#those are just the first two that come to mind

[leclerc-hs]

bad grip - op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader summary: in which you can't seem to get oscar to crack OR you and oscar are in love, but only friends... warnings: friends to lovers au, angst, smut, jealousy, fluff?, NOT PROOFREAD, language, shitty writing?? word count: 5.4k author's note: hi hi hi!!! this was posted from my queue so hopefully everything goes accordingly! i still can't stop thinking of his head tilt in that one video from admin. so hot. maybe i need to write more of him....also like the win last weekend?? charles helmet smut will be on patreon august 1 sometime at night btw!! xoxo enjoy :))))

You’re snuggled up into the corner of the hotel room couch, drowning in the hoodie you stole from one of his suitcases when he wasn’t looking. And it smells like him. Like his cologne mixed with something clean beneath it.

The sleeves hang past your hands. And you pull one sleeve over your hands, bunching it between your fingertips.

One leg is pulled near your chest, while the other is stretched out, letting your toes brushing against the edge of his thigh. And he hasn’t moved. No, he’s just sitting there looking a little uneasy. Not sick. But in an antsy kind of way.

And he’s got this look in his eyes. Where his mind is on total overdrive but his mouth stays shut. Giving nothing away.

His fingers tap against his thigh in the same rhythm it always does when he’s lost in his head. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Pause. Repeat.

The TV is playing some random show that neither of you are paying attention to. But you don’t really care. It’s just background noise.

You glance at him. And his face is calm, but you know better. Know him better.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you mutter, voice soft.

And he shrugs. But his face doesn’t change. “You’re loud enough for the both of us.”

You snort, hitting his leg with your toes, just to feel him push his leg back. “You’d miss me if I shut up for more than a few minutes, be honest.”

This gets you a look. One of those slow glances that starts near your mouth and ends at your eyes. And his mouth quirks up.

“You’re right,” he says, voice low. “Hate the peace and quiet.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing but smile growing. “Y’know, you’re so full of shit sometimes.”

His head finally hits the top of the back cushion behind him. Shoulders dropping a fraction. Relaxing. But he turns just enough to face you a bit more directly. Arm stretching along the back of the couch, fingers dangling behind your neck. But not touching you.

“I like when you talk,” he says. Like it’s so simple.

And it catches you off guard. Hits you right in the chest. You swallow hard.

“Are you flirting with me?” It comes out light. In a teasing manner as you raise a single brow. “Because it felt like you just did.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Doesn’t look away either. Just watches you for a long moment. 

And then he shifts just a little closer. Knee brushing against yours. And then his fingers stop tapping.

“Would it be so bad if I was?”

It’s not cocky. Not smug. And its not even really a question.

Your breath stutters a little, just for a fraction of a second. And you know he notices because his eyes flicker. Like he’s been wondering what you’d do with the truth.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips slowly. “I guess that depends on how good you are at it.”

And for the first time all night, he laughs. It’s not loud. More like a huff. 

“Guess we’ll see,”

-

You walk into his hotel room before him, kicking your shoes off, and stretching your shoulders with a loud sigh. Like the night’s worn you out, which it has. 

The door clicks shut behind you. “I might be dying. Like actually dying.”

Behind you, Oscar’s quiet. But you hear his movement as he slips his jacket off. Unbothered.

“Y’always eat like you’re Joey Chestnut or somethin’…in a eating competition,” He mutters, slinging the jacket on the back of a chair. 

You spin around, in full righteous offense. A loud gasp. “I had two courses! And you had three…and you still stole half of my dessert!”

He doesn’t even so much as bat an eyelash at you. Just lifts a brow and folds his arms across one another. “Yeah, but I’m elegant. Y’looked like you were gonna vacuum the plate right up.”

Your jaw falls open. “You’re such a little shit when you’re full.”

His lips twitch upward. “M’always a little shit.”

You let out a groan. Theatrical and loud. Collapsing backward onto the edge of the bed. Arms spread wide. “I need a massage. Or a nap. Or death.” You shimmy up to the top of the bed, head on the pillow.

Oscar doesn’t respond. Just disappears into the bathroom with that usual silence of his. And you hear the faucet running a few moments later, the zip of the toiletry bag he always packs. 

And your eyes fall shut for a few seconds. Then the sound of footsteps approaching, and you glance up. He’s standing there.

Placing a glass of water and two ibuprofen onto the nightstand beside the bed. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even bother to look at you for long. Just…leaves them there.

Your chest tightens. Just a little bit.

“Wow,” you smile. “Wanna tuck me in too? Maybe read a bedtime story?”

Oscar snorts, but sits at the edge of the bed. Crossing one of his legs onto the mattress without hesitation. “What do y’wanna hear? The story of a girl who inhales her dinner, talks too fast, and ends up losing her feet from stupid shoes?”

You laugh, reaching out to shove his shoulder. But it’s equivalent to punching a wall. He doesn’t move. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to chuck something at you.”

He grins. Then tilts his head just a little bit. “Your mascara’s smudged.”

You blink. And before you can reach your phone to check with the camera, he’s already leaning in, thumb brushing under your eye. Careful. Sweet.

“For someone who acts like he hates people,” you say. Throat tight. Eyes on him. “You’re kinda soft.”

Oscar shrugs one shoulder, fingers lingering against your cheek. “You’re not people.”

And it hits you a little harder than it should.

-

The sky is a bright orange as the sun sets over the water, stretching along the coastline just outside of Melbourne. From where you sit, the beach house…tucked up a hill behind you, looks kind of like some staged postcard. Windows open and curtains swaying from the ocean breeze. 

Oscar is sprawled out beside you on a navy blue striped towel. Arms folded behind his head. Sunglasses sitting on the slope of his nose. And his hair is chaotic looking. But he looks calm. Is calm. The only kind of calm you see only outside of the paddock.

You’re sitting beside him. Heels dug into the sand, hands resting on the towel behind you, sitting you up. The heat of the sun clings to you.

“Sometimes I forget that you’re Australian,” you say. Turning your head to look at him.

And he cracks one eye open, not bothering to lift his head from the palm of his hands. “Because m’not riding a kangaroo or throwing a barbie?”

You snort. “Because you barely tan. You just burn. And you’re always like….not here…y’know?”

His lips twitch. “Keep talkin’ and see if I drive you back to the airport.”

But he doesn’t take the bait. Just closes his eyes again, like he’s unbothered.

You smile, looking back at the ocean. “Please. You love having me here.”

There’s a short-lived moment of silence. Just the sound of waves crashing against the shoreline heard.

“Yeah. I do.”

It’s a simple response. There’s no teasing tone. No smirk. Just a truth. And it sends a wave of warmth through your chest. Making your stomach flutter.

You look back at him. And he’s now propped up on a single elbow, his sunglasses pushed to the top of his head. And his eyes are on you. Just looks at you with that soft intensity he’s so good at. 

Then, with a light touch, he’s reaching over and brushing the grains of sand of your knee. Hand lingering a second longer. Warm. 

“Y’always this annoying on holiday?” He says, amused. A tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You shrug your shoulders and turn to look back at the water. “Only for people I like.”

And it’s silent again for a few moments. Before he’s muttering, “Lucky me.”

And the funny thing is…he means it.

-

The kitchen is dim. The ocean breeze blows through the open patio door. The curtains around it moving gently along the light breeze.

You’re standing barefoot on the tile, swallowed in one of Oscar’s oversized hoodies. The same one you always steal. 

It just fits the best you always claim. It falls mid-thigh, sleeves long and hanging past your hands as you fumble around making cups of tea. The kettle is heating on stove. Steam starting to flow from the spout.

Oscar walks in behind and doesn’t speak. He moves quietly…always has. He just steps up behind you, all calm and heat, reaching up over your head. 

His chest brushes against your back. Light…but definitely intentional.

You keep your eyes fixed on the kettle as he opens the cabinet and grabs two mugs with one hand.

“Y’just love to do that, don’t you?” Your voice is teasing.

Oscar raises a brow as he hands you a mug. “Do what?”

You turn to face him. 

Big mistake.

Because he’s fucking close. Closer than he should be. Like the kind of close where your chests are touching and the air is thick. 

You tilt your chin up anyways. Eyes narrow. A smirk on your lips. “Hovering.” You say. “Acting like it’s not on purpose.”

And his eyes darken just a little bit. Steps a fraction closer. Smirking as he leans a hand on the counter beside your hip. Trapping you.

“M’just helping.”

“No.” You grin. “You’re flirting.”

His lips twitch. And he does’t deny it.

Just hands you a mug. Fingers brushing against yours.

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks. A slight tilt of his head.

You blink. The kettle whistling behind you.

And you hold his gaze. Curling your fingers around the mug to keep yourself steady.

Then you step side, walking through the small opening he left. “Six out of ten.”

And he lets out a short laugh behind you. “Generous.”

You pour the steaming water into the mugs, and then head toward the patio door. 

“Still not kissing me,” you call without giving him a look. “Points off.”

And he just watches you walk onto the patio.

-

You’ve met most of Oscar’s close friends by now. The few he lets into the smaller corners of his life. The people he trusts. And it’s easy to forget how long you’ve actually known each other.

The bar is dim and chill. A local band is playing some covers, lighting low, and a breeze is pushing through the open doors.

You’re standing in a circle with some of Oscar’s friends. Not a well made circle, but a circle nonetheless. You’re nursing a cocktail, laughter slipping easily. Your hand brushing against one of their arm’s as you make a point in the conversation, as you lean in a little too close to hear a joke.

Across the room, Oscar’s leaned against the bar with one of his friends.

Watching. Not in a weird way. Just observant. Like he always has been.

His arms are folded across one another. A beet bottle in hand, his thumb tapping against the bottle. And he seems quieter tonight. Still engaged in the conversations, still smiling. But his eyes haven’t left you for long. And every time someone touches your arm, or makes you laugh just a little too much, you swear you see his jaw clench.

You try to ignore it. Chalk it up to just Oscar being in a mood.

Until some guy you’ve never seen before slips into the circle. Tall. Tan. Definitely a few drinks in. And he slides in like he knows someone. Which maybe he does…and then says ajoke that has everyone laughing. Even you.

And when you laugh, he leans in closer. His shoulder brushing yours.

Totally casual and meaningless. At least it is…to you.

But not to Oscar.

Because he’s beside you before the guy even finishes his next sentence.

“She’s good,” Oscar says, voice smooth. “Thanks.”

The guy blinks. Confused. “Just being friendly, mate.”

Oscar smiles. But its not really polite. It’s sharp and tight. Barely reaches his eyes. “So am I.”

It’s not really a threat. But it sure as hell lands like one.

The guy steps back. His hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.” He mutters something before heading back to the bar. Disappearing.

You turn to look at Oscar. “That was dramatic.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even glance at you right away. His eyes are still trained on the guy’s back, following his exit. 

When he finally turns his head, his eyes sweep down to yours. Slow. Steady.

“Don’t like people touching what’s mine,” He says casually.

“Yours?” You echo. Voice quieter than you mean it to be.

Oscar breathes out a low huff. Runs a hand through his hair. “Shit,” he mutters. “I meant…”

“No.” You step closer to him. Voice calm. “You meant what you said.”

He looks at you. Like really looks at you.

And for once, the silence isn’t calm. It’s tense.

“Yeah,” he says. Voice a whisper. “Yeah, I did.”

You don’t answer right away. Just hold his gaze. Then slowly, reach for his half-empty drink. Sip it without even asking.

His eyes stay fixed on you.

“M’not a thing you can own, Osc.” Your voice is teasing. “But you can keep hovering if it makes you feel better.”

He hums. His hand reaching for your waist and settling there like he’s been aching to do it. His thumb slips along the waistband of your pants.

It’s possessive. It’s soft. It’s him.

“I wasn’t asking,” he says.

-

The rest of the night is still warm as you walk side by side with Oscar, neither of you really saying much. 

You haven’t really needed to.

“Your friends are fun,” you say eventually. “Even if they told way too many embarrassing stories about you.”

Oscar glances over, but only for a few seconds before looking back toward the street. A smirk pulling on his lips. “Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of it.”

You grin and nudge his shoulder. “Not my fault young Oscar was so chaotic.”

He laughs. A short one. But real. 

Another few steps of silence pass. And then his voice breaks it.

“I didn’t like that guy touching you tonight.”

You turn your head to look at him. Still walking. And your breath catches.

He’s already looking at you. Eyes serious. Steady. But there’s a faint blush showing on his cheeks that crawls down to the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah, I noticed.” You mutter. “Got all alpha male on him.”

Oscar breathes through his nose. Not really a laugh nor a sigh. “Did I?”

You nod, turning to look back at the pavement ahead. “Yeah. It was all so don’t touch her or I’ll kill you energy.”

He’s quiet for a single step.

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

You freeze. Stop walking.

And he stops too. Turns to step closer to you. So close that your space becomes his too. So close that you can smell the faint linger of his cologne.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

“I didn’t,” you whisper back.

His gaze is locked on your eyes for a brief moment. But then flickers down, trailing your face like he’s trying to memorize everything about you. And his eyes land on your mouth for a moment too long, before looking back at your eyes.

“Osc,” you say.

Its a warning. A dare. A plea.

But he exhales hard. Like he’s winded. Before lifting his hand slowly to your jaw.

“I want to,” he says, tilting his head back for a moment with his eyes squeezed shut. “Like…really fuckin’ want to.”

His thumb brushes your cheek. And you’re leaning into it. 

“But if I…” He swallows. “If I kiss you now…I wont…I won’t be able to pretend after.”

You understand. Fingers twitching at your sides. You want to reach for him. Let your mouth crash into his and finally…finally see what it’s like when he stops holding back.

But you don’t.

Because you know once the line is crossed, there will be no going back. And that means something.

So instead you give him a slow nod. “Okay…not tonight.”

His jaw clenches. But he nods.

And then you walk again. Slower. Your hand slipped into his. And he’s gripping it like he’s been waiting for years to do this.

-

The house is still. Quiet.

The kind that only exists before any coffee is made. 

You wake slowly, limbs heavy.  Twisted in the same blanket Oscar threw over you last night when you passed out on the couch in the middle of a movie. The blanket tangled around your legs, an arm slung over your head to block the light filtering through the curtains. 

You blink a few times. Trying to recollect your thoughts. Wondering where you are, what time it is, and why your back fucking hurts.

“You snore a lot.”

You groan, rubbing at your eyes. “I do not!”

Oscar laughs. “You definitely did last night.”

You sit up, the blanket slipping down to your waist in the process. Your hair’s a mess, eyes still half-lidded. And you glare down at him. Because he’s sitting on the floor in front of you. His legs stretched out and back resting against the couch.

His hair is almost as crazy as yours. Wearing the same hoodie he pulled on after you got back from the bar last night. Sleeves pushed up. Mug in his hand.

“It’s too early to fight.”

Oscar lifts the mug to his lips. “Wouldn’t win anyway,” He says with a small smirk. “You’re a menace without coffee.”

Your heartbeat rises. Stupidly. At how close he is. And not just physically. But because he always seems to be near when you wake up. Like he doesn’t want you to wake to an empty room.

You look at the mug. “Is that mine?”

He holds it out without a word.

Your fingers brush his as you wrap both hands around the warm mug. Sighing into the first sip…because it’s perfect. Just how you like it.

You glance at him. “Y’know…you’d make a good housewife, Osc.”

He looks at you with a flat look, but it’s soft. “You’re on the couch I got. Drinking coffee I made.”

You smile over the rim. “And you still won’t kiss me.”

It slips out. Fast. Almost too easy.

You don’t even look at him when you say it. Just bit your lip, pretending its a joke.

But he doesn’t laugh. And he doesn’t let the silence enter either.

“Don’t.” His voice serious. “Don’t say it like that.”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like I didn’t want to.”

You nod slowly. The mug right before your lips. Chest tight. “Then why didn’t you?”

He exhales through his nose. Runs a hand through his hair. Looking at the ceiling like there might be some answer hidden up there. “Because you matter,” He says. “And I’ve never cared this much before.”

You scoot down the couch. Knees brushing his shoulder so that he can lean into them if he wants to. He does. 

You sip your coffee. “M’not going anywhere, Osc.”

And maybe that’s all he needs to hear. Because a second later, his head drops to your knee. Like he’s been wanting to lean into your touch for too long.

-

It’s late. The kind that makes hotel rooms feel lonely. Another country, another race.

The curtains are closed, a crack of light entering in the middle. 

You’re sitting on the edge of his bed. One of his hoodies, like always, draped over you. 

Across the room, Oscar sits in the chair near the window. Legs stretched and ankles crossed. Shoulders loose, but he’s not relaxed. His eyes are on you.

“You okay?” You ask.

He nods. Shrugs. “Just tired.”

You hum in agreement. But something isn’t right. Not with the way his jaw’s clenched. And how he’s acted all night long. With his clipped responses.

“You’ve been distant.” You say.

“I know.” 

He doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t argue.

And it lands harder than you expect.

You look down at your fingers, twisting the rings on your fingers. Throat tight. “Is it me?”

His body shifts. Like he wants to reach for you, but won’t.

“No,” he says. Quick. Firm. “Never you.”

And you nod. Even though it still aches.

“Feels like me,” your voice small.

Oscar breathes hard, tipping his head fall agains the back of the chair. Closing his eyes for a moment. And when they open again, they’re gentle.

“It’s what you make me feel,” He says. “M’not used to it.”

He shifts forward. Resting his elbows onto his knees. Fingers laced between them.

“Especially now that we’ve…uh…addressed it,” He adds. A smile tugging at his lips. “Being around you makes everything else…” He trails off. 

Searching for the right words. But they don’t come easily.

“Harder.’

You blink, a little confused. “Harder?”

He nods, eyes trailing toward the window.

“To focus. To race. To pretend that I’m not thinking about you all the time.”

You move quietly. Taking in his words. Cross the room and sink down to the floor in front of him. 

“I don’t want to make things harder for you,” you whisper.

He lets out a small breath. 

“It’s not your fault. Never your fault.” He’s looking at you. Eyes dark. “You just make me want things…that I don’t know if I’m allowed to have.”

-

You miss Oscar. 

The afterparty is buzzing. Music hammering against the walls. McLaren finished a race with a 1-2 podium finish. The kind of result that earns drinks and a late night of dancing. 

Your standing near the balcony doors, letting the breeze cool your skin. A half finished drink lingers in your hand. The condensation slipping onto your fingers.

And Oscar hasn’t spoken to you all night. At least, not properly.

No banter or smirk. No actual conversation.

You told yourself you wouldn’t care. That he’d never make a move anyway. 

And then Lando appears. Sliding into the space beside you with a crooked grin and a beer in his hand.

“Didn’t thin you’d be all the way out here,” he says.

You glance at him, giving a faint smile. “Just observing. It’s so hot in there.” You turn to look at Oscar.

Still leaned against a wall, surrounded by people. Laughing with the engineers. Relaxed.

Lando follows your gaze. “Y’always stare at him like that?”

You scoff. “What?”

“He’s not even paying attention, y’know. But I am.”

You grin, knowing he’s just being a playful little shit. “But I am.”

You look at him. Really look. And he’s close. Eyes warm, teasing. 

“That’s the line you’re sticking with?” You tilt your head. Smiling.

He grins back. “Is it working?”

And the worst part about it…is that it kind of is. At least for a brief second. Because Lando is easy in a way Oscar never is. Open. Bright. 

So you lean in, just a smidge. Let yourself enjoy the way Lando looks at you because why not? Let him flirt. Let his eyes trail your face, flick to your mouth. Let him step closer.

And you feel the weight of Oscar’s stare from across the room. Heavy. Like a hand resting on your shoulder. 

And when you glance Oscar’s way, he’s watching. Not smiling. Eyes dark. Like he’s debating whether he should walk over and intervene. But he doesn’t. Because that’s not his way.

No. He’s too calm and calculated. Too careful when it comes to you.

So you head back towards the center of the room with Lando a few minutes later, laughter filling the air. 

You spend the next hour trying to focus. Let Lando spin a story in your ear. Let him twirl you around. But your eyes keep scanning the room. Call it a habit. 

And then you finally see him standing not too far away. Alone. Eyes locked on you like he’s been waiting for you to notice. Waiting for you to move.

Lando catches your stare, urges you to go talk to him. And Oscar doesn’t move until you’re only a few inches from him. 

“I saw that,” he says. Voice low. 

You tilt your head. “What?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Lando.”

You shrug. “He was just being nice.”

But his gaze sharpens. “He was all over you. Touching you.”

You close the space between you. His gaze drops to your mouth for a half a second. 

“Okay,” you say. Soft. “So what?” Are you gonna stand there and sulk?”

You take another step. His breath catches.

“Or are you going to actually do something about it?”

He leans in. Slow. “M’trying to not fuck this up.”

“And what if you already are?” You whisper.

He freezes. Because he knows your right. 

Knows that if he keeps holding back too long, keeps pretending, and keeps letting moments pass… that it will push you away.

-

You don’t even make it to the end of the hallway. Not even close to it in fact.

Because Oscar’s hand is wrapping firmly around your wrist. Stopping you. 

And you turn, startled by the grasp. But he’s right there. And you feel the way his chest rises and falls too fast. The tension cracking.

His fingers slide lower until he’s lacing them with yours. And then pulls you back into him. You stumble just a bit, but he’s steadying you. Guiding you until your pressed back into the wall. 

You gasp.

“Don’t do that again,” he says. Voice stripped of calm. Serious.

“Do what?” You play dumb.

“Lando.” His jaw clenches. Eyes flickering with something possessive in them.

He drops your hand. 

“Flirt with him,” he grunts. “Letting him fuckin’ touch you. Letting him look at you like..”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d stop acting like you don’t want me.”

And it hits him hard. Right in the center of his chest.

He steps closer. So close that you can feel his breath hit your face. A hand bracing on the wall beside your head.

“Y’think I don’t want you?” His voice is torn. “I’ve wanted you since the first time you wore my hoodie. Since you sat on my couch like you belonged there years ago. And every day since..it’s just gotten worse.”

Your throat tightens.

“Oscar,” you breathe.

But it’s too late.

His mouth crashes into yours like he’s fucking starved for it. It’s not slow or careful. It’s everything poured into a kiss that’s hot and all consuming.

You gasp into him and he outright groans at the sound. Hands finally grabbing for your hips. 

He presses himself into you. Mouth moving like he’s making up for all the times he didn’t touch you. Didn’t kiss you.

And when he finally pulls back he looks wrecked.

“I’ve been trying to be careful,” He presses his forehead against yours. “But you…” He starts to shake his head. Fingers curling deeper into the skin of your waist. “Y’know exactly how to push all of my fuckin’ buttons, yeah?”

You smile into his lips. Head spinning just a little bit. “And you’re just figuring that out now?”

He grunts but then kisses you again. Rougher. More of a claim than anything.

And he’s done holding back.

- 

Oscar’s hands are on you the very second the hotel door clicks shut.

His hands grip your waist like he wants them attached there forever. Like he can’t bare to ever be apart from you again. His mouth crashes onto yours mid-step as he walks you backward without ever breaking the kiss. It’s rough and relentless. His hands slipping under your dress in the process.

You gasp when your legs hit the edge of the bed, and then he’s pushing you down on the mattress with a soft push.

He follows. Doesn’t even speak. Just groans at the sight of you beneath him. Like that alone is enough to undo him completely.

“Should’ve done this weeks…years ago,” he mutters. Voice rough and full of need. “Should’ve fucked you the second you started looking at me like that.”

You dig your fingers into his back as he leans forward and kisses you again. Harder. Like he wants to fuse your mouths together.

And he only pulls back to drag your dress over your head. He barely glances at it as he throws it somewhere in the room. Probably onto the floor. His eyes stay locked on you. 

He undresses himself fast. And you barely get a full look at him before he’s crawling back over you.

But even in that blur of movement and speed, you see the way he trembles.

His fingers find your thighs, curling one of your legs over his hip. Grinding down against the damp lace between your legs.

“Still gonna tease me?” Your voice is shaky.

He laughs, rolling into you. “Not teasing,” he mutters. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

You moan loudly.

And then his hand slips between your thighs, pushing the lace aside. He finds your clit with ease, rubbing slow circles that make your hips jolt. 

He leans forward, near your ear. “Flirt with Lando again…” He drags his tongue hotly over your neck. “And I’ll fuck you where he can hear you next time.”

You arch under him. Shaking. 

He groans. Deep. Uneasy. “Fuck, you like that?” His voice drops lower. “Y’want me to make you loud, hm? Let people hear who you really want?”

“Fuck, Osc…” you gasp, but it breaks out into a moan as soon as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Ripping them down your thighs in a fluid motion.

Then he’s between your legs.

Pushing into you with a stretch that burns in the best fucking way. Your mouth falls open quietly. Just the gasp of him finally being in you.

His head falls to your shoulder, shuddering once he’s fully seated inside. “Fucking fuck..” He barely gets his words out. “Y’feel so fuckin’ good.”

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist. Digging your nails into his back. And he starts to move. Hard. Deep. 

His hands fist into your hair, holding you in place beneath him. And his mouth presses hot open-mouthed kisses along your throat. Claiming you.

“Y’think we’re still just friends?” He grunts. Nipping at your ear. “Tell me we’re not.”

You don’t answer. Can’t answer. 

So he drives his cock into you harder. Meaner.

“Fucking say it,” He grunts. And he sounds wrecked. “Say we’re not fucking friends anymore while I’m buried in this cunt.”

You whimper. Breathless. 

“No,” you cry out. “No…we’re not…fuck fuck…we’re not friends.”

He thrusts deeper, every stroke hitting that spot deep in your belly just fucking right.

You cry out, arching into him. Fingers fisting the fabric of the sheets.

And you do. Over and over. Until your cunt clamps down around him and you’re unraveling. Crying out into the space between his neck and shoulder. Shaking.

He groans. His thrusts losing rhythm as you milk his cock. Spasming around him.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He yelps. Following seconds later, hips stuttering. A tumble of curses falling out of his mouth as he presses deep into you one final time before releasing into you.

Your chest is still rising and falling. Oscar hasn’t moved much. Still inside of you. Breathing into your shoulder.

You’re staring at the ceiling, content.

“I meant what I said,” he mutters. His thumb reaching out to brush your cheek. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

You nod. “I know.”

He leans in. Presses careful kisses to your cheek. Your forehead. Your lips

“No more pretending, yeah?”

"Yeah."

[bonzirella]

baby trouble !! ft. itoshi rin and mikage reo

Summary: Congrats, you've just given birth! As you proudly hold up your baby, something seems off... the little thing looks just like her father!! And let's say... you're not the most rational about it. wc: 486 for rin and 637 for reo

Includes: gender-neutral reader, reader does give birth but i fully support that mpreg exists in this timeline, reader is not implied to be married with either chara, mentions of hell (?), the children are both biologically female (she/her pronouns) because i stand on reo + rin being girl dads, usage of the word "stupid", reader is lowkey sassy towards both charas but they reciprocate it so ig it's fine, no intense details of the actual birth– just that it took long as hell and was tiring, both men are drama queens, mentions of twisting dick in reo's, mentions of changing genes scientifically, reo x reader, rin x reader, and i think that's it. idk if yoga or chakras is triggering but there's a mention of those too

a/n: gahdamn i wrote so many inclusions you'd think this was an ao3 fic. let me know if you wanna see more characters with this prompt. that photo of rin makes my pecker become a double decker. i want a man like reo.

art creds go to dagoat yusuke nomura divider creds go to @hyuneskkami

itoshi rin

Twelve grueling hours of labor, screaming, sweating, nearly tearing the sheets apart, and swearing you’d never do this again, finally came to an end. The nurses gently handed you your baby, like a prize you’d won after competing in the labor olympics. You and Rin never really talked about what the baby would look like, but in the back of your mind, you always wanted a blend of the two of you. Maybe she’d have your nose, his long lashes, his pretty teal eyes, your smile. Something shared between the two of you, you know? 

So when you pulled the blanket back to get your first look at your daughter… your jaw dropped so hard it could’ve reached the ninth circle of hell. This wasn’t a mix. This wasn’t a collaboration. This was a one-man show. 

Your baby was a carbon copy of Itoshi Rin, as if your womb had been nothing but a copy machine for his genes. The exact lashes, the same teal eyes, the same little pout he wears when he gets upset. You were holding Rin 2.0, and not even a single part of her resembled you. 

You blinked. Then you blinked again. 

“...You’re joking,” you whispered, ready to drop this baby into the ninth circle of hell where your jaw previously went. “Itoshi Rin!” You practically screeched. 

From the hallway, Rin flinched as he was filling up some water at those water vending machines. He didn’t perk up, didn’t tilt his head like the nonchalant emo he is. He flinched because he only hears his full government name when he has seriously fucked up. 

He froze, the water now overflowing. He was sweating bullets. Heart pounding faster than it did during the world cup. What did he do wrong? Was this about how he had to step out during the final hour because he was crying harder than you? Did he not bring enough snacks? Was there a shortage of ice chips? 

He burst through the door, the mildest hint of concern and a pinch of fear on his face, “Are you okay? What happened?” He tried to ask calmly, but the water bottle was trembling so hard in his hands that it could be used as a muscle gun. 

You had an imaginary shadow over your face like a shonen protagonist going through it. You looked at him with a disappointed look and Rin was devastated. You simply turned the baby toward him, and he couldn’t understand what was wrong. She was downright adorable. But you presented her like a dramatic plot twist. “She looks just like you,” you whispered, and he reached out to brush her fat cheek. You snap, “Nine months in my womb, making me suffer… and she comes out looking like her stupid dad.” 

A pause. And then the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “She got the better genetics,” he mumbled. 

He was kicked out of the room immediately.

mikage reo

Your birth wasn’t in a hospital. No, no. It was a water birth in a giant inflatable pool, custom made in Italy, placed in a private room Reo had renovated specifically for this one moment. It had a massage option, heated floors, mood lighting, a chandelier, a painting of your ultrasound he commissioned a world-famous painter to do, and those jet streams jacuzzis have. Probably some light jazz playing in the background too. 

Reo had luxury diaper bags packed days in advance and was ready to go full paparazzi the second the baby came out. The nursery was unhinged. Miniature designer outfits custom-tailored for an infant. Hand-painted ceiling murals. Disco lights. 

“In case the baby gets bored,” he said seriously. 

But when the time came, Reo was worse than you. Snapping at the midwives, gripping his mother’s hand for emotional support, crying into a plush alpaca plush he bought for 150 bucks just to hold during “trauma moments.” He kept shoving ice chips into your mouth like he was trying to keep a dehydrated horse alive. 

Every time you screamed or twisted the sheets in agony, he’d flinch dramatically and wail, “Twist my dick instead! I deserve it. My semen did this to you!” 

He didn’t last. He was swiftly, and violently, taken out of the room by his own mother. 

But when the baby finally came out, and her cries rang out throughout the house, not even divine intervention could’ve stopped Mikage Reo from storming back in. The midwives tried to block him. He juked them like he was back on the soccer field. He got to the baby before anyone else could even blink. 

You, on the other hand, were done. The combo of labor and Reo’s melodramatic ass had drained your soul. You kissed your baby girl gently, muttered “godspeed,” and instantly fell asleep. In the pool. 

Reo held her like she was made of stardust. The moment her little purple eyes opened and she smiled, that exact, smug little Mikage Reo smile, he was done for. This baby was about to be the most spoiled kid on the planet. 

Later, you woke up nestled in bed, wrapped in blankets like a reward for surviving war. You turned your head and asked groggily, “Can I see her?” His butlers handed her to you gently. You expected a mix of your features and his, like any normal child. Yet you forgot that your baby was a Mikage. Expect the unexpected. 

You were met with the future heiress of Mikage Reo. Same eyes, same hair, same stupid smile. You blinked. Then very calmly said, “...Reo.” 

He looked up from where he was refolding her cashmere blanket, “Yes, best parent in the universe?” 

You inhaled. Deep breaths. You did a lot of meditation during pregnancy. Really centered your chakras. Be totally relaxed and cool. Totally relaxed. Totally– You almost ruptured a blood vessel. 

“Nine months in my womb, making me suffer… and she comes out looking like her stupid dad?!” 

Reo froze, his eyes wide, “Is… Is that really a problem?! Wait, I can fix this. I’ll call the top geneticists, we’ll change her DNA immediately. I’m booking an appointment–” 

“You what?”

“J-Just a light modification, sweetheart! I’ll make sure it’s safe! I’ll fund the research myself so it’s not dangerous!”

You glared at him and if looks could kill, he’d be six feet under right now. The baby, of course, smiled. She had the audacity to look cute while committing identity theft. Reo gulped, “O-Or we don’t have to. We can always keep her as is! I love it personally.” Then, under his breath, “...At least she’s got a face worth 705.8 billion yen and counting.. not like, 2 pennies.” 

He slept on the couch that night, and the baby smiled in her designer crib.

part two!! part three!! part four!! part five!!

© 2025 bonzirella . . . . . . . . interested? read more here!!

another a/n: does anyone know what those water vending machines are called? the ones with the sensor where you can fill up your bottle? also, can someone better at english tell me if that comma is supposed to be between again and finally in itoshi rin's first sentence?

[felixir-of-moths]

My answers bellow about ST Fandom! ✨

1. Open-minded, collaborative, supportive

2. Past Stommy: I was just in denial.

3. Nancy: I never really liked her until reading this fic (Why Eddie and Nancy are no longer allowed to play Fuck/Marry/Kill). That's how I started to see her in another light, and now I really enjoy reading/writing her.

4. I think Hellcheer has a very wholesome vibe ☺️

5. Eddie being a mess. It's one of my favorite things: the more of a mess he is, the more I love him.

6. Steddie in domestic bliss, wrapped in blanket on the couch, or camping in the wild... ☕🍪

7. I'm a huge fan of reading AU with very specific settings (a whole fantasy world, a 18th gothic horror saga, everybody is now working for a fire department... ). Some of my favorite tropes to read are came back wrong, ennemies to lovers, angst with happy ending, and the transmasc!Eddie headcanon.

8. I hope more people would come to appreciate some unconventional tropes that challenge masculinity : small dicks, trans men being tops, tops being submissive, bottoms being dominant, guys on the aro-ace spectrum...

9. I'm actually a quiet supporter of Eddancy 🫣 it's very unlike me to support straight pairing, but now is the time to be loud and proud

10. @strangerthingswritersguild of course! Being able to talk freely about a mutual passion, exchanging writing tips, participating in events... That's part of what keeps you going.

11. I'm gonna pick a short fic that hasn't received lots of attention and that I really love: Only in my head, my head. It's a meta fic with lots of hommage to fanfics that inspired me to get back on writing. The concept has a backroom/SCP vibe, with a Steddie ship that may not end well. I'm quite proud of it, and I like that it can also be a list of fic recommendations!

12. @anniebass 's ACT AU and @ataliagold Firecrew's AU are two of the first fanfics that made me say "that's it, i'm going in there, those people are fucking geniuses, i want in".

13. Fic swap ! I love writing for someone, I love writing with a precise canvas or with imposed tags / ship... And I love to do something in a style that is close to what someone like.

14. ✨S T E D D I E ✨

15. I think I'm gonna go for Robin. It's actually hard to decide between Robin and Steve. Why not Eddie? You've read my blog, you know why. I have a problem with my feelings for him, okay?

16. The cars. Look, I hate to be this guy, but cars say so much about the characters in the show. The Beemer, Eddie's van, Bill's car... They're reflect of their social status, daily habits, personalities.

17. Don't y'a, big boy?

18. #transmascEddie 🏳️‍⚧️🥰

19. Stranger Things. I had a 'Munson Obsession' relapse and my only sane way back home was through Fandom Territory.

20. Shaman King ! When I was 14 I wrote like... A thousand pages of SK fanfic, the whole thing was very poorly posted on a Skyblog whose colors were on the eye-burning level.

21. Six of Crows 🐦‍⬛ I discovered with the serie, I read the books, it's a huge inspiration for one of my not-fanfic work.

22. I've met them all in the same time when I joined the STWG ❤️

23. I don't have a specific mutual to tag, but I keep seeing things about The Archivist and I really want to know more.

24. Fandom got me back on writing when I was going through a dry spell. I felt supported, and kind of... useful ? Not that my writing is useful to any body, but the sensation of being part of something is a great morale boost.

25. You will be unhinhed: it's okay. You will talk too much, mess with some rules, worried that nobody likes you: it's okay. Remember all the things you were obsessed about last year and are now forgotten. Remember that all those people on the other side of your phone are just humans living their life. Remember that popularity is something that never happens on purpose, and that it's always flickering. Don't chase it.

✨ love your fandom ask game ✨ 

Saw the opposite of this floating around and thought the reverse might be fun.

list 3 positive things about your current fandom(s)

a headcanon you weren't sure about at first but have come to like!

a character that fandom has helped you appreciate

say something nice about a ship you don't ship (it can be another ship in your fandom, a mutual's OTP, etc)

something you see in fics a lot and love

something you see in art a lot and love

your favorite tropes to read/write/draw

you hope more people will come to appreciate ___ (a ship, a trope, an episode, etc)

a ship that isn't your OTP but that you enjoy

a blog (mutual or one you follow) that has made your fandom experience brighter

if you're a writer or artist, what fic or piece of art are you proud of making?

compliment someone else in your fandom

your favorite type of fandom event (gift exchange, ship week, secret santa, prompt meme, etc)

the ship that always makes you smile

the character that always makes you smile

a tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate

the thing in canon that everyone loves and that you also love

a fandom tag that you track

your current fandom(s)

your very first fandom!

a fandom you're not active in anymore but that you still really like

the fandom friend you've known the longest

the fandom you're curious about because of a mutual

how has fandom positively impacted your life?

a piece of advice for taking care of yourself in fandom spaces

[coldestduointhenation]

Pressure - Chapter 1

wnba!Paige x wnba!Azzi

Themes: exes-to-lovers, angst

Warnings: language (I think that's it)

Synopsis: Four years after a messy fallout, Azzi gets traded to the Dallas Wings. On the same team for the first time after four years of no contact, they have to navigate what it's like to exist in the same space again. One of them is more willing to reconcile than the other.

A/N: Been working on this for a while. Chapter 2 is already in the works. I promise it's gonna get really good. Let me know what you thinkkk

Word count: 8.6k

Present Day – 2029 Dallas, Texas

Paige

Paige thought it was a prank.

Not a funny one. She sure as hell wasn’t laughing. But still, it had to be a sick joke. Because what twisted fate of the universe could possibly lead to her being on the same team as Azzi Fudd? The ex-love-of-her-life/ex-best-friend who left a hole in her a long time ago.

“You’re joking, right?” Paige said flatly, staring holes through Curt, the Wings’ GM, from across his desk.

Curt just grinned like this was the best thing that had happened to him all year. “I know, right? I’m still trying to believe it myself. I can’t believe they went for it. I mean, how stupid could you be to reunite the best backcourt in the nation?” Curt cackled.

Paige dropped her head into her hands. When she looked back up, he was furrowing his brows.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be excited about this.” Curt pushed his chair back a little bit to get a better look at Paige and folded his arms across his chest.

Still dazed, Paige nodded the best she could. “Yeah, yeah. This is really great for the team.”

Curt hummed. “I thought you two used to be best friends or something.”

Or something, Paige thought to herself. She nodded her head slowly. Like it hurt to admit. “Yeah… used to be,” she mumbled.

“Well,” Curt said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his desk. “There’s no bad blood or anything, right?”

“No,” she said flatly.

Only a half-lie. Azzi Fudd destroyed Paige in a way she didn’t know was possible all those years ago, yet somewhere inside, Paige knew that Azzi was still that gravitational pull she’d never be able to escape. A flame that burned too pretty but burned her every time she tried to touch it. Part of her hated Azzi for that. The rest of her knew she didn’t actually hate Azzi. She never could. 

She excused herself from Curt’s office at the first opportunity she got and headed straight for the practice court, where it was empty and quiet and hers. To shoot. And think.

One shot at a time. Release. Swish. Reset.

Again. Again. Again.

Paige tried to think forward. About how she was well on her way to her third MVP title in a row. About how Dallas was about to go back-to-back for the first time ever. About how she was getting older and needed to make these last seasons of her prime count.

But no matter how hard Paige tried to stay present, her brain kept dragging her back.

Back to the dorms. Back to late-night film sessions. Back to hotel rooms with one bed, one secret, and one pair of hands that always knew where to touch her.

Back to Azzi.

Azzi, who was her everything, could match her fire and feed it at the same time, but never let Paige in all the way.

And now, somehow, Azzi was coming to Dallas. 

Paige could hardly wrap her head around it. The thought made her chest ache in a way that felt old and familiar and fresh all at once. In a way that reminded Paige of what’s hers.

But Azzi wasn’t hers. She kept forgetting that. 

Someone else was now. Zoey.

Zoey wasn’t the first since Azzi, but she was the first to actually make Paige slow down. Not just some pretty face for headlines and good lighting. Zoey had a mind of her own, a mouth that didn’t take shit, and a kind of patience Paige didn’t realize she needed until it was offered.

Paige didn’t do girlfriends in the traditional sense. She was too busy, and they were too suffocating. Instead, she hooked up with pretty women until the high wore off and routine took over. And if Paige liked them enough, they’d go on dates, let themselves get caught by a fan, maybe go on vacation.

But locking it down? Making it official? Paige never got that far. Never wanted to.

With Zoey… she was getting there. Not all the way, but closer than she’d been with anyone since Azzi.

And now Azzi was moving to the same city. Joining the same team. Living on the same block. Paige didn’t know that part yet.

Not until the next day, when she was on her morning run.

The sun was still low enough for the buildings to cover the street with their shadows. It was too early for most of the city. But not for Paige. For her, it was the only time when things were quiet. Slow.

She was rounding the corner near her building when she saw someone standing by the glass doors of the leasing office. From behind, the figure looked familiar enough to slow her steps.

Thick, curly hair pulled back in a loose, low bun. Oversized sweatshirt. Gray leggings. That specific posture. Too casual to be calculated, but somehow always looking like it was.

Paige’s stomach dipped. Her pace faltered.

No fucking way.

The girl turned slightly, shifting her weight onto one hip as she glanced down at her phone. Paige’s heart climbed into her throat.

It was her.

Azzi.

Just… standing there outside her building. Like it was normal. Like it hadn’t been years. Like she hadn’t left Paige stuck in some loop she could never fully escape.

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

12 years ago – 2017 USA U16 Basketball Camp, Colorado Springs

Paige wasn’t scared. Just aware. Of all the talent in the room. Of who the coaches were paying attention to. Of the sheer intensity of it all. 

She had a great morning. Her shots fell, her footwork was there, her timing on defense was close to perfect. There was no reason to stress. She played her game and played it well.

Paige sat on the bench, one leg pulled up, Gatorade bottle balanced on her knee, sweat still drying on her neck. She’d just finished scrimmaging and was catching her breath while the next group rotated in.

Next to her, Aliyah Boston leaned back on her hands, eyes scanning the floor. “Damn. It’s a tight race this year.”

Paige looked around. She was still riding the edge of that post-game high. Loose muscles, steady heart, confidence simmering under her skin. She was about to agree with Aliyah when something caught her eye.

Someone.

Far end of the court. Red jersey, black shorts. Braided bun. The youngest one on the floor by at least a year. Moving like she didn’t know it. Or didn’t care.

Then she caught a pass. And everything else just… dropped out. Paige didn’t even blink. Couldn’t. Because the girl didn’t hesitate. Didn’t gather. Just rose and released like muscle memory. Like it wasn’t even a choice.

Net.

Paige straightened. Just a little. “Who is that?” she asked without looking away.

Aaliyah followed her gaze. “That’s Azzi Fudd.”

Paige blinked once. “That’s Azzi Fudd?”

“Yeah. You heard of her?”

She had. The name was familiar. The highlights, the chatter, the headlines. Something about a phenom. A prodigy. One of those kids who had a clear trajectory. Paige had seen a clip or two. Nothing like this.

Because this? This was fucking art. 

Azzi didn’t just play basketball. She moved through it. Like the game bent around her, not the other way around. There was something impossibly smooth about the way she played. Like she already knew what was going to happen three steps ahead. Like the ball just listened to her.

Paige watched her catch another pass. Watched her pivot, fake, draw two defenders, slip it to the post for the easiest bucket of the day. She didn’t even celebrate. Just turned and jogged back like it was routine.

Paige’s throat went dry. Because it wasn’t just the skill. It was everything else. The way Azzi’s face barely changed, calm like a storm with nowhere to go. The way her shoulders stayed relaxed even when the pressure was high. The way she didn’t seem interested in being liked, or noticed. She just was. Steady. Composed. Sharp. She carried herself like someone who already knew what kind of problem she was about to be.

Something nagged at the corner of Paige’s mind. Like Azzi was about to be her problem. Not the kind of problem that would beat her out for a spot on the roster. The kind that would weave itself into her brain like a parasite and sit there like a rock. 

Paige couldn’t stop watching. She leaned forward. Both feet on the ground now, Gatorade bottle forgotten, eyes wide.

Azzi turned on her heel and jogged back. Her eyes scanned the sideline just once. Just briefly. And Paige swore, for half a second, those eyes landed on her.

She looked away too fast. Heat rising in her cheeks. Something flickering in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to call it yet. All she knew was that she’d never seen anything—anyone—like that.

And she was already in trouble.

**************************

The party wasn’t really for them. Technically, it was for the adults. Coaches, scouts, sponsors, the kind of people who wore suits and passed around business cards like it was currency. But the girls who made the team were invited too. Well, told to come. Told to be on their best behavior, smile if someone important started talking to them, and not to touch the champagne.

Paige stuck close to Aliyah. It was less intimidating that way. Aliyah always had something to say and never looked like she was trying too hard, even in a room full of people who would probably own half the league one day.

The ballroom lights were low and gold, the kind that made everything feel fancier than it was. There were high-top tables and white linen napkins and a string quartet playing a pop song Paige couldn’t quite place.

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Paige asked, swirling her lemonade around in the glass.

Aliyah grinned. “So they can smile at us and say they knew us before the shoe deals.”

Paige snorted. “Right.”

Her eyes drifted, naturally, toward the far side of the room. Toward her.

Azzi was talking to a group of adults. Two women in blazers and a man holding a clipboard. She stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her, posture straight, nodding along as someone spoke. Her eyes flicked up occasionally, steady, unreadable.

Paige watched the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The way she tilted her head when she was listening. The small smile she gave when someone cracked a joke. Polite, but detached.

She looked… grown. Too composed for someone her age. Too calculated. Like she’d been doing this for years already and wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“God,” Paige muttered, almost to herself.

Aliyah followed her gaze. “You’re still staring at her?”

“I’m not—” Paige sighed. “I just think she’s… interesting.”

Aliyah smirked. “Sure.”

Azzi’s group started to split up, one of the women checking her watch and moving toward the bar. The man peeled off in another direction. Azzi stayed where she was, alone now, adjusting the strap of her dress like it had been bothering her all night.

This was her chance. Paige set her glass down and took a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Be right back.”

She crossed the room like she was walking out on a wire, every step just a little more careful than the one before it.

Azzi didn’t look up until Paige was already in front of her.

“It’s Azzi, right?” Paige said like she wasn’t sure. As if she wasn’t the surest she’d ever been. 

Azzi let out a soft chuckle. “You already knew that.”

Paige couldn’t stop the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Well, I’m Paige—“

“I know who you are, Paige,” Azzi cut her off. 

Paige blinked. “You do?”

Azzi looked her over. Not just her face. All of her. Eyes, posture, the way she was standing too straight like she’d rehearsed the approach.

“I know everyone,” Azzi said, voice even.

“Oh. Right.” Paige fumbled for a second. “You played really well today. You were incredible.”

Azzi shrugged, calm as ever. “Not my best performance.”

Paige shook her head. “Coulda fooled me. I mean, you’re perfect.” The word landed heavier than she meant it to. She felt it the second it hung there.

Azzi cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean—your game is perfect,” Paige corrected quickly. “You’re like the perfect basketball player.”

Azzi didn’t let her off the hook. Her lips curled into a slow, amused smirk. “I make you nervous or something, Bueckers?”

“What? No, I just—I guess I’m just awkward.”

Azzi took a slow sip from her water. Shook her head slightly. “No, you’re not. Not on the court. Not talking to any of these other people.”

Paige met her eyes. “Then I guess you’re different.”

Azzi’s smile widened, just a little. “I know.”

There was a beat. One of those in-between silences that wasn’t awkward, but felt charged. Paige shifted her weight, looking around like she needed somewhere to ground herself.

Azzi tilted her head. “So. What’d you come over here to say?”

Paige blinked. “What?”

Azzi shrugged. “I assume you didn’t cross the room just to tell me I’m a good player.”

Paige felt her throat tighten. “No. I mean—yeah. You know, we’re gonna have to play together, so I wanted to say hi and…” Her voice trailed off like she didn’t plan on saying the last part out loud. 

Azzi was still watching her. Eyes a little harder now. Like she wasn’t going to let Paige off the hook. “And?”

Paige had to mean it. So she did. She felt her pulse in her ears. “And… I don’t know. I think you’re…” Paige hesitated, then pushed it out. “Kind of impossible to ignore.”

Azzi studied her. Really studied her. Like she was trying to decide what to do with what she’d just been handed. Her lips pulled into a smirk. “How so?”

Paige swallowed. Thought about giving her some canned answer. Something light. Surface-level. But the look Azzi was giving her—calm and curious, like she already knew—made that impossible.

So Paige just… said it.

“It’s like,” she started, then paused, eyes flicking down for half a second before finding Azzi’s again, “you already know how everything ends.”

Azzi didn’t react right away.

Paige tried not to shrink under her own words. “You move like you have everyone where you want them. Like you’re just waiting for them to catch up.”

Her voice was softer now. Not shy. Just real. “It’s not about your game. I mean—it is. But it’s also not. It’s… you. The way you carry yourself. Honestly… I can’t stop staring.” 

The way Azzi was staring at her made something burn inside Paige. 

“You just met me,” Azzi said, voice curious. “Why would you say that?”

Paige swallowed. Shrugged. “Because I wanted you to know.”

That was the only answer she could come up with. Because she didn’t know why she would say that. Azzi was right. She had just met her. So, why be so bold? Paige chalked it up to the fact that it wasn’t like she saw this girl every day.

Azzi tilted her head and softened her gaze. Like she was considering something. Then a smirk. A real one this time. Like Azzi had just figured something out and was keeping it for later. She stepped back slowly, eyes never leaving Paige’s. Then she turned.

Paige called after her. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

Azzi didn’t look back. Just kept walking.

“You will,” she said over her shoulder.

And she did. God, she saw Azzi everywhere. 

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

Present Day

Azzi didn’t notice Paige right away, too focused on the screen in her hand. But then her head lifted, and those eyes–sharp, unreadable, familiar in a way that made Paige's chest pull tight—landed on her.

For a beat, they just stared at each other.

Azzi’s expression shifted first, mouth tugging into the smallest smile. Like this was funny. Like she knew exactly what kind of chaos she was walking back into.

Paige cursed quietly under her breath. It was her building. It wasn’t like she could turn around and go somewhere else.

“Paige,” Azzi said softly.

Paige swallowed as she came to a stop a few feet away. “You lost?”

Azzi pointed up at the building. “Touring apartments.”

Paige raised a brow, wiping sweat from her forehead with the hem of her shirt. “In this building?”

Azzi shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Yeah, I’ve got a few planned today before… practice.”

It was weird. The word practice. Because all of a sudden, that meant the same thing to both of them.

Paige didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at her. Trying to take her in and shut her out all at once.

Azzi’s eyes flicked over her, then back up. “You look good,” she said, like she wasn’t ripping Paige open with three simple words.

Paige nodded once. “You, too.”

The air between them thickened. Paige popped her knuckles to distract herself from the fact that even after all these years, Azzi could still make something coil tightly in her chest.

Paige cleared her throat. “You know this is my building, right?”

Azzi smirked. “The possibility crossed my mind that one of these buildings was yours. I just didn’t think I’d get it right on the first try.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “So what? You gonna move in down the hall from me?”

Azzi stepped forward, holding her grin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Paige looked away and scoffed. “Don’t start,” she said, shaking her head without looking at Azzi. 

Azzi's smirk softened into something of innocence. She always played that so well. Paige remembered. “I’m not starting anything.”

“So what are you doing?” Paige said with no hesitation, a little snappier than she intended.

Azzi flinched a little bit like she wasn’t expecting Paige to react like that, but never dropped her smile. “I’m here to play ball.”

Paige sighed. “You could do that anywhere.”

“I just got here. Why are you so pressed already?” Azzi asked, sounding a little annoyed.

“I am not pressed,” Paige said firmly as she took a step forward. They were close enough to reach out and touch each other now. 

“Right, because you just look at everyone like that.”

Azzi stepped forward slightly, like she was testing the air. Not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough that Paige’s breath caught anyway. Their eyes were locked. Like neither of them could look away.

“I meant what I said,” Azzi murmured, tone dipping lower now. “You really do look good.” Her eyes traced back down Paige’s body and back up.

Paige broke their gaze. “I’ll see you later,” she said as she turned and headed for the doors of her building.

By the time Paige got back upstairs, her shirt was clinging to her skin with sweat that had nothing to do with the run. Her hands were still shaking as she fumbled her key into the lock. 

Okay, so maybe there was a problem.

Paige wanted to believe she was over it. She wanted to be mature enough and grown enough to say that was a different time with a different Paige. And a week ago, maybe she was. But as soon as Azzi said her name, something in her shifted. She felt the creep of that Paige. 

Azzi’s Paige.

And dear God, she was not coming out without a fight. 

This Paige stepped into her apartment quietly and pressed her forehead against the door.

She told Curt this wasn’t going to be a problem. She prayed that this wasn’t going to be, but somewhere inside, she knew Azzi could never be something to sweep under the rug.

No one gave her any warning. No one gave her the chance to prepare herself for the love of her life to come barrelling through everything she built without her. Everything she built to spite her. 

“P?”

Paige jumped. She forgot that Zoey was sleeping in her bed during all this. 

She hadn’t told Zoey about the trade yesterday. Didn’t want to. Didn’t know how. She knew Zoey knew who Azzi was. Everyone did. Best friends in college, according to the internet, minus a handful of particularly observant fans who no one paid any mind to. Paige never filled in the gaps. Never wanted to open that door. 

With all of the energy Paige had left, she pushed off the door and made her way to her bedroom. Zoey was propped up on one arm, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with the other.

“How was your run?” Zoey asked groggily. 

Paige didn’t meet her eye. Couldn’t. “Uh, it was good. Yeah, it was good.”

Zoey looked at her like she could tell there was more. But she didn’t press. Never did. Paige always appreciated that.

Paige stepped forward to the edge of the bed. Zoey sat up on her knees and shuffled to her. She grabbed Paige’s shirt and pulled her closer. “Did you use up all your energy, or are you gonna come back to bed and get another workout in?”

Before Paige could answer, Zoey placed a kiss right under her earlobe. 

Paige tried to lean into it. Give Zoey what she wanted. What she deserved. But when she closed her eyes, all she saw was her dorm room. And a random hotel room. And the training room that one time. Azzi’s skin under her hands and her name in Azzi’s mouth like honey.

“Zo,” Paige said, gently removing her hands and taking a step back. 

Zoey searched her face. “What’s wrong?”

Paige ran a hand over her hair. “Nothing,” she said a little too quick. “I’m just not feeling it right now. I want a shower.”

Zoey nodded like she didn’t understand, but that was okay. “You go do that, and I’ll make your breakfast before I have to get to the studio.” She planted a kiss on Paige’s cheek like an apology Paige hadn’t earned. 

Paige flashed her a smile back, even though she could tell it was too forced. She turned and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back. Eyes red, lips parted like she’d just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Maybe she had.

She stripped and stepped into a shower so hot it stung. Pressed her forehead to the tile and squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. She let the scalding water fall over her face, her back, her hair. Like if she scrubbed and rinsed hard enough, the unsettling feeling that clinged to her skin might go away.

It shouldn’t hurt anymore. Azzi shouldn’t get this close, not after everything Paige did to scrape her out like rot.

But Paige knew herself better than anyone. She knew exactly how breakable she still was when it came to Azzi Fudd. How she’d spent four years pretending there was no part of her that would always belong to someone who never asked permission to take it.

The water couldn’t wash that part away. She pressed her palms harder to the wall, chest heaving, every muscle locked tight so she wouldn’t say it out loud.

Don’t let her ruin you again.

It sounded pathetic, even in her head. But she said it anyway. Again. Again. Again.

Azzi

Azzi hadn’t really come to terms with it until she saw her. 

Not when her agent called to tell her about a deal in the works. Not when the Mystics’ GM pulled her in to confirm it. Not even when she stepped off the plane. 

It was only when her heart stopped beating at eight in the morning. There was only one person who could ever have that effect on her. And there she was.

Paige. Drenched with sweat and stunning. She almost looked like nothing had changed. She looked just like how she did when they were still everything to each other. But there was something in her face. Azzi couldn’t quite place it. She just seemed… colder. More guarded. As if she weren’t interested in jumping right back into old times. 

Azzi didn’t go to Dallas for Paige. It’s not like she orchestrated the trade herself. She didn’t have a choice. But she would be lying if she said Paige wasn’t the first thing her mind went to when she heard about the move.

Azzi didn’t care that she was about to be on the same side as the best player in the league. Nor did she care that she had just upended her life and moved halfway across the country. All she really cared about was if Paige would still look at her like she used to. 

She didn’t.

It wasn’t a look of hate. That, Azzi could’ve handled. Hate meant passion. It meant there were still feelings there. Good or bad.

But the look Paige gave her was worse. Empty. Distant. Cordial. Like she wasn’t going to let Azzi back through that door.

Azzi would be damned if she didn’t make sure it was locked for good.

So, she kept it light. Made a couple of jokes. Flirted a little bit. Nothing crazy. Just enough to stir the air between them. 

Azzi didn’t expect it to work. Not really. But after Paige looked away when she made that comment about moving in down the hall, she caught it. 

Paige’s face flickered. It was fast. The tiniest tug at the corner of her lips. The faintest glint in her eyes. 

But Azzi saw it. She always did. She knew that expression like the back of her hand. And it was all she needed to know that the door wasn’t locked like Paige would want her to believe. And that was dangerous. 

Because Azzi wasn’t here to pick a fight or to stir up old drama or try to win someone back who didn’t want to be. But if the wall Paige built had a crack big enough for Azzi to slip through, Azzi was going to find it.

She didn’t care how cold Paige wanted to act. She didn’t care how much distance she tried to put between them. Because Paige still felt something. Azzi saw it.

And if Paige thought she could stare her down with those flat eyes and polite words to make Azzi forget what they were?

She had another thing coming.

Azzi tried to pay attention to her tour. She tried to listen to the building manager, who was rambling about new carpeting and granite countertops. But all Azzi could think about was Paige. On those new carpets. On that countertop. Sweaty and breathless and unashamed.

Out of respect and out of fear of taking it too far too soon, Azzi didn’t sign the lease for Paige’s building. Instead, she went with one just as nice, less than a block away. Maybe down the hall was too much, but down the street was excusable. Dallas is only so big. 

As soon as she got her key, she hurried outside to her Uber, stressing about getting to practice on time. She was staring out the window when her phone buzzed in her lap. 

A call from Caroline, who Azzi still talked to regularly. She “kept her in the divorce” according to Carol. Unlike KK and Ice, who Azzi also still talked to here and there, but it was never the same. She answered Caroline without hesitating, pressing the phone to her ear, bracing for what she knew Carol was going to say.

“Hey, Azzi,” she said gently, like she was trying to feel out how this conversation was going to go.

“Hey, Car,” Azzi said.

Caroline paused. “So… did you… are you… in Dallas?”

Azzi could tell Caroline didn’t want to say it. She sighed. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Oh,” Caroline said, stunned. “And when do you see… she who shall not be named?”

Azzi paused and considered how much she should share. “I kind of already did.”

“What?” Caroline exclaimed. “So let me get this straight. Your flight got in at 11 last night, it’s like 10 AM now, you haven’t been to the facilities yet… but you still managed to see Paige?”

Azzi tilted her head. “Well, when you put it like that, it almost sounds like I stalked her.”

“Did you?” Caroline asked.

Azzi rolled her eyes, knowing the thought crossed her mind at least a few times over the last couple of days. “No, I did not stalk her. I ran into her a couple of hours ago while I was touring apartments.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “Azzi, please tell me you are not moving into the same building as Paige.”

Azzi scoffed at the lack of trust her friend had in her. “Car, I’m not stupid. I didn’t even end up touring that one.”

She could hear Caroline breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“I went with one right down the street instead,” Azzi said casually.

Caroline groaned. “Jesus Christ, Az. Now that might be a little stalkery. Do I need to be worried about you?”

Azzi sighed. “I mean… no. I swear I don’t have an agenda.”

Caroline was quick to call her out. “Bullshit. Azzi Fudd always has an agenda.”

Azzi bit her lip. “Okay, maybe when I saw her earlier, she wasn’t very friendly, so maybe I tried to get under her skin a little bit.”

There’s a deep breath on the other end. “What do you mean ‘get under her skin’?”

“I flirted. Just a little bit.”

Caroline sighed. The kind disappointed parents do when their kid does something stupid. “This is not going to end well. For either of you.”

“You should’ve seen her. All jaded and closed off. She was acting like I was a stranger,” Azzi said with a little more passion than she intended. 

Caroline paused. “Can you blame her?” she asked gently. “I’m not saying the fallout was either of y’all’s fault, but I know it was heavy. For both of you.”

“Still is,” Azzi added.

“I know.”

“I just wanted to know where we stood,” Azzi said honestly.

“And where do you stand?” Caroline asked.

Azzi took her time to think. “Right where we left it.”

As the Uber pulled up to the front of the gym, Azzi thanked Caroline for calling and hung up. She stepped out of the car and took a second. Just long enough to gather herself before walking into the storm that only she and Paige could feel.

Azzi didn’t get nervous about basketball. She never had. But walking into that gym? Paige’s gym? It was a different kind of nerves. The kind that have nothing to do with performance and everything to do with emotions. 

She took a deep breath, adjusted her face to hide the buzzing under her skin, and pushed open the doors.

Azzi got her key card and directions to the locker room from the lady at the front desk, and started the walk of shame. That’s what it felt like at least. Like crawling back to something she swore off so long ago. Walking right back into her own imminent destruction. If she had anything to say about it, it would be Paige’s too. 

And maybe that was selfish of her. To do everything in her power to reel Paige back in, knowing how it ended the first time around. But somewhere inside, Azzi didn’t care. Because she knew Paige was missing it. Missing her. And if she wasn’t, if Paige had really sealed up that part of herself… Azzi didn’t really want to think about that. 

The locker room was already loud and boisterous. There were two TikToks being filmed on opposite sides of the room, three different conversations being had in the same group, and one silent, stoic blonde point guard lacing up her shoes on the bench at her locker. 

Paige didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge Azzi in any way. Not that Azzi should be surprised. She made it clear she wasn’t interested in falling back into anything resembling what they were before. 

“Oh my god, look who it is!” a familiar voice called out in an annoyingly high-pitched tone.

Azzi’s gaze shifted from Paige to right next to her. It was KK Arnold with the biggest grin on her face.

“It’s Azzi Fudd!” KK said. 

Azzi smiled. “Hey, KK.” They pulled each other into a deep hug. The kind that says I missed you. 

KK pulled away first. “Okay, so boom. This is the locker room,” KK said, gesturing to the whole room. “I’m sure you know of all your teammates already, but just in case, that’s Dijonai, Lyss, Maddy…”

She tried to pay attention to KK going around the room listing off her new teammates, but Azzi’s mind drifted with her gaze. Back to Paige. There’s that same damn pull.

“... Cameron, Sydney, and–” She stopped herself when she landed on Paige. Almost said her name like she was just another teammate. Her tone dropped. “Well, you know her.” 

Understatement of the year. Because Azzi didn’t just know Paige. She memorized her. Every expression. Every mood. Every scar, visible and not. She could pick Paige’s laugh out of a crowded gym. Could still hear it when she wasn’t trying not to.

“Look,” KK said in a more serious tone. “I don’t know whose idea it was, but that’s your locker right there.” She pointed at the empty space right next to Paige’s.

Azzi laughed to herself. Of course. She looked at KK. “It’s really good to see you, KK. I’ve missed you,” she said with all sincerity.

KK returned the smile and put a hand on Azzi’s shoulder. “It’s good to have my parents back together.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows.

“I mean–” KK stumbled. “Not like back together together. But like, back together in the same place. You know what I mean. Let me just shut up.” She jogged back to her own locker and left Azzi alone. 

She took her time settling in. Dropped her bag a little too loud. Peeled off her hoodie like she didn’t know Paige could see every motion in her periphery. Unlaced her sneakers slower than necessary. She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. Not really. But if Paige was going to act like she wasn’t there, Azzi was going to make damn sure she felt her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Neither did Paige.

The silence between them wasn’t quiet. It was the loudest thing in the room. The kind of silence that’s not absence, but pressure. Weight. Azzi could feel it in her jaw, in her hands, in her chest. It itched at her skin.

She leaned forward to tie her shoes, catching Paige’s posture from the corner of her eye. Tight, shoulders high, back rigid. Tense. Good.

“Not gonna say hi?” Azzi asked without looking at her.

Paige exhaled sharply through her nostrils. “Hi,” she said dryly. 

Azzi sat up, rolled her neck out once, then tilted her head toward her. “It’s that bad, huh?”

Nothing.

Azzi smirked, even though it kind of hurt. “You’re really doing that?”

Paige kept her gaze fixed across the locker room, voice low and even. “Doing what?”

Azzi raised both brows. “This thing where you act like we’ve never met.”

“We haven’t,” Paige said plainly. “Not this version of us.”

Azzi blinked. Okay. That one kind of stung. She laughed under her breath. “Damn. You always this welcoming to new teammates?”

Paige finally turned, just a little. Just enough to meet her eye. “Only the ones who know better.”

Azzi’s chest tightened, but she didn’t let it show. She refused to. “So, what? We’re just gonna be civil and awkward for the rest of the season?”

“I’m gonna hoop,” Paige said. “You do whatever you want.”

Azzi scoffed. “You know, you could be nice. Make this easy for both of us.”

“I don’t owe you easy.”

That one hit. Hard. Paige didn’t even say it with heat. It was calm, too calm. But it landed like a punch. Azzi looked at her for a second, just watched her, like maybe she could still find the Paige she used to know under all that armor.

Then the coach called for them to head to the court. Azzi grabbed her water bottle and stood. Paige moved like she didn’t care if Azzi followed or not. Like she didn’t care, period.

Azzi did. Badly. And that scared her more than anything. 

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

12 years ago – 2017 USA U16 Basketball Camp, Colorado Springs

Azzi didn’t think about much but basketball. Not in the way people expected her to. Not the eat, sleep, breathe type of way. For Azzi, it was much simpler. Show up, put in the work, let your game speak for itself.

And it worked for her. She made the team. Not that she was ever worried. Sure, all of the other girls were talented, but none of them got it. Except for that one girl.

Azzi had heard the name Paige Bueckers a couple of times. Some blonde girl from the Midwest with nasty handles and a mouth that never stopped running. Nothing to write home about. Until she saw her play.

It was day five of camp. Final cut day. It had been drills all week. Now, they were scrimmaging. A final test to see who could handle the pressure and who would choke. Paige seemed to handle the pressure better than anyone.

Azzi didn’t mean to watch the scrimmage before hers. She didn’t want it to get in her head. But when the gym erupted with a collective “Ooooooo,” Azzi had to look up.

Paige had just crossed two defenders at once, snapped the ball behind her back, and pulled up like she didn’t even need to think about it. Net. Then she turned and jogged back on defense with a grin like she already knew what she was about to do the next play.

Azzi sat down slowly, towel still around her neck. She told herself it was to rest. But really, she just... wanted to see what happened next.

And what happened was Paige scored. Again. And again. Five straight possessions. Midrange jumper. Steal and finish. Corner three. Stepback. Hesitation drive with the left.

She wasn’t just good. She took over. Like it was her game and everyone else was lucky to be in it.

Azzi didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. But she watched every move. She could tell a lot from the way someone played ball. It was the easiest way to read someone if you knew what to look for. Paige played loudly. She said something slick after every possession. She celebrated dramatically after every bucket. She was good, and she wanted everyone to know it. 

Azzi could see right through her. Decided it was probably best to stay away. She didn’t want to get involved with that kind of cocky.

But then the party happened.

And Paige walked across the ballroom like she’d been dared to. Said things that didn’t make any sense. Things Azzi couldn’t stop turning over in her head.

Kind of impossible to ignore. You move like you have everyone where you want them. I can’t stop staring. And the one that stuck the most: Because I wanted you to know.

Who says that? 

It was such a strange, unfiltered thing to say. Like Paige wasn’t trying to win points or look cool. Like she didn’t even care how it sounded. She just wanted the words out of her mouth and into Azzi’s hands.

It was audacious. And weird. And… fascinating. Because it wasn’t what Azzi expected. 

She found herself replaying it later, in between exhausting conversations that didn’t feel like they mattered. Just that one sentence, over and over. That look on Paige’s face when she said it. The calm in her voice. The way she wasn’t asking for anything in return.

It wasn’t a pickup line. It wasn’t a play. It was a breadcrumb. And Azzi—against her better judgment—wanted to follow it.

Azzi stood at the bar, eyes fixed on the lineup of sodas and garnishes like she was thinking hard about her options. Really, she was just stalling.

Too many conversations. Too many handshakes. Too many people asking her the same five questions with the same polite smiles, and she was starting to feel like a cardboard cutout of herself.

“Shirley Temple,” she said, finally catching the bartender’s eye.

He gave her a nod and turned to make it.

That’s when Paige slid in beside her.

“Not having fun?” Paige asked, like she already knew the answer.

Azzi didn’t look at her right away. Just exhaled through her nose. “I don’t think we’re supposed to.”

Paige smiled. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Azzi glanced over, finally, and caught the glint in her eye. The same look she had when she called for an iso. That I’ve already decided kind of look.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

They left through the side doors, where the night air was cool and quiet and smelled like the Colorado pines. Neither of them spoke for a minute, the hum of the party fading behind them. Paige walked a little ahead at first, then slowed until their shoulders matched.

“So,” Paige said eventually. “What do you do for fun?”

Azzi gave her a sideways look. “Basketball.”

Paige snorted. “No, I mean outside of basketball.”

“Then… nothing.”

“What? No way. You have to do something. Basketball’s just a game. It can’t be your whole life.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up toward the sky. “Can’t it?”

Paige was quiet.

Azzi kept going. “Basketball’s the one thing that always tells the truth.”

“What truth is there to tell?”

Azzi shrugged. “You can fake a lot of things. Fake being nice. Fake being confident. Fake like you belong. But on the court? You either show up or get exposed. You either have it or you don’t.”

Paige looked over at her. “You definitely have it.”

Azzi smirked. “So do you.” She let a beat pass. “If you could ever learn how to stop running your mouth.”

Paige smiled. “What’s wrong with a little commentary?”

“Nothing,” Azzi said. “It’s just distracting. All that noise. People start listening to you talk instead of watching your game.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “But maybe I want them to hear me.”

Azzi stopped walking. Turned slightly toward her. “That’s your problem.”

“My problem?”

“You’re good,” she said, and it came out steady, like fact. “For our age group? You’re great. But if you want to be one of the greats? I think you need a little ego check.”

Paige gave her a slow blink, like she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. “Ouch. You figured all that out after a week?”

Azzi smiled, but there was a bite to it. “Like I said. On the court, everything shows.”

They walked a little farther, past a row of benches where the trees started to thin. The silence this time was different—less empty, more loaded.

“You think I’m dramatic, don’t you?” Azzi asked, not entirely teasing.

Paige tilted her head. “No. I think you’re…” She paused, like she was actually trying to find the word. “Everything.”

Azzi blinked. That one sat in her chest weird.

She turned to face her. “You’re weird, you know that?”

Paige grinned. “Why? ‘Cause I say what I think?”

“No,” Azzi said, “because you keep saying things like that. Things that don’t make sense. Things you’re not supposed to say out loud.”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Paige said with a shrug. “I just call things as I see them.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Is that your thing or something?”

Paige’s grin widened. “It’s like a little game.”

Azzi’s voice dropped slightly. “Well be careful, Bueckers. I don’t play games off the court.”

Paige stopped. Something flickered in her face. Not fear. Something else. Like she’d just lost a round she didn’t even know she was playing.

Azzi smirked and kept walking. It was quiet for a few seconds.

“You know,” Paige called from behind her. “I think we’re gonna be something one day. You and me.”

Azzi slowed her steps. Came to a stop. Turned her head just enough to see Paige in the corner of her eye. “Something?” she echoed.

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “I don’t know what yet, but… one day, you’ll play my game.”

Paige’s words made Azzi pause. Not in her step, not in her face. But somewhere sharper. Somewhere quieter.

It made her curious. And curiosity was dangerous.

Somewhere inside, Azzi knew that she would play Paige’s game. Somewhere inside, she knew that she wanted to win. 

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

Present Day

Azzi’s first practice with the wings was awkward. Not knowing how her new teammates played, having to learn the staff’s names, trying to ignore the way her ex-everything was on the other side of the court already in it. 

Azzi watched her. Not obviously, but constantly. Paige barked plays with that familiar clipped authority in her voice, pointed teammates to the right spots, called switches before they even developed. She was reading the floor like a language only she understood. It was a painful reminder of who this team belonged to.

Paige had always been a natural leader. Loud. Commanding. But this was different. Paige didn’t play with the energy of a toddler and a slick comment waiting on the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t just leading now. She was in full control. Grounded. Sharp.

Azzi had watched her run the floor at least a thousand times before. Never with this level of composure. There was a poise to her now. A maturity Azzi couldn’t quite pin. She had grown up. Grown into this. Traded in the cockiness for confidence. 

It made something twist in Azzi’s chest. Because this version of Paige was dangerous. Not just for their opponents, not just for the league, but for her. Because that composure didn’t make Paige any easier to read. It made her harder to stay away from. 

TWEEEEEET. Coach Leslie blew the whistle to regroup and separated guards from the forwards. She started rattling off pairings for 1-on-1 finishing drills. “Bueckers, Fudd. Over there.”

Azzi couldn’t help but smirk quietly to herself. She turned toward their assigned basket where Paige was already standing at the top of the key, ready to play defense. 

“Bet you’re glad to see me,” Azzi offered sarcastically.

Paige hardly looked at her. “Just check up.”

They didn’t speak for a few reps. Paige was calm. Stoic. It drove Azzi insane the way she had shut down beyond the point of letting Azzi see what was going on inside her head.

Paige finished strong off a spin move and didn’t say a word. 

Azzi caught the rebound, reset at the top. “You’re real quiet,” she said, voice soft now, almost a whisper. Her lips pulled into a smirk. “Is it because I know what you sound like in bed?”

That got her.

Paige’s eyes snapped up. “You’re sick.”

Azzi took a step closer, grinning. “You love it.”

“I really don’t.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well… you were always too gentle to appreciate it.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi went. Drove hard. But Paige was ready this time. She stepped in, planted, and blocked the shot clean.

Their bodies collided.

Azzi lost her balance. She would’ve gone down if Paige hadn’t caught her. One strong arm around her waist, hand gripping her side, steadying her with ridiculous ease.

They froze.

Paige’s breath was warm against her cheek.

Her voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“For the record,” she said, letting Azzi down slowly. “I’m not that gentle anymore.” She let her eyes wander down and back up. “Too bad you’ll never get to learn exactly what that means.”

And then she turned. Walked off like she hadn’t just rearranged Azzi’s entire heart.

Azzi stood there for a beat, still reeling, still catching up. Then she smiled. Because oh yeah.

Now Paige was playing the game. 

After practice, Azzi showered and changed in the locker room. She took her time like she was just soaking it all in, but she was actually just stalling. Waiting for Paige. Because she wanted to see her again. Because she didn’t want to go home without getting some stuff off her chest. 

She had finished getting her things together, and still no Paige. So, Azzi went back to the court. Because of course she stayed later to put up extra free throws. 

Other than the quiet bounce of Paige’s ball, the gym was silent. Paige was alone. She had her back to the door, and didn’t turn around when Azzi walked in. But Azzi could tell she knew she was there. She heard it in Paige’s breath.

Azzi stopped at halfcourt. Close enough to use a normal speaking voice, but not close enough to feel the pull. She thought about saying Hi or You played well today to break the ice. It didn’t exactly go well the first two times she tried, so she got straight to the point. 

“Do you remember when we met?” she asked.

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop shooting. Didn’t turn.

Azzi continued. “At camp. You came up to me at that party, and you told me that I had everyone right where I wanted them. That you couldn’t stop staring–”

“I remember,” Paige snapped, placing the ball on her hip. Like the memory was bitter. Then softer, “I remember everything.” She still didn’t turn around. 

Something inside Azzi ached at that. Because she could tell Paige was hurting. Probably worse than she was. She wanted to stop right there. Run away and leave well enough alone to spare them both the heartache, but she had to see this through.

“Then, you remember when you said that one day, I’d play your game,” Azzi said, matching Paige’s soft tone.

Paige didn’t offer a reaction. Not one that Azzi could see, at least. Just a sharp exhale through her nose.

Azzi swallowed. “I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything. Not how we left things. Not how I left you. But… it’s all I ever think about. How you were right that night. I did play your game.”

Still nothing.

“And, maybe I don’t have the right to say this either, but… baby, I’m still playing.”

Paige flinched at the word baby. Azzi knew she probably shouldn’t have said that, but she probably shouldn’t have said any of the other stuff either. 

Azzi shrugged. “I don’t even want to win anymore. I just want you to play, too,” she said quietly.

The air remained still. Not a sound or a movement in the entire gym. Azzi turned to leave.

“It’s been four fucking years,” Paige said, finally turning halfway around. Her voice was rough and fiery.

Azzi stopped, turning her head over her shoulder, looking at the ground. “I know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Paige turned around fully. “It’s been four years, two months, eight days, and 16 hours.”

Azzi felt all the air leave her body. She felt the ache. She was frozen. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just stuck staring back at those beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that looked soft and hard all at once. Like the way Paige used to look at her and the way she looked at her now were colliding.

Paige bit her bottom lip. “So, why? Why would you tell me that now?”

Azzi sat with the question for a moment. Let it hang in the air. Looked up to meet Paige’s eyes. Then, she realized she only had one answer.

“Because I wanted you to know.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

conrad imagine where him and reader are best friends and they are talking and smoking in his room and then it leads to smut?

I have been thinking about this request since I first saw it.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) cockwarming, mention of smoking weed

You’re in your room as you lie on your bed with Conrad. Soft music is playing from your computer as you pass a joint back and forth. This is a typical night off for the two of you and you always look forward to it. Conrad’s residency at the hospital is draining and your hours at the bar downtown have really taken a toll on you. This is exactly the kind of thing you both need to forget about your jobs for a while.

You pass the joint to him then turn to face him, seeing the gears turning in his head. You just know that whatever he has to say is going to be ridiculous but you want to know anyway. He takes the joint and takes a hit, holding the smoke in his mouth as he motions for you to come closer.

You find that smoking tends to amp up your sex drive and for the first time since you started smoking with Conrad on a weekly basis, you suddenly want him in ways that you know you shouldn’t. He’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember and once you sleep together, everything changes.

You do as he says and move closer until your bodies are flush. He takes your face in his hands and pushes your mouth open. You hold it there as he presses his lips to yours, blowing the smoke into it as you inhale. You’ve shotgunned before, but never like this and never with Conrad. It’s something that’s intimate and that’s not something that you and Conrad would ever think of doing. You’re just friends-that’s all.

But as the smoke is inhaled, his lips slot between yours and you don’t dare stop him. It’s messy and sloppy because neither of you are sober. You’ve only kissed once before but that was years ago and it was just the two of you getting caught up in the moment. And isn’t that what this is right now?

Before you know it, your tongues are in each other’s mouths and you’re straddling his waist. You can feel his cock hardening underneath your ass and you grind against him, swallowing up his groans as his hands slide up your skirt. His fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear and you let him pull them down before tossing them to the side.

He pushes you to the mattress and suddenly he’s hovering over you, his pupils blown wide because of the joint but you can see the lust in them too. He wants you and he wants you bad. Tonight, you think you might let him have you. If he can behave.

“I need your fingers,” you tell him, completely breathless from his kisses. He goes in for more as one of his hands grabs your thigh, the other sliding up your skirt again. His fingers push into your sopping wet cunt pushing in and out, in and out as you grab onto the sheets below you for dear life.

“Yeah? You like that?’ He asks. He always thought doing stuff like this with you would be weird, but it’s not. There’s something about it that just feels so…right. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Haven’t really-” you let out a loud moan. “Had the time, you know? But I have the time now…if you want to…” His pupils get even bigger at your suggestion and now he’s grinning.

“God, you’re making me want you even more.” You were always off limits in Conrad’s mind so hearing you say those words is surprising to him. He’s hard beyond belief now and now he’s got to have you right now.

“You want me?” This is news to you. You never knew that he was attracted to you, let alone in that way. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way about him. Especially when he wears those damn sweatpants that sometimes ride a little too low-

“Are you fucking kidding? I’ve wanted you for so long and then you walk in here in that low cut tank top and short skirt and fuck-” His fingers are moving even faster and he’s more desperate. He wants to get you there and he wants to do it fast. And you’re already close, he can see it.

As soon as you orgasm, he removes his fingers and pulls his underwear down, his shirt following. He lies back on the mattress and all you can think about is how huge his cock is and how much you need it inside you.

“Ride me, baby.” He’s never called you that, but you have to admit that you love the way it rolls off of his tongue so easily. You do as he says and climb on top of him, neither of you sober enough to be thinking about a condom.

It’s slow at first as you both try to get used to it and then you quickly pick up the pace, Conrad hypnotized by the way you look on top of him. You’re so hot that he can’t stand it. He feels the high wearing off but he still wants you so fucking bad.

He bucks his hips, matching your pace as you speed up even more, your shirt coming off as sweat rolls down your body. Your bra is also discarded and watching you play with your nipples has him going absolutely mad.

“Fuck,” he whines. “Fuck, baby, keep going.” You twist your nipples this way and that and hearing the noises that come from your mouth, he’s sure that you’re trying to mess with him.

“You want a turn?” You ask, grabbing hold of his hands that are on your thighs, nails digging into your skin. You don’t even have to ask because his hands grab hold of your tits, massaging your nipples as he imagines covering them in hickeys.

You’re moving even faster and he’s having a hard time keeping up but he manages. This has got to be the best fuck of his life and he’s going to savor it because he knows it’ll never happen again.

You’re both rapidly approaching orgasms and he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to keep going until you can’t possibly take it anymore.

“Harder,” you tell him. “I don’t want to be able to walk in the morning.” He’s bucking his hips even harder until he’s fully seated inside you. You can practically feel him in your stomach and he stays there, coming first and you’re not that far after, your loud moans filling your bedroom as his name falls from your lips in a final scream.

Once you come down, Conrad collapses onto your chest, both of you breathing heavily, not even bothering to move. Your hand moves up to run your fingers through his hair-something you both just expect when you lie together.

Once you both decide to turn in for the night, he finally pulls out and cleans you both up like the gentleman he is before you both get back into bed. Your bodies are flush together as you share a few more kisses in the dark before falling asleep, just knowing that you’ll definitely end up right here again. And neither of you can seem to wait.

[navybrat817]

Not Just Friends: Intro

Pairing: FWB!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're Bucky's friend, and, yeah, sometimes you sleep together. Why can't he tell you that he wants something more?

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: FWB, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), referenced oral sex (f. receiving), longing, insecurities, snooping, unrequited feelings (or so he thinks), not communicating, bit of angst, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a beautiful idiot, okay?), Bucky's POV.

A/N: A new AU inspired by this nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky held you close, your body still warm and your heart racing within your chest. You passed out seconds ago and he couldn’t help but smirk as he rubbed your back and stayed buried deep inside you. He wore you out in the best possible way, and his eyes slipped shut as he thought about what just transpired. It was nice being able to remember and not fear that someone would wipe the memories away.

“So fucking pretty,” he praised, thrusting harder and deeper into you, knowing you could take it. One of your hands fisted the sheets and the other gripped his back. He wanted you to leave marks all over him, the same way you left marks on his heart and soul for him to feel. “I know you’re close. Can feel you gripping my cock like a fucking vice.”

He didn’t say being inside you felt like home, as much as he wanted to, and didn’t dare breathe that he wanted you to feel the same way. Some things were meant to stay quiet, even when he wanted to scream how much he needed you. If he blurted out anything, he could blame it on the heat of the moment. 

“Please, Bucky. I need it,” you moaned when he slowed his pace, purposely dragging it out and making you beg for more. It felt good when you begged, and the way you rode his face earlier tonight told him you were desperate for more than one release. He’d be the one to give it to you. “Please, I need you.”

His eyes almost rolled back. Something fragile snapped within him as he rocked his hips, moving as deep as he could. He wanted to be so deep inside you he’d never get out. You needed him. HIM. He needed you, too. More than you knew.

“You and your greedy cunt trying to milk my cock for all its worth,” he rasped, affection filling his eyes before he blinked it away. “C’mon. Give it to me. Make a mess all over me and the sheets. Just like you did on my face.”

He moaned when you gushed around him with a cry, coating his cock, all while he fucked you through it. It didn’t take him long to follow you over the edge, groaning as he finished inside you. He didn’t use condoms since he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else and neither were you. It was selfish not to use that precaution, but he didn’t want anything between you.

And the smile you gave him before you passed out was enough to melt his heart.

He opened his eyes, willing himself not to get rock hard again. But watching and feeling you come apart, your pussy hot and pulsing around him, you babbling his name like a prayer, he wanted to savor it and play it on repeat in his mind like his favorite song. The knowledge that he was the one who drove you to those heights of ecstasy was addictive. He craved you. He’d never get enough of you. 

But he didn’t call himself your boyfriend.

“Fuck,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender gesture though you weren’t awake. 

He wouldn’t say it was an accident the first time you slept together, but it did just… happen. The two of you were watching a movie together when you decided to throw popcorn at him. That turned into him pinning you down, jokingly demanding an apology while you giggled and refused. That laugh twisted something in his chest and the next thing he knew his mouth was on yours and clothes were on the floor and…

“This doesn’t change anything, right?” he asked once you were both dressed, your knees touching when he sat beside you.

The words tasted bittersweet and he regretted it the second they left his mouth because everything changed. He knew what it felt like to be inside you, to hear his name tumble from your lips with pleasure. He knew how to make you laugh, and you knew how to brighten his day. You were no longer just friends, but he didn’t ask you out either. 

The hurt in your eyes was obvious, but you asked in a carefully even tone, “You want to forget it?”

“I don’t want to forget,” he promised you, running a hand through his messy hair. How did he always manage to fuck things up? “Because that was…”

“Amazing?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” he breathed. It was beyond amazing, a completely different level. Pleasuring himself got him off, but his hand couldn’t compare to the feel of your tight wet heat. “But you’re my friend, and I don’t want things to change.”

He inwardly winced. Friend. Not a coworker, teammate, or anything of that nature. You were friends. What kind of friend was he to sleep with you and pretend that it was just sex and nothing more? A cowardly one. But he wanted you in his life, however you’d have him. Maybe that was desperate, but what else could he do?

Something unreadable crossed your face before you smiled, making him think he imagined it. “Doesn’t change a thing, Barnes.”

His stomach sank and it wasn’t fair to feel upset since he was the one who started this. He just thought… it didn’t matter. “Bucky, not Barnes,” he corrected you. 

You nodded slowly, the air thick and unsure. “Bucky,” you whispered, starting the movie over. “Do you think this will happen again?”

He threw an arm around the back of the couch and hoped it would. “If it does, it won’t change a thing,” he lied.

Everything changed.

Bucky wasn’t sure when or how you both fell into this rhythm where he’d call you or vice versa, but you went to each other without question when one of you needed to blow off some steam. He wasn’t a complete asshole. He refused to immediately leave afterward. Taking care of you after meant everything, whether it was holding you or cleaning you off. You wanted that closeness, and so did he.

It made it easier to pretend that you wanted him for more than just sex, too.

But the more he slept with you, the harder it was to let you go. If he was at your place, he found reasons to stick around until he had to leave, suggesting to watch a movie or share a meal. If you were at his place, the way you were now, he’d kept a tight hold on you so you couldn’t slip away. He always insisted on dropping you off, too, so you wouldn’t have to find a ride back to your place. 

The way a boyfriend would.

Your aura and scent lingered long after you’d leave and Bucky would ask himself when you’d be back. He was living on scraps and stolen moments thanks to his own fucking mouth and inability to tell you how he felt. And he was beginning to starve. It was the kind of hunger that he couldn’t satisfy until poured himself out to you with his honesty, no matter what the outcome. You deserved more than just pieces of him, too. 

So, why couldn’t he say the words? Why couldn’t he tell you he had feelings for you? Sex clearly wasn’t the issue since you two were so compatible, and you two were open when it came to likes, dislikes, and where lines were drawn. There was trust in and out of bed. He enjoyed your company, too. He was able to relax around you in ways he couldn’t with anyone else. What was he so afraid of?

That he’d lose you without ever truly having you?

Your phone buzzing on the nightstand beside him got his attention. He frowned when he realized what time it was. It was late. Who was texting right now unless it was an emergency? No, an emergency would be worthy of a call, not a text. 

Bucky ran a finger along your cheek, making you sigh in your sleep. He couldn’t explain why, but his fingers itched to grab it and see who the message was from. That wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the jealous type. At least, he didn’t think he was. Not to mention looking at your phone was crossing a line, he knew that, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut.

“This is so fucking wrong,” he muttered the second he grabbed it. All he had to do was put the phone down and let you read it when you woke up. That was the right thing to do. But he didn’t do that. 

And curiosity, well, it killed the cat, didn’t it?

His throat went dry when he saw the message from a guy’s name he had never once heard you utter. He squeezed the device so hard he almost shattered it. It was the same sort of grip he felt around his heart.

“We still on for Saturday?”

He gritted his teeth and reread the message. He read it until the screen blurred. It took a minute for him to set it back on the nightstand so he could pull you against his chest and steady his breathing. 

“You’re meeting someone on Saturday?” he muttered, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply while you were deep in slumber.

All sorts of questions went through his mind, like who the hell was this guy? Why were you making plans with him? You would’ve told him if you started seeing someone, right? Was he overthinking it, or were you eventually going to your “relationship” with him?

Something cold and bitter crawled through his veins. Did this guy make you smile? Did he make your heart race? Would he know what it was like to make you fall apart? Hold you? Was he the kind of man who could be both your friend and a lover?

As quickly as his jealousy built up it deflated when he gazed at you, his blue eyes filled with pain he didn’t bother to mask in the dark. The truth he didn’t have the right to know. You didn’t owe him any answers. He wasn't your boyfriend. 

And that was all his fault.

I wonder who messaged you. And I wonder what it'll take for Bucky to not be an idiot and tell you what's what. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! More to come soon. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[erimyya]

Thinking about an Otome game au with Phainon with sprinkle of self aware au. Someone said Phainon is born to be in otome game but force to be a tragic character in turn base game. I cannot unseen it.

Imagine if hoyo made an otome game dedicate to Phainon after the whole Amphoreus patch.

You get to interact and see more of the character outside of the story quest and literally date him. Although it's a different game, it still connected to one another. You can call the otome version as a sequel to the main story in their main game. Take it as a heart warming dessert all of us player deserve after sobbing over this man.

Tbh it's almost the same as LaD concept, you can custom made your mc, dress your mc and take picture with Phainon in various poses. The different is you can run around freely in the open world with him or not— that's up to you. Now, why wouldn't you bring Phainon along with you? What is he there for? Decoration? You can explore the Amphoreus world in different perspective, more detail perspective. The building that you can't enter in hsr? You can enter it but whatever you saw in there better stay there. Phainon had to drag you out before you cause more peace disturbance and get in trouble.

Not to mention, you can jump now. Don't try to jump off the building. You don't want to give Phainon a heart attack now, would you? Game or not, you can respawn or not, just don't do it. Ignore the intrusive thought. He's begging you.

You can toggle with the pov perspective too! You want to feel more immerse in it? Use the first person pov! You want to see the world in more wider perspective? Just use the third person pov! Use the first person pov more often, Phainon may kabedon you when there's no one around.

You can fight too! But you gotta bring Phainon with you or else the game won't let you. That man forbid you from fighting by yourself.

Don't forget to build him. Yes, you gotta grind for his relic all over again. Additionally you need to build your mc as well. Then you just log in the next day and find Phainon hitting big damage. When you check the build, your Phainon is almost perfectly build. You just startle like two days ago? Let's just assume that the game copied your phainon's build in hsr since the two game is connected.

Did I say the two game is connected? Yes. If you used the same account to play the otome game, when you log into your hsr game, there will be some easter egg where he mention you from the otome game after you finished the whole Amphoreus quest. Phainon mention of your very recent activity from your interaction in the otome game almost everytime when you play around in his voice line or just talking with him in the over world.

When you log in into the otome game, Phainon will sometimes slip something like "You're not getting bore of me, are you?" or "You haven't been using me for a while now. Why is that?". You never suspect a thing because you thought the otome game keep track of your characters usage in hsr. You're not wrong, he did keep track of your interaction with other character.

Gacha system? Yes, they have it there too. Is it really hoyo without their gacha system?

You can gacha the lightcone —brace yourself for the fluff and angst those lightcone brought along— that come with their own specific outfit. Cough cough Flame Reaver's outfit. Phainon may or may not be jealous if you prefer his alter ego more though. But most of the time, I'm sure he don't mind.

Sending message to you. Yes. You bet he will. Phainon cannot send message directly to you in hsr but in otome game his own dedicated otome game. He can freely do that. So don't be surprise if you get a notification from the otome game, a message from Phainon begging asking you to take a stroll with him.

After what he's been through? Let this man have his quality time with you. He will appreciate it very much.

[xreader1989]

Science of Attraction (part two): Johnny Storm

Johnny Storm x fem!scientist!reader

Word count: ~2.2k

Summary: You wanted to hate Johnny Storm. He distracted you and was constantly under your skin. But was it really that, or can you just not face your feelings?

Warnings: a little smutty, MDNI, 18+, some cursing, SPOILERS FOR F4

Authors Note: thank you all for your support so far, I think I have two more parts after this:)

Part 1

After the chaos the silver space lady brought upon the world, work became even more intense—if that was possible. It was all hands on deck, trying to figure out how the hell to stop Galactus from evaporating the planet. In between those tense hours in the lab, there was Johnny.

You were scribbling away, trying to crack the pattern between the planets Galactus had already destroyed and Earth, when two hands landed on your shoulders and began to massage. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.
"You’ve been in here far too long, you’re tense. My room in five," he whispered, sending a chill down your spine.

You hid your smirk as he pulled his hands away. A quick glance around confirmed Reed, Ben, and Sue were completely absorbed in their work. Taking that as your cue, you quietly slipped away and followed Johnny to his room.

You pushed the door open and saw him laying on bed propped up by his elbows. You made quick work of slipping your lab coat off and pulling your shirt over your head, moving to straddle him as he looked up at you. He caressed your cheeks and pulled you in for a passionate kiss. You pulled away and looked into his eyes, “I thought you could use a break” he whispered. His hands moved from your face, down your back and to your hips painfully slow. He pulled you against him causing you to groan, just having his hands on you made you begin to unwind. He hooked his hands under your knees and flipped you over. “I want to take your mind off of everything that’s going on… I’ve been stuck in that lab staring at you so focused in your glasses, you’ve got me all hot and bothered ” he said as he trailed kisses down your body. You could feel yourself getting worked up just by the sound of his voice, pathetic, you thought to yourself. He sat up and took his shirt off, followed by him unzipping your trousers and slowly pulling them down your legs. He kissed the insides of your thighs with total patience and loved the way you moaned for more. “God Johnny” you moaned and he groaned in response into your thigh. He moved his eyes to yours “I love hearing you say my name” and with that he hooked his fingers under your panties and slid them down your legs, positioning his face at your core. “So wet for me already, have you been waiting for this all day?”

“Stop talking Storm.” You snapped breathily. He huffed a laugh and immediately put his tongue on you, moving up and down just how you liked it. God he knew exactly what he was doing. You thread your fingers through his hair and tried to be quiet. A whimper slipping past your lips as he slipped a finger in, moving them perfectly. And just like that you came undone right on Johnny’s hand. The first out of four times that night…

You slowly blinked awake, the heat from Johnny radiating against your back as his arms gripped your waist tightly. As your eyes adjusted, you spotted the clock—and immediately shot out of bed.

"Ten A.M.? Johnny, I have to go."

You rushed around the room, grabbing your clothes and trying to gather yourself.

"Slow down, hun." He reached out and gently caught your wrist, grounding you. Looking into your eyes, he said,
"You’ve been working so hard. We all have. Just come lay with me a little while longer."

You wanted to resist, to run back to the lab, but it was useless. One look into his eyes and you were crawling back into his arms. You breathed him in, instantly calmed by the scent of leather and oak from his cologne.

"I’ve missed you," he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You smiled against his chest and fought back the urge to spill your feeling right there,
"I’ve been with you every day for weeks," you replied matter-of-factly.

He chuckled, glancing down at you.
"Yeah, but not like this."

You tilted your head up and kissed him. He was irresistible. Every time you were with him like this, you felt yourself falling harder. And it was getting more difficult to remind yourself that he was incapable of a relationship—especially with someone as complicated as you.

The kiss deepened. His hands explored your body, and a soft moan escaped your lips. That’s when it happened:

BANG BANG BANG

Ben’s voice boomed through the door:
"JOHNNY, YOU MISSED BREAKFAST, AND REED WANTS US IN THE LAB NOW!"

You and Johnny froze.

"I’ll be there in a minute!" he yelled back, as you held your breath.

"HAVE YOU SEEN DOC? REED SAID SHE’S NOT IN THE LAB."
The doorknob rattled.
"WHY IS YOUR DOOR LOCKED? YOU GOT A GIRL IN THERE? HOW DO YOU HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT?"

"God, can’t I have a little privacy? I’ll meet you downstairs in five!" Johnny shouted.

You both heard Ben grunt and his heavy footsteps fade down the hall. You finally let out the breath you’d been holding, and Johnny broke into laughter.

"It’s not funny! He has to know something," you said, dead serious.

"Oh come on, babe—it’s a little funny." He laughed harder, and despite yourself, you chuckled too.

You pulled away from him, got dressed quickly, and gave him one last kiss before slipping through the door—hoping no one would notice your disheveled hair or the fact that you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

You entered the lab to find Reed looking up.
"I was wondering when you left last night. I didn’t even notice until Ben pointed it out this morning."

"I just crashed in my office," you lied.

Reed nodded, seemingly satisfied. Sue and Ben exchanged a glance but didn’t press the issue. Moments later, Johnny strolled in behind you all, grinning as usual.

"Good morning, my beautiful team—and Reed."

Reed rolled his eyes.
"Alright, sit down. I think I know the solution to our silver space alien dilemma."

Everyone gathered around the chalkboard.

"Unfortunately, I think our best bet is to go to space," Reed began.
"I know it’s not ideal with Sue being this far along, but we have to follow her signal."

He waited for a response.

"You’re going to find Galuctus? That’s the plan, find him before he gets to us? And what—hope he’s reasonable? That he wants to bargain?" you asked.

Reed met your gaze knowingly.

"I mean, he doesn’t strike me as the bargaining type. You really think he’s just going to change his mind? You can’t be serious."

You stood now, animated and frustrated. Sue sighed and said your name, clearly exasperated. No one else backed you up—it felt like they’d already decided.

"Doc, you’ll be on the ground, navigating us to the best of your ability," Reed continued, ignoring your protest.
"We’ll probably go dark for a few days, but once we’re back online, we’ll need your help getting home."

You stared, jaw slack. With a deep breath, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Arguing would get you nowhere.

"Okay. When do you leave? I can have the suits ready soon."

"Tomorrow."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded, heading to your office to prepare for their departure.

You were about to sit at your desk when Johnny appeared again, slipping in behind you. He grabbed your waist and spun you to face him.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, scanning your face.

"Oh, Johnny, don’t pretend like you care right now."

The sharpness in your voice stunned him.
"Of course I care. You know we’ll come back. We always do."

You pulled away and slid back into your seat.
"I have to get to work if I’m going to get all of your asses to space tomorrow."

He nodded quietly and backed out of the office, understanding you didn’t want to talk, and slightly stung by your assumption he didn’t care.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you let your shoulders drop.

You loved them—every single one of them. They’d become your family over the last six years. You had moved to New York, far from your own family, and they had taken you in without hesitation.

And then there was Johnny. God, you were undeniably in love with him. Shit. He said he wanted something casual, and you agreed just so you could stay close. But now he was about to go on a suicide mission to face a literal planet-killer.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

Should you tell him how you feel before he leaves? Or keep pushing it down? Could he possibly feel the same?

You were spiraling when a gentle knock at the door pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Hi. I brought you some coffee—I know it’s going to be a long night."

Sue walked in, hand resting on her belly, and settled into the chair across from you. You smiled, taking the mug gratefully.

"I know you’re scared for Joh—I mean, us." She quickly corrected herself. You chose to ignore it.

"Everything’s going to be okay though. You have to trust us. You have to trust Reed." She reached across the table and placed her hand on yours.

"I know, Sue. I trust you guys. I just… I don’t know. I’ve never had a family like this. And this mission—it feels different. Riskier."

She nodded in understanding, leaning back again.

"I know. But with great power comes great responsibility." She smiled.

You chuckled.
"Pulling out the cheesy one-liners, huh? Well, I’m with you all the way, no matter what. But what kind of assistant scientist would I be if I didn’t question Reed’s logic?"

Sue laughed.
"I’ll leave you to it."

With that, she left, and you were alone with your thoughts once again.

Only this time, you pushed them aside and got to work.

You had 24 hours to figure out how to get four superheroes into space.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Charm Me | Jeon Jungkook | Two Shot | Part Two

Summary: Your best friend's boyfriend's best friend is not someone you had planned on falling for, and honestly you hardly admit it to yourself most days but maybe, just maybe there's something you can do to test those waters… Pairing: f!reader x Jungkook (semi friends to lovers lol) Word Count: 8.4k~ (a little bit longer than the first part lol) Warnings: Smut and explicit language...yep...enjoy~ a/n: So yeah...part one came out came out five and a half months ago so if you want a refresher you can read it here

"Goodnight Jungkook" I say once we've finally settled down, both of us with our backs facing each other and although I've fallen asleep on him before something about this feels different.

The thought of being close to him like this, in a position where we could cross that line, the slightest movement leaving him on top of me makes my clothes feel so much more of a nuisance.

An inconvenience to something that's begging me to give in.

"You're still awake huh?" he asks, somehow sensing my unrest after we've been lying here for who knows how long. I hum as a way to alert to his suspicions, making him turn to face me and encouraging me to do the same, guiding my hips and making it close to impossible to say no.

"Is it the storm?" he asks while studying my features, knowing that if it's not that, there must be something I'm not telling him. I decide to nod my head, knowing that that's part of it, but the thing that's occupied my mind more than anything is him laying next to me.

"Tell me something" he says randomly making me frown. "Like what?" I ask, the question so open ended.

"Something you've never told anyone, or an embarrassing story. I don't know...something" he says, his smile soft making it hard to focus so I lay on my back and look up at the ceiling, genuinely wracking my brain for something that might fit into those categories.

"Um, I like to tell everyone that my favorite color is black when it's actually purple" I say, coming up with something pretty neutral but it's also very true.

"Wait really?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbow now, looking down at me and making it completely defeat the purpose as to why I switched to laying down like this. I nod my head as a way to confirm it.

"Like a really dark shade of purple that's almost black?" he chuckles but I shake my head. "More like lilac" I admit and he smiles. "What?" I chuckle and he shrugs his shoulders, although awkward from this angle is a very endearing reaction. "I never would've guessed you'd like a color like that". 

I echo his response with a shrug before quickly following it up. 

"Don't you dare tell anyone or I'll wring your neck. I don't need Sadie or my mother finding out and trying to make me all girly again" I poke his chest and he smiles, not finding my threat intimidating in the slightest.

"Your secrets safe with me princess" he says, making me clear my throat to break up the tension again because of the even closer proximity.

"What about you?" I ask and he tilts his head as if he didn't know what I was talking about. "What's something you've never told anyone before?" I echo and when he starts to think about it another rumble of thunder makes me scoot closer to him, this time so...much...closer.

After looking back up at him and seeing what I'd done I realize we've ended up in the position I had feared we'd be in, him hovering over me with his legs tangled between mine. We stay there for what feels like hours but is only a few seconds before either of us makes a sound.

"You wanna know my secret?" he asks, his voice huskier than I remember, leaving me nodding, not trusting my voice to answer.

"I've wanted to kiss you all night..." he says, looking down at my lips with me unconsciously wetting them, not daring to look down at his, "and the fact that I've held back this long..." he trails off, letting my mind fill in the blanks.

We stay like that for a while, him studying my features enough to know that I'm not opposed to the idea.

"Tell me to stop" he whispers, making eye contact before looking down at my lips again, leaning in, inch by inch. The chemistry between us visible, suffocating even, stealing my breath away before his lips have a chance to reach mine.

It's starts as a breath of a kiss, my eyes fluttering shut and with seeing my reaction he smiles to himself before pressing his lips against mine in the gentlest kiss I've ever received. One that would be hard to register if all of my senses weren't focused on what he might do next.

My eyes flutter open after he's pulled away, gaging my response leaving me placing my hand on the nape of his neck, pulling him back in, the kiss going from soft and progressing from there. 

We break apart when the thunder resounds again but he cups my cheek keeping me in place.

"Focus on me" he reassures "Just stay here and focus on me".

He rests his head against mine, both of us catching our breath and soon I'm nodding, pulling him back in.

His lips alone become a good distraction, taking away my sense of sight and focusing my sense of touch where our bodies connect and part.

His breathy moans come in next, addictive to say the very least leaving me wanting to chase more, bowing my back up into him. His right hand grabs my waist and pulls me closer, his hips pressed against mine making a small gasp leave my lips when I notice how much this is effecting him.

"Just leave it" he mumbles against my lips, diving back in and increasing the intensity, his kisses bruising, stealing the air from my lungs. When I pull away he doesn't let his lips leave my skin, going from peppering kisses along my jaw to ones that are a bit bolder.

His tongue and teeth work to find that spot on my neck that'll give me goosebumps, chuckling when he hears another gasp from me, my fingers in turn lacing through his locks and keeping him close.

He pulls back the slightest bit, blowing cold air on that spot, his lips having left it damp making me shiver under him.

"Jungkook wait" I mumble when his lips come back up to mine. He hums into the kiss, clearly not interested in pulling away anytime soon, in fact increasing the intensity, making it hard for me to get in a word edgewise.

"Wait" I finally say again, pushing back on his chest, both of us panting in sync, the rhythm of his heart beating strong against my palm.

"What is it?" he asks, studying my expression. "I didn't hurt you did I?" he asks, brushing his thumb along my bottom lip, properly love bitten.

"No, no you didn't hurt me. It's just...what are we doing?" I ask, my brows drawn together, needing to know what he's thinking. "Whatever you want to do" he says, caressing my cheek, reassuring me that he's here to comfort and not push.

"And if I say stop?" I ask, curious as to his reaction. "Then we stop" he says, looking down at my lips again, clearly still begging to taste them.

"And if I don't want to stop?" I ask, with me now shamelessly looking down at his. 

"Then I'm yours" he says simply as if that wasn't meant to make my heart race faster.

"Whatever you want, whenever you want, I'm yours" he finishes, leaving the decision up to me, my inner turmoil that much harder to contain.

Thoughts of what could and couldn't be. What should and shouldn't be. What I crave but deny senselessly.

Those thoughts run through my mind but right here, right now, I couldn't think of any reason why I should say no.

I study his features for a little while longer and when he sees my expression go from worry to curiosity he smiles, a smile that I've seen before that tells me everything's gonna be okay.

And so I kiss him, I kiss him soft and slow, taking in the way our lips push and pull apart, the way we share breath and consume each other, forgetting the world and simply being us.

Jungkook and I, friend and friend, lover and lover, man and woman.

I don't know what comes over me next, I'm not sure who or when it even started but soon kissing isn't enough, it's not enough and both of us knew it would never be enough.

With a want like this so raw, so electric, it would be impossible to stop at a spark.

His hips grind against me, or I grind against him, either one is plausible but once one of us starts, neither of us wants to stop.

"Fuck" Jungkook groans in my ear, his sounds go from that of an animalistic man, to a man with the desperate need to please, everything about it driving me mad.

Our eyes meet and I can't breathe, the vision of him on top of me, hair recklessly strewn about, his pink cheeks rival the color of his soft, swollen lips, his eyes glazed over with desire, pupils blown wide and I know that if we keep going there's no turning back.

His hips however, needfully move in stark contrast to his hands that have stayed on my waist, not going higher and not daring to go lower.

"More" I breathe out, one of the only words left in my coherent vocabulary. "More?" he questions, his lips now drawn into a soft smirk, letting his eyes drag up and down my form, being cut off by the way his hips are still pressed against mine.

"More" I say and pull him closer, his lips returning to mine and his hands now bolder, one slipping under my shirt while the other runs along my thigh, wrapping it around his torso to give him more room to grind into me.

"Are you sure you want this?" he mumbles against my lips through heated kisses in no way giving him the sign to stop. 

"Yes" I sit up, tossing my shirt to the side, his greedy hands immediately going to my chest, having taken my bra off for comfort, not having expected to be here with him right now. 

He leans down and captures one of my nipples into his mouth, his greedy tongue lapping at it as he alternates with the way he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth teasing me with little nips before going over to the other one to give it the same treatment. 

It's been a while since I've done anything like this making me incredibly needy, my sounds hard to keep at bay leaving me placing a hand over my mouth to silence them but that catches his attention making him let go of my swollen bud with a pop. 

"Don't" he says and gently takes my hand off my mouth, kissing my palm. "It's embarrassing" I argue but his expressions tell me that it's anything but. "It's sexy" he smiles against my palm before placing another kiss on it and letting go. 

I nibble on my lip, still hesitant of being so vocal but I can tell this is something he enjoys, something that makes him confident. He pulls my bottom lip out from between my teeth and leans back in to kiss me. 

"Let me hear how good I'm making you feel, yeah?" he says against my lips, breaking the kiss leaving me chasing his but he pulls back. 

So I nod, knowing that this might not continue if I don't give in. 

He smiles and kisses my neck, toying with my nipples again until I'm mewling, making it clear that I need more and so his hands trail down my body. They rest on my bare waist for a while, tracing patterns along my skin, taking his time even though he know's I'm desperate.

"Off" I say simply and tug at his shirt, if I'm not able to get him to go faster the least I could do is enjoy the view a little more, his strong stature being one of the things that I shamelessly enjoy viewing when he's not looking. 

He chuckles and sits back up, letting me take it off of him before I look at his toned torso for the first time in a while, surprised at how defined his muscles have gotten since the last time. 

"You can touch me you know" he says with a taunting tone, leaving me looking away, only looking back when he takes one of my hands and places it on his chest where his heart is. 

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asks, the rapid beating of his heart so easily felt through his chest but I shake my head. "Do you now?" he asks and I nod my head, "A little" I reply because I'm really not sure the depths of his feeling or potentially just attraction he feels towards me.

"I won't say anything now but just...just think about it." he says and kisses me before I can start overthinking again. 

His actions escalate from there, toying with the tie on my sweatpants and seeing if there's any protest but when there's none he pulls back. "Can I take these off?" he pants, his eyes full of desire but also vulnerability, unsure if what he said has scared me away but I nod and he smiles. 

"All of it?" he says, a finger just barely slipping past the waistband of my panties, playing with the elastic until I nod. "Words" he says, nudging his nose against mine leaving me breathing out a 'Yes' right away, him placing a quick peck on my lips as a response, getting off the bed so he can slide them off.

He pulls it all off but catches the clear wet spot on my underwear and curses, looking up at the evidence of what this has done to me.

"So wet already" he hums, taking this time to slide off the rest of his clothing, climbing back on top of me so we're now completely laid bare, skin against skin, hearts beating as one.

"Tell me what you want" he says softly, one hand holding my hip, rubbing soothing circles into it while the other rests next to my head, propping himself up. 

"Help me forget about the storm" I flinch again when another thunder clap sounds and he hums, deciding not to tease me too much. He kisses me again, trailing down from my lips to my neck, along my chest, down my torso and settles on kissing along my waistline.

He's been parting my legs further and further apart as he goes down but now he's face to face with my center, his curses coming freely again as he takes in the sight between my legs. 

He blows cool air on me making my hips buck up as a result, the reaction making him chuckle. 

"So sensitive" he taunts but before I can respond he's placing a soft kiss against my clit, the sensation of that gentle touch makes me shudder.

He does it again, clearly enjoying my reaction but he doesn't stop at one, he takes his time kissing, sucking, circling his tongue around my clit, gaining him quiet whimpers, needing more but letting myself get lost in the feeling. 

I asked him to help me forget and he's going to take his time making sure of it. Forget the storm, forget my name, forget where we are and remember him. Only him.

I don't hold back my moans this time, pushing past the embarrassment since I know it gets him off from the reactions he gives me. Every moan gains me one in return, a whine leaves him humming, a scream leaves him trying to burry his face deeper into me even if he knows he as close as he could possibly be.

"Fuck I could do this all day" he murmurs, more to himself than to me, catching his breath before looking back up, seeing the panting mess he's already made.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he crawls back on top of me, resting in between my legs, his fully hard cock rubbing against my thigh. 

He kisses me again, letting me taste myself on his tongue, messy would be putting it lightly the way we share breath and let our tongues wrap around each other. 

"You sure you want this?" he asks, one of his hands trailing down my torso and stopping to toy with my already swollen clit. "Please" I pathetically whimper, my dignity beyond gone as my hips buck up against his hand which he soon pulls away, replacing it with his cock.

He watches as I shudder when he drags his tip through my folds and I can see how much he's enjoying this making me want to beg again but before I can he's pushing inside of me, my voice catching in my throat and my eyes shutting as I try to focus on loosening up for him.

"It's okay" he says, caressing my hip when he feels how tight I am around him. "You're doing so good for me, taking me so well" he says, coaching me into letting him in, his hand now moving to circle my clit which helps, my grip on his loosening slightly letting him push in further. 

"So perfect for me, so wet and tight" he hisses, pushing in a bit further, my face contorting with pain but he knows me well enough to know I would tell him to stop or slow down if I wanted him to.

He bottoms out when he knows I can take it, pressing a kiss to my cheek as I breathe through it. 

"Look at you, so pretty with my cock buried inside you, making me feel so fucking good" he says, his taunting tone driving me into submission, a whimper slipping past my lips.

"You sound so sweet baby. You gonna be good and show me how much you love it when I fuck you like this?" he continues, his words, his scent, his cock are enough to keep me from cowering away when another thunder clap resounds through the room.

"Jungkook" I shudder and it's enough for him to know that I want him to move, starting with shallow grinds, his hips moving at a sensual rhythm that has me pulling him closer. 

His moves get bolder as he pulls back half way before thrusting back into me a little harder, a gasp stollen off my lips as he hits my g spot. 

"There huh?" he hums, pulling out and hitting that same spot my gasp laced with a 'yes', my nails running down his back. 

He chances pulling out until just his tip is inside before he slams back in, watching my reactions while he curses, muttering how insane I feel.

He sets a pace that has me moaning his name, the steady rhythm of his hips driving me mad, his name slipping past my lips while he muffles his moans, burying his face in my neck. 

"So good, so fucking good. Fuck you're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that" he groans, my walls already fluttering around him.

A mess of unintelligible sounds come out of me while he curses and pounds into me harder, the pace at which he's going makes my toes curl. "You're so fucking wet, making a mess" he murmurs, both of us delirious and past the point of communication. 

He feels me getting close and keeps at his pace, putting his fingers in his mouth before pinching my nipple, rolling it between his fingers and hissing when I clench even more, his movements getting sloppy as he's close to tipping over the edge. 

"Please" I sob out, so so close. 

"I know, I know" he mumbles making it a point to make me cum first and it doesn't take much more that that.

"Shit" he groans and bites down on my shoulder, the pleasure it gives me in the heat of the moment tips me over, my release triggering his.

Once we've ridden out our highs he hovers over me, looking down at my freshly fucked state. 

"Wow" he pants out, his gaze glazed over and sleepy, thoroughly satisfied.

"Yeah...wow" I echo, smiling up at him.

"You're so pretty" he compliments leaving me biting my lip.

"You feeling better now?" he asks softly after he slips out, both of us hissing from the hint of overstimulation.

"Mhm" I hum, watching him as he lays on his back and cuddling close on impulse but then second guess myself and try to pull away. 

"Where are you going?" he asks pulling me closer than I was before, tangling our legs together. "I wasn't sure if-" "I earned this" he says with finality making me chuckle. 

"You earned this?" I ask, his reaction puzzling. 

"Yes. I earned sleepy, lazy, post orgasmic cuddles with you" he huffs making me giggle, nuzzling against him and getting even closer if that were possible.

He reaches over to the night stand and pulls out a few tissues, softly asking me to open my legs so he can help me clean up a little. I thank him softly and he hums before tossing it aside, neither of us worried about where it landed in favor of staying close.

No more words are said after that, just the sound of our steady breathing and the soft rumbling of thunder way off in the distance.

~~~~~~

He slips out of bed the next morning soon after we've woken up, hearing my stomach growl making both of us chuckle. 

"We can just eat cereal" I argue, trying to keep him here but he shakes his head. "The bakery is just down the street. I'll be back in a bit" he says and leans down, kissing my pouty lips before heading out.

I sigh happily and go to grab my phone, seeing about a dozen texts from Sadie apologizing for forgetting I needed a ride home.

I let her know Jungkook gave me a ride and she jumps to conclusions to which this time happen to be right but I won't tell her that...not yet.

She calls and tries to FaceTime me but I decline it, getting up and running to the bathroom to see the state of me, my neck and chest littered with hickeys  and I run back to my room and put on some shorts, grabbing one of my big hoodies and slipping it on, throwing the hood up seconds later and tying the strings before calling her back.

"Why'd you decline my call?" she pouts and I chuckle nervously. "Sorry I was naked" I say adjusting the hoodie and I can feel her suspicious glare through the phone.

"Are you cold or something?" she asks, pointing out my bundled up state and I nod. "Yeah it's a little chilly. I turned up my a/c last night and forgot to turn it back down when I went to sleep" I say but my explanations clearly make no sense.

"It was cold and raining last night" she dead pans and I chuckle and get out of bed, walking over to the kitchen to get some water. "Anyways, enough about me. How was your night?" I ask but she shrugs. 

"It was normal. You and Jungkook were still in the living room when we went to bed so we didn't want to get freaky or anything if that's what you're wondering" she blushes, knowing it's happened before, both Jungkook and I quickly seeing ourselves out on those nights...or days honestly.

Although that was a bit earlier in their relationship so they've thankfully toned it down by now.

"How was your night? I saw that Jungkook came over on his motorcycle last night so he gave you a ride huh?" she taunts and I groan. "I'm hanging up now" I say but she quickly apologizes and keeps me from hanging up. 

"I just wanted to let you know that if anything happens..." she says and I hear the passcode on my door being punched in, putting myself on mute so she doesn't hear him come in. "...you have my blessing. Both of ours actually" she giggles and I glance up as Jungkook walks in.

His messy bed head combined with his helmet hair that he's clearly been trying to fix on his way up gives him a soft boyfriend look. The next thing that catches my eye are the fact that some of the marks I left on him last night peak through the collar of his shirt making me gulp.

"Are you even listening to me?" she growls making me look back at the screen. "Y-yeah, yeah sorry. I gotta go S but thank you...I'll uh...keep it in mind" I say, not so subtly glancing between her and Jungkook.

"Is someone there with you?" she asks, my ability to hide things from her are getting worse and worse. "Okay bye!" I say and quickly end the call, placing my phone with the screen facing down and placing it on silent.

"Sadie?" Jungkook nods to the phone and I nod to confirm. "Yeah just Sadie being...Sadie" I say and grab some plates for the pastries he brought.

When I turn around to go back to the table he's right behind me making me bump into his chest.

I look up at him and he slips the plates out of my hands and places them down on the counter before pulling on the drawstrings to untie the knot that's securely tied under my chin. 

He gently takes the hood off my neck and places his hand on the side of it, rubbing his thumb along my pulse point and trailing it along some of the other marks he made.

"Hiding?" he rasps out, his morning voice deep and goes straight to my core but I can tell that in his teasing tone there's some vulnerability behind it. 

"Not really" I say softly but he doesn't buy it, tilting his head at me and I look down at the floor, him tilting my chin up seconds later. 

"If you're not ready I understand...but I can't go back to being in limbo with you" he says, his thumb now caressing my cheek and I nod, leaning into his touch. 

"I'll think about it. I promise" I say, just audible enough for him to hear and he hums, leaning down to kiss me. I accept it right away, running my fingers through his hair and gasping into his mouth but before it's able to go much further he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine.

"We can't do this again until you decide...I don't want to torture myself" he admits, his voice cracking with vulnerability and I nod, pulling away from him and he lets his hands fall back at his sides. 

"I got you your favorite" he says, quickly changing the subject making my brows raise. "You know my order?" I ask and he nods, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears turning pink as if he hadn't fucked me into my next life last night. 

"Sadie has had Jayson and I pick up food from there enough that I kind of know it by heart..." he trails off but then quickly clears his throat and turns around. "I got some other stuff too though in case you were in the mood for something different" the words tumbling out of his mouth as he grabs the plates from the counter, opening the pastry box 

He places one of the plates in front of the chair I tend to sit on while he takes the one where Sadie usually sits at right next to me. I smile at his want to stay close to me, his attachment clearly growing since last night and I can't deny that things feel...different.

Not just the sex but the intimacy of how he truly cared for me and wanted to help me through the storm. His warmth and presence, his soft gaze and strong hands on me showing that no matter what he was going to protect me.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asks softly, seeing as though I haven't touched a thing. "Sorry, I was just thinking" I say and hum when the flakey pastry hits my tastebuds, the almond flavor from the croissant dancing along my tongue. He smiles at the sight and starts eating his as well. 

Breakfast includes comfortable silences caused by my day dreaming, little conversations popping up here and there making it feel natural...domestic. 

"So...what are your plans for Va-" his words are cut off by the sound of my phone vibrating and he deflates slightly when I reach for it. "Crap it's my mom. I should take this" I say apologetically to which he smiles sadly leaving me debating on if I should but stand up and go back to my room.

"Mom?" I say softly and she rambles off how it's been way too long since I've called her and that it took me forever to answer my phone. I apologize and tell her that I'm spending time with a friend so now isn't the best time to catch up. 

"A friend?" she asks, her lecturing slowing down, intrigued by the thought of it. "A new friend?" she asks and I hum. "Technically not very new but new...ish" I say and it gets her even more invested. "And is this friend a male or female? Does Sadie know them?" she asks and I sigh.

"I'll tell you later mom, I have to go" I say and quickly hang up, knowing that I'm going to regret doing that but I can't keep him waiting when he was in the middle of asking me what I think he was going to ask. 

I take a deep breath in and out before tossing my phone on my bed, making certain it won't interrupt us again. I shake off the nerves from the call before going back to the kitchen where I find him messing with his phone, his brows bunched together in concentration.

 "Everything okay?" I chuckle when he quickly locks his phone and places it on the table as though he's been caught red handed. "Yep, everything's fine" he says, forcing a smile while his cheeks are blushing from embarrassment for some reason.

"You sure about that?" I give him a lopsided smile and he nods. "Is everything okay with your mom?" he asks and I hum. "I haven't called her in a while so she was just checking in" I shrug and take a sip of my drink to which he nods and does the same.

"Who were you texting?" I ask, prodding since he seemed to have had quite the reaction when I came back. "Oh, um Jayson was just checking in...wanted to know if I got home safe last night" he says and my mind wanders off to everything that happened making me clear my throat to stop my spiral. 

"So...what did you tell him?" I ask, trying to hide the fact that I'm freaking out because if Jayson is asking then it probably means that Sadie asked him to ask Jungkook and if Jungkook told him then he probably told Sadie and she's going to kick my ass because I didn't tell her first.

"I said I did" he replies simply and I let out a breath. "They can't know about this" I say and he deflates again but I try to take back the words I regrettably blurted out as a defense mechanism. 

"At least not until we know what this is..." leaving his posture straightening just the slightest. 

"Right" he agrees, knowing the premature reveal could harm not only to us but to them too.

"But sorry what were you saying? You know, before my mom had cut you off" I ask and I can tell he's trying to shake off the slight disappointment from earlier. 

"I was just going to ask what your plans are for tomorrow?" he asks but I know he's more interested in the day after tomorrow.

"Well it's the day before Valentine's Day so Sadie and I usually do a Galantine's Day with just the two of us. Her idea, not mine" I roll my eyes making him laugh, both of us knowing that it's a tradition I look forward to despite my eye roll.

"What do you guys usually do?" he continues, genuinely interested and so I oblige. 

"Well it's the one night a year where she can actually get me into a dress since well..." I motion to myself and he chuckles. "I get it, not the girly type" 

"Exactly. It's the one day where I humor her and get dressed up. She does my hair and makeup too so I tend to finish up looking like a completely different person" I finish and when I look back over at him he has his chin propped up on his fist, just gazing at me. 

"What?" I furrow my brows. 

"Has she ever gotten you in a lilac dress?" he teases and I toss a napkin at him. 

"No! My one condition is that it has to match with my vibe so to say. So no pastels, no bright colors, no patterns and absolutely no bows" I say, the last part being something Sadie and I have fought over for years.

"You guys really compliment each other, don't you?" he teases and I huff, "Opposites attract no? That goes for friendships too" leaving him shrugging in agreement.

A silence settles between us and soon he's glancing at the clock on the wall and cursing.

"What's wrong?" I ask, watching him as he cleans up and grabs his stuff, rushing around as if he couldn't get out fast enough.

"I have a deadline to meet and it completely slipped my mind. I'm so sorry" he says, clearly wanting to stay. 

"It's okay. I can't hold you hostage for the entire day" I chuckle and watch him bounce back and forth, going in to my room to see if he's forgotten anything.

Once he's satisfied with the thought of having everything he walks over to me and I can tell he doesn't really know what to do. In the past we would just nod or wave but after last night...

I push the guessing work aside and decide to give him a hug, my arms wrapping around his torso making him chuckle and pull me closer. 

"We'll see each other again soon yeah?" he asks, breathing in my scent one last time and I hum. 

"Now get going. I don't want to be the reason you get in trouble" I push him away, smiling up at him and the next thing I know his lips are on mine, a stollen kiss leaving me speechless.

"Bye" he grins against my lips, knowing he caught me off guard leaving me glaring, him chuckling in response before stepping out and closing the door behind him, sending me one last wink before he leaves.

I let out a breath and lean against the table next to me.

What am I going to do?

~~~~

Jungkook texts me throughout the rest of the day but I can't bring myself to respond. With him not being here and the fantasy of it all withering away the reality of it all comes back to me.

I slept with him. 

My best friend's boyfriend's best friend.

Just thinking about it is complicated enough.

I have to stop this before it goes too far. 

If not for me then for Sadie's sake.

Sadie really likes Jayson, and I think Jayson really likes Sadie so I don't want to be the one that messes that up. She's had her heart broken one too many times and I'm not going to be the one that stands in the way of her happiness. 

A buzzing sound breaks me out of my depressive train of thought with a FaceTime call from Sadie again.

"Why haven't you been responding to my texts?"

"Well hello to you too" I sigh and settle in for a lecture. 

"What happened between you and Jungkook?"

"What makes you think something happened between us?"

"Because Jungkook is freaking out on Jayson saying that he fucked things up and that you hate him now" she says, no doubt making it sound way more dramatic than it actually is.

"I just need time to cool off. I think I let things go a little too far" I admit, my voice trailing off at the end.

"What did you do?" she drags out the last word but I shake my head.

"It was a mistake anyway" I admit but even I don't believe myself.

Sadie sighs and looks down.

"I know you like keeping people at arm's length but that's no way to live" she says and although simple I know her sentiment is right.

"I don't keep you at arm's length" I say, proving that's not always what I do.

"Yeah but when others get too close you push them away....you're gonna regret it if you do it this time around" she levels with me because we both know she's right.

"I should go. I have to mentally prepare for tomorrow" I joke trying to get her off of this topic but I know she won't go down without a fight.

"But he-"

"No"

"But Jayson said-"

"No Sadie"

"Can't you just listen to me?"

"If it has anything to do with him then no...I'll figure things out on my own"

She sighs again and Jayson calls for her in the background.

"I gotta go" she mumbles and I hum in response.

"You can take it out on me tomorrow with your whole makeover thing" I offer which tugs at the corner of her lips.

"See you" she says as her goodbye and I nod before hanging up.

~~~~

I knock on Sadie's door the next morning and she greets me with a way too bright smile for my taste.

"What are you up to?" I mumble suspiciously, brushing past her before she even opens the door any wider. 

"Why do you always think I'm up to something when I smile at you?" pouting while closing the door.

"Should I read off all of the evidence because we literally have all day" I place my stuff down on the table with a thunk.

"What did you even bring?" she says, already snooping through the bags.

"Wine"

"You hate wine"

"Well now I don't"

She chuckles at that and shakes her head, placing it in the fridge and pulling out the pink lemonade she made for us. 

A yearly tradition we hardly ever skip out on.

"To you" she says, holding up her glass to cheers me which I do with my brows furrowed in suspicion.

"Stop looking at me like that and come see the dress I bought you" she says and I sigh, following her to her room.

When we get to the door she tells me to close my eyes and I humor her, holding out my hand so she can lead me inside, happily tugging me inside.

"Okay open!" she smiles, holding the dress up for me, the little black dress with a square neckline. Simple but sexy.

"Are you trying to seduce me Sadie?" I tease taking the dress from her, a light dusting of pink on her cheeks leaving her huffing. 

"No, I just thought you'd look hot in it okay? Let me have my fun" she says and pulls out a box of red bottoms leaving me shaking my head over and over. 

"I can't accept those" I shake my head but she shoves the box into my hands. "Yes you can and you will" she argues back with a vigor that tells me that she's not backing down on this.

"You know I used my Dad's card to buy it so it's no biggie" she shrugs and when I try to argue she places a hand over my mouth, my hands being full and unable to shrug her off.

"Say 'Thank you Sadie'" she coaches, not planning on removing her hand without it leaving me mumbling against her hands her nodding in approval and finally releasing me.

"I don't understand why I need shoes if we're just staying here?" I say and she shakes her head.

"Just humor me okay? Isn't this the one night of the year where you're supposed to do that anyway?" crossing her arms and cocking a brow at me leaving me sighing in defeat.

"Now come on, I found a new recipe on Pinterest that I wanna try out tonight!" she says, taking the dress and shoes from me and placing them down on her bed, giving me a glimpse now of the black bow on the back.

"Sadie, no bows" I grumble but she scoffs and pulls me out of the room.

"It's a black bow so you'll live" she argues and again I give in, consciously doing it more than usual due to the guilt I feel for keeping this from her.

~~~~

"Don't drink too much" she says, pulling away my second glass of Rosé, the sauce still cooking on the stove, the pasta waiting to be added once emulsified.

"You're being rather controlling tonight...like more than usual" I point out and she shakes her head a little too vehemently to not be concerned.

"I just want you to enjoy your night and not wake up with a hangover tomorrow" she points out and I sigh, deciding to go check myself out for the hundredth time tonight.

"Will you stop fussing? You look hot" she says, glancing over at me turning this way and that, huffing when I see the bow.

"It feels like you put in a whole lot more effort than you usually do into making me look sexy this year that I just don't know how to act" I point out, my boobs pushed up and lips painted a red that I can only imagine being named something to the effect of 'Blow Me'.

"You said I have free reign as long as I stick to the rules and I did so stop complaining" she scolds and I walk away from the mirror fixing a hair that's out of place.

Once she sets the sauce to simmer for a few minutes she convinces me we have to take pictures together which is also a tradition and once we finally finish we're both practically giggling like we used to in the good old days, interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

"Can you get that? I forgot to get some bread to go with the pasta" I hum in response, watching as she goes back to stirring the sauce again so it doesn't boil over.

When I open the door I'm expecting some teenage delivery boy but when I'm met with two very familiar faces dress very well my face falls.

"Good to see you too" Jayson chuckles and I know now that this was all just a set up, leaving me glaring back at Sadie.

"It was both of our idea so if you're going to take it out on anyone take it out on me" he admits, closing his eyes and bracing for impact, waiting for my wrath to rain down on him, only being met with a deep sigh and me stepping to the side.

"That's it?" he opens one eye and I cock a brow at him. "Did you want me to go after you? Because I definetly can" I say and he shakes his head and runs to hide behind Sadie, leaving me facing him...Jungkook.

"Hey" he says softly and I return the sentiment.

"You look amazing" he says, taking a tentative step inside, close enough to make me tilt my head up to meet his gaze.

We stay there for a while, neither of us saying a thing until Sadie curses and turns the heat off, seemingly abandoning ship once I opened the door.

"You too" I say, finally responding after getting lost in his gaze.

"They both told me you guys decided to change it to a dinner with the four of us tonight. I guess we fell right into their trap huh?" he admits, his cheeks now a subtle shade of pink.

"I guess so" I step aside, the lilac tie around his neck not going unnoticed, closing the door soon after he steps in. 

I shake off the nervous feeling and keep reminding myself that everything is fine, I can get through a dinner with them, no problem.

"Oh would you look at the time? We're going to be late if we don't leave for our dinner reservations" Sadie says, quickly putting the finishing touches on the pasta with Jayson soon serving two plates and setting them across from each other.

"Dinner reservations?" I ask, my voice cracking a little at the thought of being alone with him.

"Yeah my parents wanted to have dinner with us tonight and they got us reservations at this really nice place so I couldn't say no" Sadie explains and I know it's a lie but I give in, knowing it's not worth it. 

It's just Jungkook.

One dinner alone with him.

I'll be fine.

"Well you two have fun" Jayson says, quickly helping Sadie put on her jacket and they're practically running out the door.

"But-" I start to put up the slightest fight but the door is practically closed and locked by the time I come to.

We stand there for a second, just us two.

Alone.

Alone again.

"Are you hungry?" I offer, knowing I'm not the only one who got hoodwinked.

There's no reason as to why we shouldn't at least try to enjoy ourselves, right?

"Me?" he quickly asks, whipping around to face me, having been partially turned towards the kitchen, still in shock of the great escape the two of them made, leaving us no time to settle in.

"Who else?" I chuckle softly and walk past him, going into the fridge to grab the half full bottle of Rosé to serve us but he shakes his head. "I've gotta drive home tonight" he says in explanation but I don't push it, offering him the pink lemonade instead, seemingly a shade darker than before.

"Cute" he smiles leaving my heart fluttering. 

Even though I know he's talking about the drink the compliment still goes to my head.

I pour myself some of the pink drink as well, bringing our glasses over to the table and motion for him to sit down but he comes over to my side instead and pulls out the chair for me.

"I thought you said no bows" he chuckles after noticing the simple but prominent bow I swore up and down against but my protests fell on deaf ears.

"It was either this or pink" I explain leaving him chuckling, "Anything would look good on you but I do prefer black" his hand subtly brushing my shoulder when he pulls away, walking back around to take his seat.

I hum in thanks, holding back the shiver my body is begging me to let out, ignoring it in favor of placing my napkin in my lap, goosebumps still rising on my skin.

"Please feel free to say that you hate it. It's a new weird recipe that Sadie wanted to try out" I explain and he chuckles, taking the first bite with me gauging his reaction. 

He chews once, twice, thrice before he grimaces in place of the smile I know he's trying to fake making me stand up and take his plate.

"Wait no I really like it!" he says, trying to take the plate back with shaky hands but I'm faster.

"Pizza or Chinese?" I say while scraping the pasta off the plates and into the trash. 

"Pizza" he sighs, walking over to the sink to start washing the dishes after ordering the food despite my protests, him giving me the task of drying.

~~~~~~

A knock on the door notifies us to the arrival, him going to pay while I finish up drying and putting the rest of the dishes away.

"Don't hate me for this" he mumbles, his cheeks slightly pink as he opens the box, a heart shaped pizza inside with equally as heart shaped pepperonis leaving me covering my mouth with both hands to hold back the snort I was about to let out.

"I thought it was cute" he sighs and places it down on the table.

"It is very cute. I'm sorry I just wasn't expecting that" I chuckle again while grabbing a pair of plates and some napkins, taking up our respective seating arrangements again.

He lights the singular candle between us leaving the corner of my mouth turning up.

"What?" his doe eyes genuinely confused with my reaction.

"We're having pizza, Jungkook" I shake my head.

"And? Pizza can be romantic" he huffs, his mouth opens and closes a few times after, his efforts of adding in romantic elements obvious even without his verbal admission.

"I-"

"It's okay. Just eat" I smile softly but from his view the lipstick alone has his mind wandering, the sight tempting.

"You okay?" I ask, noting his hesitation leaving him clearing his throat and nodding, not so gracefully stuffing his face seconds later.

"Slow down" I laugh and he does so, dropping the slice onto his plate.

"Look-"

"No. I know what you're going to say" he cuts me off before I can even start.

"What was I going to say?"

"That we shouldn't have done what we did last night. That it was a mistake and that it can't happen again" he says, reading me like a book. I guess it's not that hard of a feat now a days.

"Jungkook" I sigh, having lost my appetite, and setting my pizza to the side.

"Don't you 'Jungkook' me. Something happened last night and if you won't admit it then I will"

"Please don't"

"I can't keep pretending like I don't want you" he admits, his words sharper than I've ever heard, flinching with their impact.

The gravity of them float between us, neither of us saying a word for what felt like hours but was only mere seconds by the time I stand up. 

I turn to go back to the kitchen but he catches my wrist, his grip just firm enough to keep me from slipping away.

Both of us freeze again, my eyes locked on his hold and his on my face, reading every micro expression. 

Before I can stop myself I rip my wrist out of his hold and use my hand to pull him closer, pressing his lips against mine in a bruising kiss, different from the ones we shared before.

These ones are more honest, hungry. His impact against my body subsequently pinning my body against the wall behind me, his hand cradling the back of my head to soften the impact.

He breaks away just far enough to keep my lips from easily capturing his again, sharing breath and resting his forehead against mine.

"I can't do this unless it's real" his voice breaking at his confession and I know that I can't keep hurting him, hurting myself just because I'm scared.

"It's real" I breathe out and that's answer enough, stealing my breath away with his lips beats later.

That night our hearts beat as one again, not from lust or from the need to protect but from love.

Pure.

Honest.

Fragile but true love.

If only we knew that the little red bottle tucked under the sink was the reason that our hearts rang true.  

~~~~

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[n1k0laa5]

So you people claim manifesting works then how come this girl I've been manifesting to die for about TWO FUCKING YEARS is still alive? How long does this shit take. you're all just fucking liars

okay first of all, what the actual fuck is wrong with you.

do you hear yourself? do you read what you just typed out loud? you’re out here publicly admitting you’ve been trying to manifest someone’s death for TWO YEARS and your takeaway is “hmm maybe manifesting doesn’t work,” instead of “wow maybe i’m unwell and need to touch grass and speak to a therapist with strong boundaries.” like yes, manifesting works. yes, it works for everything, yes it’s neutral, yes reality has no moral compass—but you do. or you’re supposed to. the fact that you jumped straight to “murder via manifestation” like it’s the next logical step is so deeply disturbing i don’t even have words. it’s not edgy. it’s not funny. it’s weird. it’s obsessive. and it’s dangerous.

you sound bitter, unhinged, and genuinely unwell. and not in the fun, quirky internet way. in the “this person needs to log off and seek actual help” way. imagine what could’ve changed in your own life if you spent those two years manifesting something for yourself, like healing, love, peace, better taste in thoughts, literally anything other than playing dark fantasy final boss in someone else’s story.

seriously. this isn’t just a red flag, it’s a red blimp. you should not be interacting with the community if this is how you think or talk. do me a favor and dni. full stop. and maybe, just maybe, instead of trying to kill people with your mind like some low-budget villain arc, you could try manifesting a functioning moral compass or at the very least some damn self-awareness. grow up.

this is embarassing + the psych ward is calling + niko out

[clowneryplusftf1]

Oscar Piastri x reader

Oscar is whipped the moment he sees you playing video games at the middle of a crowded club.

All Oscar wants is to go home and fall into his bed face first. 

And that’s coming from someone who only arrived at the party twenty-four minutes ago, from which he spent seven minutes trying to get rid of his jacket at the coat check. 

He pushes through the crowd, looking for a familiar face, but he can’t spot anyone. Lando’s supposed to show up, he was invited too, although he mentioned that he might have to be back at base despite this being a sponsor event. Guess he got a get out of jail free card. 

Lucky bastard. 

So, he gives up looking and heads to the bar, hoping a glass or two can make him forget about the upcoming series of hello and nice to meet you that will fill the rest of the night. Boring people at a boring and predictable party. It was designed to be a trendy event, at a trendy club, probably with some famous musician showing up too to entertain the masses. 

At first, he believes he’s imagining the whole scene, that you’re nothing more but a vision, a fragment of his imagination. Because why would anyone in their right mind let someone sit on the bar table with her heels resting comfortably where people put their drinks? What’s more important, though, is why are you playing video games at a party? 

Before he could stop himself, he begins to walk towards you, as if you were a siren, a beacon that’s calling out for him. There are many gamer girls in the world, sure, but you’re quite a sight in your short sequin dress and those sparkly high heels.

“Never expected to see someone bring a Steam Deck to a club,” he says casually when he stops next to you and rests his forearms on the back of a stool. 

There’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes when you look up at him, but then you quickly return your attention to the game without speaking up. For a moment he even begins to question if you’ve registered that he's standing there, talking to you. 

Oscar can’t help but wonder why you’re not putting the game aside to chat. He’s not full of himself, it’s nothing like that, you don’t have to pay attention to him just because an F1 driver–who currently leads the championship, but who cares–yet it would be nice if you looked at him for more than a second. 

Yes, he’s surprisingly craving your attention. Why, he can’t tell, but he knows that he needs it badly. Like a drug that he can’t let go–or rather one that doesn’t let go of him. Either way, it’s a dangerous thing, and a voice in the back of his mind keeps telling him to turn around and let you be.

“What are you playing?” he asks you, although there’s no need for you to tell him as he already knows. 

It would be hard not to recognize the game, especially after the scandal around its release a few years back. Welcome to Night City, everyone. 

He watches you pause the game, then place the handheld console on your thighs with a tired sigh. “Is there something you want from me?” you ask, your voice not rude or annoyed, just bored and flat. 

He points at the device. “Why do you have MaxTac breathing down your neck?”

With a raised brow, as if you were surprised he knew what was happening in the game, you look down at the screen, then shrug. “Well, you know, I might have raised some hell, then things escalated quickly. During my last playthrough, I pissed off Militech during an NCPD scan hustle.”

“Badlands?” You nod with a small smile. A little, adorable smile that melts his heart. “Fuck Militech,” he says with a huff, forcing himself not to smile. 

Why he wants to avoid smiling is beyond him at this point. If he’s flirting with you, the least he can do is smile, right? 

You turn off the screen, put the device behind you, then move to be sitting on the edge of the bar table, your legs mere inches from his knees. “An Arasaka fan, I take it,” you say as you let out a quiet laugh. 

It’s hard to resist the urge to put his hands on your knees, or two just brush them with his knuckles, so, instead of doing something reckless, he simply builds some distance by sitting on the closest stool. It’s still close, but definitely far enough to keep things safe for now. 

“Wouldn’t call myself that,” Oscar admits as he takes a closer look at the clear and yellow gradient shell that lets you see the inside of the machine. “Why are you here if you’re so bored you’d rather play games instead of partying.”

“I don’t see you partying hard either,” you point out as you reach behind the bar to pull out a glass of mojito that you probably hid there. 

He smiles for the first time, letting himself go for a moment. “I just got here, I’m still warming up,” he responds. You tilt your head to the side a little. “What is it?”

You lean closer, then conspiratorally signaling him to do the same. “You don’t take me as the party guy type,” you whisper to him. “Also, you have a reputation to uphold. Although…”

“Although what?”

Letting out a long, thoughtful hum, you edge a little closer to him. “A lot of people joke that you’re like Kimi. Räikkönen, not Antonelli. So, if you are, then you know how to party,” you say with a wicked smile. 

“Would you like to party with me?”

“I would like to hide under the blanket and have a nice long sleep,” you inform him. 

A part of him finds it amusing that this was his first thought as well when he got here, that he’d rather be in bed now. But now there’s another part, and he really doesn’t want to say what it wants him to say. Because he’s not like that, he’s a good guy–at least he tries to be–acting like this, saying this is not like him. Maybe Lando’s style is rubbing off on him. 

“I have a bed not far from here,” he offers, mentally slapping himself right away. 

“Whoa, hold your horses, cowboy,” you say with a heartfelt laugh. “We’ve just met, why would I jump into your bed right away? Jesus, what do you take me for?”

Humiliating. 

That’s the only word that comes to his mind now. 

And holy fuck. 

Yes, that too. 

“I’m sorry, it came out wrong, it was supposed to be a joke,” he starts to ramble. 

And then it just happens. You slide off the bar table, right into his lap, then wrap your arms around his neck as you take a closer look at his face. “You’re actually really handsome in person,” you blurt out. 

“In person? Oh, wow, thanks, good to know I’m not that good-looking on TV,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “What are you doing, babygirl, hmm?” he asks with his lips already hovering inches from yours. 

“Your boss was heading this way after noticing you’re talking to me. Thought you might want to avoid him,” you tell him with a smile. 

Oscar can’t help but wonder about what you just said. “What’s so special about you?” 

It’s a miracle you can hear him, because his lips are busy placing kisses all over your jawline and neck, while his hands are holding you firmly in place. But how could he resist when you offer yourself to him like this? What’s wrong with acting reckless and losing control just once? You can have as much control tonight as you want, he knows that by now. 

But you don’t let him get too lost in the taste of you, because you put a finger under his chin to make him look up at you. “My dad’s company is one of your bigger sponsors,” you explain. 

“Shit.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, Zak’s gonna kill me for this. Sorry, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Oscar?”

“I shouldn’t have–”

“Hey, focus!” you snap as you grab his chin. “No one’s gonna kill you. I bury hatchets and don’t burn bridges, so even if this is nothing more but a one-night stand, the sponsorship is safe. I won’t be mad if we don’t meet again,” you explain with a kind smile. 

For the first time that night, he takes a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs completely, then blows it out slowly to calm himself. It’s been a long time since he last panicked like this. Damn, he didn’t miss it. Losing control truly sucks. 

Instead he decides to focus on you again, closing out the possibility of his boss giving him a lecture about how to act around sponsors and their daughters. (He’s actually pretty sure Lando heard this lecture at one point.) You’re still watching him, waiting patiently for the moment when he’s ready to return to this little bubble of yours. 

“You sure?” he asks, and your nod is all he needs. “Good.”

And with that, he kisses you again, this time not worrying about the possible consequences. 

[girlfromflor]

BEEN AWAY: ONE SHOT

pairing: rich!kyle garrick x (ex)friend!fem!reader

summary: reconnecting with your school friend didn’t seem like a bad idea, but as you grow closer in this new setting you realize just how much you both changed.

"[...] You never hung out at each other’s houses but he knew your favorite flowers, favorite musics, favorite color – and also the things that made you cry, the things that helped you during a rough time with anxiety and what made you feel loved. You knew his favorite movies, favorite places around town, favorite foods – and also his love languages, what made him feel like he was enough and how to soothe him when he didn’t."

genre: fluff, smut, non-military au, tiniest angst | wc: 12445

warnings: slight mentions of racism, social anxiety disorder (reader's), unrealistic work/business scenarios, drinking, explicit sexual content: p in v, praise kink, he gets off on the way you say his name

a/n: this has come a long way. i've spent more than four months working on this, writing little by little so it'd be a good work. of course, it doesn't make kyle justice but we always have to start somewhere, right? i hope you enjoy reading. main masterlist.

It’s not a lie to say your love life was summed up to your school years – or better: to your former classmate, Kyle Garrick. He was the only one who ever got intimately close to you – emotionally, at least.

Young life as someone who fears social interactions sucked, especially with you being an extroverted at heart. Wanting to rant about all your interests – that were so many, by the way – only to be flooded with panic whenever someone turned to talk to you. It was chaos and a big part of you wanted to hide in your own little world forever, but another part of you wanted to be brave, courageous enough to allow yourself to just be – without worrying about expectations.

So that’s just what you went after.

It wasn’t like it was hard for you to do it. Certainly, during that time things felt like they were all your life was ever going to be, it felt like you’d be summed up to your school years forever – and that’s precisely what made you act like they were just another part of your amazing routine. You made yourself think about just how dumb it was to give in to those plaguing thoughts – never mind the fact that you had an insistent social anxiety –, how stupid it was to imagine that people would forever remember you for what you were in school – because they would barely remember you in the first place.

No one cared, you knew school was just school – well, at least that’s what you told yourself, over and over again like some kind of ritual. And when you realized, it had worked. It took a while and a lot of therapy, of course, but you managed to grow out of your social phobia in a way that your classmates – who once thought you were too shy, too quiet, too timid – started thinking you simply didn’t like people – and, well, they weren’t exactly wrong.

The closer you got to your graduation, the more confident you got that things were approaching an end, that your life would finally be molded to your liking. You walked around like no one would ever pay attention to you and that gave you so much room to be who you truly were and that itself worked like some magical exposure therapy – you felt comfortable enough on your skin to ignore people just as much as they would ignore you. Your seemingly non-loud personality was just a thin shell of comfort that you allowed yourself to be in because you knew yourself. Whoever decided to get to know you further could easily make out your interests and opinions, you just never wore it like a flag – like most teenagers do, so much for self validation. It also helped that you were an observant person. You walked around relaxed, knowing the place and the people like the back of your hand – even if you never really talked to many of them. So much so, it took Kyle two weeks, after first noticing your presence, to realize you weren’t a transferred or new student. 

Sometimes, Kyle still remembers how absolutely fucking annoying it was to get through school, the occasional thought of ‘what life could've been’ plaguing his mind every once in a while. Things were never easy to begin with. Yes, he had a wonderful family and somewhat nice economic opportunities, but still – he's a black man. He was born with a target on his back and he’d never see the end of it. Throughout his whole school years – particularly during the final ones –, there were only a few things that he reminisced about. He liked his maths teacher a lot, he enjoyed being part of the school’s football team – he kind of liked it, kind of hated it, to be honest – and he got to meet you. He specifically remembers how it was not-so-bad to watch the classes you were in as well. Reminiscing about school it's like putting pros and cons in a list about the institution, except you were in all the pros – sharing classes or studying with you, hanging out in the library, lunch and class breaks together. He’d recall some of your moments together and realize that it felt like a lifetime and no time at all altogether.

He was too insecure when he was younger, rightfully so. No one ever made him feel like he could be anything else, he’d always feel like he needed to be someone else – someone stronger, taller, whiter. His mother showered him with reassuring words all the time, but don’t all mums do that? He had the habit of comparing himself to others to an unhealthy amount, and when people realized he was good at everything he did? Well, that’s when things got worse. He had to endure long, exhausting years of fake politeness, weaponized kindness and overall patronizing behaviour – to the point of contempt, most of the time.

But then he turned 16, he was wiser – as well as he could, being a teenager – and he felt like he knew who to allow closer and who to ignore. So he started doing just that. And with that sense of “things already suck, i’ll just make the best out of it” he managed to win an insane amount of confidence – purely because, for the first time in his life, he was doing something for himself, and it felt really fucking good. He ranked up in the football team, earned some good friends that he actually respected and that treated him right, girls started giving him attention. Maybe it was his change in mentally that made him see you but then again, he barely remembers a time when you weren’t around.

You weren’t special – clearly, you carried yourself like you were just another person. Nothing about your personality was loud, you were unknown and easily ignored, but something about it felt like a fucking punch to Kyle’s stomach. Your almost anonymity both pissed him off and intrigued him and he could’ve let it slide if you hadn’t caught his attention so fucking much, because who were you and why did you walk around like you owned the place even though no one seemed to know – deeply – who you were? He wanted to know exactly what you had to achieve such a thing – mostly, he was envious of your seemingly peaceful life in school, how you did it was beyond him. And the worst part was that none of his friends understood, the first time he questioned about you his friends just blurted out “who?” like you were nonexistent – like you were unimportant.

Kyle recalls the first time he talked to you quite often, the last few years without your presence have gotten increasingly hard to endure. He remembers seeing you walk past his friend’s seat, choosing the seat in front of him to watch the class. It felt like Christmas, because after he noticed such a pretty thing like you sitting with a friend in the bleachers during one of his football team’s practice, giggling quietly and sharing snacks, he started seeing you every-fucking-where. Two weeks of pure torture after being graced with you distant presence, he finally got the chance to talk to you – a gift indeed.

He leaned forward in his seat, getting a sniff of your shampoo or perfume – it didn’t matter, it was his new favorite smell. “Hi there,” he said, in a soft spoken tone and with a small smile, trying so hard not to scare you away. 

You turned your face back slightly, peeking from your shoulder to see if he was talking to you. Why would he talk to you out of nowhere? Maybe he needed a pen or something. When you realized you were just staring at him silently – probably with a blank expression – it was too late, because he was quick to add “I’m Kyle Garrick," to give you the chance to introduce yourself. Nevermind the fact that you already knew who he was – Gaz, jersey number seven on the football team.

“Uhm…” You hummed, eyes completely trapped on him. God, why was he so gorgeous? And why was he looking at you like he was waiting for something? Oh, right. You rushed to tell him your name, trying to be polite like he was, but it was hard to concentrate.

His smile widened, his body relaxing a bit in his seat. He tried to make some small talk before the teacher started the class. “Since when do you go here?” Only to be answered with a small laugh.

“Are you serious…?” You asked, not offended, just amused. When he nodded, seemingly like he wasn’t understanding your question, you simply responded: “Uh– I’ve studied here for 4 years.” You left out the fact that you had PE with him during a whole semester once – it was the very first time you noticed him, maybe that’s why you couldn’t forget.

“Oh, God—” He laughed nervously. “Sorry, I guess I just never paid much attention to that.”

“What are you sorry for, Kyle Garrick?” You brushed it off, trying to make him drop the subject. The use of his full name made him feel flustered and taken aback, you said it like you were trying to enchant him – you weren’t, he did it himself. Before he could reply, the teacher started calling the class’ attention. You felt a pang of disappointment for having to stop your small chat, giving him one last look before turning back to face the professor as he started his class.

You didn’t hear it, but he whispered one last thing before he paid the teacher full attention. “I’m paying attention now.”

Since then, you two started talking during class sometimes. He’d look for you whenever you were in a crowd and would send you a wink, a smile or a small wave of his hand in a kind-hearted greeting. Soon enough, you were meeting up in the library to study for an upcoming exam, you’d watch his football practices whenever you could and he’d walk you to your place when it was over. You never hung out at each other’s houses but he knew your favorite flowers, favorite musics, favorite color – and also the things that made you cry, the things that helped you during a rough time with anxiety and what made you feel loved. You knew his favorite movies, favorite places around town, favorite foods – and also his love languages, what made him feel like he was enough and how to soothe him when he didn’t.

Kyle liked you for a lot of things, really. He liked you for you, mostly – your music taste, hobbies and humour –, but a part of him knew he liked you for how you treated him. You didn’t make him feel in the spotlight, you didn’t treat him like he was special or like he deserved special treatment. You treated him with tenderness and care unknown to him until then, his friends were affectionate with him, but you acted as if it was only natural – you called him by his full name every time, like it was the only thing worth calling him. He felt seen in a way he never did, but mainly, he felt understood. He saw himself in you, he allowed you to lean on him and the both of you started growing bit by bit every day – overcoming insecurities and supporting each other when you didn’t. 

That is, until he got his first girlfriend. 

After that, he never really had time to spend with you anymore – at all. He simply disappeared from your surroundings, calculatedly so, because if he didn't he was damn sure you'd get pestered to death. His girlfriend wasn’t too nice, especially since she felt so threatened by your presence, so he decided to distance himself – but you didn’t know that. It was painful for him and he missed you like crazy, it didn’t help that his girlfriend wasn’t very loving, or careful with her words – she wasn’t like you, and it was a fucking nightmare. Kyle hated that he only figured out his feelings too late, but he thought he’d never have you like that anyways, so why bother? You acted so goddamn nonchalant about it too, like he was never part of your life to begin with – he couldn’t help but give in to the thoughts that said that maybe he wasn’t enough, maybe it wasn’t all that.

Although, the thing is: you loved Kyle to death. He was a whole world in your hands, you valued him beyond anything and that made you succumb to utter numbness when he left. You didn’t need him to live but god, did you want him. Your days didn’t revolve around him but he was the best part of them. So, what should you do when you’re left alone and wanting? Well, of course it wasn't going to be waiting. You never expected to depend so much on him, but it made sense since he was like an anchor grounding you to reality whenever you needed. So you did what you do best, you took care of yourself. New projects, new hobbies, new places to visit. New experiences, only for him to be in the back of your mind at all times. But that wasn't a problem was it? You just ignored it, like you did most of the disturbances in your life. And between this unyielding path of self-knowledge and trying to forget Kyle, you found your passion, and the best part was that you had all the time in the world to work on it.

You worked as part-timer at an advertising agency, one that – you later came to realize – was very famous for its campaigns for big brands such as alexander mcqueen, bentley and clive christian. You slowly grew fonder of the agency's inner dynamics and soon began to be part of the creative process of campaigns for smaller brands – giving a suggestion or two, piping in when the creatives were stuck. The creative director who authorized most of the projects saw potential in you, and after you started college to secure a bachelor of arts in communication degree, she saved you an internship spot. 

Your life was busy and fucking amazing. You had the opportunity to expand on drawing and writing as a part of your work, made great friends that supported you and things escalated at the perfect pace – the one you set yourself. After a year as an intern, you already had a permanent spot at the agency as a creative and soon enough brands started to look for your concepts. Within the years that passed, you managed to get a great position in the very same agency, receiving a good salary and traveling around the world for big brand events – sharing new campaigns and ads that you created and directed with your team. You still struggled with anxiety, but it got so practiced throughout the years that it felt more like you had to gently tame it other than actually fight for your life – like you were so used to. 

As for Kyle, his life has never been so easy. Money, work, travels – everything was reachable, he could have anything he wanted. He always knew he was meant to be a great someone one day, but sometimes his current life felt like a dream. He is forever grateful for what he gets to live, thanking whatever divine being decided to bless his life and help him make his dreams come through – help, because he’d make it happen no matter what. 

His first girlfriend happened to come from an extremely successful family that owned a few companies in a conglomerate. Their relationship didn’t really last long, but since they had to study together for a while they maintained a somewhat healthy friendship – she started dating one of his teammates right after their breakup and they used to hang out together, so it was only natural. Her father liked Kyle a lot and ended up offering him a spot in his corporation during their summer break before college, which led Kyle to get a degree in business school to stay in the area. Soon enough he left their corporation and founded his own company with a colleague as his co-founder. Within the years after that, he had a tiring routine as CEO only to realize he didn’t have to, so his co-founder stepped up as CEO and Kyle fell into a more calm and less busy life, whilst still making a considerable amount of money.

However, with all the money and free time, Kyle started worrying about other parts of his life. He had the cars, the houses and the power, but what about love? He honestly thought maybe all that was missing was someone for him to take care of, nourish and love – and for that someone to do the same in their own way. Although, it’s easier said than done. After a few dates and one-night stands Kyle realized how hard it was going to be to find a healthy, serious relationship in his position. Most women wanted him for the luxury – the gifts, the expensive car rides and high-priced dinners. His edges started to sharpen a little and things started to lose sense.

It all got so monotonous. The repetitive cycle of picking up, paying for dinner, dicking down for one night and nothing more was boring, it was the epitome of a tedious, meaningless life and Kyle hated that. He turned into both a player and a womanizer, a man way too gentle with his words and with too much charisma in trivial interactions. He doesn't even realize that he is, in fact, a bit toxic – it's just his ways, you know? He got used to telling little, white lies. He got used to avoiding vulnerability. He got used to putting up with people's assumptions about who he is as a person. They see his beautiful face and think he's all about the sex and nothing more, then so be it.

Therefore, when a sudden invitation to a school reunion came up on his instagram DMs, he couldn’t even think of a reason as to why not. The first thing that came to his mind was if you were going to be there, but a big part of him thought you wouldn’t, and if you did, nothing guaranteed him that you’d want to talk to him – that you missed him like he missed you.

Kyle is still thinking about it, having arrived 30 minutes too long at the hotel’s party venue and not seeing you anywhere. He looked for you, but after a while he thought maybe you wouldn’t come, school reunions never seemed like your thing anyway – too many people, to whom you didn’t care enough to show up.

Imagine his surprise when he heard the small, polite tone of your voice, saying “God, I’m sorry I’m late, Amelia,” somewhere behind him. You’re slightly breathless and it seems like you have a smile on your face as you speak – he doesn’t dare to turn around and find out. 

Kyle’s heart picks up its rate on his chest, about to spill from his mouth – even his hands are starting to get sweaty. He missed this type of emotion – the wanting to live things. He hears Amelia laughing, answering you in a caring tone. “Don’t worry, half the people I’ve invited haven’t shown up yet.”

Kyle feels silly, he didn’t even think about the fact that he was one of the firsts to arrive. Maybe he was the anxious one, after all. He wonders how well are you dealing with it nowadays, he still remembers how absolutely terrible it was to watch you through your ups and downs with social anxiety and he often wished he could take it all away from you. He can still hear your voices as you speak with Amelia, catching up. She talks about her family and work and you listen like you always did – maybe social interactions were a challenge for you still, he thinks.

“Gaz is here too,” Amelia says, using the nickname which was like his actual name during his school years. Being part of the football team made him have a bit of recognition and people often mistaken his name for ‘Gaz’, since that was what his teammates called him. “Come on, someone’s calling me so I’ll go check what it is. You should talk to him.”

She leaves you with a nudge to your arm and you have to take a deep breath to keep yourself in the moment. Right, of course he was going to arrive before you, why did you think differently? Punctual – and overachiever – like he was, he most likely arrived before everyone else. You giggle at the thought.

Your eyes wander around to try and find him, only to be surprised by a towering figure just a few steps ahead of you. He's standing by a table, most likely holding a drink in his right hand while the other rests inside the front pocket of his pants. You blink slowly to get back in your senses. Is he taller? What a stupid thought, though, of course he's taller – and bigger, you wonder where the fuck he got the muscles from.

You stare at his back for a few seconds, wondering if you should really talk to him, taking the moment to take in his appearance as much as you can. He's wearing a baby blue shirt that showcases his forearms, the color highlighting the tone of his skin. His beige trousers wrapping around his legs loosely, but even then you can make out the outline of his legs underneath – fuck, he's hotter than you remembered. Maybe it is adulthood, maybe it's the lack of an active romantic life, maybe it's the everlasting teenage crush that made him so attractive still. You don't have time to figure it out, anyways, he's turning around in his spot way too soon, his eyes locking on your figure. You don't pretend like you weren't looking, but that's just because it'd make you feel more silly for staring – and the last thing you need is to overthink this whole reunion more than you already are. 

Kyle is too stunned to speak, and he's sure that if anyone talked to him right now all he would be able to do is babble your name. It's been six years or so since the last time he saw you, but you remain as beautiful as he always thought you were. You were wearing your hair a bit differently than you did back then, dressing a lot more like yourself too – at least from what he remembered about your personality. He takes in your outfit and your gorgeous frame, but it's the look on your face that takes the breath away from his lungs. You were looking at him – actually, you looked like you were gawking at his figure, shamelessly so – and he can't help the smile that pulls his lips up. He's about to say something, but you speak first.

“Kyle Garrick…” Your voice is steady despite the joy clear in it, the total opposite of your insides. Butterflies move up and down your stomach, and you have to press your lips to contain a nervous laugh. “It's been a while, huh?”

He chuckles at your choice of words, tilting his head to the side with a sigh. “Aye, one could say tha’.” He walks slowly to approach you. “How’ve you been?”

You nod as in contemplation, not wanting to rant but wanting to share everything with him. “Uhm… I’ve been good. Doing great, actually. You?”

The time it takes for him to answer makes the awkward silence grow to a palpable amount, you’re sure that if you take a step ahead you’ll trip over it. “I’ve been alright, working and all.”

You hum in acknowledgement and, for a second or two, you just look at each other. All the thoughts about what you once were suddenly not having an ounce of importance because you notice that the usual cheerful glint that was always swimming in his iris – a reflection of his inner joy – is no longer present in his eyes. You wonder if you’ve lost some of your youthful optimism as well, even though Kyle’s lack of sparkles must come from his own insecurities – ones you’ve been very familiar with over your time together. It’s clear now that you don’t know this man at all, for all you know, he’s just someone you happened to meet once, but he’s no longer that boy. You pride yourself in reaching adulthood and emotional maturity and he must have changed just as much.

The sound of Amelia calling for you snaps you back to the moment. You don’t notice, but Kyle’s eyes flash the fastest pleading look before he recomposes and says his goodbyes, watching as you walk towards Amelia to sit down at her table. For the rest of the night, he doesn’t see you again, too lost in his own thoughts to get up and search for you. What was that look you gave him before you left? Was it pity in your eyes? Did he look the way he felt – desperate for some ounce of understanding and recognition? He sure didn’t want you to leave, but he couldn’t think of a way to make you stay without sounding overbearing. You looked so self-assured now, he thought maybe the girl he once knew was pushed back somewhere deep in your mind – or maybe he was just projecting.

Four hours and way too many reencouters later, you figure it’s time for you to go home. It’s Saturday and you’d rather spend the rest of your night at home than in some reunion party where people were clearly seeking more validation than they did good memories. You get up from your table and walk out of the room slowly, waving goodbye with a polite smile to some people that watch you on your way out. The path to the front door goes by smoothly, no one stopping you mid-walk and you’re glad you’re getting closer to the exit. You move past the last few tables to reach the exit door in a rehearsed confidence, that simply looked like a practiced movement to anyone who didn’t know you.

“Are you leaving?” Kyle’s voice takes you by surprise, so caring and so confused that it makes a small smile bloom in your face. You leave the doorknob to look at him, turning in your heels to answer him properly.

“Yeah.” But there’s no further explanation.

The both of you are standing in the entry hall, taking each other in. After all the time you had talking with people you once knew, the weight of feeling so distant to him is bearable now. He's still just as beautiful as you remember, so much more like a man too. He looks exactly like the man you used to picture whenever you talked about your futures, and a hidden part of you wishes he’s thinking the same about you.

“Huh,” he says after a pause. He looks down at his shoes trying to break the tension that settled between your gazes, clearing his throat with his eyebrows involuntarily creased. “I, uh… I can drive you home, if you’d like.”

And it is a poor, half thought excuse to be closer to you, you know it, but it does things to your mind. The school girl who would’ve died from hearing such words is giggling and kicking her feet somewhere deep inside you. You’re truthfully flattered at his attempt, so you answer with a flustered smile. “Uhm, thanks. Really! But I have my car, so…” You trail off, showcasing the car keys and small keychains dangling off of it.

He can only laugh, embarrassed at his words because of course you’d have a car of your own, a pricey one at that. “Right, uh–” He glances over at you, not knowing what else to say. “Okay… I guess that’s goodbye, then.”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself because God, you’ve thought about meeting him again so many times, but today’s encounter was so fucking short-lived. “I guess it is.”

He waits until your hand is touching the door once again to call out your name hesitantly, before you can step outside. “Wait– Uh… Can I have your number? Please?”

You smile a little too happy for your own good, biting your lip to try and contain it but failing miserably. “Yeah, sure. You can, just let me…” You state, catching his unlocked phone to dial your phone number. You hand it back to him with a whispered “there we go” and he almost rolls his eyes at the tone of your voice.

“Thanks, love,” he replies with the very first pet name after so long not seeing each other and your heart leaps inside your chest. After receiving a nod from you, he watches as you walk past the door. And then you're gone, just like that.

Kyle didn’t text you that night.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t text you at all for the next few days. You thought that maybe he was busy, but he actually just didn’t know what to say. Kyle is terrified of scaring you away somehow – after so long avoiding vulnerability –, so he tried to think of how to text you without it sounding like he’s been pining over you since school – which would be hard, he’s not sure he can lie like that.

You, on the other hand, was too busy with work to care about the lack of messages from Kyle out of all people – which translates as: you were going crazy. It’s like you were pushed back to your school days, when you’d think and dream and breathe Kyle all the time. It was good, daydreaming about him and you for a moment or two, but you were convinced that was it. He surely had someone more interesting to spend time with, and even if the thought pained you, you still wished the best for him – love does mean sacrifice sometimes, after all. You didn’t know that man anymore and neither did he know you, so you expected the reunion night to be the only time you saw each other again – as it should be, considering all the years that passed. What you didn’t expect, was to receive a message from Kyle two weeks after he got your phone number.

You didn’t rush to see what it was when you first heard the buzz of the notification. It is Friday night and you're eating your homecooked meal as you sit on your couch, wrapped in a blanket alone in the living room of your apartment. The TV is on, playing a random show you don’t care enough to pay attention to, your whole focus moving from your almost finished meal to your phone screen. You are amazed at his action and baffled by his straightforwardness. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if the person was indeed Kyle – maybe it was someone else, texting the wrong number.

Unknown: hey Unknown: are you free tomorrow?

As the second Friday night after your – accidental – reencounter came around, Kyle couldn’t help but text you. He didn’t know exactly how or what to say, but he still did it – in a rush and without thinking, which resulted in a very messy first impression, he was sure of the fact. He was not used to texting first. He also was not used to being the one asking for things – he wasn’t one to ask for things he didn’t know the answer to already –, so to say he was nervous about texting you and asking you out was a big understatement. He did it anyway, gathering all the courage in his body and doing it with a deep breath, only to be struck by your answer.

You: hey You: are you free tomorrow? Luvie: Sorry, who is this?

He smiled at his own screen. It was getting late and the windows of his penthouse showcased the darkening sky, slowly blossoming with small sparkly stars despite the amount of city lights outshining them. He readjusted himself in his seat on the floor, back resting on the sofa as he nursed a glass of whisky that was now resting at the coffee table so he could get his hands free to type his reply.

Luvie: Sorry, who is this? You: oh, sorry, should’ve said that first You: it’s Gaz ;)

You rolled your eyes at his reply. Since when did you call him that? You quickly added his number to your contact list before you tried to think of something else to add to your answer. You couldn’t come up with anything, so you settled with what was known.

Kyle Garrick<3: it’s Gaz ;) You: Oh, Kyle Garrick! You: I’m not free tomorrow, though. Why?

Kyle likes how he can hear your voice through your texts. The way you’re always keeping the solemn facade and the serious edge in your voice until you feel comfortable enough to open yourself a bit more – the exclamation showing just an inch of your true excitement, he hopes. But the way you always mention his whole name – it does something to his poor mind.

Luvie: I’m not free tomorrow, though. Why? You: i thought it’d be nice to take you out for lunch

Lunch. A better option than the romantic dinner he had initially planned. Come on Kyle, you can take things slow – he thinks to himself. There isn’t a single thought in his head about you accepting his invitation, partially because – well – he liked to think he still knew some things about you, but mostly because who the hell grabs lunch on a Saturday as a date? But, regardless of your answer, he knew it would open the space for a conversation – at least from what he knew of you.

So, it is no surprise when he sees the notification popping up on his phone screen.

> Incoming call from Luvie

“Hello?”

You can hear Kyle’s voice clearly, although there’s a slight slur on it. It’s inevitable the way your heart rate quickens, your mind picturing him somewhere in his home, nursing a glass of something as he picks your call up.

“Are you drinking?” It’s the first thing you say, and the urge to end the call is almost unbearable. Despite your noisy question, he laughs on his end of the line.

“Aye, I am,” he says between breaths, happy that you called him out of nowhere – the spontaneity of it warms his heart and brings a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“What should I do with you, Kyle Garrick?” The question is silly, of course. A way of lightening the mood that’s probably only tense for you. For a moment, you forget about what made you think of calling him in the first place. He’s quick to remind you.

“Maybe accept my invitation for lunch…?” He is joking, following your lead and bringing the well-humoured atmosphere to try and ease you, who’s most likely overthinking this whole call. Despite his small joke, you know he’s still being honest. 

“I have a meeting downtown, tomorrow morning around lunch time…” You say, and for a moment you think you should have said something else. What if he thinks you’re making up an excuse? What if he loses interest in going out with you because of it? What if—

“Well, we can have dinner then. How ‘bout tha’, hm?” He suggests, as if it’s nothing. Your whole body is close to exploding with the way your heart almost stops in your chest, the slight rasp in his voice is almost sinful to your ears and he’s not even trying to sound inappropriate. Before you can answer, he adds: “I’ll pick you up, jus’ call me when ya get ready.” Who would say that a man who’s willing to solve things quickly was something that would attract you – maybe it was just because it was Kyle.

“Okay…” You nod along his words like he could see you and you hate that you’re so nervous because of him, especially now that you’ll go out  for dinner. “Uh, but—”

“Don’t worry tha’ pretty head of yours, jus’ pick something nice for you to wear.” And with that last sentence and a sense of decisiveness, he hangs up.

You could punch Kyle.

What’s wrong with him and why would he hang up like that? If he knows anything about you, it has to be the fact that you grow anxious from the smallest things. You know you can’t get mad at him – even if you wanted to –, but you wish you had tried harder to stand your ground. It’s not like you’re one to play difficult, but you did have a story with Kyle and you can’t be sure of what his intentions are now that he asked you out for dinner – he did invite you for lunch first though, the notion eases a bit of your nerves.

You’re always in control of your emotions and reactions, but when it comes to Kyle you turn into a stuttering mess. As for now, he was the one who asked for your number – and consequently the one who texted first – and now he decided almost everything about your outing on his own. You contemplate texting him about it, maybe ask where you’re going and what time you should be ready. But he did tell you to just call him when you were ready, so wouldn’t it just seem like you just wanted to text him? You hate that you overthink so much.

In the end, you just shrug the thoughts away, getting up from your couch to leave your dishes at the kitchen and walking to your room so you can get your night routine started – whispering to whatever God there is, praying that the date goes well. Even after getting ready for bed and snuggling under your covers, your mind is still thinking of Kyle when your head hits your pillow and, as you start to fall asleep, you’re sure he’ll be in your dreams.

Before you can register, it’s already Saturday afternoon.

Your meeting went smoothly even with the big amount of problems addressed. They are always so small that it’s easy to let them slip, which is what makes this type of meeting necessary in the first place – something that only motivates you to work harder. After your meeting, you're back home in a joyous mood, having bought lunch in your favorite restaurant on your way back. You’re feeling so content that you don’t even realize your movements as you take your phone from the back pocket of your pants and start to type in a message addressed to your once close friend – and love interest –, Kyle.

You: Good afternoon, Kyle Garrick You: I’m looking forward to seeing you later today

Kyle never expected you to text first. To be fair, he always just assumed you’d overthink to the point of giving up, but to receive your text – one so nice, may he add – makes his heart thump in his chest the second he sees it. He can’t decide what he likes more: the fact that he’ll be seeing you in a few hours or your text saying that you’re looking forward to it. His positive answer is expected by you, but his choice of words don’t fail to make you let out a shaky breath, unconsciously biting your lip to conceal a smile.

You: I’m looking forward to seeing you later today Kyle Garrick<3: so am i Kyle Garrick<3: can’t wait to hear all about your meeting today

It’s partially a joke, of course. He supposes you’re both going to talk a lot more about the years that have passed since your last – proper – conversation than about your current jobs. Regardless of what you’ve thought you’ll share, catching up with you is his main goal for the evening. You’re, on the other hand, quite aware of his motivations. His lack of questions about your life throughout the few times you’ve talked makes you think he’s saving them for when you’re talking in person – much like you, who enjoys being face to face when catching up. Despite your beliefs about the matter, you don’t waste time and play along.

Kyle Garrick<3: can’t wait to hear all about your meeting today You: Six years without seeing me and you expect me to talk about my work You: You’re a funny guy, Kyle Garrick 

Kyle laughs at his screen, eyes glinting with affection and a smile so big it hurts his cheeks. He missed talking with you like that and he can’t wait to have you all to himself, talking about all sorts of topics like when you did when you were younger. His reply makes you roll your eyes – typical.

You: You’re a funny guy, Kyle Garrick Kyle Garrick<3: sure am sweetheart Kyle Garrick<3: i haven’t changed that much Kyle Garrick<3: and don’t worry, we’ll have time to talk about everything we need to

There’s a slight tilt to your head when you read his last text. Sure, you expect him to be flirty, but you’re not sure how to interpret his words – maybe there wasn’t anything to think about it, maybe he just meant what he said. It takes you a while to think about what you’ll reply, when you finally do, you notice the time: almost one in the afternoon and you haven’t eaten what you bought for lunch yet – you don’t mind double texting after a pause, adding one last message before tossing your phone aside.

You: I’m glad we’ll have time, it does feel like we have a lot to talk about You: I’m going to eat my lunch, I’ll talk with you later!

You ate slowly, still thinking about everything you two will experience together. Surprisingly, your nerves are well tamed today, despite the anxiety-inducing factor. You’re glad you can eat and go on with your day without that annoying twist of nervousness in your stomach and, as you busy yourself with house chores and a bath, dining time arrives impossibly fast.

You’re still wrapped in your towel, trying to figure out what to wear. Kyle was a wealthy man, but he wasn’t one to dress up too much – at least for what you’ve seen lately –, so you choose a comfortable outfit whilst still being elegantly dressed. When you text him that you’re ready, he answers you in no time, letting you know that he’s on his way after you send him your address.

He shows up at your place approximately 20 minutes later, wearing an outfit surprisingly similar to yours – and you wonder if that’s the reason why he asked for a picture of your outfit in the first place. You take in his outfit as he steps out of the two seat car he’s driving, it’s a kind gesture – walking to the sidewalk to guide you inside the car, opening and closing the door for you – but you do ask yourself why he would want to impress you out of all people? Maybe that was truly his lifestyle, as simple as that. You don’t get to ask, his voice cuts through your thoughts.

“You okay with having dinner at my place?” Kyle asks you, but he rushes to explain further after he caught the squint of your eyes. “I figured it’d be better, y’know, to avoid crowds and too much noise…”

“Yeah, uhm– That’s totally fine,” you say after a pause, thankful that he did consider your wills before choosing where you’d go. He’s still as thoughtful as you remembered him to be and the notion brings a spark of affection to your heart. “Thank you.”

He snickers, a gentle smirk making its way to his lips – you’re so polite still. “What do y’mean, baby? I’ve got you.” He gives you a playful wink before starting the engine.

You relax on your seat as you put your seatbelt on, taking in the car’s dashboard. It looks out of a futuristic movie and you like the way it fits Kyle’s aesthetic – in a way. As Kyle starts to slowly drive away from your place, you notice how strong his perfume is. The woody smell is like a warm blanket being wrapped around you, the whole car smelling like him – and you secrectly hope his house is the same. He probably wears a very expensive cologne and you think of asking which one as a way to make conversation, but you decide to leave it at that, enjoying the silence – your body leaning on the window to take in the lit up buildings and the night sky.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve been this close to him. When you talked at the reunion you both kept a safe distance, but now you have your arms almost touching and it’s sending sparks of excitement throughout your whole body. The air is filled with a nice sense of mystery, both of you knowing this is uncharted territory despite the fact that you once were very close friends.

Kyle drives slowly despite the horsepower his car probably holds, his hands moving from his thigh to the wheel, from the wheel to the gearshift – and then back to his thigh. You wonder if he’s nervous about all of this, if he’s hanging on the edge of his seat like you are. You’ve had the biggest crush on him when you were younger but you never felt so nervous about being around him – maybe it’s the weight of being an adult now. You know things aren’t as innocent anymore and you don’t exactly dislike that, but it doesn’t fail to make butterflies to coil in your belly. You hope he’s feeling the same way, it’d be almost upsetting if he wasn’t.

When you arrive at his flat, you quickly realize he actually lives in a penthouse.

The entrance is huge. You can spot the floor-to-ceiling windows as soon as you step inside his home, the overview of the city making the butterflies in your stomach go wild – your mind becoming hazy at the notion of how high you were.

His decoration is so him, yellow lights every other free space, soft colored rugs and a lot of art pieces at the walls – which is what catches your attention immediately. Right in the middle of his living area’s wall is a big painting of a yellow lily in a dark, royal blue background.

“A lily!” It’s all you say at first, which rips a laugh out of Kyle’s lips.

“A lily!” The echo of your words holds the same enthusiasm from when you said it, and you can’t help the huge smile that blossoms in your face. “Do you like it, luv?”

“I love it,” you answer, still smiling.

“Good, I know lilies are your favorite.” Kyle is looking down as he speaks, but it does nothing to take the weight of his words. “Had that painting for a while now, took me a few weeks to finish it.”

“Wait– You painted that?” Your astonished voice reminds him of when you two were younger – when everything he said made you react with eagerness. He missed that kind of passion for things.

“I did. I saw a blue lily as I passed by a store, but thought it’d look prettier if it were yellow, so I painted it,” he says as if it’s nothing.

“That simple, huh?” There’s a constant giggle making its way to your mouth, the happiness of sharing something about him – something private – in his home, warms your cheeks.

He lets you wander through his living area as you two make small talk. “You don’t have a TV?” It’s a genuine question. Since the painting it’s big enough to cover most of the wall, you wonder if he opted that over a television – maybe he wasn’t one to watch TV much.

“I do have one, actually. I have, uh– A home cinema.” For the very first time, Kyle feels weird sharing that. It feels futile now, saying it to you like he’s flexing or something. You can sense his sudden rush of self-consciousness and, lucky him, you really like watching movies – that and the fact that you’d never judge him to be superficial.

So, with a laugh, you answer: “Uhm, I think that’s better than not having a TV.”

You two walk together as he shows you a bit more of his place, talking about daily and trivial matters before he brings you to where you two will be having dinner. The dining area is separated from the living area by a big bookshelf. The dark wood furniture is filled in its hole by many different things: books of all colors and sizes, vinyls and CDs, small vases with succulents, some framed pictures. It must be a lot of work to clean, but that's definitely not Kyle's job – he probably has a housekeeper that keeps the house in order.

There is a wooden table in the middle of the room, already set and decorated with lit candles. Kyle excuses himself for a second before returning with two made plates – one in each hand – and a wine bottle tucked under his arm.

You shake your head at the scene. “Here, Kyle Garrick, let me help you out.” You take the bottle and fall into step with the man, watching as he sets the plates down. “Did you cook that?” Looks good, goes unsaid – not the time to feed his ego, yet.

“I did, actually,” he says, as if it’d surprise you – he was always good at everything. “Quite enjoy cooking…”

“I can see that.” It’s a subtle praise, sounds more like a teasing remark but it works on putting a smile on his face. “Well, I would open the bottle if I could,” you say, comically. “But I actually don’t know how…”

“Oh no,” he mimics your tone. “And we can’t have tha’, now, can we?” You can’t help but giggle at the way he plays along. “Here, let me show you how.”

After making a scene of showing you how to properly open a wine bottle, Kyle lets you sit down to eat – you at the head of the table while he takes the corner by your left side. Dinner goes by smoothly, you both grow less nervous and more comfortable, enjoying the wine and the food in good company.

Once you’re done eating, he takes you to his living room – not after opening another bottle of wine for you to share. You both sit across from each other on the couch, the skyline in the darkness of the night making you feel like you’re in a movie. You raise your glass slowly to your lips, taking a sip and savouring the taste in your tongue as you bask in his presence – Kyle always made you feel so welcomed.

“Y’know,” he starts. “I always thought you didn’t want me around, back then…”

The question takes you by surprise. Not once you would’ve thought you gave off that vibe during your final months at school. “Why’d you think that?”

“Because you were so distant… I don't know.” Kyle frowns like it’s painful to even remember – and maybe it was, because it kind of was for you too. 

“You left,” with someone else, someone new who took your place – you don’t say it, but he knows you're thinking about it. Your tone is calm and collected, but the words reflect the confusion you felt when he suddenly disappeared from your life. “Was I supposed to run after you?”

“Uhm, no. I guess…” There’s a pause and then he shrugs. “I know I should’ve gone after you. Although, still, I wouldn’t wan’ t’bother you somehow.”

“You were never a bother, Kyle,” and you say it so softly he almost believes it. “Or a burden.” His eyes find yours and the way you’re looking at him makes him feel so seen that he wonders if he’s naked. You always did this – look at him and bare his soul against his will, make him feel held even if you’ve never truly touched him. “I’m happy people saw in you the same things I did,” you add. “A brilliant young man with a bright future ahead.” You’re sure your eyes are filled with sparkles now. “And look at you now.”

“It’s not like that…” He’s clearly growing flustered, your words heavy in his mind in a way it’d never be if they were from someone else.

“How is it, then?” You rest your chin in your palm comically after setting your glass at the coffee table, trying to lighten the mood – even though it’s been years, you could tell he’s overthinking. “Enlighten me…”

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “I guess with all the wealth I started to realize that I don't have what really matters to me, y’know?” He averts his gaze, shaking his head. “Like I have everything and nothing at the same time.”

“Mhm, I feel you…” You nod along, wholeheartedly. You knew he was always one to fall into spiraling thoughts, so to reassure him comes only natural to you – like it once did when you were younger. “But you can always think differently. That it also means that you’re not a superficial person. You have more to yourself than the money and the lifestyle that comes with it.” You two share a charged glance, the echoes of your past and the conversations you had as kids becoming even more real – same kids, simply more mature now. You sigh, trying to shake off the memories. “Either way… All you have to do is decide what you want, I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

He lets out a bashful smile, knowing exactly what you’re hinting at – his reputation as golden boy and the fact that everything had worked out perfectly to him. “Okay,” he says, changing the subject. “What about you? I knew you’d grow out of your anxiety…”

“Not entirely, but I guess it’s not a daily occurrence at least,” you share, hands coming down to your lap as you fidget with your fingers – involuntary motion, old habits die hard.  

“I figured, since you still wear your fidget ring,” he states, index finger pointing to your hands in your lap, indicating he’d seen your movement – the smallest motion from you being giant in his caring, attentive eyes.  

You look down at the ring in your index finger, rolling it with your thumb. “You remember that?”

You remember he had one too, the same as yours. He was the one who bought it for you – because of Christmas or your birthday, you don’t remember well, but it was a gift. He used to wear his with a golden chain back then, as a necklace. He used to say he did it for you, so if you ever lost yours he could land you his – in a way, it was true, only he wore it in a chain to feel you closer to his heart somehow.

“I tried to remember everything I could, love.” He adjusts his position on the sofa as he puts his – now empty – glass beside yours at the coffee table. His hands move slowly to pop a button of his shirt, opening just enough so he can take a chain from underneath it – and there it is, the same ring in the same chain it used to be years ago.

You get home tipsy and happy that night, the warmth running in your veins more from your wholesome interactions with the British man than from the alcohol itself – although, it sure did help. Kyle drove you home as you two shared thoughts about how your music taste has changed ever since you graduated. When he stopped in front of your place, he walked out of the car and watched you until you were in the safe walls of your home – behind your front door, you could hear the roar of his car’s powerful engine as he speeded off back to his penthouse. 

On the days that followed, you texted Kyle whenever something reminded you of him – which meant: you texted him every other day. Kyle was always receptive of your texts, even though he clearly wasn’t one to text much. To not come off as uninterested, he’d show up at your workplace during lunch time so you could have lunch together and send you things like your favorite treat, and small little presents like keychains and single flowers.

You had to grow used to it – to him and his way of showing his affections. Since quality time wasn’t something you could have often due to your different but equally busy routines, he found other ways to make himself present in your daily life. But he knew you liked to actually spend time with him, that’s why he’d take advantage of any time you had off work to take you out and do random things together – like last Sunday when he followed you around as you did your grocery shopping.

That’s how you find yourself walking back to his car after buying and eating ice cream from an ice cream parlour he claimed to be the best in the city – and it was, but you were sure it was because he was the one who took you there. It’s late afternoon, the last busy day of your week as you approach the first time you’d have a complete, interrupted weekend off work after a while. Fridays were always your favorite, but they never really meant you’d have time to rest, but this Friday was different.

Kyle had texted you about having the possibility to have a weekend off, asking if you’d be free any day – otherwise he’d change his schedule, like always, to fit yours. It was good that you actually will have time off, so you quickly assured him you are free whenever. He joked about abducting you for the entire three days and you said “I wouldn’t mind…” in a way too sultry tone – and he laughed, of course, you’re such a tease sometimes. 

You smile as you remember the exchange, a sudden cold wind blowing in your face snapping you out of your thoughts. You realize the sun is already setting, casting a golden glow over the city and you could only wonder how it’d look from his penthouse.

You decide to break the current comfortable silence that had settled between you two. “It’s such a beautiful sunset today…”

“It is, innit?” Kyle nods, but you can feel him glancing at you sideways. The things between you had grown even more complicated to describe ever since you started hanging out more often, the constant tension between you making your feelings even more obvious – even though you haven’t really talked about it.

It doesn’t help that you can’t miss an opportunity to flirt with the man. “It’s almost as pretty as you, Kyle.”

He can’t hold his laugh, already half expecting something like this from you. Shaking his head, he allows himself to share: “It’s hard to take compliments from you…” He tilts his head to your direction, eyes roaming your features. “Always has been.”

The confession catches you off guard. “Why is that?”

“‘Cause I can tell you mean them,” he says, laughing at his own words – why does it sound silly when he says them, he doesn’t know. “And tha’ puts me in a position I’m not very used to being in.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you think about his words. “You’ve always been people’s favorite…”

“But that’s what they say.” Kyle frowns, but it’s just a way to show how confused he feels – truly, just as much as you. “You confess it, it’s different.”

“I’m glad you know I mean the words I say,” you state matter-of-factly, but there’s an awfully tender edge to your voice. “I choose them carefully, y’know?”

“Of course you do.” He rolls his eyes, pushing at your shoulder.

He loves that he can share his thoughts with you and you won’t make a catastrophe out of them neither will you invalidate them – you’re the perfect mix of calm reassurance and playful mocking.

You two keep the small talk until you reach his car. Once you’re both inside it, you ask: “So… What will we do now?”

“Uhm… We could, uh- I could… Take you t’your place, you could pack some things and then we could stay over mine… For the weekend,” Kyle struggles but manages to deliver the phrase, quickly adding: “If you’d like, of course.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding. “Yeah, okay. I like the sound of that.”

The drive to your place is short. You pack a few, essential things with Kyle’s help – with him throwing random things inside your bag for you to take out with a huff – and then you two were driving to Kyle’s home.

It’s peaceful when you walk into his penthouse, the golden rays of light already going away with the sunset, the moon making itself present with a few starts that blossom into the darkening sky. Both you and Kyle change out of your outfit, choosing for more comfortable  clothes now that you’d be at home.

After you're both settled, he grabs your hand and takes you to his home cinema – a dimly lit room with a giant sofa and an ever bigger TV adorning the main wall. He chooses to sit in the middle of the sofa and you have no other option but to sit right by his side with the way he drags you along with him.

“Any suggestions as to what we should watch?” He asks, his voice low and his eyes trained on the big screen in front of him.

“Hum… No, actually. You can put whatever.” You’re looking up at him, his face beautiful in the dim light of the TV. It’s the first time you get to be domestic with him, the notion that you’ll be sharing a bed already working to turn you on – were you ovulating?  

You can hear the sound of a famous movie studio being introduced as Kyle sets the controller down in the couch’s arm. When he relaxes back into the cushions, he realizes your eyes are on him. The room stays silent except for the movie beginning to play in the background, you two look at each other trying to figure out if it’s the right time or not. Not wanting to lose the opportunity, Kyle leans forward slightly, lips brushing yours like it’s the last thing he’ll do in his life – slowly, savoring every second of it.

There’s a beat of silence, a brush of his nose on yours and then he confesses: “Fuck– Been wanting t’do tha’ since I met you,” he gasps out, even if he hasn’t kissed you yet.

“That long, pretty boy?” You whisper back, eyes so low they’re almost closed.

You keep breathing into each other, the movie long forgotten now that you have his undivided attention. Kyle quickly realizes you’re just as entranced in the moment as he is, but instead of jumping to conclusions, he asks: “Are you sure you wan’ t’do this?” Not wanting to sound insecure but wanting to be sure you’re okay.

“Mhm,” you hum in agreement, nodding your head slightly. “You?”

He smiles at your answer, hands brushing your sides lovingly. “Never been so sure, sweet’eart.”

With another brief brush of his mouth on yours, he breaks the distance and presses your lips together. You can’t help but frown, the simple notion that you’re kissing him making your insides melt and leak through your panties, your eagerness manifesting itself in a small, muffled moan as his tongue starts to brush tenderly over yours.

Kyle guides the kiss, setting a calm, passionate pace as you two make out until you have to take a break to catch your breath. He leans into you, face hiding into your neck with a weak laugh. “Thought you’d never let me…” It’s a joke, obviously, so you answer with fake offense.

“Shut up, you waited six years to kiss me the first time.” You nudge his side and he squirms from the ticklish sensation, stronger frame pushing you onto the cushions to pin you down and prevent you from carrying on with your attack.

Once he has you successfully pliant under him, he allows a smirk to adorn his lips. “Well, what can I say? I’m a gentleman.” His teasing tone makes you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling, entertained by his antics and happy to be this close to him.

“Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry Don Ju–Ah—” You’re cut off by Kyle, who starts tickling your sides, ripping a yelp out of you. After asking for a break with no success, you start begging: “Kyle! Kyle– Please, stop, I won’t make fun of you anymore. I promise!”

Kyle is laughing with you – at you –, but at your relentless pleas, he gives you a break. “Who’d say you’d look so cute begging like tha’, huh?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes again, instead you avert your eyes with a mumbled “shut up”.

The man is kissing you again before you know it. You make out slowly, each kiss working you up little by little.

Kyle takes his shirt off first and you run your fingers down his chest with worship overflowing your eyes. His warm skin feels like silk under your palms and you have to hold back the urge to trail kisses all over his body – surely, next time. When he moves to touch your waist under your shirt, you don’t think twice before taking the piece of fabric off as well, your braless chest coming into view, making him bite his lips softly.

“S’ pretty, luv,” he mumbles into the skin of your collarbone, planting kisses over it and up to your mouth again. 

Your hands move away from where they’re holding his face as you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies impossibly close as you make out, slowly grinding into each other – like one would in a sensual dance. Kyle’s left hand settles in your thigh, pulling it up and closer to his hip as he grinds down, humping your clothed cunt with vigor. You exchange gasps and moans, whispered confessions stumbling over your lips like you’re both drunk in pleasure.

Once the lust begins to feel too blinding to bear, Kyle makes quick work of his sweatpants and boxers, throwing the clothes aside not caring where they’d land on the floor. His palms trail up your thighs, softly squeezing the flesh before he reaches the hem of your shorts. He doesn’t voice it, but you can tell by the way he’s looking up at you that he wants your permission to take them off – which you land with a nod of your head and a heavy exhale.

Your shorts slide down your legs along with your underwear. You open your legs to accommodate Kyle between them without even thinking about it. His eyes are glued to your pussy, a million praises running on his mind. He moves his thumb to press softly over your clit and your gasp, hands holding his arms to pull him closer to you. Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t tease you much – pushing all teasing for the next time. He gives a few strokes of his hand around his cock to spread his pre on his length before holding it to your entrance, sliding over your folds to gather some of your slick. He feels like he’s floating as soon as he starts pushing his tip inside you.

“Fuck— Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbles, almost drooling over you as he keeps pushing inside.

You giggle, dumb and dizzy on him, face turning to the side trying to half hide it from Kyle. Despite the small burning feeling from the stretch of your unprepared walls, his cock feels divine inside you.

“C'mon, love,” he coos, right hand finding your face and making you face him. He takes his time pecking your face everywhere, showering you with kisses. When he gets to your lips, he whispers to them:  “Don't hide from me.”

He adjusts himself between your legs when he bottoms out, starting to move his hips back and forth slowly at first, his cock reaching impossibly deep inside you. “Oh my God– Kyle—” Your moan of his name makes him drop his head to your shoulder, holding back on cumming as best as he can with the way you feel so good wrapped around him.

“Yeah? Talk t’me, baby,” he urges, hand letting go of your face so he can wrap both his arms around you, resting them on his elbows by your head. “Ngh– Fuck– Fuck me, best fuckin’ cunt.” There’s a moan caught in the back of his throat, making his voice sound so strained and needy. “Takin’ me so bloody well, doll.”

His body is entirely hovering over yours, your chests touching and your mouth brushing at each other’s ears because of the position – which is driving him crazy, he can make every little, beautiful sound of yours. Your legs wrap around his waist involuntarily, making him slip a bit deeper whenever he thrusts back into you, your hands resting on his back fighting the urge to sink your nails on his skin – he probably wouldn’t mind, but you want to enjoy the passionate moment without turning it rough, yet.

“F-feels good, Kyle… Kyle–” When he moves up from the spot where he was resting his forehead to your shoulder, he takes in your features – closed eyes, lips parted, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. You just look so beautiful, and with the way you're calling his name he can’t hold himself.

Kyle’s hips start to move faster, unintentionally slamming down on yours. “Fuck– Say—Ah–” He stutters, a whimper leaving his lips at his own sudden change of pace. “S-shit, love. Say it a-again? Say it again f’me, a-aye?”

“M-mhm,” you answer, but fail to do what he was asking for. One of his hands finds your lower belly, palm stretching open so he can press down your stomach as his thumb finds your clit. It forces a whine out of you. “Kyle! Kyle, Kyle– Fuck—” You feel even fuller now, with the pressure he’s making on your stomach.

“Tha’s it. Tha’s it, love. C-call my name– Fuckin’ ‘ell—” He heaves out his breath through his nose, thumb moving clumsly on your clit as his thrusts start to grow sloppy. “Close, baby? S-so tight– Gonna cum with me, love?”

You let small, strained hums of agreement along with moans of his name. 

“I know, love. I k-know, baby,” he coos at you, probably just as dumb as you are from the mind-numbing pleasure. “Cum with me, c’mon.”

It doesn't take much more for you to be pushed over the edge. Kyle actually cums before you and with the way he moans your name you immediately cum with him.

He doesn’t pull out at first, like you thought he would, he barely even moves besides trailing kisses from your neck to your mouth. He sighs to your lips, “God, I never wan’ t’stop kissing you.”

You giggle, a bit spent but way too happy to be the object of his affections. “Hum…Then don’t.” You press your lips to his in a long peck, which he pulls away with a smile.

“You’re problem, I see,” he jokes, hugging you and leaving one last kiss to your neck before pulling away with finality. Despite wanting to be lazy with you, he knows you have to get cleaned up. “Shower?”

“Shower!” You agree, allowing him to help you out of the couch.

Your shower goes as smoothly as it can with the way Kyle acts like a child with a new toy. His big bathroom allows enough space for you to move around comfortably, so instead of taking a bath you opt for a warm shower. Kyle’s hands haven’t left you once and he insists on washing you after you’ve washed his body. He dries your body like someone would a renaissance sculpture, with so much worship and devotion in his eyes it feels wrong to allow something so sacred to manifest into this mundane world.  You ask if he can put on his cologne and he does – you almost faint right there from how good he smells.

Once you're both dressed, you have to drag him to the kitchen. There’s a long debate about what you’ll eat but you manage to agree on an easy option and that’s what you make for you two. Kyle stays behind you all time, hugging you and kissing you whenever he can without getting in your way. He watches you closely, so when the food is ready, he makes sure to bring everything to the home cinema, claiming that now you’d actually watch the movie. 

And you do, playfully arguing over why the villain is not so bad of a character and how the soundtrack is actually better than you both expected. By the time the movie ends, it’s long past bed time – although, neither of you feel like sleeping. You gather every dish used, walking back to the kitchen in lazy steps.

“Do you want to get ice cream?” Kyle asks you after he finished loading the washing machine, a smirk in his lips and the tone of a child who’s about to disobey a rule.

“Ice cream? But it’s late…” You would love to have some, but wouldn’t it be bothersome?

“Who cares if it’s late, love? C’mon.” He takes his car keys from the key holder by the entry hall, grabbing one of his jackets for you to wear. “Let’s go, I’ll get a sweet treat for you and we can make out in the parking lot.” You can only laugh at the way he comically wiggles his brows, pushing at his chest like it’d stop him from being so silly.

As you walk out of his penthouse, Kyle realizes that’s all he’s ever needed – you, holding his hand and laughing at his stupid jokes – and that he has never felt so rich in his life.

[icycoldninja]

Fluffy Higgs Headcannons

-Enjoys scaring the absolute shit out of you by leaving his coffin lying innocently in your house somewhere, then awakening sinisterly like glamrock Dracula to "attack" you when you decide to inspect it.

-"Attacks" are not meant to hurt you and mostly consist of playful wrestling matches where he often wins, although if you're a seriously competitive person, you could train yourself and ultimately come out on top.

-He knows you can get jealous when he calls Sam "sweetheart" and "baby", so he started using them even more around you, and when he's talking to you, just to mess with you.

-Don't worry, you get your own special nicknames too, their usages varying depending on mood and context, but the most common being "darlin'", "sugar", and "honey bunny". That last one is probably the worst of them all, though.

-He loves you so much that he sometimes considers shaving your eyebrows off as you sleep, so you can wake up and discover how alike you look now.

-He's so sweet and protective that he'll fry anybody who gives you shit and bring you their charred skulls as a present afterwards.

-Can and will help you with your eyeliner if you choose to wear it.

-He once tried to write you a song but never got past the first verse. There are a million things he wants to tell you, but he just can't put into words because he doesn't understand them himself.

-Was at first very against sharing a bed with you and insisted on sleeping on the floor, in his coffin, but as the two of you got closer, he started to change his mind.

-He didn't immediately jump under the covers with you--oh, no--he started slow. He would just sit on the edge of the bed, as far away from you as he could be in that situation, and watch you for a few hours, and after a couple months of doing that, he'd try edging a little closer. And then a little closer. And then a tiny bit more; a few inches at a time.

-Before he knew it, he was pretty much snuggled up to you, close enough to slide an arm around your waist and relax against your back, comforted in the knowledge that you were there. That night was the best sleep he'd had in his life.

-Isn't afraid to show his softer side to you because he knows he can trust you. He also knows that even if you did betray him, he would be able to track you down and make you pay because he put trackers in all your belongings, but that's beside the point.

-On those rare occasions where he gets to sleep in and not have to worry about a certain immortal single father whom he might have angered, Higgs will wake you up with kisses. No words are exchanged, just little pecks and smooches to your neck, cheeks, and forehead until you are awakened, convinced you're still dreaming.

-He'd very much appreciate it if you could patch him up after he inevitably injures himself.

[yunnysideup]

𓇼박성훈 x afab!reader

in which — Park Sunghoon can't keep his hands to himself after seeing his sweet cute girlfriend in a lacy set for the first time.

!!!: smut, dom!hoon and sub!reader, fingering, oral(f!receiving), sunghoon is pussy drunk (as he should), protected sex, pretty much vanilla stuff, boob sucking, sunghoon has a j*b, warning shit writing ahead.

You had always been the cute girl—plushies, trinkets, cozy sweaters, and side bangs. And Sunghoon couldn't be happier. He loved it. He acted tough from time to time, but deep down, he adored sharing and exploring your adorable interests.

Today, though, was a little different.

You had come home a bit earlier than him, planning to surprise him the moment he walked through the door of your little home, you had bought a white lacy lingerie set, best part was...it had no crotch.

You fiddled nervously with your straps as you waited for the sound of the front door to announce your boyfriend's entry, laying on your shared bed.

Was he going to like it? Or find you absolutely ridiculous?

Those thoughts were quickly shooed away the moment you heard that familiar key tinkle, followed by Sunghoon's soft voice.

"Baby, I'm home" he said out-loud, he was so tired that only one thing was on his mind.

You.

As he made his way upstairs, he was quickly met with quite the view.

His once cute girlfriend, spread-out like a full-course meal on the bed, though his eyes were somewhere else.

Your pussy.

"Fuck...this is what you've been up to?" he drops his bag and suit jacket, pouncing on you, "bad girl..." he whispered in your ear hovering over you.

"Thought you'd like it" you managed to whimper out, "like? This is fucking heaven" he pinned your wrists above your head as his lips crashed on yours.

Your tongue put up at weak fight against his skilled one, the kiss being a proof of dominance, messy and passionate at the same time.

"Fuck...need a taste of this pussy..." he groaned against your lips as his hips relentlessly grinded on yours, your pussy leaving a unabashed wet trail on his suit pants.

He lowered himself, his breath fanning on your wet cunt, "So wet just for me, right?" His voice sent a rush of adrenaline through your body.

A sharp slap woke you up from your awake slumber "I asked a question, answer."

"Just for you..mmph..just for you" you bite back a moan as his mouth began it's ministrations on your soaking wet core.

He devoured you like his last meal, never leaving a spot untouched, your moans spilled from your lips like prayers, only fueling his ego, his tongue plunges in and out of your pink hole.

"Taste so fucking sweet as always" He was moaning more than you, and you couldn't be more thankful, his voice vibrated in your cunt, only arousing you in the process.

Soon enough, his fingers joined in, two at once, "Hoon-..mphm...too much.." You choked out, as his long fingers hit that sweet sweet spot in you.

"shut up.."He groaned, totally engrossed by the feeling of your gummy walls sucking him in, his tongue not once leaving your wet folds.

The knot slowly came loose as Sunghoon's penetrations only became faster, "cum for me, pretty. Cum all over my face" And you did, soaking him and the sheets.

He fumbled with his belt and pants, removing his boxers along them before swiftly entering you in a full thrust.

"fuuuuuck.." he moaned, his veiny shaft brushed against your fluttering walls with each thrust, you were (and had been) to his complete mercy.

"pussy feels like heaven" he groaned, his eyes closed shut as his hips met yours in a single movement, moans and sighs fell from your bite-bruised lips.

The noises your pussy were making were out-right embarassing, like uncontrollably squelching and clenching desperatly on your boyfriend's cock.

And he loved it.

His hands groped your plump breasts, before his lips were on one.

Devouring it, sucking it, biting, he was doing everything all at once, it was overwhelming.

His hand made it's way to your clit, his thumb rubbing it agressively his thrusts in you only picking up their speed.

"Hoon...too much...gonna cum" you let out a sultry moan, before you gushed all over his dick and balls.

"That's it, baby" he caressed the side of your face with one hand as his orgasm followed right after, spilling his hot seed deep inside of your womb.

He fucked you through it, the base of his cock adorned with a white creamy circle of both your arousals.

"round two?" he was smirking, and you knew what was awaiting for you.

"round two."

[inkydelusions]

agree to disagree - 2.6k

summary: for years, there's been this doctor who's spent his time reading your work just so he could bash it. one day, after receiving a notification that he's back at it again, you decide it's time your confront him in person. c.warning: fem!reader, reader described wearing heels and being an academic weapon, discussions of academia and academic stuff. a/n: i know this is vague, i promise i'm working on a longer dr!reader x dr!spencer piece with more interactions. also, notice the big effort i did to sound smart while writing about something i have literally no idea about (psychology), and excuse me if i wrote something that doesn't make sense (it will definitelly happen again). lastly, quick reminder that requests are nor open !!

it’s a wednesday afternoon when a new message arrives in your mailbox. giving thanks for the distraction from the pile of work on your desk you turn your attention to your computer, just to see a notification that makes your blood boil immediately.

you’ve been mentioned in a new article.

now, you don’t usually get this mad when people mention your works in their own, actually you feel quite flattered and it’s always fun to see the way they incorporate your investigations in their own research. however, there’s this one specific person who’s been trashing your theories for almost two years now.

dr. spencer reid.

you haven’t had the pleasure to meet him in person, yet. when he was attending a symposium in your city, you were on the opposite corner of the planet, giving a welcome speech to undergrad students in one of the greatest universities in belgium. and the time you traveled to his city for an interview with a scientific research magazine, he was in france, doing who-knows-what. probably somewhere off using your published articles as toilet paper.

you don’t understand where his hatred for your work comes from. you’ve had people refute your theories before, of course, but he puts a special kind of attention in how he sharpens his words so that they sound extra insulting when he’s arguing against your work. it hit you hard the first time he mentioned you. it was on a short book chapter or a compendium or articles, and you where so excited that someone had decided to include you in such a piece of work. little did you know, he spent three full pages exposing every little point he didn’t agree with, adding his own counterpoints as if he were explaining it to a kid. if it wasn’t a personal attack, it certainly felt like one. after that first time, many more followed. 

you didn’t stay quiet though. barely four days after reading his book chapter, you decided to start typing your response. a few months later, there it was, published on one of the most well-known research gates. you, unlike him, had not cited his name directly, deciding to refer solely to his work and adding his name and last name only in your bibliography list, at the very bottom of the last page. petty? perhaps. but, oh, did it feel good when he answered and you realized it had stroked a nerve.

from then on, whenever he wrote things like “despite what those who might not completely agree with me…” or “the previous argument here presented offers nothing but a lack of logic,  a complete blindness to the real issue here discussed”, you knew he had you in mind as he typed those words. and it made you oh so proud of yourself. to have the power to irk someone so much across one screen? it felt great.

of course, it did not feel so good when you were on the receiving end.

with a sigh, you click on the link on the email and it immediately takes you to the research gate where both of you usually publish your articles. 

you hate that, just by reading the title, you can tell it’ll be really interesting and you’ll probably enjoy it. putting on your reading glasses, you lean back on you office chair and start going over dr. reid’s newest work. it only takes you a minute and a half before he mentions your last name for the first time.

as far as many scholars in this field are concerned, this analytic perspective is all but obsolete. this is the case of great minds of the psychology studies, such as dr. y/n l/n, dr. lilith huffman, or dr. gabriel jackobson. however, it is wildly known that such perspective has granted astounding results in most recent studies.

blah, blah, blah. he then goes on to contradict you, dedicating more than twenty pages to just refuting every single one of your strongest arguments in your last publication. and each page, each paragraph, feel like a jab to your face, like a personal attack that hurts your ego mora than it should.

you hands itch to open up a new word document and start typing your answer, but, instead of doing that, you finish reading the rest of the article. a total of sixty seven pages, yes.

you’re invested. who can blame you? despite your disagreement with most of his theories, you have to admit, dr. reid has some great writing skills.

by the time you’re finished reading, the small notebook you keep always open by your computer just in case a new idea comes flashing into your mind is full of notes for your next article. 

it’s past 9:30 pm, but instead of leaving your small office at the psychology school where you teach, you remain seated in your chair. wearing your best stalker glasses you type into your search bar the name of the college you know he’s associated with and go straight for the academic activities calendar. you skim over it: a few seminars for undergrad students, a couple of cultural activities to promote life in campus. and…

bingo.

there it is. his name in bold letters as one of the head speakers in the next symposium that would take place at the psychology school. you check the dates, check your calendar, and before you can think twice about it, you book a plane ticket.

it’s a particularly shitty day when you arrive at the psychology school. it’s been raining since you arrived a few hours ago, you haven’t had a chance to stop to grab a coffee and the pretty—an unnecessarily high—heel’s you chose to wear have done nothing to protect you from the hundreds of puddles you’ve stepped into on your way to the symposium.

however, once inside, you’re filled with a feeling of comfort and familiarity as you see the students walking around, running late for class. you notice the people wearing white cards hanging from their necks, sign that they’re here for the same reason you are. after asking for directions, the lovely doctorate that’s in charge of giving out the accreditations, points you towards the room where dr. reid’s talk is about to start.

by the time you arrive at the room, there are only a few seats free, ones at the very back, and a couple in the first and second row. it’s this last one that you choose, and you walk towards it, excusing yourself with the people as you almost jump over their legs to get to the free spot.

you don’t notice, however, the pair of eyes following you from the moment you first step into the room until you’re seated. with your head leaning down, as if looking for something in your purse, you don’t see the way dr. reid is staring at you from where he sits up on a small stage, with a glint of curiosity and insane interest in his brown eyes.

“well, i’d like to welcome everyone present here today,” the old lady sitting beside dr. reid speaks into the small mic in front of her. “it is an honor for us to have such a great representative of modern psychology with us today.”

from where he’s seated, spencer sees the way you roll your eyes, flicking though the pages of your small notebook in search of blank page.

“and we would also like to thank you for accepting out invitation. we know there must have been much more pressing things that you could be doing right now. so, thank you for dedicating a some of your time to us.”

“you don’t need to thank me, dr. huffman. it can’t think of a better place to be right now than the school that taught me most of what i know today. thank you for having me.”

the way he smiles at dr. huffman… you hate it cause it makes him seem… human? suddenly you realize he’s more than the nasty words he writes, more than the lines upon lines of bitter counterpoints that make you want to punch him in the gut.

he’s got a very cute smile, too.

damn it.

it’s easier to hate him when there’s a screen between you two.

after a brief introduction, dr. reid starts talking to the mic. there’s a presentation playing on the screen behind him, but you can’t take your eyes off him. the way he moves his hands as he speaks, the tone in which he explains things. you realize it doesn’t sound as condescending as his writing does in your head. he even throws a couple of jokes around that has the line of students behind you giggling, as well as dr. huffman.

he jumps from one topic to the next, always keeping the connecting line so all his ideas make sense in the end. and he does so with such ease that, by the time he announces he’s finished, you wish he could just keep talking for a bit longer.

“thank you so much, dr. reid. now, if any of you has any questions.”

you wait a few moments, allowing the students around you to ask their own doubts, waiting patiently with your open notebook resting over your knees. dr. reid answers one by one, always speaking with a kind tone and finishing with a soft smile and a hope that helps or hope that clears it out.

“anyone else?” asks dr. huffman, and this time you don’t wait and raise your hand immediately.

the moment your eyes clash with dr. reid’s a weird sensation zaps through your spine. you don’t really believe in destiny, never have and probably never will, but this instant has the weight of predestination falling over your shoulders like a blanket.

“hi, this is dr. y/n l/n,” your voice booms confidently around the auditorium.

the moment he hears your name, dr. reid can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips.

“well, finally we get to meet in person. it’s an honor, dr. l/n.”

beside him, dr. huffman’s eyes go from him to you, thin, pale eyebrows rising. is it? you want to ask, but instead, you say, “thank you. so, you’ve mentioned your most recent work on the intersections of philosophy, psychology and criminology, and i just have to say it’s one of the most investing articles i’ve read recently.”

“thank you.”

“but i have a few questions about one of the points discussed here today regarding that same article, if you don’t mind…”

“of course. go ahead,” he says, still smiling.

clearing your throat you start with the first question; nothing too heavy, and just merely a comment on the usage of some theorists as his base with whom you don’t entirely agree. he’s quick to answer, agreeing with your view, and admitting that, for future reference, he’ll try to steer free from such limiting approaches. it feels like a small victory. without even realizing, you and dr. reid enter a debate that has some students taking notes, others dozing off, and dr. huffman enjoying the show—and wishing she had some popcorn to accompany it.

“i, however, do not entirely agree with your argument on the application of the johan thesis to analyze subjective data,” he admits after a while.

“johan’s perspective is the perfect one to apply to such analysis, dr. reid,” you retort.

“his thesis is based on the assumption that without the presumption of free will and moral agency the entire concept of justice collapses, and we both now, dr. l/n that that is not true. neither of us would be here today if such was the case.” leaning over the table, looking intently at you, he continues, “we now have decades of data that show how trauma, genetic predisposition, and impaired executive functioning can severely constrain or eliminate decision-making capacity.”

“and i agree with you-“

“i’m glad to hear that,” dr. reid says.

“to an extent.”

“of course.” he nods, biting the inside of his cheek, as if to hide a grin.

you continue going back and forth, none of you giving up, and it’s dr. huffman who finally has to intervene, noticing the bored faces, as well the confused frowns all over the auditorium.

“i think both dr. reid and dr. l/n have posed very interesting questions that could lead to even  more interesting debate. perhaps we can prepare a panel for both of you to expose your arguments in another occasion. if you’re open to that, we can further discuss it later, yes?” she looks from dr. reid to you, and then back to the crowd. “now, thank you all for attending today. remember after lunch break we’ll have a panel with dr. davis in room a205. thank you again for coming.”

as the room starts emptying, you gather your things and put them in your bag again. when you look up from the floor you see dr. reid standing right in front of you, on the other side of the row of seats, extending his hand to you.

“i think that was one of the best debates i’ve had in a while.”

shanking his hand, you say, “i’ll admit you sound much less condescending in person, dr. reid.”

he huffs a laugh, looking down.

“yes, i’ve been told my written expression tends to be a little-”

“snobby? haughty? stuck up?” insulting?

“yes.” he nods. “all those things.”

he’s still smiling and you find yourself asking yourself once again how he can be so different from the man you picture in your head when you read his work. you also don’t fail to notice you’re still holding his hand. you drop it immediately, gripping the strap of your purse instead. he does the same with his messenger bag.

“if you ever feel like continuing this debate, or finally admitting that i’m right and you’re wrong,” he says with a teasing tone that matches the tilt of his smile, “maybe we could meet some time?”

you huff a laugh.

“you’ll hear from me soon, dr. reid. when i publish my next article debunking everything you just said in today’s talk.” you show him the small notebook where you’ve been taking notes all throughout his presentation.

“i’m eager to read it.” he grins at you, exaggerating his expression by raising his eyebrows.

“i’m sure you are.” with a wink, you start walking along the row of empty seats in the opposite direction to his, “it was a pleasure meeting you, dr. reid.”

“you, too, dr. l/n.”

in all the years he’s been following your investigations, spencer never imagined you’d be more astonishing in person than he already thought you were in paper. you had a long academic career behind your back, with your first article being published in your junior year when you were still in psychology school. he’s read every single one of the articles you’ve published since then, he even attended one of your talks in new york when you published your first chapter in a book in collaboration with one of the greatest minds in american modern psychology. he didn’t dare walk up and speak to you back then, and he still isn’t sure what made him feel so confident today.

he enjoyed the intellectual battle you two had held. he always likes it when he finds a match, someone who can challenge him, contradict him. perhaps he enjoyed it too much when it came to you. he remains standing in the same spot, watching you leave, his heartbeat matching the soft clink of your heels. 

you take one last look at him over his shoulder, a soft curve in your lips, and it’s there and then that he realizes he's in big trouble. mirroring your smile, he waves goodbye.

thanks for reading <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!

tags !! @siennnaaa1202 ; @kusanagisunshine-blog-blog ; @girllblogging777 ; @superbeaglewitch ; @cynbx ; @tokalotashiz ; @yasministration

creds for the medieval divider to @/honeyluvsw

[cxsmicbaby]

Hi I love you’re writing!!! It is soooo good! I love your “Johnny Has A Crush” stories. I love the publicist reader and I LOVE the way you write Johnny. Those are incredibly hot. You should consider writing another part! Would love to see him get taken care of too. But either way just wanted to tell you you’re a great writer and I love your Johnny Storm stuff!

hiiiiii anon thank u sm 😘😘😘😘😘 i'm so happy you like it!! i was already thinking about writing a part 3 where johnny gets some love so i decided to write it in response to this ask :) (note: i didn't even mean to blueball him both times LOL, but i think something about him being so narcissistic but lowk a giver for the reader is fire.) hope you enjoy!

part one | part two

mdni!

something's definitely changed since the night you were in johnny's room.

well, the second night. the first time, everything had been so eerily unchanged between you that you wondered if you'd imagined the whole thing. but this time, the shift is palpable; you almost wish he was trying harder to conceal it, because you had a sinking feeling some of the others were beginning to catch on.

it's mainly ben. he's got this uncanny ability to read johnny like a book, so the moment he's let on there's something happening, it's unfortunately noticed. johnny does his best, trying not to linger too close to you when someone's looking—not that he hadn't been doing it before, but now when he gets too near he just can't help the look on his face, and it makes everything painfully obvious. even you, oblivious to all his other more evident tells, notice it. the expression is almost like a yearning, and it makes you kind of sick.

three days have passed since the night of the party. johnny hasn't been hanging around you as much, though when he does it seems like he's really happy to see you. you don't really know what to think of it and have grown a bit tired of trying to decipher his actions, so you try not to care. (unsuccessfully).

johnny is actively trying to stay away from you. well, really, he's just cut down the time he spends pestering you; whenever you come around him he's not exactly telling you to leave. he's still sitting next to you at dinner and he's still teasing you, but now it feels more like just flirting. he can tell it's an accurate read when reed is staring at him across the table, no doubt noticing the way your banter has changed. he doesn't make eye contact.

your office is uncannily quiet without johnny buzzing around. you would think you'd be able to get more work done this way but the silence is more distracting than he would've been.

you find yourself zoning out a lot, spurred by a thought of him, and your mind spiralling helplessly into the memory of his searing touch. then you're thinking about the look on his face when he was under you, flustered and lacking any of that infuriatingly attractive smugness he's so well known for. you're practically aching to see him like that again. to see how far he'd let you push him.

you catch johnny in the kitchen, on the fourth night since the party. it's his turn to wash the dishes. you admire the muscles in his back flexing as he scrubs dutifully, humming an unfamiliar tune while he does so. it's almost cute.

"hi, johnny," you say, making yourself sound extra sweet on purpose. he jumps at the sound of your voice, turning over his shoulder to see you. it's late enough that it's acceptable for you to be roaming the tower in your pajamas; he's seen you in them before, but something about how unguarded they make you look has his heart skipping.

"hey," he greets, turning back to the sink. "you look cozy."

you roll your eyes silently, inching closer. you position yourself next to him, close enough to reach out and touch, but keep your arms crossed over your chest.

"you always do the dishes so late. why not just do them after dinner?" johnny thinks your voice sounds almost suggestive despite the innocent topic of conversation. he could be hearing things. sometimes just hearing you talk a certain way has him sweating.

"i get tired right after i eat. plus, doesn't really matter—i'm doing them, aren't i?" he internally curses how petulant he ends up sounding. he hadn't meant it that way, but your proximity is steadily fraying his nerves, and the look in your eyes is distracting, to say the least.

you giggle softly, and johnny gulps like a goddamn cartoon character when your arms unfold, and one of your hands is on his shoulder. your touch is light, and he inhales sharply when you rub down his bicep; it's almost comforting. he feels himself slowly unraveling.

"no need to get all defensive," you say, and now he's sure you're doing it on purpose; your voice is a little hushed, your fingers on his arm squeezing just barely. he places the glass he was cleaning onto the drying rack, leaning his hands onto the edge of the counter. he's a little afraid to look at you; doesn't want you to see how easily worked up he knows he is.

"i was just thinking, washing the dishes is a really... brain-stimulating activity. must be hard to fall asleep if you do them right before bed."

you move a little closer, your hand gliding across the cotton of johnny's shirt to his shoulderblade, fingers digging into the flesh, like you're massaging him. your chest brushes against his upper arm; his hand splayed out on the counter's edge is only an inch or so away from grabbing at your hip. and johnny is melting, struggling to build himself back up quickly enough to take control of the situation.

"who said i was planning on going to bed?" he counters, finally forcing himself to look at you. your face is so close to him now that one movement would have him kissing you again, the way he'd thought about every day since the first time he got the chance. you smile at him. johnny is not sure where your sudden confidence has come from—maybe all his rambling about noticing his desires really got to your head.

he's certainly not complaining. maybe a little bit, but nothing real.

but then you're shrugging, pulling away. "suit yourself. you're the one who has to wake up early tomorrow."

johnny doesn't have the chance to think before he's reaching out to you, hand wrapping around your wrist with a look he knows is a little desperate. he can't say anything, afraid of what will come out, but lucky for him you have all the words he doesn't.

"well, if you're having trouble sleeping," you start, eyes twinkling, "i could think of a few ways i could help you."

his breath hitches, mouth twisting up in an awed grin. neither of you seems to remember you're in a relatively public space, and that any one of the other members could walk in right now. johnny can't think of anything that matters to him less.

"oh yeah?" johnny breathes, his grip on your wrist loosening, because you're leaning into him of your own volition now. "my brain does feel awful stimulated, now that i think about it."

that's how you end up hooking up with johnny storm for the third time. he didn't even finish the dishes, you think, as you're letting him press you into the wall, his hands squeezing at your hips. his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, and the kiss is sloppy, like you've both been holding out and are now finally giving in. the truth is not far from that.

he kisses you breathless, and you have to pull away for air, forehead resting against his. a string of saliva trails between you and he chases it, licking at your bottom lip shamelessly.

"johnny," and he's sure you're about to beg him to get on his knees again, which he would do with ease, "sit down."

oh. that's not what he was expecting to hear. johnny blinks at you a second, processing your request, but when you don't say anything else he figures he should probably just do what you say. it's not a difficult task for him; he would pretty easily do anything you said, but would rather die than let you know.

johnny reluctantly parts from you, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. he's buzzing in anticipation, because he's not entirely sure what you're going to do, but has some idea—a hope, really. his hands rest behind him and he leans back to watch you approach. your fingers glide into his hair gingerly, scratching at the nape of his neck as you stare down into what you think are pleading eyes. his chin rests against your navel and for a second you just look at each other.

"sweetheart," he whispers, eyebrows quirking up just the slightest bit. johnny feels a little suffocated by the intimacy of the moment but does not for the life of him want you to stop. "be careful."

you don't ask what he means. instead, you slowly kneel between johnny's legs, relishing the way his eyes flash as he catches on to what you're planning to do. he says nothing. your hands run up and down his thighs, eyeing the prominent bulge in his black jeans. you can't wait to figure out what he tastes like.

"you look pretty from this angle," you tell him, in a rare moment of honesty. johnny hates how that effects him. he swallows hard and ignores how the corners of your lips quirk up as you notice his reddening ears. "take your shirt off."

he does it without hesitation, tossing it somewhere in his room, he's not sure where—his eyes don't want to leave yours. he doesn't have the chance to fluster you back, because you're already moving forward, your palm curling around his length as best as you can, through the thick fabric. the shaky breath he lets out is a little embarrassing. at least, for him. you seem to think differently.

you lean down, eyes staring directly into his soul when your tongue pokes out, running flat from the base to where his tip would be. johnny is getting a little scared—if this is how it's starting, his brain might be empty by the time you're finished.

"holy shit," johnny mutters, hand twitching to sink into your hair. "you're kinda nasty, huh?"

you smile a little, fingers going for his zipper. he's trying to keep his face neutral, to not give you what he knows you want—for him to end up just like you had last time, begging to be touched, pliable under wanting fingers. he won't let it happen, he swears.

well, he'll certainly do his best. at the very least.

you unzip and unbutton johnny's pants, reaching into his boxers without hesitation. johnny's breath hitches when you wrap your bare hand around him, and his eyes fall on your face, watching with a little pride how entranced you seem to be when you finally take him out.

you let go of him, mouth watering just a bit when he bobs against the skin right above his belly button, tickling his happy trail. you've never actually wanted to suck a guy off as much as you want to do that to johnny right now. he's got one of the prettiest cocks you've ever seen—long, just the right amount of thick, a few veins rippling up the length of it, ending in an angry, pink tip, already glistening with precum just from the way you're appraising him.

"you like what you see?" johnny says, pathetically, regretting it the moment it leaves his mouth.

your hand wraps around the base of him in response, slowly making your way to the tip of him, and back down. his face is as neutral as he can possibly be expected to keep it, but you can hear his heavy breathing, and the muscles in his lower stomach twitch, giving him away.

you eye him with a teasing little smile, your bottom lip slipped between your teeth. he's opening his mouth to say something, but then your lips wrap around him, tongue lazily swirling over the very tip—johnny makes a quiet sound, like he's been punched, stomach caving in a little before he catches himself. still, the only sign that he's struggling in his expression are his twitching eyebrows, furrowed deep with the effort to keep the rest of his face from letting anything on. he's made it into a game, and you're more than willing to play.

"feels good?" you ask, voice hushed. your hand continues to work him slowly, cheek nuzzling into his length. god, where did this come from? johnny thinks he'll choke if he speaks, and he doesn't want to give you the satisfaction, so he stays silent as he can.

you frown. "you're not gonna answer? guess i should stop then."

johnny's stomach drops as your grip on him really does loosen, like you're actually going to stop—it hadn't occurred to him that you would have it in you to do that, as ridiculous as it sounds.

"wait, wait," he rasps, chest heaving. "don't stop."

a smirk plays on your lips. your hand stays still, wrapped around his base, but your tongue goes flat against the ridge of his most prominent vein, tracing from its start to the place it tapers off, right beneath the tip. he can feel a flush of red wash over his face, forcing himself to keep eye contact with you, even as he lets out an embarrassingly ragged sigh.

"yeah, it feels good. fuck, it feels so fuckin' good." his eyes flutter when he says it, and he's surprised that he doesn't regret letting you win that one at all. it clearly has its benefits.

you hum, vibrations going straight to the building heat in his lower stomach. you let go of him, spitting into your palm before you start working him over in earnest, other hand going to play with his balls. johnny's face is flushed pink and his lips are permanently parted with his uneven pants, eyes having trouble staying open.

"see? that wasn't so hard, was it?" your voice is deceptively calm and johnny's hips twitch up into your touch, swearing under his breath.

you slow suddenly, your eyes lighting up at the drawn out moan he finally lets out. you think that might the prettiest sound that's ever come from his overactive mouth.

"shit, baby," johnny breathes, hand going to run through his hair. "and you said i was a fuckin' freak."

you smile up at him, and take him into your mouth again, sucking on the very tip for just a second to watch him get overwhelmed, groaning soft and pretty as his eyes squeeze shut. then, you push further, mouth softening around him as you hollow your cheeks.

"fuck," he mutters, struggling to keep his eyes open but determined to watch you. it's quickly become one of his favorite ways to look at you; second only to the view between your legs. "fuck, fuck..."

johnny can't help it—his hand roots itself gently into your hair. he manages to wait a second, just a second, before his hips are lifting and he's rocking slowly into your mouth, not enough make you choke, but enough to make his eyes roll back, head falling back loosely between his shoulder blades.

you start to bob your head up and down, hand twisting around the length you can't fit. johnny is all but crumbled above you and you've already gotten what you want, so you think you might let him cum. might.

you decide against it.

you swat his hand on your head away, pulling off him slowly; you wipe the saliva that stretches between your lips and the tip, giggling softly. johnny almost lurches forward at the loss, eyes beginning to look a little crazed. you've got him right where you want him.

"don't—don't do that," he pleads, voice shaky. his chest is heaving. "fuck, sweetheart, i'm so close, don't stop now."

he looks genuinely upset, like he's ready to get on his knees and beg you to keep going. you'd like that very much but you don't have the patience for it.

"i don't know," you say, hand beginning to stroke him so slow you almost pity him, "i guess i'm not sure you want it bad enough."

johnny gapes down at you. he knows what you're asking him to do and even as his body wants to yield he knows that by doing so, he'll have lost the game entirely. does it even matter? you're looking at him like he's more than what he is and he's all but done for.

"please," he finally utters, and it comes out like he's surprised, like it's someone else who's said it.

a satisfied smile curls onto your face. you give him some relief, wrist twisting as you move it a little more quickly, but you know it's not enough. "please, what?"

"please, let me cum," johnny rasps, head hanging, "please. i need it, so fuckin' bad."

it sounds even sweeter than you thought it would.

you want to tease him some more, but when you finally put your mouth on him again johnny whines, almost like he's in pain, and you decide to let him have what he wants. he's already given you what you wanted, anyhow.

you're immediately taking as much of him as you can into your mouth, your hand working the rest; your other hand massages his balls, and you can feel them tensing to the rhythm of your movements. the pitch of johnny's voice is rising steadily, his hand finding purchase in your hair again, hips twitching up every time the warmth of your mouth leaves him.

"fuck, fuck, i'm gonna cum," johnny says, his words bleeding together. he says it like he's confessing something secret that he's been forced to share. you double down on your efforts, relishing the broken, almost guttural sound he gives you that echoes in the room.

"oh baby i'm gonnacum, don't stop, don't stop." it sounds like he's really afraid you might. poor thing. his voice trembles, shaky gasps tumbling out as his hips lift higher, chest flushing red. he's so loud now you're a little scared someone's about to come knocking on the bedroom door, but you're not scared enough to stop. he sounds too sweet.

you hum around him, and that's it—johnny stills suddenly, and then his eyes roll back and a wave of pink rolls over his skin, lower stomach twitching violently. his arm resting on the bed buckles, and he falls to his elbow. his mouth cracks open and he moans, fingers pressing into your scalp to keep you still while he's cumming down your throat.

when he lets you go, you bob up and down a few more times, just to watch him twitch, his face twisting in something close to overstimulation. maybe next time you'll see how many times he can cum before he starts to cry. you're a little shocked at how much you want to reduce him to nothing and even more at how you know he would let you. finally, you pull off of him, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip before tucking him back into his boxers.

"holy shit," johnny sighs, hand massaging weakly at your scalp like he's apologizing for grabbing at it too hard. "i can't remember the last time i came that hard."

your heart swells at the praise, however unintentional. you remain seated on the floor between his legs, and you're surprised when johnny sits up, smile entirely dazed, arms reaching out for you. you let him pull you up into his lap, let him kiss you—it's open-mouthed from the beginning, he's too spent to work up to it.

"i win. i definitely lasted longer," you say, resting your head on his shoulder. johnny makes a brief sound of confusion, brain still a little fogged, but then it registers and he just laughs, poking you in the stomach.

"well, how can you blame me? you don't know how pretty you look, staring up at me. makes me feel like i'm in a dream."

you pause, eyeing him suspiciously, but johnny does not seem to be fluffing you up—there's no reason to, anyway. there's nothing more he could really want from you (well, there is one thing, but you know he wouldn't try that corny shit with you. at least, he wouldn't really believe it'd work). so, you just smile, and press a little kiss to the corner of his lips. he likes that.

he offers to return the favor, make you feel good, and you tell him maybe next time; he only acquieses because he knows there will, indeed, be a next time.

you sleep in his room that night, mostly because johnny clings to you and won't let you leave. you complain about the possibility of being caught and he sets an alarm for early the next morning, promising to wake you up if you don't hear it. he sleeps on his stomach, arm wrapped tight around your torso, nose almost buried in your neck.

it's comfortable. it feels dangerous. you let yourself fall into it anyway, ignoring the warning bells going off in your mind. you fall asleep so easily it's hard to think about anything at all.