collects the plate before taking it to the kitchen. He takes awhile to come back to the room but you wait for him contently. Carmy pauses when he sees you waiting for him and you can see the brief surprise in his eyes.

You wriggle deeper into the blankets while Carmy crosses to turn off the lamp before he joins you. He slips under the covers easily, resting to face you when he's settled.

"Look like I got mauled by an animal.." Carmy grumbles beside you. You make a noise of protest, hitting him softly as you gape at him. You know he's giving you shit, but it hits a nerve.

"Just you wait..." You warn him, knowing that tomorrow you'll look worse than he does. He shushes you softly, tugging your hips closer and tangling your legs together. He placates you with kisses when you start to argue, pressing you into the mattress. You make a noise of contentment, letting him smother you until he's pressing kisses to your jaw and your neck.

You're more than happy to let him kiss you to sleep.

Carmy's gone in the morning.

The bed is made on his side.

The only proof he was there at all is the text when you check your phone.

C: Claire came back while we were asleep. Snuck out.

Underneath is a message from Claire after she would have gotten off from work.

Claire: Did you move the couch?

Claire: Missed it putting my bag down, sorry if I woke you

[everrinsly]

a/n; dedicated to all your favorite boys, thank you for reading! This one is a little long hehe but i hope you like or see the vision at least haha, I'm sorry been slow, busy these days (ಥ﹏ಥ)

strappy heels. fluff. very suggestive. fem!reader. | not proofread.

when he helps you take of your strappy heels after a girls' night out.

♡ For all your ("I will take care of you when you're tipsy") favorites.

more of your favorite boys!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐ᯓ⚽⋆⭒˚.⋆🌌

The door clicks open with a soft creak, and he doesn’t even need to look at the clock to know you’re later than usual. He hears the muffled shuffle of your keys hitting the tray, the distant, light, breathy giggle, and the way you whisper “oops” to no one in particular when your purse slides off your shoulder and hits the floor.

You’re tipsy. Definitely tipsy.

He exhales through his nose, dragging himself up from the couch, where he’s been watching a rerun of your favorite anime—the one he once flatly declared, “I hate that shit,” without even giving it a real shot. 

(And yet… here he is, halfway through the episode because it reminds him of you).

He’s not worried. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re out with your girls, but he does count the minutes until you’re home again—just a little. 

You hum, delighted when you spot him walking toward you, towering and rumpled in a black hoodie and grey sweats. “Hiii! I’m back.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

His tone is dry, but you don’t miss the subtle flicker of relief in his eyes. He looks you over, like he’s making sure all your limbs are intact, checking for twisted ankles and bruised egos.

“How’d it go?” he asks, already reaching to steady you by the waist when you wobble closer to him.

You’re a vision of chaos and glitter, all flushed cheeks and glossy lips, in those ridiculous five-inch strappy heels. The ribbons are starting to slip loose from one ankle, and your steps are full of drunk determination—unsteady but prideful, like you’ve conquered something just by making it to him.

Your arms reach out blindly because you knew he’d catch you before you ever had to think about falling.

(And he does. Of course he does).

You grin up at him, doe-eyes wide and shiny, hands gripping his forearms. “Baby! Baby! You won’t believe what I did!”

That gets a slight raise of his brow. He’s not quite alarmed—more so curious in that lazy, slow-blinking way of his.

“I danced!”

His mouth twitches. “You always dance when you’re drunk.”

“No no no! I danced danced!” you emphasize, grabbing onto his hoodie strings, like they're your anchors. “Like—slutty.”

He pauses. “Slutty,” he echoes flatly.

You nod, so proud. “I was in the center. In a circle. Lights flashing. It was very dramatic. I did this thing—” 

You break off to demonstrate some vaguely suggestive body roll that almost knocks you off balance. His hands immediately catch your hips, grip tightening instinctively.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, holding you still. “You’re banned from moving.”

“No, wait—this one girl screamed, ‘Go off, queen!’” you say with a giggle. “I think I was possessed. My hands were, like, on my knees. I was dropping low, like, so low. I don’t even do squats. And, like, I could feel God watching.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he exhales, long and slow, as if trying very hard not to react.

“Baby… you’re so fucking weird,” he says finally.

You beam. “But hot-weird, right?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at you, then moves his hand from your hip to your jaw, tipping your face up just slightly.

“You’re always hot,” he says simply.

It’s so straightforward that it short-circuits your brain. Your mouth opens, some kind of automatic protest on the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out because he means it, because he’s looking at you like that again, taking his time, like he enjoys how flustered you get under his gaze.

Then, finally, he lets his hand fall from your face, dragging it down your arm in a grounding stroke.

“Aight, pretty girl,” he mutters, eyes flicking down to your feet. “That’s enough for one night. Get out of those heels before you sprain something.”

You blink at him, lips tugging into a playful pout. “They’re cute, though.”

He crouches slightly to eye them again, hands sliding to your waist. “Yeah. They are.”

Your brows lift. “Then why do I have to take them off?”

His eyes flick back up to yours, a hint of smugness creeping into his expression.

“‘Cause if you do,” he says, voice dipping lower, “I’ll give you something cuter in return.”

You squint, suspicious but intrigued. “What kind of something?”

He shrugs, like he didn’t just offer that in a voice that made your knees feel like warm jelly. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“You’re bribing me now?”

“I’m motivating you,” he corrects, already nudging you gently backward until your knees hit the couch, and you drop down with a soft thump.

He kneels in front of you, hoodie sleeves bunched up at his elbows, fingers already brushing against the intricate straps that crisscross up your shin. 

The moment feels thick, suspended—quiet and slow, like the night’s paused just to make room for this.

He doesn’t rush.

His touch is gentle, purposeful, as he slips a finger beneath the nearest loop of ribbon, grazing the warm skin underneath. The delicate strings wind high on your legs, wrapped just tight enough to indent slightly into your skin, and he follows the pattern with his eyes like he’s memorizing it.

(He kind of already has).

He could do this without thinking. He’s seen you wear these before, tie them with a bow behind your calves, legs bent, brows scrunched in concentration while sitting on the edge of the bed. He knows how they work, knows exactly how to undo them.

But tonight, he doesn’t.

Not right away.

His fingers skate deliberately over your shin, dragging along each knot with a kind of reverence, letting the loose ends of the ties slip through his hands. He could’ve unraveled them in seconds, but instead, he watches the way they unravel over your skin, like he’s unwrapping something he’s waited all night to touch.

Your legs look so fucking good.

Too good.

The lighting’s soft and golden, catching the sheen on your skin, the subtle dip of muscle beneath softness, the way your thighs shift slightly as you settle. He’s still kneeling, still eye-level with all that bare skin, and for a moment—just a moment—his thoughts tip filthy.

He imagines you in the club with your girls, hips moving to the bass, doing that stupid slutty dance you mentioned, legs flashing with every twist and turn. These legs. Your laugh echoing, hands in your hair, eyes bright. He pictures them wrapped around him instead, loose and trembling. He can practically feel it.

He blinks, jaw tight, breath caught somewhere deep in his chest.

Focus.

He tugs gently on the first ribbon, unwinding it with care, his knuckles brushing up and down your calf as he follows the path up your leg. One loop. Then the next. He’s quiet as he works, but his hands keep brushing higher, sliding over the smooth skin of your shin, your knee, the edge of your thigh.

“You’re stalling” you murmur, breath catching.

(He is).

“Mm,” he hums, barely glancing up. 

He keeps going, unwrapping you—one slow tie at a time.

When the last ribbon slips loose and the heel finally drops from your foot, he doesn’t move right away, doesn’t even pretend to. He just lets his palm rest over your ankle, thumb drawing soothing little circles over the bone.

And then, he reaches for the other foot.

This one takes longer. This one’s worse.

You shift a little under his touch, and his eyes flick up for just a second—just long enough to catch the way your lips part, the way your breath shallows, the way you're watching him watch you.

He lets out a low breath, something that's barely restrained.

The second heel comes off in the same slow ritual, the straps dragging over your skin, like whispers. And when it’s done, he smooths his hands up the length of your calves again, until they settle on your thighs—fingers spread, thumbs brushing little arcs into the skin there, grounding himself more than you.

He looks up.

His eyes are dark but burning, like his restraint is made of thread; it’s starting to fray.

You swallow, pulse fluttering where his thumbs press into your thighs.

Then, softly, breathlessly, and a little shy despite the heat curling in your stomach, you murmur, “You said you’d give me something cuter once the heels are off.”

He tilts his head, eyes flicking up with amusement. “Right. I did, pretty.”

His gaze doesn’t waver; it dips back down your legs. And his hands slide lower.

“You want it now?” he teases. 

Your breath stutters. “Y-Yeah.”

That smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth—lazy, crooked, all trouble.

“‘Kay.”

He leans in, and you feel it before you see it: the press of his mouth against your ankle, warm and soft, lips lingering, like he’s sealing a promise. Then another kiss, just above it. And another, higher still. He trails them up the inside of your calf, slow and steady, like he’s tasting you, mapping every inch.

You inhale shakily as his hands slide up to cradle the backs of your knees, guiding them apart just slightly, just enough to make room for him between.

Your pulse skips, and almost without thinking, your hands reach out, threading through the dark strands of his hair. It’s soft, warm from the room, and a little messy from how he’s been moving—impossibly touchable. Your fingers curl in deeper, tugging gently, not enough to hurt, just enough to make him look up at you through his lashes.

His eyes flash dark, something smug and heavy simmering beneath the surface.

“You trying to distract me?” he murmurs, voice low, but you can feel it in your stomach.

You blink down at him, flushed, lips parted. “Maybe.”

He smirks like you’ve just challenged him to something he knows he’s going to win.

“Try harder.”

“You're mean.”

“Mm. Worth it?” he murmurs into your skin, breath hot where he pauses at your shin.

You giggle, dizzy. “Uh huh.”

“Good. Means I’m doing it right.” 

He takes his time, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin beside your knee, then the other, alternating sides like he's trying to make you squirm. 

(He’s succeeding). 

You feel his fingers splay wider, curling around your thighs again, thumbs pressing in purposefully. He kisses just above your knee, mouth barely brushing the hem of your dress, and your hips twitch before you can stop them.

His smirk returns, heavier this time, eyes flicking up without lifting his head. “You always this squirmy or is it just me?”

You let out a weak laugh, fingers threading nervously through the hem of your dress. “It’s definitely you.”

“So what happens if I keep going?”

You don’t answer right away. You can’t, really. Your brain’s too fuzzy; your skin’s too hot. He watches you for a moment longer and press one last kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Then, he pulls back, towering over you, hoodie sleeves still shoved up, hair slightly tousled from where you tugged on it.

You pout instinctively. “That’s it?”

He tilts his head, eyes lidded. “For now.”

“For now,” you repeat, muttering. “Cruel.”

He leans down again, but this time his hands frame your face, palms warm against your cheeks as he kisses you—full and close. His thumb brushes the curve of your jaw as his tongue coaxes at your lower lip. You sigh into him, mouth parting instinctively, and he takes the invitation without hesitation, slipping his tongue past your lips.

His lips move against yours like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When he finally pulls away, his voice is lower, gentler.

“You’re home. You’re safe. That’s enough for me.”

And that’s enough for you too.

[arthurs-ficz]

Mission Accomplished // Jax x reader oneshot !!

Caine had decided to give you random jobs for you to complete today, due to him having 'too many overstimulating options' from the submission box, according to him...

Despite this, you were about to complete another job when suddenly Jax decided to bother you. Of course.

"Whatcha doing? Looks real boring and tiring to me."

He says as he practically looms over you, watching to see exactly what you are doing. The jobs that Caine had assigned you, particularly, were pretty tame compared to the adventures you all would regularly go on. It did make you question why you were the only one assigned them, though... and why were these tasks so easy? You shrug it off for now and respond to Jax.

"I have to do some things today."

You say as you complete another task from Caine.

Jax quirks an eyebrow and leans closer, arms folded.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Suddenly, you get the idea to say something risky. To get back at all the pranks and embarrassing things Jax had done to you. Would you regret it? Proba-

"Like you."

S i l e n c e .

Jax’s eyes widened at that, and a slight pink tinge tinged his cheeks. A slow smirk spreads across his expression and his tone becomes cocky as he looks at you.

“Oh, you’re gonna ‘do me’, eh? Really goin’ for full on cheesy pick up lines here, aren’t ya?”

Your cheeks stung with a flush as you looked away from him, continuing with what you were doing.

"Okay, but seriously, I need to get things done today."

Jax rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sigh, his smirk staying plastered on his face.

“Fine, be a boring workaholic. Go do important stuff'n ‘n all.”

He pauses and glances at you sideling again.

“But can’t you spend like, one minute just hangin’ with me first?”

You sigh. Just to get him away, you agree and look at him, his smug expression not leaving your sight for a moment.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

Jax shrugs as a mischievous glint appears in his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m easy to entertain.”

He turns in the direction of Ragatha and Pomni playing in the distance, and a sly grin breaks across his features.

“Or I could always take a tease at Pomni. That’s always fun.”

You sigh through your nose, looking at him with an uncertain gaze.

"Just don't go overboard... like you did last time?"

Jax leans against the wall and snickers, recalling the way Pomni had freaked out last time.

“Hey, not my fault she’s got no chill. You have to admit it’s funny.”

He glances sideling at you.

“Besides, you laughed.”

"Okay- but I laughed because I was in shock okaayy? That's completely different."

Jax grins widely and steps closer. His gaze is heavy as he leans in, his voice lowers to a murmur.

“You’re cute when you act all defensive.”

You hold your breath. He did not just say that.

"Shut up. I'm just telling you the truth here, it's different."

Jax snickers and raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing into a cocky grin. He steps closer so that you’re both almost chest to chest and lowers his voice.

“You’re totally cute.”

He glances sideling at Pomni, who’s still happily playing with Ragatha, and grins wickedly. You're about to open your mouth to object to what he'd said, but he interrupts your thought before it can get out.

“Y’know what would really get her to lose it?”

You stay silent for a moment, not knowing if you should even ask.

"..What?"

Jax grins mischievously and whispers into your ear.

“You should kiss me.”

He looks at you with the smuggest face, with no regret for what he had said. Did he really just say that? Seriously, what is he thinking?! You could have nearly dropped what you were doing right there and then.

"What?! Jax, that's literally crazy!"

Jax glances sideling at Pomni, still happily chatting with Ragatha. He smirks smugly.

“But it’d get a reaction.”

He turns to look right at you and leans in, his breath fanning your face. His gaze is intense and his tone is a smug murmur.

“You wouldn’t be too scared to do it, wouldcha?”

You have to blink before responding. This was insane.

"I'm not scared- it's just extreme for a prank! Let alone teasing."

Jax raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer to you. His voice is silky and cocky.

“But you’re tempted, aren’t you?”

His grin is Cheshire Cat wide as he studies your expression.

"Don't put words in my mouth."

You shake your head before looking at him again. Still has that smug cheeky expression on his face.

"Look, we'll just do this really quickly because then I have to go.. Are we seriously going to do this just in front of them? To give them a shock or something? "

Jax’s cocky smirk widens into full mischief.

“Oh absolutely we are.”

He glances sideling at Pomni and laughs out loud.

“This is gonna be sooo funny—“

"Okay!!"

You interupt.

"Let's just get it over and done with quick..."

You say as you try to keep your flush from staining your cheeks.

Jax’s expression softens a fraction, and he cups your face with one hand, the other hand dropping to your waist. He leans in closer still, his voice lowering to a murmur as his cocky smirk fades to a softer smile.

“You know, I can make it real dramatic. Give you like, the whole big kiss thing and all—“

His free hand brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Or I can make it quick and sweet… your choice.”

"Does it really matter if it's just a prank anyway?"

You mumble under your breath.

Jax’s grip on your waist tightens for a moment as he leans in even closer, his face a mere few inches from yours. He keeps his voice low, his expression an intense smolder and his smugness replaced with a softer, more genuine emotion.

“It matters to me.”

His voice grows to almost a whisper, his grip on your face shifting so that he cups your cheek rather than holding your jaw.

“I wanna know what you want.”

You feel your flush completely burning your face off again. Not only that, but it's suddenly so hard to stand up? Your legs wobble and your breathing hitches as you think of a response to give.

"I don't- I don't mind..?"

Jax pauses a moment longer, his hand still cupping your face. He searches your eyes and grins.

“Well, since you can’t decide, I guess I’m taking charge.”

He leans in the rest of the way, and his lips are on yours. The cocky smirk from before is gone now with the kiss he gives you: soft, almost slow, although they are right in front of both Pomni and Ragatha. However, he does make sure to keep it brief. After a few seconds, he breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t pull back. He keeps his face a few inches away from yours, his thumb idly tracing the outline of your cheek. His tone is soft, cocky smirk gone, and the mischief in his expression is replaced with something softer.

“Mm. You taste sweet.”

He leans forward and pecks you on the corner of your mouth for extra measure. Your thoughts are completely gone, almost like they pooled to the bottom of your shoes. The only thing you can feel now is Jax's surprisingly gentle grip on you.

"Did they- Did they see?"

You barely mutter out.

Jax glances sideling at both of them, trying not to break into laughter.

“Yeah and now they're both freaking out. Ha.”

He grins and turns back to look you directly in the eye, his expression still oddly soft.

“I think mission accomplished.”

[corrcdedcoffin]

Pissed - JJ Maybank

request: yes

summary: you and jj get into a drunken fight and ignore each other for days. in those few days, your friends don't hear from you and go looking for you, only to find you unconscious in the middle of nowhere.

warnings: hurt/comfort fic. drunk fights. mentions of blood and stitches. fluff. happy ending.

Pissed was an understatement. You were furious; full of blinding rage — and so was he.

It started off as a small argument when you saw some girl throwing herself at JJ. You knew he wouldn't ever entertain it, but you were drunk and got jealous (something JJ always thought was cute, except for that day). So, things got heated between you.

You couldn't help it — whoever she was, was practically drooling all over him and trying to touch him wherever she could get her grubby little hands. You saw him laugh hard at something she said, only making her lean into him even more. It drove you mad. Even more so when he didn't seem to be getting rid of her.

Why wasn't he getting rid of her?

Usually when you argue, it hardly ever turns into a full blown fight. It was one of the things the rest of the pogues were surprised by, but fond of. But this time, things were said that can't necessarily be taken back.

Clingy. Possessive. Annoying.

The way he shouted them at you was on a constant loop in your mind. The fact that he'd shouted at you in the first place was enough to have you offended.

Asshole. Fuckface.  Mentions of a break up.

Don't fucking talk to me again.

You couldn't escape it. Everyone knew that JJ was prone to outbursts, but never with you. No, he always kept his cool with you, even during fights. He always found a way to calm himself and you down, always said he didn't want you to go to bed angry because if you did, it meant he failed at making you happy. At being your person.

Now, it's been two days.

Two whole days without seeing or talking to him. Two days of bone crushing dread. 

Kiara had told you about everyone getting together at John B's, and said JJ was already there. You didn't mind keeping it civil while with friends, but you weren't gonna be the first one to break. You were standing your ground. 

When you arrived, JJ got up and left without a word. 

It was like taking a knife straight to the heart. 

You acted like it didn't bother you, but your friends knew you both better than that. Pope tried to offer some consolation and advice, you shrugged it off and said you were fine, but he'd never seen you so quiet before.

On the third day, no one had heard from you at all. John B texted you about the swell, and all he got in reply was a simple no at ten in the morning.

Sarah and Kiara texted and called you throughout the day wanting to have a girls night, go shopping, do something without the boys. They knew you were upset, and nothing could cure a hurting heart like some time with your girls. 

They didn't get a response either.  It wasn't until later that they started to really worry.

You had always been good at keeping your friends in the loop, even if you weren't up to hanging out. You'd say you wouldn't make it, but you'd see them the next day, or whenever you could. You'd still respond to random texts and sent tiktok's, at the very least giving a reaction to it.

Today was radio silence. Even JJ was starting to worry, though he tried not to show it. The girls got mad at him for that.

"You're being an idiot, JJ" Kiara told him.

"Seriously! What if something happened to her?" Sarah added.

JJ rolled his eyes, sighing. "Nothing happened, okay? She's probably just trying to get a rise outta me, and it's not gonna work, alright?"

Everyone was silent at that, because they knew you'd never take it that far.

"I'm gonna go look for her" Sarah spoke, getting up from the couch. She had an uneasy feeling she couldn't ignore. 

Kiara volunteered to go with her, and eventually everyone except JJ had got up from their seats and headed towards the twinkie.

Pope looked back at JJ and let out a deep breath, full of disappointment. "Come on, man. Even you know this is out of character for her, and if you really aren't worried like you're acting, then you're not who I thought you were."

He let the door slam after that, making JJ groan and harshly rub his face. The thought of something happening to you was eating him from the inside out. It wasn't until he heard the sputtering engine start that he got up and ran to the van, shouting for them to wait.

After deciding the first logical place to check was your house, the ride was silent. Shaking legs, fiddling fingers, insides of cheeks being chewed.

It got worse after they found out you weren't home.

They checked everywhere. The boneyard, the park, your favourite cafe, the bar, even checked if you worked that day. Nobody had heard from you.

Everyone was arguing on where to look next, having a hard time deciding since you didn't frequent very many places, and being unable to come up with anything that would make sense for you. They were silenced when JJ got behind the wheel, telling them all to get in.

There was one spot they didn't check.

The drive was a bit lengthy for the tension, the trees growing thicker didn't put anyone at ease. It was a spot you and JJ had found a few years ago while fucking around and exploring questionable terrain. You'd found a small, beaten path and begged him to see where it lead.

To both your surprise, it was a small pond with a semi stable gazebo with a hole in the roof that was big enough to stargaze through. You'd spent quite a bit of time out there together, calling it your own and claiming it as your future wedding spot.

The memories had JJ clenching his jaw.

How could he have been so stupid, so stubborn? You were the light of his life, how could he treat you like this? All you did was shower him with the love he so deeply craved. You cared about him more than anyone, and he hurt you. There were a million thoughts running through his mind. 

Were you hurt? Were you with someone else? Was this really a break up and not just a fight gone too far?

If it was a break up, JJ didn't know if he'd ever be okay again. You were his girl, forever and always. He knew he'd never be able to move on from you, and he never wanted to. 

He slowed down as they got closer, hearts and minds feeling slight relief at the sight of your car. Before he had the van in park, Sarah and Pope had hopped out and ran to your car to check for you. 

JJ was silent as he walked past and through the trees, everyone sharing looks of confusion before shrugging and following along. It was quiet. Mosquitos buzzing and crickets chirping could be heard all around. The occasional twig snapping under someones shoe. 

"Where the hell are we going?" John B broke the silence. 

The path was dark. Sarah and Pope had turned on their phones flashlight as JJ replied, "It's a spot we found a few years ago."

Just ahead they could see the clearing, and the faint outline of the gazebo. Kiara called out your name as she looked around, but got no response. As they got closer to the gazebo, JJ started to run. 

It wasn't until he kneeled down that they saw you lying there. 

"Hey, hey, wake up" he shook you gently. No response. 

"C'mon, baby" he tried again, but it wasn't until Pope shone the light on you that they noticed the blood trickling down your temple. 

"Oh god, what happened?" Kiara asked no one in particular. 

John B walked around looking at the gazebo, noticing a fallen board nearby, a tiny splotch of blood on the corner. "This happened" he held it up. 

JJ clenched his jaw, ashamed of himself for being so stubborn and letting you get hurt. He scooped you up and held you tight, "Hospital. Now."

Everyone ran back down the trail and got the van ready to go, JJ going as fast as he could without light, trying not to trip and hurt you even more. Pope helped him get you in the van, Sarah shutting the door as John B sped back to town. 

He sat on the floor with you pulled against him. Cradling your head and gently stroking your hair away from your face, pulling it out of the drying blood and exposing your wound. It didn't look life threatening, but you'd definitely need stitches. 

"Check her nose" Pope said, turning his flashlight back on. 

"For what?" John B asked. 

"If her brain is bleeding!"

"There's no blood" said Sarah. 

"It's not blood that comes out, it would be clear and watery and it's not good."

JJ looked, then wiped a finger under your nose. "She's good" was all he said. 

They went back to being silent after that, watching with sadness as JJ caressed you and kissed at your head over and over. Any other time anyone saw him tear up at something, they'd have laughed and poked fun at him for breaking his tough guy exterior. This time, they were silent. 

It was his worst nightmare come true. Fighting and not talking, on the brink of losing you not just temporarily, but forever. 

He ran into the hospital as fast as he could when they pulled up, careful not to shake your head too much. He screamed for help. He placed you on a bed. He watched as they ran away with you, checking your pulse and your breathing, and he was left there to wait. 

It felt like a lifetime sitting in that waiting room. Twiddling his thumbs, watching the news, reading shitty magazines. He tried to nap, but his brain was working overtime telling him all the things he did wrong in your relationship, specifically the last four days. 

He tried to see you. 

The doctors and nurses kept telling him no, family only. They didn't listen when he said he was your boyfriend, and they didn't care that he was the one to bring you in. Pope and John B had to hold him back and talk the staff out of kicking him out. 

He had to wait nearly six hours before he got to see you. Six dreadful hours. Your parents never showed up, so the doctor finally let him in after JJ explained that they were on another continent, and the only family that was here, was them. 

They all piled into your room, staring at you. Stitched and bandaged, monitor clipped to your finger and an IV attached to the opposite hand. 

"She's going to be fine," the doctor began. "Minor concussion at most."

"Then what's the IV for?" JJ asked. 

The doctor sighed, knowing he wasn't letting up until he got answers. "C'mon man. She's got no one else here" JJ spoke, fatigue preventing him from snapping. 

"It's antibiotics in case of any infection from the wood, just a precaution. I'll leave you to it" she nodded before leaving the room. 

Everyone stayed for a little while before leaving. John B and Sarah said they'd be back in the morning with some clothes for you both and some food. JJ sat in the stiff visitors chair, scooting close and holding your hand, resting his head on your bed and finally getting some sleep for the first time in days. 

He woke up to a soothing scratch against his scalp. He always loved when you'd play with his hair. 

His head shot up and he stared at you, wide eyed. Everything he wanted to say to you got bunched up in a ball and stuck in his throat, his eyes watering as he struggled to get any sort of word out. 

"It's okay" you whispered, and he lost it. 

"It's not okay" he shook his head, "I'm so sorry" he sobbed. He apologized over and over, a blubbering mess. You rubbed his hand, his arm and his back as he cried until he calmed down. 

"God, I'm an idiot" he sniffled, "You're the one hurt and in the hospital and you're the one comforting me" he shook his head, wiping his eyes and nose. 

"That's okay" you shrugged. 

"No, it's not!" he argued, rubbing his face in distress. "Are you okay? How's your head?" he asked, moving to sit next to you on the bed, not letting go of your hand. 

"It's fine. A little sore but.." you shrugged. 

He just stared at you. He tried to come up with anything to make the situation better, but he couldn't. 

"I'm so sorry, baby" he whispered. "For everything. The fight, the things I said, everything after. For being so fucking stubborn I- I'm so, so sorry." 

You nodded. "I'm sorry too. I--"

"No, you don't have anything to be sorry for."

"JJ stop. Just because I hit myself in the head doesn't mean I didn't also fuck up, okay? I lost my shit on you and it wasn't cool, I was just.. I don't know. Drunk and jealous, and I didn't handle it well, clearly."

"We were both idiots" he stated. "I just, I need to make sure you weren't serious when you mentioned breaking up. Or if you were." He choked out. 

Every single part of him was praying you didn't mean it. He wasn't sure what he'd do if you did. 

You shook your head, tears spilling out. "No," you sniffled. "I don't want that. Do you?"

"No, no, absolutely not. You're it for me, sweetheart."

You were released from the hospital a few hours later. John B and Sarah had brought you some clean clothes and a peanut butter sandwich with a wildberry juice box. You scarfed it down before they even started to take you home. When parking outside your apartment, they both gave you a big hug and kiss on the head before leaving. 

JJ didn't let go of you since you woke up. He always had a hand on you, or holding you, he even helped you get dressed before leaving the hospital. He doted on you all day long, making you food and snacks, bringing you water, massaging wherever he could get his hands on you. 

You'd spent the day watching movies, talking, cuddling. Making up for the days lost. 

He'd made spaghetti for dinner, then ran a bath for you, candles all around and bubbles filling the tub. He undressed you, helped you in, and then sat on the floor right next to you. 

"What're you so far away for?" you asked, and he scooched closer. You shook your head. "Get in" you said. 

You watched as he undressed and climbed in behind you. You leaned back against him and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of him rubbing your arms, shoulders, neck and chest. Relishing in the love and affection he was showering you in. 

It was quiet and relaxing, and you never wanted it to end. 

"I love you" JJ whispered, kissing your head. "So much."

"I love you, J."

[doiliedaze]

Pretty Thing

Warnings: somno, dub-con, restless/trouble sleeping reader, reader shaking ass, established relationship, Sevika makes reader smoke (weed), play wrestling turns to man handling, Sevika orders reader around, fingering (r! receiving), groping, praise (r! receiving)

Genre: smut, fluff

A/n: DARK FIC!! Thank you @bambishaven hope you enjoy this!!

───────┈ · ·

You know that when you feel your thoughts swarm your head that you aren't gonna be able to sleep. This the fifth time this month and you don't even know how many times in general you've felt like this! Regardless you're fucking exhausted and want some damn sleep.

So instantly you jump into your routine and hope to fall asleep! Setting up affirmations and soft music on the laptop while doing some skincare.

Although the lighting is dim and the music is soft you can still feel your brain full force! While your mochi face mask dries you decided to get into some comfort pajamas and check on your hair under your strawberry bonnet knowing you probably shifted something already.

The mix on your laptop ended and a suggested playlist started to play. You were tryna keep everything low energy but when you heard "Freak Hoe" flow through your speakers you had to shake some ass!

You scurry from the bathroom to the floor length mirror in your room as look back at it. The movements of your ass eating up them shorts!

It definitely took your energy but wasn’t enough to make you sleepy, just huff and puff.

You open the window and let the cold air hit your face calming you down!

In your heart of hearts you know the one thing that’ll put you to sleep: Sevika.

The sensual scent of smoke and mocha. Her luring voice and big hands. Her natural confidence all of her just makes you relax.

The clock reads 2:00 am so you know she’s up but you don’t wanna bother her!

Fate was on your side because she called two minutes later, asking to come over. So now you wait patiently by the door.

You didn’t have to as she has a key but it gave you and advantage to jump on her when she entered!

“Woah? There’s no need for this much energy I thought I’d find you in bed wallowing at least.” She chuckles as she adjusts you in her arms.

“Nope had to wait for my Vika! And I can’t sleep but it’s more so about you!”

Her grey eyes soften as she notices the restlessness behind those pretty brown eyes.

“Lemme make you something” she whispers as she pecked your nose. “Only if you want”

“Well I do so just sit and relax for me okay?”

Silently you walk to the couch as you relax your body and watch her get to work. Zoning in on her back muscles when she takes her jacket off. Her wife pleaser hugging her just right!

The smells in the kitchen start to flow into your nose and your heart swoons. Your big bad girlfriend is making you Khichdi.

“Here” she states as she places it in front of you.

“Did you poke a smiley face into it?”

“Thought you’d like it…” she grumbles slightly flustered.

“I do! Thank you vika” you kiss her flesh knuckles then her metal ones.

Honestly sleep was starting to seep into you especially after the meal and Sevika carrying you to bed. But there is something itching to keep you up and it’s almost 4 am!

“Take this” she whispers as she hands you the pre-roll. Never opposed to a puff here and there you take it.

You were expecting the weed to lull you at least a little but it gave you an energy of sorts.

“Alright we gotta do something to tire me!” You whine feeling bad about keeping your girlfriend up but you need this!

“I could fuck you to sleep”

“That was so corny” you laugh and with a half smile she says, “can’t be so corny if I’ve done it before!”

“Girl no you haven’t!”

“Oh really?” She says as she snatched you up. Instinctively you push her away with her feet. That put some distance between y’all but she ends up slamming you into the bed.

“Okay she-hulk!”

“Fuck you” She snorts then clears her throat, “let me help you fall asleep though”

“Just thirsty for it huh?” “Shut the fuck up before I leave!” She says letting your wrist go and your hands shoot up to grab her torso, “please don’t go!”

“Why not you’re being a brat?”

“I’ll be good, I promise” you say as you take another hit of the blunt finally feeling the smoke in your head take over.

Her eyes lock onto yours as she leans in for a kiss and you just blow smoke onto her face.

A smile twitches on Sevikas lips as she takes the blunt. “Can’t keep your promises for shit huh?”

Before you could respond she pushes you off the bed, “damn!” You laugh as you lay sprawled out on the floor.

“Get the fuck up.” When you heard her tone you pop up, wobbly but quickly!

She was laid back against your bed frame and her eyes narrowly stare at you. Her pointer finger beckons you over and you listen.

She makes you wait like a dumb puppy before she pats her lap. Eager you sit down and let your back sink into her chest, craning your neck to look up at her.

Her scent and the need not to piss her off makes you relax in her embrace, stressing your little mind out on how to be good for her.

Sevikas hand caresses your inner thigh as she sees you drift off to sleep.

“Finally” she mutters to her herself as she moves those flimsy excuse of sleeping shorts out her fingers way so she can enter your welcoming cunt!

Her mechanical hand gliding under your shirt to play with your nipple. Squeezing and pulling them. You sleepily moan her name causing her to smile, “such a good girl when you wanna be” she whispers.

She uses her foot to open you leg up more to give her fingers a deeper access.

Her middle and ring finger beginning to pick up the place.

“Got you all to myself—fuck you’re such a pretty little thing” she mutters as the squelches of your pussy makes her clit throb.

“Vika” you moan, big brown eyes looking up at her through your lashes.

“Yes baby girl?”

You mutter incoherently and she just smiles, “be quiet okay?” Sleepily you nod, “good job” she snickers, enjoying how reliant you are on her.

Sevika speeds her fingers up and your hips shake but your jaw is slack against her. “This is my pussy yeah? Mine to take…fuck you keep sucking me up.” She groans as the sensation of you clenching around her heightens as you reach your orgasm.

Quickly her fingers retract to rub circles on your clit to help you ride out your high and to kneed the plush of your breast.

She sucks on her fingers as he head rests against the headboard while she calms herself down. Gently she rolls you off and on your side, hand never leaving your boob.

Sevika drifts off into sleep holding you tight as the cool night air flows into the room from a forgotten open window.

Next time you’ll cut the chase and call Sevika the moment you can’t sleep.

───────┈ · ·

A/n: wait dolls outta all the somno fics i wrote i think this one and Abby’s are my favorites! I hope y’all loved it and honestly I need this irl LMAOOOO

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos @artemisdreamfairie @ellabswife

Dividers- @dollywons