#though I keep getting distracted by the question of how they get to that point (and other projects) so it may be a while before I post

[blossombabbles]

Tokyo debunker boys reaction to Mc asking them to kill her: Hotarubi

A/N: I changed Zenji's to asking him what dying is like since... Yk he can't kill you 🫠 even if he could he'd probably scream in horror at such a question 😔credit to @/xienperna again (I've made so many parts idk if u want an @ every time 😭)

˚₊‧꒰ა··········································•✦•··········································໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Have you lost your fucking mind?

The question crossed his in an instant. It's not as though this beautiful kabuki actor hasn't worked quite meticulously with his parasol, as a matter of fact, he was quite skilled with it. The mind boggling part was you assumed it would ever be pointed in your direction.

He had nothing but kind eyes for you, that nervous smile slightly darkened beneath scrunched eyebrows while he tried to temper his response. You didn't deserve anger, vitriol or even the slightest of insults.

You were desperate. That was nothing to fault.

"I'm sorry, [MC] but I really don't think I can do that for you..." His fingers clasped together in front of him, staring at the shift in your emotions, how sad you suddenly looked.

He let you down...

"I- I don't ... Think you're bad for wanting that, though."

The recovery was quick as it was fumbled, every second more it felt like you were slipping through his finger tips to the point of falling. Maybe you didn't understand you were invaluable to him. Insecurity tingled his nerves, forcing his eyes to the floor like a stray dog. He didn't deserve to be the one you came to because he could never help you...

"then ... What do you think?" The softness, almost shame, in your voice roused him from thought and his eyes met the lack of light in yours.

"I think ... A transformation like that isn't going to happen over night... Yes, you're showing signs, but I doubt you'll just wake up the anomaly..." He paused, smiling if only to encourage you, "Maybe we'll have more time. Maybe by then one of us could have done something and helped in some way... I know Yuri is working very hard for you. A-and we have as well!"

More assured, the captain smiled, nodding to his words.

"and we won't stop until we can solve it!"

He wasn't that naive. But it wasn't naive to have hope so strong for someone you care about, he would manifest it until he couldn't anymore.

Your room had become Zenji's second home, a small safe haven where you two could simply talk for hours, freely mind you until he left for his usual biwa session. At least here he didn't have to watch you give a ... Gold star worthy performance of coughing into your hand while saying what you wanted.

Imagine his surprise when you decide that today's topic would be on death. Death? Well. You wanted to know what dying was like.

"That is not a fun conversation, doll, I assure you there are plenty of magnificent things we could talk about!" Trying to push it off, simply because it's a conversation he doesn't want to have, he manages to get you onto his poetry, which he happily describes to you in great detail if only to keep you distracted longer.

But you're as stubborn as you are resilient and radiant.

Dread presses against his nerves when you ask him again, trying to find some excuse to simply nod away from the conversation. If there's anything he wishes he had from his brother it's his straight forward attitude. If he simply told you No, you'd take it, disappointed, but you would. Unfortunately, the word wouldn't find that tight tongue.

For the first time in a long time, he felt as though swallowing a rock that simply wouldn't go down.

"I cannot speak for all. Nor will I speak on the circumstances that led to it..." A pause, for his own sanity, "death is something that can be beautiful. The appreciation it leaves for life is unmatched by anything else. However. It is a lonely existence ..."

His hands nervously wring together, staring down at them almost solemnly. Zenji hated speaking about it, that much was obvious from his face, the somber look in his eyes that didn't get any lighter with pauses. Waiting for you to politely tell him to stop, that it was okay. But you didn't.

You wanted to hear this.

"You speak and you cannot be heard, you take action and they're unable to realize you, the people you care about are left in abject misery and all you can do is hope for the better and beg those that are capable of comprehending you to assist..."

He sighed, deeply, like exhaling pieces of his life out of his lungs.

"it's okay, Zenji..." Finally, you free him.

Though the human curiosity is only a natural feat, especially about things unknown and so glaringly tragic, it is hard to sympathize when you are the one in the worst position. But you are his darling doll. Even just speaking to you about something so serious and tragic had lightened the ghost load ever so slightly, even if you would never know. He just hoped you would never know his fate.

You are so bright, so vibrant, the most perfect star in this guy who never deserved to go out.

Haku stopped himself mid tea, staring at you with a confused laugh in his throat, looking at you expectantly - waiting, of course for the obvious. But the longer he stared at you, half smile, slight mirth in his eyes he realized it wasn't just some weird joke you said to cope. That's what he'd been expecting, anyways, especially with the deadline getting so close. That would be normal.

Of course, that's why he called you out here today. He wanted to check on you, but a murder proposition wasn't exactly on his conversation list.

"So you can become a ghost and follow me around forever? The devotion is pretty cute but..." He paused, using the tea as an excuse while his mind worked with possibilities, "shouldn't I at least take you on a date first?"

The flirtation landed on deaf ears, not unlike normal, you never seemed to fully notice. Which he didn't know how - he literally asked to help undress you once, he could only get so much more obvious.

"... Sorry," he smiled, forced and slightly off guard, "I didn't expect you to say that ... Now or uh, ever, honestly."

The gentle clack of a cup against saucer rung out in the space between you, tension so thick he could actively feel it choking around you. He felt ... Bad. Terrible almost. You'd come to him - nearly tripled over your words to ask him and while it was sweet it just ... Didn't.... Work with him.

"I can't really do that. Nothing against you or what you wanna do. But it's against my moral code, regardless of how you feel, killing your friends just kinda sucks..."

"But you have connections..." You mention, slightly hopeful.

"and I won't be putting you in contact with them." It was a statement. Firm but said kindly, as nice of a no as he could give you. You were too darling to him, too precious to lose a month with. Even as just your friend he would happily take it over the next month's he'd be mourning you.

His imagination was vivid, the day he assists in killing you, seeing you fall down dead by his hand or even in connection to him all he would ever see on his hands is a dark crimson spelling out your name. Leaving him asking the question what if he just worked harder? What if he got something out of Darkwick? What if he tried more for you? Demanded answers? How could he ever forgive himself?

"okay... I understand. I apologize for asking-"

"don't, your Highness," holding up a hand to stop you, those fingers are quick to curl over yours, smiling as the rain gently tacks against the windows as it always does, "I'm here for you in every other way that counts. Why don't we just talk about it...?"

"... I'd like that."

"I would too."

[v-thinks-on]

I'm hardly the first to remark on this but if this is intimate for a Vulcan...

Then I can only imagine what's going on here...

[liaflowrr]

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — caleb and you have been dating your whole lives, and you know each other like the back of your hand. you know everything about each other— except, the fact that you two are dating.

pairings: caleb x mc / caleb x reader

cw: pure fluff, oblivious reader, suggestive/hinted, lovesick caleb, possesive caleb, jealous caleb, caleb himself at this point. second person pov, female reader

first post ever… like + reblogs are so helpful ! if there are any mistakes.. heh just ignore😅

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Having a man like Caleb in your life is truly incomprehensible, it’s hard to describe how much he means to you in such words that don’t fully grasp how amazing he is.

Waking up to texts from him, voice messages, and sometimes voicemails, those are the things keeping you going everyday. He is the reason you keep going everyday. Starting your morning hearing his voice is how you want to start every morning for the rest of your life, even better if you could wake up next to him, smelling him, seeing his true self all for you and you only to keep.

That’s why it’s hard to even imagine wanting anyone else with Caleb around, especially since he knows you better than anyone else. Caleb is just perfect, beyond perfect even, you can’t even begin to express how grateful you are for him. Caleb’s also super sexy, like his face, his body.. his…

A flick to your forehead knocks you out of your daydreaming.

“Helllooo Pipsqueak? How could you daydream with me right here? Could I be boring you?” Caleb’s voice fades in with a charming smile, his eyes showing slight concern, yet overall his face has a teasing look.

“Wh-I’m not bored! I just got side tracked, you said something that reminded me of something else—but what were you saying?” You quip, feeling your cheeks get hot in embarrassment for letting your mind wander into such provocative thoughts right in front of him. You give him a playful nudge with your foot, kicking into his ribs to distract him from your face, knowing he’d notice.

You’re currently at his place, laying on the couch with your feet in his lap as he rubs your ankles, occasionally trailing further up to your knee and underneath. You’re wearing an old oversized t-shirt (probably his) with no shorts on underneath, while he wears a grey tank top with black boxers. (You pretend to not glance occasionally. Wearing underwear around him is normal, but when he does it, it makes you feel all warm in your stomach.) You come over every other week, switching between your place and his whether or not you’re too tired to travel to Skyhaven and vice versa. (Even though you know Caleb has mentioned you moving in with him or buying a place together.) Caleb pulls you closer, practically pulling you onto his lap, holding you up with his right arm that leans on the couch. His left arm lays on top of your legs, his hand splays over your stomach, and his thumb rubs your belly.

“I was asking you what the plan was for tomorrow, but I guess a certain hunter got sidetracked. What was it I did that made you..distracted?” Caleb tilts his head and rests it on his arm, looking at you with his gorgeous deep eyes and a smirk on his face, as if he knows what you were thinking. Which he probably knew, he’s like a super-freak-mind-reader, and knows everything, probably read your face and watched every single detail with such precise detail.

Ignoring his question and letting out a huff, “I want to go down by that restaurant we used to go to with Granny, by the fountain? There’s going to be a street event and I want to see all the pop up food places and eat.” Just the thought of all the potential food has you salivating, but it’s nothing better than Caleb’s home cooking. You shuffle to get comfortable in his hold, placing your hand on top of his and lying your head against his arm.

His touch makes your insides warm, and you can’t help but feel so excited yet relaxed to have his hands on you and just be so close to him. You want to be as close as possible, like a newborn baby when they do skin-to-skin contact with their mother. You smile, looking up at him, admiring his face, his beautiful smile. His eyes never leave yours, tracing your features as you gaze upon him. Nothing else matters when you’re with him, except Caleb.

Caleb hums, thinking for a second to process what you’re saying, before he smiles. “Of course, that sounds like a great idea. I’ll make sure we prepare before to feast on all the food. I hope we can try some new things, too.” He shifts a little, his ears turning a slight red at your stare, almost feeling a bit embarrassed at how deep you were gazing at him. You don’t notice the effect you have on him, or the fact that from an outside view you appear as a loving couple.

Gosh, always killing the vibe. ‘I have got to control myself!’ You scream internally.

You stand up and brush your hair behind your ears in embarrassment, clearing your throat and trying to ignore how cold your skin is now with the loss of his warmth. You avoid eye contact and start to head to his bedroom.

“It’s getting late, we should head to bed. I’m gonna go brush my teeth. I’m starting to get tired. I want it to be tomorrow already.” You don’t even make it three steps before you hear Caleb trailing behind you.

“Well what’s the big rush? Don’t leave me behind, you know you cant sleep without me. Let’s brush our teeth at the same time so that we can get in bed together.” Caleb says, quickly catching up and getting ahead of you, turning his bathroom light on and handing you your toothbrush while he gets the toothpaste.

You blush at the mention of sleeping together, it being such an occurring thing yet still not used to the fact that you sleep with him. It’s not like back then, when you were younger and had sleepovers, it’s different now, because you want to be able to kiss him and hold him without possibly ruining your friendship. You wish you were more than friends. You wish this meant more to him.

“I can sleep totally fine, it’s you that needs me!” You mutter, brushing your teeth. You feel him poke your sides occasionally, and you bump him with your hip in retaliation, before focusing and brushing again. When you’re done, you turn off the lights and get under the covers with him, immediately being pulled by a large hand on your hip and into a warm bare chest. Wait, didn’t he have a shirt on?

“When did you take your shirt off weirdo? Get your man boobs out of my face.” You yelp, as your face burns a deep red. Your words say the opposite, because inside you love being face-to-face with his glorious chest, it’s the next best thing to his glossy bread rolls—abs.

“I took it off because I wake up hot, you warm me up during the night. I might as well sleep naked, you’re like a human furnace.” Caleb tuts, and you turn even more red at the thought of him naked next to you, but you just shove at his chest and squawk in embarrassment. You turn over and face away from him, closing your eyes and going to sleep. Caleb tuts, and you feel him rest his head on top of yours, pressing a kiss on your head before pressing his body against the curve of yours. Caleb takes a deep breath, smelling your hair and the shampoo you two share, before smiling to himself and closing his eyes. He tightens his hold around you, and your heartbeats sync. Eventually you relax, his soft gentle breathing lulling you. You fall asleep within minutes.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Twenty minutes before the street festival, you spend your time in his bathroom getting ready. You’ve already prepared a simple yet cute outfit to wear when you go out. You’re wearing your favorite earrings and your favorite shoes, along with a touch of eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss. You also stole borrowed Caleb’s jacket, which you wear unzipped. You smile at yourself in the mirror, excited to see what Caleb would think of you.

You invited Tara to come along, and she mentioned bringing a date with her so she wouldn’t feel like she was third-wheeling, but you insisted that you and Caleb weren’t even dating so she’ll be fine, but you missed the way Caleb froze while he was buttoning up his shirt. He pretended like he wasn’t eavesdropping, but you didn’t care either way, he’s always wanted to know everything that was going on in your life, insisting that it was important because you are important. Whenever he said that it always made you look away, flustered by his words.

“You’re not a third wheel! Caleb and I are basically besties, it’s not gonna be awkward, plus, you know I would never treat you like a third wheel, if anything Caleb is!” Tara laughs at your joke. ��Haha, totally, how dare he steal my girlfriend?! But it’s okay, I wanna invite him, he’s really cute and he said he’d bring his friend so it’ll be a bigger group and he won’t be as shy. Personally, I wish he wouldn’t because his friends kinda weird… But you didn’t hear it from me. I gotta go though, I think he just pulled up! See you soon!” Tara hangs up after you say goodbye, and you look up from your phone and see Caleb adjusting his bracelet you gave him on his wrist. Caleb looks you up and down, chuckling when he recognizes his jacket before he brushes away a stray hair in your face.

“You ready, honey? You know, some wanderers might have already eaten all the food by now, we gotta hurry up before it’s all gone.” You roll your eyes and let out a small laugh as Caleb wraps an arm around your waist, the two of you walking out of his room and heading out the door.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

When you arrive and turn the corner, your eyes sparkle from all the lights and food on the street, the smells of sweet and savory snacks hitting you. “Caleb, look! They have your favorite! We should go get it!” You cheer, pointing at the vendor across from you. Caleb nods, and he grabs your hand and walks towards the stand with you.

Tara calls out your name when you pay for the treat, and you turn and see two guys standing next to her. Her nervous yet happy smile makes you smile to help calm her nerves.

“Hey Tara, it’s so good to see you, how are you? Who are they?”

“I’m good! Let me introduce you, Y/n, Caleb, this is Teo and his friend Finn!” Teo waves and smiles, greeting you and Caleb, while Finn nods his head, staring straight at you and purposefully ignoring Caleb.

Calebs eye twitches, before plastering a smile on his face to pretend he doesn’t want to slap the shit out of this dudes face for blatantly ogling you. The hell does this guy think he is? Is it not obvious that you two are dating? You’re wearing Caleb’s clothes, you have Caleb’s scent on you, and Calebs holding your hand. What else is there to say? Caleb lets out a deep exhale through his nose.

You smile and nod at the two, oblivious to the way Caleb grips your hand tighter and stands closer to you. You turn to look at the place. “Isn’t this awesome?! I love how pretty it looks at night! I totally didn’t expect this many people and food, but I’m not complaining! Tara, what should we go eat next? I’m soo hungry, I didn’t eat anything for lunch to prepare for this!”

“Ah, I’m so down to get some tanghulu! You remember that video I sent you? I heard they have a stand where you can choose the fruits you want! And then we definitely have to get some haw flakes, I am craving some so badly! What do you think, Teo?”

“Oh definitely! I eat so many in one sitting! Caleb, do you like them?” Teo’s nervous look disappears at the mention of candy, and he has a huge grin on his face as we make our way to the next place. Finn walks behind Teo and Tara, glancing at me before looking at Caleb.

Caleb shakes his head, “No, I wasn’t a huge fan, I’m more of a sour candy fan, pips always made me eat the sourest candy from the bag whenever they got anything, so I grew to enjoy it.” Caleb looks at me and smiles, nudging me with his shoulder and unlocking our hands to place his hand on the back of my waist. You giggle to yourself, remembering the first time you made him try something super sour.

“I really like guava candy, Caleb had to hide the bag to stop me from eating it.” You add, as Tara giggles. Finn huffs, putting his hands in his pocket. “I was a fan too, ain’t that a coincidence? We should try and find some later and share.” Finn speaks for the first time, and immediately you glance at Tara in agreement to her past statement. Sending a half smile, “Totally, but I think I’ll get sick if I eat too much candy. Let’s find something else to all enjoy.” You all arrive at the stand, immediately you and Tara rush to pick your favorite fruits from the selection, and you squeal in excitement when it’s handed back to you.

“Oh my goodness this is so good!” You’re the first to take a bite and you moan from the taste, a big smile forming on your face. Caleb whips his head when he catches Finn nudging Teo’s shoulder, whispering something only the two can hear. Caleb grits his teeth, before he wraps an arm around your shoulder and takes a bite out of your tanghulu.

“Caleb!”

“Mm—, you’re right, baby, this is delicious, I should’ve gotten one, but yours is better.” Caleb says, licking his lips as he finishes his bite, glaring at Finn. Finn rolls his eyes.

You blush at how close Caleb has gotten, before you take another bite of your fruit and lean into Caleb. Tara sends you a knowing look before you roll your eyes and turn your body (including Calebs since he refuses to let go) and look for food.

“These snacks are nice but I’m wanting some real food, let’s go look for some! And since I just got a huge bonus.. foods on me!” You exclaim, as you and Tara cheer in celebration over your little bonus.

“Pretty and you pay for the first date? Man, you’re basically my dream girl.” Finn jokes, walking next to you and giving you a creepy grin. You deadpan at Tara, before turning back to say some snarky comment to him in response. You’re cut off by Caleb as he switches places with you and shoulder checks Finn.

“Who said this was a date? You’re just a double third wheel, y’know? Pipsqueak isn’t interested in men like you.” Caleb practically growls, his hold on you tightening, as if he’s worried you’re gonna disappear if he’s not actively holding you.

“Dang Caleb! Let’s calm down, okay? I don’t want us to fight. I think we’re all just suuper hungry, look, let’s get some food from there and find a place to sit down inside.” Tara says, rubbing the back of her neck and sharing a nervous glance with Teo. Teo nods and mouths “sorry”. The group walks towards a small restaurant and looks at the menu on the screen to order.

“Y/n! We totally have to try their smoothies, they have all kinds of flavors! I’m going to get the dragonfruit and mango, that sounds soo good.”

“Oh my gosh they have a pineapple smoothie! And an apple?! Oh my gosh, what is a pink unicorn?!”

“Scratch that, we have to get the unicorn smoothie!”

“I thought you guys wanted food, we’re just talking about smoothies now. Honey, I’ll order the food and drinks and cover you for the cost of the food. You can pay for everyone’s smoothies, okay?” Caleb chuckles and moves to the front to order food, Teo following along to order something for him and Finn. You start to protest, but Tara cuts you off by pointing at a the best table by the window to sit down and wait.

Finn stays behind with you and Tara as you sit a the table by the window. Finn sits in front of you while Tara sits next to him, an empty chair next to her for Teo.

Eventually Caleb and Teo come back with the food and drinks and hand them out to everyone.

“Tara, let’s try these smoothies at the same time!”

“Okay! Teo, share with me?” Tara asks, her cheeks turning pink as she looks at Teo. Teo blushes and nods in agreement, unwrapping two straws for them.

Caleb grabs unwraps two straws as well, pushing them into your smoothie. Caleb opens his mouth to ask to share with you, before—

“Y/n, let’s share too, yeah?” Finn cuts him off, catching Caleb off guard as his eyes dart over to him.

“Uh, sorry I don’t like sharing my drinks or my food with just anyone..” You respond, before Caleb can say anything.

Finn’s eyebrow perks up, “Caleb ate your tanghulu earlier.”

“Well—“

“Because I’m her boyfriend, clueless. Isn’t it obvious? I’m not just anyone. Back off before I do something I won’t regret.”

Silence falls over the table, before Finn abruptly gets up and curses to himself, muttering something to Teo about texting him later, and storms off. You blink, your face turning red at Caleb’s words. You whip your head and look at him.

“Caleb?! Why’d you say that! I’m so sorry Teo, I didn’t mean to offend him—“

“It’s alright.. I told him that you weren’t going to be interested but I guess he changed his mind. He said he wasn’t gonna really follow us around when I first brought it up. I’m really sorry, I only keep him around because I owe him one.” Teo apologizes, and he offers to pay for the food to express his guilt, before Tara insists it’s fine.

“Teo and I will go make sure he doesn’t do something dumb, I’m sorry Y/n, enjoy the rest of your night!” Tara adds, the two get up and ask for their food to go and leave together, off to find Finn. You and Caleb sit in silence, your thoughts running wild.

‘That guy was so weird, but what the hell was Caleb saying? He really keeps getting my hopes up whenever he protects me from guys like Finn, but he seemed like he meant it this time.’

“Caleb.. did you really mean what you said? Or were you just trying to get Finn to leave me alone? I mean, I appreciate it but it’s just..”

“Y/n, what are you talking about? Of course I meant what I said, I mean, I am your boyfriend, why would I not—“

Your facial expression explains to Caleb what the situation is. Realization dawns on him, and he pouts.

“Y/n, y’know I’ve considered you my girlfriend for years now, right..?”

You blink, your face turning red.

“Clearly not! Caleb— wh- what do you even mean?! You’ve never even asked!”

What side of the bed did Caleb wake up on?! G-Girlfriend?! Years?!

“I didn’t think I needed to! We’ve kissed and slept in the same bed so many times! You know you’re the only one I treat like this!”

You stutter at his words, realization hitting you. Yeah.. there’s no defending that, but still—

“We’ve acted like that since we were kids, of course I’m just going to assume that was just how our relationship was!”

“Is that why you told Tara we weren’t dating? I thought you were joking!”

You groan, and a frown etches onto your face. How stupid could Caleb be? You thought maybe he had a girlfriend in the academy or something, or at least a fling once or twice in his life, considering how many times he was confessed to in high school on Valentine’s day. Why didn’t you realize this sooner? Where were any of the signs?! Why didn’t he say anything sooner?!

After a couple minutes of silence, Caleb breaks it. He huffs, pulling you into his arms and resting his forehead against yours.

“Y/n, I’m sorry I assumed. I’ll ask properly now. Can I be your boyfriend?”

You look up into his eyes, a nervous expression on his face as his cheeks are flushed, and he has a small pout on his lips as he asks. You sigh, smiling.

“Yes, even if you’re kind of dumb, you can be my boyfriend, Caleb.” You tease, the pout disappearing immediately from Caleb’s face as he grins, pressing a soft kiss on your nose. Caleb squeezes you and rubs your head, making you whine in annoyance.

“You’re so cute Pips! Man, I just wanna eat you right—“

—“Order for Caleb?”

You push Caleb off in embarrassment, turning your head to see the waiter standing at your table and holding a tray of your soups. Caleb whines at you ignoring his affection, before thanking the server and taking your food from her hands. Caleb sets the tray down and makes sure to scoop out the vegetables you don’t like in the soup. You sigh in happiness, your stomach reminding you of how hungry you are, and you give Caleb a napkin and spoon to try the broth.

“Caleb, let’s try these together, okay? As boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Caleb grins, pressing another quick kiss to your cheek, as the two of you share your delicious meal.

[cinnasite]

with great power comes great lesbianism

꩜ pairing: spiderman!ellie williams x female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 5.5k

꩜ synopsis: your campus crush is awkward, brilliant, and possibly allergic to eye contact. your city’s superhero is bold, brawny, and keeps saving your life. it takes a few close calls and some questionable physics to realise they’re the same girl—and she’s falling for you, too.

The first time Spider-Girl saves you, it's from a mugger in an alley behind the campus coffee shop. You're fumbling through your backpack for your pepper spray when she drops down like some extremely agile angel, all wisecracks and impossibly fluid movements.

"Hey there, citizen," she quips with her trademark enthusiasm, expertly knocking out the guy with a single punch. God, she’s always so extra on television. You didn’t think she’d be a hundred times worse in real life. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that walking alone at night is, like, really bad for your web of safety?"

You stare at her, dumbfounded, heart hammering from more than just the adrenaline. "Did you seriously just make a spider pun?"

"Maybe." Even through the mask, you can hear her intolerable grin. "You okay? No injuries? Emotional trauma? Sudden urge to take up martial arts?"

"I'm fine," you manage, though you're definitely not. She's hanging upside down now, her auburn hair falling in waves around her masked face, and something indescribable about her voice is making your stomach flip. You clutch your pepper spray tighter.

"Good. Great. Awesome," her extremely endearing stuttering doesn’t distract you from how delicious her biceps look in that top-notch suit of hers. "Um, you should probably get home. Soon. Don’t want to miss dinner. Most important meal of the day."

She swings away before you can thank her (or correct her on how the phrase is actually about breakfast), leaving you alone with your breathing irregular and a very inconvenient crush on a masked vigilante.

The second time is five days later, when a chunk of building facade decides to almost make friends with your head during the villain of the week’s rampage downtown. Spider-Girl appears out of nowhere, scooping you up in arms that are surprisingly stronger than anticipated (not that you’ve been thinking about her arms, haha, no way) and swinging you to protection on a nearby rooftop.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she pants, setting you down gently. "People are gonna talk."

"Are you following me?" you gape at her, brushing dust from your jacket.

"What? No! That's—that's crazy talk. I'm a hero. Heroes don’t follow. They heroically arrive. At coincidental moments."

You purse your lips, evidently skeptical, "Right. Coincidental."

"Very coincidental. Cosmically coincidental, even. The universe is just really invested in us meeting, apparently."

While she goes off on a tangent about something too philosophical for your understanding, you’re more focused on scrutinising her mannerisms. There's something eerily familiar about the way she gestures, all animated hands and panicky grace, but you can't seem to place it. You table your suspicions for another time. That is, if there is another time.

And, oh boy, there is. 

You're walking home from a last-minute convenience store visit when a car runs a red light, heading straight for you. It’s downright ridiculous. At this point, you’re convinced that you’re undeniably cursed. Before you can ponder over the pros and cons of becoming roadkill versus finally escaping the group project from hell, a blur of red and blue tackles you to the pavement, and suddenly you're staring up at the sky wondering if you've died.

For a moment, you're pressed chest to chest with Spider-Girl, her masked face inches from yours. You can feel her heaving, quick and shallow.

"Okay," you whisper. "Now I’m certain you're following me."

"I—" she scrambles backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. "It's not what it looks like!"

You shake your head, trying to gain sense of your surroundings, "It looks like you're stalking me."

"I prefer 'keeping tabs on.' For very legitimate reasons."

You let out a disbelieving laugh, studying her, "What's your name?"

"Girl, do you have a concussion?” 

"Your real name, smartass."

She freezes, her frantic spiraling reaching an abrupt halt, "Come on, gorgeous. It’s not so simple. That's classified information."

"Of course," you stand with a defeated sigh, running a hand through your hair and trying not to fixate on how she chose to refer to you (gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous). "Well, thanks for the save. Maybe next time you could text me when there's danger instead of lurking like a weirdo?"

You're halfway down the block when you hear her call out: "I don't have your number!" You turn back, grinning, "I guess you'll have to ask for it like a normal person!"

The girl in your Advanced Calculus class is strange.

Not bad strange—sort of a cute strange, truly. She showed up six weeks into the semester, all quiet and nervous twitching, taking the only empty seat right next to you. She has freckles scattered across her nose and the greenest eyes you've ever seen, and she fidgets constantly, like she's got too much energy for her own skin.

"Ellie," she'd introduced herself on her first day, awkwardly extending a hand that was covered in small scars and calluses. "Williams."

"Nice to meet you," you'd replied, and something about her crooked smile made your chest tight.

She's brilliant in class—when she shows up, of course. Professor Martinez assigns a problem set on differential equations and Ellie solves them with an elegance that makes everyone lean forward to so much as catch a glimpse of her work. But she has her quirks like not making eye contact while explaining her solutions, and doodling in the margins of her notebooks—intricate patterns that look too similar to webs, you suppose. 

Also, she stares at you. A lot.

"Earth to Ellie," you mutter during a particularly boring lecture on integration techniques. She's been gazing at you for the past five minutes, completely obvious about it.

She startles, knocking over her water bottle. "Shit, sorry. I wasn't—"

You stifle a laugh, "Staring at me?" Her face goes pink, about ready to burst if she could, "I was thinking about derivatives. Pretty intensely."

"Uh-huh, here," you hand her some napkins from your bag, helping salvage her soaked notes. "What's your take on the fundamental theorem of calculus, then?"

"It's... fundamental," she says, then grimaces when she seems to realise how that sounds. "I mean, it's inherently elegant. The way it connects differentiation and integration like two sides of the same coin."

You're impressed despite yourself, "Not many would choose to explain it that way, but it’s a fitting analogy."

"Thanks." She plays around with her pen and you wonder how someone’s fingers could be so long and slender and—

Oh my fucking god, please stop.

You snap out of your thoughts to come face-to-face with Ellie rambling, too engrossed in what she’s saying to notice how your neck is embarrassingly flushed. "I'm good with connections. How things relate to each other."

As if summoned by her words, her phone vibrates with what sounds like a notification. She glances at it offhandedly and her whole body goes tense.

"I-I have to—bathroom—emergency—" she's already gathering her things, moving with surprising dexterity despite her apparent alarm. At first, you can only blink at the sudden shift, thinking it's some kind of elaborate excuse or a joke you’re not in on. But she's already weaving through chairs, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah! Fine! Totally fine! Just, erm, digestive issues!"

By the time you lurch to your feet, she's vanished around the corner, leaving behind only the ghost of her perfume and a rapidly cooling seat. Twenty minutes later, news alerts start buzzing about Spider-Girl stopping a large-scale robbery across town.

You start paying attention after that. Really paying attention.

From your elaborate observations, you’ve concluded the following: Ellie disappears from class every time there's a Spider-Girl sighting. She shows up the next day with new bruises she claims are from "aggressive skateboarding" or "really competitive rock climbing." Who does she think she’s trying to fool? Moreover, she knows too much about physics and momentum for someone who supposedly just likes math.

"Want to study together?" you nonchalantly ask one Thursday under the guise of Professor Kim sending out a particularly brutal assignment. In actuality, you were on the prowl for some hardcore evidence to back your hypothesis. "The library has those group study rooms."

Ellie's eyes light up, caught off guard by the offer, "Yeah, yes! Absolutely. I mean, if you want. I'm probably not that helpful, but—"

A pointed stare from you shuts Ellie up, "You're literally the smartest person in our class."

A sheepish smile is all you get in response. The study session is a disaster and the best three hours of your week simultaneously.

Ellie is smart, walking you through complex equations with a patience that makes you genuinely grateful to have her by your side, but she's also the most distractible person you've ever met. Her phone buzzes constantly—emergency alerts, news notifications, text messages that make her face go pale.

"Popular girl," you can’t stop yourself from teasing after the seventh interruption.

"Not really. Uh, I volunteer with this community safety thing. Neighborhood watch type deal."

"Neighborhood watch?"

"Mhm, very active neighborhood watch."

She's helping you with a particularly tricky problem, leaning close enough that you can smell her shampoo, when her phone starts borderline shrieking with alerts.

"Shit," she mutters, grabbing it, looking beyond apologetic. "I have to—"

"Go," you say, even though you're disappointed. "Your neighborhood watch thing?"

"Yeah. Last-minute emergency... watching."

She's halfway to the door when she turns back. "Can we do this again? The studying, I mean. Not the emergency part."

You try to bite back a more than pleased smile. You’re not successful. "I'd like that."

After she leaves, you sit in the empty study room for a while, thinking about the way she explained vector calculus like it was poetry, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about complex theorems, the way she looked at you like you were the most interesting equation she'd ever encountered.

Until reality punches all of the air out of your lungs: "Spider-Girl Saves Civilians Trapped in Terrible Industrial Fire."

The realisation hits you during the next class.

Professor Kim is explaining the mechanism behind projectile motion, and Ellie is taking notes with the intensity of someone who needs to understand exactly how objects move through three-dimensional space. Which is apt, you guess. 

"The trajectory of any projectile can be calculated using these equations," Professor Kim drawls, writing on the board. "Accounting for initial velocity, angle of projection, and gravitational acceleration..."

Ellie's pen moves across her notebook, but she's not just copying the equations, you notice. She's modifying them, adding variables, and sketching what looks like trajectory paths between buildings.

Huh, that’s interesting.

"Miss Williams," Professor Kim’s voice booms throughout the hall, "could you share your perspective regarding the topic at hand?"

Ellie looks up, startled. "Oh. I-I was just thinking about how you'd need to account for air resistance in real-world applications. And wind patterns. And if you were, I don’t know, swinging between buildings, you'd need to calculate the optimal release point to maintain momentum while accounting for the pendulum effect of the swing itself."

It’s dead silent. You raise an eyebrow. The class stares at her.

Professor Kim clears her throat, "That's a good question. Yet very specific, Miss Williams."

"I just think about practicality," Ellie mutters weakly.

After class, you corner her in the hallway, determination oozing from the way you stride over to her. "Swinging between buildings?" you ask.

Ellie can barely hold it together, itching with the need to be anywhere but in front of you. "Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically," you echo, studying her face. "You know, I've been thinking about patterns lately, since our conversation. Like how Spider-Girl always seems to show up right after you disappear from class."

Ellie goes very still. "That's... cool."

"Is it? Because I've been doing some math of my own. The timing, the locations, the way you know exactly how web-swinging would work from a physics perspective."

"Funny story, I’m… ah… writing a research paper on Spider-Girl’s abilities—"

"You have the same voice as a certain superhero who's saved my life three times."

Her face goes pale. She opens and closes her mouth, unable to devise an escape plan. And she has tons of experience in those. "I can explain."

You lean closer, lowering your voice, "Can you? Because I'm starting to think my study partner is also the girl who's been stalking me from rooftops."

"I haven't been stalking you!" she protests, then catches herself. "I mean, I don't know what you're talking about."

You tilt your head, close enough to see the panic in her green eyes. "Prove it."

"How?"

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"If you're not Spider-Girl, then kissing me shouldn't be a problem. But if you are..." you let the sentence hang, your own pulse skyrocketing.

Ellie stares at you, bewilderment painting her features. "That's not—that doesn't prove anything."

"Doesn't it? Because I'm pretty sure Spider-Girl has been wanting to kiss me for weeks. The question is whether Ellie Williams wants to kiss me too."

The words tumble out before you can second-guess them—bold, reckless, and so unlike you. But for once, you don’t care. The hallway is empty, most students having fled to their next classes. Ellie looks around desperately, like she still believes that she can scheme her way out of this.

"I—" she starts, then ultimately stops. Her shoulders slump. "Fuck."

"Is that a confession?"

"It's an acknowledgment that I'm terrible at this secret identity thing."

You grin, pleased with yourself, "So you are Spider-Girl."

"Yeah." She runs a hand through her hair. "And I've been going crazy trying to keep away from you while also making sure you're safe, and I think I'm falling for you but I can't tell if it's because I'm Spider-Girl or because I'm Ellie, and—"

You kiss her.

It’s soft, at first, almost hesitant, but it lands with the quiet certainty of something long overdue. Her words die against your lips, a half-formed thought swallowed by the warmth of your mouth on hers. She lets out a soft, taken aback sound, something between a gasp and a sigh, and then she’s kissing you back like it’s instinct, like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have.

Her hands rise to cradle your face, fingers trembling just slightly as they settle against your cheeks. She leans into you, melts, and the world narrows down to the press of her body against yours and the wild, thunderous beat of your heart.

When you finally pull back—breathless and stunned—she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you with wide, shining eyes like she’s seeing something brand new.

Like she’s never wanted anything more.

"Both," you whisper. "You asked if you're falling for me as Spider-Girl or as Ellie. For me, it's both. I'm falling for both of you."

Her smile, the brightest you’ve ever seen, could power the entire campus. "Really?"

"Really. Though I have to say, your secret identity skills need work."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting that." She ducks her head, but not before you catch the rising blush, equal parts pride and bashfulness. You’re not sure if it’s the jab, the kiss, or just you that’s got her blushing like that, but whatever it is, you want to see it again. 

"We should probably talk about this somewhere more private," you say, glancing around the empty hallway.

"My apartment?" Ellie suggests, then immediately looks panicked. "If you want. For talking. Just talking. Very innocent talking."

You laugh, carefree, watching the panic bloom across her face like she’s just proposed something scandalous instead of, quite frankly, simply suggesting. It’s cute—dangerously cute—and a spark of amusement curls in your chest. "Ellie."

"Yeah?"

"It’s alright. I'm not going anywhere."

Her apartment is small and cluttered, textbooks scattered across every surface, equations scrawled on sticky notes stuck to the walls. Such a nerd, you think to yourself with barely controlled lust. There's a familiar suit hanging in the closet, and you stare in awe.

"So," you begin, settling on her couch. "How long?"

"About a year. There was this lab accident—" she sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch. "Radioactive spider. Very original, I know."

"And you've been doing the superhero thing since then?"

"Someone has to. The city's not exactly overflowing with good-natured people."

You drink in her face, taking in the small scar on her cheekbone, the way her eyes are alight with something unfamiliar. "Are you okay with this? Me knowing?"

"Terrified," her eyes widen a little, like she hadn’t expected you to ask. Like the idea that someone would care enough to check in hadn’t fully occurred to her. The tension in her shoulders eases, just barely, and when she speaks, her voice is softer. "But also... relieved? I've been wanting to tell you for weeks."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because people I care about get hurt. It's like a rule or something," her nails scratch at her skin anxiously. "And I care about you. A lot."

It slams into you—her honesty, raw and unguarded—and you have to swallow the rush of feeling that follows. You’ve waited so long for this, for her. Now, she’s here, and you don’t trust yourself to breathe too loudly in case the moment shatters. "How much?"

She looks at you then and the intensity in her gaze makes you forget how to function. "Enough that I've been taking patrol routes past your apartment building to make sure you get home safe. Enough that I nearly blew my cover multiple times because I couldn't stand the thought of you getting hurt. Enough that I've been falling asleep thinking about you and waking up wishing I could tell you everything."

Your lips quiver, "Ellie..."

"I know it's crazy. I know I've been lying to you, and that dating me comes with risks you never signed up for. I know you think I'm some kind of stalker. Fuck, I am—"

You kiss her again, slower this time, like you're trying to commit the way she tastes, the way she feels under your hands to memory. Her fingers tighten at your waist, tentative at first, then surer, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. You can clearly tell that she’s been waiting for some semblance of permission to want this as much as she does. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss with a quiet groan that makes your knees go a little weak.

It’s not a confession. It’s a surrender. A promise that neither of you quite knows how to verbalise so soon.

"I don't think you're a stalker," you mumble against her lips. "I think you're extremely awesome. And hot. And selfless."

Ellie chuckles, "And?"

"And I think I'm completely gone for you."

She pulls back to meet your eyes. "Both versions of me?"

"All versions of you. The hero, the student, the girl who makes terrible spider puns and gets flustered when I catch her staring."

"I do not get flustered."

"You look like a tomato right now."

"That's unrelated."

You throw your head back, and she grins, that same, crooked smile that's been driving you crazy for weeks. "I love your laugh," she appreciates softly.

"I love your brain. The way you see patterns in everything, the way you explained all of those formulae like they were beautiful instead of impossible."

"They are beautiful. Math is, like, the language the world uses to describe itself."

"See? That. That's what I'm talking about."

She shifts closer, her forehead resting against yours. "What happens now?"

"Now you stop trying to protect me from a distance and let me be part of your life. The real part."

"It's dangerous."

"So is crossing the street. So is falling in love with someone," you trace the line of her jaw with your fingertip. "I'm not asking you to stop being Spider-Girl. I'm asking you to trust me enough to let me choose to be with you anyway."

She's quiet for a moment, and you can see her calculating probabilities, a deep furrow set in her brows. Finally, she utters, "I've never had anyone who knew. About me, I mean. All of me."

You nod in understanding, "How does it feel?"

"Scary. Amazing. Like I can finally relax."

"Good,” you smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Because I plan on knowing you for a very long time."

"Show me," you say later, when you're curled up together on her couch, her arms around you and her chin resting on your shoulder.

"Show you what?"

"The Spider-Girl stuff. I want to see how it works."

She tenses slightly. "Are you sure? It's kind of intense."

"Ellie. I've been dreaming about this for weeks."

She's deeply amused for a moment, then she gently untangles herself from you and stands. "Okay. But if it freaks you out—"

"It won't."

She moves to the window, and you watch as she seems to almost, in a way, transform. Her posture changes, becomes more fluid, more confident. She presses her palm against the glass, and you see her fingers stick to the surface without any effort.

"Holy shit," you gawk.

"That's not even the cool part." She grins, extending her wrist. There's a soft thwip sound, and you jump back as a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the opposite wall. "Web-shooters. My own design."

"Can I...?"

"Touch them? Sure," she comes back to the couch, holding out her wrist. The device is sleek and mechanical, clearly homemade but extraordinarily sophisticated.

You run your fingers over the metal, marveling at the craftsmanship, "You built this?"

"Built, tested, redesigned about fifty times. Turns out web-slinging is more complicated than it looks."

"This is incredible. You're incredible."

She rubs the back of her neck, "It's just engineering."

"It's genius-level engineering that you did in your spare time while maintaining an impeccable GPA."

"My GPA is not impeccable—"

"Ellie," you look at her seriously. "You're amazing. Not just as Spider-Girl, but as you. The fact that you use your intelligence to help people, that you built all this to make the world safer... it's the most attractive thing I've ever seen."

She stares at you for a moment, then she's pressing her lips to yours, urgent and hungry. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in her flannel shirt as she guides you back against the couch cushions.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," she barely contains her whimper. "Every time I saved you, every time you smiled at me in class, every time you caught me staring..."

"I was hoping you'd stare," you admit, biting your lower lip. "I've been trying to get your attention for weeks."

"You always had my attention," her fingers trace the skin just above your waistband, and you shiver. "From the first day you sat next to me in class, I couldn't think about anything else."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Because girls like you don't usually go for awkward nerds."

You giggle, bringing her face back to yours for another kiss. "This girl does."

"Yeah?"

"Hell, yeah," you tug at her shirt, suddenly desperate to feel more of her.

She helps you pull her flannel off, revealing a simple black tank top underneath. There are more scars here, small ones scattered across her arms and shoulders—evidence of her other life.

"Do they hurt?" you ask, tracing one with your fingertip.

"Not anymore. I heal fast now."

You lean up to kiss the scar on her collarbone. "I don't like the idea of you being hurt."

"I'm careful."

"You throw yourself off buildings for a living."

"I'm strategically careful."

You're about to respond when she kisses your neck, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a soft moan. She's good at this, all careful attention and gentle pressure, like she's been thinking about exactly how to touch you.

"Ellie," you whisper, and she responds by trailing kisses down your neck.

"I love the way you say my name," she whispers against your skin. "Both when you're annoyed with me in class and when you're like this."

"Like what?"

"Desperate. Wanting me."

"I do want you," you thread your fingers through her hair, tugging gently until she looks at you. "I want all of you."

Something shifts in her expression, heat darkening her eyes. "All of me?"

Instead of answering, you flip your positions, pushing her back against the couch and settling yourself astride her lap. Her hands immediately find your waist, fingers digging in like she's afraid you'll disappear.

"Hi," you say softly.

"Hi yourself," her voice is rougher now, her breathing uneven. "This is... this is really happening?"

"Unless you want to stop."

"Fuck no," she sits up, bringing your faces level. "I just... I've imagined this so many times, but I never thought..."

"What?"

"I never thought you'd want me back."

You cup her face in your hands, thumb brushing over her cheek. "Ellie Williams, I've been hopelessly crushing on you since the first time you rambled about one of your silly interests. Finding out you're also the badass superhero who's been saving my life is just a sexy bonus."

She laughs, light and surprised. "Sexy?"

"Very sexy. The competence, the confidence, the way you move like you know exactly what your body can do," you roll your hips cheekily, and her grip on your waist tightens frenziedly. "It's incredibly hot."

"Oh."

"Tongue-tied?"

"Shut up," she says, but she's grinning as she pulls you down.

This time when your lips meet, it's different. Needy. Her hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing just under your ribs, and you arch into the touch with a sound that makes her eyelashes flutter.

"Is this okay?" she asks, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

"More than okay."

She helps you pull it off, and for a moment she just stares, dumbfounded. "You're so beautiful," she licks her lips, and the reverence in her voice astounds you.

"So are you,” you drag her into another makeout, rougher this time. She meets you halfway as you both start to move—slow, desperate grinding that leaves no room for doubt. Her thigh slots between yours, and the friction pulls a breathy curse from your lips.

Ellie’s hands are everywhere, the curve of your back, your shoulders, the line of your throat. She mouths at your chest through your bra, tongue dragging over the fabric until your head tips back and a shaky moan escapes you. She hums against you like she’s proud of your reaction and you’re already giving in, her name slipping like a prayer.

You pull back to meet her eyes. "I need you, Ellie."

Something in her expression shatters—restraint, maybe, or whatever thread of self-control she was still clinging to. Her jaw tightens like she’s trying to hold herself back and failing spectacularly. She exhales sharply through her nose, then grabs your hips with both hands, grinding up against you like she can’t stand even an inch of space.

“Fuck,” she mutters, like the word is forcibly ripped out of her. “Say that again.”

“O-oh,” you gasp at the delicious movement, clutching onto her helplessly. “N-need you, Els. Please.”

She stands without warning, lifting you with her, and you wrap your legs around her waist. The casual display of strength makes heat pool in your stomach.

"Show off," you tease.

"You like it."

"Wrong. I love it."

Her bedroom is small and messy like the rest of her apartment, but you don’t mind. She sets you down gently beside the bed, her hands immediately finding your waist again.

"Are you sure about this?" she asks, and there's a fond vulnerability in her voice.

"Ellie," you step closer, pecking the tip of her nose. "I'm sure about you.”

"I’m sure about you too," she smiles, and then she's walking you backward until your legs hit the mattress.

You fall together, a jumble of limbs and fast kisses and hands that can't stop touching. She's careful with you, gentle despite the strength you know she possesses, and something about that contrast—the deadly superhero being so tender with you—makes you feel cherished in a way you've never experienced.

"I want to make you feel good," she moans against your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine. "Will you let me make you feel good, baby?"

"E-Ellie," you can only manage to stammer, and she smirks deviously against your neck.

"Just like that."

Ellie doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slips beneath your waistband, knuckles brushing your skin as she works her way into your pants and under your panties. The first drag of her fingers through your slick makes both of you gasp—you at the contact, her at the way you’re already soaking for her.

“Jesus,” she remarks, almost in devotion, before slipping two fingers inside you, slow but unrelenting. Your hands dig into her shoulders, hips rolling up to meet each thrust, and she finds a rhythm that makes your head spin. Her palm presses snug against your clit, every movement measured and devastating.

"You're so responsive," she murmurs, pressing kisses down your throat. "So perfect."

"Not perfect," your reply is strained, hard to think with her touching you like this.

"Perfect for me."

When her lips follow the path her hands have traced, you're already trembling. She takes her time, building you up carefully, until you're writhing beneath her.

"Please," you beg for the second time that day, and she looks up at you with her insatiable, lidded gaze.

"Please what?"

"Please don't stop."

"Never," she swears, and then she's making good on it, using her mouth and hands to take you apart piece by piece.

She sinks to her knees like it's second nature, tugging your pants down completely with an urgency that makes you shy away. Her mouth is on you almost instantly, tongue parting you with aching precision, and the first slow lick is both torture and life-changing. Her hands grip your thighs firmly, anchoring you in place, as if daring you to pull away.

Not that you would, not when her mouth is right there, focused solely on your dripping cunt.

She moans against you like she’s the one being eaten out, the sound sending vibrations straight through your core, and you choke out a gasp. One hand trails from your thigh to slip two fingers inside you, easy from how wet you already are, and the combination of her mouth and the rhythmic movement of her fingers is devastating. She fucks you with purpose, stroking that perfect spot over and over as her lips wrap around your clit and suck.

Your hands find her hair, threading through it with desperation as you grind helplessly against her face, barely coherent. 

“Mmm, yeah, good girl. There you go. Use me however you want.”

Your eyes roll back at her words.

The tension coils tighter and tighter, until it snaps all at once—a blinding rush of pleasure that leaves your vision white at the edges as your body bucks against her, undone completely.

She doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, overstimulated and twitching. Until you're crying out her name and seeing stars. Afterward, she holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple while you catch your breath.

"Okay?" she asks quietly.

"More than okay," you move in her arms, meeting her eyes. "Your turn."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you reassure her softly. "I want to make you fall apart the way you just did to me."

Her face contorts into something akin to burning desire and you grin as you begin to return the favour, taking your time to explore every inch of her skin, to learn what makes her gasp and moan and whisper.

She's beautiful like this, her usual composure completely gone. When she finally climaxes, it's with your name on her tongue and her hands tangled in your hair.

You collapse together afterward, sweaty and satisfied and completely content. She pulls a blanket over both of you, and you snuggle into her side, your head on her chest.

"Hmm," you sigh eventually, tracing lazy patterns on her skin. "This is nice."

"Nice?" she laughs, the sound vibrating through her chest. "I pour my heart out, reveal my secret identity, and give you the best orgasm of your life, and you call it 'nice'?"

"Best orgasm of my life? Someone’s cocky."

"Was it not?"

You grin, leaning up to kiss her chin. "It was incredible. You're incredible."

She tightens her hold around you. "I plan on doing that a lot more, just so you know."

"I’m counting on it."

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to her. Eventually, though, a bunch of doubts and concerns start to creep in like phantoms in the night.

"What happens now?" you ask timidly.

"Now we figure it out as we go," she presses her face into your hair, inhaling deeply. "Together."

"Together," you agree after a few beats of silence, and you can't think of anything that sounds more meant to be.

Outside the window, the city hums with its usual evening hustle and bustle. Somewhere out there, people are going to need Spider-Girl's help. But for now, she's exactly where she belongs—in bed with you, planning a future that includes both sides of who she is.

And you can't wait to see what comes next.

[ssahotchnerr]

if you’re interested, i’ve been so into the idea of aaron discovering reader has a birthmark he’d never seen before — maybe on her inner thigh or something — and i’m dying to see what you’d do with that. take it whatever direction you like best no one’s picky over here <33

hidden in plain sight

hehe i hope this suffices <3 cw; bau fem!reader, established relationship, fluff and some spice

"We're in the depths of hell. I'm convinced."

A brutally hot day. AC temporarily out of service. The lack of ceiling fans preventing any air circulation, resulting in numerous agents in a worse mood than normal. The BAU in these conditions, not the best place to be.

"Whining isn't going to make it any cooler, y'know." You told Morgan, raising your eyebrows cheekily.

"Touché." He pointed his pen at you, his eyes then shifting from your gaze and settling on something behind you. You felt a familiar presence soon after, Aaron's palm finding your shoulder in a silent hello.

"Hotch, please tell me something's getting done about this AC," Morgan pleaded, using a case file to fan his face. "We're boiling out here."

"Hey you." Your chair turned ever-so-slightly as you peered up at him, grinning.

Aaron wasn’t immune to the heat either; his face flushed, his forehead dotted with small beads of sweat, the sleeves of his button-up rolled to his elbows. He looked uncomfortably troubled, but his facial features relaxed at the sight of you.

After offering you a small smile, he addressed Derek's inquiry. "It's getting fixed as we speak."

However, his voice trailed off as he ended his sentence - as your head turned back towards your desk.

You could almost hear his brows furrowing as he swiveled your chair to its previous angle, causing a slight tug at your skin as he got a better look at whatever had piqued his interest. Soon after, a fingertip traced your skin, focusing on one spot.

"How much longer?"

"As long as it takes." He answered plainly, directly. Aaron's hand brushed back towards your shoulder, giving it a long squeeze. "Can I see you in my office?"

You cleared your throat, fighting a squirm as you rose out of your seat. "Sure."

"Uh oh." You shot Morgan a glare at his remark, his teasing only half as enthusiastic as normal (the temperature to thank). Shaking your head in amusement, you followed Aaron.

"What's up?" Stepping into his office was like stepping into a wall of humidity - thick and stagnant. No wonder he had looked so tense, and had been avoiding the room altogether.

Instead of answering, Aaron moved behind you. His fingertips returned to your skin again, focused on the same singular spot as before. The roughness of his finger contrasted with the soft, comforting way he touched you.

"You have a birthmark."

Your birthmark laid along the curve where your shoulder met your neck. Usually covered by hair, but your hair was thrown up in attempt to keep it from sticking to your skin. You had also removed your cardigan, leaving you in a tank and exposing more of your skin - smooth and warm in the fluorescent light.

"You called me up here because I have a birthmark?" You laughed gently, your eyebrows crinkling in question. Despite the heat, goosebumps trickled onto your skin at his touch.

"I can't believe I haven't noticed it before."

"I mean, every time you've seen me bare, you've been distracted elsewhere." You teased, your forward-facing position causing you to miss the smirk that threatened his lips. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"No excuse. I pride myself on knowing every part of your body." His finger traced the outline of the small mark; the pad of his finger lingering softly, as though savoring the imprint, studying it, committing it to memory so he wouldn't dare forget it again. Additionally, the added pressure he was applying made the strength of your knees falter. "No matter how delicate."

A heavy want grew in his chest; the urge to press his lips to that spot he had unintentionally missed. Over and over again, at that, offering it the attention it quietly demanded and he had lacked.

If you two were in the privacy of home, he would've.

"I'll tell you what." You turned around to face him, your eyes darting out to the bullpen before finding his again. They met him with a mischievous glint. "I'm in need of a shower when we get home. Aren't you?"

The ends of his mouth lifted upwards. "After today? Perhaps."

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger as you whispered into his ear, "I’ll let you check for any other birthmarks you may have missed. How about that?"

[mytherapyisreading14]

The Professor Effect

Summary: You were always one of the best students - until you got a new professor. Now you're often distracted and your grades are dropping. He notices and decides to confront you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: dirty talk, kissing, making out, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe pls), dom!spencer (pls let me know if I forgot something)

Word Count: 4,2k

Part 2

It's Monday morning, 8:15 a.m. The air in the lecture hall is fresh. The windows are still open, even though it's noticeably colder outside. Autumn has begun, and the first leaves are already falling from the trees. You're sitting in your usual seat in the second row, right by the window.

You're prepared, as always. Criminology is more than just a subject for you. It's your thing. And yes, you're good at it. One of the best, according to your professor. But you simply have a good memory, and it's easy for you to find the connections. You love what you do.

Professor Hartmann is a great professor. Old-fashioned, but smart. And strict. He challenges his students, never going easy on you. You respect him and like his teaching style. But a few weeks ago, in one of his lectures, he said that he is soon retiring because of health reasons. The announcement came unexpected.

Since then, no one knows who will replace him. No information, no photo, no name – just an email from the student council with the vague sentence “We're looking forward to a fresh, modern perspective in the Criminology department." And then... he enters the room.

You don't know whether you notice his voice or his face first. Maybe both at the same time. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm excited to be exploring criminology with you starting this semester - with an eye on the reality out there,” he says when he comes in.

He's tall, slim, with an almost outrageously casual elegance. Shirt, dark brown blazer, sleeves slightly rolled up. His hair is messy and curly. And his eyes... those eyes. You can't look away. Your heart is beating faster. What the hell is wrong with you? You usually never get distracted, especially not because of a man.

You’re one of the students who always writes everything down, who thinks along, analyzes, asks critical questions. But at this moment? You have no idea what he's saying. Something about the history of profiling, you think. Or is it forensic psychology? You look at your notebook. Empty. Your pen lies there. Untouched.

As he explains the semester's outline, your gaze keeps wandering to him. Not just because he's handsome - that's almost beside the point. It's the way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he treats the topics as if they were alive. As if he weren't just teaching them, but understanding them on a whole other level. He's smart. And not just "I have a doctorate" smart.

And you? You sit there, as if hypnotized. Completely distracted. Your mind is racing. You don't know what to do. The semester hasn't even really started yet, and you know you're in trouble.

-

Since that first Monday, something has changed. You still arrive on time, sit in your usual seat, prepared and yet it happens every time. As soon as he enters the room, your mind is blank. Not blank-blank, but full – with the wrong thoughts.

His lecture on perpetrator typologies? Fascinating. His explanations of psychological casework at BAU? Impressive. You want to listen, you want to think along, but all you do is look at him. The way he walks around the room. The way he sometimes speaks too fast because his mind is apparently faster than his words.

He's a genius. Not in that exhausting way, but in the way that fascinates and leaves you speechless. And he's not even arrogant about it – just completely absorbed in what he's doing.

You're lost in your thoughts. More and more often, you find yourself watching his hands as he writes something down. Or how his voice changes when he talks about difficult cases. It’s more quiet, more serious, with an expression you only have when you've seen things you'll never fully forget.

You understand the content but there's this discrepancy between knowledge and performance now. You don't lose track. You trade it for thoughts that have nothing to do with the class but rather with him. In the third week, you're unprepared for the first time. It's not a disaster, but you haven't finished reading the case study. And you hate it.

You hate not being able to concentrate as much anymore. Not being properly prepared. But you've been too busy trying to explain to yourself what's actually going on with you and how to get yourself back on track.

-

It’s another Monday morning and the room fills with nervous murmuring. Spencer is standing at the front of the desk, handing out the marked exams. You don't even want to know what grade you got. The subject actually suited you. You knew the answers - at least until you looked up for a moment and saw him roll up the sleeves from his shirt. That was enough to completely distract you.

You wait, trying not to let on, but your gaze keeps wandering to him. You're trying really hard to ignore him. But it's not working. As he places your exam on your desk, he gives you a quick nod. You can barely look at him. When you glance at the grade, the infatuation immediately disappears.

You understand the material. You used to be the best. But lately, your mind seems to be more focused on your professor than on studying. You shove the papers into your bag and are about to head for the door when you hear your name. You freeze. His voice hits you like an electric shock. You slowly turn around.

"We need to talk about your exam. Let's say around 3 p.m in my office?” he asks. You feel hot. Not from fear but because your mind immediately runs through a thousand scenarios. You nod. "Yeah, sure," you mumble, trying to hide your blush. "Fine," he says and smiles before he goes back to his papers.

-

Now you're standing in front of the building. Third floor, left corridor. Room 3.17. His office. It's 2:56 p.m. You arrived way too early, hiding in the library for ten minutes, but now you're here. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. Your heart isn't cooperating. This is just a conversation. Maybe he wants feedback. Maybe it was just a bad exam. Maybe he's noticed how you look at him in every lecture - then you have a problem.

You push your hair back from your face and knock. "Come in." You press the handle and step inside. He's standing at the window, just turning around. Shirt, sleeves rolled up. And oh god, he’s wearing glasses. Your brain is on strike. "Hello," you say. Or do you think that? No, you're really saying it. Luckily, your voice sounds more stable than you feel.

He nods at you. "It's great to have you here. Please sit down." You take a seat, put down your bag, and try not to appear nervous. He sits down and folds his hands. "I wanted to talk to you about your exam," he begins calmly. "You were one of Professor Hartmann's strongest students. According to him, your contributions were precise and analytical. He specifically praised you." You nod.

"That's why your grade surprised me," he says. "The analysis was superficial. And I wouldn't have expected those mistakes from you." You want to say something. An explanation. But your mouth remains dry. So you just nod. Then he asks, "Is there anything going on in your life that distracts you from studying?" You look at him. A moment too long. Your lips part. But what are you trying to say?

That he’s the reason? That your head is chaos every time he enters the room? You swallow. "It's nothing bad," you say quietly. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. He's analyzing you. Reading you. "Good," he says. "Then let's change that. I think there's more to you than this grade shows." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. You nod and try to avoid his eyes. Sitting here, alone with him, in his office - it makes you nervous.

For a moment it is quiet and you are about to say that you should leave now when he speaks up again. "You know, it's not hard to see that you were a little... distracted." Your heart races and your eyes widen. Oh no. You know you've just given too much away. "Don't worry," he continues. "I understand. Thoughts sometimes take on a life of their own. Especially when you're sitting across from someone so... fascinating."

Fascinating. The word echoes in your head. You feel like he knows exactly what he's doing. And you have no idea how you'll ever get out of this. He leans back and looks at you, a small smile on his lips, while you almost feel like he's secretly wondering how much longer you'll last without blushing with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, as if trying to read you - as if he's already read you. "Or did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?" Your heart skips a beat. Heat crawls up your neck. Too late. Your eyes give you away and he sees it. He continues leaning back ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s a slow, calculated move, as if he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s doing it. And you have no idea how you’ll escape this, or if you even want to. He watches you as though he’s already playing a game you don’t know the rules to. His lips curl slightly, a hint of something almost teasing. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you. "I wonder..." His voice lowers and he leans closer to you, "What exactly occupies that pretty little head of yours... to the point where you almost forget how obvious it all is."

He lets the words hang in the air, like a challenge or a threat. And as you hold your breath, you realize: you’ve already lost. The only question is whether you’ll admit it - or if he’ll make you. Your breath hitches, barely audible, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker. He looks pleased. Not surprised. Like he was expecting it, like he was hoping for it. 

You try to speak, to say something, but you can’t get a word out. He stands up, walks around his desk and comes closer to you. You can smell the faint trace of coffe and books. You blink once and suddenly he’s in your space, hovering just at the edge of touch, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you, that would make it too easy.

“I think,” he says slowly, every word deliberate, “you like pretending you still have control.” His gaze drops for the briefest second and when it meets yours again, it’s different. Full of lust and desire. “But you gave that up the second you lied to me.” You feel your heart beating faster and faster.

He leans in, mouth near your ear now. “The question, sweetheart, isn’t whether I noticed,” his breath is warm, intoxicating, “it’s what I’ll do now that I have.” Something inside you unravels. His lips linger against your ear, resting there like he belongs there, like he’s earned the right to touch you this way. And maybe he has. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part: how natural it feels now, to have him this close, this deep under your skin.

You exhale shakily as his hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting along your thigh, teasing, never quite where you want them, where you need them. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking more, but he only smirks, dragging his mouth down your neck, each kiss deliberate, maddening. "Still holding on?" he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing just below your collarbone.

You want to challenge him. Tell him he hasn't won. That you're still in control. But the words never make it past your lips. Because his hand finally slides exactly where you need him, and your body arches into his like it was made for this moment. A quiet curse slips from your mouth, caught somewhere between surrender and desire, and he drinks in the sound like it's a reward.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and burning. "Say it. Say you want this." And you do - god, you do -but your pride clings to silence even as your body betrays you, trembling beneath his touch. He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to yours, his breath uneven, his control clearly thinning.

“Why don’t you get up and lock the door for me, sweetheart?” he asks and that’s the moment you give in. You've dreamed about it so often, so why not take the chance and make it come true? Besides, you're too much turned on right now to leave. It’s wrong, you know that - he’s your professor after all - but you don’t care. You want him. You need him.

So you get up and quickly lock his door. When you turn back to him, he's leaning against his desk, grinning. "See, it wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?” he says and motions for you to come closer. Your heart has never beat as fast as it does now and when you feel his lips on yours again, you could swear that it is bursting with excitement.

He doesn't stop kissing you, even as he shifts, fitting his body more fully against yours, like he's been waiting for this moment far longer than he'd ever admit. His hand slides behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, guiding you into him with aching precision. The friction alone draws a gasp from your lips-and his in return. "You feel that?" he growls softly, teeth grazing your jaw. "That's what you do to me."

There's no space left between you now and you cling to him, hands roaming, greedy, nails dragging under his shirt and down his back just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then he moves, a slow roll of his hips that sets every nerve in your body alight. It's maddening, torturous. “Oh god, Professor. I - I need more.” He slides his hand up your thigh slowly, stopping where you need him the most.

“Then beg for it,” he says. “What?” you ask, confused. “You heard me. Beg for it. Beg me to touch you, to fuck you, to ruin you,” he says and smirks. “I’m not going to beg,” you say, annoyed that he’s not giving you what you want so bad. “Then I won't fuck you, it's that simple. And I don’t think you want that, do you?” he asks you and pushes against you. You can feel how hard he is and it drives you crazy.

“I hate you,” you hiss out, grinding against him in order to release some friction. He grabs your hips and holds them still before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “No, you don’t. And now, be good girl and beg. If you keep making this difficult there won’t be much time left for me to fuck you and that would be such a shame, considering I wanted to take my time to worship you like you deserve it,” he says.

You didn’t think it was possible, but these words turn you on even more. You need him, now, everywhere. You push your pride aside and look up to him through your lashes, roaming your hands over his chest and opening the first buttons of his shirt while maintaining eye contact. “Please, Professor. I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me. Please make me come on your cock,” you say and he looks pleased.

“See, that was not hard, was it?” he asks but you ignore him. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat - anywhere he can reach. "You're mine now," he breathes, hips grinding more against you, slower, enough to leave you trembling. "Every inch of you,” he says before he finally slips his hand up your skirt again, grazing your clit through your panties. You shiver.

His hand tugs at your panties before he pulls them to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Now look at that. You’re already soaked,” he says with a smirk and slips a finger inside you, while his thumb circles your clit. You moan out loud and his other hand covers your mouth immediately. “Shh, sweetheart. You have to keep quiet for me if you don’t want us to get caught,” he says.

The thought makes you clench around his finger and he chuckles. “Interesting. You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” he asks and pushes another finger in. You bite down on your lip in order to stay quiet because he is right - you don’t want to get caught. Not here, not now. But the thought definitely turns you on. “Answer me,” he says, pumping his fingers faster. “Y-yes, I - I do.”

Your legs begin to shake and you hold onto his arms in order to still stand up straight. He notices your struggle and lifts you up so you sit on his desk. He finally takes your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket. You spread your legs wider for him and he looks pleased at the sight in front of him. “Please fuck me, Professor. I need you so bad,” you whine but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. I have to taste you first,” he says and leans down, his head disappearing between your thighs. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you close to him before he leans forward and places a kiss on your cunt. You can feel his breath on you and reach for his hair, pulling him closer against you. Then his tongue finally makes contact with your cunt, flicking over your clit first. You gasp out loudly, tugging at his soft, brown curls and looking down to him.

Seeing your Professor down on his knees, between your thighs is a sight you will never forget. He eats you out like he wants to draw every last sound out of you. And he does. When he finally starts to push his tongue into you, he drinks all your whimpers and moans in like they're fuel, like they prove something, and in the way he watches you, you realize that this isn't just about lust. This is control. Intimacy. A claiming.

He adds his fingers again and the pleasure becomes too much. Your toes are curling and you can feel your orgasm approaching. Spencer can tell that you’re close too. He sucks at your clit again and your mind goes blank. But then he suddenly pulls back. You pant and give him an angry look. “What are you doing? I was close,” you breath out, already fucked out. “I know. But I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says.

“Asshole,” you hiss through gritted theeth and he shakes his head in disappointment. “That's no way to talk to your professor. It looks to me like I need to give you a lesson in respect,” he says. “I -“ you begin but he already pulls you from the table before turning you around and bending you over it. He pulls down your skirt in one quick motion before his hand roams over your ass.

You turn around to look at him, to snap at him, to tell him you hate him for doing that but you can’t because his hand is coming down onto your ass, spanking you. You didn’t expect that but it turns you on immensely. “Count and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “O -one,” you breath out and feel a wave of excitement washing through you. He was really not lying when he said he’s making all your dreams come true. Because as much as you hate to admit it, this is what you dreamed about too.

His hand comes down again and you feel the sharp pain again. But it feels good. You didn’t think it’s even possible but every minute with him turns you on even more. You push against him to show him you want more, feeling his hard cock again. “Oh you are enjoying this, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks and you nod. His hand comes down again and you continue counting. After ten strikes he decides that you have enough.

“That’s it, you took it like a good girl for me,” he says and leans down to kiss your neck gently. It’s a sweet, caring moment and it makes you feel safe with him. However, you’re still turned on, especially after he punished you like this. “Will you fuck me now?” you ask him eagerly and he laughs. “Of course, sweetheart. You think I don’t want to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?” he says and begins to open his pants.

When he finally pulls out his cock your eyes widen. He is big, way bigger than you always expected. He strokes his cock a few times and you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes. If you weren't so turned on right now, you'd be embarrassed about how much you want him, need him. But you don’t care, who blames you? He's hot and smart, the perfect combination.

He comes closer and finally slides his cock through your folds, hitting your clit and teasing you yet again. “Just - just fuck me already,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. When he stops you quickly add a “Please, Professor” and he praises you. “Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he finally pushes in.

It feels even better than you expected. You can’t help but moan out his name loudly. “Shh, quiet sweetheart,” he reminds you and you nod. He’s right. You don’t want anyone to find out or worse, get interrupted right now. Not now, when you finally have him.

He starts to pound into you and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation of him inside you drives you crazy. Low groans fell from Spencer's lips when one of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing rough circles. The way you move with him, the way your body responds, open and aching and utterly undone - that's your surrender.

And he feels it. You can tell in the way he growls your name like it's sacred. “You look so good like this, completely fucked out by your Professor,” he says and his pace falters, deepens, roughens. The rhythm between you spirals into something frantic, raw-beautiful in its chaos. The kind of connection that blurs the line between pleasure and need. Between dominance and devotion.

When he hits the right spot over and over again and trails his hand down to circle your clit, you completely lose it. You clench around him and he knows you’re close. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He pushes deeper, increasing his pace until he’s close too. But instead of making you two come together, he pulls out. “What the fuck are you -“ you start but he shifts, pulling you up from his desk to push you on your knees. “Open,” he says and you obey, taking his cock in your mouth to swallow his cum.

You think he has something else planned for you, convinced he still wants to make you come but when he finished and starts to put himself together again you give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?” you ask him. “As you can see, we’re done, sweetheart. I’m putting myself back together. My office hours start soon. You have to leave now,” he simply says and sits down at his desk. “Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. “I didn’t even come,” you say.

“Only good girls - good students - get to come. And you haven't been that lately. Show me you're getting better, focus on your exams, get a better grade the next time and you'll get what you deserve,” he says with a smirk on his face and you are so angry, so frustrated that you can’t get a word out for about a minute. Then you have an idea.

He’s not playing fair, but you can do that too. “I can just report you, you know,” you say. You never plan to do that, but he doesn’t need to know that. He looks up and laughs before getting up from his chair, walking around his desk and slowly approaching you again. Your whole body is shaking with anger, frustration and pleasure. “You can, but you won’t,” he says with a grin on his face.

"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?" you ask him defiantly. “Because these lips long for me," he says and unexpectedly pushes a finger inside you again. You tremble. Oh god, he just knows you too well. “And in order for these lips to get what they want, these lips,” he says and traces his finger over your lips. “have to stay quiet.”

[theonottsbxtch]

EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ‘Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

[mickyschumacher]

Hello ! How are you ? I would request a Imagine with Isack Hadjar x Fem Reader smut if you can and if you are okay with that if it's not, it's okay

Thank you !

[THE TOUCH OF YOUR LIPS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: isack and you have found some... advice to help you with your stress. and while it's been pretty helpful, a new realisation has decided to slap you in the face. or in which friends with benefits isn't really working out anymore. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), friends with benefits but friends beforehand, some fluff, jealousy, blowjob, slight handjob, isack kinda possessive 🙂‍↔️, poor humour, isack being cute and shit, paul possibly finding an early deathbed (my bad), a lack of thanking franco :( // sorta proof-read

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: isack hadjar x mercedes!driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.7k+

𝐀/𝐍: isack hadjar smut?? OFCCCCC IT'D BE ME! (one would proclaim there it isn't enough of it 😔) sincerely a girl who could maybeeee write a pt 2 xx p.s. kinda wrote this after that interview franco gave.

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Racing by no means was easy. It required a sort of aggression unlike any other. It invoked stress down to the very atom, impacting how one drove.

So by the very famous advice of Franco Colapinto, one should take steps to alleviate such stress.

The idea actually belonged to Franco when both you and Isack had come to him with burdened shoulders after the third race.

While some found Suzuka boring to watch this year. You and Isack had been fighting to keep yourselves in the top ten. You had to admit being in a Mercedes made it slightly easier. But at this rate... it was anyone's points to win.

On your small break, you and Isack had met Franco for lunch, giving each other advice and simply just being there for each other. After complaining about the stress, the Argentine had only looked the both of you dead in the eye and said, "You both you need to get laid."

"I–What?" You spluttered while Isack's eyes turned wide at the recommendation.

Franco leaned back in his chair with a small shrug. "I did it all the time last year. Before a race... before quali... it really helps you relax. And you burn off weight for the car."

You blinked blankly, turning to Isack with a raised brow as though you were questioning whether Franco was truly sane or not. Isack only shrugged, ears tinged red.

A sigh fell from Franco's lips. Bending forward, he looked at the both of you firmly. "Look... it's not up to me how you do it. With each other. A stranger. A friend. As long as you have some chemistry, anyone will work. You just need to remove the stress from your body."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Franco's advice, although slightly crude, was admissible.

You thought about it for days after you had met. When was the last time you had even pleasured yourself let alone gotten laid? Weeks? God forbid... months?

You had committed so much of your life to your career that you had put an indefinite halt on your love life, including all intimate matters. You didn't want a single distraction until you had achieved what you desired: the World Champion title.

But now it seemed your decision had backfired and was now impacting your ability to get that damn title.

You didn't even know Isack was considering Franco's advice until he showed up to your hotel later that evening and asked you with the most flushed cheeks whether you 'join' him on Franco's proposition.

And that was that.

It was simple.

You and Isack were friends with benefits. If either of you felt too stressed or perhaps in need of someone, you would call each other.

There were rules to it, of course.

Don't abuse the relationship. Each occurrence should be mutually decided. You couldn't just snatch someone away to get what you wanted.

Keep this completely secret. Not only would the journalists have an absolute field day with this. Your publicists would probably kill you and you didn't feel like risking your seat.

If one of you wants it to end, it ends right there and then. No questions asked.

Lastly, and most importantly, you're only friends with benefits. Nothing more. This should never impact your friendship of five years.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Franco was absolutely right. Getting laid was the most relaxing choice you had ever made. People were beginning to question how you and Isack were able to be so 'level-headed' throughout races.

Isack barely felt like touching the radio button in the past month and you didn't need five minutes of down time each time you came out of the car.

It was perfect.

Isack got you in ways no one ever had. Perhaps it was because he knew you well enough already but he always knew what buttons to press. How to get you hot and bothered. How to maximise your pleasure. You had always thought his nose could serve a better purpose else where (between your legs preferably).

Not that you were any better. Just one look from you was enough to send Isack to the bathroom, begging for you to come and help him.

Today, however, was slightly different.

You were in Miami a few days earlier than media day. Some of the drivers, including you, had been invited to a club opening created by a superfan.

You hadn't thought much about it until Paul pleaded for you to go, citing that he didn't want to be alone in such a boring place. So you agreed, momentarily forgetting Isack would be there.

But you were quickly reminded as you watched Yuki introduce a girl to Isack from across the room.

"What is going on there?" You asked Paul and Jack.

Paul tilted his head, eyes moving to the direction you were looking in while Jack seemed to answer your question. "I think she's the girl being set up. Pierre said Yuki was introducing someone to Isack. I think Yuki's girlfriend knows her."

In any other circumstance, you would be flooded with happiness. But for some reason, you felt deathly sick. Like your stomach had just dropped all over the floor.

You watched Isack smile at her, giving her a brief warm hug. The girl seemed sweet, positively beaming at him.

You chewed on your lips. God, why were you feeling like this? It was like irritation was coursing through your veins. His laugh echoed in your ears and it infuriated you.

"Are you alright?" Jack asked, looking slightly concerned for you.

Paul averted his eyes to you, stopping his conversation with Esteban. "Yeah... you look kind of pale. Are you feeling well?"

You opened your mouth, immediately about to refute their concerns when it dawned on you.

You were jealous.

You were fucking jealous.

Not of Isack.

But of the girl.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You cleared your throat, giving the two boys a tight smile while you nodded. "I'm fine. Just need to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Although unconvinced, Jack and Paul nodded in return.

You stood up from your swear, heading towards the bathroom, unaware that Isack's eyes were already on you.

Manoeuvring past the dancing bodies, your mind was beginning to overthink.

How could this happen? Why was this happening?

Where on earth had you crossed the line between friends, a little something more, and something else entirely?

The memories flooded your brain, hitting you one after another.

The moments where you laid on Isack's chest after you finished and you'd talk for hours and hours.

The sneaky kisses he pleaded for as he pulled you around the corner, risking everyone seeing the both of you. And all you did was laugh while you encouraged him.

Was it perhaps when he'd ask to meet you in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep just to take a walk?

Perhaps when he surprised you every morning with your favourite sweet treat before you walked the track?

Or the moments Isack asked you repeat his name like a mantra, asking you who made you feel this good while he hovered over you, cheeks flushed with red and skin riddled with sweat?

"Shit," you sighed, head hanging low while you stared hard at the marble counter of the sink.

Goddamnit.

The one thing you weren't supposed to do.

And you had gone and done it.

You rubbed your face, exhaustion slowly taking over it. Lifting your face, you stared at yourself. What were you going to do now?

You should end it, a voice echoed in your head.

Another voice quipped back. But she can't... can you?

Your shoulders slumped. What would it matter? Soon enough he'd have a girlfriend and whatever you had would be in the past. Just like how it was supposed to be.

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey... are you alright?" Isack's voice disrupted your silence as you sat outside your team's hospitality unit.

You peeled your eyes from your phone and looked at him, ignoring the small waver in your heart. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" You asked with a small smile that held all the feigned cluelessness in the world.

Isack's brown eyes darted around, lips pursed in the search of finding the right words. He swallowed, "I just... you haven't been responding so I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Ah...

Right.

He had messaged you numerous times since the night at the club, including why you had left so early. And for none of them could you bring yourself to respond.

Every time you saw his name grace your phone, a flashback of that girl came into your head. No matter what... you couldn't shake the weird feeling in your chest.

The last thing you could do was tell Isack. So you did what you knew best. Run and avoid.

"Yeah... sorry. I've just had a lot on my mind, so," You shrugged, body at slight ease as you technically weren't lying.

Isack chuckled softly, a dangerous rhythm for your heart. "I thought that's what we were meeting for."

There it was. The sore reminder. That this was all it was. Because why on earth would it be anything more?

"I know, I know..." You gave him a tight smile. "I just didn't think the weekend would turn out like this."

The weekend in question was two practices where you had consistently cleared everyone by a second. God knows how. The car barely had any pace to begin with. But something in Miami was clicking with you. And all of a sudden, your name was being mentioned for pole.

He nodded in agreement. "Neither. But hey, I'm proud of you. You're doing a great job," he smiled widely, rubbing your shoulder affectionately.

You sucked in a sharp breath, pressing down the small clench of your chest. "Thanks," you murmured.

Fucking hell...

You thought ignoring him would help you. But it had only made things worse.

"Do you want to meet after practice? Yuki recommended a really good restaurant and we should trust his taste considering how much of a foodie he is." Isack asked, hopeful eyes smiling down at you.

You gulped nervously, staring at him momentarily before sighing. Your shoulders slumped. "Listen... Isack, I think we should end... this." you winced at the awkwardness coating your voice.

Isack blinked. The rules you had made were long gone in his brain. "I... what? What do you mean? W-Why? Did something happen? Did I do something?"

You sighed once more. "It's not you. I just think it's a bit... distracting. I told myself I was going to focus on F1 and I don't know– I feel like I'm straying away from it."

You shifted almost uncomfortably under his gaze. He looked behind you before averting his attention back to you. "Is this about Paul?"

You were pretty sure you had officially lost it. "Paul? What about him?" You asked as the picture of your old Estonian friend came into mind.

Isack pursed his lips. "I... he came to me at the end of the night in club. Asking me where you went. Very concerned. Saying you hadn't been feeling well and I was finding out from him out of all people. Am I intruding on something?"

"I–what? No. Why on ear–" You blinked, finally registering that odd tone Isack sported. "I... Isack... why does it matter to you that he cares?"

Isack's eyes slightly widened. "What?" He huffed, feigning a careless shrug. He swallowed hard, slowly responding. "No... it doesn't..."

You nodded slowly. "Okay. So that's it then."

A hesitant nod returned from Isack. "That's it."

━━━━━━━━━━━

When you had initially decided that nothing could impact the friendship between you and Isack, you didn't even think that your friends with benefits situation would be an exception. Not even for a second.

But here you were. Not even on talking terms. And everyone noticed. You could barely even look at each other.

Yet when Paul would weasel his way from the Alpine garage to you, Isack couldn't withhold the firm expression on his face.

The bright-eyed blonde was constantly flashing his pearly whites, including you in small TikToks he made for the team, cheering you on before every practice, congratulating you with a tight hug after you did indeed get pole for Miami...

He used to do that. Him. Isack.

After one heck of a race involving some unpredicted rain, you had won your maiden Grand Prix. And instead of hugging and kissing the living daylights out of you like Isack had dreamed about, he watched the replay on the screen during his interviews where the camera panned towards Paul and you, filling the room with small 'awes'.

Fucking hell. For someone who had all the emotional capacity, Isack had never felt such rage and turmoil.

Which was exactly why he was at your hotel door in the middle of the night because only you would prefer a night in when you should be celebrating.

"Isack," you greeted, eyes slightly widened as you opened the door.

What on earth was he doing here?

You pressed your lips at the silence, feeling his stare bore into you in such a way that made your stomach churn and your knees quiver. "I... um, what are you doing here? At... Christ, at two in the morning?"

Isack blinked. "I couldn't sleep."

You opened your mouth, about to respond in understanding when he continued. "I couldn't sleep knowing that I should've been the one hugging you today when you won. That I should've congratulated you by kissing you in front of everybody like I imagined. I couldn't sleep... knowing that I'm going to lose you because I couldn't build up the courage for five years to say... I like you. So much that it's driving me crazy."

Your eyes had fully blown wide and any ounce of exhaustion had been depleted instantaneously. You watched Isack's chest heave after the whirl of words that had fallen from his mouth.

"I don't think... I'm not sure if you're in the right state of mind right now..." you worded slowly as though your heart wasn't slamming into your chest, screaming at you to do anything but deny what was right in front of you.

Isack huffed, slightly amused by your poor attempt to distance yourself. He knew you far too well. He folded his arms, making it difficult for your eyes to look away. "Why? So you can pretend you don't like me too? That you didn't get jealous at the club?"

Your mouth fell open. "I... how did you...?"

Isack gave you a pointed look. "That girl asked me why you were looking at her so intensely," he retorted dryly.

Your cheeks flushed. Fuck this was getting even worse than you had imagined. Your hand clenched around your doorframe, head resting in embarrassment. "Okay... you need to leave."

Isack furrowed his brow. "What? Why?"

"So I can wallow in self-pity and potentially burn a hole through this carpet with my skin," you stated, lips pressed together.

Isack grinned, taking a step forward. "I can think about fifty other ways I can make you burn."

Before you could clock it, Isack's lips were on yours and your hands were around his neck, pushing him further into you.

A moan slipped from your lips while you could hear the thud of your door shutting. You could feel his hands immediately wrap around your waist, warming your skin.

Isack's lips pressed deeper, tongue darting out to nudge your mouth open, giving him more access to consume you entirely. Your body was positively churning, tingling and yet littering every inch of you with goosebump as he sent shivers down your skin.

The small half-mixed whine and grunt from his mouth made your thighs clench tightly. It was like it was reverberating through your core.

Isack moaned against your lips, hand roaming up your back, feeling the soft tresses of your hair mix with his fingers. Fuck... he had missed this. Two days... that all he had without you. And it had made him lose himself.

His own body shuddered at the scrape of your nails brushing past his bare skin, feeling his taut torso as though you had carved it out from memory. He peeled his lips away, breath hitching while you rubbed the skin above just below his waistband.

You were undoing him.

And he loved it.

"How the hell did you think you were going to end this, huh?" Isack queried, nipping away at the base of your neck, sucking your soft skin hard enough to mark what was his.

You moaned, head lolling back while he continued to speak, his teeth grazing your skin. "This is forever, chérie," he murmured, looking back at you. His hand held your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

You swallowed hard at the brown eyes staring back at you. Cheasts heaving, the silence was brief. "The moment I first kissed you on our first night... I knew that there would be no going back. That I would hate being your friend and nothing more."

Your eyes glistened, teasing you with your heart's capacity. "Isack..." you murmured, faces barely centimetres away from his.

His smile was soft. Almost a deceptive move on his behalf. "Tomorrow I'll show you how much you mean to me. Today... today you'll please me like the brat you've been. Winner or not."

One might've thought you were crazy as you felt the arousal begin to seep past your panties. You could feel your knees drop instinctively, no order being needed.

Silently, Isack peeled off your shirt, unhooking your bra with one swift motion. He cursed in French at the sight of your chest spilling so freely. Almost urgently, he unzipped his pants, shuffling out of his boxers along with it.

Your eyes were glued to his cock. So thick. Pretty veins all going down, angry and desperate for your touch.

As though you were in a daze, you held out your hand, running your nails gently over the underside.

Isack, unable to control his expressions, whimpered. He breathed slowly. "Don't start playing," he weakly warned, cock standing tall, twitching by itself in the wait for your touch.

You flickered your eyes to his, opening up your lips to let the swarm of warm saliva you had gathered dribble. In your peripheral, you could see Isack's mouth fall slightly, almost like he had gone stupid.

Your saliva fell over his cock, the warm fluid feeling fuzzy over the heat of his tip. Isack clenched his jaw upon feeling your hand rub the natural lube up and down his shaft. A sharp exhale made its way past his gritted teeth, a small tremor wavering down his body as your thumb grazed his slit so precisely.

"Putain," Isack swore, hand shooting to wrap around your chin. "Be careful," he warned more firmly this time. "If you want to enjoy what comes after... be careful."

You uncomfortably squirmed with the wetness between your legs growing bigger and bigger with every passing second. You couldn't help but tease him. He was making it so difficult. So expressive. Just the way you liked.

Before he even had the opportunity to say anything, your hot breath washed over his cock, making him twitch. Isack's head fell back in the air, feeling your hot tongue lick the tip of his dick, again paying special attention to his slit. "Merde," he moaned, entirely lost in your mouth.

Isack's tensed arms rushed to your hair, wrapping the strands tightly around the surface of his hands, veins popping on his forearms while he guided your head with the little control he could muster. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip upon the twirl of your tongue and the light graze of your own teeth against his tip. "F-Fuck," he croaked, throat straining to hold back his full moans, "you're so good, chérie."

You could only hum in response, the salty taste of his precum coating your tongue before you opened your throat a little wider to take his cock in fully. You feel Isack poorly guide his cock into the tighter tunnel, the action bombarded with a string of subdued moans from his mouth. God forbid, he got in trouble for waking up the entire hotel just because you were a goddess with your mouth.

Your thighs clenched again at the sounds falling from his lips. You could tell Isack was close by the way his hips began to move as though he was in a chase. You could only help further by sucking him even harder, bringing the warmth right to him.

Isack's eyes fell down to your throat, knees almost buckling at the sight of the same little bulge in your throat. God... how could he ever forget this? How you could even suggest ending what you had was beyond him. You were perfectly his.

Furthermore, the feel of your nails scraping his thighs, sinking into his thighs... you driving him crazy. He pushed his hips faster, taking in the lewd squelch of your throat filling the air. "That's it... you feel me, chérie?" he asked, breath uneven.

Your eyes fell to him, moans muffled with his cock in your mouth. Your pathetic attempt of a nod made him grin.

Isack let out a strangled grunt mixed with a chuckle. "Such a pretty little mouth... made just for me. Because you're all mine, aren't you, chérie? Not his... mine."

Closing his brown eyes, he cursed with a senseless yet ravenous moan, feeling the coil in his stomach began to unravel as your nose flushed with his skin.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, eyes tight as he chased his release.

You felt yourself drip between your legs as the hot white ropes spilled into your mouth, coating every crevice while you sucked every last drop from him.

Isack heaved, breathing almost silently while he removed his cock from your mouth, stomach churning as he watched you swallow what he had given you.

His eyes still glazed with need, he pulled you up from the floor, pressing his lips to your. God... he could taste himself on your tongue.

Isack breathed harshly. He rested his forehead on yours. "It's technically tomorrow... isn't it?" He queried, a small quirk at the corner of his lips baiting you.

Your laugh soothed his heart. You smiled, taking his hand and guiding it between your legs. "Technically it is."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[gf2bellamy]

something that would be so cute is r who wears glasses kissing spencer (while hes also wearing his glasses) and their glasses kind of clack against eachother by accident and both spencer and r are giggling a little when that happens so they have to stop kissing for a second

😭😭

-🪲

clink — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff a/n: haiii !!! love this idea <3 hope you like this <3

You let out a dramatic sigh as you dropped your full weight onto Spencer, sprawling across his body on the couch. He let out a surprised “oof,” his breath hitching as you landed on top of him, but his arm instinctively wrapped around you anyway.

“Hi,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck, lips brushing against his skin. “Missed you.”

Spencer’s chest rumbled with a soft laugh as he hugged you tighter, fingers resting gently against your spine. “You went to get the mail,” he said into your hair, amusement clear in his voice.

“So?” you huffed, lifting your head just enough to rest your chin on his chest. He blinked down at you, already slightly distracted by how pretty you looked with your glasses slipping down your nose.

“So,” he echoed, “it was two minutes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Does that mean you didn’t miss me?”

Spencer gave a laugh, lips quirking into a fond smile. “Of course I missed you,” he said, brushing a gentle hand up and down your back, fingers dragging softly through the fabric of your shirt.

You beamed, content, your eyes glancing down at the book in his hand, which now dangled precariously over the edge of the couch. “You enjoying your book?” you asked, shifting just enough to sit up, now straddling his lap.

He moved with you easily, settling back into the cushions with one hand resting on your hip, the other lifting the book slightly to keep it from falling. “I think so,” he murmured. “I’m only on chapter three, but it’s promising. It’s about—”

You watched him speak as he adjusted his glasses with one hand and gently set the book aside with the other. You barely noticed time pass as you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck, toying with it gently while he spoke. His thumbs traced soft, absent-minded circles over your hips as he continued talking, occasionally glancing up to see if you were still listening. You were. You asked little questions now and then just to keep him talking, because you loved the sound of his voice when he was excited.

“Hm. I like your interpretation, though,” you murmured thoughtfully as Spencer explained a particular scene from his book. His eyes lit up a little at your words.

“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. You nodded, your glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose. He reached up and gently pushed them back into place with two fingers.

“It completely makes sense,” you said, glancing over at the book now resting on the side of the couch next to you, its pages slightly creased from how he’d set it down. “I didn’t even think about it that way until you pointed it out.” Spencer gave you a small smile, his fingers still resting lightly against the curve of your jaw.

“What?” you asked, poking his cheek playfully with one finger, suspicious of the way he was looking at you.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, but the way his voice dipped slightly and the corners of his mouth twitched upward said otherwise.

He leaned in slowly, and your heart fluttered. Without hesitation, you leaned in too, meeting him halfway with a soft smile. But before your lips could touch, your glasses bumped together with a loud clink. You both froze. Wide-eyed and nose-to-nose, you stared at each other in stunned silence for a second. And then you both broke into laughter.

“Okay,” you said, still giggling. “Take off your glasses.”

Spencer gave you an exaggerated pout. “You take off yours.”

You blinked. “Why me?”

“Because,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “if I take off mine, I won’t be able to see you properly.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Spencer, you always close your eyes when we kiss. What does it matter?”

He opened his mouth to argue, then paused, visibly considering your point. “Still,” he said stubbornly, “you take off yours. What if I feel like opening my eyes this time?”

You groaned dramatically and laughed. “Oh my god, Spencer,” you muttered, shaking your head as you reached up and plucked the glasses off his face, then yours. You set them both carefully on the arm of the couch.Spencer gave you another half-hearted pout, but you silenced it by finally leaning in and pressing your lips to his.His hands moved instinctively to your face again, fingers curling around your jaw as he leaned into the kiss. He sighed happily into your mouth.

When you pulled back just slightly, his eyes fluttered open, still dazed. “Okay,” he whispered. “You’re right. I do always close my eyes.”

You giggled, brushing your nose against his. “Told you.”

[hanniebaeee]

Hold My Hand

Han Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing much!

Genre: classmates to lovers, fluff

Summary: Your life was a straight line. Graduate top of your class. Marry Minho. Take over your family business. But then there's Han Jisung - the sweet geeky genius, who has completely stolen your heart.

a/n: Needs another round of editing which I'll do soon.

Bonus

You were terrible at this. Numbers? Fine. Business strategy? More than fine. But Python? It might as well have been ancient hieroglyphs. You sighed, trying to remain calm even though all you wanted to do was scream.

Your life was a straight line - graduate top of your class (questionable, considering you may or may not fail your coding class), marry Minho (your father’s friend’s son and your closest friend - because your fathers promised you to each other) and take over your family business. It was a plan carved in marble. No deviations allowed.

But then there was him. Han Jisung. The scholarship guy from a world that was exactly opposite to yours - completely chaotic. He was all messy hair, glasses slipping down his nose, and thrifted hoodies, making your pulse raise for reasons unknown to you.

You weren't supposed to want someone like Jisung. He wasn't part of the plan. But yet, seeing him stumble into the library with his laptop in hand, your traitorous heart stuttered shamelessly. Exactly like how it had, when he lent you a pen during the first week of class, during an emergency pen situation.

You tried to focus on your screen, but your eyes betrayed you, watching as he looked around for somewhere to sit.

Get it together, you scolded yourself.

But Jisung had noticed you, and it was like watching a cartoon character short-circuit. His eyes widened, his foot caught on a chair, and he nearly faceplanted into a table.

“Oh, uh…h-hey, Y/N!” he stammered, pushing his glasses up with a shaky finger.

His voice cracked, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. He was such a mess, and it was so unfairly hot.

“Hi, Jisung,” you said, your tone cool and measured, though your heart was doing cartwheels.

You crossed your legs under the table, hoping he didn’t notice how your hands were trembling. Well, he wouldn't, since he just stood there, frozen. His hands clutched his laptop like a lifeline.

“You, uh, working on the coding assignment? The one due Friday?” His voice was too loud for the library, and a nearby student shushed him.

He winced, mouthing a silent 'sorry', before taking the seat next to you.

“Yes,” you said, glancing at your screen. “It’s… challenging.”

“Challenging?” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s one way to put it. Um, do you need help? With the coding, I mean! Not that you’re bad at it! You’re probably great! I just…uh…”

He was spiraling, and it was absolutely adorable.

You tilted your head, considering. This was a bad idea. Getting close to Jisung was like playing with fire when your life was already a perfectly curated museum exhibit. But your assignment was due in three days, and you were drowning.

“If you’re offering,” you said carefully, “I wouldn’t mind some assistance.”

His eyes went wide, like you just handed him the keys to a Ferrari.

“Really? Okay, cool, cool, I can do that. Totally chill.” He was not chill.

He vibrated with nervous energy as he dropped his laptop on the table and slid his chair closer to you.

Too close. His knee brushed yours under the table, and you both froze. He quickly jerked his leg back, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, oh god -,” while you stared at your laptop, trying to ignore the electric jolt that shot through you.

“It’s fine,” you said, pointing at the screen. “I don’t understand why my code keeps crashing.”

Jisung leaned in, squinting at your laptop. His arm brushed yours, and you caught the faint scent of his shampoo - something citrusy, that shouldn’t be this sexy, but was. He was muttering about syntax errors and missing semicolons, but you were barely listening, too distracted by the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“See, here’s the problem,” he said, pointing at a line of code.

His glasses slipped down again, and he pushed them up with a pout. His fingers flew over your keyboard as he fixed the error like it was nothing, and you were mesmerized by how confident he was when he was in his element.

This was a different Jisung - not the flustered mess he was a second ago, but a geeky genius.

He finished typing and turned to you, grinning.

“Try running it now,” he said.

You hit the execute button, and - miracle of miracles - it worked.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, genuinely impressed. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Jisung beamed, but before he could say something, another voice boomed through the silent room, disturbing its peace.

“Hey, Y/N!”

Your head snapped up as Minho walked over with his designer coat and smug grin.

“Didn’t expect to see you slumming it in the library.”

Jisung shrank back into his chair, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor. You sat up straighter, slipping back into your polished persona.

“Minho,” you said coolly. “I was studying.”

Minho’s eyes flicked to Jisung, and he smirked.

“With him? What, you are hiring tutors from the thrift store now?” he asked, but there was no real bite in his words. Minho was always joking around, and that was just his nature.

Jisung’s face flamed, but he muttered, “At least I don’t need daddy’s money to pass my classes.”

Minho’s smirk faltered, and you bit back a laugh.

“Enough,” you said, standing. “Jisung was helping me with an assignment. But we're done here.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly not used to being dismissed.

“Whatever. Let's get going. We have to be at the dinner party in 2 hours, babe.” he said, waiting for you to gather your things, while his eyes lingered on Jisung.

Jisung stared at the table, picking at the edge of his laptop looking like a kicked puppy.

You hated these business parties that your father forced you to attend. But you had to play your part to perfection - Y/N, the poised heiress, future CEO. Your arm looped through Minho’s as he navigated the crowd, his tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly.

He was all charm tonight, flashing his sharp grin, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You’ve kind of known since you were teenagers that he would most probably be your future husband - the final piece of your carefully curated life.

But tonight, it felt so off. Your mind kept drifting to Jisung and his nervous laugh. And you were mentally preparing yourself to talk to Minho. To ask him that one question that has been haunting you for more than a year now.

You two have been friends since forever. But this friendship has been nothing but a friendship from then. The most platonic one ever. Even after your parents casually mentioned that you'd marry Minho one day - there was literally no spark between you two.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Minho murmured, leaning in.

His hand slid lower, fingers grazing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown.

“What’s got you so distracted?”

You forced a smile, tilting your head to meet his gaze, which was playful, but there was an edge to it, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“It's nothing,” You lied quickly and Minho hummed, a frown taking over his face.

He stepped closer, his chest brushing yours as he maneuvered you toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

“What is it?” he asked again, his hand still resting on your waist.

You were used to this - Minho has always been handsy, and you’ve let him get away with it before, chalking it up to familiarity, to the inevitability of your future together. Even though you two weren't actually together. Or engaged. Just stuck in the purgatory of the in-between situation. Unwilling to say the least.

But tonight, his touch felt… wrong. Like it was trespassing on something that didn’t belong to him anymore.

But before you had to act on it, your phone buzzed in your purse, the vibration cutting through the tension. You jumped back, breaking his hold, and fished it out. The screen flashed ‘Mom’, and your heart leapt with relief. Perfect timing.

“I need to take this,” you said, already turning away.

Minho’s expression clouded, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue.

“Sorry, it’s urgent. I’ll find you later.” you said, scurrying away to a safe distance.

And that's when you knew - you were screwed. Absolutely, royally screwed.

You didn’t plan to end up here. Parties weren't your scene - too loud, too messy, too uncontrolled. But your roommate dragged you along, insisting you needed to “live a little” before the stress of midterms (and an impending engagement) crushed you.

So here you were, in a simple black top and jeans, sipping a beer in a corner, trying to blend into the wallpaper. Your parents would have a heart attack if they saw you here, but for once, you weren't thinking about them. Or Minho. Or the way his face fell when you ran away.

But then you see him. Jisung. He was across the room, looking like he wandered into the wrong universe.

He was clutching a beer as talked to some guy - probably one of his nerdy Comp Sci friends - his free hand gesturing wildly as he spoke. Your heart did a stupid little flip, and you hated it.

But then his eyes caught yours, and it was like the room shrank two sizes. His smile faltered and his cheeks flushed as you raised your beer in a half-hearted greeting, and he grinned, all lopsided and shy, before making his way over.

“Y/N?” he said, like he’s shocked you’re real. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed a break. What’s your excuse?” you said, moving over to make room for him to sit.

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, free beer?” He held up his drink, sloshing a bit onto his sneakers. “Oops. Shit. Pretend you didn’t see that.”

“Too late,” you teased, and he groaned, his blush deepening.

He was so himself - clumsy and sweet - and it was doing things to you. Dangerous things.

And just like that you both get into a conversation. And your cups are empty at some point. So naturally, you followed him into the kitchen, where you found a cooler stuffed with beers. You both grabbed one, popping the caps with a bottle opener someone had tied to the fridge. You leaned against the counter, and Jisung mirrored you, his shoulder brushing yours.

As you looked over at him with a soft smile on your face, and he did the same, you couldn't help but realize that you've never felt this way before. No one has ever made your heart flutter like Jisung did.

The night blurred, and one beer turned into two, then three, and soon you were both tipsy, laughing too loud at Jisung’s dumb impressions of your Comp Sci professor.

Jisung was more at ease now, his nerves dulled by alcohol, and you were not much better, your usual prim-and-proper filter slipping. You were close - too close - your knees bumping as you talked, your hand grazing his when you reached for another drink. Every touch felt like a match struck against your skin.

“God, you’re so cool,” Jisung slurred, leaning closer, his glasses fogging slightly. “Like, you’re all fancy and perfect, but you’re here, drinking shitty beer with me. It’s unreal.”

You laughed, shaking your head lightly.

“I’m not perfect, Jisung. Trust me.” you said, the words hitting even though you're drunk.

“You are,” he insisted, his voice soft, earnest. “You’re, like… you. I can’t explain it.”

Your cheeks burned as you said, “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

He gasped, clutching his chest.

“Are you flirting with me, Y/N?” He asked, and it’s so cheesy you burst out laughing, but god, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to grab his stupid hoodie and pull him close until there was no space left between you.

Until you realize that you were sitting so close. So close that you were literally half on his lap. You didn’t know how you got there - maybe you tripped, maybe he pulled you, maybe the beer made you bold. Jisung’s hands hovered over your shoulders, like he was scared to touch you, his face flushed crimson under the fairy lights.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice shaky, “is this-”

You didn't say anything. Just rested your head on his shoulder, your lips brushing the soft skin of his neck (accidentally, to be honest). He smelled like cheap cologne and something uniquely him, and it drove you wild. Your lips lingered, and you felt him tense beside. A soft whimper escaped him, barely audible, and it was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

You pressed closer, and he actually moaned, his hands finally settling on around your shoulder, gripping you tightly, like he was afraid you'd disappear.

You were drunk and dizzy, but at that very moment, you knew it - you were in love with Han Jisung. You didn't just want him or just crave - you loved him and his clumsy charm and geeky rants and his heart so big it spilled out of him.

But then, there was something gnawing at you from the inside. A sharp stab of realization that this was just so unfortunate. Because you were promised to someone else. Like a damn object. And it was so unfair.

Reality crashed in, cold and brutal. Minho, your almost-fiancé.

You froze, pulling back with a jerk, and Jisung gave you a confused look.

“Y/N?” he said, voice small, like he was scared he did something wrong.

“I…I can’t,” you stammered, sliding off the couch, away from his warmth, your heart pounding. “I’m sorry, Jisung. I… I have to go.”

His face fell, and it was like a knife to your chest. “Did I-?”

“No,” you said quickly, grabbing his hand. “It’s not you. It’s… complicated.”

You couldn’t explain it, not here, not now, not when you were still buzzing with alcohol and guilt and want. You squeezed his hand, then let go, standing on shaky legs.

“Y/N, wait -” he started, but you’re already moving, weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You didn’t look back. You couldn't. If you saw his face, you’d break, and you were already too close to shattering.

---

You stumbled outside, the cool night air hitting you like a slap. You leaned against a tree, catching your breath, and wiped at your eyes. A sob spilled from your lips, and at that exact moment, you heard Minho’s sharp voice, cutting through the haze like a blade.

“Y/N, what the hell?” Minho was striding toward you, his usual smug confidence replaced with something harder.

It looked a lot like annoyance, maybe, or something deeper. He stopped a few feet away, taking in your disheveled state - your flushed cheeks, the way you were clutching your arms like you’re holding yourself together.

“You’re wasted. What are you doing out here looking like… this?” he snapped and you bristled, straightening up despite the wobble in your legs.

“I’m fine,” you snapped back, though your slurred words betrayed you. “Just needed air.”

“Air?” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he scanned you. “You look like you just stumbled out of a bar fight. This isn’t you, Y/N. Getting drunk at some shitty party? What’s gotten into you?”

His tone - condescending, scolding - lights a fuse you didn’t know was burning. You were so fucking tired of it. The expectations, the control, the way everyone assumed that they could dictate your life.

Jisung’s face flashed in your mind - his soft shy smile and his hurt face from a few minutes ago, and it was like a dam breaking inside you. You pushed off the wall, swaying slightly, and pointed a finger at him.

“Tell me this, Minho. Why do you want to marry me?”

He froze, his expression shifting from annoyance to incredulity.

“What?” He laughed, short and disbelieving, like you just asked him why the sky was blue. “What’s the matter with you? You’re drunk and talking nonsense.”

“I’m serious,” you said, your voice rising, unsteady but fierce.

You took a step closer, your eyes locked with his.

“Why do you want to marry me? Because our parents decided it? Because it’s good for business? Tell me, Minho. Why?”

He faltered, his smirk slipping, and for the first time, you saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he was searching for the right words and coming up empty.

“Y/N, come on,” he said finally, his voice softer. “You know why. We’re good together. We make sense. Our families -”

“That’s not an answer!” you cut him off, your hands balling into fists.

The alcohol made you bold, reckless, and you couldn't stop now.

“I don’t want to be a puppet, Minho. I don’t want to be some trophy wife you control, some box you check off for your perfect life. I’m not a thing you get to own.” you cried, and his face crumpled as the tears flowed freely down yours.

He stepped closer, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You think I see you like that? A puppet? Y/N, I -” He stopped, running a hand through his hair, his composure cracking. “I’ve known you forever. I thought… I thought you wanted this too.”

His words hit harder than you expected, a pang of guilt slicing through your anger. For a moment, you saw the Minho you grew up with. The one who snuck you extra dessert at boring dinners, who teased you but never let anyone else cross you.

But it wasn't enough. Not when your heart was screaming for someone else. And it hurt more because you'd promised yourself to quietly go ahead with the engagement and the wedding if Minho told you that he loved you. You obviously would have, considering the fact that you've known him your whole life, and you would never break his heart. But now, you wanted to scream.

“It’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s not fair that I don’t get a say. I don’t want this, Minho. I don’t -”

The words spilled out before you could stop them - sharp and final, and you saw the hurt flash across his face, his eyes widening like you’ve slapped him.

“Y/N…” he was reaching for you, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

You turned and ran, stumbling toward the street. You heard him call your name, his voice raw, but you didn’t look back. The party’s noise faded, replaced by the thud of your pulse and the burn of your tears.

You hated this. Hated yourself, hated the stupid plan that chained you to a life you don’t want.

The morning came with a headache that was literally tearing your head apart. And the weight of last night’s drunken outburst crushed you.

What was worse, Minho didn’t show up to class, and it was unheard of for someone as annoyingly perfect as he was. You panicked all through the day, and felt too scared to text or call him.

The memory of his hurt expression, the way you ran off after shredding your almost-engagement, kept replaying like a bad movie in your brain. So, here you were, standing outside his door with a peace offering: his favorite black forest cake from that overpriced bakery he loved and a large iced Americano, just how he liked it.

You knocked with your heart in your throat, half-expecting him to slam the door in your face. But when he opened it, you almost dropped the cake. Minho’s usually sharp eyes were dull, his hair was a mess. And he was in a rumpled T-shirt and sweatpants, like he hadn't slept at all. It totally broke your heart because you've never seen him like this and you had no one but yourself to blame for this.

He sighed, long and heavy, when he saw you.

“Y/N,” he said, voice flat, but his gaze flicks to the cake and coffee.

He stepped aside, taking the offerings without a word, and let you in. No snarky comment, no smirk. Just silence. That was scarier than any lecture he could’ve given you.

You hovered by the door as he shuffled to his bed, flopping onto it with the cake box and coffee in hand (picking up a fork from the little kitchen on his way). He popped open the box and started eating, not even looking at you.

The silence was deafening, and you felt like an idiot, standing there like a statue in your pristine sweater and skirt.

He finally glanced up, mid-bite, and raised an eyebrow.

“You coming in to share this or are you leaving?” His voice was tired, like he’s too drained to care.

You hesitated, then nodded, kicking off your shoes and climbing onto his bed, and cuddling up beside him like you always did. The familiarity of being in his space made your throat tight.

You curled up closer, tucking your legs under you, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Minho.”

He didn’t say anything, just took another bite of cake, the fork scraping softly against the box. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until he set the cake on his lap and looked at you, his eyes searching.

“Who is it?” he asked quietly, no venom, just curiosity tinged with something resigned. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You froze, your heart slamming against your ribs. You weren’t ready for this. Not now, not here, not with him looking at you like he already knew the answer and just needed to hear it.

“I…” you started, but the words stuck, your mouth dry.

He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Y/N. I have known you from when we were in diapers. I know this isn't some random impulsive thing. Who’s got you throwing away our whole… whatever this is?”

His voice was steady, but there was a crack in it, a hint of the hurt you saw last night.

You swallowed, your hands trembling in your lap. If there was one thing you could never do, that would be lying to Minho. So you just told him the truth.

“Han Jisung,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho blinked, then leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, he was silent, and you were bracing for anger, for a fight. Or tears even. But then he started laughing. A loud, almost manic laugh that filled the room, like he was possessed.

You scowled, offended. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped, wiping his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. He looked at you, still chuckling, and shook his head.

“Really? Geeky is your thing? Han Jisung? The guy who trips over his own backpack and talks to his laptop like it’s his girlfriend?” he laughed and you huffed, shoving him.

“Shut up! He’s not like that!” you argued.

Okay, maybe he was, but it’s cute, and Minho's laugh pissed you off. You cross your arms, sulking.

“He’s… he’s sweet. And smart. And -”

“Okay, okay,” Minho said, holding up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “I get it. You’re into the hot loser vibe. No judgment.”

His smile faded, and he leaned forward, his expression softening.

“It's a relief you left me for love and not for someone richer. So…there’s no use of me fighting him, is there? You’re set on Jisung?” he said, and you nodded, your throat tight.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I think I am.”

He exhaled, long and slow, and looked down at the cake, poking at it with the fork.

“Have you told him?” He asked.

“No.” You said, sighing. “Not without talking to you first.”

“Ok.”

“I’m so sorry, Minho,” you said, reaching for his hand, squeezing it, desperate for him to understand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I can’t keep pretending this is what I want. It’s not fair to you either.”

He looked at you, and for a moment, you saw the Minho who has been your closest friend for years.

“It’s okay,” he says finally, his voice soft. “Thanks for being honest.”

You didn’t know what possessed you - guilt, affection, the need to hold onto something familiar, because you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffened for a second, then relaxed, his arms looping around you tight. You buried your face in his shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding you even as your heart aches.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest. “Babe, are you breaking up with me or trying to start something here? Mixed signals much?”

You pulled back, flustered, and shoved him lightly.

“Minho!” you squeaked, your face burning hot.

He laughed again, softer this time, and ruffled your hair, the gesture so familiar it hurt.

“You’re a mess, Y/N,” he said, but there was no malice in it, just sad fondness. “Go figure your shit out with Jisung. But if he breaks your heart, I’m not buying you cake to cry over him.”

---

The days that followed your break up (can you even call it that), your mother has been driving you up the wall with her dramatic crying and angry screeching and lectures.

It had become a daily ritual. Waking up to her scolding you and threatening to disown you. And then begging you to get back together with Minho. When you tell her you were never actually together in the first place, she flipped again. And it was all a loop.

You were not sorry for choosing yourself, for wanting Jisung, but the weight of your family’s disappointment was suffocating.

You spent the mornings venting, Minho listening and cracking jokes to lighten your mood. It was funny how much better your relationship with Minho was, now that you two were just friends. In the evening, he would order takeout, and you would end up cross-legged on his floor, eating dumplings and laughing at his stupid jokes.

It was the only thing helping you forget about your mother, the company, and the mess you’ve made.

---

But across campus, Jisung wasn't laughing. In fact Jisung was a walking tragedy, and he was leaning into it hard. In the days since the party, he had transformed into a melodramatic shadow of himself, moping around campus in his heartbreak.

He was in your shared Comp Sci class, slouched in the back row, his hoodie pulled up and completely heart broken. He had watched you leave the party in tears and arguing with Minho. And now he has been seeing you and Minho together, walking across the quad, you leaning into Minho’s side, lost in conversation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

To Jisung, it looked like you were something, like the party was a drunken mistake, and it’s eating him alive.

He was quiet in class, not his usual fidgety, joke-cracking self. When you tried to catch his eye, he ducked his head, pretending to focus on his laptop. You wanted to talk to him, to explain, but every time you got close, your nerves betrayed you.

What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he thought you were just some rich girl playing with his feelings?

The jealousy festered over the next few days. Jisung saw you and Minho at the campus coffee shop, your head on Minho’s shoulder as he scrolled through his phone.

He slumped over his tray, poking at a sad pile of fries, muttering to his roommate, “What’s the point of life when you’re just the guy who gets kissed and ditched?”

His roommate sighed, used to the theatrics, and slid him a soda, but Jisung just stared at it like it betrayed him too.

Then he saw Minho sling an arm around you at the library. This was proof enough for Jisung - you were Minho’s, always have been, and whatever happened at the party was a fluke.

His chest ached with it, a mix of longing and hurt that he buried under late-night coding sessions and too-loud music.

You noticed Jisung pulling away - if ever you caught his attention, his smiles were forced, his eyes avoiding yours. It hurt more than you expected, especially after the party, when you felt so sure he wanted you too. You were so in love with him, but the chaos with your family and Minho’s constant presence made it impossible to bridge the gap.

---

You’ve been psyching yourself up for this all day. Your mother’s morning tirade still rang in your ears - another lecture about ruining the family legacy by ditching Minho. But you were done letting her control you. You were here for Jisung, to clear the air, to tell him how you felt.

You knocked on his door, clutching your bag like a shield. When Jisung opened it, he looked like he'd been through a war with his own brain. He froze, one hand gripping the doorknob.

“Y/N?” he said. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

But he stepped back, letting you in. You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you, and the air felt charged, like you were both standing on the edge of something big.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, trying to sound calm, but your voice wavered. “About the party. And… other stuff.”

Jisung’s face paled, then flushed red, and he started pacing, his hands flailing.

“The party? Oh, you mean the party where you…where you kissed my neck?” He pointed dramatically to the spot on his neck, where your lips had been, his finger jabbing like he was marking a crime scene. “Right here, Y/N! You did that, and I was, like, losing my mind, and then you just bolted! And now you’re, what, playing house with Minho? I see you two everywhere! Laughing, cuddling, sharing coffee like you’re married or something! What am I supposed to think? That I’m just some drunk mistake you made for fun?”

His words spilled out in a torrent, his voice rising with every sentence, and he wasn’t even looking at you now, just ranting to the air, gesturing wildly.

“I mean, I’m not an idiot, okay? I know I’m not, like, Minho. He’s all cool and rich, but I thought - god, I thought maybe you liked me, you know? Because you kissed me! Here!” He pointed to his neck again, his cheeks flaming. “And now you’re back with him, and I’m just the nerd who got too excited over nothing, and -”

“Jisung!” you tried to cut in, but he was on a roll, pacing faster, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“- and it’s fine, really, I get it! You’re you, and I’m me, and we’re not even in the same universe, but it hurt, Y/N, because I’ve been crushing on you since, like, the first day of class when you asked me for a pen, and I gave you my favorite one, and you never gave it back, by the way, but that’s not the point! The point is, you can’t just go around kissing people’s necks and then -”

You couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn't shutting up, and every word was like a knife, twisting your guilt and frustration tighter. So you did the only thing you could think of - you grabbed the front of his T-shirt, and kissed him.

It wasn't not gentle. It was desperate and messy, your lips crashing against his to silence his rant. Jisung froze, his hands hovering mid-gesture, and for a second, you thought you'd broken him. Then he melted, a soft, surprised whimper escaping his throat as he kissed you back, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’ll vanish. His lips were warm, a little chapped, but absolutely perfect. Your heart pounded, hands sliding up to cup his face, and you poured everything into the kiss - every apology, every feeling you’ve been too scared to say.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were panting, and his eyes wide, like he’s just seen a miracle.

“W-what… what was that?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You were still catching your breath, your forehead resting against his.

“That,” you said, “was me shutting you up because you wouldn’t listen.”

You stepped back slightly, but kept your hands on his shoulders, grounding yourself.

“Jisung, I’m not with Minho. We’re not together. We never really were…not like that. It was… arranged, by our parents, and I broke it off. He’s just my friend now. A really good one, but that’s it.” you said, and Jisung blinked, processing, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Wait, so… you’re not… with him?” His voice was small, hopeful, but still wary.

“No,” you said firmly, your thumb brushing his cheek, and he leans into it, almost unconsciously. “I’m not. I broke it off with him, because I love you, Jisung. A lot. And I’ve been trying to tell you, but you keep avoiding me, and I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same -”

“Feel the same?” he interrupted, his voice rising again, but this time it was laced with disbelief. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since you stole my pen! I was losing my mind at that party, thinking you’d just…ugh, I’m such an idiot!”

He groaned, tipping his head back, but his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. You laughed, the sound shaky with relief, and leaned into him, your arms looping around his neck.

“You’re not an idiot. Well, maybe a little. But a cute one.” You bit your lip, your heart racing. “So… you like me too, then?”

He stared at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“Like you? Y/N, I’m obsessed with you. My roommate’s ready to kick me out because I won’t shut up about you,”

He cut himself off, blushing furiously, and you couldn’t help it - you kissed him again, softer this time, but just as needy.

He moaned into it, a low, soft sound that sent heat curling through you, and you’re both stumbling back until you hit his bed, collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs. His hands roamed your back, and the kiss deepened, all tongue and need, until you’re both gasping.

“Okay,” he panted, “so we’re… we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,”

“For real?”

“For real.”

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

[lemonlover1110]

𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x f!Reader

Summary: Date nights are hard to come by lately, which is why you try to make the moment last a little longer.

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Smut, Vaginal Sex, Car Sex, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

You blast some of your favorite songs, loudly singing along as Zayne drives back home. His hand rests on your thigh, smiling as he hears your voice. You’re tone deaf, but it’s the sweetest melody he’s ever heard. His ears do need a break after a couple of minutes, he won’t lie, that’s why he sneakily turns the radio up. It’s a good thing you don’t notice.

Zayne chuckles, stealing a couple of glances at you whenever he gets the chance. It’s fair to say that date night was successful. After months of not getting time alone with you, he finally got a couple of hours with you. Complete peace and quiet. No kids.

“You surely love this song, huh?” Zayne comments as you sing your heart out. There’s no answer, but he doesn’t need one. You replay the song, singing even louder than before and Zayne laughs yet again. No matter how many years pass by, things still feel the same. The spark is still there, and it always will be.

“Thank you for tonight.” You end up turning down the radio, planning to enjoy the last few moments with your husband before getting home. Once you enter the door to your house, you’re mom and dad again. 

“I should say that to you.” He responds, squeezing your thigh. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

“It was so good, we should go there again!” You answer with the brightest smile on your face. He cherishes it, never getting tired of the sight. There’s many days that only the thought of your smile is what keeps him going.

“We’ll go back soon, we’ll just have to convince my parents to babysit again.” Zayne replies, and you hum in response. It’s such a shame that your date is over so soon because he had so much more in mind. Sadly, if he wants his parents to babysit again, it’s in his best interest to get home now. 

“Hopefully the damage tonight wasn’t too bad.” You comment before following up with, “I don’t know where they get their behavior from. You’ve always been so calm and–”

“And I didn’t procreate alone.” He cuts you off, earning a glare from you.

“Are you saying they get their hectic behavior from me?” You dramatically gasp, and while it’s the perfect time to pull on his ear and playfully scold him, you don’t want to distract him while he drives.

“I’m just pointing out they don’t get it from me.” He says, and you click your tongue. 

“I was a very calm child, for your information.” You argue, though it isn’t easy for him to buy. They had to get it from someone. “Maybe genetics skipped a generation.”

“Perhaps.” He answers, deciding not to play it cold. Yes, it’s best to be safe right now. “No point in finding the source. They’re still lovely.”

“Lovely is one way to put it. But you’re right, no point in finding the source because it’s not like we can send them back.” You joke, earning a laugh from the man. Zayne wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world, even if the hospital seems like a place of rest nowadays.

“Next date we should go to a movie. I know there’s one in theaters you’d love!” You change the topic as you near home. He asks a couple more questions about it, before you finally get home.

You sit in silence for a minute, not ready for the date to be over just yet. It’s late, the kids are surely sleeping, but the ambiance changes the moment you step inside. The date will be over, and while you had fun, it was too quick. You wish you had the chance to do something more… Something else.

You exchange a look, smiling to comfort each other. You don’t have to say anything else.

“Gimme a kiss.” You tell him, leaning in. Zayne meets you halfway, pecking your lips. You cup his face, kissing him with the passion you expected. Zayne kisses you back with the same passion. 

This is why Zayne’s kiss was quick– He knew that you’d quickly lose control if he had given you more. What happens if a neighbor walks by and sees as you get on top of Zayne? Or as you recline Zayne’s seat to make this more comfortable? 

“We have a bed inside.” He reminds you as you kiss his neck, fingers hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers trail up your thighs, going under your dress, contradicting his own words. 

“Just five minutes.” You mutter as you unbuckle his belt.

“Five minutes?” He almost sounds offended, but the hurt quickly fades when you begin to grind on him. Yeah, five minutes is more than enough. Zayne pulls your dress up, hands caressing your upper thigh. 

“I should leave you high and dry for telling me we have a bed.” You chuckle before your lips land on his again. Zayne’s hand pushes your panties to the side, fingers running through your folds.

“You wouldn’t stand it.” He tells you when you pull away, noting just how wet you are. So wet from nothing… Or maybe you’ve been thinking about him for a while.

“Yeah, just put it in.” You cover his mouth, hiding the smile that’s surely on his face at this point. He runs the tip through your folds, slowly pushing himself inside you. A breathy moan leaves your lips, feeling as Zayne’s cock fills you up. 

“Zayne–” You moan, slowly moving on his cock. You’re doing all the work, a task that’ll tire you out quickly. You take your hand off his mouth, holding onto his shoulders as you move back and forth.

“Don’t be too loud. Don’t draw attention to yourself.” He instructs you, hand going down to play with your clit. Eyes watch your every move. Watching as your face contorts with pleasure with every movement, your mouth agape as you moan.

Zayne bites down his lip, knowing that your moans are more than enough to draw attention to yourself. He likes to take precaution, even if it’s too late for anyone to walk by. Zayne takes control, setting a pace much faster than the one you had. 

“It’s too much, Zayne.” You breathlessly say, feeling as your orgasm slowly builds up and consumes you. He just knows you’re making a mess all over him– He’ll have to go upstairs quickly and ashamed, but right now he’s too lost in the moment to care.

“You’re doing a good job, baby. You can take it.” He assures you, thrusts slowly picking up more speed. “Nice job, love.”

He kisses you again, drowning out the loud moans that are followed by your orgasm. You bite down his lip, overwhelmed by the feeling. 

Zayne slowly loses that control he overtook. His thrusts slowly get sloppy while his breath gets caught up in his chest. It slowly becomes too much for him to handle. You feel so perfect around  him, it’s hard for him to keep his composure.

You swear you hear a curse underneath his breath as he empties himself inside of you. You’re both panting, looking into each other's eyes. You’re still for minutes on end, unwilling to go back inside just yet.

When Zayne finally pulls out, he quickly fixes your panties, not wanting the mess to drip down all over him. You help him fix himself, slowly buttoning his shirt, stealing a couple of kisses with every other button.

“You’ve been taking your birth control, right?” He asks, and you hum in response. He kisses your forehead before opening the door. “Time to face my parents.”

“You got that covered, right?” You smile, kissing the tip of his nose before getting out of the car. Before he can answer, you’re walking away. Zayne clicks his tongue before chuckling. At least date night was successful.

[writinginatree]

Attention

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/Garrick Tavis/Reader

Summary: You're on your period and desperately want cuddles, but both of your boyfriends are too busy with paperwork to notice, so threats have to be made.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of the torture that is menstruation, established polyamorous relationship (idk if that's a warning but I feel like I should put it somewhere lol), reader has a period but no pronouns mentioned. Set during Fourth Wing.

Today sucks, you decide.

As if getting your period wasn't bad enough, the marked first-years you're responsible for training had acted especially clumsy and overall insufferable during today's practice session, and now, to top it all off, your boyfriends are too busy to pay attention to you. They barely glanced up from their work to greet you when you came to Xaden's room earlier — a quick kiss from each of them was all you got before they returned to their papers.

At first, that had been fine. You had enough homework to occupy yourself with, even if your period cramps made it hard to focus.

But now, almost an hour after you finished everything you had to do, Xaden and Garrick are still huddled over the former's desk and paying zero attention to you, and it's really starting to bother you. Not their fault, you know. It's your period that makes you so irritable, but that doesn't stop you from cursing the fact that it's today of all days that they have to be so busy.

Despite the multiple attempts to get their attention you've made already, they remain so focused on their work they haven't even noticed how miserable your mood has gotten over the span of the last two hours.

No, this really isn't your day — usually, they're much more observant than this.

Even though you know interrupting them won't make their work get done any faster, you can't stop yourself from once again asking, "Are you almost done?"

"Soon," Xaden says without looking up, but that's what he'd said half an hour ago, too.

"How soon?" you insist.

"Soon," he repeats, pushing the paper in front of him to Garrick to point something out. A heated discussion ensues, and you're forgotten again.

You sigh into Xaden's pillow. What's the point of having two boyfriends if neither of them has time to cuddle with you?

While them being wingleader and section leader has a lot of perks — bigger rooms, more control over their — and your — schedule, and the authority to punish anyone giving you shit for the rebellion relic on your arm, to only name a few — this is the downside. Loads and loads of extra work. They've been sitting at Xaden's desk brooding over gods know what for hours now, the only sounds in the room the rustling of paper and the occasional muttered question.

Usually, you don't mind keeping them company while each of you does their own thing — it's a peaceful kind of quiet, something so rare in this godsforsaken place. You like to silently sit with them while you study, despite how tempting it is to let yourself get distracted by them. Since they always tend to have more work than you thanks to their leadership duties, you're always done before them, anyway. And it's nice to just curl up on the bed and watch them while you wait for them to finish their work too — just not today. Staying patient is hard when it feels like your lower body is being stabbed with burning knives, and all you want is to be held. With every passing minute, it gets harder to sit and wait.

You could break their concentration. You know if you asked outright, they'd put everything aside and come cuddle you in a heartbeat. But as tempting as that is, you also know how important it is that they get their work done. Being marked, they had to work harder for their leadership positions than anyone else, and need to be better than everyone else to be treated with even a fraction of the respect they deserve. If they mess up, the consequences will be worse than they'd be for anyone else. They can't afford to get sloppy with their duties.

You know how Xaden would argue against that reasoning: That you are more important than any of that, that they can still get the work done later tonight, when you are asleep. But Xaden already doesn't get enough sleep as it is; you refuse to be the reason for making it worse.

And yet, it only takes a few more minutes for your resolve to crumble. Unable to take this any longer, you tell yourself you won't keep them from working for long. A few minutes of their attention, that's all you want. Surely, a small break like that can't hurt.

"If neither of you comes cuddle me in the next five minutes I'm going to fucking riot," you declare into the quiet. "And by riot I mean I'll go get cuddles from Imogen."

Now that gets their attention more effectively than anything else could have. Finally looking up from their paperwork, your boyfriends share a confused look and turn to frown at you.

"What?" Xaden asks, and Garrick adds, "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because I've been trying to get your attention for like an hour and you just keep on ignoring me," you whine. "I. Want. Cuddles. And I'll get them, one way or another."

You don't actually mean to make true on your threat, even in the unlikely case that they insist on finishing their work first. There's no way you're getting up now that you finally found a position that makes your cramps at least kind of bearable. Your best friend isn't much for physical affection, anyway. And while she might make an exception for you, it just wouldn't be the same as getting held by your boyfriends.

Luckily, the threat does the trick, even though the both of them are certainly aware of how empty it is.

"You didn't say that you want to cuddle," Xaden scolds, gathering up a few papers before rising from his chair to join you on the bed. "I thought you were just bored. Are you okay?"

The question comes as no surprise — it's very unlike you to interrupt them like this, even more so in such an agitated manner.

"Yeah," you mumble, a little ashamed of being so needy. "Sorry. 's just that I got my period, and it feels like you guys are taking forever today."

"Nothing to apologize for," Xaden assures you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Garrick explains, "It's taking so long because of that leadership meeting we have tomorrow morning to sort some stuff out before Threshing. Lots of shit to plan, but we can just as well do that in bed with you."

"Right, you mentioned that... Forgot it's tomorrow. Does that mean I have to sleep in my own room?"

More often than not, Fourth Wing's leadership meetings take place in Xaden's room.

Xaden shakes his head. "You can sleep wherever you want. If you want to sleep here, we'll just have to be quiet. I'm not letting anyone disturb your sleep."

He's completely serious, you know. You can imagine it all too well, Xaden waiting for the squad- and section-leaders at the door and instructing them to keep their voices down as they enter the room, his shadows engulfing you like a cocoon so no undeserving eye will catch sight of your sleeping form. Xaden just is dramatic like that.

"Makes it kinda hard to hold a meeting when no one is allowed to speak," you chuckle.

"Oh, I don't know," Garrick jokes as he settles at the head of the bed, letting you and Xaden rest your heads on his lap. "It actually would be kind of nice if the other idiots had to keep their mouths shut and just listen for a change."

Xaden hums in agreement. He has made himself comfortable behind you, one arm slid beneath you, the other thrown over your waist, holding his papers in front of you both so he can finish his work while he holds you. His legs tangle with yours, head resting in the crook of your neck. The hand not holding the papers slips under your shirt, resting warm and comforting on your aching lower abdomen.

With a content sigh, you close your eyes, finally relaxing as Xaden's body heat seeps into you. You swear just being near him is enough to release the tension from your muscles.

"Did you take something against the pain yet?" Xaden asks after a minute.

When you shake your head, Garrick immediately moves to get up, ready to disappear and get the medicine for you in a blink. Before he can, you explain, "I was too nauseous to eat, so I can't take anything."

You'd made the mistake of taking painkillers on an empty stomach once, and spent hours throwing up bile as a result. After that, it had taken you months to work up the courage to try taking them again at all, even though logically you knew you'd be fine as long as you ate something first. You would much rather endure the pain than make that same mistake again.

"Damn, that sucks. I'm sorry, baby."

You shrug, opening your eyes and angling your head back to smile up at Garrick. "I'll survive. I'm just glad we're not scheduled for flight lessons until the end of the week."

Garrick nods, but observes, "This is worse than usual. Maybe you should see a healer, don't you think?"

"No. They have enough patients with real problems."

"Being in so much pain from your period that you can't eat or sleep through the night is a real problem," he insists.

"Ehh, I'm used to it. There's nothing they can do, anyway. And besides, this isn't even that bad. One time my period was so bad I actually fainted after getting up a bit too fast."

Xaden tenses, pushing up on his elbow to lean over you so he can look at your face. "Why don't I know about that?"

"I guess it just never came up? I dunno." You shrug. "It's not that big of a deal, Xaden. That was before I came to Basgiath."

"You should have warned us in case it happens again. It's fucking dangerous. What if you faint during a challenge or while flying?"

"If I felt like fainting I'd let you know, I promise. It's not like it's a frequent occurrence, and I'm pretty sure that one time it did happen was mostly due to low blood pressure."

You lift your hand to cup Xaden's cheek as you speak, rubbing your thumb back and forth along his cheek bone to soothe him. He's adorable when he gets all worried and protective, but you know better than to tell him that right now.

"Still," he grumbles. "Maybe you should stay in bed until your period is over. You shouldn't have to go to class and fight while dealing with this torture. We can cover for you. No one would doubt it if we say you're sick, and you can easily catch up on the stuff you miss."

"Tempting," you admit, "but I think we both know that's not actually an option."

With a sigh, Xaden lies back down and buries his face in your shoulder. "I know."

"Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?" Garrick asks, setting his stack of papers aside in favor of lying down on your other side.

"Just cuddles," you mumble, the words barely intelligible as you bury your face in the soft fabric of his shirt. "Think I'll try to nap for a bit."

"Alright, love." Xaden kisses your head, then you feel him half sit up again. "Here, drink some water first, hm? You've got to stay hydrated, or you'll feel even worse."

Since you know he's right, you force yourself to sit up and accept the water he hands you, draining half the glass before settling down once more.

Xaden and Garrick wrap you in their arms, making you feel safe and warm despite the pain, and soon you fall asleep to the sound of rustling paper. Before you drift off, you remind yourself you'll have to return to your or Garrick's room later, before actually going to bed for the day. If you don't, Xaden really will prioritize your rest over his meeting, and you can't have that.

[moonstruckme]

Ooooo okay I do think Remus is the best choice in this one!!! How is it when the two of them start to have feelings? Does Remus fall first and want to hide it? I need more of them 😭

To answer your question plainly ml, no Remus doesn’t fall first (he fs falls harder though) <3

cw: modern au, patriarchal dating norms, the boys are goofball idiots

Who’s That Girl AU

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 781 words

“Wha—” Sirius is laughing at you. Never a great sign. “Where did you take these?”

“Around,” James hedges.

You pull your legs up onto the couch, trying not to look as self-conscious as you feel. “James thought it’d be a good idea for me to show a…variety of hobbies.”

“Do you actually know how to rollerblade, though?” Sirius asks, scrolling through the photos James took on your phone. “You look like a baby giraffe in these. And—oh, god—you definitely don’t know how to rock climb. Is this photoshopped? Remus, come see this.”

Remus, finishing fixing himself a cup of tea in the kitchen, comes to lean over the back of the couch. Evidently, his curiosity has outweighed his general disinclination to do as Sirius bids him.

“We weren’t going to actually go find a mountain,” James says defensively, “and she didn’t want to go to my climbing gym.”

“Where’d you take this, then?”

James mutters, somewhat abashedly, “My room.”

Sirius snots. “Well, if your aim was to make her look loony, you’ve succeeded.”

You wrap your arms around your knees, unable to keep yourself from watching Remus out of the corner of your eye as he watches Sirius go through the pictures James took for your dating app profile. His face is unreadable, but those hazel eyes don’t stray from your phone as photo after embarrassing photo of you scrolls past. You feel your face heating. Remus lifts his tea to his lips for a sip, impassive. His hair has grown so long a tendril nearly brushes the rim of his cup.

This is why you need to be on dating apps in the first place. Because you notice things like this. Developing a crush on your flatmate is a horrific idea, predestined to end in any number of horrific ways. You need a distraction. Some other point of interest for your overeager heart to fixate upon.

“Help me,” you beg Sirius.

He nods, his lips pursing in thoughtful contemplation. “You need some pictures with blokes,” he says. “It shows you get along with men, and seeing you with other guys always makes men want you more.”

You eye him dubiously. “That works for you?”

Sirius gives you a smug look. “Babe, I’ve never needed to resort to tricks. I do know how men think, though.”

James makes a skeptical humming sound. “You don’t want to use any with attractive guys,” he argues. “Wouldn’t want to make them think they have to deal with competition.”

Sirius appears to weigh this. “Fair enough. Only pictures with Remus, then.”

Remus shoots him a dry look.

You look at James to see if he’s going to say anything. He appears unphased, seeming to accept the remark as a harmless joke. With some effort, you seal your lips shut.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius scoffs, “look at these. What’s with all the long skirts? Are you a vicar’s wife?”

“Jar,” says Remus.

“What’s wrong with being modest?” you ask.

“It’s boring.”

“Just because I don’t like to wear my clothes the way you wear my clothes,” you defend yourself, “doesn’t make me boring.”

Sirius raises an unimpress brow, like doesn’t it? “I’m just being honest,” he says.

“Well, your honesty makes you sound like an asshole.”

“I’m trying to help you get shagged!” Sirius throws up his hands. “You know, you’re going to be a tougher sell if you insist on being difficult.”

“Jar,” Remus says again, more forcefully.

Sirius looks to James, aghast, but your flatmate only shakes his head solemnly.

“Jar, Pads,” he seconds. “Ten pounds.”

Sirius huffs but takes out his wallet.

You wrap your arms tighter around your shins. “I don’t think I want to have to put a bunch of showy pictures on here just to get a date.”

“Quite right,” James agrees with you. “Not for free, babe, that’s what I always say. That’s why I keep my shirt on until the third date, as a rule.”

You and Remus both give him puzzled looks; Sirius appears unsurprised.

“Not much staying hidden if you’re still wearing those shorts of yours around them,” he mutters bitterly.

“What? What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“If you have to use some of these pictures,” Sirius says, “stick with the rock climbing ones. The less obviously fake ones, of course.”

“Yeah?” You scroll back to those. “Why?”

“You look fit in those.”

“Awe.” You smile at him, surprised. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Sirius shrugs insouciantly. “Just calling a spade a spade. Your arse looks killer in those. Doesn’t it?” He turns to the other boys as your smile morphs into a grimace.

James shrugs, though he doesn’t not look appreciative; Remus only says in monotone, “Jar.”

[citrustan]

killah (jjk) [3]

pairing: managing partner (lawyer)!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader x a sprinkle of senior partner redacted

genre: strangers/enemies to ?? idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff, infidelity au (jungkook has a girlfriend)

wc: 5k

warnings: please read 2 before proceeding further. two new characters are introduced (really it's just one if you've been paying attention though,) reader is still a lil selfish and somin and logan are enablers, jungkook is still very much a taken man, and he has some questionable thoughts, emotional cheating, jealousy, tiny bit of smut. this one's a lot longee than i initially planned lol soz :] drabble, my ass

You're frustrated. Out of ideas.

Jeon Jungkook was impossible to get to. You couldn't just keep delivering lunch to Logan's office in hopes of somehow seeing Jungkook. And you certainly couldn't keep 'accidentally' showing up on his floor.

You zone out, staring at the glow in the dar stickers on your friends ceiling. You needed a better plan.

Something cold on your forehead distracts you. An ice pack.

"You look tense. Relax your brows," Somin coos. "Now, tell mama what's been on your mind lately." She pats your thigh excitedly.

"Ughhsfsh..." You flip over and bury your face in her pillow, "Don't ask..."

Paying you no mind, she continues, "You haven't come to any of my events. People think we've got drama, it's affecting my social standing. You know I need you. People donate when they see you donate."

You peek at her from the corner of your eye, "It's too complicated."

She impatiently waits for you to say more.

"Is everything OK? With Logan and the parents?" She asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, yeah, goodness. That's not it, everyone's fine. Businesses are good. Money's pouring in, I keep spending." You jump up, debating on just revealing everything to her.

You've been friends for years now. Somin has known you throughout all your phases and has loved you always. Like truly loved you. Honestly, she's family at this point. She's like... Logan level. Your twin.

Her intrest peaks, "So what's going on? Seriously. I feel like we haven't talked in forever."

Yet you're reluctant to tell her about Jungkook. But the fact that you drove to her place to whine and frown meant something. You needed help.

Specifically, her help.

By that, you meant you wanted ideas from her to get closer to Jeon Jungkook. Not criticism or her insight on what you're doing.

If Jeon Jungkook doesn't like being pursued by you, he'll say that. And you'll back off.

Painstakingly, you roll off her bed, and plop yourself on her bean bag.

You begin, "There's this man..." - Her eyes widen, "Wait, pause."

Somin had been waiting a long time to hear these words. Had you finally fallen for someone?

You oblige, giving her no clues on the mood of your confession.

"Oh, but wait, which way are we headed towards, like homicide or...?" Somin squints, focusing her thoughts on you don't know what.

Huh?

Vehemently shaking your head, you deny, "What? No. Or, it's or."

You're almost nervous.

"Just let me finish." You extend a pinky towards her, "And promise me you won't speak until I'm done. Nor will you try to discourage me."

She blinks.

Then adding, "I mean, I know you won't but just in case you think of it." You lean closer to her.

She simply stares at your doll-like expression. You had forced your eyes open wider and lips in a smaller pout.

What the hell had you done?

Finally linking her pinky with yours, she sighs, "I promise..."

Still keeping your hands connected, you begin to narrate the recent events of your life.

You describe the day you first met Jungkook, how his girlfriend was the one to introduce you. The lunch thing, the belly button piercing incident. And how you really, really wanted him to destroy you(r pussy.)

A hint of recognition flashes on Somin's face when you mention Hyewon.

Somin just nods for a while. And you allow it. It's a lot to take in.

Jeon Jungkook wasn't some rando.

You wanted to fuck the only man who made managing partner at the country's most cutthroat firm before 30, the youngest self-made millionaire, but more importantly, someone's boyfriend.

Moreover, she has heard through the grapevine that Hyewon and Jungkook are secretly engaged. There isn't much credibility to that source but still fishy.

She knows Kang Hyewon. Just socially though.

Hyewon's a corporate lawyer as well. She's one of those women who quietly climbed up the corporate ladder at Min & Partners. Nothing flashy, but definitely respectable and impressive.

She's also from Jungkook's alma mater. Only a year younger to him. That's probably how they met. Somin doesn't remember.

But she knows people like Hyewon.

Kang Hyewon's the kind of person who has every detail of their lives planned to a T. She likes logic, plays it safe. She's the opposite of you in every way.

Neither Jungkook nor Hyewon come from affluent families (such as yourself or Somin) but they've certainly made space for themselves at the table.

Somin just doesn't want you to get hurt. (Instead be the one doing all the hurting. She supports your rights and wrongs.)

You're beginning to get more nervous when you don't hear anything back from your best friend, then she finally breaks the silence--- "Apply for a job at J, K & K."

Woah.

You stare at her in amazement. You could never have come up with such a brilliant plan.

A smile spreads across your face, "Baby, you're a genius."

Somin smiles back bashfully in response.

Oh, but, only one problem. How...?

And then your smile dims. The thought probably just hit Somin too because you watch her face drop at the same time.

Let alone a job, but how in the world were you even going to get an interview with them?

They only accept students from the top 15 universities with a near perfect GPA, and a proper resume. 

You got the first box checked but your college GPA could be considered a little.... lacking? And your resume...

Was backpacking through Europe (read: flying private and living in the highest rated hotels) an acceptable experience?

You had also been present at all the fashion weeks that have taken place till date. That's certainly something, right?

And you sew.

Hm.

Somin could probably get into J, K & K though. She's brainy. Not a law student, but she could probably clear the bar in one attempt.

"Wait, pause." Somin demands your attention once again. You look at her with hopeful eyes.

"All you need is an excuse to be in the building. You can just 'run into him' whenever he comes in and leaves for lunch and shit." She stares at you with a kind of a 'duh' expression.

You wait for her to explain.

"_____, Logan. Ask your brother to get you a job, he'd never deny you."

Ohhh.

Ohhhh, this was good. And very doable.

Although, you don't know what you could possibly do at a funds office or whatever it is that Logan runs.

But you slowly nod. Yes.

"Yeah... That'll work..." You trail off, already planning your outfits to work. Your office siren era, teehee.

Eeeep, you're so excited!!

"I can't wait!!!" You squeal, jumping up.

Somin moves her pillows aside and makes space for you in her bed.

"I wanna, like, ride his shoe," you think out loud, "Somin, he's so hot. I want him to pretzel me."

Somin giggles but internally rolls her eyes and secretly prays you never 'fall' for anyone she's dating.

And that gets her thinking.

What if shit goes sideways?

You don't think so Somin had to do all the thinking for you. But she could also help you think of other possibilities.

Suddenly she speaks, "Devil's advocate."

You scrunch your brows, confused.

"What about Hyewon?"

You tilt your head to your side, "What about her?"

Somin scoffs, "_____, that's his girlfriend. Do you think he'd just drop her for you? She's.... More like him. As compared to you." She doesn't explain.

You didn't necessarily want him to drop her. You just wanted him to like... take you too.

"What do you mean? You know I hate it when you speak in clues." You whine.

"She's... Hyewon's a lawyer too. They've been dating for nearly a year now. Went to the same uni. Did exceptionally well there too, both were valedictorians. And they have a similar background. It's like... Both of them kinda started from the bottom and built themselves up," she pauses to take a breath. "They're not like us, baby."

She had to throw that 'baby' in otherwise you'd have started tearing up.

Then she points out, "Also, aren't you worried about this getting back to your mother?"

Ok, that, you really weren't. Your mother doesn't try to control you anymore. Because she finally learnt her lesson. She has accepted her destiny to have someone like you in her life because, before you, her life had been way too easy.

Something had to mix it up. You were it for her.

Don't get me wrong, she still loves you endlessly. But she had tried too hard to chain you down, and that didn't do anyone any good. So now, she just let's you be. And you stay out of trouble.

Although... Getting with Jungkook certainly will stir shit up if it reaches literally anyone else.

The more you think about the ramifications of this affair you want to pursue, the more you doubt yourself.

Would Jungkook even want you? I mean, you're pretty and stuff but what if he's into those intellectual, philosophical, scientifical types??

Ugh, screw the devil's advocate.

"My mom won't care. None of this affects her businesses. People will always need places to work in and stay. I think I'm ok." You explain yourself.

Somin nods slowly, "And... What about Hyewon? She always asks me about you."

Wait, what?

Confused, you wonder, "You know her like that?"

Your friend looks at you, partially offended, "Uh, yeah, I know everyone."

That she did.

You nod, "Um...well, I dunno. I don't know her like that. We've met like twice?" You try to think if you've ever had a conversation with her.

You're a few years younger so it really wasn't likely that you two come in contact often enough for her to actually ask your best friend about you. Honestly, it's creepy.

But what you're doing is creepier so who are you to judge?

You're used to having fans for no real reason.

No, seriously, you have a decent fan following. They tag you in their edits and memes. And they get so excited when you acknowledge them. It's cute. You love making people happy like that.

Oh, how blessed you are... :)

All you needed to do was beg Logan for a job. You couldn't believe you were actually going through with this.

"Please, please, please, please, please," you cry, pausing only to take a breather.

Logan doesn't look like he's going to give in easy.

You've got to amp it up. "PLEASE. I'll work, I swear. I'll really work hard. I'll tidy up and do the admin duties. I'll get you food, and make meetings and stuff."

You should've looked up more businessy terms.

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s praying for strength, "You can't make meetings, _____."

Was that a partial yes?

You blink at him, hopeful. "Ok, I won't. Now is that a yes?"

"It's a no," he says immediately, flat. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" You whine, flopping dramatically onto the couch like you're in a Disney movie. "You’re always going on about me needing to learn responsibility. This is me. Learning. Responsibility." You gesture with your arms.

He stares at you for a long time. "You don’t even know what my company does."

Wait, it's actually his company? Why are you always out of the loop?

"I do!" You insist. "You do… hedge stuff. And funds. You’re like a finance bro but riskier."

Logan just squints and mutters something under his breath. Well, at least you weren't completely off. He does deal with risky investments.

He groans and gets up, pacing. "I swear to God, if this turns into some scandal-" - "It won’t!" You cut in quickly. "I’ll be invisible. You won’t even know I’m there."

"That... is literally the opposite of what you'd be required to do if I give you a job."

Fuck, there's no way he's gonna risk his business by bringing you in.

"You don't have to pay me!" Now that peaks his interest.

You weren't doing this for money.

You hop offf the sofa and kneel in front of him, clasping your hands in prayer position, "Just give me this. Please."

There’s a beat of silence.

Well, this is a pretty good opportunity for him to boss you around. That's a power he plans to abuse the hell out of.

Logan groans like it’s physically painful, finally giving in, "You screw this up, you’re out. No warnings, no do-overs. I'll perp walk you out myself. Do you understand?"

Yippe!!!!!

You squeal, “YES. YES. THANK YOU.”

He holds up a finger, staring down at you, “I’m serious. You show up late, flirt with any of your coworkers, or vandalise or destroy company property-" - "I know! I'll literally walk myself out."

Logan cusses you out in his mind. You better be serious about this. He can't have any of his employees not take him seriously.

"Can I just start tomorrow? I already have my look ready, so I'm good to go." You were going to go classic and wear a white button down but the buttons are a bit off-centered, with a somewhat flowy black skirt. No compromises on the shoes though. To compensate for the basic outfit, you're wearing five inch stiletto heeled, baby pink pumps.

Still planning, you look up to find Logan. He was already typing away on his phone.

"Uh," Logan's contacting HR to prepare a mini contract. "You can come with me tomorrow, but it won't be your official first day." He informs.

Yay! You do a happy dance.

"Yeah, ok," Logan waves you off before continuing, "So, we can go over the details of what you'll be doing tomorrow. And you can scope the place out. Maybe you'll end up having your own input..." He trails on but you tune him out at some point.

Oh, but your hair! You then cut him off and rush to your room to apply a hair mask so it's super silky the next day.

Logan can only hope you don't wreck anything.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Across town, Hyewon had gone slightly out of her way to set the mood at her apartment.

She decorated the living room with lit unscented candles because Jungkook's got a sensitive nose.

Having taken the day off, she was able to prepare a fresh meal with fresh ingredients. She made Jungkook's favourites--- grilled pork belly, japchae, and haemul sundubu jjigae.

She even wore this blush silk dress he had complimented in passing once.

She wanted to do something for just the two of them. Something that might gently remind him of what they had, especially lately because he seemed... distracted and busy.

While she cooked and cleaned, she couldn't help but imagine her life if she ever were to marry Jeon Jungkook.

She'd probably move into his mansion. And he'd let her redecorate. Or maybe they'd end up buying a new home entirely.

Dreamily, sighing, Hyewon dims the lights to set a more romantic atmosphere.

When he finally comes over, a little over thirty minutes had passed. And for some reason, Hyewon felt anxious the entire time, wondering if he'd cancel on her at the last minute. But, to her delight, he was here. So she was okay again.

They ate together on the couch. He complimented the candles and her cooking.

Hyewon took a few pictures, laughing as she told him to act normal. Jungkook let her snap as many as she wanted, then tried to swipe the phone from her hand when he saw she was posting it.

She did so anyway.

"Seriously, Won," he muttered, leaning back, almost feeling shy, "You know I don’t like being seen like that online. Especially now."

Jungkook was under a significant amount of stress because of a new client.

"One little photo won't hurt you, Kookie." She smiles at her screen, already seeing the heart replies pouring in. "Maybe this is good for you. Your clients will see you in a stable relationship and put more trust in you. They'll see you as a person."

Trust was never an issue, he thinks. But says nothing, simply nodding, "Maybe."

At the end of their evening, Haewon offers her boyfriend a massage which he reluctantly accepts. He didn't want to put her out. He should be the one offering her a massage since she prepared all these things for him.

And it ends in... Well, you know.

And for Haewon, everything felt right again.

Boy, had she been wrong. And it'd only take a day for her to discover that.

Jungkook had spent the night at his girlfriend's place, not realising he didn't have any more back-up suits kept in his car.

He cusses himself out, wishing he had listened to Hyewon when she kept pushing him to keep some of his clothes over at her place.

Hyewon enjoyed waking up next to him. Driving to work together was convenient too since their offices were in the same business park.

Jungkook had to drive home and then to work. And he was running late by almost an hour.

So, his day was already a bit shitty.

Thank goodness for assigned parking.

At this time of the day, the main lobby is busier than usual as a majority of employees clocked in at this hour.

It's not as if he never came in this late. Jungkook barely noticed any of it most of those times though.

He walked straight, eyes on his phone, mind already halfway inside a courtroom.

Until he heard a laugh. An unmistakably familiar sound.

He ripped his eyes away from his phone to find the source of that sound.

And there you were.

Stood by the reception desk, talking to the only receptionist working that day, holding up a line of angry visitors who awaited clearance.

So fucking typical.

Fucking look at you. Not a care in the world. Taking all the time you need for whatever the hell you were up to.

But what really stood out to him was how ordinary your outfit was. It was so... Unlike you. He resents that he recognises this.

Then he sees something else.

The receptionist handed you a red lanyard. One that's only used by lower level employees in the building.

You fumble with the lanyard as you walk briskly toward the elevators, nearly dropping your ID card in the process.

He stays not too far behind you. Close enough to observe your shenanigans. You really ought to be more vigilant.

The ID keeps slipping out of your grasp, the clasp refusing to cooperate with your freshly done nails. This time, they were a bit more cutesy. You commissioned an up-and-coming artist to create those little 3D decals of Yoshitomo Nara’s art for your nails.

Jungkook thinks about how this was much more like you. He also notices your heels. Were you going to be in them all day?

That's something he'd like to see, he scoffed.

(He really underestimates you. You were practically born with high heels on.)

He watches you head straight to the private elevator, reserved for the execs, CEOs and other VIPS.

The doors to the elevator slide open with a soft ding and you step inside. A beat later, you hear hurried steps, and then a familiar presence slides in beside you.

Jungkook!

He doesn't speak at first. His gaze drops to your hands, still struggling with the lanyard.

Before his brain can stop him, with one hand, he grabs your card and your lanyard. "You're doing it wrong," he mutters.

You startle at his nearness. How the hell did you not notice him?

He thrusts his laptop bag towards you, and you take it from him without being asked.

That was weirdly obedient of you.

You could now recognise his cologne. Very... Woody. You love it.

Sparks shot straight to your pussy as you watched his skilled fingers, easily hooking your lanyard property to your ID. Watching him handle something of yours was doing things to you.

You swallow, maybe a little too audibly, “Thanks." You blush, your lips already curling into a teasing smile.

He hands it back to your wordlessly, stealing his bag back.

This time, you make sure to brush your fingers against his.

Before you could react to the sensation, the elevator doors open.

You blink.

Neither of had pushed a button.

In walked this tall, somewhat muscular looking man. God, were all the men in this building sexy? What the fuck?

His gaze immediately lands on you, then dips to the red lanyard in your hands.

"You're not supposed to be in this one," Tall Man says casually. "This elevator’s for executive-level staff," he trails off, "CEOs, partners..."

You freeze, feeling somewhat scrutinized. "Oh…" You blink up at him with wide, doll-like eyes, embarrassed, "Sorry, I didn’t know."

Uh, you knew. You were considered VIP generally, so.....

Behind you, Jungkook exhales quietly; whether out of disbelief, irritation or, a less likely option, amusement, you’re not sure.

Namjoon, however, chuckles. "No worries. You’re new?"

Fufckchshd, he's so hot. He has dimples too!!

But, how dare he humiliate you like that. :D

You tilt your head, smiling sweetly, “Yeah. I just started. At my brother's company on floor 27."

You know damn well what you were doing partially name-dropping. You wanted him to feel embarrassed for not recognising you.

Everyone knows you. At least, they did, in this business district.

On hearing that, his gaze flicks over to Jungkook; recognition dawning not just from the name, but from memory. The memory of you by the elevator at J, K & K a few days ago. He definitely looked twice that day.

You were almost unrecognisable today.

"Oh," he said, voice laced with amused surprise. "_____, it’s you."

C'est toi.

"Mhm!" You wait for him to introduce himself.

"I'm Kim Namjoon." His tone was a bit playful. He glanced at his partner who sported a semi-scowl now.

OHhhhh. He's one of the Kims in Jeon, Kim & Kim.

Without thinking, you blurt, "Wow, is the third Kim as hot as you two?"

Namjoon snorted, "The other Kim’s my father."

You tilt your head and nod. Well, that didn't answer your question but okay.

Namjoon observes as you look back and forth between himself and Jungkook.

(You were thinking about an Eiffel tower.)

Namjoon seemed to catch the flicker of mischief behind your lashes, because he wasted no time to ask you out, "Let me show you around today. I'll take you to the good lunch spots around here."

And you brighten up, yes, please!!

But you couldn't sound this desperate.

"Oh," you said instead, feigning hesitation, "I was just gonna try the cafeteria today."

He didn’t miss a beat, "Alright then, I’ll keep you company."

Behind you, Jungkook looks up sharply. His eye twitches ever so slightly.

Namjoon. At the cafeteria?

He hated the building's cafeteria. Claimed it resembled a prison cafeteria a bit too much, except with better food.

He never went with Jungkook but he'd go for you? That's crazy.

The elevator door opens on the 25th floor. Jungkook immediately zooms past you, but not before catching you ask his partner to pick you up at 1. His jaw tenses a little.

What the hell were you up to?

What was Namjoon going to do with you anyway? He's way too old for you, in his opinion. But whatever.

Why would he care?

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Jungkook had tried to work.

He stares at the words on the paper and sighs for the fiftieth time. They just read like gibberish. He’d read the same sentence four times and still didn’t know what it said.

That's what has happened all day. It took him over an hour to get through the most basic defamation case.

This was all your fault. You threw him off his routine.

For the fiftieth time, what were you doing here?

You didn’t need the money. That much was common knowledge.

You didn’t even like early mornings and apparently everyone knew you didn’t 'lift a finger for shit,' as one of the junior associates had so eloquently put it earlier that day.

Your presence in the building had stirred up some gossip. So, you technically ruined everyone's day.

So why?

He exhaled sharply, pushing the file away, annoyed with himself.

He should get something to eat. He was just about to text Haewon when he's sudden reminded of something.

He needed to sign-off on Namjoon's Hwa Capital due diligence report and send it before 2.

He rings Namjoon's assistant in. "Is Namjoon still in the cafeteria?" He figured he could go down there himself and get the job done quickly.

The assistant blinked, confused. Why would Namjoon be there? "What? No, he’s in his office. Has been for a while."

That made Jungkook frown. It was fifteen minutes past one. Wasn't he supposed to pick you up?

Jungkook doesn't know what came over him.

It's like a wave of something passed through him when he heard this. His gut twisted.

He walked briskly toward Namjoon’s office, not really knowing what he was about to do, and forced the door open without knocking.

"Hey---" He froze before he could finish.

The first thing he sees is you.

You were on your feet, but barely. Namjoon had your back pressed against his bookshelf, with one of his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you upright, anchoring you to him.

His other arm disappeared under your skirt, behind your thigh.

But that wasn’t the part that made Jungkook’s fist clench.

Your blouse was gaping open, your bra askew, and Namjoon’s mouth was on your tits. Messily licking and sucking on your nipples.

It was this.

Your soft moans fill his ears. Your eyes were tightly shut in pleasure.

You were clinging to Namjoon desperately. One hand tangled in his hair, guiding his head over your breasts. The other... was palming him through his light grey slacks.

Were you trying to make him cum in his pants?

Namjoon's groans were mixed in with a few 'fuck's and praises for you. Your moans and giggles get louder as you hear him talk dirty to you. You responded to him with affirmative moans.

Namjoon brings his thumb to your mouth, making you suck on it, then traces a path down to your nipple, rapidly rubbing your pretty, sensitive bud. Pleasure shoots straight to your clit.

Jungkook just stares. Why the hell hadn't he said anything yet?!

Jungkook attempts to speak but no sound leaves his mouth.

Coincidentally, you open your eyes at that exact moment and gasp, horrified for a second because you thought some perverted stranger had been watching you. But it was just Jungkook. You were truly shocked.

Quickly, you tug on Namjoon's hair, maneuvering him to aim his vision towards the door where his partner stood.

"Shit!" Namjoon jerked away instantly, pulling you flush against him to shield as much of your bare skin as he could, chest heaving as he tries to recover his pace.

Hehe. Hot.

Meanwhile, you only looked a tad flushed and breathless, but not particularly bothered. "Oops," you giggled, eyes fluttering toward Jungkook with a sheepish smile, “I thought latch down meant locked.”

Jungkook blinked hard. His jaw clenched as he finally tore his eyes away from your figures.

Clearing his throat, he addressed Namjoon stiffly, “I need the completed Hwa Capital documents. Preferably now.”

Namjoon, a bit more relaxed now, gave a lopsided grin, still holding you tightly against him. “Right. Ten minutes?”

Jungkook didn’t say another word. His eyes flicked to you one last time, registering new details--- your lipstick was smudged and glossy, or was it wet with spit? Your hair was a little out of place too. A shiny silver pin had slid halfway down the length of your hair.

Your gaze stayed on Jungkook. It was.... Inviting. A little challenging. But mostly just bold.

Your shirt was still open, bra still tugged under your tits, but Namjoon covered you well.

Though you wanna push his arm away, you refrain. That'd be too dirty.

This wasn't how you imagined he'd first see you naked. But honestly? If it gets him thinking about you, then great.

Taking a deep breath, Jungkook finally turned and left. The door stayed open.

Namjoon finally pulled away from you, still holding you close enough to stare down into your eyes. You smile and pull him in for one last make out session before you depart, and, of course, he happily obliges. And you're grateful for him.

UGGHh it felt so good to kiss. It had been a while since you last fucked someone. So, this was good for you.

Namjoon helps you button your shirt up and fix your hair.

What a sweetie.

You bid him goodbye and promise to catch him for dinner sometime.

You cross Jungkook's office on route to the elevators, but don't wait to see if he was in there.

(In case you were wondering, he was.)

Back in Jungkook's office, he had given up on trying to work today.

He sat at his desk, elbow propped against the armrest, thumb pressed to his temple like he could physically will his thoughts into order.

He had to redirect all his energy into not thinking about your bare tits.

Fucking Kim Namjoon, that son of a bitch.

"Fuck..." He groans. He was going to give himself a headache at this rate.

Every time he blinked, he saw your flushed face.

You bother him so bad.

You were such a little brat. Who fucks in an office? Just because you own the building doesn't enable you to move freely through it in this manner.

He pays rent for this space.

And you can just come in and fuck his assosiate? It's disrespectful.

Jungkook dragged in a breath, leaning back in his chair, glaring up at the ceiling like it had answers.

His head wanders back to your flushed face and the moans your pretty mouth released. And then to your pretty perky nipples.

God, get a grip.

Stop it.

He had a fucking girlfriend.

This cold splash of reality brought him back down to Earth: Hyewon. She's grounded, loyal, familiar. A successful, intelligent woman.

On the other hand, you were just a selfish brat with no sense of boundaries.

How was Hyewon friends with someone like you?

Jungkook decided he had had enough that day.

He calls in a sick day and leaves.

Namjoon could handle everything by himself anyway.

next: killah (jjk) [4]

note: idk why i call these drabbles because they're honestly just as long as my regular stories labelled fics, like this one's well over 5k words long like ew

anywhoooo, tell me what you think :3 please don't be a silent reader ok ly

ANd yeah the elevator scene seems to go on forever, shh, minor plot holes 😭

[utopeian]

a man who yearns

SUMMARY Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does Bob know, his touch is what keeps you present.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!thunderbolt!reader

GENRE vague relationship, but they like each other, fluff, a lot of nonsexual intimacy

WORD COUNT 1k+

WARNINGS not proofread! reader wears heels and makeup, no mention of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE hi, this is my first time writing for bob! so sorry in advance for the inaccuracies.. this was based off a little dream i had, hehe.. hope y'all still like it, though! <3

The minimal chatter and droning of the television that usually echoes throughout the newly renovated living quarters are absent. A rare occasion. The only way one can get to experience this wholly is to sneak out of Valentina’s galas hours earlier than intended; that’s exactly what you and Bob did. Over, and over, and over again. The rest of the team stopped questioning your sudden disappearances after the first few times, eventually understanding that the two of you need a head-start to recover from social settings.

“I don’t understand it. Just don’t interact with anyone when you get tired, easy!”

“Alexei, that is not how it works.”

Although this time, you might’ve had one too many servings of champagne tonight before booking it out of the flashy venue. You wanted to try something out of your comfort zone, slowly but surely. You knew it was a disaster waiting to happen when you asked Yelena in passing if you should let loose, but you still wanted her validation. (Of course, she enabled you; she always thinks you deserve to let loose).

The tipsy haze slowing your movement and speech might not be clear to you, but it is to Bob. Even if he wanted to drink as much as you so you wouldn’t feel all alone, it would’ve evaporated the moment it entered his system, because of the serum and all. Instead, he settled for the next best thing: being your guardian angel for the night. That’s how the two of you end up on the floor, you using one of the sleek couches as a backrest as he sits across from you. He’d follow you anywhere, no matter how questionable. Bob doesn’t mean to cut your tangent off when he blurts out, “Why are we on the floor again?” He tenses immediately when he imagines your reaction to what he just did. He prepares for the worst.

You blink twice, not too bothered that the topic changed, knowing it had to stop at some point. You don’t really remember what you were going on about, anyway. “Oh! My heels are still on. Don’t wanna get up anymore.” The reason doesn’t make sense, but Bob keeps that comment to himself. The last thing he wants is to upset a tipsy you, or you at any moment in time. He instead focuses on the fact that you don’t hate him just because he diverted your attention away from what you were talking about.

You straighten your legs in front of you from their initial folded position, alternating each polished shoe tip to playfully point in Bob’s direction. Despite your follow-up complaint that you want them off, you do nothing. He knows you’re fully capable of doing things on your own when you want to, that’s only one of the many things he loves about you, but he tries to grab every opportunity to show you that he cares. This is no different. He shuffles in his place and takes advantage of your position as you start talking about a movie you rewatched the other day, oblivious to what he’s planning. 

He reaches over to gently grab the back of your shoe and slips it off your foot, shyly glances up to see that you’re still distracted, then takes the other off. Bob has one heel in each hand and hesitates for a second, thinking of where to put them. The poor, patient soul had really tried to listen to you while multitasking, but your words started running into each other. He didn’t catch the title of the film you were talking about (did you even mention it?). Your monologuing continues as he settles to put them about an arm's length away from the two of you, nodding at whatever you were saying, ensuring the pair was still in pristine condition. 

You fold your ankle over the other mindlessly, not noticing all that’s left to cover your feet are your stockings with some runs at the bottom. A corner of the brunet’s lips fondly quirks up at your action. Bob finally exhales through his nose; he’s thankful he can go back to listening to you properly. Well, he never listens to you fully, though, because he gets distracted by how beautiful you look in the dimly lit space with your makeup a little worn in, how the intimate setting fuels the wildfire spreading throughout his chest. Before he can stop himself, Bob inches closer to you, afraid to startle you but desperate to touch you in any form. As long as it’s you, it doesn’t matter how. Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does he know, his touch is what keeps you present.

Unknowingly, in a way that makes it look like it’s as simple as breathing, he pulls you softly by the ankles to rest your feet on his lap. His hands don’t leave. Instead, they soothingly circle the inner parts of your ankle. Bob sees you practically melt under his touch, dissolving your train of thought to a sigh of relief. It’s enough to get him giddy; making you feel good makes him feel good. Your eyes flutter closed for a good minute before you remember where you are. “If you wanted me to shut up, y’should have just told me.”

His actions halt for a second, before he continues out of fear of getting chastised. “No! Keep telling me about Mr. Darcy and how a man who yearns is a man who earns.” You smile dopily at him and his heart wants to race out of his chest. You gladly continue.

The distant twinkling of the city lights against the abyss of the night, the occasional sirens and the flashing blues and reds, the humming of airplanes passing. The world around you accompanies your aimless conversation, but in this moment, you forget that you are two out of billions of… everything. It doesn’t matter, these details don’t matter. Everything fades away in the background because you have each other. That’s all you need. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Remy fic for @littlekidsteve

It has only been a little while since you and Remy had managed to escape the void along with Electra, Laura and Blade before biding them farewell, all the while you and Remy took a long walk as you both tried to figure out what you were going to do now that you were free.

Out of everyone you and Remy were the closet and so the idea of saying goodbye to one another after everything felt wrong, Remy had become apart of you as you became a vital part of him, so much so to the point neither of you could fathom an life without the other being apart of it some way or another.

‘Got any plans now that we’ve escaped the void?’ You asked him and he hums while shuffling his playing cards, a habit you noticed he had whether he was in need of a distraction or in deep thought.

‘I have been in the void for so long that I didn’t think I’d ever get out mon Cher, nor would get out so I made my inescapable prison a home, so all this is…rather new to me.’ Remy admits as he looked over at you with a soft expression before nudging you with his shoulder. ‘You have lived a life before the void, I think you’d be better suited for that question.’

You chuckled as you rubbed the back of your neck. ‘Yeah well I’m pretty sure they’ve pruned it by now, so I’m just as lost as you are and I haven’t been in the Void nearly as long as you have.’ You told him and Remy couldn’t help but chuckle as he went to grab your hand, intertwining it with his own. ‘Then we shall find a way to navigate our new life, together.’ He promised as he then brought your hand up to his lips before softly kissed it.

‘You promise?’ You asked.

‘I promise mon Cher.’ Remy echoed and suddenly everything felt like it was going to be okay, the void was long behind you both as the future was on the horizon, waiting for your both to take it

And soon enough with time and patience you and Remy found yourselves in your own little apartment -that was funnily enough not far from where Wade, Blind Al and Logan lived- and living a quiet, domestic lifestyle, just like you had wanted for a long time but couldn’t due to certain circumstances. You couldn’t help but smile softly upon first seeing Remy with an peaceful expression on his face as he slept, he looked beautiful and at ease with everything that you found yourself admiring him in silence, not wanting to ruin this moment by sneezing or shifting your weight and waking him by accident.

‘Wade is right. You are beautiful.’ You muttered lowly as you memorised his face and the way the light from the window made his skin glow an almost golden hue, making him look ethereal, as you took the time to appreciate the way his eyelashes kissed the apples of his cheeks. Remy was a handsome man and you were in no shape or form to deny it when you were more then aware of this face since the moment you met, but it wasn’t his physical appearance that drew you in but more or less his heart and his ability to light up anything that he touched, and soon enough you found yourself falling for the Cajun Frenchman more then you’d originally thought.

Remy has consumed your every waking and sleeping thought, claimed your body and heart as his own with how his eyes never seemed to leave you the moment you entered the room, smiling at you warmly before cross over to stand next to you for the rest of the day while occasionally showing off a new card trick he learnt. Even during combat Remy would stay close by to keep you safe when he felt that someone was getting too close for comfort by throwing one of his kinetically charged playing cards at them, and when you look over at him he just winks at you and continues the fight.

‘I can sense you watching me mon Cher.’ Remy said as he smiles cheekily, opening one eye to look at you as he brought a hand behind your head, pulling you in for a brief but sweet kiss before pulling away to look at you. ‘Am I really as beautiful as you say?’ He adds in a whisper as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear your conversation.

‘You can’t be blind to your own beauty can you Remy?’ You asked as you moved a hand to rest upon his chest, tapping your fingers against his skin in an unheard rhythm.

‘I’m not, I just want to hear you say it.’ Remy replied as he found his eyes wandering across your face with fondness and admiration. You couldn’t help but laugh as you rested your head against his chest, nuzzling into him. ‘You are indeed beautiful Remy Lebeau, the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on.’ You admit as you look at him, pressing a kiss to his chin as you felt his arms tighten on you, restraining you from moving away from him.

‘You flatter me Cher, but it is you who’s the most beautiful.’ Remy says as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the shampoo and conditioner you used and closing his eyes, never having the luxury of experiencing peace before in his life but finding himself falling in love with it as fast as he did with you. Remy felt as though he could stay in this bed forever with you but knew with your plans for later today he wouldn’t, though that didn’t stop him from doing whatever he could to keep you in his arms.

‘Wade, Logan, Laura and their friends are coming over soon.’ You murmured.

‘I know.’ Remy relied.

‘We should get up soon.’ You continued.

‘I know.’ Remy repeated as he kissed your head again, cuddling you further into his chest. ‘We’ll get up soon, but for now can we just…stay here, please Cher.’ He adds in a plea and you couldn’t help but feel yourself slipping into sleep the longer you stayed in Remy’s comforting and strong arms.

‘I guess five minutes wouldn’t hurt.’ You said as you nuzzled yourself into his neck, kissing it. ‘Then we’ll have to…to…wake.’ Before you could finish your sentence you had found yourself fast asleep as Remy smiled down at you. ‘I’m sure they won’t mind Cherie, they’ll understand.’ He says before joining you in dream land.

Bonus:

‘Where the fuck are they?!’ Wade shouted as he, Logan, Laura, Al, dogpool and the rest of his friends stood outside in the hallway to yours and Remy’s apartment after banging on the door for the past five minutes.

‘They’re probably still asleep, best we leave them be before we fucking wake the rest of the apartment complex.’ Logan said, side eyeing Wade as he sifted the welcome gifts in his arms.

Wade pouts and just as they were about to leave, a rugged and scruffy looking you and Remy opened the door to greet them as Wade laughs. ‘You two looked like as though we’ve interrupted something between you two.’ Wade the leaned towards you to whisper. ‘Is the French dick that good?’ You glared at him as you flicked him on the forehead, watching him as he winced and rubbed his forehead with a pout.

‘We may or may not have overslept thanks to someone.’ You nudged Remy in the side as he smiles cheekily and brings an arm to your waist, tugging you into his side. ‘Guilty as charged.’ He said proudly as you both stepped aside for everyone to enter your shared apartment before joining them, happy to have known such weird yet beautiful people.