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dreamersparacosm · 3 months ago

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jeon jungkook - handle with care

warnings ; oral (f recieving), he hits it from the back, hair pulling, blue collar dick🚨🚨

prompt ; in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

note ; if you are reading this.. this is a queue’d post while im in MEXICO!!!!! you horny little sluts really thought i would leave you alone for 5 days.. i would never. i figured — hey if i can’t post part 5 of tpod i can at least give a life lesson on blue collar dick, right? backstory here is that the other day my best friend and i had a conversation about our sexy ass landlord and that got me thinking… jungkook..? blue collar..? big dick..? so anyways this is the product of that convo! (and also a standalone one shot bc yall be loving these!)

Later, when someone asks you to recap this story, you’ll say that in your defense, you weren’t expecting the electrician to look like he walked straight off some cringy Pornhub set. You’ll say you just wanted your electricity fixed, not to be spiritually humbled by a man who smells like sawdust and pine.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s�� great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering food to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Yup. Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It’d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—”

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “…So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should I call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

masterlist + request

#im not online but my queue is! 🔔#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jjk #jjk x reader

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zreamy · 15 days ago

Text

please touch, please do it

freaky gym rat bf sunghoon except it's possible that yn is the bigger freak here......

pairing ✩ park sunghoon x fem!reader

genres: smut, pwp 🫩 (with a bit of plot..)

warnings: minors dni, freak shit, he loves her to the point of invention, sunghoon uses every pet name in the book.. and ik u can be a misandrist and still love ur man.. i'm proof, i love jake !

word count: 2,945 (do not get used to this)

author's note: ......unless jake posts a freak ass picture.. i’m not writing anything like this again 😭 i just want to say thank you to sunghoon for posting these pictures and thank you asahicore for encouraging me..

You’ve never been so glad that your past self has no way to know about the woman you’ve become—because if Little Miss Man Hater saw you now? She’d gut you.

You are absolutely sick with love. Nauseous with adoration. Ill with warmth and affection and desire.

And all for a man.

It’s getting out of hand, this girlfriend thing. This attachment to Sunghoon. Like part of you is being cleaved off, hacked away at, every time he leaves your side. It’s been seventy-three minutes since he went to gym, and already, you’re cuddling your pillow, and sending him a text.

You: Hi baby how’s your workout

Five quiet minutes tick by before he replies.

Hoonie: Arm day princess, my shit’s on fire lowkey

Hoonie: I miss you :(

Hoonie: How’s home?

His princess — the one he misses — squeals into the pillow, feet kicking as butterflies tumble in your stomach. It takes a little while, but you manage to hold it together for long enough to take a selfie. You tug the lace neckline of your camisole down so your cleavage peeks out, and push your arms together—nature’s push-up bra. I miss you more, you write back, grinning when he heart-reacts to the photo, a string of heart-eye emojis following.

Hoonie: My beautiful baby

Hoonie: You’re so perfect

Hoonie: My dream come true

Even the old you would crumble at that, surely. You’d have to be completely and utterly heartless not to be moved by sweet Sunghoon and the things he says.

The picture he sends you, both pictures he sends you, stop your heart in your chest, force a gasp.

He’s in the gym, drenched in pale overhead light, his white vest hugging every inch of the effort you now feel compelled to thank him for. His muscles are surreal, carved out and flushed. His thick, veiny arm glossy with sweat. He’s gorgeous—that’s the problem. Not just hot, but downright, drop dead gorgeous. In a way that makes your breath snag in your throat, turns your brain into mush. Sets back feminism and wide-spread misandry by at least a hundred years.

Your past self is rolling in her pre-Sunghoon grave.

You: ???

You: Dude I’m gonna suck that dick off the bone omg do not come here after your workout ok go straight home and think about whatever the fuck you just sent to me.

You: I’m literally gonna nut to this forever

Clicking on the photo again, you stare. Staring until the screen dims and your breath catches. Without a second thought you tug your underwear off, dark lace forgotten about between your fitted sheet and duvet. Instinctively, your thighs part for your right hand, a sigh of relief at the feeling of your fingers grazing your slit. A featherlight touch, barely there. You’re trying to savour this, taking in every single detail. Eyes catching on the sharp angle of his jaw, his smirking lips, the straight slope of his nose. Composure slips, quickly, when you let yourself fuzz at the edges, fingers quickening, breath stuttering. Vision blurring in and out of focus as your body chases, and chases.

And then he replies.

Hoonie: 😰

Hoonie: I’m not dude, I’m baby..

Hoonie: Fucking gooner

Embarrassment engulfs you. Wraps you up in its fiery clutch, tight and unforgiving. How humiliating, to be known so well. At once, you yank your hand from between your thighs like you’ve been burnt, and get up from the bed, scrambling for the nearest pair of shorts. It would be nice to be clothed if you run into Minjeong or her girlfriend in the middle of your walk of shame.

You don’t.

From the tap, cold water shocks you back into your body, settles you as you wash your hands. And wash them again just in case. Exhaling deeply, you dry your hands on the plush towel and lean against the sink to reply to Sunghoon.

You: Calling me a gooner after sending that freaky fucking photo is crazy work

You: YOU’RE THE GOONER

You: Come over.

You: Don’t shower..

Hoonie: 😂😂😂

Hoonie: I’m On my way! Princess don’t start without me

As soon as you heart-react to his text, there’s a knock at the front door. Sunghoon, somehow. Vest and hair still damp like he stepped straight out of the photo and into your flat. With how quickly he got here, you’re not convinced he didn’t.

“Hey, beautiful. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he says, breathless.

“Waiting? It’s been, like, thirty seconds since I told you to come over.”

“That’s thirty seconds too long.” He grins, wide and boyish. “I shouldn’t have left at all.”

You can’t resist any longer, getting on your tiptoes and looping your arms around his neck, body arching up against his as you kiss him. “I know,” you mumble against his soft lips.

Sunghoon’s tongue slips into your mouth and over yours. Slow. Deep. Taking his time. He always takes his time with you. His sweat-slick skin slides over yours, big hands cupping your ass, pressing you into him. Grip tight, like he plans for your bodies to spill into one another, to merge into one. If only, you think. There’s no ignoring him—you couldn’t if you tried. You don’t want to. Long and thick and stiff between you, straining against his sweatpants.

It’s a bit much for the hallway, maybe, especially with your flatmate home and having company, but he’s Sunghoon, and he’s been away, and you can’t help it. As if reading your mind, he picks you up off your feet with no strain, humming when you wrap your legs around his svelte waist. Graceful as ever, he steps out of his shoes and walks the two of you to your bedroom, lips attached the whole way.

Safe between the four walls of your room, you pull away, speaking only when Sunghoon sits on the end of your bed. “I want..” Words escape you at the sight of him. Lips wet, parted, deep red and swollen. Cheeks flushed the same shade. Slow breaths puffing his chest and pushing it back down. “I want..” you try again, but come up with nothing.

Holding you tight in his lap, he looks up at you. Eyes on yours, dark and insistent. “What do you want, princess?” he asks in a low voice, gentle. “Tell me what you want.”

Beneath you, his thighs are thick and solid. Big like all the rest of him. He is discipline and patience personified, all bulging muscle and taut skin. All yours.

“Just want you.”

“Always such a sweet girl, huh?” he coos, letting his hand slip up your thigh, humming when he finds the wet spot on your shorts. “You want me here, don’t you, baby?”

You nod, hips bucking towards his touch. “Need it,” you mumble, cheeks on fire.

It’s embarrassing how much you need it. Need him. Even after all this time, he still has you wrapped around his thick finger.

“Want my mouth? My fingers?”

Want everything, you think, but don’t say.

At your silence, Sunghoon leans in, lips finding your collarbone. Kissing and licking and sucking the skin there. A whimper tumbles out of you when his teeth sink into your flesh, just the way you like—just enough to sting. His thumb slips into your shorts, unsticking the soft cotton from your dripping core and finds your clit quickly.

You shudder on his thighs as he grazes your slit, dragging a slow strip back up to your pulsing clit. Pressing wet circles over it as he kisses a trail up to your ear. He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, biting. “No panties?” he mumbles, your skin muffling the question.

Relieved, needy, you sigh, sinking into his hold. “Touched myself before you got here. When you sent those photos,” you admit.

Those photos. Where to start? Sweat-damp white tank clinging to his ever-expanding chest. Veins pressing against his skin. Smirk on his face knowing you’d like what you saw. Those biceps. Flexed. Massive. Glistening.

A huffed laugh hits your ear as he sits up. His lips curve into a smile, half-proud, half-smirk. “My dirty girl,” he says. “So good and all for me. Such a lucky guy, aren’t I?”

You feel insane when he praises you, hearing those words from him, such filth from such a pretty mouth. Carnal need overtakes you, forces your hips towards his, craving friction. Craving him. A staggered gasp from your parted lips at the feel of him, hard and throbbing against you, the manifestation of how badly he wants this, wants you.

Taking your flushed cheek in his large palm, Sunghoon’s thumb strokes your cheek, and he slows down on your clit. “I’m all yours, baby. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

Your heart does a leap in your chest, hammering wildly. “Arms,” you say dumbly, fingers digging into his triceps. “Want your arms.”

Arching a thick brow at you, he repeats, incredulous, “You want my arms?” Confusion paints his handsome face as he takes his hand from your shorts.

You hum, chewing on your bottom lip as you slowly drag your nail up to his shoulder. His breath gets caught, chest shuddering under your touch. “I want to ride your huge arm.” Even as the words come out, you have no idea what that would even look like. How it would feel. All you know is that you want it, and you want it now.

“Alright, bunny,” he starts, a faint smile on his lips as he tilts his head. “I’m not sure I can give you that.”

Heat curls around your stomach at the nickname. “You said anything..” Pouting, you trail off.

“I did, didn’t I?” Sunghoon brings his pussy-glazed thumb to your lips. “Suck, baby,” he mumbles, leaning on his palm as you take his wrist in your hands, tongue swirling his fingertip.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Such a perfect girl.”

Watching through half-lidded eyes, he groans when you take his whole finger in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck your heady taste from him. “Mm. That’s it, baby, Just like that.”

Bobbing your head, you hold his gaze. Every inch of you aches with want, burns with need to replace his finger with his cock. Until his lips quirk into a crooked smile, a breathy laugh slipping out of him.

Eyes wide, you pull his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop. A thick string of spit still binding you to it when you ask, “What is it?”

“Do you trust me?” His voice is a low rumble.

Scorching heat laps at the base of your spine as you nod. “Mm.”

Sunghoon’s smile turns wicked. He is the picture of lust. Of all things indecorous. You’re almost scared of what he’s going to say next.

“I know how we can do it.”

“Do what?”

Patting your thigh, he mumbles a simple command. “Up, baby.” His eyes trail your body when you stand, not a sliver of your skin unseen by him. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so beautiful.”

Shy, you turn your face from him, catching his reflection in the mirror. Catching the swift movement of his palm over his lap, his cock.

“This’ll only take a minute, alright? I’ll be quick.”

Sunghoon stands up when you nod, both hands on his waist while looking down at the bed like it’s a puzzle to be solved. True to his word, he sits on the floor and settles with his side against the bed frame in one fluid, deliberate movement. He raises his left arm, bending it at the elbow and resting it on the mattress beside him—bicep flexed and thick and waiting.

And immediately, it clicks.

“Sit, baby,” he says gently, before you have the chance to speak. “I want to see you ride what’s yours.”

You’re frozen in place, jaw dropping as you look down at him. Your Sunghoon. Pouty lips and mussed hair. Adoration in his big brown eyes. He reaches up, hands on your thighs, and pulls you towards him, one slow, awestruck step at a time.

Sunghoon tugs at your shorts. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” he asks, brows raised.

He pulls them down when you nod, and you step out of them when they hit the floor. Arm on the bed again, he mumbles, careful, baby, as you step over his legs and kneel on the mattress. With his arm between your thighs, you catch his expression. Slow blinking eyes stuck on you. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. You could cum right then and there at the sight alone—it’s a wonder that you don’t. Sunghoon nods, ever so slightly, but it’s enough to make you sink onto him, sticky and so wet against his warm skin. At the contact, you both shudder, a gasp from you and a groan from him as he curls his fist against the duvet.

You roll your hips, slow and experimental. Once. Twice. Stomach turning at the slick grind of skin on muscle, clit catching over and over on the thickest part of him. You’re already shaking. Whining. It doesn’t help when he tenses, lifting his arm a little so you can grind down into the curve of him even harder.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, a fucked out and wrecked look on his face just watching you. Gaze following your throbbing core and the mess you’re making. “There you go, bunny. That’s it.”

You nod. That’s it. Moaning as you speed up, rhythm growing erratic. Heat washes over you, spreading from the inside out, coating every fibre of your being. How did anything exist before this? And how will anything exist when it’s over?

To steady yourself, you grab a fistful of Sunghoon’s long hair, relishing the way he winces when your nails graze his scalp. A grunt from deep in his chest. He talks you through it, gentle as always, coaxing you towards your release one praise at a time. His sweet girl. His baby.

“Look at you using me like this,” he breathes. Through squinted eyes you see his tongue slip out to wet his lips, your heart racing in response. “Take it,” he says, your name sweet from his mouth. “I’m yours. All yours.”

The only word you can say is his name, crying out over and over on trembling thighs. White-hot pleasure courses through you, growing unbearable, tearing you apart with every movement. Every slip of your cunt on his bulging veins and coiled muscle. You can’t hold back any longer, can’t keep it in. That searing heat. Sharp. Blinding. Ripping through you, splitting you apart right there on his arm. Arched back. Twitching hips. Clutching his shoulder with both hands, your head falls forward as his palm holds your hip, guiding you.

“Don’t need to hold it, okay?” he murmurs, flexing again like he knows exactly what you need. “I’ve got you, princess. Let go for me.”

And you do.

A moan tears from your chest, raw and high and broken, as an endless wave of pleasure crashes over you. Bone-deep and tingling. Every inch of your body set alight as you ride out your orgasm with curled toes and wildly bucking hips. It takes a while to pass, leaving you stunned and silent when you finally manage to stop moving.

Spent and starry-eyed, the only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, desperate. You let yourself fall backwards, sinking into the mattress, whole body still trembling, pussy still quivering.

“You okay, baby?”

Nodding, you lean up on your elbows. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Just.. Fuck.”

Sunghoon’s eyes are wide, pupils blown as he pants. “You were perfect. Did so well.” The words come out quietly, gaze stuck on his arm, the mess you left behind. With a thick finger, he grazes through it, bringing it to his mouth for a taste. A full-body flush sets you ablaze at the sight, a satisfied groan filling the room as his eyes screw shut, brows furrowing.

“Taste so good,” he says, words garbled around his finger. “Always taste so good.”

Wasting no time, he wipes up the rest, pressing four fingers on his tongue as his eyes flick up, catching yours. He looks like he’s about one second away from eating you alive.

And you’re not wrong.

Sunghoon wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you towards the end of the bed. Towards his mouth. Unwavering, his gaze doesn’t leave the spot between your legs. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” His breath fans your wet core.

Squirming against the mattress, you shake your head. “Not now, Hoonie. I think.. I think I’ll die if you do that now.”

At this, his eyes meet yours. “Aw, bunny,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, biting your soft flesh until you whine. With his tongue, he soothes the stinging spot. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

Dazed, you let out a breath, chuckling. “No, baby. I don’t think so,” you whisper, arms outstretched.

You wrap your legs around his waist when he crawls over you, pulling him down and digging your face into the crook of his neck. Over and over, he kisses the top of your head, each one softer than the last. “My sweet girl. I love you, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “So, so much.”

Tuckered out, you nod slowly, letting his heady scent consume you. “I know,” you tell him, meaning it. “And I love you.”

Sunghoon rolls onto his back, holding you into his chest, fingers stroking your hair. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours.

permanent tag list: @asahicore @ikeublr @loverseon @dreamy-carat @littlefluu @cherrymxxnie @mrloverboy3000 @blooqz @immortalonie @enhastolemyheart @fancypeacepersona @heatrache @kxwinasblog @kimjkejyy @anofi

#sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #park sunghoon smut #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #sunghoon oneshots #sunghoon imagines #enhypen hard hours #fic.sunghoon

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szatears · 1 month ago

Text

inked all over, stack.

summary: stack comes back to you with a new surprise, one that you must say suits him a little too well.

pairing: modernau!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, use of the n word, descriptions of reader.

notes: modernau!stack has finally arrived! ever since i made that post about smoke and stack w tattoos i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are! also switched up the pov to third person for this one. ignore any errors, did not proofread at all. smoke version coming soon :)

"Goddamn, you said how long?!" Stack's eyes widened as he leaned back in the tattoo chair, sat opposite his tattoo artist, Deuce.

"We're looking at 'bout six hours?" Deuce laughed seeing the expression on his client's face.

Stack was always at Deuce's parlour when he wanted a piece done on his body, he didn't trust anyone else to do it for him. Same with his brother. Today, he walked in wanting to get something he had on his mind for months.

"Six hours? Nigga, I'ma need you to cut it down to like, two and a half. My lady already pissed I ain't wake her up with a kiss this morning," he blew out a breath, thinking about the messages his wife had left him a few hours ago.

He'd been up since the early hours, and it was almost 4 o'clock now. He was only meant to be out running a few errands with Smoke and some by himself, but he just couldn't get the tattoo out of his mind.

Deuce laughed, nodding his head as he placed the drawing of what Stack wanted on his forearm. "This good for you?"

Stack looked down at the placement, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to this. "Yeah, it's good."

He knew how the process would go, he just hoped he'd be back home at a reasonable time to not get his ass chewed out. Mrs. Moore didn't play like that.

He made himself comfortable, his arm out on the extendable part of the bed to allow Deuce to do his work. Many Men by 50 Cent played through the speakers, and Stack pulled his phone out of his pockets before Deuce started tattooing.

He already had a few tattoos, but he still wasn't too used to the pain. Smoke on the other hand? Stack would say "you could tattoo that nigga's eyeball and he won't even flinch."

Stack had put a lot of thought into this piece. It would be the beginning of a sleeve he hoped to complete later on, but to him, this was the most important part of it. It had the typical designs of a sleeve ─── shaded clouds with the sun peeking through, cursive writing with some red for that pop. But it was what was written that held the most meaning to him.

With time, Stack came to realise that one of his wife's favourite ways of expressing her love to him was through words. It could be something simple, like telling him she was proud of him or that he was doing well with everything. Or it would be more, like a note in the morning before she left to go somewhere, or one of the many texts she sent him throughout the day.

One of these letters stuck with him the most. In it, she wrote about how he'd become such an important part of her life, the tie that held them together growing stronger each day. The exact words he was getting tattooed on his arm were "you're my favourite person and my forever person, i got you always," something she never failed to mention to him.

It was obvious how in love the two were. You rarely saw them without the other, and even if they were, it wouldn't take long for either to mention the other.

Along with the words, Stack added her lipstick print that she always signed her letters off with. He knew he'd be making a joke soon enough about how her lips were always gonna be on him now.

The rest of the piece had some other smaller yet intricate designs, he told Deuce he could freehand whatever, he trusted him like that.

Surprisingly, Deuce actually managed to cut his estimated time in half, finishing the tattoo almost three hours later. As Deuce finished taking pictures and wrapping Stack's arm, his phone rang, looking down at the caller id to see his wife's name with a heart next to it. He accepted the facetime, smiling at the mug on her face.

"Why are you smiling? You must like playing with your life..." she mumbled, fixing her hair in the camera frame.

"I can't be happy to see you no more?" He chuckled, watching her fight back a small smile. "You look good."

"I know," she leaned her face closer to her camera. "Where are you? Come home already."

"I'ma be home in a minute, mama, I'm at the shop with Deuce," Stack turned his camera to face the man who was tidying up his supplies as he held up a peace sign.

"Hey, Deuce. So you're the reason my man's out til these hours when he said he'd only be gone for two tops?" Her head tilted as Deuce laughed.

"It ain't my fault he picks the tricky designs."

"Design─── Baby, you got a new piece?" All of a sudden the frown on her face was wiped off, replaced with a smile.

"Yeah, I did. Look at you, smilin' over there," Stack laughed as he got up from the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stack of 50s, handing it to Deuce.

Before he could even complain about being given too much money, Stack gave him a look. "You really gon' make me argue with my lady on the phone?"

"No, sir," Deuce smiled, putting the money away.

"Aight, til next time Deuce."

He grabbed his coat and left the shop, opening the door to his car that was parked right at the front. "You need me to bring anything, baby?" he looked down at his phone as he put on his seatbelt, seeing his wife already staring at him. The smile that graced his face was just his natural reaction to seeing her; he couldn't get enough of her,

"Could you get some more fruit from Mama Glo's corner? If she's still open."

"Yeah. You gon' stay on the phone?"

"No, I'm gonna take a shower real quick. But I'll see you soon, handsome. I love you," she kissed the camera.

"I love you too."

Stack came back with a brown paper bag containing the fruit his wife had asked for, closing the front door with his foot. He slipped his trainers off, walking to the kitchen and placing the fruit on the counter. When he didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down to greet him, he tilted his head, making his way up the stairs.

He found her lying on their bed, dressed only in a bra and a small pair of shorts. She turned her head to the door when she heard the floorboards creak, a smile on her face as she set her phone down on the bedside table.

Stack smiled at her smile, his hands resting on her waist as she stood in front of him. His frame slightly towered over hers, his head dipping down a little to kiss her lips.

"Nice of you to come home, Elias," she hummed into the kiss.

"You know I could never be away from you for too long." His words were like music to her eyes as she used the hands that were around his neck to softly run her fingers over his skin.

"I got your fruit," he told her, tapping her hip twice so she'd let him go briefly, letting him take off his shirt. It was only when he took off the black muscle t-shirt that he wore, that she let her eyes run over the tattoos that adorned his chest and back before she remembered the reason he went out.

She let her eyes wander over him whilst he put his phone on charge, finally spotting the wrapped part of his right arm. Stack glanced at her, noticing how quiet she'd gotten. "You wanna see it?" he laughed at how eagerly she nodded in response to his question.

He stepped closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. He slowly took off the wrapping of the tattoo, much to his wife's impatience. When he finally revealed the finished work of art, the look on her face made his impulse decision ten times worth it.

He let her gently run her hands over the ink, waiting for to notice what made it even more special. He watched her face closely as her eyes flickered over his forearm, holding it with so much care. It wasn't until she turned his hand over so his palm was facing her, that she saw the writing.

"Elias..." she whispered, a pout on her face as she ran over the words and the copy of her lips.

"You like it?" he smiled at her, flashing his gold caps.

"Like it? Baby, I'm in love with it, oh my God," she couldn't tear her eyes off it. Throughout their relationship, Stack would always say something along the lines of "I'ma get your name tatted on my face," but this was far more meaningful.

"Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch," he mumbled, pulling her into his lap. He kissed the side of her face as she held onto his arm. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you endlessly," she took his face in both her hands, kissing him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He turned his head into the kiss, letting his lips leave hers to kiss down her neck to her collar. He flipped them over, bringing her to lay back down in the middle of the bed.

Her hands ran down his toned arms, massaging his broad shoulders. She let her fingers trace over the inked parts of his skin that she could reach, having memorised where every part was.

Stack used his knee to nudge her legs apart, letting him slot in between them as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers whilst she held him closer to her face by the back of his neck. Her soft moans only encouraged him more, as did the growing friction her hips created against his.

"Yeah, you gon' have to come up outta these," he mumbled against her lips as his hands fumbled down to her shorts, pulling them down her legs.

"Elias..." she whispered, tugging at his belt. She was almost naked whilst he was still half clothed.

He smiled at her, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down to her pelvis. "Hold on, baby. I wanna make you feel good first." He kissed her clit over the lacy underwear she wore, and she shuddered, leaning back further into the pillows.

Stack used his thumb to rub her clothed clit, watching how her legs started to close around his hand. "Baby, please," she whined, and it didn't take long for him to give in to her pleas, taking off her underwear.

Just as quick as he had done that, his head lowered closer to her core, his mouth latching onto her creaming opening. His tongue licked up and down, his hand holding either side of her hips as he ate her out. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," she breathed out, her eyes fluttering with pleasure.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against her, the vibrations just adding to the feeling.

Stack lapped at her for all she was worth, the unholy sounds emitting from her lips and his work. He used his thumb to rub her clit as he continued to work her away with his tongue. She writhed underneath him, feeling that familiar coil inside of her begin to surface.

"Why you moving away, huh? You can take it mama, I know you can," he assured her, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he briefly looked up at her. The sight alone almost made her cum right there; his mustache and goatee coated in her fluids.

She couldn't keep it in, especially when he went back to her with his tongue, his two fingers pumping in and out just as fast. "Shit, I'm gonna─── Oh, my God," her moans aligned with her release, all over his mouth.

Stack continued to eat her out through her high, her hips grinding into his face as he sought more. "Baby let up," she groaned, trying to push his face away.

"One more, baby. For me?" How could she say no when he was making feel that good?

It wasn't long before she came again, her body letting up as Stack cleaned her up. Only he could make her tap out like that.

He finally moved his head from between her legs, hovering over her as she grabbed his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. She licked over his lips, moaning at the taste of her on him. His hand travelled to her throat, the same arm that was newly inked now right in front of her.

Stack's tattoos were such a turn on, it was almost impossible to describe. If he wanted to make her orgasm fast, all he had to do was talk her through it, or have her analyse his tattoos. Easy.

"You not tapping out on me, are you?" he smirked, as she gave him a lazy smile. She could feel his dick through his pants at her entrance. Shaking her head, she let go of him to take his belt off, eyes on him as she pulled him out of his boxers.

He briefly got up to take them off all the way, before he settled back between her legs, hiking them up his hips. She let her arms rest over his shoulders as he pushed in, both of them groaning.

He fit so perfectly with her, and he made her feel that way every time, through sex or not. The sound of skin slapping soon took over the room, as did their moans.

Stack ground his hips into hers, his head resting in the crook of her neck, leaving small love bites where he could.

"You're doing me so good, E," she whispered lowly in his ear which only spurred him on. He picked up his pace, finding that spot of hers that had her arching into him.

"Like that, baby? Hm?" he asked as she could only not in reply, too far into it to speak actual words. Stack fucked her so good, without fail every time.

He looked down at where they connected briefly, fascinated by her precious pussy taking him in so well. "You're doing so good for me, pretty." he told her, his eyes back on hers.

She managed to keep the contact for a few moments before he had her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her muscled walls clenching around his dick.

He grunted at that, feeling himself close to unravelling. But like he always did, he wanted her to come first.

"I'm almost there, E, keep going─── Yeahhhh, just like that," she moaned, whining even as she felt herself about to come for the third time. She held his head to her face as he kissed her, groaning as she reached closer and closer to her climax.

"Fuck!" she screamed as he cum coated his dick, spilling out as he fucked her through it.

"You got it baby, shit, I'm gonna cum too, hold on," his words trailed off to a whisper as he came in her, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to the overbearing amount of pleasure only her man could give her.

Stack's thrusts slowed down as he pushed his seed back in her, a lazy smirk on her face as she watched him do so. He pulled out slowly, gently laying on top of her. She brought her legs around his waist, kissing his temple as they caught their breath.

"Damn," Stack sighed happily. "Might have to get my whole body tatted up now."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten

#michael b jordan x reader #stack x reader #michael b jordan x black reader #stack x black reader #sinners x reader #sinners fanfiction #modernau!stack x reader

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botanicsoul · 2 months ago

Text

Watch Yourself

Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up

-> This is a part 2 of “Behind the Screen”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

—

Your inbox is chaos.

Comments piling up, notifications buzzing like a hornet’s nest.

——

“Where tf are you QUEEN?!”

“don’t play w us like this”

“no bc i’ve reread it five times already. give us a BONE”

“you ruined my life now come back and do it again”

——

You’d be lying if you said the silence wasn’t intentional. It was. Completely.

But it wasn’t just strategy—it was survival.

Because ever since Bakugou read your last fic—the one where he quite literally fucked you in his hero suit— You’ve been distracted.

You two have been… talking. Texting. Flirting in that hot, volatile way that feels like standing too close to something explosive. Nothing overtly explicit, but every word between you dripped with the kind of tension that makes your thighs press together under the table.

He’s been buried in hero work—long nights, busted ribs, always tired. You’ve been pretending to stay calm. Composed.

But truthfully?

You’ve been writing. Touching yourself under the covers, laptop screen glowing in the dark as your free hand slid beneath your panties.

Drafting filth between gasps, imagining his hand around your throat, his voice in your ear, his body flush against yours as he makes you watch yourself fall apart.

You were supposed to be staying low-key.

You were supposed to be patient. But you were hungry.

And tonight? You feed the fire.

——

After editing, rereading, and working yourself up until your thighs were slick and sore—you finally hit Post.

And this time, there’s no warning. No tags. Just the excerpt, raw and dirty:

⸻

@/blastyourbackout :

“Pro Hero Dynamight would so love to make you watch yourself get slutted out in front of a mirror.”He’d drag your pretty body in front of it, make you stare at your own ruined reflection as he split you open from behind. One hand in your hair, the other around your throat, all while he whispers, ‘Look at you. That’s what I fuckin’ do to you.’

⸻

That’s all you post.

No context. No explanation. Just the filth.

You slam your laptop shut and walk away like you didn’t just set your entire blog—and possibly even Bakugou’s sanity—on fire.

You don’t expect him to read it that night and you definitely don’t expect him to text you 45 minutes later.

Four messages. Rapid fire.

——

Katsuki :

You wrote that shit while I was out bustin’ my ass?

You fuckin’ serious?

You knew I’d read it.

On my way.

——

You freeze, toothbrush still in your mouth, pulse suddenly in your throat.

He’s bluffing.

He has to be bluffing.

Buzz. A location ping.

Your toothbrush clatters into the sink.

⸻

He’s at your door in under ten minutes. When you open it, you think briefly—he might actually arrest me.

He’s still in his hero suit—this feels familiar—Boots tracking in dirt, gloves tucked under one arm, shirt stretched across his chest like it’s barely containing him. His face is flushed. Wind-tangled hair, a fresh cut across his jaw. And his eyes—Furious.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps inside, kicks the door shut with his heel, and locks it behind him.

Then finally—finally—he speaks.

“You really thought you could post that shit and not answer for it?”

Your heart skips. “It was just—fiction.” He laughs, but it’s humorless. “You didn’t even fucking tag it right.” He stalks forward. “Didn’t even label it as based on real events this time. Why?”

You open your mouth struggling to find the right words, “Because it didn’t happen?”

he gives you a sly smirk, “Well, it’s about to”

Before you can answer, he catches your wrist and tugs you forward—down the hall—into your bedroom. You know exactly where he’s going.

Straight to your closet mirror.

He doesn’t stop until your chest is nearly pressed to the closet door. His palm slides up your spine, warm and commanding, until it’s cupping the back of your neck.

“Look,” he growls. “You wrote that I made you watch. So fuckin’ watch.”

You meet your own wide eyes in the reflection. Your mouth is parted. Your skin flushed. You look like a girl seconds from being ruined.

He leans in behind you, voice low at your ear.

“You wrote I pulled your hair,” he says, fisting a handful gently.

His hand trails down between your thighs—cupping the heat of you through your thin pajama shorts.

“I’m gonna do so much more to you.”

The cool air hits your bare skin when he pulls your shorts down, panties dragged with them. Your palms brace against the mirror, forehead bumping the glass.

Bakugou shoves your legs farther apart with his knee, one big hand gripping your inner thigh, the other steadying your hips as he sinks to the floor behind you. You’re standing—barely—your palms pressed to the mirror for balance, forehead bumping the glass, but your knees already feel weak.

“You didn’t even write this part,” he mutters, low and dangerous, right before he spits on your pussy. The slick sound echoes in the room. Then his thumb spreads it in lazy, taunting circles over your clit. “That was a fuckin’ oversight.”

You gasp as his mouth is on you—ravenous. Tongue plunging deep, nose pressed against you, his groans vibrating straight through your core. It’s filthy. Wet. He’s eating you out like he’s starving, and all you can do is hold onto the mirror and try not to collapse.

“Look at yourself,” he growls, dragging his mouth just low enough to suck your clit between his lips, then back again. You catch his reflection behind you—eyes locked on yours, lips glistening. “Already fuckin’ trembling.”

You choke on a moan, head dropping forward against the mirror.

He keeps going, devouring you with slow, obscene licks, until your legs are shaking—slick and spit trailing warm down your inner thighs. He pulls away only when he knows you’re right on the edge, panting, ruined.

You feel the shift in his breath behind you. He stands slowly.

“Didn’t write this part either,” he mutters darkly.

Clink.

The sound of his belt unbuckling is slow and deliberate, followed by the sharp zip of his pants. Fabric rustles. Then— You hear it.

And when he leans down, lips brushing your ear, he finishes, “Guess I’ll just have to make it up.”

Wet, heavy strokes. The slick sound of him palming himself, dragging his fist down the length of his cock.

He groans low in his throat.

“You hear that?” he rasps, stepping close enough for you to feel the heat of him behind you. “That’s what your shitty little story did to me.”

You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

You try to glance over your shoulder, desperate to see him behind you—broad, flushed, jaw clenched in concentration. But you don’t get far.

Without warning, a rough hand clamps around your jaw and yanks your gaze forward, slamming your attention back to the mirror.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” he growls, voice gravel grinding against your ear. “If you don’t keep your eyes on that fuckin’ mirror, I’ll leave you here—cunt empty and all.”

He drags his tip through your folds—teasing, and cruel.

Then, he slams into you.

“Fuck—Katsuki—” You cry out—one palm smacks the mirror as the other braces your thigh. The stretch is overwhelming. Deep. Perfect.

His hand tangles in your hair again, yanking your head up until you’re staring at your reflection.

You watch the way your mouth falls open, the way your body jolts with every thrust. You watch your own tears start to well. The way his hand wraps around your throat from behind, the way his hips keep slamming forward.

“Suki— I can’t take it an-anymore” you whimper again, voice barely there—thin and cracking, tears threatening to spill as the pleasure tips into something unbearable. Your body’s trembling, your throat closing around the moans you can’t hold in anymore.

“Don’t start cryin’ now, sweetheart—you deserve this.”

It’s too much. He’s too much. The mirror, the pace, his words—him. Your chest stutters with a ragged breath and your lip quivers, trying so hard not to sob.

And for a second—just one—he softens.

His mouth finds your shoulder. Just a gentle press of lips, almost tender. His hands, so rough moments ago, ghost over your hips, up your sides, like he’s holding you together while he tears you apart.

He leans in, breath hot on your cheek as your tears finally fall.

“Shhh,” he coos, so quiet it almost sounds sweet. “You’re fine. Takin’ it so well.”

And just like THAT —his grip tightens again, possessive and punishing. He growls it right into your ear, voice dropping to something feral, almost loving in how cruel it sounds.

He rocks his hips up again, dragging his cock slow and deep, making you sob out a sound so raw it barely sounds human.“You made me sound like a fuckin’ animal.” he snarls.

Because he was.

Because he is.

“Were you writing that filthy shit with your hand down your panties?” he snarls, voice dark with disbelief and want.

Your breath stutters. Eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, mouth trembling as another thrust rocks you forward.

You’d feel guilty if you said no.

“…Yes,” you whisper brokenly.

“Say it louder baby”

The sound of his balls slapping against your clit makes you whimper—each thrust, each roll of his hips, makes the pleasure surge higher.

“Yes—fuck—” you gasp, voice cracking as your head falls back to his shoulder. “I was writing it while I touched myself. I—” you choke on a moan, “I came thinking about you watching me in the mirror. I couldn’t stop.”

He groans—low and wrecked, hips jolting hard enough to slap skin. You cry out, fingers clawing at the mirror for leverage.

He’s fucking you harder now—meaner, like your confession unlocked something vicious in him. “Such a needy little thing.”

You whimper. Your knees are buckling.

“God baby where you want me to put it, huh? inside you? want me to fuckin’ bust a load in this tight pussy?” You can’t speak. You just nod, gasping.—He’s pounding into you now, brutal and relentless, your whole body rocking against the mirror.

He pulls you back against his chest, one hand on your stomach, the other cradling your jaw so you can still see yourself fall apart in his arms.

And when you come—messy, shattering—he groans like it takes him with you, it knocks the breath clean out of your lungs. You cry out—loud and broken—and feel him pulse inside you seconds later, growling into your shoulder as he follows you over the edge. He empties inside you, still grinding his hips through the aftershocks.

⸻

The room goes quiet but for your shuddering breath. He holds you there—pressed to the mirror, skin flushed and sticky, heartbeat stuttering in your chest.

He doesn’t let you go right away. Just holds you there. Like you were meant to be ruined by him, and only him.

You watch the mirror fog slowly from your breath. Then, after a long beat, he leans in—mouth brushing your temple.

“Wanna go on a date?”

You blink. “You’re seriously asking me that right now?”

He chuckles, still catching his breath. “Felt right.” He nudges your thighs together, gently helps you upright, even as his cum drips out of you and slides down your leg.

“I don’t want you with anyone else,” he adds softly.“Don’t want anyone else to have you like this.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “Yes, Katsuki. I’ll go on a date with you.”

⸻

Hours later—after he’s cleaned you up, made you eat something, kissed your thighs like he was worshipping them—you’re alone again.

You sit at your laptop, skin still warm, fingertips trembling.

You open a new post.

Title: Correction: Watch Yourself

And you write. Every filthy detail. Just for him.

You posted the new—updated—fic five days later.

Tagline?

#based on real events

#yes he read it first this time

#yes the suit was on again

#no he didn’t let me tone it down

#i still can’t look in my closet mirror without shaking

#i got everything i wanted

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heesimp · 7 months ago

Text

tasty (heeseung)

summary: it’s not your week and it doesn’t seem like the semester will ease up on you as time flies by, but your best friend is here to help in more ways than one.

word count: 5.6K

notes: based off of this request. thank you anon! I probably won’t open a taglist at this time but I’ll let you know if I do when I post other fics. XX

warnings: reader touches herself, porn mentions, vibrator mention, phone sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, mentions of heeseung with other girls, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“You sure you don’t want to go out with us?”

Your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down any simmer irritation. They’re not to blame, but pestering you to go out to a bar and get drunk when all you want to do is go home, is making you even more irritated. They mean no harm and look at you with sorry eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell them. Luckily for you, they nod and accept your decline. “Thanks for the invite though.”

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

In typical twenty-something-year-old fashion, certain days feel longer than most. Today is no exception. It’s hard to navigate the woes of landing on your feet when you’re wrapped up in midterm projects and trying to have a social life without throwing yourself off balance. When the semester started, you were nothing other than a happy-go-lucky, fourth-year university student who was excited to finish college and take the first step towards “real life.” Unfortunately for you, your days would get tough before you’d see it to the finish line.

The ride back to your apartment isn’t long by any means but the traffic from your job at a convenience store was met with rush hour. The bus took much longer than usual but you always anticipate that when you’re scheduled until 5pm. Everybody’s going home at the same time and even public transportation falls victim to the hustle and bustle of corporate life.

On your way home, you can’t help but linger on the inconveniences of the recent past. Midterms have snuck up on you like they do every year and no amount of studying into the night could ever prepare you for the stress that comes with obsessing over good grades for five separate classes. It kills you that no two tests weigh the same and preparing for projects feels like you’re signing a death sentence. You’ve barely seen your friends aside from in passing and haven’t had any time to take care of yourself and have fun.

It feels as though you’ve lost all motivation because school and work has sucked the energy right out of you. Even your best friend, Lee Heeseung, has started to soften up around you because he can tell how stressed you are. If anything, the amount of unread texts from him and your absence in his physical life is a telltale sign that school is kicking your ass, but he knows you always bounce back. You know you will too, but right now it feels like it’ll take too long to get there.

The first thing you do is take all of your clothes off and settle them in the dirty hamper and take a shower, cleaning off the grime from a long day outside of your bedroom. Your hair is clean and your skin feels silk to the touch when you step out and dry yourself. It takes a great deal of effort to follow through on your skincare routine and tidy up your room so that it doesn’t feel like an overwhelming mess the more you look at it. Today sucked. There’s no doubt about that.

Eventually, the clock turns into a late hour after you’ve had dinner and a sweet treat to make up for the awfully long and boring day you had. The week drains on you and you’re looking forward to the weekend because that means you don’t have to work. After settling in bed with the television on, you try your best to let your worries escape you and focus on what’s in front of you.

Whether the show is too boring or you’re too worked up, you don’t know. The TV is long forgotten as you aimlessly scroll through your phone and start pushing your thighs together and clench around absolutely nothing when you log into a Twitter account you don’t post on. It must be out of habit to act like this when you see the familiar username because it’s where you keep your porn stash for when you need to get off. There’s everything you could ever want–short videos, photos, and links to other websites that always gets you off. The long day has made you think about how you need at least a single win in order for this week to not completely suck. Bringing yourself to orgasm might be the way to do it.

You spread your legs underneath the covers and take a finger to tease up your slit that’s covered by your panties and hold your phone in your free hand, using your thumb to scroll past the plethora of videos that turn you on. It’s all about finding the right one, and seeing big dicks and wet pussies makes you worked up. You start to forget about the week and consider that a good start.

Moving your finger against your covered pussy always makes you wet. You imagine it’s someone else teasing you the way you like it and pretend you don’t need to move a muscle to get off. Swiping the tips of your fingers back and forth makes you soak through the pathetic fabric anyway, and the excitement of your arousal makes you gush right onto your panties.

You scroll through them one by one and pull your panties to the side to feel just how wet you’ve become and moan quietly as the feeling of your slicked up walls. Pushing a finger inside, the welcomed sensation is exactly what you needed after a hard week. You add two, then three, and pump them in and out of you with your legs bent towards your chest. It should be an easy orgasm.

Except, it isn’t. Three of your own fingers isn’t enough.

At this rate, you don’t know how long you’ve been rutting your hips but what you do know is that you can’t seem to get yourself off with just your fingers. Pulling them out makes you wince at the loss and you force yourself off of your bed to find your trusty vibrator that has always served you when you need to get off quickly. You dig for it in the depths of your drawers but, to your dismay, the device is uncharged. You’re far too worked up to wait for it to become usable. You crawl into your bed again and angrily look through your phone at the porn in your bookmarks and try to get yourself back to that state of euphoria when you started touching yourself, but knowing too much is bothering you is preventing you from letting go.

Your room echoes as you groan in frustration when your eyes land on a photo on your desk. It’s a picture of you and Heeseung that Jay took when the three of you hung out together after you first moved into this apartment. The two of them helped move boxes and furniture, and you rewarded them with a free meal from the noodle shop across the street. Heeseung sits next to you with his thighs pressed against yours because of the small table but neither of you really cared.

That’s the thing, though. Heeseung isn’t shy about physical touch with you or anyone else. He’s the kind of guy girls feel comfortable around with just a few words spoken and you’ve always envied the way Heeseung can talk his way through anything. People love him, girls want to fuck him, and guys want to be like him. There’s a part of you that wishes you could exude the same aura that your best friend does but, unlike him, you cower at any chance of interaction and can’t seem to get anyone to be interested in you the way you’re interested in them. Heeseung has heard your fair share of love debacles whereas it seems like romance is presented to him with the snap of a finger.

It isn’t that you haven’t had experiences with sex and dating, but they haven’t been worthwhile. So far, nobody has been memorable enough to keep in your backpocket for days like this, when you need a hot and erotic memory to come in an instant. It feels impossible to find guys who know what they’re doing when a woman is presented in front of them. Guys are so lucky because it takes next to nothing to get them hard and get them off.

And like, your best friend has had his fair share of hookup stories that leave you wetter than a goddamn fountain. He’s not shy about skimping the details because he’s seen you cry snot since kindergarten and you’ve seen him eat shit on bicycles since elementary school. Sex isn’t off the table. You just don’t have anything to contribute and he doesn’t judge you for it. You aren’t really keen on telling him about all of the bad experiences you’ve had when he talks about how mind blowing sex for him is. Part of you is envious that your best friend has never had one bad day of sex in his life. Allegedly.

Still, this frustration bubbles up and there’s nothing you can do to quell the way you feel. Perhaps it’s a mix of general life stress and the events leading up to this very moment. The entire day felt like a test to your patience as minor inconveniences piled up on top of one another before your breaking point. You thought your vibrator sitting uncharged was your last straw but it seems like your mind isn’t clear enough to focus on getting off. You recall a few unread text messages from Heeseung and open your shared text thread with him and watch all of the funny TikTok videos and tweets he sends you. You’re missing him right now.

Heeseung answers after one ring.

“Back from the dead, I see. What’s up?”

You huff. “Nothing.” You hear him laughing from the other line. The faint sound of his keyboard clicking echoes in your ears.

“Can’t be nothing. You always call me when you need to tell me something.”

“Not true.”

“Y/N, you and I both know you prefer to talk on the phone when you have something important you need to say so neither of us ends up sending long voice memos.” Okay, he’s got you there. “So begs the question: What’s up?”

“Well I called you because I’m bored. Happy?”

Heeseung laughs again. You’re sure he can hear your disdain. “It’s a good thing I know how to deal with your attitude, huh? Since you’re bored, I’ll have you know you’re calling me while I’m playing with the guys.”

“What, no girl to hook up with?”

“Not tonight, princess.”

“How sad.”

“If you must know why, I had a pretty long day at work but I’m fine now. Jake’s ass keeps dying so that’s pretty funny.” You don’t say anything, not right away. Not when you realize you called him in a haste and that you’re naked except for a tank stop and dainty white socks. The realization makes your cheeks heat up as you think about it, even though Heeseung can’t see what you’re wearing. “You good? You’re unusually quiet, especially when you give me attitude.” That makes you roll your eyes.

“You know, it’s unfair that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick.”

“Where’s this coming from? You don’t really talk about sex. Is everything alright?”

“It’s unfair!” He hears you groan in frustration. You’re somewhat annoyed he’s still typing away on his gaming keyboard.

“Y/N…Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”

That question alone seems to ease your mind a little as your irritation bubbles over the surface. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried. You tell Heeseung everything, good and bad, and he won’t relent until he knows you’re okay. But even this is treading into new territory. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed just how attractive your best friend has gotten since you met him for the first time as kids, but it’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged it while talking to him.

“I can’t get myself off.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t hear the sound of his keyboard anymore.

“What?”

“Heeseung…”

“No, say it again.”

Suddenly, you’re starting to regret calling him to complain about something like this. You feel like you might as well be diving into the depths of your secrets.

“I can’t get myself off.” He hears you whisper it into the phone.

“Did I hear you correct? You can’t get yourself off?” Heeseung curses under his breath and his hands have stopped typing on his keyboard completely. Frustration pushes tears to the rim of your eyes.

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers like you’re about to choke a sob. “I just want to cum, Heeseung.”

You don’t see it, but he disconnects his video game connection without consulting his friends. He sits back in his seat and brings the phone off speaker mode and pushes it to his ear. “Y/N…Have you been touching yourself?”

“Yes. I don’t know why but I’m in this mental block and I can’t focus on anything. Nothing is helping.”

He chokes. “What do you mean?”

“My vibrator is dead and I’ve been using three fingers but it’s not helping!”

Heeseung sits quietly on the other line. “Are you touching yourself now?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it for an hour and I can’t finish.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You must be so wet.”

“Not anymore.” You say it through your teeth, too upset that your high has ebbed away.

“You should start touching yourself again.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Touch yourself and make your pussy all wet.” It’s concerning how much you like hearing your best friend talk to you like this. But you do, putting your phone on speaker and putting it on the mattress beneath you with your hand caressing your pussy. You don’t know if it’s you, Heeseung, or the notion that you’re crossing a bridge, but your spine starts to tingle. Your touch is as light as a feather.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yeah,” you admit.

“How does it feel?”

“Really good…”

“How good?”

“Feels like someone else is touching me,” you tell Heeseung. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s someone else.”

“It’s not enough, is it?”

“No, Hee. I just…I’m so frustrated.”

“Yeah, baby?” He’ll address that nickname later. “Why are you frustrated?”

“School and work are stressing me out and nobody in my group projects lifts a finger. I feel so alone in this.”

“But you aren’t alone. You have me, remember?” You get wetter the more he talks. It feels wrong to be turned on by Heeseung’s voice but you can't help it. He’s talking to you like he hears the way your voice quivers and how badly you need somebody to take away all of your pain, and perhaps you feel comforted because you know Heesueng will do just that and always had. Your fingers rub your wetness around your bare mound the more you think about it, pushing aside any guilt or awkwardness you initially felt.

“When have I ever not been there for you? Never, baby. Including this.”

“This?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Helping you cum.”

“Hee, don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s true. Best friends help each other cum.”

“How are you gonna help me do that?”

It’s silent on the other line for a long pause and your heart starts to sink when you think you might’ve crossed a line. Is he uncomfortable? Does he want to hang up and forget about this? Will he ever look at you the same way after tonight?

“Keep touching yourself. I’m coming over.”

Your eyes widen. “N-Now?”

“Yes, now. I live five minutes from you. I’ll be over soon.”

The thought of Heeseung coming over makes you impossibly wet. It’s been so long since you’ve let anybody touch you the way you’d like after failed hook ups that left you unsatisfied. Your bedroom suddenly feels warmer and your arousal keeps your fingers slick the more you rub against your pussy. It makes your toes clench and you’re starting to get excited again.

“Please hurry, Hee. My fingers are starting to get sore.”

“I’ll be there in two. Don’t hang up.”

“F-Fuck,” you whimper silently. Heeseung’s phone picks up your moan and you hear him let out a low groan when he turns his engine on.

“You have the sexiest moans. I wanna hear them while you get yourself off, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You rub your pussy faster. “Yes, Hee. Fuck, I’m so wet. This feels so good.”

“Be a good baby and play with your clit a little for me, hm? Get her all nice and prepped.”

You do as he says, moving the pads of your fingers in circular motions around your engorged nub when he tells you. Your eyes close shut when that jolt of pleasure makes your body jerk and arch off of the bed and that loud sound emitting from the back of your throat makes Heeseung hum in approval.

“Juuust like that. Fuck, you sounds even better than I imagined. You’re a vocal one, huh?”

“Only when it feels really good.”

“Yeah? Do you feel really good?”

You lick your lips. “It would feel better if you were here.” Heeseung laughs.

“I’m here and I’ve got your spare key. Keep fucking yourself for me.”

The call ends there. You hear the door opening and part of you considers using your blanket to cover yourself up because in all of the years you’ve been friends with Heeseung, he has never seen you this indecent. It feels a bit humiliating to know your best friend will find you with your fingers rubbing against yourself while your hips chase that delicious pleasure but ultimately, you can’t find it in yourself to care too deeply about that.

Heeseung’s footsteps alert you to his presence and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him standing in the threshold of your bedroom after he’s opened your doorknob. His black hair covers his eyes as he catches his breath, and it looks like he ran up the two floors just to get to your apartment quicker than an elevator could take him. He’s hesitant when he walks inside until his eyes lock with yours. Your next moan comes from deep within your chest and Heeseung wastes absolutely no time.

He lands on his knees and pulls your body towards the edge of the bed. Your scent invades his olfactory senses as he looks down below you, pushing your feeble hand away to admire the mess you’ve made of yourself. It should feel embarrassing to have your best friend look at you like this, but it doesn’t. Your heart beats faster the more Heeseung’s eyes scan your wet pussy and before you know it, his mouth latches onto you.

The feeling of someone’s tongue shoved deep within you is a feeling you haven’t experienced in a long time. Heeseung kneads your thighs with his hands as he keeps you in place and the pace he sets makes your body feel like it might as well be up in space.

You hear stories all the time about Heeseung hooking up with other girls whether it be from himself or others. Girls love to pretend to be your friend to get close to him and love to talk about these kinds of things with you because they assume you’re getting in on the action too, only to leave the conversation perplexed when you tell them you and Heeseung have never gotten involved like that. But now, with every bit of information about how he slurps pussy like he needs it to live, you’re starting to wonder why you never asked him to do this before tonight.

“Tasty,” he mutters after a beat of silence. Your hand comes to grip his hair for stability when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks on it while rubbing his tongue against your pleasure point. “How come you never told me you taste so good?”

“You never asked.”

He laughs against your pussy. “Still got some attitude, huh?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” He looks up at you like he’s weighing a challenge.

“If you were any other girl, I’d pull out every time you’re about to cum. I’d have you begging for that shit. If you were somebody else, I’d stuff your mouth with my cock until you learn how to obey.” He licks up your pussy once more before adding two of his fingers inside, moaning at your smooth and wet walls as he pumps them inside of you. “But you’re my best friend and you’ve had a hard week. I’m gonna make you cum.”

If a thousand suns exploding feels like Heeseung’s tongue and fingers working in tandem with each other, then this is a feeling you never want to forget. They work separately but it feels like he’s pushing you closer and closer to the finish line the more he pays attention to your clit and g-spot at the same time, pressing on that little button the more you whine and aimlessly beg for him to let you cum. You can barely register your own voice moaning because the pressure is too much against your ears. Heeseung’s fingers plunge in and out of you at a pace that is somewhere between gentle and brutal, giving you enough force to take your mind off of the stress from the week to focus on your pussy being pleasured.

You screw your eyes shut when you can feel that coil unraveling. Heeseung seems to notice that too because of the string of moans you let out when he pushes his fingers against your sweet spot. His mouth licks and licks as his hand pushes your wetness right against his tongue and it doesn’t take very long for him to taste your cum.

Heeseung’s head disappears between your legs and he’s barely able to move his hand because of how tight your thighs are against his ears. He’s always loved your thighs and legs, and loves them even more now that he knows what it feels like when you suffocate him as he licks up your delicious cum. You ease up on him when he pries them away to free his hand from the uncomfortable position and uses both hands to keep your legs apart as he licks up the remnants of your cum and helps you ride out your orgasm until your chest falls against the mattress.

He wipes the back of his hands before giving your slit a gentle kiss. “You’re so sexy when you cum.”

“I can’t believe I let you do that.”

“Why?”

You watch him crawl up your body between your spread legs. “Because…”

“Because?”

“You’re my best friend and we’ve seen each other through everything. Don’t you think this is a little, I don’t know, weird?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head and dips below to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not weird. In fact, I’d argue we should do this more often.”

You frown. “I don’t intend to be somebody you keep on a roster, Lee. You can keep that shit to yourself, but thank you for helping me cum.” Heeseung laughs against your mouth until you feel his lips ghost right over yours.

“There won’t be other girls involved if we fuck, Y/N. I’m not heartless like that. Everybody else knows I’m in it for sex and nothing else, but it’s like you said. You’re my best friend. I won’t make you feel like you’re just somebody I can hit up.”

“So this would be like…friends with benefits?”

“We can work out the semantics later.” He lets his lips touch yours and when you don’t object, Heeseung opens your mouth with his own and you taste the saltiness of your cum on his lips. You clench around nothing when you hear your mouths smacking together in the quiet of your bedroom.

It feels…good. It doesn’t feel out of place, even though this is the first time you’ve kissed Heeseung. You haven’t thought about it much either, but somehow his lips fit perfectly in yours and his soft hands holding your body in his adds to your arousal. You feel safe with him at this moment and it’s the first time you’ve ever had sex with somebody who hasn’t made you feel like an afterthought. Your mind feels a bit foggy but you know you like this feeling and don’t want him to stop. Still, you have your worries.

“This won’t be weird, will it?”

“No, baby. In fact, all you had to do was ask me to drop the other girls and I would’ve.” You roll your eyes.

“Sounds like you’re in love with me, or something.”

Heeseung pulls away and smiles down at you. “Yeah. Or something.” You ignore the way your heart flutters and realize his bulge is poking your bare pussy.

“You’re hard.”

“So you’ve noticed.”

You pinch his bicep. “You get hard eating pussy?”

“Well yeah because it’s pussy, but it’s also you.” You start to talk but Heeseung silences you with a kiss. “Are you satisfied now that I’ve made you cum?”

His vulgar words make you shy underneath his gaze all of a sudden. It’s a new feeling and you’re not quite sure how to navigate it, especially with the way he’s staring down at you with a raised eyebrow. Heeseung is still your best friend who gives you shit for everything. You suppose you’re grateful that he’s not changing who he is just because he knows what you look like naked.

“You know what? Actually, I don’t think I’m satisfied.”

Heeseung grins wickedly and pulls his body off of your chest to take his shirt off, his chiseled muscles on display for you to look at. He grabs your hand and places it on his abdomen. “Oh yeah? What else can I do for you, princess?”

You take your fingernails on his skin and feel his abs move beneath you. “I think I need you inside me too.”

“Were my mouth and fingers not enough?” You shake your head. Heeseung tuts as he gets off of the bed to step out of his pants and boxers, revealing a long and thick cock you’ve only ever heard about. It’s dripping with precum and you can’t stop your pussy from clenching or your mouth from drooling.

You watch him get back on the bed one knee at a time before he’s hovering over you again, pulling your body to the position he wants as your legs spread before him. He looks down at his cock and tugs on it twice before letting his tip rest against your clit.

“Need some of my cock?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Who knew my best friend has such a tight pussy. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with other girls in the first place.” You seem to like hearing that. He brings his fingers to push the head of his cock inside of you before sinking halfway in, allowing you to adjust to his size as you squeeze him. “Oh yeah, honey. This pussy’s gonna make me cum hard, I already know that.”

Heeseung holds your legs open and pushes his hips into you slowly. The drag feels so good with how warm he’s made you and you can feel him throbbing with every pass. You hold onto your breasts for stability, which seems to turn him on even more because he’s pushing your legs towards your chest and pushing into you with all of his might.

You’re able to see him from where you lie. His eyebrows concentrate as he squeezes his eyes shut and sweat lines his forehead the more he thrusts inside of you. He sits up on his knees to angle his dick inside of you better and moans when you let out a strangled groan. The clench is so tight and amazing, and Heeseung can’t fathom why he’s never fucked you before tonight.

“Sexy pussy,” he grunts, looking down at your abused hole as he thrusts into it. He brings his thumb to your clit and you yelp when he starts to rub it. “So wet and fuckable.”

“Fuck me,” you manage to choke.

And truthfully, you like Heeseung plowing into you at the pace he’s set. He’s not too fast but not too slow and you can feel him hit your cervix every single time. It’s no wonder girls were always lining up to have sex with him. Heeseung knows what he’s doing with his dick and you’re finding that out now.

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod pathetically. “Please fuck me.”

“How hard?” You bite your lip and shake your head at the humiliation of begging for him but Heeseung tuts and smacks your clit with his hand. “I said, how hard?”

“So hard that I feel you in my stomach!”

“Atta girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Heeseung slips out of you and pulls you up on your hands and knees, beckoning your back in a deep arch. He plants both of his feet on the mattress and bends until he’s sinking his cock back down inside of your pussy, letting your mixed wetness coat him again.

He thrusts himself as his mouth hangs open. Heeseung grips your waist with both hands and squeezes you hard to balance himself as he throws his head back at the phenomenal sensation of your walls pulling him in every time he tries to pull out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel his balls against you and clutch into your bedsheets.

“Your balls are slapping against my pussy and it feels really good,” you manage to get out without stuttering. Heeseung feels you clench around him again and emphasizes his thrusts until the sound of his balls makes your ears vibrate.

“Feels good when it hits your clit, doesn’t it?”

“So good, fuck!”

Heeseung speeds his thrusts and relishes in your string of moans the more his tip nudges your g-spot. “Can you cum, baby? Cum around my cock like I know you want to. You’ve earned it after this week. Cum for me. Won’t you let me feel that?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, Hee! I’m fucking cumming!”

“Yeahhh. Oh your cum is so good. Doing so well, making your pussy creamy all over me like that. Cum for me.”

And it feels so good that you follow his command. The orgasm Heeseung’s cock brings you feels like a physical manifestation of letting go of your worries and enjoying the present moment. Despite your legs and pussy aching, this feels an awful lot like freedom because your own mind isn’t caged by the inability to get yourself off.

You don’t think, you can’t think. You’ve reached a point of nirvana that’s made your mind completely blank with the exception of your orgasm and the feeling of your best friend fucking right inside of you. His cock, so hard and warm, somehow feels so perfect lodged inside of you.

Heeseung cock twitches and you feel it the more he pounds into you. He looks down and moans at the sight of his cock becoming white with your cum with every pointed thrust and doesn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself to the point of being able to forget about everything except the person he’s with. Sex with other girls is incredible but there comes a point where he realizes that they’re using him just as much as he’s using them. But you, his best friend since he can remember, give him some kind of peace that he’s never felt before. This is more than just a quick fuck, even if neither of you address it.

“Your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he moans through a choked grunt. “You feel so good baby, fuck.”

Heeseung pulls out of your hole just enough to rest his tip against you. His warm cum floods against your folds and your body jerks at the way he twitches against you, but his hands keep hold of your hips to place you exactly where he wants you. He looks down to watch his cum spill from his slit and paint your pussy like the artwork that it is.

When he’s finished cumming, Heeseung leans back against his knees to spread you apart by gripping your asscheeks. “Would you look at that?”

“Stop looking…”

He chuckles. “Why, baby? Your pussy’s so pretty with my cum on it.”

You look back at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods at you before pulling away to scour your room until he finds a box of tissues on your nightstand and grabs a few to clean you up to the best of his ability before cleaning himself up too.

Overcome with a wave of tiredness, your body feels much more relaxed once you’ve slipped underneath the covers as Heeseung throws away the dirty tissues. He turns around when he hears the blankets ruffling and resists the urge to coo at you when you’ve tucked it underneath your chin.

“Looks like you needed one good fuck to relax, hm?”

You blush. “Shut up.”

“No can do, Y/N.”

“I…”

Heeseung leans down towards you and tilts his head. “You what?”

You avert his gaze. “I liked it when you called me baby.”

“Yeah?” He pushes some of your hair back as you yawn. “I can do that.”

“Are you gonna go home?”

“Not if you let me stay the night.” You don't have it in you to talk back to him after all he’s done for you. Instead, you open the covers as Heeseung puts his boxers back on and watch him smile before climbing in next to you. “Come here.” He tucks your body on his chest and you’re too tired to argue with him.

His heartbeat puts you to sleep.

tagging: @zara2318 @markmato @heechwe @horijiro @ggumjilgeong-yjn @porunarefuu @leov3rse. :)

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enha smut #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enha hard hours #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung #tasty

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excusemyobsessions · 4 months ago

Text

I missed you.

Sylus x MC/You/Reader

Genre: One shot, Fluff, Comfort, Gender neutral Word count: 1190 words

Little note: I was requested to write a scenario in which you haven't seen Sylus for a while and he's all cuddly because he missed you. I hope this teeth-rotting fluff will make up for the angst I posted last time! 🙏🏻

Warning: use of pet names (kitten, sweetie), teeth-rotting fluff, manhandling?

Also posted on AO3.

It had been quite the week. Work had been kicking your ass and you were exhausted.

You hadn't even been able to see Sylus all week. Yes, you texted and called but he was really busy and so were you. You weren't sure you'd be able to see him during your off time either.

A long sigh escaped you when you checked your phone for the hundredth time for a reply that wasn't there.

‘Will I be able to see you soon?’, you'd asked.

The text was marked as read.

You set down your phone and dragged yourself off to the living room.

You were pouting by then, emotions heightened by exhaustion. Plopping down on the couch, you didn't even turn on the TV, just sitting there, arms crossed under your chest, sulking away the time.

You missed Sylus; you missed that confident smirk of his and his sharp eyes. You missed his deep voice and the bite of his words.

You felt like a child, throwing a tantrum, just sitting there, staring off into nothing. But there was no one there to see.

“He's not even here,” you grumbled to yourself.

Finally, you grabbed the remote and then the blanket draped over the back of the couch, tossing it over your legs.

The plan was simple; sulk away the night while watching one of your comfort movies. Hopefully you’d fall asleep soon so you wouldn’t have to miss him like you did.

You’d barely chosen the movie when you heard someone knock on your door. One of your eyebrows lifted, half annoyed, half intrigued, and you stood up to open the door.

Sylus stood there in the hallway, a black wool coat draped over his shoulders, the first few buttons of his also black sateen shirt undone, revealing his sharp collarbone. Rich crimson gaze lifted up to meet yours when you opened the door and he smirked. One of his hands rested on the door frame and slightly leaned over as he was, his tall frame loomed over you. His white hair was messy, windswept.

“Sylus?” you yipped, surprised.

“Hmm, hello, sweetie,” he purred.

He lunged forward, making you walk backwards a few steps as he stepped into your apartment, shutting the door behind him. Long arms engulfed your frame instantly, even before it clicked shut. You were wrapped up in his warmth and the scent of his expensive perfume.

Craving his presence as you had been, you buried your nose against his collarbone and nuzzled into him. Your hands coiled into the fabric of his shirt.

“You never answered my text,” you mumbled against his skin.

Your tone was accusatory as he had indeed left you sulking by yourself. However, you made no motion to pull away.

“I did answer it. I told you I was on my way,” he answered.

His hand found its way into your hair, fingers sprawled out against your scalp, holding you against him.

Did he?

Now you were embarrassed.

“I never saw it,” you admitted, hiding your face in his neck.

Slowly, gently, he guided the two of you to the couch.

In one quick motion, he leaned down, hooked one arm behind your knees and scooped you up. Soon enough you were placed on his lap after he sat down on the couch. He spread his legs a little and you fell in the space in between them.

You saw his scrutinizing gaze sweep across the TV and the bunched up blanket before it landed on you.

There was mirth in his eyes.

“Were you sulking here all by yourself?”

Sometimes, you hated how he could read you just like an open book all the damn time.

“No…” you lied, averting your gaze.

He chuckled, low and mellow.

“Come here, kitten, there’s no need for sulking anymore.”

He draped the blanket over the both of you and wrapped you up in his arms, caged against his large chest. He hadn't even removed his coat, it was still barely hanging off his shoulders.

You dipped your head down and nuzzled his neck, feeling his chest rise and fall with a long sigh. When you slipped one hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder, you felt the tension in his muscles fade, his long legs stretching out. It was as if he'd been coiled up the whole time he was without you and he was finally, finally relaxing.

You pressed a kiss to his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your lips. His grip around you tightened comfortably and he responded by planting a kiss on your hairline.

Slowly, you peeled yourself away from his neck and sat up straight so you could see his face. His features were calm, his gaze tender, and he watched you with a small smile.

You lifted your hands to cradle his jaw between them, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. Sylus leaned into your touch and let his face rest on the palms of your hands, turning just a little to plant a kiss over your love line.

Still holding his face with one hand, you allowed the other to move further up, gently pushing a few strands of white hair away from his eye. His eyelids fluttered shut.

You couldn't help but smile.

“You're really cuddly today,” you noted, running your fingers through his hair. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Even if you were, I wouldn't let you go,” he answered instantly, giving your waist a little demonstrative squeeze.

You giggled and leaned closer to press a kiss to his forehead. He hummed his appreciation.

As you continued running your fingers through his hair, you felt his long fingers slip into the hem of your shirt and sprawl themselves out against your back. His skin was warm and his digits calloused. His gentle touch was tender, full of love which was spread over the extent of your whole back as he explored your skin further.

You kissed the tip of his nose and then the bridge.

“It's been far too long, kitten. I missed you,” he told you in hushed tones.

He opened his eyes then, to gaze into yours and there was no place you'd rather be than right there, lost in that ruby ocean.

You cupped his face between your hands and rested your forehead against his.

“I missed you too,” you confessed in a whisper.

You could see how his eyes shone with a smile. Your own lips curved in a reflective smile.

His eyelids fell over his eyes and his mouth found yours. The kiss was slow, gentle, dragged out as if you were reminding each other of what you tasted like, what you felt like. As if you could ever forget.

Your heart beat steadily in your chest, beaming in comfort, wrapped up in the security his hold offered.

“Will you stay tonight?” you asked against his lips.

“Unless you throw me out the door, I don't plan on leaving your side for the next two days,” he responded, stealing another kiss from your mouth.

You had no plan to kick him out either.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace x reader #sylus comfort #sylus fluff #lads #sylus #lnds #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #request #excusemyobsessions

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whore-ibly-hot · 1 year ago

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Yandere Boarding school thoughts... (Gender Neutral)

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Multiple yanderes, non-con touching, dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, bullying, masturbation, aphrodisiacs, general perversion, dry-humping, voyeurism, controlling behaviors, typical yandere stuff, breeding, drug usage, horny posting.

(AN: I have rizz-en from my grave to be horny once more. All of these guys are avaliable for requests, but will be listed under the materlist simply as Yan!Boarding School.)

Background: Thinking about a Headmasters child!Reader at a private boarding school. For a Fem!Reader, perhaps you're just visiting daddy for the season while he's running the school, or maybe you've been bad, and need more supervision. For a Masc!Reader, it could be the same case, however, with Blackmoore Academy being an all male school, this opens up the availability for reader to be attending.

Student scenarios and profiles:

◇ Harrison Spence, star member of the swim steam, basketball player, and golden boy. Despite jock stereotypes, he's respectful and mature. He always looks out for others, and this lends to why your father suggests rooming with him. Plus... if anything were to happen, your father wouldn't hate to have him as a son in law. He's SOOO friendly when he meets you. Those big strong arms are perfectly suited to lug your bags upstairs to his room. Want help putting stuff away, sure! For a Fem!Reader, he's not suprised how awkward he is when he's unzipping your suitcase, only to be met with some thin lacy garments. He just coughs and backs off. For a Masc!Reader, he wears boxers too! So why does he still feel so hot. He should open a window.

He'll make sure you fit in around campus, mostly steering you in the direction of the athletics department. He'd love to see you at some of his games, cheering him on. You seem so nice, he could really seem himself with you long term, the more he thinks about crushing on you. Besides, you already share a living space. He feels awful about how his body reacts anytime you're too close. You left a jacket behind that smells just like you? He tries not to think about the consequences of fisting his cock into it. Late night out at one of his games? Who cares if you share a dorm and your bed is literally six feet away, it's too far of a walk. Slide into his bed, he's a gentleman. At least until he wakes up the next morning, mind foggy as he instinctively moves his cock up over the waist band, putting a leaky tip against your ass as he resists the urge to press his head into your neck, opting for a pillow instead. He's so, so sorry, but he's gott a deal with it, and you just feel so good. He rationalizes it by saying he's not just some horned up guy, no. You're his roommate, HIS. And what would the Headmasters think! No, he wants a future with you, romance, not just a warm hole to rut...

"Hey, roomie! Listen, practice is running kinda late tonight, so I'm gonna grab food on the way back. Why don't you text me your order, I can bring it back. We can make a whole thing out of it, no need to pay me back! I'm thinking burgers?"

◇ Carter Matthews, student body president, scholar, and in every AP class possible. Even some dumb ones. He doesn't pay much mind to you, you ate very attractive but so is he. If he felt the need for a relationship, he could get whomever he wanted. But he hates... hates how you make the other students, even some of the faculty act. He can't help but follow you around, making sure you obey curfew, and don't get into any trouble. He likes to keep order around here, and it bothers him to have to ignore his student body presidential duties to make sure some delinquent isn't trying to slip you a spiked drink, or some jock has you under the bleachers trying to get your mouth wrapped around their tips.

Eventually, he decides you could be helpful instead of a hinderance. He's busy, may need a form of stress relief, and given babysitting you when Harrison isn't around is one of the main sources of that stress, why shouldn't you help him out. Besides, you look so cute flustered. Maybe it starts small, he tells you your uniform bottoms aren't regulation, and while he tugs them down to 'fix' them, his hands wander a bit too much, grazing the soft skin of your ass. During random room inspections, he may let his hatred of the sports program taking up all the funding by mentioning how obvious it is your roommate wants to stick it in you. Harrison can't stand him, not trusting the cold creepy gaze of the prefect. He'll force you to come to student council meetings, under the guise of assisting him with preparing for a faculty dinner to appease your father, only to get you under his desk while he writes, trying to guide you with one stern hand. He doesn't like to go too deep, not one to enjoy gagging or unnecessary sound that would distract him from working.

"Keep it down." He scolds, cold eyes peering down through blonde bangs. With a sigh, his free hand strokes your cheek. "Just suckle, alright? There'll be plenty of time after I'm done for you to make sweet noises around my cock..."

◇ Evan Reed, CAPTAIN of the swim team, and student assistant PE coach. He's used to play basketball alongside Harrison, but got kicked out for being too violent. Shoving, pushing, and going as far as knocking teeth out. He's a fucking animal. He's handsome, of not a bit of a loner. He isn't popular or unpopular, people tend to leave him alone because of that bad boy attitude and his temper, but he's always welcome to party with the jocks, welcomed into parties and known as a keg-stand king. And boy do you catch his eyes, giving that your always hanging off Harrison, or being trailed by Carter. He's more than happy to accompany you to the pool or help you out in gym class, but it's obvious what he wants. He'll get up behind you in the pool, still smelling of cigarettes as he asks mundane questions while trying to pull your swimsuit to the side and get his hands on that sweet spot between your thighs. Or maybe he'll sit on the edge of the pool, congratulate you on how good your doing, legs spread as he pulls you between them, hoping you'll end up accidentally eyeing his cock. If you are a Masc!Reader, then there's definitely some internalized homophbia. He'll make sure you know these are just normal friend activities, even when he's got you bent over in the boys locker room, ass up. He doesn't EVER plan to be the one on the bottom.

He's a player, chasing tail outside of the school, hitting on peers sisters and mom's alike. But now, he plans to keep you around, not because he necessarily feels like he wants a romantic relationship with you, but because he loooooves how pissed it makes Harrison. He never liked the goody two-shoes, and half suspects he's one of the people who pushed to get him kicked out of basketball. He likes to pick on people, but Harrison sees himself as a knight in shining armor. So it gives Evan a major power boner to make you grind up against him on the dancefloor at some preppy party, while Harrison just has to stand by and not crush his beer can. Evan knows harrison will never, ever do anything to ruin your good guy image of him. Ever.

He's pissed, punching a locker as he let's out a growl. 4-0, what the fuck is wrong with his team? How could they get fucked over so bad after weeks of missing parties for shitty practices. Luckily for him, he sees you on the sidelines, probably waiting for Harrison to walk you back to your dorm. He takes this opportunity to slide up behind you, hands on your hips as you can feel his angry erection rutting up against your ass. "You. Me. Locker room, five minutes, stall three. Be ready, underwear off and bent over or I'll take you in front of the guys who are still changing? Got it?" He departs with a harsh smack on your rear.

◇ Joseph Mick, he's in the newspaper, but it's not like he's the head or anything. He just love photography, and he's the only guy at school to have really mastered the dark room. He's known to be a little... odd. He's the youngest in you and Harrisons class, with a petite stature and thin, lanky arms. He's pale, almost gaunt, but that could be a lack of sunlight given that he spends all his time in the dark room or toiling over photo arrangement mock-ups in the journalism room. People avoid him, but he's okay with that. He's more than happy to just watch from a distance, and photography is his real branch to the world. People only talk to him or react positively if he's taking photos for the paper or the school newsletter. He actually meets you at one of Evan's swim meets, he gets good seats for being student press, and you get good seats for just being Evan's new favorite piece of ass. Your aren't even sure why you were invited, you don't even know anything about how one wins a swimming competition. But Joseph does. He's been to enough of these, and you notice, so you lean over and start asking him questions. He's shocked someone is talking to him, and not about getting a bigger feature in the yearbook. He's more than happy to help point stuff out to you, even if he had to repeat himself or stutter his way through something. He's feeling his heart flutter and his hands shake so much so he can barely hold the camera. Soon, he's watching as you walk away, wishing he could grab onto you and hang you up on his wall to admire like one of his pictures. It's only made worse when he sees a pair of masculine arms dragging you into the boys locker room.

He's a stalker, but it's not his fault! For one, he's got no idea how to approach anyone, much less someone he likes as much as you. And since he's got that reputation as a creep, if he approached you in public, Harrison would be polite but firm at shooing him away, Carter would give him a look that makes him feel like a worm beneath his well polished shoes, and Evan would beat him to the brink of death, but then pass him over to his friends. But God, if he didn't think it was worth it sometimes to just be close to you. He can only get as close to you as his high-focus lens will allow. He's got hundreds of photos of you, some taken by him, some by campus security cams, and he treats each one like the piece that's gonna get him into a top art school. He almost feels bad taking risqué shots of you. He's always following you, and he sees the ways those... those pigs are treating you. If he could stand up to them, he would. He sees (from the cameras he's slipped into your bag) the boner Harrison is always sporting when he in your presence, he even caught a glance of Harrisons late night rendezvous with your pillow. He sees the way Carter leads you through the hallways like his little secretary, lithe fingers trying to get up your uniform bottoms. Worst of all is the way he sees Evan humping you in the pool like a dog in heat, with you obviously unsure about how you feel about this. He knows he'd treat you right, if you'd ever consider being with something like him. Notice he almost feels too bad to take risqué pictures. He can't help it if a picture or two from one of his hidden cams has a bit of an upskirt, or gets a little to zoomed in on your pecs. But know that as he drums humps the table in the dark room, those copies are only so he can keep one in his room and one on his person! He'd never, ever share your sexual exploits, not like Evan would, always bragging about what he does with, or more likely to you.

Being on the newspaper staff, he's got a pretty good idea of everyone's schedules. He's more than happy to try and squeak out some words to you if he knows your many admirers are preoccupied. Trust him, he knows A LOT of good spots to share a meal privately or maybe... maybe you'd like to see the dark room? He's even got a pillow in there, a cushion he can place on a soft stool in case you ever came to visit. He hopes he could get a private photoshoot in, maybe with some silly pictures of you, or even some lewd pics, he's just happy to see his collection expand. He doesn't have a lot of money, but he's more than happy to buy you as much cheap vending machine food as you want as long as you'll spend time with him.

"Oh, shi- hey! I didn't realize you'd be stopping by here. I'm just, uh, editing some photos for the paper." You don't notice as he slyly moves a tray of pics taken outside a dorm window that looks suspiciously like yours. He thanks whoever is out there in this moment that the dark room has a sink as he keeps his right hand out of sight.

◇ Tyler Mertz and Percy 'Pez' Goldberg, two outsiders, and self proclaimed 'dudes with bad tudes'. Put into the same headcanon spot because they aren't ever seen apart. Tyler and Pez got in on scholarship, and immediately bonded because they know they don't fit in among the rich kids at Ridgemoore. Tyler got in on a scholarship to pursue culinary excellence, because if he can do one thing, it's cook. Pez was awarded a scholarship by lottery two years ago, and even though he's barely passing most of his classes and is the biggest delinquent in school, he can't be kicked out. The school made too much of a big deal about his acceptance to create some good press, the faculty are planning to just wait the problem out. Repeating a year hasn't helped with that, though. Still, they are attached at the hip. Both struggle in classes, Pez because of a shitty social life and even shittier focus, and Tyler because he's just a little slow. Still, Tyler excels in cooking, and the faculty know he's trying. There's a few ways you might come across the pair. Maybe you decided to take culinary, and got paired up with a sweet, dopey guy who turns out to be a fucking MasterChef, or maybe your a brat!reader, like I mentioned earlier, and you meet Pez in detention, where he's glad to know the schools newest troublemaker is a looker too. Most likely, you come across them when either Evan makes you tag along to buy some weed and half-priced shitty beer for a post-game party, or Carter tells you he'll personally see to it that your father tethers you to him if he sees you talking to those 'deliquents'. Either way, they're probably some of the nicest guys in the school, even though Pez likes to fight. He's not a bad guy, but the school can't seem to recognize half of the shit he does is in retaliation to someone fucking with him or his friend.

Pez will like any kind of reader, any. If you're bratty!reader, he loves having someone to run around and bust shit up with. But he'll promise to leave the statue of your father alone, if that's what you want. If you're an innocent!reader, he can't deny he'd love to ruin that good guy/girl image you have going on. Smoke a little weed, sneak out a little, let him show you a good time. He promises he won't cross any lines or do something that would really scare or upset you. He's not a bad guy, he just wants to show you there's so much stuff out there to do. Unlike Joseph, he doesn't let the fact that others think he's a freak keep him from hanging with you. He wants them to see that you like him. HIM. He thinks your adorable no matter who you are, and frankly, snuggling up on the Headmasters kid is just another act of defiance he's happy to flaunt. Eventually, he might even open up to you about his shitty home life, and the fact he's only called Pez cause' when he's high that candy is all he wants to eat.

Tyler is a huge softie. He doesn't let the thing people say about him get to him, mostly because he's a bit dense in the moment to know he's being made fun of, but also because he's okay with being alone. He's happy with who he is, a nice guy. But, that doesn't mean he doesn't love his best buddy, or mind adding you to there little group. It's just one more mouth to feed in his eyes. He'll walk you to all your classes, slinging his big arms around you and keeping you close to his side. Unlike Pez, he grew up with a pretty loving family, and they're what he misses most about being away at boarding school. Most of the money he makes selling weed with Pez goes back to his family, but they don't really know how he makes it. He comes to see you and Pez as his new little family.

With these two, there will be lots of late nights with bad movies and pizza made from scratch. Being on some rundown couch squished between to large bodies, at least one set of arms wrapped around your waist. I think they both are pretty open about telling each other about the crush they have on you, given that they are best buds. These idiots probably got super high one night, and Tyler let slip that he, quote, 'thinks he wants to put a baby in you', to which Pez replies he'd like to put something along those lines in you too. It wouldn't be hard for them to both come to terms with wanting to share you, they share everything else. They just hope you'd want both of them, Pez and Tyler can't stand the thought of making things awkward by you only wanting one of them, so they both subtly try to transition you into the roll of being their partner.

Pez would be fucking fuming when he starts realizing the things boys at school are doing to you. Whether he witnesses it himself, or you come to him and Tyler seeking comfort, he'll pound the shit out of anyone who tries to touch you like that. If you like someone else, Pez wouldn't wail on them to eliminate a rival like Evan would, but rather he hands it over to Tyler. Tyler would come up with some rumors, maybe a reason the guy isn't right for you, and why would Tyler lie? He doesn't feel great about lying, but thinking about the things guys at this school do to you, fills the sweet chefs stomach with a bitter bile.

They wouldn't outright pressure you into sex, but rather try and find ways to coerce you into requesting or initiating it. Pez has some weed laced with something, nothing too strong, but it'll make even a nun feel a little frisky. He'll lay back or rub your thigh, hoping the weed will relax you enough to come out and say what you want. Maybe an aphrodisiac or two gets slipped into a warm drink Tyler made for you. It gets you feeling all hot, but don't worry, you can stay in their room overnight and wear their clothes, so they can... make sure you're not sick or anything.

"Hey," you can feel a pair of arms wrap around you from your spot at the library table. You look up and see Pez, with Tyler now playfully laying his head on the table beside you. "Heard that shithead Evan's got an away game, so it looks like your freed up after all to spend a little time with your favorite guys." His lips are dangerously close to your ear, making you squirm. "Yeah, man, we've got a bunch of movies n' shit from the store, and I'll even make your favorite. Stay the night, it's not like we've got anywhere to be tommorow, and my beds so cold..." Tyler teases playfully, eyes wide and feigning sadness.

All these boys make it difficult to get any alone time at Ridgemoor, but the men certainly don't make it easier... (Taboo part two with the faculty coming soon, because I'm horny for Dilfs and old men with questionable dynamics with reader.)

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere boy #tw.bullying #tw.noncon #yandere smut #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere headcanons #tw.dubcon #gender neutral reader #yandere oc x reader #drabble #yandere boarding school #x reader smut #yandere boarding school x reader #tw.breeding

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pedgito · 6 months ago

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𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | Joel finds the perfect way to keep you quiet while he showers you with compliments.

author's note | i saw a text post ages ago that i cannot find that inspired this. here's a vaguely disguised new years themed fic and some pwp to celebrate. not to get sappy on a blowjob fic but i'm very thankful for this community and the ideas that have been shared, love you all <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, established dynamic, idiots in love, shy!reader, joel being a quiet lover in public but loud in private, this is a deeply emotional blowjob y'all buckle in, unprotected piv.

word count — 2k

“Am I gonna have to shut you up just so I can tell you how pretty you are?” Joel snarks, only half-joking.

You hated compliments.

Joel loved giving them.

It was a slow work in progress, trying to feel comfortable with the showering of words, the outward affection Joel showed in private.

He appreciated that you weren’t big on public displays, enjoyed the idea of keeping you and this, all to himself.

But, he liked you—had for some time. It took months of courage before he could bring himself to admit it. It was after a long night of patrol, a grueling walk to your last stop. You had both collapsed in exhaustion on the dirtied couch in the lookout far west of Jackson, delirious with sleep when the words finally left his lips.

Even then, as he spoke, your hands found their way over your face, the heat of embarrassment prickling your skin as you shied away from him.

He’s learned to do it in subtle ways—a smile, longing looks, a touch, learning that love could be translated in many ways, not just words.

Besides, he wasn’t all that good at words anyways.

You decided to drag him back to your house after the annual New Year's celebration in Jackson—Tommy insisted that it was something to celebrate.

Another year of survival, another year without detrimental loss. Every day was something to cherish, but the party was a way to take a weight off of everyone’s shoulders.

You and Joel had never nailed down exactly what you were doing—just that you enjoyed it, you liked him, and he fancied you. He said it all the time, even now as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You are so old-fashioned,” You snorted softly, helping him strip the thick winter coat down his shoulders, torn on one sleeve still from a fight with another small group. You had promised to stitch it up. You were good on your promises, he knows you’d get to it eventually.

He separates from you briefly, placing it carefully over the barstool in your kitchen before he’s pushing you up against your couch, your ass pressing against the hard edge of the back, nearly tumbling as he presses his lips against yours again, your hands curving around the back of his neck as you kiss him back in earnest.

“Somethin’ wrong with that?” He teases, “I know an old man who’s real good at makin’ you scream.”

You giggle softly, “Hush,” You chastise him, allowing him to lead you blind until you both could land on the couch safely, straddling his lap as he worked at your jeans, fitting his hands underneath the denim and cotton of your underwear as he squeezed at your ass, cupping the flesh tight in his hands as you gasp, nudging your nose against his as you breath into his open mouth, “You and that mouth, I swear.”

Joel chuckles, eyes opening to yours closed, hiding your face away as you mouth at his neck, pressing gentle kisses into the skin as he squeezes at your ass harder, a moan slipping past your lips involuntarily.

“There she is,” He says with an air of wonder, like he’d just discovered something new, his overgrown curls tickling at your nose, “s’just me and you—don’t be shy.”

“I’m not—“ You argue, “you know I’m not.”

You widen your legs, grinding down against the growing length beneath the zipper of his jeans, leaning back as his eyes drag down your body, slipping his hands from your jeans to squeeze at your thighs, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth with your lazy rhythm.

“I know, baby,” Joel coos, “need me to fuck you? Don’t you?”

You nod fervently, “Please—Joel, please.”

Your lips part, perching forward to grip into the collar of his shirt as you lazy movements become more frantic, face contorting in pleasure as your tongue glides along your bottom lip, distinctly aware of Joel’s affectionate gaze.

“Fuck—never gonna get tired of that,” Joel speaks aloud, one hand rising to cradle your face as his thumb drags over you wet lip, “how pretty you look when you get needy—pretty all the damn time, but—“

You kiss him quick in an effort to silence him, his laughing blending into a groan as you bite down on his bottom lip, stripping your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before you’re reaching for his belt, loosening it while he licks into your mouth, the subtle taste of malt liquor on your breath.

It matched his own, sharing a drink with him earlier in the night as he hid away in the corner of the room, as he often did at parties, too eager to get his hands on you as he watched you work your magic, gracing your smile upon everyone that passed, keeping up small talk that Joel would rather not suffer through.

“Got a request,” He tells you, speaking against your lips as you hum in question, “how much d’ya want me to beg to get those lips around my cock?”

You giggle softly, wordlessly you move toward the floor, working against his jeans before he’s helping you shove them down far enough that he can scoop his balls into his hand, rolling them against his fingers as he wraps his other hand around his cock, pushing his thumb over the head as he guides it into your waiting mouth.

It was always a stretch, even like this.

You apply a gentle kiss before your lips spread, the faintest taste of precum at the tip of your tongue before you’re guiding your mouth down his cock, the salty taste of the velvet skin around him, a musky but sweet taste to the opaque liquid gathered at the slit.

“Perfect, fucking perfect,” He breathes, running his finger through your hair as he pushes it back, his other hand hovering nearby, curling into a tight fist as you press your nose into the thick patch of curls at the base, “shoulda stuffed this mouth sooner, seems to do the trick.”

You gag against his forceful movement, burying the head of his cock into your throat so far his teeth clenched, leaving you effectively silenced.

“S’that what it took, a mouthfulla’ cock and you won’t stop me from complimentin’ you for once?”

Beggars can’t be choosers, he’d take it.

And such a pleaser you were, you had a job to do.

Usually he revels in the feeling, subdued and quiet while he watches you work, skilled hands and an exquisite mouth to match, he’d hit the jackpot somehow.

“Come on, pretty girl,” He encourages, allowing you up for air for a brief moment as your spit slick mouth drools down his shaft, tears brimming your eyes, “fucking beautiful takin’ it all in like that—more?”

You nod, watching as he grips his shaft, tapping the mushroom shaped tip against your lips, teasing you as you slip your tongue along his shaft, guiding you back as you chase his movements.

“Work for it, baby,” He insists, “show me how bad you wan’ it.”

Impatience grows, you huff through your nose as you swat his hand away, wrapping your own hand around his cock instead, your mouth covering what your fingers couldn’t, your other hand cupping his balls, rubbing a single finger down the seam of his sack as you twirled your tongue around the dripping head, lapping up his cum at this slit.

“That’s right, lookin’ like a goddamn dream. Eyes on me, sweetheart,” He beckons, with you peeking through tear-stained eyes, silenced as your mouth is stuffed full of him.

Eventually, your tongue trails along the vein at the underside of his cock, reaching the seam of his sack before you’re rolling his balls along your tongue, sucking them between your lips with a wet noise that causes Joel to groan, his hand squeezing in your hair at the scalp.

“I would keep you like this for hours if you’d let me, wish you could see how fuckin’ amazing you look, gotta know how lucky I am to have you—I am, I’m so lucky, baby.”

In any other context, you would cry.

It scared you, hearing the admission. The love Joel felt so immensely, the love that terrified you—because when things get too serious, they always go south.

It was easier to keep things light—fun, simple. As much as you had found a home in Joel, nested in between his ribcage, around his heart—it was still constricting.

Physicality was easy to detach from.

Words, however, meant the world to you.

You couldn’t hear those words unless, in his heart, he truly meant them. Even then, it still terrified you. But, he had you now. Locked on his gaze, the words tumbling from his mouth like a dam finally breaking—you were done for.

“Stick your tongue out,” He orders gently, watching you move away to follow his order, rubbing the head of his cock over the wet, fleshy muscle, “always listenin’ so well, too,”

You feel the heat in your face return as you close your eyes to avoid his intense gaze, sucking him down eagerly as you shift from your haunches to your knees, hurrying your pace as he begins to fall apart, pathetic grunts of half pleasure and half plea filling the room.

Shamelessly, you swallowed him down again as he pressed against the back of your throat, holding yourself in place until he collapsed against the back of the couch, his hands tangled into your hair carelessly as you gagged, a distinct sound that brought Joel over the edge in an instant.

“Oh—oh, fuck. Darlin’, I fuckin’—“ His orgasm surges quickly to the surface, the warm of his cum spreading against your tongue as you swallow him down without hesitation, “God, I’m so in love with you,”

You can feel him shudder against your tongue, cock twitching as you remove him from your mouth, his chest releasing a sigh as he reaches blindly for your hand, silently begging you to come to him. You crawl slowly, careful as you position yourself over him again, his hand pushing your fallen hair away from your face as he pulls you in, breathing heavily into the lazy kiss he presses against your lips.

“Been tryin’ to tell you for so long,” Joel admits with a fond tone, “you’re always shuttin’ me down,”

“I’m sorry,” You admit softly, “S’just—words mean more to me than you think.”

“Oh baby—I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Joel assures, “I’m not throwin’ that shit around lightly. I mean it—every fuckin’ bit.”

You let the conversation fall silent, eyes scanning over his relaxed expression.

“Is that what it took, though?” Joel teases, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip, pressing against the plush skin, “Gotta shut you up with my cock to tell you all the nice things you deserve to hear?”

“It does help, doesn’t it?” You counter with amusement, his face cracking into a smile, the skin beside his eyes creasing with emotion as you laugh, his own mixing with yours.

“It does,” He agrees with a chuckle, pulling you forward gently to curl his hand around the back of your head and pull you into his chest, echoing a quieter, “It does.”

Still undressed at the waist, Joel nips at your skin, a tell-tale sign of his persistence.

“Slow down, cowboy,” You tease, “It’s almost midnight—can’t have you skippin’ out on our kiss.”

“Better yet, I can start it off inside ‘ya,” He bargains, a deal that seemed far too good to pass up.

Joel is eager in his attempts to get you undressed from the waist down, shrugging his shoes and jeans off completely before you straddle his lap, gripping his cock with a delicate hold, slipping it inside of you slowly, enjoying the contortion of Joel’s expression as your walls squeeze around him.

You can hear the muffled celebration off in the distance as Joel whispers something unintelligible into your skin, nudging your shirt up high enough with his nose until he can get his mouth on your skin, aiding the slow bounce of your hips with his hands as he pants, “I love you too,” You admit, “f’that wasn’t already clear.”

“Crystal, darlin’—but it is nice to hear.”

There was no rush for now, enjoying the sensation of each other’s bodies in a way that consumed you both, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as you spoke into his open mouth.

“Happy New Year,” You tell him, fighting through your own quiet giggle.

Joel nods in approval, humming, “S’right—Happy fuckin’ New Year.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #my writing

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ivaie · 3 months ago

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⊱ ─────────────────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────────────────── ⊰

LET YOU BREAK MY HEART AGAIN FWB!GOJO

Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie, and pretend that we are more than friends...

warnings/contents: angst if you squint, fluff, not proofread, smut, reader has beauty marks (not heavily implied), reader likes apple juice

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FWB!GOJO who would never deny any allegations being a couple. Whenever you're in a restaurant with FWB!GOJO, he has never corrected the waiter. Actually, he does the opposite. "And... an orange juice for your girlfriend?" You stare at the lady dumbfoundedly while FWB!GOJO grins, "My lovely 'girlfriend' here, prefers apple, isn't that right babe?"

FWB!GOJO who knows everything about your body, that oh-so-sweet spot inside you that just a slight curl of his fingers is enough to make you squirm. FWB!GOJO who remembers each and every single one of your beauty marks. He would leave trails of kisses on your birthmark, moles, and scars scattered around your body in places even you didn't know it existed.

FWB!GOJO who would always remind you that this "arrangement" is nothing serious. That you both are allowed to fuck around with other people, no feelings attached. But when he catches you— getting hit on by some douchebag (his words not mine), FWB!GOJO can't help but clench his fists and feel a little twinge of jealousy. He would never admit it though.

FWB!GOJO who fucks you like it was his last. "care to tell me who that was, sweetheart?" he delivers a harsh slap on your ass while you crumble underneath him. The way he was ramming into you in a mating press, folding you in half made you forget all about your so-called date. "Mphmm..! 'toru!" You could barely utter real words when he's balls deep inside you. FWB!GOJO drew circles around your clit vigorously, making you and him both release.

FWB!GOJO who always gives you mixed feelings. He brushes the strands of your hair covering your gorgeous face, leaving soft pecs on your forehead, travelling down to the edge of your jaw. But when you wake up the next morning and look over to your shoulder, the bed was empty. He had already left you alone in your apartment.

You couldn't help but eventually fall in love with FWB!GOJO. He's a natural charmer, of course. The way he would always comfort and hold you close during nights that felt so right. But it was clear as day that he didn't feel the same for you. And you knew that.

FWB!GOJO who scrolls on Insta, looking through your posts and stared at your beach highlights for way too long. Until he realized you removed him from your private story, no wait, you full-on unfollowed him.

FWB!GOJO who stares blankly at the "we should end this" text while standing right outside of your favorite pastry shop with a bouquet of tulips occupying his right hand and your his favorite treats on the left, with a letter snug between them.

FWB!GOJO who, crumples the silly letter, a letter that was carefully made for you, a letter that revealed his true feelings for you.

part 2?

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⊱ ─────────────────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────────────────── ⊰

#𝙸𝚅𝚈 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴𝚂𓂃🖊#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #angst #gojo x you #fanfic #first post kinda nervous

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dwaekkicidal · 1 year ago

Text

Lessons

˚ʚfwb!Bang Chan x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Just a regular session of your best friend helping you learn Korean <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, nicknames; ‘honey and good girl,’ pvssy slaps, playful ass&thigh spanking, Chris calls himself Daddy once lol, rough sex, creampie (try to pee after sex pls <3)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: max and I spoke about this a few weeks ago and it was soo hot so I wanted to write something for it,,, but then I lost motivation for it for a while😭 anyways hope u enjoy <3

OH and thank you for 700 followers!! (im late so now so ~25 away from 800) :''') I have something planned for if/when I hit 1k hehe, Love u guys :>

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After you had moved to Korea, you made it your sole goal to be completely fluent in Korean as soon as possible. You knew the basics and some vocabulary that got you through day-to-day encounters, but holding an actual conversation past introductions was rather difficult. So, this is how you found yourself in your current situation. Your best friend and fuck buddy of 2 years giving you weekly Korean lessons.

And this? This was a normal thing between you both. Sitting in his lap practicing while he sits there explaining things and kneading your thighs mindlessly. It was a normal occurrence! The only difference is you usually wore sweats or some sort of bottom that would cover your legs more. Today was one of the hotter days of the week, so you disregarded the extras and opted to only wear one of his shirts, nothing else.

His hands rubbed eagerly up and down your thighs, squeezing the flesh like he does with soft pillows. Again, it was normal, but today he seemed to be restless with his movements. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath when he mindlessly squeezed the flesh of your inner thigh rather roughly while he translated a word you couldn’t figure out. “What is up with you today? You’re more touchy-feely than usual.”

“Sorry haha. Had a long day so I’m fidgety.. And you know I can’t resist you in nothing but my shirt.” You only hummed in response. You believed what he said, but you also knew that he wasn’t stupid and that the apology was not for his roughness as much as it was for how riled up he knew you were getting. He was never actually sorry about being physically affectionate with you, but you both knew how you tended to get very horny when his hands were on you so desperately.

“Mmmm.. Let me play with you a little while you read, okay?” You shake your head and push your study items away, pulling a laugh from him when you mumbled out ‘Fuck that, I need you.’

“None of that hahaha. Focus on the reading, honey.” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaning down and biting into your neck. You groaned and leaned back into him, grinding against him in an attempt to make him fold in your favor. He let the first few grinds pass as he left hickeys along your neck, but the second your hands cupped him through his shorts he grabbed your hips to still your movements.

“Hey.“ The commanding tone in his voice caught you off guard and had your hands immediately stop in their tracks. “Stop that. You’re going to finish reading this text and then I’ll fuck you nice and good.”

“It’s not that serious, Chris. It's just a few paragraphs, we can do it after or just skip out this week.. Plus it’s your fault I’m this horny anyways.” The attitude in your voice makes him narrow his eyes, and then he grabs your chin and angles you to look back at him.

“Watch your tone. And I’m not gonna tell you again,” His hand grabbed both of yours and placed them on the table before moving to spread your legs open for him. Then, he finishes his sentence and enunciates each word with a harsh smack to your bare cunt. “Finish. Reading. The. Article.” The last one comes off harder than the others and it pulls a squeal from you, making your hands shoot down and wrap around his wrist while your legs slam shut against his hand. He grabs from your inner knee and hooks your legs over his, keeping you spread for him, and he pulls your book closer again.

You can feel the teasing smile on his face after he places a kiss on your cheek and then speaks against it. “You only have one article left, honey. The quicker you read it, the quicker I can bend you over and fuck you into the table~” You can’t help but whine and nod. Once you look down at the material again, Chris’ hands that were previously rubbing your inner thigh move back to rub along your wet folds.

Then for what feels like the next hour, but was really just 20 long minutes, you slur out the words in front of you as best as you can. Chris’ left hand swapped between drawing circles into your clit and pinching your nipple, while his right hand shoved fingers against your walls. And every couple of minutes he would swap between kissing your neck to sucking hickeys into your collarbone. However, you weren’t allowed to cum and any time you mispronounced something or took too long to read a word, a stern slap was sent against your clit. As long as you continued to read well, he would pump 3 of his fingers in and out of you.

By the time you’re halfway through the material, your mind is foggy and you’re almost drooling on yourself from the constant edging. By the time you’re on the last sentence, your legs are shaking and you're slumped against him letting out quiet moans. Your neck and collarbone were so red from his incessant suckling, and you were desperate to get this over with. And then, when you finally finished, he stopped all movements to place a soft, congratulatory slap on your thigh and massaged your hips.

“Good girl… Now was that so hard?” With that, he hurriedly clears the desk before helping you stand and then standing himself. The chair you both rested on was kicked backwards and your whole world spun as he suddenly pinned you to the desk. You whined as his hand held a tight grip in your hair and pushed your face into the table. His free hand playfully squeezed and slapped at your ass a few times before you heard his shorts and boxers hit the floor.

You sighed out his name as he teased his tip through your folds, silently pleading with him to hurry it up. “Shhhhhh… ‘Atta girl. You did so well, baby. Now let me take care of you, yeah?”

He finally sunk in and nothing but low, whiny moans left your lips as you clenched around him. His free hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it in appreciation while he slowly sunk every inch he had to offer. Once he bottomed out he gave you only a little bit of time before his thrusts started, albeit slowly at first but quickly ramping up due to his own impatience. It doesn’t take long for him to change to an unforgiving and rougher pace, his hand still holding your head against the table.

“Fff-fuck.. Christopherrr-”

“Yeah yeah, baby. Daddy’s got you. ‘M nice and deep, just how you like it right?” You missed the way he smirked when you let out a desperate ‘Uh-huh’ in response, but you could feel the way it encouraged him when his hips slammed against yours with more eagerness. He keeps this pace up for a while until he feels you tighten around him, and then he changes to slow, deep thrusts that make your eyes roll into your skull.

The hand in your hair slides on top of yours on the desk, intertwining your fingers, and he leans forward to place his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Mmmm keep squeezing me, Honey. Fffuck, juuust like that..”

When you’re tipping over the edge, he places a kiss on your sweaty skin and moans against it. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me and I’ll fill you up just how you like it, okay?” You want to nod, but everything hits you at once so you can only cry out against your desk.

As your orgasm starts to fade into overstimulation, he fixes his posture and focuses on his hip movements. A squeaky moan falls from your lips as he suddenly bottoms out and the hold on your hip tightens. He threw his head back and bit his bottom lip as he came, attempting to muffle his whiney moans. He rides out his orgasm by sometimes pulling out and snapping his hips harshly against yours.

“Fuck… If that’s how we end the studying session from now on, I might consider this payment.” He jokes.

You let out a breathy laugh and he starts to pull out slowly, pushing you into the table as he did so. You take the moment to catch your breath when you realize he’s gone quiet and there’s the light feeling of breath on your thighs. Your head snaps back and you realize he was kneeling in order to watch his cum slide down your folds.

“Hey!” you whine and place a hand on his forehead, pushing his face away only for him to resist, so you use your feet to push him harder. He laughs at your embarrassment and stands up, pulling you to sit up as well and lifting the shirt off of you. He uses it to wipe you down before throwing it into your hamper and grabbing one of his spare shirts from your dresser. He steals a kiss before covering you in the shirt, then drags you to the living room to watch a tv show together.

You two spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching tv and relaxing in each other’s warmth. It’s no surprise when soft snores are heard and you look down to see his sleeping face squished into your chest. You huff out a laugh before you snuggle him closer. Then, your eyes get heavy until they inevitably close, and you fall asleep too.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

#sian’s writing #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x reader smut #bang chan imagines #chan smut #chan x reader #chan x reader smut #chan imagines #skz x reader #skz x reader smut

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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, sexism, you're going to want to grab a man and shake him, brief argument between Lando/Amelia, protective!Lando, possessive!Lando.

Notes — In honour of Lando's Monaco win, enjoy this long ass chapter xxx

2024 (Bahrain)

The hotel bathroom was quiet, lit only by the soft gold glow of the sconces and the flickering of a candle perched on the windowsill. The bathwater had gone from hot to lukewarm, but neither of them wanted to move. The air was humid, vanilla scented fog clinging to the mirror, and the silence was beautiful.

Amelia sat with her back against Lando’s chest, her legs stretched out between his, one arm resting over his knee, the other trailing lazy patterns in the water. His arms wrapped loosely around her middle — not tight, just steady. Warm. Anchoring.

His fingers brushed the edge of her tiny bump, which was just now starting to round out more noticeably under the water.

“Susie texted me,” he said eventually, voice low, lips near her ear.

“I know. She sent me a screenshot.” Amelia hummed. “Said you told her you were proud of me. Thought it was very sweet.”

“I am.” His nose nudged against her temple. “You said yes to something that was scary for you.”

“I always try to say yes to things that matter,” she corrected, soft but firm.

“Same thing, sometimes.”

She smiled a little, the kind that didn’t quite reach her mouth but warmed her anyway. They fell quiet again, letting the moment stretch. Steam curled in the air above the water.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lando said after a while, “about how we announce it.”

Amelia turned her head just slightly, enough to glance back at him. “The baby?”

He nodded. “People already suspect. We could just... confirm. Say it in our own way, before someone takes that away from us, you know?”

She thought for a second. “No awkward statement. No grid-side reveal or something ridiculous like that. Just a photo.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“A bump pic. Me dressed comfy. I don’t want to show anyone my scans, they’re private. Ours.” She said.

He hummed his agreement. “I can take the picture if you want.”

She pushed further into him. “Yes, fine. I’ll post that, and you can post whatever you want.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, baby.”

“Mm.”

They sat for another beat before Lando asked, quieter this time, like he was tiptoeing toward something sensitive. “You want to go back to work after?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She watched the water ripple as she moved one toe, trailing it lazily beneath the surface.

It was a fair question. With Lando’s salary and her own savings, they were more than secure. Add in both their families’ wealth, and their future, their child’s future, was already built on something solid.

But it wasn’t about money.

It was about legacy.

She loved her work. Loved the process of building something from nothing. Loved running strategy with Oscar and chasing that edge-of-your-seat adrenaline from the pit wall. She loved knowing she’d carved out a place in a world that had once been her only real comfort; a world where she hadn’t always felt welcome, but had made space for herself anyway.

Not many autistic people got the chances she’d had. She knew that. And she wasn’t ready to give them up.

Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He’d known her answer before she said it.

Still, hearing it, the certainty in her voice when she said “Yeah. I do.” — settled something in his chest that he hadn’t even realised was unsteady.

Of course she was going back to work.

Of course she wouldn’t be able to stay away.

She wasn’t built to. And honestly, he hadn’t fallen in love with someone who could. Amelia wasn’t passive. She didn’t sit still well. Her happiness lived in spreadsheets and simulations, strategy calls and sharp, direct problem-solving that left most people scrambling to catch up.

And he was obsessed with it.

Still; some part of him, ancient and primal and just a little bit unhinged, wanted to keep her home. Keep her wrapped up in soft jumpers and warm beds and low, steady heartbeats. Keep her safe. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t trust anyone else.

And now she was carrying his baby.

That knowledge struck him like a wave sometimes. The reality of it. The fragility. The ferocity of what he felt when he looked at her now; the kind of love that walked hand in hand with fear.

“I’ll get a sling,” she was saying, shifting slightly in the water, her voice more animated now. “Or one of those carrier things. I’ll bring the baby to the track with me. Nap time during debriefs. I’m sure they’ll be able to sleep through Oscar talking.”

Lando huffed a laugh, nuzzling the damp curve of her shoulder. “Probably sleep better with it.”

“I’m serious.” She turned a little, looking back at him. “I’ll make sure they’re safe. Make sure it’s never too loud or too dangerous. But I want them to be involved. Even if they’re too small to remember it.”

“They’ll remember how it felt,” Lando said, voice low. “You being happy. In your element.”

That made her pause.

She blinked. Once. Then again. She didn’t cry, not quite, but the weight of the moment settled heavy between them. “We’re going to be fine, aren’t we?” She whispered.

Lando tightened his arms around her, chin tucked into her shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We’re going to be brilliant.”

—

Later that evening, Amelia stood in front of the mirror in one of Lando’s old t-shirts; soft, worn-in, hit mid-thigh. The hallway light was low behind her, and Lando leaned silently in the doorway, watching her.

The bump was barely there. Just a shift. A curve where there hadn’t been one before. But he saw the way she looked at it — clinical, detached, like she was trying to solve a problem that couldn’t be defined by numbers.

He knew that look. Had seen it a hundred times when she was deep in a design challenge, stuck on something she couldn’t brute-force with logic.

Only this wasn’t CFD. This wasn’t something she could sketch her way out of.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, softly.

She startled slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. “Sorry,” she muttered, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

He crossed the room in a few slow steps and slid his arms around her from behind, hands warm over the gentle swell of her stomach. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Just… talk to me. Yeah?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into him slightly. “It’s stupid.”

“Bet it’s not.”

Her gaze dropped to the fabric of the shirt. “It’s just… weird. My body. It’s not mine the same way it used to be.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just held her tighter.

“I know it’s normal. I know it’s supposed to be this way. But I feel like I have to keep checking if I’m still… me.”

“You are,” he said, no hesitation. “You’re still you.”

She let out a breath, shaky. “I have two heartbeats.”

“Yeah.” His hand slid lower, covering hers. “Just another one for me to protect, hm?”

Her laugh was quiet. She looked down again, hands still hovering at the hem of her shirt.

Lando’s thoughts ran in quiet loops behind his steady face.

Amelia was already strong. Already capable. But she was also vulnerable in a way that twisted something primal in him. Not because she was weak, never that, but because she mattered. More than anyone. More than anything.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be like this,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“Protective.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but his thumbs were gentle as they traced the curve of her waist. “You’re you. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her breath hitched.

“And if anyone even thinks about making you feel less than perfect, or looking at you wrong, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” She said lightly, looping her fingers in the hem of his hoodie. “Run them over with your big scary Formula One car?”

“If I must.”

Her laugh was breathy, but her eyes were wet again. She leaned in, forehead to his chest, small and quiet and warm in his arms.

The mirror behind them had fogged over, hiding their reflection.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into her hair. “Both of you. Mine.”

And if it was possessive, if it was a little bit selfish, well, maybe it didn’t matter.

Because it was true.

—

Amelia was called in just after Oscar’s final lap time had been logged and the garage started to empty. The paddock buzzed around her with its usual noise and movement, but her mind was quiet. Focused.

She didn’t knock.

Zak and Andrea were already inside, both standing.

She blinked at them.

Her dad looked uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. His hands were on his hips, eyes on the floor. Andrea was less rigid, but equally tense, shifting a folder between his hands. When Amelia stepped in and closed the door, they both looked up.

“Sit down?” Andrea offered.

“I’ll stand,” she said evenly.

Andrea gave a small nod. Zak exhaled, a breath heavier than it needed to be.

“We spoke to the factory team,” Andrea began, “Reviewed the data from the past three days alongside their notes from the adjustments we made pre-season.”

“They admitted it,” Zak added. His voice sounded rough, like he’d rehearsed this and it still didn’t come out right. “They said you were right. About the aero balance. About the centre of gravity shift. About the torque distribution. Everything.”

Amelia didn’t react. Of course she’d been right.

Zak looked at her like he wanted to see something more; a smile, vindication, even relief. She didn’t give it to him.

“We should’ve listened when you flagged it the first time,” Andrea said. “It was a mistake to sideline your design philosophy.”

“You didn’t sideline it,” Amelia corrected, voice flat. “You replaced it. And let the factory team run with their own version of the spec, assuming I was being difficult instead of accurate.”

Andrea winced slightly. Zak flinched like she’d slapped him, not because her tone was harsh, but because it wasn’t. There was no heat behind the words. Just truth. Clean. Clinical.

Like it was data.

“I’m sorry,” Zak said.

Amelia finally looked at him.

She tilted her head slightly. “For which part?”

Zak swallowed. “For all of it,” he said. “For doubting you. For not defending your position when it counted. For treating you like a junior instead of a peer just because you’re my daughter.”

Silence.

Amelia’s hands were still. She blinked once, slow.

“I’m not here because I’m your daughter,” she said. “I’m here because I’m the best person for the job. I’ve proven that more than once. I led a driver to two incredible championships. But every time I push back, you treat it like a personal affront instead of professional disagreement. And Andrea—”

He looked up, eyes tired.

“—you’ve spent months pretending you trust me when it’s clear you don’t. That has consequences. Real ones. You compromised the car’s integrity because you didn’t want to back me.”

Andrea opened his mouth, but closed it again. There was nothing to say.

Zak was the one who stepped forward slightly, voice quieter now. “I didn’t know how to separate it. You being my daughter. You being in charge. I thought if I gave you too much leeway, people would say I was biased. But pulling back, letting others make the calls, it wasn’t the answer. And I see that now.”

Amelia didn’t move. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fold.

She just looked at him, measured and calm.

“Your worry about nepotism made you blind to sexism,” she said simply. “I wasn’t just second-guessed because I’m your daughter. I was second-guessed because I’m a woman in a room full of men who think engineering should look and sound like them. And you let that happen.”

Zak looked gutted.

Andrea rubbed a hand down his face, shame written clear across it.

“We’re reverting the car to your spec,” Andrea said quietly. “As soon as possible. We’re thinking it might take a while, but you’ll have full oversight. We’ll make sure your pipeline through the factory is restored — direct, no interference. We’ll back you. Properly, this time.”

Amelia gave one small nod. “Miami was your deadline.”

“I know,” Zak said. “It might still look like that — with how long it’ll take to introduce the upgrades in a way that won’t piss off the FIA.”

She hesitated, then nodded again — a fraction slower. “Good,” she said. “Then let me get back to work.”

She turned, her braid swaying behind her, and left without needing anything else.

No smugness. No triumph. Just forward motion; the kind she’d built her whole career on.

—

Amelia stood by the far window, sipping from a paper cup. Her badge was clipped to her belt still, her braid loose from where she’d pulled it apart during debrief. She didn’t move when her dad walked in.

He didn’t speak right away.

Neither did she.

He poured himself a coffee, too. Let the quiet stretch. Then, “I’ve been awful, haven’t I?.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. “Yes. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

He waited.

She turned, arms folded, the paper cup tucked loosely in her hand. “You’ve always believed in me as your daughter. I don’t doubt that. But you’ve never made space for me to be more than that when we’re here. You tell me you’re proud; but the second I disagree with you, or someone else in that room, I become a liability.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not.” Her voice stayed calm, level. Not emotional — precise. “I’m not irrational. I’m not reckless. I know that sometimes I communicate differently. But I am good at what I do. You don’t get to keep acting like those things are mutually exclusive.”

Zak looked down. His face, tired and slack under the motorhome lights, was older than she remembered seeing it last.

“You’re not a liability,” he said quietly. “Honey, I know you’re not. I swear.”

She nodded once, accepting it. No more, no less.

“I’m not angry,” she added. “But I’m not going to forget it happened.”

Zak nodded too. “You shouldn’t.”

They stood there for a beat longer.

Then he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She gave him a look.

“I mean—” He raised his hands slightly.

“…Fine.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, awkward. “Is this a bad time to ask if you’re going to want maternity leave?”

She blinked. Slowly. “Seriously?”

“Well, you’re already doing the job of three people. I just thought I should check.”

“I’m not going to be sitting around crocheting for six months, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Amelia shrugged. “I’ll take a few weeks to recover. But I’m not vanishing. I’ll still be consulting. I’ll have a baby sling. And my iPad.”

Zak gave a small, helpless laugh — the first one all day that wasn’t exhausted. Then quieter, “You’re going to be a phenomenal mom.”

She looked down at her cup. Said nothing. But her lip twitched.

Zak stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, firm hug. For a moment, she stayed stiff — then let herself soften against him, just for a second.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “For everything. For trying to keep you away from Lando all those years ago, and for underestimating you again and again. I’ve learned my lesson. It'll never happen again.”

She didn’t say thank you.

But she hugged him back.

—

There were four days until the first race of the 2024 season.

The worst of the heat had passed, leaving just a shimmer of warmth on the breeze as Amelia and Lando strolled side by side down a quiet stretch of narrow street, tucked away from the busier tourist spots.

Amelia had her sunglasses on, hair up in a messy bun. One hand rested lightly on her hip through the oversized linen shirt she’d borrowed from Lando that morning. Her other hand was cradling a half-finished bottle of water.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Lando asked as they slowed near the edge of a small, shaded plaza.

“If I sit still for too long, my brain starts building hypothetical aero upgrades. You don’t want that,” she replied dryly.

Lando grinned. “God forbid you solve our side-pod turbulence in your sleep.”

“I already did that.” She told him seriously.

They found a little cafe tucked between two sandstone buildings; one of those slightly touristy places, but quiet, with mismatched chairs and a handwritten chalkboard menu. The awning fluttered faintly overhead as they took a seat outside, the table wobbly until Lando kicked a piece of stone under one leg.

Amelia squinted at the dessert menu propped behind the till. “What’s that?”

Lando followed her gaze. “‘Tiramisu stuffed brioche’,” he read aloud. “Nice.”

“I want it.” She said.

“You want it?” He blinked. “You never eat sweets before four pm.”

Amelia gave him a look. “Yes. Well. Apparently, now I do. Make sure it has no alcohol.”

Lando stood without another word and went to order. She watched him through the front window as he paid, then turned slightly to rest a hand on her stomach — absently. Still not fully used to the motion, but grounding herself in it more every day.

When he returned, two drinks in hand and the promised pastry on a little ceramic plate, he placed it in front of her like it was some precious offering.

“Moment of truth,” he said, eyes dancing.

She took one bite.

Then blinked. Chewed. Blinked again.

“Oh wow.”

Lando laughed. “Oh yes.”

“I want twelve more.”

He leaned back, looking smug. “Say the word, and I’ll clear out their kitchen.”

Amelia broke off another piece, then paused mid-bite, frowning at the treat with faint suspicion. “Is it normal to fixate on food like this?”

“Yes,” he said easily. “And very cute.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s irrational. There’s no scientific reason why—”

“You’re building a human,” Lando said, gently interrupting. “You can have cravings. It’s fine. I find it… weirdly hot, actually.”

She choked on the next bite.

Lando grinned wider. “What? There’s something kind of sexy about watching the most brilliant mind in motorsport fall madly in love with wildly specific flavoured carbs.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Amelia swallowed her mouthful and rolled her eyes, but she did smile, just slightly, as she reached for his drink and took a sip without asking.

They sat in the quiet for a while longer, warm air brushing against their skin, the low hum of the city around them. At one point, Lando reached across the table and took her hand, just held it there, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles.

“Tell the group-chat.” She said. “Before we post on Instagram. It’ll be nice for them to hear it directly from you.”

“Okay, baby.”

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

Lando N.

alright lads

Serious message incoming

George R.

Everything alright mate?

Alex A.

Did Amelia lose her iPad somewhere in Bahrain and you expect us to go searching for it? Bc I’m busy

Charles L.

i will NOT be clicking any weird links this time

Lando N.

shut up all of you for 5 seconds

i’m being SERIOUS

Oscar P.

👀

Lando Norris:

Amelia’s pregnant.

We’re having a baby!

Carlos S.

BRO

FELICIDADES

Pierre G.

WHAT

YOU’RE GONNA BE A DAD????

Fernando A.

Congratulations!

I already knew of course, mi Nina informed me herself x

George R.

Mate. Mate.

MATE.

A BABY NORRIS.

Charles L.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Esteban O.

So you’ll be like… a real life dad? Omg

Lando N.

Yes very real. Baby Norris will be arriving late summer.

Logan S.

Does this mean I won’t be the baby of the grid anymore?

Oscar P.

Sorry Loges. Feels like you’ve been dethroned.

Oscar P.

Also

Lando’s baby is 100% going to know more about aero than half this group before it can talk.

Lando N.

not even a joke

Yuki T.

omg

tiny paddock baby

can i be godfather

Lando N.

we’re not discussing godparents yet 💀

George R.

Tell Amelia congratulations from all of us — and that she’s the real hero in all this

You just did the fun bit LOL

Lando N.

already told her

Max V.

Happy for you both, mate

Hope you’re ready for zero sleep for the rest of your life 👍

Lando N.

ready as I’ll ever be

(i think)

Carlos S.

Let’s gooooooo

Grid uncle squad is forming

Message pinned by George Russell:

GEORGE R.

🎉 CONGRATS LANDO + AMELIA 🎉

Baby Norris incoming — Summer 2024

—

amelianorris just posted . . .

amelianorris We’re having a baby and I am always nauseous 🧡

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, mclaren and 4.7m others

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landonorris my beautiful baby and my perfect little miracle. ❤️ by amelianorris

user82 the fact that i dont know if amelia is 'beautiful baby' or 'perfect little miracle'.... im so soft for them ohmygod. parents fr

maxverstappen1 Congratulations! You will be wonderful parents x

user26 BABY NORRIS IS REAL OMG!!!!!! THE SPECULATION WASN'T US BEING CRAZY!? BABY NORRIS TRUTHERS RISE

maxfewtrell Congrats!!!! So unbelievably happy for you and Lando. Can't wait to be an uncle 🥰

user60 you're telling me that little lando norris is going to be a dad?????? oh my word im speechless

oscarpiastri All my love to you both (baby and mommy) x

landonorris bro??? oscarpiastri oh right congrats ig user16 LMAO so we all know who his favourite norris is 😭

mclaren A McLaren baby! How exciting. Congratulations to you both!!! xxxx

—

The sun was already climbing, casting shadows across the paddock as the first media crews began setting up. There was a crispness to the desert air, the kind that would vanish by noon. The paddock wasn’t loud yet. That would come later, with the rush of media pens and mechanics and cameras and the first official laps of the year.

Amelia stepped out of the car first, tugging her sunglasses into place. Lando was out a second later, gently shutting the door and circling to her side without a word. His hand found the small of her back automatically, a steady point of contact as they began the familiar walk toward the paddock entrance.

She didn’t need the support, not physically, but she didn’t mind it either. His hand there was warm, grounding. She let herself lean into it slightly.

They weren’t walking fast. They didn’t need to.

A few fans had gathered at the edge of the barriers lining the team access road; early risers, most wearing McLaren caps and orange shirts, phones already out. Normally Amelia would’ve walked right past with a nod or a quick wave, but a young woman in a papaya tee held up a tiny baby onesie with the McLaren logo printed across the front.

Amelia paused.

The girl’s voice was soft but bright. “Congratulations, Amelia! I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Amelia blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sincerity. “Thank you. I’m… working on it.”

Lando smiled at that and stepped in slightly closer beside her, fingers brushing over the back of her shirt as she reached for the onesie the girl was offering.

“It's for you. I sewed it myself.” The fan said.

Amelia took it gently. Held it up. It was impossibly small, white with papaya trim, and a little line of checkered flags stitched along the sleeve.

She let out a quiet breath, something unreadable flickering through her expression.

A few others along the barrier were calling softly now — well-wishes, smiles, and congratulations. One older woman, probably in her sixties, just clasped her hands together and said, “You are both going to be wonderful parents.”

Amelia handed the onesie to Lando without comment and took the offered Sharpie. She signed everything that was shoved at her quickly but carefully. “Thank you,” she said, a little quieter this time.

They hung around for a few more minutes. Lando signed hats and flags; Amelia posed for a few photos, a little awkward, but always soft around the eyes. One teenage girl told her she wanted to be a motorsport engineer because of her. Amelia find herself sniffling, embarrassingly emotional over something she’d been told a hundred times, and Lando reached for her hand again without saying a word.

As they turned to leave, he leaned in close. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?”

She nodded once. “Yeah. It’s nice. People caring. Being so kind. You have nice fans. You and Oscar. They’re good people.”

Lando didn’t respond straight away. He just kissed her temple, hand still on her back as they walked into the paddock.

The baby onesie remained tucked into Amelia’s bag.

—

The atmosphere was calm — a rare thing for the days leading up to the first Grand Prix weekend of the season. A few drivers had filtered into the lounge after media duties, still in their polos, half-watching a muted F2 session on the TV overhead, trading quiet comments about the heat and the track changes.

The sliding door opened. Lando stepped in first, a hand gently guiding Amelia at the small of her back. She was dressed simply in team kit and a pair of dark sunglasses perched atop her head, posture straight but relaxed.

Oscar was leaned back in one of the corner chairs, legs stretched out, nursing a bottle of water. He glanced up, and his face lit up with something that looked like pride. “Hey,” he greeted simply. “All good?”

Amelia nodded. “All good.”

Charles was beside him, already smiling, the kind that started in the eyes, easy and genuine. “It’s nice to see you both,” he said.

“You too,” Amelia replied, quiet.

Max was near the back wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He gave a small nod. “Well done,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for Amelia to hear as she passed. “It’s nice not to have to worry about keeping your secret.”

She offered him a rare little smile. “I know you struggle with secrets. You did a good job.”

A few others looked up; George, Alex, Esteban.

George was the first to speak now, rising from the edge of the sofa. “Hey. Congrats, guys.” His tone was steady, no teasing. “Really happy for you both.”

“Thanks, mate,” Lando said, his hand still resting gently against Amelia’s back.

Alex gave her a quick nod, not pushing. “You feeling okay in the heat?”

“Tired,” Amelia admitted. “But not bad. The heat is frustrating.”

“You’re in Bahrain,” Esteban said, smiling lightly. “No avoiding it, unfortunately.”

There was a quiet round of low chuckles. No one pushed closer, no one stared too long. No inappropriate questions or drawn-out fuss. They all knew Amelia; knew she wasn’t a spotlight kind of person. They treated her like they always had. With respect. With a bit of caution. With something close to admiration.

Amelia turned toward Oscar for a moment. He tilted his head. “Hi.”

She gave him a small nudge. “How are you feeling about today? First practice of the year.”

“Good,” he said simply.

Lando leaned in slightly. “You want to head over to hospitality? Get some breakfast?”

“In a minute,” she murmured.

It was nice. For now. To be surrounded by people who respected her. Loved her, even.

—

Oscar sat half-suited in the car, balaclava tucked loose around his neck, race gloves rolled halfway up his wrists. The garage was alive around them; murmurs between mechanics, the steady beep of telemetry syncing, a dull hiss from an air hose being disconnected.

Amelia was perched on a stool pressed up against the side-pod of the car, elbow resting on her thigh, iPad propped in one hand. Her hair was tied back into a braid with clinical precision.

“The wind direction’s shifted twelve degrees since morning,” she said, eyes on the live atmospheric feed. “Downforce will wash out quicker through sector two. Turn ten’s going to be problematic for you.”

Oscar leaned his head back against the padding and gave a wry smile. “So, usual Bahrain things?”

“Yeah. Except a little meaner today.” She tapped through the sim data, cross-referenced it with the downforce models. Without looking up, she added, “Let the rear settle through seven or you’re going to spike your tyre temps and ruin the run.”

“Do my best.”

She flicked him a glance, dry and fond. “Thanks.”

One of the support engineers leaned over Amelia’s shoulder. “We’re showing high differential pressure variance through the right rear. Might need a last-minute check.”

Amelia didn't look away from the screen. “Yeah, I flagged it an hour ago. We already swapped sensors — it’s the wind skewing the read. Don’t touch it.”

“Copy.”

Oscar snorted. “Still terrifying when you do that.”

She tilted her head. “Do what?”

“Know things before anyone says them.”

“It’s my job.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath, flexing his gloved hands. “Do I need to worry about rear-end grip into Turn 11?”

“Not unless you've forgotten everything you know about driving a Formula One car.”

“Reassuring.”

Her hand came up, instinctively pressing against the curve of her lower belly for just a second, her expression twisting with something that looked a little green around the edges.

Oscar noticed, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched her quietly, then offered, “You’re not too hot?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “No. I’m fine.”

His brow arched slightly. “You always say that, so I never know when to actually believe it.”

“I’ve got a thermometer that I keep using to check my temperature. It’s consistent. I’m drinking the exact amount of water that my doctor has recommended. I’m taking regular breaks from the sun and eating in intervals of three hours. I am, by definition, absolutely fine.”

He stared at her. “Sure.”

“I’ll bring you something nice for lunch if you can get through this session without causing a red flag.”

“Wow. Conditional nourishment. You spoil me.” He said sarcastically.

Before she could fire back, Lando passed behind them on his way to the other side of the garage, pausing only to brush a hand lightly along the back of Amelia’s shoulder as he went. She didn’t react outwardly, but her entire body softened for half a second.

Oscar clocked the moment. “He’s not going to wrap you in bubble wrap, is he? I need you.”

“He can try,” she muttered, before standing and glancing down at her iPad again. “Alright. First run’s mediums. Five-lap stint. I want lift-and-coast into lap two so we can log some cooling data. Don’t race the lap. This is recon.”

“Understood.”

She stepped back as the mechanics moved in. One of the tyre engineers looked to her for confirmation.

“Release him. Let’s get it done.”

Oscar gave a lazy two-finger salute as the engine roared to life. “Catch you in ten.”

She rolled her eyes but said, “Bring it back to me in one piece.”

—

McLaren’s pit wall pulsed with quiet, meticulous focus.

Amelia sat on her usual stool; headset already in place, tablet resting on her lap, one foot tucked under her thigh.

Andrea leaned against the back rail beside her, arms folded. “Any nerves?”

Amelia didn’t look up. “No. I never get nervous for practice sessions.” She paused. “Unless there’s extreme weather conditions.”

Zak, just settling into his own chair a few feet down, let out a snort. “Let’s not tempt fate.”

Will took his place beside Amelia, offering her a quiet nod. “Track temps are rising quicker than expected,” he murmured. “Oscar might get wind shear on the back straight.”

“I know,” Amelia said, already flipping through telemetry with a few well-practiced taps. “Told him we’d adjust diff mid-run if it hits. He’s got the override mapped.”

The strategists filtered in, eyes flicking between live data and evolving models. One handed Amelia a fresh printout of projected stint lengths based on wind intensity. She scanned it, adjusted two numbers with her pen, and passed it back without a word.

There was a beat of quiet as the first few cars fired out of the pit lane. The soft whoosh of tires on tarmac passed through the headsets. Oscar was next.

“Box clear. You’re good to go,” Amelia said calmly into her mic, eyes on the screen. “Watch your entry on Turn 4 — wind's picking up.”

Oscar's response was dry, as always. “Copy. Let’s have some fun.”

She noticed the red light on the camera above them flicker on. Without missing a beat, she lifted one hand and gave it a small, wry wave; the sort that said, ‘Hello, I’m aware that you’re broadcasting my face right now.’

Oscar’s voice crackled over the radio again as the first run of the day ticked down. “Rear’s light into six, but I can manage.”

“Okay,” Amelia said, scrolling across the telemetry. “I’ll bump rear brake bias up two clicks on the next run. Ride’s holding well, though.”

“Yeah. Feels sharp.”

Andrea stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes on the live delta. Will leaned in closer to her screen, already logging feedback. Zak occasionally asked short, pointed questions and her answers were always clipped, accurate, unemotional.

Still, there was something softer in Amelia’s tone with Oscar. A dry edge, yes, but the undercurrent of investment and care was impossible to miss.

“Sure, ducky,” she’d muttered when Oscar said he was ready to “have some fun” on his out-lap. “Fun.”

Andrea had caught it immediately. “You’re soft on him.”

Amelia didn’t even look up. Just took a drink from her McLaren water bottle — her name printed in block letters on the side, a bold red ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sticker slapped under it like a warning label. “He responds better to praise. I yell at him a lot when he’s on the sim. There’s a balance.”

The morning wore on like clockwork. Data rolled in, Oscar ran clean stints, and Amelia barely left her post except to swap tablets or double-check tire degradation stats with the Pirelli engineers. FP1 ended solidly — no fireworks, but tidy and consistent. Exactly what she liked.

At lunch, she peeled off her headset and headed toward the hospitality area with Lando. He met her halfway, already peeling a banana and offering it to her mid-stride.

“I don’t want your banana,” she said flatly.

He grinned and took a bite himself. “Thought I’d try to help with your potassium. You looked grumpy.”

“I always look grumpy.”

“Grumpier than usual,” he clarified.

Amelia rolled her eyes but accepted the bottle of blue (her favourite flavour) electrolytes he handed over without question. They found a quiet corner inside the team’s motorhome, away from the usual pre-race noise. He sprawled lazily in the booth; she sat opposite, tugging the hem of her McLaren shirt down.

“How are we looking out there?” He asked after a moment, nodding toward the pit lane.

She shrugged, already halfway into reading the FP1 debrief notes on her iPad. “Stable. Better than expected on the straights. Wind's dropping slightly toward sunset, so you’ll get a cleaner second session.”

Lando watched her. “You’re amazing at this.”

Amelia didn’t look up. “Yes.”

He smirked. “But also very modest.”

“No point in pretending I’m not good at my job.” She finally looked up, softer now. “Especially with you and Oscar relying on me.”

He reached across the table and tugged her iPad down slightly. “I rely on you even when you’re not working.”

She blinked once. Then twice. “Lando.” She said. Her cheeks were pink.

Lando just laughed.

—

The desert heat had lessened, but the wind hadn’t. It whipped around the paddock in short bursts, rustling the pit board labels and tugging at Amelia’s hair where it was braided and pinned to the back of her head.

This time, Lando was out first. Amelia watched from her usual perch, shoulder to shoulder with Will, strategists reading live delta and fuel burn beside them. Her gaze bounced rapidly between live feeds and overlays, fingers dancing over the touchscreen surface like it was second nature.

When Lando’s rear stepped out slightly in Turn 12, her voice was calm. “Tell him to adjust your brake migration one click forward.”

Will relaid the information.

“Copy,” came Lando’s voice, low and focused.

Oscar followed soon afterwards on fresh softs. Amelia’s tone changed; not gentler, but more measured. “Remember what we talked about. Brake release into 7. Gentle. Controlled. Don’t throw the car in.”

Oscar’s lap lit up green across sectors.

She let a satisfied breath out through her nose.

—

By the end of the day, both drivers had done consistent long runs and given the strategy team a solid amount tire feedback.

Andrea glanced at her as they began packing up. “Good work today.”

Amelia gave a small smile — appreciative, but measured. Still, she noticed he was making more of an effort lately, and that counted. “Thanks.”

Later, back in the garage, with the mechanics winding down and the last of the day’s noise settling, Lando found her perched on a tire stack, sipping from a cold water bottle. Sweat clung to her temples, and the last of the sun lit her skin in warm gold.

He bumped her hip lightly with his. “Hi, gorgeous. Missed you today.”

She arched a brow. “You’ve been glued to my side every second you weren’t in the car.”

“Still,” he said, grinning as he pulled her into a soft, end-of-day hug.

Under the buzz of the Bahrain floodlights, she pressed her face into his neck with a tired groan. “My feet hurt. And my ankles are swollen.”

Without missing a beat, Lando lifted her off the ground. “Better?”

She sighed, tension melting out of her shoulders. “Much.”

He kissed the side of her head and held her a little tighter.

—

The balcony doors were cracked open, letting in the night air and the quiet hum of the city. Amelia sat cross-legged on the bed in one of Lando’s oversized T-shirts, blue-light glasses on, tapping idly at her laptop. Notes and track maps were scattered beside her, though she was only half-committed to actually reviewing them.

Lando, sprawled beside her with one leg over her thigh and a bowl of popcorn between them, was glued to his phone, thumb lazily scrolling through TikTok. His curls were damp from the shower, and his body still smelled faintly of sunblock and whatever soap the hotel stocked.

He stopped suddenly.

“Babe,” he said, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Amelia didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“No — look.” He turned the screen toward her.

She leaned closer, adjusting her glasses. The video was a fan edit. A slow, cinematic montage. Piano music overlaid with soft synths. The caption read, “Amelia and Lando through the years — from lovers to soulmates.”

The first clip was grainy; a 2018 paddock interview where a much younger Lando, awkward in his race suit, stood across from her in his garage. She looked different and the same all at once: neater, maybe. Definitely tighter, definitely more guarded. She didn’t meet his eyes once.

Then the timeline rolled forward. Garage zoom-ins. Candid paddock moments. A clip of them bickering while walking into the McLaren garage. Amelia pulling Lando’s cap off and tossing it down the corridor. Him handing her a coffee. All of the podiums he’d taken her to watch before it flashed to him up there and her watching, always somebody behind her in his place.

Her in the garage, arms in the air after a good quali. Him grinning at her during interviews he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of.

And then the quiet moments; fan-captured videos of her fixing his collar or brushing lint off his overalls. A slow-motion clip of him watching her walk away, soft-eyed. The first time they were caught holding hands. Her head on his shoulder during a rain delay.

The final clip was from just a few days ago; her at the Bahrain pit wall, hand resting lightly on her small but visible bump, waving at fans. He was standing just behind her, barely in frame, but watching her.

Lando said nothing.

Neither did Amelia.

The music faded out. The screen went black.

Some things are just meant to be — the caption said.

Lando lowered the phone slowly, gaze still fixed on the screen, eyes slightly wet. “Wow,” he muttered. “They got me.”

Amelia blinked a few times. “I remember that day,” she said. “Barcelona test, 2019. You spilled your coffee on my notebook.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, nudging her foot with his. “You yelled at me.”

“I had to yell at you,” she replied, deadpan. “You tried to dry the notes with a heat gun.”

He laughed, soft and fond. Then he turned more serious, his voice quiet. “You think they’re right?”

Amelia tilted her head. “About what?”

“Meant to be.”

She looked at him fully now, taking in his expression — open, a little uncertain. His hand brushed over her shin, anchoring.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if someone had shown me that video back then, I’d have said no.”

Lando’s mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “Ouch.”

“But,” she went on, “I’d have been wrong. So... yeah. Meant to be. I married you, didn’t I?”

He exhaled, tension she hadn’t realised was there easing from his shoulders. Then he reached up, hooked a finger around her collar, and tugged her into a kiss — soft, sure, familiar.

When they pulled apart, he whispered, “I’m saving that video.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a million more like it.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m going to watch all of them.”

“Yeah. Should’ve seen that coming.” She sighed.

He grinned and went back to scrolling — but his free hand stayed wrapped around her ankle, thumb brushing slow, unconscious circles against her skin. Amelia turned back to her laptop, but her smile lingered, half-hidden behind the screen.

Meant to be.

That was nice.

—

The sun hadn’t even reached its peak, and Amelia was already overheating. Her McLaren polo clung to her back, her hair was twisted into a no-nonsense knot, and she was halfway through her third bottle of water.

Lando trailed beside her through the paddock, annoyingly energetic. “Okay, but Atlas is cool. Strong. Powerful.”

Amelia didn’t even glance up from her iPad. “An atlas is a book of maps, Lando. Not a person.”

“Exactly. It’s smart. Worldly.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “We are not naming our child after a book of maps.”

They passed a few team staff who wisely kept walking despite the tension radiating off them.

“Fine,” Lando said. “Your turn. What name do you like?”

“Lando.”

“We’re not naming the baby after me,” he said, somewhere between amused and sarcastic.

Amelia stopped walking. Her iPad hung loose at her side. “Please,” she said flatly. “Please can you just… stop.”

Lando blinked. His smile thinned. “Fine. Whatever. Veto all my names. Not like I give a shit.”

The words hit harder than he intended; and he knew it the second they left his mouth.

Amelia didn’t respond. Just looked at him—sharp, unreadable—then turned and walked off toward the garage. The heat shimmered on the tarmac between them.

By the time Lando caught up, she was already perched on a stool in Oscar’s garage, scrolling through tire data like nothing had happened. Oscar lay sprawled across a tire stack beside her, eyes flicking between them with his usual diplomatic neutrality.

“What about Nico?” Lando offered again, voice cautious now.

Amelia turned her head so slowly it was almost theatrical. “Are you joking?”

“It’s a good name.”

“It’s Rosberg, Lando. I work in this paddock. Do you want me to be humiliated?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. Lando looked sheepish.

“Didn’t think about that,” he muttered.

“Clearly,” she snapped—sharper than she meant to be.

The room went still. Even the mechanics seemed to pause, pretending to check something on their tablets.

Amelia exhaled hard and pressed her fingers to her temple. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Oscar lifted a hand like he was waving off a foul. “She’s growing the baby, mate. Obviously she gets to pick the name.”

Lando scowled. “That’s not—”

“No,” Oscar cut in. “It is that.”

Amelia gave him a grateful look. Lando, meanwhile, folded his arms and slumped into the seat beside her. He didn’t speak again for ten minutes.

They made it through the rest of FP3 in a strained kind of silence—not quite a fight, but not not one either. It sat between them through briefings, hydration checks, and another read of Oscar’s sector times.

When qualifying was called, Amelia handed off her tablet and sent Oscar toward his chassis—but instead of returning to the pit wall, she made a detour to the other side of the garage.

Lando was already in the car, helmet on, gloves secured, visor still raised.

She leaned in beside the cockpit, one hand on the halo. “Hi.”

He looked up.

“I don’t want you going out there with us still angry at each other.”

His mouth parted slightly. Some tension uncoiled in his shoulders. “I’m not angry. Just... frustrated.”

“I love you,” she told him.

His eyes locked with hers. The crease between his brows softened. “Baby, I love you too.”

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze—not an apology, just... a truce.

“I’ll be on the pit wall.”

He nodded once, then pulled his visor down.

Amelia turned on her heel, walked past the media and telemetry boards, and took her seat at the pit wall. She pulled her headset on, pen tucked behind her ear, posture sharp.

Zak glanced over from a few seats down. “Everything alright?”

She didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

He paused. “You and Lando—”

“Fine,” she repeated, firm this time. A quiet warning.

Zak let it drop. He’d learned: if Amelia wanted to talk, she would—and if she didn’t, nothing would pry it out.

Andrea leaned in with a printed tire strategy. “Piastri’s prep lap?”

Amelia nodded, already focused. “He’s ready. Track temp’s down two degrees. We go aggressive into Turn One—he’ll have the grip.”

Zak leaned back and watched her work—cool, composed, headset like armour. Her voice calm, crisp, in control.

—

The motorhome was quiet after quali. Amelia sat cross-legged on the sofa, head tipped back, one hand resting lightly on her stomach. Her water bottle sat half-finished on the table. She hadn’t said much since lunch.

Lando stood nearby, helmet bag in hand, chewing his lip.

“Hey,” he said at last.

She didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry. For earlier. I was being a prick. A boyfriend, not a husband. You deserve better.”

That made her glance at him, eyes tired.

“You’re growing a human,” he said, crouching in front of her. “You’re doing it in forty-degree heat and still carrying the whole team on your back, and I’m over here sulking because you don’t like the name Atlas.”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but her eyes stayed glassy.

“I’m sorry I made today harder than it needed to be,” he said softly.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying so hard to act normal. But I’m always tired. I can’t sleep. And I feel like I’m failing if I slow down, but my body won’t let me keep up.”

He didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the couch, pulled her straight into his lap, arms tight around her. Her head dropped to his chest. She melted into the pressure like she’d needed it all day.

His hand moved in slow, steady strokes over her back.

“You’re not failing,” he murmured. “You’re doing something impossible, and you’re doing it perfectly.”

She didn’t respond, just pressed her cheek against him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “We’re a team, yeah?”

She nodded, silent.

When she finally sat up, brushing a tear from under one eye, he kissed her temple.

“You sure you’re okay to run Oscar’s quali?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice steadier. “As long as you go out there and qualify well for me.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

When they stood, she slid her hand into his, fingers lacing tight. The tension had eased. They were okay. They were fine.

—

Oscar caught it first on Thursday. Lando pulling out Amelia’s chair, grabbing her breakfast, nudging her seat in like it was second nature. She said something under her breath, but didn’t stop him.

Oscar bit back a grin. So domestic.

—

On Friday, Oscar glanced over the monitor just in time to catch Lando’s hand at the small of Amelia’s back as they passed behind the pit wall. Subtle, constant—like he didn’t trust the world to make room for her unless he made it himself.

Andrea muttered, “If he stands any closer to her, they’re going to merge.”

—

On Sunday, Lando hovered. One step behind Amelia, intercepting wandering hands, redirecting nosy media, stepping into frame when someone aimed a camera too close.

“Mate,” Oscar said, helmet under his arm, “we have security, you know.”

“They’re not quick enough,” Lando said without missing a beat.

—

Post-race, Oscar unclipped his belts and looked over to find Lando, still suited up, wrapped around Amelia at the edge of the chaos, whispering something into her ear. She didn’t even flinch, like she was used to the weight of him.

Oscar shook his head. Smiled despite himself.

—

At the team dinner that night, Amelia leaned to stretch her back and Lando noticed immediately, rubbing slow circles into the base of her spine. Then one of Lando’s engineers came over, and Oscar found himself absolutely ensconced by how it all played out.

Immediately jealous, Lando draped an arm behind Amelia’s head and said, without smiling, “You lost, mate?” He asked the engineer. Poor bloke.

Oscar pushed his plate of chips across the table.

Amelia beamed at him. “Thanks.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at his wife. “You ordered mash, baby.”

“Want chips now.” She told him. She was already dragging one through a puddle of ketchup.

“Should’ve ordered chips for your wife, mate,” Oscar teased.

Lando glared at him.

—

It all came to a head on the Monday.

They were flying commercial, first class, but still, alongside a handful of McLaren personnel for the long-haul back to the UK. Amelia was curled up beside the window, hoodie pulled over her head, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. Her hand rested over her stomach like it always did now—subconscious, protective and probably trying to quell nausea all the while. Lando was next to her, flipping through a movie menu without actually picking anything.

Two rows back, a small cluster of engineers were half-whispering over the tops of their seats. Tired, still wired from the adrenaline of the race weekend, and just loose enough from the champagne at the hotel bar the night before.

“She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, hasn’t she?” One of the engineers muttered — the youngest in the group, barely out of uni and already puffed up with the kind of confidence that comes with zero experience and too many opinions.

Another snickered under his breath.

“Please,” the idiot went on, leaning in like he was about to deliver a punchline. “She so much as fakes some weird little meltdown and Lando probably rewrites the whole weekend’s strategy just to keep her from crying.”

That got a quiet laugh.

“And let’s be real,” he added, voice dropping a touch. “He’s not still at McLaren because he’s irreplaceable. Man married the boss’ daughter. Locked in his contract and his pit wall privileges in one go. Fucking genius, honestly. Should’ve tried it myself.”

A third engineer made a noise halfway between discomfort and amusement. “You know she’s, like, three months pregnant, right?”

The first one just shrugged. “Not like that ever stopped a girl from using it to her advantage.”

Lando’s head turned, slow and sharp. He’d heard every word.

Amelia, mercifully, hadn’t. Her noise-cancelling headphones were still on, hoodie hood pulled down like a signal not to bother her.

Lando’s eyes flicked to her, still unaware, then back to the cluster of engineers. His jaw locked.

He stood without a word and walked two rows back, stopping just beside their seats.

“You. Up.” His voice was low, cold. Directed squarely at the younger engineer.

The guy blinked. “What?”

“I said get the fuck up.” There was no raise in volume, but the danger in it was unmistakable.

Around them, a few passengers glanced over. Lando didn’t care.

The kid stood, suddenly very aware that everyone else had stopped laughing.

Lando jerked his chin toward the galley. “Now.”

They stepped past the curtain separating the cabin from the service area. Lando folded his arms, body angled just enough to block the guy from view of the rest of the cabin.

“You think you're funny?” He asked, voice still quiet but razor-sharp.

The engineer’s face had drained of colour. “I—I didn’t mean anything. It was just—”

“No, you did mean something. You meant every word.” He took a step closer. “My wife’s name doesn’t belong anywhere near your ugly fucking mouth. You hear me?”

The engineer opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Lando stared him down. “You don’t speak about her. You don’t joke about her. You don’t look at her the wrong way. You want to talk shit about me? Fucking fine, I couldn’t give less of a shit.” He let the silence stretch long enough to let the weight settle. “But if I hear anything even remotely like that again, you’re done. I’ll really live up to the guy you think I am and go straight to Zak.And then you won’t just be off the travel team; you’ll be blacklisted from the entire industry. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” the guy croaked.

“Good.” Lando stepped aside, gesturing back toward the seats. “Go sit down. And if I see you look at her one fucking time for the rest of this flight, I’ll assume you didn’t understand me, and mate, I know how to throw a fucking punch.”

The engineer practically bolted.

Lando waited a beat, steadied his breathing, then ran a hand down his face and returned to his seat. Amelia had shifted, half-waking at the curtain being drawn back.

“Hey,” she mumbled sleepily, tugging her headphones down. “Where’d you go?”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Needed to piss. You okay?”

She nodded, settling back into the seat and tucking her feet into his lap.

Lando glanced back two rows, just once, then looked down at her and wrapped a hand gently around her ankle.

He was smiling, just faintly. But his eyes? His eyes were still on fire.

—

The hotel room in London was dark, save for the soft glow from Lando’s phone. Amelia had crashed the second her head hit the pillow, curled into the sheets, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other thrown haphazardly across the entire bed.

Lando stood at the window in his boxers, thumb swiping absently across his screen.

He called Max.

It only rang twice before the Dutchman picked up.

“Alright, mate?” Max sounded half-asleep, but not annoyed. Just Max.

Lando hesitated. “Did anyone ever say shit about her when she was working with you?”

Max was quiet for a beat. Then, with a tight tone, asked, “What kind of shit?”

“About her,” Lando muttered. “Just… you know. Fucking guy shit.”

Another beat.

“Yeah,” Max said eventually. “A couple of times. Why?”

Lando exhaled. “One of the new guys in our team said something on the plane back. She didn’t hear it. But I did.”

“Ah.” Max’s voice was a little clearer now. “You threaten to kill him?”

“Pretty much.” Lando rubbed his jaw. “Told him next time he even looks at her sideways, he’s off the team.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Max said, “That’s the right call. I did that a few times, only had to get physical once or twice. Everyone seemed to get the hint after that.”

Lando sank down into the armchair, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “She’s feeling like shit, still nailing every call, and this guy, this fucking kid, thinks he can talk shit about her?”

“I had a guy once say she was a distraction,” Max said quietly. “Because she was wearing a skirt in the garage.”

Lando barked a laugh, mirthless. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Max said, with that resigned sigh that only came from dealing with idiots too often. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever worked with. Some men just don’t know how to handle seeing a woman be better than them.”

“I just—” Lando exhaled hard. “She doesn’t even know. She trusts these people. And it’s like… she deserves to feel safe. Not watched. Not judged. Just—respected.”

“You can’t fight every battle for her.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

Max chuckled under his breath. “You sound like me in 2021.”

“She’s my wife,” Lando muttered. “And she’s growing my kid. I don’t care if it makes me look soft or dramatic. She deserves better.”

“You’re not soft,” Max said. “Well, maybe for her, but we all are, aren’t we?”

Lando laughed quietly. “She’d murder us both if she heard this.”

“Oh, absolutely. We’d be six feet under.” Then Max said, “You want me to have a word with Christian? Make sure this kid doesn’t try to abandon camp and find refuge with us?”

Lando smiled faintly. “Thanks, man. But I’ve got it.”

“Alright. Call if you need me.”

Lando paused, glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “Yeah. Night, mate.”

He hung up. Stood. Crossed the room and slipped back into bed beside Amelia, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He lay there for a long time, eyes on the ceiling, thinking of all the things she’d never know he protected her from.

And how proud he was that she never needed him to; but how damn sure he was that he’d do it anyway.

NEXT CHAPTER

577 notes · View notes

pbaz7 · 30 days ago

Text

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 8

paige x azzi

warning: mentions blood, fighting

word count: 8.9k

a/n: hi guys 🫣 so sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger last chapter but it needed to be done lol. i hope this chapter brings you a little comfort as much as it’ll make you sick to your stomach! i was harassed to post without minimal proof reading so please let me know if there’s any mistakes. like always feel free to leave comments, reactions or ideas 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Azzi laid curled in Paige’s bed, the usually warm sheets cold around her, with the smell of Paige lingering heavily in the fabric. Tears silently slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow as she stared across the empty space all night.

She got up and left at the first sight of sunrise that morning after taking a long shower and putting on some of Paige’s clothes. Before leaving she grabbed Paige’s spare set of keys not wanting to leave her house unlocked.

Three days passed before Azzi had calmed her mind enough to format a few texts but they went undelivered meaning Paige’s phone was off. So Azzi tried to be patient. She told herself that Paige needed space just like she’d taken herself three days before reaching out. Told herself that maybe she was in the gym every hour of every day again, working through whatever was sure to be going on in her head. But by day six, it felt like the silence was clawing at her throat and she felt sick knowing she played a part in whatever Paige was feeling.

When Cam’s name lit up her phone on day six, Azzi swiped to answer it immediately.

“Hey,” she said, her voice completely horse after not using it for days.

“You okay?” Cam asked tentatively.

“Yeah…Have you heard from Paige?”

Cam paused. “No. I was actually calling to ask you that. I think her dumbass broke her phone again or something; none of my texts are going through and my calls are going straight to voicemail.”

Azzi’s stomach lurched when she realized Cam didn’t know anything either. “We got into a fight,” she said quietly, her eyes locking on the far corner of the room so they didn’t start glossing over again. She really didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. “A few nights ago. Almost a week.”

She could hear Cam shifting on the other end of the line. “What kind of fight?”

Azzi let out a humorless laugh. She knew she was being a little rude but God it felt like a stupid ass question. “A fight, Cam. What do you mean what kind?”

Cam was quiet for a moment and Azzi could feel the tension building through the phone in that silence.

“I just…I need details. Whatever you wanna give me so I know what’s going on with her,” Cam said her voice strung a little tight. “Paige doesn’t turn her phone off like this. Yes she get’s upset and goes MIA but I always know where she is, she always at least checks in.”

Azzi closed her eyes, wiping at the tear that dropped to her cheek harshly. “She was in her gym when I showed up late to her house. She was already…not okay. Frustrated.”

“Ok and what happened?”

“I tried to get her to come inside and we went back and forth for a little bit…I brought up the club and she got defensive so I got frustrated. It just spiraled before I could figure out what was going on in my head.”

Cam stayed silent as she listened to what happened.

Azzi’s voice cracked. “I fucking flinched, Cam.”

Cam blinked on the other end confused. “What? What do you mean?”

Azzi covered her face trying to stop the tears, she was so fucking tired of crying. “She was trying to calm things down saying she didn’t wanna fight and she reached for me, wanted to grab my face like she always does…she does it everyday Cam.” She chokes back a sob before continuing. “But I flinched before she could even touch me.”

The line was quiet so Azzi just kept going, talking about it for the first time.

“She didn’t even do anything wrong, Cam. She was just trying to stop the fight before it got bad,” Azzi whispered. “And I flinched like I thought she was going to hurt me. The way she looked after that…” Azzi let out a choked breath. “She looked so…broken. Like I destroyed her. Like she couldn’t believe I thought she could ever…” She didn’t finish the sentence as she sucked in a deep breath.

Cam exhaled slowly, her own worry starting to rise knowing how Paige was. “Fuck.”

“I swear to God I know she’d never hurt me,” Azzi said. “I swear I know. I just wasn’t thinking and everything happened so fast.”

Cam didn’t say anything for a few moments then she said, “I’m coming over.”

“Cam—”

“I’m coming Azzi. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Azzi didn’t bother to argue with her, she didn’t have the energy to be honest. She just sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her eyes and staring at her phone like she could will Paige’s name to appear on the screen.

Cam didn’t say much when she got to Azzi’s house that night. She just took off her shoes at the door, climbed in the bed behind Azzi, and wrapped her arms around her like she’d done a thousand times for Paige before. She didn’t offer any empty words that probably wouldn’t help. Just the warmth and the sound of someone else breathing that Azzi had been missing for days.

By morning, Cam was already on her phone calling people. Azzi stirred awake when she felt her shift on the bed, her eyes blinking open to find Cam’s eyebrows drawn tight and her voice low as she spoke to someone who clearly didn’t have the answers she was looking for.

When Cam turned and noticed that Azzi was awake the first thing she said was, “She’s not at the cabin or anywhere in Minnesota.” She lowered her phone before adding “And she hasn’t been back to her house either.”

Azzi sat up, her throat already tight for the day before she could brush her teeth. “Then where else can she be?”

Cam didn’t answer because she didn’t know. She stared at the screen in her hand for a while before feeling like an idiot for not thinking of this sooner. When she realized she scrolled through her contacts and tapped one name and held the phone to her ear.

It rang once. Twice and then a third time.

Azzi felt like her heart climbed higher with each one and she didn’t even know who Cam was calling.

Then the fourth ring cut off.

“Hey,” DiJonai’s voice echoed through the phone. “She’s with me. Stop worrying.”

Cam exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days and Azzi’s head snapped toward her when she heard it.

“She’s okay?” Cam asked, already putting the phone on speaker so Azzi could hear.

There was a long pause. “No not really,” DiJonai said.

Cam frowned. “Is she telling you anything?”

“No,” Nai replied. “She won’t talk to me about whatever happened. She just showed up at my door at four in the morning looking like somebody shot her damn puppy in front of her and she’s been like that all week. Won’t eat much unless I literally force her. I don’t think she’s been sleeping either. Just…off somewhere in her head all day.”

Cam’s heart dropped hearing the state of her sister. “How in her head?”

DiJonai sighed. “I don’t know…I’ve never seen her like this honestly and you know there’s been some shit.”

Cam looked at Azzi whose face was unreadable as she looked at the phone. “Can you give her the phone?”

DiJonai sighed again before saying, “Yeah hold on I’ll try.”

A moment passed then they heard footsteps and a door opening. There were muffled voices before the clear sound of DiJonai saying, “Just stop being an asshole and let her hear that you’re alive.”

Azzi clutched the blanket tighter around her legs as her eyes locked on the phone like it might will Paige to pop up in front of her.

There was a moment of static and shuffling, then a voice barely made it through the speaker sounding cracked and hoarse. “…Hello.”

Cam exhaled sharply. “I should kill you Paige.”

Another beat of silence. Then Paige’s voice came through again dryly, “That might not be so bad right now.”

A loud thump came through the phone, followed by a muffled “Ow.” An unmistakable play by play of DiJonai smacking the hell out of her.

Cam rubbed her temple. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, Cam,” Paige mumbled.

“You’ve got a fight in three weeks,” Cam reminded her gently, even though she was 100% sure Paige hadn’t forgotten.

“I know.”

“You ready?”

“No.”

Cam’s chest rose. “You gonna be ready?”

A pause and a fake laugh. “No.” Paige’s voice sounded empty. Completely detached from the present and it scared Cam more than anything else.

“Do we need to cancel it?” Cam asked carefully.

“I’ll be ight,” Paige stated. “If not, I’ll just get a real nice and deserved ass whooping out of it. Maybe finally find out what it’s like to get knocked out, you know.”

“That’s not funny Paige.”

“Well.”

Cam looked over at Azzi, whose eyes hadn’t moved from the phone once. Her eyes were glossy and her fingers were tight where they gripped her blanket.

Cam decided to ask what she already knew. “You talked to Azzi lately?”

There was a long pause at the question. Then Paige’s voice came back, somehow sounding more distant than it was before. “Why’d you call?”

Cam blinked, not surprised by the deflection. “Because your phone’s off and you’ve never done that before. I was worried.”

Silence again, suggesting Paige was done with the conversation. Cam didn’t wait to hear the inevitable dial tone. “Have you talked to Azzi?”

“Why are you asking me about her?”

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

Paige was too exhausted to go back and forth so she just closed her eyes. When she spoke again her voice had softened in the worst kind of way. “I fucked it up,” she said, like the words hurt her throat to say. “So I’m just…not tryna talk about it right now.”

Azzi looked down, her nails digging into her palms. Cam saw it but didn’t say anything. She just pressed Paige for a better answer “How’d you mess it up?”

There was a rustle on the other end. DiJonai must’ve moved toward her or something, but the line stayed quiet for a few seconds before Paige finally spoke.

“She was just tryin’ to talk to me that night and I was so far in my own head I couldn’t see straight. She brought up the club and…I got defensive. I thought she didn’t get why I did what I did. Like she was just trying to write it off as me being—I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. He put his hands on her, Cam.” Her voice was shaking, despite how flat it sounded.

“And I didn’t wanna argue with her Cam. I swear I didn’t. She’s everything to me I lo—” Cam took the phone off speaker when she heard her starting to break down.

Azzi had to turn her head away as tears hit her collarbone. Cam put a hand gently on her back.

“I should’ve been calmer. I should’ve put my hands in my pocket or something. Done more to make her feel safe but I didn’t and that’s on me. All of it.”

Cam swallowed hard, her tone gentler now. “Do you want to talk to her?”

There was a long pause. Then Paige’s voice came so small it barely carried over the speaker “…She’s with you?”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut from not being able to hear Paige’s response.

Cam looked at Azzi with a soft smile in her eyes. “She’s been calling and texting you,” she said gently into the phone.

There was hesitation on the other end. A shuffle. DiJonai’s voice carried softly, saying, “It’s ok.” Paige finally spoke, “Can you…can you give her the phone? Only if she wants it.”

Cam held it out.

Azzi took it with a trembling hand, wiping the tears that had already fallen. She held the phone up to her ear and cleared her throat lightly. She spoke first but her voice cracked around the edges. “Hey.”

On the other end, there was a long exhale. Like Paige had been holding her breath for days. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and even over the phone, the weight of her tone landed deeply in Azzi’s chest..

“You don’t need to apologize,” Azzi said quietly.

“Yes, I do,” Paige replied softly. “I never should’ve—” She stopped herself, took a long, shaky breath. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible. “I miss you.”

Azzi closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the phone. “I miss you too.”

A quietness filled the space between them.

At almost the same time , Cam stepped out of Azzi’s room and DiJonai quietly exited her guest room, leaving them alone.

There was a pause in the soft static of silence before Paige’s voice came through, horsley. “Have you been eating?”

Azzi took a breath. “I’m trying.” Then after a second she added, “You?”

“I’m…cutting,” Paige said after a small hesitation.

“You don’t start cutting until two weeks before your fight.”

Paige didn’t respond.

Azzi waited with her lips pressed together. Paige tugged at the edge of the blanket wrapped around her legs, curling into herself just a little, her silence saying more than anything she could say.

Gently, Azzi asked, “Are we going to talk about it?”

Paige’s voice was soft as she said. “Of course. Just not over the phone.”

Azzi nodded even though Paige couldn’t see her. “Are you coming back soon?”

“I can’t. Not until the fight,” Paige said.

“Why?”

Paige stared at the ceiling, trying to swallow down the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to say that she hadn’t trained since that night. That every time she so much as thought about getting in the cage, all she could see was Azzi flinching. That the image of the woman she loved looking afraid of her was lodged somewhere deep in her bones, making it impossible to move.

“There’s an extra trainer down here in Dallas,” she said instead. “Thought I’d take advantage of that.”

Azzi knew Paige was lying. She could tell by her voice but she didn’t push. “You don’t feel ready?” she asked instead.

“I got a lot of catching up to do,” Paige said.

The line went quiet again, both of them teetering on the edge of something delicate and not wanting to say the wrong thing.

Then, softly, Azzi asked, “Do you think we’re going to be okay?”

Paige’s voice broke gently through the silence. “I think we’re talking…and that counts for something right?”

Without speaking, both girls slowly shifted to lay on their sides, mirroring each other across state lines. Phones cradled against their cheeks, tucked into pillows. The air between them was still tentative, still filled with a slight tension and recent pain but it wasn’t unbearable anymore after hearing each other's voices.

There were small silences, tiny hesitations as they talked, unsure of how to be anything but soft with each other right now.

Paige found herself smiling, just a little, just from hearing Azzi’s voice. Her cadence, her sighs when her girlfriend said something a little outlandish, the quiet way she said Paige’s name like it still meant something to her.

And Azzi, she felt her chest loosen for the first time in a week. Like maybe she hadn’t ruined everything. Maybe she hadn’t completely broken the woman she loved. She still had a piece of her even after that night.

They stayed like that, talking about nothing and everything, until the weight between them started to shift just enough to make breathing easier.

…

Those three weeks with Paige in Dallas and Azzi in LA were hell for both of them, respectfully.

In Dallas, Paige didn’t so much live as exist. Days passed like static, one bleeding into the next. She now slept too much and barely ate, only getting through meals when DiJonai sat in front of her like a sentry with her arms crossed, waiting for every last bite to disappear from the plate.

It wasn’t until two weeks before the fight that DiJonai had enough of Paige not training.

So she yanked Paige out of bed early that morning. She didn’t say a word as she threw a hoodie at her aggressively, and drove them to the gym in complete silence. Paige didn’t ask where they were going, she didn’t really care. She just stared out the window, her thoughts drifting everywhere but where she was.

The second they stepped inside the empty gym, DiJonai threw a pair of gloves at her. They hit her chest and dropped to the floor. She didn’t bend to pick them up, just looked at them.

“What are we doing here?” Paige asked flatly.

“You have a fight in two weeks,” DiJonai said, already starting to stretch on the mat.

“I know.”

“So you need to train.”

“I said I know.”

DiJonai turned around with her jaw clenched. “Then put the damn gloves on, idiot.”

Paige didn’t move. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t thrown a punch in three weeks.”

“I’ve been working out.”

“Jogging on the treadmill and lifting half your usual weight isn’t working out. It’s you bullshitting.”

Paige just stared at her.

“You do realize you’re risking your life, right?” DiJonai snapped, her frustration bubbling over.

Paige’s jaw clenched as she looked away. “You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I think you’re so in your head about other shit that you’re forgetting what stepping into a fight means.” DiJonai took a step closer. “This isn’t some play fight, Paige. This isn’t sparring or an exhibition. You know this shit is real. If you go in there half-assed, half-ready, half-whatever it is you’re fucking feeling you don’t come out the same.”

Silence.

DiJonai’s voice changed. “I can’t watch you do that to yourself…I won’t. And I think you knew that and that’s why you came here instead of going to Minnesota. You know I won’t coddle you like everyone else will.”

Paige’s eyes flicked to the gloves on the ground but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

DiJonai just waited. Her patience wasn’t infinite, but her care for Paige had been since they met for some reason. It was one of the reasons they got along so well.

Paige’s eyes flicked to the gloves on the ground again.

“Put them on,” DiJonai said again, quieter this time.

“I can’t,” Paige said, her voice cracking.

“Why the fuck not, Paige?”

Paige’s jaw clenched as she looked everywhere but at DiJonai. Her voice came out defeated when she spoke. “Cam told you about the club, I’m assuming.”

DiJonai gave her a small nod, her eyebrows narrowing. “Yeah…what about it?”

Paige exhaled like the weight of the night was sitting directly on her lungs. “After that night Azzi was just off. She thought I didn’t notice but I could tell it freaked her out and I just—I was so mad at myself for letting her see me like that and our argument just confirmed everything I already knew.”

DiJonai folded her arms across her chest. “Okay…but Paige, you knocked some dude out for smacking your girlfriend's ass. You did exactly what every damn testosterone-filled man would’ve done.”

“I know,” Paige mumbled, still clearly upset with herself.

“I’m not saying it was the right thing,” DiJonai added quickly, “but Azzi’s overreacting a little.”

Paige’s head snapped up at that. “She’s not,” she said simply. “She’s not overreacting. Don’t say she can’t feel how she does.”

“She is,” DiJonai insisted, calmly. “You’re acting like you blacked out and don’t remember what happened. You didn’t. You lost your cool because some idiot violated your girlfriend and you’re a natural protector. There’s a difference.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t,” DiJonai agreed. “But if you had actually blacked out, like everybody keeps claiming, you wouldn’t have stopped when security got involved. You would’ve swung on them. You would’ve left him with more than a fucked up nose and a busted cheek. But you didn’t. You stopped.”

Paige shook her head. “I lost it Nai.”

“Yeah you snapped. That’s not the same as being out of control,” DiJonai pushed. “You’re scared because you think this proves something about you but it doesn’t.”

“It proves I’m not who she thinks I am,” Paige mumbled.

“No, it proves you’re human,” DiJonai said back. “One who cares clearly. You snapped because someone disrespected the person you love, not whatever story you’ve been narrating in your head.”

Paige didn’t respond, her hands just trembled slightly even thinking about putting on the gloves.

DiJonai took a small step closer so they were face to face. “She’s scared, I get that. I understand that she has the right to feel what she feels. But don’t twist that into thinking you’re not worthy of her or love or whatever dramatic ass scenarios I know you’re coming up with. You messed up, that’s it.”

Paige looked down at the mat, her voice suddenly small. “She flinched Nai.”

Paige’s eyes brimmed with tears but they didn’t fall. “When we were arguing. I raised my voice a lil bit and I ain’t like that so I was tryna stop the argument and she flinched like I was gonna…like I was gonna hit her.” Her throat bobbed hard as she choked on her own breath. “That’s not something even you can explain away. That’s not someone overreacting, she was scared of me. I’m supposed to be where she feels the safest and she’s scared of me.” As she said this a single tear dripped from her eye before she wiped it away aggressively.

“That might’ve been her reaction, yeah. But that doesn’t mean she’s scared of you Paige. It means it’s complicated and that you have to work through it with her.”

Paige didn’t answer.

“You think she’d still be calling you if she really believed you’d hurt her?” DiJonai asked gently. “You think she’d still pick up the phone for you when you text her?”

Paige sat on the mat with her head bowed. DiJonai let her sit there for a few minutes hoping that she’d will herself up. Talk herself through everything going on in her head.

But after a while DiJonai exhaled. She could see it in Paige’s eyes, in her posture. She was feeling more than just guilt, whatever it was sat bone-deep. Sitting in a place where words weren’t going to reach her.

“Alright,” DiJonai said. “If you’re convinced you can’t control yourself, let’s test it right now.”

Paige looked up at her in confusion, just in time to see DiJonai pull her own hoodie off and toss it aside.

“Get up.”

“What?”

DiJonai stepped closer. “Get. Up.”

Paige didn’t move so DiJonai yanked her up. “DiJ—”

Suddenly as soon as she was on her feet DiJonai pushed her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble back. “How far you think I can get before you snap?”

“Stop,” Paige warned.

But DiJonai didn’t. She got in Paige’s face, eyes to eye. “Do it. Show me how man you think you can get. Show me how you think you can just black out.”

“DiJonai—”

Another shove. This time it was harder on her chest.

“I’m standing right here. Disrespecting you. Pushing you. Provoking you.” She shoved again, more force behind it. “Lemme see you tweak like you think you will on the people you care about. Let out all that anger you been holding in.”

Paige’s jaw clenched as she took a tight breath. She wouldn’t look at DiJonai, she just stared past her.

“What you not mad yet?” DiJonai prodded. “You don’t wanna swing on me? You a pussy all of a sudden now?

Paige didn’t move.

DiJonai’s voice lowered. “What’s wrong? You scared imma flinch like your lil girlfriend?”

Paige’s eyes snapped to hers clearly pissed off but she still didn’t move.

DiJonai waited for a reaction. A twitch in her fingers. A slip, anything to provide Paige right.

But all Paige did was breathe. It was gritty and broken, but controlled.

A few seconds passed and then DiJonai leaned in, softer now. “You’re pissed,” DiJonai said. “You’re hurt. You’re drowning in your own head and you still didn’t touch me. You know how to control yourself Paige so please stop acting like you’re one step away from hurting the people you care about.”

Something cracked when DiJokai said that. Paige’s face crumpled before she could stop it and her shoulders folded in as the weight finally caught up to her. Her hands trembled as her breath hitched twice. Then she was crying, not just tearing up and letting one or two tears drip, but full on crying.

She stepped forward and DiJonai caught her easily. Paige leaned into her shoulder like her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore, letting out a broken, muffled sob that had been sitting in her chest for too long.

DiJonai held her there and just let her cry. “You’re ok I swear.” Paige only cried harder, her fingers gripping the back of DiJonai’s shirt .

They stood there for a while as Paige just let herself cry, sobs falling out of her here and there until she physically didn’t have anything left in her.

When Paige’s breathing started to get a little more even, DiJonai leaned back enough to look her in the eye. “Now pick up the gloves.”

Paige blinked a few times, her eyes still wet and puffy, after a second she slowly bent down to grab the gloves.

…

Back in LA, things weren’t falling apart like they were in Dallas but they weren’t quite holding together either.

Azzi hadn’t left the house in days. Cam, Rickea, and Rae had made it their personal goal to keep her distracted, throwing together movie nights, spontaneous baking sessions and a lot of tequila. They dragged out old board games, ordered her favorite takeout, and gave her space when she needed it. But no matter how many activities they lined up everyday, Azzi stayed emotionally elsewhere.

She was still eating, still showering, still going through the motions. But her heart wasn’t in it.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Paige looked at her right after. Like Azzi had confirmed her worst fear in a split second and in the rest of that second, all Azzi had wanted was to take it back. To reach for her. To tell her she didn’t mean to move, that it wasn’t about her. That she wasn’t scared of her, But but hadn’t been able to. And now Paige was in Dallas, and she was in LA, and there was nothing but space between them.

That night, after Rae had gone to bed, Cam and Rickea found Azzi curled up in the corner of the couch with a hood pulled over her head and her eyes distant. The TV was on but it was muted, the lights only flickering across Azzi’s face.

Rickea sat next to her and Cam brought over ice cream, putting it on the table.

“Why did I flinch?”

Cam looked at her softly. “You wanna talk about it?”

Azzi hesitated and they let the silence sit comfortably until she was ready. “I don’t know why I did it.”

Rickea sat next to her, listening.

“I grew up in a happy home,” Azzi said. “Two parents who love me. My dad doesn’t raise his voice, and my mom’s idea of discipline was a disappointed stare. So it wasn’t a reflex.”

Cam stayed quiet.

Azzi looked down at her hands as she talked herself through her tangled thoughts. “I wasn’t scared of her. I’m not scared of her.” She corrected herself. “But I think something about the way she looked, like she’d stopped feeling anything. It kind of hit me weird. Like all this energy was coming off of her, and it just—my body reacted before I could stop it.”

Rickea tilted her head. “You think it’s from something you saw before?”

Azzi shook her head. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t like a memory. It was more like...I don’t know. Shock. That night...I think I was scared of what she was feeling. Not what she’d do. I knew she wasn’t going to do anything to me.”

Azzi looked down, playing with her cuticles. “She looked at me like I confirmed every worst thing she’s ever believed about herself.”

“I should’ve said something,” Azzi added again. “But, I let her walk out thinking I didn’t feel safe with her.”

Cam’s voice was soft. “So tell her when you can. Make sure she hears that.”

Azzi’s eyes stung. “I just want her to come home.”

Rickea leaned her head against Azzi’s shoulder. “She will babe.”

It was 1:43 AM in Los Angeles. 3:43 in Dallas. That same night, technically, when DiJonai got Paige to pick up the gloves and Azzi worked through her feelings on the couch.

Paige was sitting on DiJonai’s balcony with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she stared at the sky.

Back in LA, Azzi was curled on her patio couch in her backyard, with one of Paige’s hoodies keeping her warm. She hadn’t planned on texting her, but her fingers moved anyway.

A message lit up Paige’s phone.

Azzi [3:43 AM]: You up?

The response came to Azzi almost instantly.

Paige [1:43 AM]: yeah wassup mama ?

Seconds later, Paige’s phone lit up again with an incoming call and she answered on the first ring.

“Hey you,” Azzi said softly.

“Hey,” Paige echoed back, just as soft.

“What are you up to?”

Paige tilted her head back, eyes tracing the constellations. “Just...staring at the sky.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” Paige asked, already smiling.

Azzi didn’t answer with words. Instead, she raised her phone and took a picture of the sky from her backyard, and sent it.

Paige pulled the phone away from her ear for a second to look. The moon was the same in both places.

She brought the phone back to her ear. “What you doing out there?”

“It’s cold in the house,” Azzi said.

“Turn the heat up.”

“I don’t want to.”

The words hung there.

They both knew what she meant. That it wasn’t really about the cold. That she wanted Paige’s body next to her to keep her warm. But neither of them said it.

After a few quiet seconds, Azzi asked, “Why are you up?”

Paige exhaled slowly. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

There was a pause, then a soft smile ghosted Paige’s lips. “You.”

“What about me?”

Another pause before Paige said quietly, “How much I miss you.”

Azzi closed her eyes, smiling a little. “I miss you too.”

A moment passed before Paige spoke again. “I went to the gym today.”

Azzi perked up. “That’s good. Did you hit?”

“Yeah.”

Azzi smiled with her eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

Paige’s voice caught a little. “Why?”

Azzi shifted in her seat, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands. “Because...you weren’t before.”

Paige stared out at the sky. “How’d you know?”

“Your voice.”

“What about it?”

“It’s lighter now. It always changes a little after you hit for real. When we were talking the other day it never changed. So I knew you weren’t letting anything out.”

Paige was quiet, her eyes stinging at Azzi noticing something as small as that. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. “If you knew I was lying.”

“Because I would lie too, if I thought it might make you feel better.” She let that sit before asking, “That’s what you were doing, right? Trying to make me feel better?”

Paige blinked hard, nodding even though Azzi couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

Azzi’s voice was quiet again when she spoke. “DiJonai reached out to me.”

Paige blinked, straightening up a little. “She did?”

“Yeah...asked for my number.”

Paige let out a soft laugh. “She’s annoying like that.”

Azzi smiled faintly at the familiar sound. “We talked…” she started, then trailed off. She didn’t need to finish. Paige already knew what they talked about.

“We can talk about it when I get back,” Paige said gently.

“In two weeks?” Azzi asked, the time sounding heavier when she said it out loud.

Paige nodded instinctively, then remembered Azzi couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she said. “We can’t talk about this over the phone.”

Azzi understood so she didn’t press for anything more.

There was a lull in the conversation before Azzi shifted the energy like she always did to make Paige lighter. “You know your beautiful precious Audi is probably at the airport, getting dirty and racking up a pretty big bill.”

Paige let out a chuckle. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Paige smiled. “Go get it for me then if you’re so worried.”

Azzi scoffed playfully. “What?”

“You know where my spare key is.”

“You want me to go get your what…two hundred and forty five thousand dollar car and just drive it?”

Paige grinned. “Mhmm.”

Azzi laughed, it was that easy, bright laugh that Paige had missed more than anything.

“Just don’t try to put any gas in it like you did the Escalade,” Paige added.

“Oh my God,” Azzi groaned, laughing louder. “How was I supposed to know it didn’t take regular?”

“You shouldn’t have been trying to pump gas in the first place princess,” Paige said softly.

Azzi smiled to herself for a second before she said. “I miss that.”

“Me too.”

Azzi stretched her legs across the outdoor couch cushion, pulling Paige’s hoodie tighter around her. “So…what else is going on in that head of yours?”

Paige exhaled slowly. “Everything. Nothing. Depends on the hour really.”

Azzi gave a soft laugh. “I see you’re still dramatic, huh?”

“Can’t help it.”

Azzi smiled. “Whatever.”

Paige let her words sit in the quiet for a beat before asking, “How’s Cam?”

“She’s good. She tried to get me to go on a hike in a cave earlier.”

Paige raised her eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Hell no.”

Paige laughed. “It’s the bugs isn’t it?”

“Yes you know I hate them and dirt…and being hot.”

They sat in silence for another stretch but this time it was the kind that felt familiar. Like Azzi just letting her girlfriend be her usual self for a second.

Eventually Azzi asked, “You nervous?”

Paige blinked. “About what?”

“The fight.”

Paige was quiet for a long moment. “No…” Then, “I don’t know. I think I’m thinking more about what I have going on than who I’m fighting.”

Azzi’s voice was soft. “Do you want me to come?”

Paige’s eyebrows knit slightly. “Do you want to come?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Paige looked up at the sky like it might give her the right words. “I just…didn’t know if you’d want to see it. After everything you know.”

Azzi’s heart twisted hearing how fragile Paige sounded. She didn’t sound like a fighter right now, more like a girl trying not to lose herself in her own thoughts.”

“Of course I’m gonna be there, pretty girl,” Azzi said gently.

Paige swallowed hard. “I’d understand if you didn’t want to though. It wouldn’t make me think less of you or anything like—”

“Baby,” Azzi interrupted softly.

Paige’s stopped rambling. “…Yeah?”

Azzi’s voice was barely a whisper. “Stop.”

Paige’s eyes fluttered closed. “Okay.”

They kept talking again about nothing, about everything. They didn’t solve anything, didn’t touch the deeper pain just yet, but the call was another thread pulling them back to each other. Azzi talked about Rae accidentally burning popcorn and setting off her smoke alarm. Paige told her about the old lady who almost knocked her over at Whole Foods trying to get the last jar of almond butter before giving it to her because her eyes reminded her of her granddaughter.

They laughed. They reminisced. They went quiet. They missed each other so loudly without saying it.

By the time a soft orange hue bled into the Dallas skyline, Azzi yawned, curled tighter in Paige’s hoodie.

Paige smiled faintly, watching the sun peek out over the horizon. “…I’ll talk to you later?”

Azzi whispered, “Of course.”

The call ended quietly and Paige just sat there for a second, holding the phone to her ear like she could still hear her.

Eventually, she walked inside.

DiJonai was already in the kitchen, pouring coffee in a tank top and sweats. “You were up all night,” she said, without looking up.

Paige blinked slowly, dragging her feet toward the hallway. “Yeah.”

DiJonai sipped. “You should get some sleep, Oscar the Grouch.”

Paige cracked a tired smile. “She told you she calls me that?”

DiJonai just hummed, not answering as she turned to grab some cream.

Paige smiled again, softer this time, before disappearing into the guest room to finally get some sleep.

The next two weeks felt like an eternity that stretched until it couldn’t anymore.

Every day, Paige trained. Her trainer had flown to Dallas and she stayed in the gym, trying to silence the chaos in her head by drowning it with sweat and repetition. It worked sort of. At least during the hours she was moving, she didn’t have to think.

When she wasn’t training, she forced herself to sleep. Heavy, dreamless sleep that made her forget everything for the rest of the day. Her eating had improved, barely, but it still wasn’t where it needed to be. She tried, but every time she ate she felt like she was going to throw up so meals were only half-finished, picked over and left cold.

She and Azzi talked a good amount of times. Nothing too deep. Just enough to keep the tether between them tight. They shared updates, teased each other lightly, and exchanged sleepy goodnights. It was effortful, but it mattered. It reminded them they were still trying.

…

The day before the fight, Paige flew to Vegas. The weigh-in was quick, her body lean under the lights. When the numbers flashed on the screen — 132 — the entire room looked surprised . Murmurs passed across the room. That was way too low for someone like her who was a natural 141.

Paige barely had time to step in her hotel room before her phone was ringing.

She answered on the second ring, barely getting out a “Wassup” before Azzi’s voice came through sharp.

“Paige 132? Are we serious?”

Paige winced. “Az, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Azzi snapped, not yelling at her but clearly upset. “You told me you were eating better.”

“I am baby,” Paige mumbled, rubbing a hand over her face. “Just…not enough, I guess.”

Azzi exhaled hard through the phone. “Paige. You don’t have anything to prove by—.”

“I’m not trying to.” Paige interrupted her gently.

“I need you to take better care of yourself. I know you’re not doing it on purpose but you’re hurting yourself, which hurts me baby.”

Paige didn’t say anything.

There was a knock on her hotel room door a second later. She opened it, still on the phone, to find DiJonai standing there with way too many food containers and colorful drinks balancing between both arms.

“I got hydration and hella carbs,” she said, stepping in the room without waiting for Paige to say anything.

Azzi’s voice came through the phone. “Is that DiJonai?”

“Yep,” Paige sighed.

“Good. Let her bully you into eating. I’m serious.”

DiJonai dropped everything onto the table like it was an intervention. “She told me the number,” she said flatly. “Now eat. I don’t care what it is, pick something and start chewing.”

Paige rolled her eyes but dropped on the couch and pulled a container toward her.

Azzi’s voice softened. “I’m not mad, okay?”

“I know.”

“I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“I know, Az.”

“Okay.”

They didn’t say bye. Paige just stayed on the phone while she started eating, Azzi’s quiet presence on the other end somehow making the food go down easier.

…

Everyone from L.A. had made the decision without saying anything out loud: none of them would go to the back to see Paige before the fight.

It wasn’t out of distance or anything like that. They just all understood what seeing Azzi before the fight might do to Paige. What it might undo. Azzi hadn’t argued about it even though the ache in her chest to be near Paige had grown to be almost unbearable. She just nodded when they suggested they just go to their seats early today, understanding more than anyone.

So, it was just DiJonai, Paige’s trainer, and her cutman in her concrete room behind the arena. The space was filled with the buzz from the fluorescent lights and anticipation that pressed through the walls and into Paige like a second skin. But instead of the calmness Paige usually carried before a fight; that eerie, focused stillness. Today, she was constantly moving.

She paced in tight circles with her jaw clenched. She cracked her neck every few minutes, rolled her shoulders and threw combinations at the air. Sometimes she’d slap the side of the travel bag hanging nearby, then step back like it offended her when it swung back with an equal opposite reaction.

DiJonai sat on one of the chairs with her legs crossed, watching her the entire time. “Paige sit still,” she said a few times. Each time with a little more insistence, a little more urgency.

But Paige didn’t listen.

Her trainer with his arms folded, finally stepped in front of her mid-pace, holding up a hand to make her stop. “You good?” he asked.

Paige nodded, but it was a twitch more than a nod. Her hands were in fists and her shoulders were tense.

He studied her for a second. The bags under her eyes weren’t from a bad night of sleep, they were from weeks of actual unrest. The sharpness in her face was no longer from her conditioning, it was depletion. The dullness that used to flicker behind her eyes before a fight now weighed heavier.

He exhaled and lowered his voice. “You got one round tonight.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You got one round,” he repeated. “To make something happen or I’m calling the fight.”

She stared at him, stunned at how serious he sounded.

“I’m not gonna watch you get hurt tonight because your head’s not in it. I’d pull you completely if they hadn’t already announced your card. You either go out there and handle it in one round, or I’m stopping it. You’re not walking in the cage just to bleed or whatever you got going on kid. You got me?”

Paige swallowed hard and her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest.

She heard him loud and clear.

DiJonai watched the interaction from the corner. She didn’t say anything but Paige saw the worry in her eyes when she looked at her.

She felt too much in that split second. Way more than what she was supposed to be feeling before a fight. Every ounce of pressure and pain and disgust she’d been feeling rising to the surface.

She took a deep breath and another to ground herself. Slow her racing heartbeat down as the noise of the arena filtered through the hallway walls, muffled but rising.

The lights above the cage were blinding, humming faintly in her ears as Paige stood in the winning corner, the one reserved for reigning champions. Her gloves were already tight on her hands but nothing felt real.

Across from her, in the challenging corner, her opponent bounced on the balls of her feet psyching herself up like they always did.

The announcer’s voice echoed somewhere beyond the fog in Paige’s head, drawing cheers from the crowd then the bell rang and she stepped forward.

And then everything just went blank.

It wasn’t like tunnel vision. It was more like drowning. Paige moved on instinct instead of reading her opponent. Her body was reacting without her brain processing what was happening. She didn’t remember measuring distance. Didn’t remember her footwork. Didn’t remember loading up or throwing anything. She doesn’t remember anything.

But her fists landed and they landed hard.

Each punch came suddenly but fast enough that her opponent couldn’t react: a left hook that snapped her head to the side and an immediate cross that sent blood flying, a knee to the ribs that folded the girl in half. Then the blur of movements that pinned her to the cage like a ragdoll. The crowd roared in admiration, the cage floor trembled, and Paige kept going.

She used her opponent like a motionless heavy bag and she didn’t even blink. Her corner wasn’t yelling instructions, they were stunned into silence, watching what they thought was about to be a disaster of a fight turn into something completely different.

Then an uppercut Paige threw cracked her opponent's jaw and it seemed like the sound echoed through the arena. Her eyes rolled back before her body hit the floor and she was out cold.

That’s when Paige heard the bell blaring in her ear effectively bringing her back to her body. Her chest was rising and falling fast and her lungs were begging for air she didn’t realize she needed.

The referee grabbed her wrist and lifted it into the air shouting something she couldn’t process before the crowd erupted.

But of course Paige didn’t smile. She blinked, dazed and confused, trying to place herself in the moment. Trying to figure out what just happened.

Her gaze slid to the other side of the cage where the girl was still down with medics crouched around her, speaking frantically, shining a light into her eyes.

Suddenly, Paige felt sick. Not dizzy. Not tired or exhausted. Just…sick to her stomach.

Because what the hell just happened?

She looked down at her gloves and her throat bobbed when she saw the blood smeared along the knuckles, dried and wet all at once. She checked her arms, her torso trying to figure out if it was hers, hoping somehow it was hers, then she squeezed her eyes shut because she didn’t want to know what she already knew.

Her heart pounded so loud in her throat it felt like it might tear through skin. Her mouth was desert dry, and her tongue was heavy, like she’d been chewing cotton. Each breath came tighter, hotter, like the air in the arena had turned into a sauna, a full hundred degrees and rising faster.

The cheers were still echoing as she pushed past everyone, barely aware of the cameras trying to catch her face, her reaction. She didn’t give them one, she never did but this time she felt a numb hollowness.

She walked mechanically through the back corridors, yanking her gloves off in disgust with shaky hands the second she cleared the lens of the last broadcast camera. She threw one that landed hard on the concrete floor behind her and the other one just slipped from her hand.

By the time she got to her assigned room, the adrenaline was still shooting through her nerves but she felt something else rising quicker.

She stumbled straight to the bathroom, her body dropping to her knees at the toilet before she could do it herself and she threw up.

Nothing of actual substance really came up because she hadn’t eaten much. But her body just needed to let something out before it consumed her from the inside. She stayed there until physically there was nothing for her body to let out, just white foam from the acid of her stomach burning her throat.

When it was over, she sat back on her heels, breathing hard. Her palms pressed against the cold tile until her head just fell back to rest on the wall. She stayed there for a few moments, unsure if she had the strength to get up, if she even wanted to get up but eventually she did.

She gripped the edge of the sink and pulled herself up, blinking against the harsh overhead light.

Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Sweat clung to her eyebrow and jaw and her eyes were glassy and red. She looked tired. Like someone who’d somehow won something and lost something at the same time.

She rinsed her mouth, spat once, then again. She whipped a towel across her face and rolled her shoulders back to straighten her posture. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth then she stepped out of the bathroom into a room that was full of people.

Her trainer stood in the corner still talking quietly, almost excitedly with her cutman. DiJonai sat near the far wall with her arms crossed over her chest and she was watching Paige carefully the moment she stepped out of the bathroom. Rickea, Cam, and Rae were there too, but their faces blurred into the background.

Paige’s eyes moved across the room in a frantic motion, barely registering anyone until they landed on Azzi.

The moment she saw her, Paige’s chest lightened like she could finally breathe. Her feet moved on instinct, carrying her forward a few steps until she froze. Remembering the last time they’d been this close, how the night had ended and Paige still didn’t know what version of herself Azzi saw when she looked at her now.

But then Azzi opened her arms and Paige’s legs carried her the rest of the way unsteadily until she collapsed into her chest. She clung to her like her presence alone was the only thing keeping her here, her arms wrapped around her tightly and her face was buried deep in Azzi’s neck.

Azzi held her up whispering, "I'm so proud of you baby."

That broke whatever fragile hold Paige had on herself and she dry-heaved once into Azzi’s chest, the weight of her words hitting something too raw inside her. Her face stayed buried in her neck trying to muffle the quiet, shaky sounds, ashamed of how much she needed this. How much she needed her.

Everyone in the room exchanged silent glances and one by one, they slipped out the door quietly to give them space.

When it was just the two of them. Paige finally let herself feel and she felt like everything was crashing into her chest at once. Azzi held her close, with her arms steady around her frame. She whispered soft nothings in her ear: small comforts, high praises, reminders that she was here, that Paige wasn’t alone anymore. Every so often, she pressed a light kiss to her forehead gently, rubbing at Paige’s sweaty back but Paige couldn’t stay present.

She was blinking too fast, breathing too shallow. Her arms were slack on Azzi’s shoulders, and even though she hadn’t let go of Azzi, it felt like she was floating somewhere far away. Her eyes darted across the room, tightening her jaw every so often, teeth working against the gum she’d thrown in after vomiting, trying to mask the sour taste in her mouth.

Azzi noticed it all, noticed how Paige’s senses seemed to be in overdrive so she moved to ease them.

Carefully, she guided Paige to a seat, crouching slightly to ease her limp body into the chair without jarring her. Once Paige was settled safely she stood up, moving to turn off the lights plunging the room into darkness other than the light coming in from the bottom of the door. The room was already quiet, the echo of voices gone as soon as the others left. Azzi moved back over to where Paige was and gently reached for Paige’s face with one hand squeezing her cheeks a little. “Spit it out,” she said softly.

Azzi cupped her hand as Paige let the gum fall into it. Azzi threw it away before kneeling down in front of her.

“Give me your hand,” she whispered.

Paige lifted her hand and Azzi took her fingers and guided them gently to her chest, pressing her palm flat against the space over her heart. Paige’s hand was freezing cold and shaky but Azzi’s heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath it.

Azzi placed her hand over Paige’s, holding it in place. “There,” she murmured. “Close your eyes and just be with me right here, beautiful.”

Paige’s head fell back against the wall as she fluttered her eyes closed. The rhythm she felt beneath her palm wasn’t her own, but she let it be her center. The constant beat of Azzi’s heart was the only thing that didn’t feel too loud, too much, too fast. They sat in silence like that for what felt like a long time. Then finally, Paige whispered, “I don’t know what happened.”

Azzi’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean, baby?”

Paige swallowed hard, her hand still resting over Azzi’s heart. “The fight Az. I don’t remember any of it.”

Hearing that Azzi didn’t have any words to offer. Nothing she could say that would make that easier to swallow for Paige. So she didn’t try; she just moved forward, sitting up enough to pull Paige’s head to her chest, wrapping her arms around her again.

Paige let herself be held, tears slipping silently down her face. “Can we go back home?”

Azzi glanced down at her. “To LA? Tonight?”

Paige nodded, not lifting her head.

Azzi nodded too, brushing her fingers through Paige’s damp hair. “I’ll make it happen, baby.”

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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