#(so yeah! just do you and enjoy what you love ^^)

[dolcecherub]

so close, so cruel⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

✧ pairing: oscar piastri x virgin!fem reader

✧ tags: virgin reader, lotssss of teasing, oscar is kind of a menace, first time, oscar begs, aftercare, dirty talk, established relationship, thigh fuck!!, sex, pnv, unprotected sex

✧ yap: honestly haven't written smut in a bit so i hope this is enjoyable and good but i neeeeddeddd to write an oscar that begs to fuck so yeah! i hope y'all enjoy and please ignore any mistakes it's currently 3:25am lol

✧ word count: 6.2k

It started with a simple hand on your thigh.

Innocent, technically. You were curled up together on the hotel bed, lights dimmed aside from the table lamp, some half-forgotten Netflix show playing in the background. Oscar had his usual calm about him, an arm slung around your shoulder, the other tracing idle patterns along the bare skin on your thigh. Every movement left a trail of fire in its wake.

You weren’t naive, you knew exactly what he was doing. Oscar had a way of teasing that never felt overly dirty, but it always lingered, always left you feeling flushed, thighs pressed together. Words that didn’t cross a line, but danced right on the edge. 

“You’re tense,” he said, voice low against your ear. His fingers had started to move, inching higher up your thigh, tracing a lazy path from your knee up through the inside of your thigh, only to trail back down before they got too far. “Something on your mind?”

You swallowed hard, eyes returning to the TV, attempting to focus again on the show. “No.”

He grinned like he didn’t believe you.

That was the thing with Oscar. He didn’t push, but he loved to see how close he could get before you’d squirm. And you always did, not because you didn’t want it, god no, but because you were still figuring this all out. You hadn’t been with anyone before him, at least not like this, and he knew that. And oh, was he so respectful about it.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a menace. 

“You sure?” His head leaned down closer to you, breath skimming your neck, hand dipping just a little higher. Just enough to make your heart stutter. 

You leaned into him instinctively, legs shifting against each other in the smallest, most telling motion, his smile widening against your skin as he placed a soft kiss against your neck. 

“Oscar,” you warned, voice barely above a whisper, tone falsely threatening 

“Hm?” He hummed innocently, nuzzling into your jaw, peppering light kisses, momentarily flicking his tongue across your skin. “I’m not doing anything.”

But he was, he always was. Maybe not always with his hands, but with the way he looked at you. Like he could see straight through every layer of hesitation, of nervousness, and he wanted to unravel it all, softly, slowly. 

He was patient, too patient, and somehow that only made the waiting worse. 

And hell if he stopped teasing you. 

-‘๑’-

You were making a quick coffee the next morning, setting up a cup for Oscar’s tea as well, wearing his t-shirt and nothing else. The sun poured in through the hotel blinds, warm and soft, casting long golden lines across the dull colours of the hotel room. You didn’t hear him pad out from the bathroom, now barefoot behind you, his arms circling your waist. 

“You always wear my shirts like that?” he murmured, voice husky with sleep, his head leaning down, his chin resting on your shoulder as he tucked his head into your neck.

“Like what?” You asked, stirring a pack of cream into your coffee.

“Like you’re asking for trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking a pack of sugar before dumping that in as well. “It’s laundry day.” You excused.

Oscar chuckled against your neck, feeling the vibration of his chest against your back. “We’re in a hotel.”

“Exactly.”

He laughed again, quietly and knowing, his hand grazing the bare skin of your thigh under the hem of his shirt, lifting it daringly. Lingering. He was far taller than you, his body nearly caging yours from behind as he was bending down towards you. 

“You know,” he added, lips brushing just behind your ear now, your body shivering at his contact. “You could just say the word.”

You turned your head to get a better look at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “I thought you liked the anticipation.”

His mouth curled, “I love it, but don’t pretend it doesn’t drive you insane,” he teased, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

Touche.

-‘๑’-

Later, you lay in bed, reading on your Kindle while Oscar mindlessly scrolled his phone next to you, one hand absentmindedly resting on your lower back. He liked to keep in contact, just enough to keep your body aware of him. It didn’t help that now and then, his fingers would trace small paths, sometimes grabbing you a little tighter. Always random enough to throw you off.

“You’re quiet,” he said, without looking up.

“I’m reading something,” You mumbled, mind focused on the warmth of his hand on your back.

“You’re flushed,” He said, finally glancing over.

“No, I’m not-” 

He rolled over on top of you before you could finish, pushing your Kindle to the side, pinning you gently to the mattress, straddling your hips. “You think I don’t notice what I do to you?” He whispered, breath fanning your face as his eyes darkened. 

His fingers hooked into the bottom of your shirt, well, his shirt, and lifted it slightly. His hands roamed the skin of your waist, hands warm and rough. “I think you like it when I take my time, darling.”

You shivered underneath him, hands coming up to rest on his neck, lightly playing with his hair. His weight on you, the soft graze of his thumb along your stomach, left your body squirming. 

You exhaled shakily, “I hate you.” 

He smirked before leaning down to kiss you, his lips latching onto yours roughly. You let out a whimper. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, tugging your lips open, his tongue slipping into your mouth hotly. His tongue swipes against yours as you whine, hands tugging his hair, Oscar groaning at the pull. 

He pulls his head back, lips glossy and cheeks flushed as he began trailing kisses down your neck, wet and sloppy, sometimes pausing to suck a light mark into your skin. 

“Osc,” You whimpered, tugging a little harder on his hair as he groaned, lips trailing lower, leaving a wet trail of kisses. 

Reaching his head back up, he placed a light kiss on your lips before tapping your hip. His eyes were blown with want, his lips upturned deviously. “Alright, time for bed.” He spoke, your body slightly relaxing from disappointment, a teasing smirk covering his face. 

You pouted at him, cheeks flushed bright red, lips bitten raw as he climbed off of you.

Calling him a tease was an understatement. 

-‘๑’-

The next evening, you were both running late, on the brink of missing a team dinner with the grid. Your hair was still half done, dress zipped halfway, the strap nearly sliding off your shoulder as you finished your makeup, face as close to the mirror as humanly possible, trying to get the best possible liner wing. 

Your mouth was slightly open, forming an ‘o’ as your hand shook a little. You saw Oscar come up behind you, his eyes looking at your reflection adoringly, a small smile stretching his face. You yelped quietly, feeling his hands grab the arch of your ass, rubbing over it a few times before resting one on your hip and the other still palming your ass. 

You could see your cheeks redden at the action, feeling Oscar’s hips press against your backside, his arousal pressing into you. His eyes darkened as you watched him behind you, his eyes stuck on the shape of your hips in the dress, entranced. 

You huffed out quietly, deciding the wing was the best it was going to get as you straightened up, pressing completely against Oscar as you put away your makeup. 

His knuckles brushed the bare skin your unzipped dress exposed, sending a shiver down your spine as you bit your lip. “Need help?” He asked, full well knowing you did.

“Please,” You requested, tone soft and nervous. He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, trailing a few further down as his hand slipped up towards the strap, gently pushing it off your shoulder. His knuckles trailed lower, nearing your tailbone, then back up again. 

“I don’t know if I wanna zip it up,” He murmured, the strap of your dress sitting idly off your shoulder, threatening to fall completely. 

“Oscar,” You warned, tone stern, knowing you both had somewhere to be.

He chuckled lowly, the sound thrumming through your chest. “Okay, okay.”

The zipper slid up slowly, torturously. His lips brushed against your shoulder as he brought the strap back up. 

“You have no idea how hard you make it to behave,” he whispered, lips brushing against the back of your ear as you pushed your hips back against him, his hands tightening on you. 

You swallowed, “Maybe that’s my goal,”

His hands paused at your waist before he let you walk away.

Barely.

-‘๑’-

You woke the next morning to his fingers tracing your arm. You’d fallen asleep tangled together, as usual, limbs warm and overlapping in a way that made it impossible to tell where you ended and he began. 

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked softly, voice less than a mumble. 

Oscar’s finger paused. “Think about what, darling?”

You turned over to face him, your voice quiet, a little nervous. “Us, that night. You know, when it does happen.”

He blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, “Every night.” 

Your breath caught.

“But I don’t imagine it for me,” He added. “I imagine it for you. What you’ll need, how to make it not scary, how to make you feel good, how to make you want it again, what I can do for you.”

That was the thing about Oscar. Sure he could be cocky and shameless all day, but when it came down to you, the real thing, his teasing quieted. 

He kissed your forehead lightly, “No rush, baby, I don’t mind. I’m ready whenever you are. I’ll wait.” He reassured.

You smiled, heart bursting, “Even if it drives you mad?” 

He grinned, a huff coming out lightly. “That’s the best part, darling.” 

-‘๑’-

Oscar had a sponsor event coming up, and of course, he had wanted you to be there. Your stylist had sent over a few options for you to try. 

Oscar insisted he help you decide, and so you found yourselves sitting in the quiet hotel room after a long media day, cycling through dress options that were best fit for the event. 

He watched intently, offering his opinions when he deemed necessary, ensuring he always complimented you regardless. 

You stepped out in a navy dress, tight, strapless, and fairly short, cinching your waist in essentially accentuating your hips. You couldn’t even make it to the mirror to look at yourself.

Oscar’s gaze snapped to you, eyes dragging across every inch of your frame. He sat up slowly, inching towards the edge of the bed, jaw clenched. “No.”

You blinked, a hand running across your body, smoothing any wrinkles. You gave a slight twirl, presenting your backside to Oscar, a small look over your shoulder catching his eyes staring. “No?”

“You can’t wear that.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Why not?”

He stood up, walked over slowly, and circled behind you. “Because,” He murmured, mouth brushing your ear, “If you walk around in this, I’m going to get into a fight.”

You laughed, lighthearted, your head falling back slightly onto his chest. “You’re not the jealous type.” 

“Not usually,” he said, voice low, his hand sliding up your thigh towards the hem of the dress. “But right now I’m thinking about how easy it would be to slide this dress up.” He teased, his fingers pushing up the hem of your dress, dangerously close to exposing you. “Or off. No zippers, no buttons.’

You bit your lip.

He smirked. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You glared at him through the mirror, watching his hand roam your hips in the reflection. “I hate you,” you tried, your knees slightly wobbling when you said it. He tugged the edge of your dress, completely exposing you. His foot pushed your ankle, spreading your legs a little as your breath caught. 

“I don’t think you do, baby.” He said quietly, fingers grazing your inner thigh, seeing your arousal drip down slightly, his fingers catching it as he rubbed his fingers against your core teasingly. Your body shook, feeling his rough fingers spread your arousal. 

“You knew what you were doing. Knew I’d lose my mind the second I saw you in this, or that I’d want to ruin it, didn’t you?” He teased his finger teasing your entrance softly as he lightly fucked his fingers into you, your knees buckling, his arms around your waist being the only thing keeping you up. You whimpered, he was giving you enough to tease you, but not enough to actually feel good just yet. 

“Osc,” You whined out, body buckling from pleasure as he held you up, his fingers hitting a spot deep inside you.

“Take it so well, can’t wait to see how you fit me, baby.” He teased, quickening his pace, your stomach tightening. “Look at yourself.” He demanded, his other hand reaching up around to grab your throat, not so hard that it was painful, but enough to limit the air to your lungs, brain fogging at the intensity. 

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, cheeks flushed red, eyes blown wide with need, tears brimming in them from pleasure. Your lips were parted, breathy and glossy. Oscar’s hand looked obscene around your neck, veins bulging as he tightened slightly. His eyes were dark, glazing over your body wantingly. 

The sounds of your arousal mixed with gasps and whines as Oscar continues mumbling sweet nothings encouragingly to you brought you closer to your release. His fingers slowed, teasing, pulling out before slowly fucking back into you, your mind dizzying at the stretch. 

“Oscar, please,” You begged, needing just a bit more. He chuckled from behind you, placing a soft kiss on the back of your head, his fingers plunging deeper, hitting exactly where you needed, a breathless moan escaping your throat as you crumbled. Your body clenched, writhing against Oscar, and he slowly eased his fingers out, a teasing pump making you whine.

You exhale a breath, body slumping as he circles his arms around you, pulling the dress down to cover you. “You did so well, darling.” He praised, kissing the top of your head, mumbling ‘I love you’s’ into your hair as you caught your breath. 

“Now you definitely can’t wear this dress or else I’m gonna spend all evening thinking about doing that,” He mumbled, placing one last gentle kiss against your head as he tapped your bum. You lightly slapped his arm jokingly, walking towards the bathroom to change back into your clothes for bed.

You heard Oscar chuckle behind you as he watched your legs tremble slightly from the aftermath of his actions. 

A menace. 

-‘๑’-

It had been a hectic day, lots of physical activities, and simply exploring the city with a few of the other drivers’ girlfriends. Tennis, a bike ride along the boardwalk and coast, a pretty hike and picnic, and my god, so many pictures. 

You had come back home to Oscar in the shower, the sound of water running mixed with the heat of the bathroom making the home feel cozier. After changing, your body needed a stretch to loosen all its muscles. You heard the shower turn off as you nearly flopped onto the floor in your bedroom. You laid out a few dynamic stretches, letting your body relax, sighs of relief leaving your mouth. You stood up, bending forward, your hands reaching for your toes, hamstrings burning at the pull. 

You closed your eyes, exhaling a deep breath as you heard the bathroom door open, footsteps padding closer. As you go to stand up, a hand steadies itself on your lower back, pushing your body back down as Oscar pushes against you. 

You immediately regretted the choice of stretch, vulnerable and exposed. He straddled your legs from behind, his other hand gripping your waist. 

“Need help?” He asked, far too innocently, for the way his hands were roaming your hips and his hips were pushing against you. 

“No,” You stuttered out quickly, unsuccessfully attempting to push yourself back up.

“Adjust your posture. Back straight, hips forward.” He instructed, his voice breathy. “Breathe, baby.”

You nearly died on the spot.

“I’m trying to stretch,” You muttered, muscles tensing up as your heart hammered against your chest.

“I’m helping,” He said, fingers splaying wide against your back. “This is very technical work.”

Momentarily, you ground your hips back into him, Oscar groaning at the movement. “You’re the worst.” You mumbled, a smile still evident in your tone.

“Correct,” He chuckles, “but look how deep you’re stretching now.” He spoke, his tone sultry with innuendos. 

You couldn’t even respond, just exhaling exasperatedly. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

He always did.

-‘๑’-

It was a particularly hot day this weekend in Miami. You were sitting on a curb outside the garage, licking a near-melting ice cream cone while Oscar stood next to you, sipping water. It was a few hours before free practice 2, his suit undone, sitting at his hips as his fireproof clung to his body. 

He watched you for a second too long.

“Baby,” He sighed, cheeks lightly flushed from the heat or the sight of you.

You looked up at him, eyes alight with energy.

“You can’t eat it like that.” He groaned, tone almost a warning. 

You blinked at him, taking another slow lick before asking, “Like what?”

He raised a brow, arms crossing against his chest. “You’re lingering, it’s obscene.”

You rolled your eyes, mind revelling at how easily you could also get him riled up. “It’s just ice cream.” 

He sat down, leaning in close to you, his voice low, meant for only the two of you. “It was ice cream. Now it’s a public indecency charge.”

You took an extra slow lick, simply to spite him, your eyes not leaving his. Oscar made a strangled noise, running a hand over his face and looking away. “You’re going to kill me.” He said, voice muffled by his hands.

“Good,” you said, smiling at him as if you hadn’t just made him hard. 

He reached a hand out, swiping a bit of melted ice cream from the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. His thumb dragged just enough to make your stomach drop a little, heart pounding. 

“You missed a spot.” He said, eyes heavy as he brought his thumb to his mouth, suckling the ice cream off, eyes glued to yours. 

Your breath hitched at the sight, his tongue swiping over the pad of his thumb momentarily. You didn’t speak for a full minute after that. 

-‘๑’-

You were sitting on the floor in front of a mirror, testing a few different hairstyles for fun. It had been a slower day, Oscar mostly out training for the day, as you stayed at home. He wandered in a bit later, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He leaned against the doorframe, simply admiring you as you fiddled with your hair. 

After a while, he walked over, squatting down behind you, placing a soft kiss on the back of your head. He twirled a finger through your hair before gathering it whole in his hands.

“So pretty like this,” He said softly, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Then he leaned closer, voice warm against your ear. He tightened his hold, pulling your head back slightly as your breath hitched at the pull.

“D’you ever think about what I’d do if I had your hair in my hands like this for another reason, baby?” He asked, tone deep, vibrating through your chest as your heart pounded against your ribs. 

You nearly choked on your breath, cheeks flushing.

He just walked out, satisfied with himself at the red on your face.

-‘๑’-

The hotel room was quiet, the low hum of traffic and the soft rustling of bedsheets filling the room. You weren’t asleep, nor was he.

Oscar was lying on his side, one arm tucked neatly under his head, the other resting gently across your waist, a comforting weight. His mouth was warm against your neck, trailing slow, reverent kisses.

Your shirt had long since been pushed up, panties pushed aside as his hands roamed your body as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere, on your hips, your thighs, the sides of your neck. He kissed you as though he was trying to keep it gentle, but you felt it, his control hanging on by a thread.

He pushed himself up and on top of you, his weight welcome and warming, as his lips found yours, tongue desperately swiping over yours as you whimpered, one hand scratching the back of his neck and the other trailing down his chest towards his waistband. 

His hips bucked forward, your fingers pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, his cock springing up, flushed and aching as your hand pumped him. You spread your thighs a little, feeling Oscar nibble on your lip before smoothing it over with his tongue. Your hand trailed back up his abs, nails lightly scratching along his body as he groaned. 

His hips pressed forward, and you felt it, him. Hard against you, not inside, but nestled perfectly between your thighs, slightly coated in his arousal mixing with yours. The thin friction, skin on skin, made you gasp. He lifted his head from yours, eyes watching your face as he pushed his hips. 

You clenched your thighs, wanting to make Oscar feel good too as he moaned. This, by far, had been his favourite way to get both of you off without crossing any lines. He bucked his hips, groaning at the wet slide between your thighs.

He exhaled shakily, forehead pressing to yours, his eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck.” He let out breathily as you looked at him, wide-eyed and cheeks flushed. 

You arched into him, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails slightly digging into him as his name spilled from your lips. You felt his warmth slide against your core, body begging for him. 

He rocked slowly, getting used to feeling as you clenched a little tighter, his hips faltering a little. 

You nearly fell apart watching him stutter.

He shuffled back, sliding off his sweatpants and boxers, dropping them off the side of the bed as his hands stumbled to throw off your t-shirt. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling it higher to rest upon his waist as his hips moved again, slow and controlled, dragging the full weight of his want between your legs, watching your arousal coat him. 

He groaned, eyes locking with yours as he spoke, “You feel…” he whispered, teeth grazing your jaw. “So fucking soft, baby, unreal.” He continued, voice shaky with need. 

You moaned softly, back arching. It was overwhelming, but you craved it. Every press of his hips sent sparks ripping through your spine. Although he wasn’t inside, it felt like he was claiming every inch of you anyway.

“Fuck baby, please,” He begged, although you weren’t quite sure for what. “Please let me fuck you, please I-” He exhaled, his voice whiny as you moaned his name. “Need to fuck you.”

Your heart pounded, nails clawing up his back as his cock throbbed between your thighs, your arousal’s mixing messily. “Oscar…” 

“Please, you feel so-” he gasped, hips rutting into yours especially hard, “so warm, so fucking perfect.” 

His tip slid between your folds, catching at the entrance momentarily as it slid, you whimpered at the feeling. He placed a shaky kiss to your lips, shuddering at the feeling. 

You moaned softly, eyes blown wide with want as you watched Oscar huff with need. His mouth hovered over yours, hot breath spilling across your lips. “All I can think about is how good you’d feel around me.”

You whined softly, you were right there with him, burning up with need. 

He kissed you, hard and messy, full of want. He pulled back, his face looking as though he was breaking. 

“Please,” He breathed. “Let me fuck you,” He begged, his voice raw and torn. 

You stared up at him, breathless, heart pounding in time with his. 

“I want it,” You whispered, his eyes closing at the words, a low groan rumbling from his chest. He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for months.

“Say it again,” He begged.

“I want you.” You whimpered.

He kissed you again, slow this time, like the desperation from before was folding into something deeper. He leaned his forehead against yours, one hand trailing down between your thighs, the other cupping your check like he was in awe of your words. 

His fingers slipped between your thighs, pumping lightly, your thighs dripping with arousal as his eyes caught sight. You groaned at the slight stretch, heart clenching with nerves. He  

“I’ve got you,” He reassured, noticing the worry on your face. His fingers curl, hitting a deep spot, body arching at the feeling before he slid them out. He spread the arousal across himself, pumping his cock a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. 

“You’re everything,” He spoke, tone soft as he pushed in. Just the tip, your breath hitched, and he did too. His mouth fell open, eyes squeezed shut like the sensation wrecked him instantly. The stretch was unreal, your body shuddering. 

“Shit,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You feel-” he groaned as you clenched around him. “Fuck, baby.”

He hadn’t moved yet, simply just held it there, letting you adjust, watching you carefully through blown pupils and clenched teeth, his tip pulsing inside you. 

“You okay?” he asked, brushing a soft thumb over your cheek. 

You nodded, words caught somewhere in your throat, “Yeah.” You let out breathily, eyes brimming lightly with tears. Oscar bent down, kissing your forehead then your nose, then your lips, soft, slow and grounding. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered. “Tell me if you need anything.” He spoke, gently and caring. 

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body closer as you curled your leg a bit tighter around his waist in response. 

That was all he needed.

He pressed in deeper, the stretch making your head spin as he slid in, inch by inch, until he was fully there. Oscar breaths landed heavy into your neck, one hand on your waist and the other gripping the sheet beside your head like it was the only thing keeping him together. 

“God,” he groaned, “You’re fucking soaked, dripping all over my cock.” He spoke, the words making your tummy turn. You were clinging to him, gasping softly, overwhelmed by how close he was, how he fit like he was meant to. You could hear the slick drag of him between your thighs. 

He rocked his hips gently, rolling in slow careful waves. Not hard, not fast. Just intentionally, every motion is a promise. You moaned softly, body arching up into his, matching the rhythm. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, “You’re okay. You’re perfect, so perfect, baby.” He reassured, his tone gentle with love.

You tighten your grip around his back, feeling his cock throb inside of you, vision blurring at the feeling of him pumping inside you. “Oscar, fuck.”

“I’ve got you,” he breathed again, one hand tangling in your hair, holding your forehead to his. “You’re mine baby, I’ve got you.” His words emphasized with a thrust.

“More,” You whimpered out brokenly. His thrusts quickened slightly, the sound of your arousal and skin slapping against each other fucking filthy in the air. 

Your head spun at the feeling of him, nails scratching along his back as he whispered sweet nothings. “Fuck you feel so good, you’re so tight.” He whined head falling to your shoulder as he fucked into you. “Gripping me like you were made for me.”

“You’ve fucking ruined me,” Oscar groans, hips rocking into you. He angles his hips, hitting a better angle as you whimper. You’re babbling at him, lips bitten raw as you look at him, eyes blown to filth. 

You clench around him, your body needing release. And fuck, Oscar nearly cums feeling you tighten around him. “Look at yourself, baby. Clenching around me like you’re fucking desperate for this, hm?” He teased, sitting up slightly as he fucked into you, watching your body rock up with each thrust. His hand reached up, thumb tweaking over your nipple as you whimpered.

He hissed through his teeth. “You feel that, baby? Right there?” He spoke, hand pressing down against your lower stomach, the pressure making your chest ache. You cry out, feeling his cock bulge inside you. You whimpered, nodding desperately.

He buried his face in your neck, breath hot and shaky. “You’re fucking melting around me. So wet-” He swore, voice shaking as he groaned. “I can feel everything.”

His hips snapped into you, rougher now, and the sounds it made, skin on skin, soaked and absolutely filthy, only made you clench harder. Oscar exhaled, grabbing your hips to keep you where he wanted you, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. 

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” he growled, teeth dragging against your skin. “Like I can’t help myself?”

You moaned, arching beneath him, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, fuck Osc, please.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy and dark and completely undone. “Open your eyes, darling, look at me. I want to see your face when you come.” He demanded, your stomach churning at his tone. 

You did, barely able to keep your eyes open as he slammed into you, again and again, hitting that perfect spot, your tummy bulging at how fucking well he was filling you. Your body went tight, heat building until it snapped. 

You shattered under him with a strangled cry, legs trembling, your cunt clenching around him so hard it made him swear, loud and filthy. 

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby, just like that. You’re so fucking good”

You were still fluttering around him, overstimulated and gasping as Oscar’s thrust slowed slightly. His pace stuttered, hands flying to your thighs to hold you open as he drove in deeper. 

“Where- fuck, where do you want it?” he gasped, barely coherent. “Tell me where you want me, baby. I’m not gonna last, fuck, I’m so close.” He begged, his thrusts getting sloppier. 

You clenched impossibly tighter, a tear spilling from your eye as you whispered, “Inside, I wanna feel it.” you whimpered.

That broke him.

Oscar let out the filthiest sound you’d ever heard from him, a half groan, half moan, as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep, his whole body going rigid as he came with a choked moan against your mouth. 

You felt it. Every hot pulse, deep and perfect, his cock filling you with warmth. 

He didn’t move at first. Just held there, twitching inside you, breath heavy, chest heaving against yours. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours.

He kissed you then, slow, open-mouthed, filthy, and tender all at once. And when he finally pulled out, you gasped at the loss, feeling disappointingly empty. “You’re perfect.”

He looked down at you, watching himself drip out from between your thighs, and let out a shaky laugh. “Look at you, fucking filthy baby. Look at what I did to you.” He said, running his finger through the slick mess between your legs pushing it back into you as you whine. 

He leaned in again, kissing your shoulder, dragging his lips down your chest lovingly before whispering, “You’re mine now, every fucking inch.” 

You whimpered, hips twitching at the pressure. “Oscar-” you gasped.

“You think I can stop now?” He growled, voice low and rough, his body sliding down against yours. “When you’re this wet, this open for me, when I can see what I’ve done to you?”

He sat back a little, spreading you open again. He knelt between your legs, eyes fixed between them, lips parted like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to ruin you with his fingers of his mouth. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “You let me know if it’s too much okay, baby?” He reassured, his eyes hungry with want. 

He dipped his head and licked a striped through the mess he left inside you, groaning low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. 

You sobbed, a hand flying to grip the sheets, the other threading through his hair, body jolting at the overstimulation. 

“You taste like me,” he said, almost smug, tongue dragging over you again. “So fucking sweet, how the fuck am I supposed to be gentle, hm?” His eyes running over your body hungrily, peering up at you from between your legs. 

His hands pinned your thighs wide as he sucked your clit into his mouth, rough and hungry, pure filthy, wet, need. 

You were already close, too close. “Oscar, I- please,” Your voice cracked, hips bucking up. 

“Yeah baby,” he groaned into you, “I know, gimme another darling. Let me hear how pretty you sound with my cum still dripping out of you.” 

That pushed you straight over. You came hard, again. Your whole body shaking, breath catching on a scream as he worked you through it with his tongue and fingers, relentless and soaked. 

He pulled back only when your thighs were twitching, lips slick and shining, eyes glazed with lust. 

He looked wrecked. 

And hard again.

“Turn over,” he said, voice hoarse, wrecked and commanding. You blinked at him breathless.

He reached down, slapping your ass once, just enough to make you jump. “On your knees. I’m not done with you.” a tone of ferality to him. 

You obeyed, barely able to hold yourself up, Oscar’s arm coming around your waist to support your body. He lined himself up behind you, dragging his cock through your folds teasingly, 

“Gonna fuck you one more time okay, baby?” he groaned, hand gripping your hip like a vice. “And you’re gonna take it.”

You moaned, shameless and needy.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, voice strained, “Opening up for me again, you’re mine.” You nodded, barely able to breathe.

“Say it.” He commanded, sliding into you slowly.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, face falling onto the pillows.

“That’s right,” he muttered darkly, sliding in and out, deeper and rougher, more possessive now. Filthy, and in love, and completely fucking obsessed. 

And it was quite safe to say he didn’t stop until you were crying into the pillows, shaking, and ruined all over again. 

“You okay?” he asked, your body collapsing forward into the pillows, legs trembling, heartbeat still fluttering somewhere in your throat. Your body felt wrecked in the best way, used, filled, warm.

You barely registered the sound of the sheets rustling behind you until you felt Oscar’s hands on your hips again, softer this time, thumbs pressing light circles into your skin. 

“Hey,” he whispered, voice rough from the use, but gentle now. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

He eased out you slowly and carefully, you winced at the loss. Oscar leaned forward, kissing the top of your spine, then the back of your shoulder, his lips lingering. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He disappeared for a moment, you heard the tap running, the sound of a warm cloth being wrung out, then he was back, sinking onto the bed beside you, gently coaxing you onto your back. 

His eyes flicked across your body, his work. The redness on your thighs, the marks on your neck, the mess between your legs. 

He swallowed hard.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he said softly, in awe. “Completely mine.” You shivered at his words.

“Too much?” he asked immediately, eyes snapping up to yours, alert. “No.” you whispered, “Not even close.” A small smile crossing your face.

Relief washed across his face, and he kissed you, without any hurry. His hand cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, you leaned into him, your body aching but weightless now, as if everything inside you had finally settled. 

He cleaned you gently, his touch light but focused, whispering quiet apologies every time you flinched. 

When he was done, he pulled you straight into his arms, blankets pulled up, limbs tangled. You tucked yourself into his chest, cheek against his warm skin, listening to the slowing rhythm of his heart. 

He kissed your forehead, then again, and again, like he couldn’t stop. 

“You okay?” he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper now.

You nodded into his neck. “I’m fantastic.” you let out lightly. 

His arms tightened around you. “I love you.” he murmured, burying his face in your hair. You smiled, half-asleep already. “I love you.” you mumbled happily. 

There was a long pause. Just the two of you, breathing together.

“You know I’m never letting you out of this bed again, right?” he whispered. “Like… we live here now.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You say that now.”

“I mean it,” he mumbled, already pulling you impossibly closer. “You’ve got me obsessed.”

And with your body against his, the smell of skin, sweat, and something softer between you, you fell asleep with him wrapped completely around you. Safe, warm, and entirely his. 

-‘๑’-

[egophiliac]

I assume you got a few asks about the TWST news already but: congrats on 7.5 story, they really said you are not leaving your green kids behind just yet LMAOOO also Overblotters solo songs now too! Overblotting animations added to the game! Overblot Idia card (finally!!) CATER EVENT WITH CHIP AND DALE AND HE ALSO HAS FRECKLES?????? I hope we see him on rollerblades like those waiters in diners that'd be so cool!!

me skimming the stream announcement: "MVs"...oh that's probably just more Blazing Jewel stuff, I don't need to catch it, I'll wait for reuploads :)

Twst: :)

you'd think I would've learned by now, APPARENTLY NOT

man. I don't know if they went into any more detail on the stream, but the absolute lack of any explanation on 7.5 in particular is destroying me. this is the entirety of the in-game notice:

"*Main Story Part 7.5: Main Story part 7.5 will be released."

?!?!?!?!

Twst team back on their usual trick of busting in through the wall, tossing a live grenade of one-sentence info with absolutely zero context, and then peacing out to watch everyone explode. what do you mean 7.5. is this the epilogue/hook to 8 that we didn't get with 7 proper. is it something totally different. what does it mean. WHAT DOES IT MEAN

(and if this doesn't kill me, Catermunk might actually with how frikkin adorable he looks. 🐿 shoot. heck. is this gonna be a whole event with other chipmunk diner boys because I may have to seriously consider how many keys I wanna save versus throwing in for OB!Idia. auuugh you'd THINK I would have LEARNED by now --)

[leclercwriting]

sugar baby | daniel ricciardo social media au

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

you are daniel's spoiled young girlfriend

y/n.user

liked by yn'sbestfriend, danielricciardo and 1,349 others

caption: got myself a few gifts for surviving another semester

view all comments

user67: girl you're my pinterest board inspiration

y/n.user: omg really?

danielricciardo: smart girl

user5: DANNY RIC??

user8: omg daniel in random girls likings and comments??

user4: did him and his last gf broke up?

y/n'sbestfriend: you got this girl!

user08: who is this girl?

user2: is she rich?

user5: using daddy's money probably

user1: where are you from?

y/n.user: I'm from Australia! But I don't live there anymore

danielricciardo

liked by y/n.user, maxverstappen1 and 1,924,939 others

caption: enjoying retirement

view all comments

user5: omg y/n is in Australia too

user3: who's y/n?

user5: a girl who's apparently dating daniel. She's like a lot younger and still studying

user2: y/n is such a gold digger

user43: lmao y/n all over in daniel's comments

maxverstappen1: enjoy free time mate

danielricciardo: thanks maxy

user0: waiting for yn's post from aus

y/n.user

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 350,839 others

caption: ya'll wanted this so here you go

view all comments

user78: LMAO NOW WHAT?? they're so dating

user7: she cooked

user0: now waiting for a couple post

user33: she's like disgustingly younger than dan

y/n.user: I'm 25 clearly not a minor anymore btw

ussr0: girl get that bag from your sugar daddy

danielricciardo: 🤍

user1: bro she's just using you

user4: low-key ship them

user9: she's living every wattpad girls dream

y/n.user

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 1,241,390 others

caption: my whole life everyone around me told me that I can't marry a rich older man.. guess what i did

view all comments

danielricciardo: You're using me for my money? :(

y/n.user: hell yeah sugar daddy

user4: unpopular opinion but i actually think that she's the most iconic wag

y/n.user: thankss but I don't like being called a wag💔 my man is no longer in f1 :(

user9: still gold digger

user3: poor daniel. She can't post a normal thing about him

y/n.user: thanks for your opinion "user3"

user20: GAGGED HIM

danielricciardo

liked by y/n.user, maxverstappen1 and 1,293,293 others

caption: I'm so lucky to call this beautiful, special and smart woman my wife

view all comments

y/n.user: lovee youuu

danielricciardo: to the moon and back

user5: they are clearly in love with each other please stop the hate

user2: the fact you all are hating on innocent smart woman

maxverstappen1: hot married couple

danielricciardo: real

y/n.user: u and kelly wanna join?

user359: she's so beautiful

user0: this post is so cute

y/n.user

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 350,839 others

caption: my hubby no longer in f1 i had to find a new drivers to rep for

view all comments

maxverstappen1: I'm the one she reps btw. Do yall see the shirt? Says all

landonorris: girl bffr it's me

danielricciardo: it's still me

user3: LOL all the boys fighting for y/n

user96: now we can finally stop the hate and saying bad things about her. All the drivers are friends with her and she's funny

user57: now this is ICONIC

user4: she's already going for their money

y/n.user: omg how did you find out my plan?? What am I gonna do now?

maxverstappen1

liked by y/n.user, danielricciardo and 2,424,299 others

caption: celebrating my friends daniel and y/n getting married

view all comments

y/n.user: thanks maxie

danielricciardo: we love you maxy

y/n.user: you* love him

maxverstappen1: love you too daniel (I like you too y/n but maybe a little less)

landonorris: why a whole post for them and not for me when i won in miami??

user43: max is so in love with them both

user3: max's crush getting married must hurt

user08: this post is what we needed

[yuzujjn]

APPLE CIDER ◟ LOSER HEESEUNG

𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗥或 ᪲ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁. 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍, 𝗂 𝖽𝗈, 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄

【 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 】 𝑙’ loser tutor!heeseung & fem!rea 8OO non idol au fluff oneshot incl. skinship slight jealousy ˊᯅˋ click

다니 ⦂ happy birthday @yeokii ! you are senior citizen now, hope u enjoy this

YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU'RE DOING.

“…so you’ll use this formula for these types of derivations,” he mumbles. “it’s not hard if you follow the pattern. the numerator should always,"

his glasses are slightly askew today, like he put them on too fast, and there's a slight smudge on the right lens. he hasn't noticed, of course. heeseung's too busy explaining derivatives like it's some love language, all soft pencil circles and furrowed brows. his voice is calm, patient, low. it's not fair how attractive he looks in this light—messy hair, rolled-up sleeves, shy eyes that barely meet yours unless you’re not looking.

and that's why you say it.

"you know, i think that one TA from econ is kind of cute."

you drop it casually, like you're not watching him from the corner of your eye, like you're not anticipating the pause he makes—just long enough to give him away.

heeseung doesn’t say anything, not for a second. he just… pauses. his pen halts mid-scratch, and when he lifts his eyes, they flick to yours fast, before quickly darting back down to the notebook like it offended him.

“cute,” he repeats, low and neutral. "hm."

you smile to yourself.

"yeah. he's smart too," you say, tone all sugary as you doodle little stars in the marigns of your worksheet. "you know the guy, right? marcus, i think?"

“i know him,” he says, flat. you’re dying. he’s so obviously pissed off it’s adorable.

and now he’s leaning back a little in his chair, arms crossed like he’s casual, like he doesn’t care at all—except you can tell by the slight clench in his jaw and the sharp little exhale he gives every time you say cute that he’s not casual at all.

you lean forward over the table, chin in hand. “honestly i feel like i learn better from him than anyone else.”

his pencil freezes on the paper. just for a second. and then he looks at you.

that gaze you know way too well, like he’s reading your entire thought process and rewriting it in his brain. “you come to me every tuesday and thursday.”

you smile sweetly. “yeah, but that’s just because your notes are color-coded.”

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t blink. “you got a 96 on your last exam.”

“maybe i just got lucky or i'm smart,”

heeseung leans forward slightly, arms crossed on the table. his expression is unreadable, but his eyes aren’t leaving yours now. “you think that was luck?”

you’re biting back a grin, twirling your pen. “i don’t know. maybe marcus's method just works better for me.” there’s a pause. like he’s calculating what to say next. like he’s choosing violence.

“you wanna switch tutors?”

“mm, i didn’t say that,” you hum. “just saying, he explains things really clearly. i like how direct he is.”

his jaw clenches. not hard. just enough for you to notice. “i can be direct.”

you raise an eyebrow. “really? because last week you took fifteen minutes to explain conditional probability with a metaphor about dice and divorce.”

his cheeks slightly flush. bingo.

he leans back a little, stretching one arm over the back of his chair, tapping his pencil against the table like he’s thinking hard. but his voice is sharp. “if you wanna test how good i am at explaining, i can throw out the worksheet and do this entire lesson from memory.”

you blink. “oh?”

“right now,” he says. calm. cocky. eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows he’s challenging you. “you can quiz me. pick any topic. i’ll explain it better than him. because i’m smarter than him.”

you laugh, bright and surprised. “heeseung—”

“i’m not kidding.” his voice drops an octave. “you think he’s impressive? cool. but i promise you—he doesn’t know you like i do. he doesn’t know what parts you get stuck on. how you read questions out loud when you’re unsure. how you underline things twice when you’re confident. how you always forget to label your axes.” he leans in closer, just a little, eyes flicking down to your lips for a split second before meeting your gaze again. “marcus doesn’t sit here twice a week and rewrite notes based on your learning style. i do.”

and you’re quiet for a second. your face feels hot. your stomach’s fluttering. god fuck.

heeseung shifts back, not smug—just sure. “you’re not switching tutors.”

you narrow your eyes at him, but you’re grinning now. “wow. territorial much?”

he shrugs. “not territorial. just confident.”

“mm. so you’re not jealous?”

he snorts softly, finally looking away, and you catch the hint of a smile. “he’s not even that tall.”

“oh my god,” you burst out laughing. “you are jealous!”

he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and mutters, “i could explain hypothesis testing better than that guy in my sleep.”

you smile, watching him as he goes back to your worksheet like he didn't just get jealous. your heart’s beating too fast. he’s so serious, so smart, so him.

you lean in again, voice low, teasing. “well, heeseung, if you wanna prove it... i’m free thursday night.”

heeseung finally meets your eyes again.

and smirks. “then thursday night, you’re mine.”

[jarofstyles]

I love the idea of like imagine them having a random conversation completely unrelated to anything theyre doing, maybe its like after sex or something so theyre naked and shes straddling him or honestly hes straddling her doesnt matter lol, and he is just palming at her and pinching her nipples with a ~hiss~ , but still being engaged in the conversation

Omg love this idea let me write a bit of that!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 300+ exclusive writings

Warnings- nipple play, cockwarming, unprotected sex, play fighting, slight chihuahua slander (I had one I promise it isn’t personal), name calling, gossip

“S’not really my business, but in my opinion they aren’t compatible.” It wasn’t Harry’s business, no, but he always had an opinion. The man had a soft spot for gossip.

“I don’t think so either.” Y/N’s hands dragged down his chest, stroking over the soft, thin layer of hair that had begun growing there. “It’s like… she told me they get dressed right after sex. They don’t like seeing each other naked besides for sex.” Her face showed how odd she thought it was, but she knew she was a bit biased. Considering they’d been finished for a little bit now and she was as naked as the day she was born- and he was still snugly warm inside of her- she knew that their relationship acted on different perimeters than most of her friends.

There was no hint of shy between the two of them. Being naked together was an activity they both enjoyed since the earlier days of their intimacy. Skin to skin did wonders for them.

“Mm.” Harry sighed, looking from her tits back up to her eyes. “Yeah. Wouldn’t really fly with us, now would it?” Taking her pebbled nipple between his fingers, he tweaked it a little bit to get a squeak out of her. The tiny glare melted when he tugged at it a little bit, rolling it between his fingertips. “Think I’d probably die if I didn’t get my all access pass t’these babies.”

Letting out a little snort, Y/N closed her eyes as she let him play with her. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve got an abnormally nice relationship though. I’m always sitting in silence when some of my friends talk about their partners like they hate them. It’s weird.” It wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t had bad relationships but she didn’t like that it felt like the norm for a lot of people around her.

“Well, S’a bit complicated. A lot of them probably feel like they invested a lot of time into the relationship and don’t want t’call it because it’ll feel like a waste.” He was speaking from prior experience. Before he met Y/N he had been in a dull, resentful relationship that he was simply too stubborn to leave.

Thank fuck that was over.

“Yeah. I don’t want to be super judgmental.” Her breathing caught as he switched to her other nipple. Tossing her slightly sweat damp hair over her shoulder, she leaned further into his touch as he sat up with her in his lap to give her a kiss.

“You? Judgmental?” Harry was being facetious against her lips. His girlfriend had subjected him to her inner monologue while watching Project Runway. She was at least a little bit judgey.

“Watch it.” Her fingers pinched his nose lightly which made his features scrunch up. “Or I’ll pinch your nipples this time.”

“Do it. A little tit play doesn’t scare me.” He sniffed, taking her other breast in his hand. Double fisting, so to speak. “I’m happy to explore things with you. Just say the word-“ A hiss interrupted his sentence, a handful of his hair now tugged roughly and jerking his head back a little bit. “Rude.”

Y/N rose a brow at him considering they both felt him twitch inside of her from the manhandling.

“I’m correcting you. You keep misbehaving. Have to train you somehow.”

“What am I? A golden retriever?” He sputtered, though there was no real displeasure on his face. They both knew he liked to be roughed up a little bit.

“No. You’re a chihuahua.”

“A chihuahua?” The word was exasperated, the ego taking a hit. “I’d much rather be a golden retriever. The fuck?”

“Yep. You’re yappy, you tend to have one or two favorite people, aka me, more bark than bite- ouch, watch your fuckin’ fingers- like to play dress up, you could be considered an ankle biter-“ The last of her sentence was cut off with an ‘Oof’ as he took the relaxed state of her to manhandle right back, tossing her on her back.

“Watch your mouth.” He grunted, wrestling her slightly as he trapped both her wrists and pinned them above her. “Rude ass little thing you are. Thought two orgasms would have fucked the attitude out of you, but apparently- stop fucking squirming- you like to be a brat.”

Y/N blinked up at him with a scowl. “You like my attitude. Quite literally told me that when I talk back, you get hard.” Despite the play of trying to free her arms, she lifted her legs to wrap around his hips. “Now we’re both stuck. See? You had to go n’toss me like a doll or something.”

“A man with the essence of a chihuahua wouldn’t be able to do that.” Harry snarked back, pushing himself to the hilt inside of her. “Made me have to take over and you’ve gone and leaked spunk all over the place. What a mess.” Shaking his head, he leaned down to bite her bottom lip, not exactly gently. “Now M’gonna have to push it all back into you. Always causing problems, aren’t you?”

[bullet-prooflove]

Courting: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis @gabsgabsvaz @fadeinsol

Summary: You don't realise that Jack's courting you.

Companion piece to:

Tummy Tingles - Jack feels his first flush of desire since Maria's death.

Go Your Own Way - Jack struggles with his feelings for you.

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

You don’t realise that Jack is courting you.

If he’s honest Jack doesn’t realise it either. He just knows that he enjoys spending his Saturdays trawling late night vintage record shops with you, flicking through the vinyls trying to find the missing ones for your collections, listening to a track through the same set of headphones. It takes a while for him to realise that maybe he’s not actually looking for that rare Bob Dylan pressing, that maybe he just likes spending time with you.

Those evenings, they usually bleed into nights, to dinner at diners and late night double features at the movie theatre just a couple of blocks from your house.

“If we keep this up and I’m gonna start thinking we’re dating.” You tease as his palm comes to rest on your lower back guiding you towards your row of seats. He laughs but that’s exactly what he thought the two of you were doing. Taking it slow, working towards something.

I’m an idiot, he thinks as he sits next to you, his gaze focused on the screen. A woman like you, so smart and fucking pretty, she wouldn’t date an asshole like him.

He feigns disinterest the next time you ask him about record shopping, there’s a few new places you want to try, you think you’ve got a lead on that missing Fleetwood Mac album you’ve chasing. It’s all too much for Jack, he’s too wounded, too heartbroken to pretend it doesn’t eviscerate him to be around you.

“I don’t think I can go.” He tells you, keeping his focus on the patient chart in front of him.

“It doesn’t have to be record shopping if you’re getting bored of that.” You say, leaning over the desk so your face is close to his. He can smell the delicate scent of your perfume, it reminds him of daffodils swaying gently in a meadow during the first throes of spring. He wants to press his face into your neck, to inhale it as his mouth ghosts over the slender column of your throat. “We can see another movie, Unforgiven is playing…”

“I said I’m busy.” He says with a ferocity that makes you flinch. He hates himself for that, for snapping at you, for making you pull away as suddenly as you do. “I don’t want to be your friend Faye. I don’t want anything from you.”

You stare at him like you’ve never seen him before, like you don’t know the man that’s standing in front of you. Your jaw clenches as you look away, nodding your head in understanding.  

“Yeah.” You say as you turn your back on him and walk away. “I’m starting to get that.”

It’s five seconds later he feels a kick to his prosthetic leg, the damn thing nearly goes out from underneath him with the force of it. He twists his head to see Myrna sitting there in her wheelchair, her expression one of extreme dismay as she stares at him.

“What the hell was that?”

“None of your damn business.” Jack snaps, placing his good foot on the front of her wheelchair and pushing her away from him.

“Sweetcheeks…” She begins but Jack shakes his head as he picks up the tablet once more to review his patient’s chart.

No.” He says firmly, scrolling through the details on the screen, blocking her out. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ktownshizzle]

Pigments & Playlists [Final] | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Between makeup and music, you find the one person worth blurring the lines for. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluffy coworkers to lovers, idol au, older woman (by a few years), smut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, Undercut Yoongi!!, MC-noona is the embodiment of “independent check, got her own check”, office shenanigans as always, exhibitionist kink, fingering, edging, very minor pain kink, use of a blindfold, power play (im new to writing this so pls forgive any errors), unprotected p in v, idk tell me if i missed any of it, unfair/sexist HR practices, insinuation of self-harm (assumed wrongly), MC hatin’ on HYBE, happy ending woohoo ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 9k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 21, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Yoongi’s discharge today. So proud of you, baby! 💜 Thank you so much @tea4sykes for your brilliant ideas, betareading, and basically keeping me motivated in writing this! Love yew! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Hope you guys enjoy reading this~ Made it a personal goal to publish today, because I didn't know how June 21 was gonna go for us, but I was sure it was going to be emotional. Consider this a gift from me to you. However you may be feeling today, I hope this makes you smile.

[Full taglist to follow in rbs.]

Part One | Yoongi Masterlist

So Yoongi disappeared after he did that. Frankly, how dare he?!

Way too many thoughts swirling in your head while you lay awake and there is no way you’ll be able to sleep.

Your arm flies across the bed as your hand pulls your nightstand drawer and fumbles inside for the one thing you need to help yourself relax…

Nah. Not the rabbit.

Tiger Balm.

You dab a bit on your temples and the tip of your nose and inhale deeply, letting the menthol work its magic. Yup. That’s the stuff.

Unfortunately, you’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, heart thudding like something’s wrong. Except nothing’s wrong. You kissed. That’s all.

You kissed and now you’re thinking about it way too much. Not because it was bad. Because it was… something.

And because the more you think about it, the more it’s starting to scare you how much you need it to happen again.

You sigh. Rub at the menthol on your nose, frustrated it didn’t thwart your torturous thoughts.

And then you do the logical thing. You call.

It rings once. Twice.

“...Noona?”

His voice is low, a little scratchy. Not groggy, just sleep-warm.

You swallow. “Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Nah it’s fine,” he says. “You okay?”

You hesitate. “Kind of.”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t fill it. Just waits.

You exhale, quiet. “Remember when you said I could call you if I couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t about my ex though,” you say.

“Okay.”

“It’s about you.”

That makes him hum. You hear the faint rustle of his sheets, like he’s sitting up.

“Me?”

“Own up to what you did.”

Faint chuckles crackle through your phone and you can almost imagine how he looks. Eyes like the moon, shoulders bobbing, grin smug as shit.

“What did I do?”

You groan, tack his name at the end of it.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says after a beat. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” you reply. “It makes me anxious.”

He hums softly. “Because?”

“Because I liked it,” you say. “And I kinda hate how much I’m thinking about it. And you’re probably chill.”

There’s a long silence.

Then he says, calm and careful: “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Thought you don’t date coworkers.”

“And then there’s you.”

You let out a huff—relieved, breathy, kinda giddy. “That’s… okay.”

“Yeah.” 

You sit up in bed, pulling your knees in.

“I was gonna wait,” you admit. “To see if you’d make the next move. But then I figured that’s dumb. I’m not a teenager.”

“No. You’re definitely not.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m older?” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Noona,” he breathes. “I’m not really someone who cares about things like that. At the end of the day aren’t we all just human beings trying to find a connection?”

God this man. Your mouth moves before you can think about it any more. “If you’re not too busy… you wanna come over sometime?”

There’s a pause. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

 “Noona,” he says, teasing, “are you asking me on a…”

“Yes, Yoongi,” you cut in. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

He laughs. Really laughs. Low and bright and warm through the speaker. You want to bottle that sound.

“Technically, I did ask first,” he says. “But yeah. I’ll come over.”

You kick your feet under the duvet before replying, “Okay.”

You talk more.

About nothing. About music. About how Namjoon’s on his ass about a song. About how he’s been working out. You tease him mercilessly about how he just casually dropped the last part.

At some point, the sky turns blue.

When you finally hang up, your body feels softer, a little less anxious. And when you fall asleep, it’s his cute throaty laugh still echoing in your head.

“Yoongi, will you please stop making that face? I’m trying to even out your eyeliner,” you scold, trying not to laugh.

Yoongi, the piece of shit, still keeps at his :] while you skim a q-tip along the outer corner of his eye.

“Yoongi-hyung, why are you acting cutely?” Hobi asks from the next chair. “Are we even filming right now?”

A flush creeps up Yoongi’s cheeks as he responds, mock indignant, “What? This is my face. Not my fault I was born cute.”

You meet Hobi’s eyes in the mirror. Then, he winks. You immediately look away, vaguely mortified.

Wait—does everybody know?

Trying to recover, you boop your powder puff on Yoongi’s nose, sending a cloud of setting powder into the air. “Quit it.”

He coughs once, laughing as the puff drops to his lap. Okay shit, good thing he is wearing khaki slacks and not black pants. But finally, he relaxes.

“Noona, you have a Rejuran appointment later,” Jimin chimes in.

Your head snaps up. “What? How did you…?”

Jimin grins from across the room, eyes glued to your phone screen where it’s charging in one of the other stations. Your sockets were full, so you left it there earlier and a calendar alert must’ve popped up.

“You’re so nosy, Jimin.”

“What’s Rejuran?” Hobi asks, peering over with mild curiosity. “I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“It’s just a kind of facial,” you say breezily, catching Hyein’s knowing glance as she smooths Hobi’s hair with her Dyson. These boys don’t need to know your anti-aging secrets.

“They inject salmon sperm into noona’s face,” Jimin announces with a totally straight face, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Salmon what?!” Yoongi blurts, snapping his head up to look at you. Hobi recoils with a horrified grimace.

“Park Jimin, when I catch you—!”

Jimin squeals and ducks behind a rack of stage outfits as you toss a blending sponge in his direction, trying not to laugh yourself.

The commotion dies down, and you go back to packing up your powders, muttering under your breath, “It’s not even that weird. Just some polynucleotides. Helps stimulate collagen. Keeps the wrinkles at bay.”

Hobi raises a brow. “I don’t see wrinkles, noona.”

“Exactly.” Now it’s you who sends him a wink back.

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. You glance at him and catch him typing something into his Notes app. Thankfully everyone goes back to their own damn business.

A second later, Yoongi tilts the screen toward you just enough for you to read it: Friday night?

Your hand holding a brush freezes for half a second over his cheek.

He’s already looking away like he didn’t just casually drop that invite.

“Okay,” you mumble softly under your breath.

The lilt of his lips tells you he heard it anyway.

The door buzzes. You’ve been so chill all day. Still chill. You're chill. (No, you’re not.) You rush to open the door before you make him wait too long.

Yoongi looks… casual. Just a black sweater layered over a gray tee, soft black pants. Hair tucked neatly under a beanie. He looks like your neighborhood ahjussi.

“Noona,” he says, voice muffled behind a white face mask.

“Wow. You’re on time.”

“I try to impress on the first date.”

You try not to smile too big, but fail.

He takes his mask off and hands you a small paper bag. “Dessert.”

You peek inside. Cream puffs from that place in Sinsa-dong that always sells out by 3 PM. “Did you have to bribe someone for these?”

“I have my ways.”

Dinner is simple, something you can make with your eyes closed. Miso salmon, cilantro lime rice, and a cucumber salad. You make this at least twice a month. You could’ve cooked steak or some grilled chops, something that gave a more date-night vibe, but you wanted to make the menu fool-proof.

You eat at the kitchen counter with his insistence, saying you didn’t need to set the dining table all fancy. (“It’s just me.”) So you sit close together on your bar stools, knees almost brushing. He clears his plate like it’s the best thing he’s eaten. You beam.

“Noona, this is really good,” he says, tapping a napkin against his mouth.

You smirk. “Better than Jungkook’s?”

He slides an arm on the backrest of your chair. “Are you as competitive as the maknae?”

“I’m just playing.” You chuckle. “I know mine’s better.”

He smiles, watching you quietly but intently as you sip your wine.

“What?” you ask, his stare is warming the side of your face.

“Just... haven’t done this in a while.”

“Eaten?”

“No.” He tuts, picks up his wine glass and sips before explaining, “Sat with someone like this. Them cooking for me. In their home. Talking.”

Your stomach dips. Not from nerves this time. From the way he admits it. Simple. Open.

You shrug, keeping it light. “Well. You’ve still got it.”

“Got what?”

“You know… the kids call it rizz.”

He laughs heartily, and you feel his fingers curling against your arm. “Was worried I might’ve lost my… rizz.” He overenunciates the last word, his lisp decorating the edge of the sound.

You raise your brow, not buying it. “Liar.”

He bites his lower lip and shakes his head at you. Your eyes track the way his pretty teeth sink against the pink plush and ugh. Again with this rizz.

After dishes are rinsed and placed in the dishwasher and dessert’s split between bites and laughter, the two of you end up on the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest yet again, just shy of your shoulder. Your head tilted toward his, but not touching, even if you wanted to.

There’s some Netflix movie playing in the background, purely for vibes. Neither of you are really watching. You talk about work. Gossip a bit. He asks about that corner shelf in your living room, the one with the knick knacks. You tell him stories about your travels, touring with Seventeen. He says you have the same lucky cat figurine from Hong Kong.

You try not to let his voice get under your skin. It’s different hearing his warm, caramelly tone when you’re not otherwise occupied with evening out his contour or with the buzz of a hair dryer in the background. It’s criminal how smooth it is when it’s all you need to focus on, even more so when he’s being earnest.

He glances at your hand resting on his thigh. (How did it get there???) Then up at your face. You nod before your brain realizes that he in fact did not ask a question.

But then he leans in and all thoughts fly out the window. His lips taste like vanilla cream and maybe the wine you shared earlier. It’s sweet. Even better than the first one because you’re ready for it.

You shift closer, hands finding their way to the hem of his sweater, thumbs brushing warm skin underneath. His breath catches a little. And then his fingers are trailing up your arm, until they settle gently on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, coaxing your mouth open so he can press his tongue against yours. You feel dizzy with want.

His hands stay respectful, never wandering too far. Just the faint brush against the back of your neck, the side of your thigh. But every press of his calloused fingers leaves a quiet, contained fire in its wake. You need more.

You move closer, straddling his lap, never breaking contact with his mouth. He kisses you deeper, sloppier when your weight settles against him. His tongue licks into your mouth expertly and you welcome it. It teases you long enough to make you wonder how it might feel in other places, too. 

Like butter, you're melting, unraveling as his hands find more courage—one sliding up, pausing at your ribs, then higher to cup your tits. He groans into your mouth and it nearly ruins you. You roll your hips forward, barely a grind, just enough to feel him straining between you. Just enough to hear him groan again. 

You make out for what feels like an eternity. But you think you’re both on the same page, when your mouths move a little slower, softer. Air starts to seep between your lips as you retreat. You’re somewhere between wanting more and knowing it’s not time. Not yet. But god, it’s close.

Eventually, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, both of you breathless–maybe a little embarrassed.

“I should probably go,” he murmurs, even as he hugs you tighter at the waist.

“Probably,” you sigh, his undercut grazing your neck and igniting a dull, sweet tickle.

You stay like that for a moment, sharing the soft beat of your hearts as they slow back to normal.

He finally rises, slipping back into his white sneakers as you walk him to the door.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, lingering by the frame.

“Thanks for coming,” you reply, fingers tightening on the knob as you hold it open.

“Next time, my place?”

“Already booking that second date?”

He pulls his mask on, but not before you catch the shy grin he tries to hide.

“I’ll bring dessert,” you offer.

“Just bring yourself. “ he says, gaze flicking down your body, before settling back on your eyes.

Oh. You are the dessert.

And this time, when the door clicks shut behind him, your heart isn’t racing from confusion. It’s welcoming the slow bloom of potential.

You: Thank you for dropping off coffee and donuts for the team Yoongi: 👌

Yoongi: finished it one sitting You: what? You: i got you 10 pcs 🍊 Yoongi: and? You: you dont get acidic? Yoongi: it’s my favorite!! You: i noticed

Yoongi: [spotify playlist link] You: hey dj suga Yoongi: thought you might like You: listened to it on the drive home Yoongi: favorite track? You: musiq soulchild - just friends Yoongi: me too

It’s not like there was a talk. No formal check-in or DTR. But somehow, as the weeks pass, the rhythm between you and Yoongi settles into something steady. There’s no pressure. No constant push for reassurance. No need to define what already feels known.

You see him constantly at work—during rehearsals, music shows, brand shoots. He’s not overly affectionate, that’s just not him. But there are moments. The way his fingers graze yours when no one’s looking. The way his eyes seek you out as soon as he walks in. The way he’ll shift his chair an inch closer when you’re touching up his base, so your knees knock just enough.

He really makes this whole thing feel easy. Comfortable in a way that still thrills you. Because what can be more thrilling at this point in your life than to finally meet somebody that makes you feel vibrant.

What surprises you most is how little insecurity you feel. You’ve seen how people look at him—the other makeup artists, stylists, managers, external clients. There’s something magnetic about him that draws attention without trying. You’ve clocked it. But Yoongi has a way of making sure you never wonder.

It’s in the way he says your name. How his eyes soften when he talks to you. How he remembers the little things. The tea you like. The one concealer you always complain about running out of. Sometimes you find a sticky note in your kit. Or a box of snacks with your name scribbled on it. Just things that say: I see you. You’re on my mind.

And then there are the others. The rest of Bangtan.

It’s a choreography video shoot day, which always means chaos. Full glam’s not required since most shots are wide, so it’s just you and Hwapyeong handling light touch-ups.

You’re finishing Yoongi’s concealer when Jungkook suddenly rests his chin on your shoulder. “Noona, if I promise to sit still, can I go next?”

Before you can answer, Jimin appears behind him. “She’s doing me next. I called dibs.”

“Not how dibs works,” Jungkook pulls back his arm for a mock-punch and Jimin clutches his heart, rattling off a litany of how Jungkook wounds him.

“Hajimaaa,” Yoongi gives them all a staredown. 

But then from across the room, Taehyung yells, “Noona, help! My concealer’s making me look gray!”

“AISH!” Yoongi snarls with his non-existent fangs. It’s not even menacing. You know now that his canines are blunt. But he tries, so you giggle.

Jin comes to your rescue. “Why are all of you crowding her? You never even get your faces done for choreo. Fuck off,” Then, sweetly, “Hi noona, just a dab of lip balm, please.”

“HYUNG!” Jungkook giggles as he shoves his elder playfully away from you and they continue to horseplay elsewhere.

Yoongi turns slowly to Jimin and Taehyung, unimpressed. “Why are you still here?”

“Because she’s nice to us,” Jimin says, fluttering his lashes at you with zero shame.

“Because we love her more than you do,” Taehyung declares with a shit-eating grin.

That gets Yoongi to raise a brow.

“Okay, enough,” you laugh, pointing your brush like a weapon. “If you want me to do all your faces, line up like kindergarteners and bring me coffee.”

“Done,” Taehyung shoots up immediately.

When they disperse to bother other members of the staff, you catch Yoongi watching you through the mirror.

“I think…” you murmur as you smooth out the edge of his eye shadow, “I just got myself a new set of boys.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his smile lingers tells you everything.

When he stands up to finally let one of the maknaes take his spot, he whispers, “For the record, I called dibs.” Then pinches your hip slightly.

You’re still grinning when Jimin plops into the chair and narrows his eyes at you. Eye-smiling. Suspicious. Rightly so.

You: check your studio door Yoongi: ? Yoongi: why Yoongi: what did you do You: just do it

(three minutes later)

Yoongi: you cooked? You: 👩‍🍳 Yoongi: you even packed utensils?? You: i’m considerate Yoongi: shit you the best You: i know you’re busy but now you don’t have an excuse Yoongi: you tryna wife me up huh? You: idiot Yoongi: cmere eat with me You: i have a thing You: meeting a makeup artist friend who started her own salon Yoongi: thats nice Yoongi: but next time come in You: k Yoongi: 134340 You: ? Yoongi: door code You: guarding it with my life

(fifteen minutes later)

Yoongi: (photo attached: empty bento box)

Curious how time has passed and with frequency and proximity, you discover new things about Yoongi. Things that only came with time. Things you wouldn’t catch if you weren’t paying attention. Things you couldn’t have known before.

There are lines you never noticed until you were tracing them at rest. Creases that only surface when he’s thinking too hard, or biting back a smile. Dimples, not on the smile lines, but on his chin, when he’s bored. And then there’s the slightest double chin when he’s slumped and snoozing when schedules get rough. It’s your job to know his face, to fill the lines. There are times you touch him a little longer, not for anything but comfort and maybe your greed. He lets you.

Lips, sweeter than any cherry balm you could ever swipe. But far more frequently chapped than you like so you’ve started packing bottled water inside your kit, making him sip while you let lip mask seep between the patches of dry skin. His lips have become your favorite. Sometimes it splits when he does that shriek he often pulls to make others laugh but then it also presses against your shoulder when he’s too tired to kiss you properly. Sometimes they murmur your name like it’s a sexy secret, and you wonder how you lived before hearing it said like that. 

There’s also his eyes. Small, but somehow holds a significant power. He has a habit of narrowing them, but now you can tell why, when he’s suspicious, or teasing or just tired, or forgot his glasses. You don’t need him to speak. Sometimes the way he looks at you says more than full conversations ever could.

His default expressions are even more cat-like up close. On default :< When he’s playful :] But your favorite is the :3. You always make sure his features stay sharp, complimenting his felinesque features. You pull his liner outward, shade his jaw, angle his brow. Lil Meow Meow, apparently he is called. And what ARMY wants, ARMY gets.

His hair is finer than it looks. Silky in a way that slips easily between your fingers when you card through it absentmindedly, especially when he’s resting his head in your lap. The strands at his nape get extra soft after he showers, curling ever so slightly where they brush against his undercut. He likes when you play with it, especially the buzzed edges, more than he lets on. You figured that out the first time you tugged a little harder and heard the way his breath caught, low in his throat. Now it’s something he leans into, shameless. One tug and suddenly he’s pliant, open.

He smells like tangerines. Rarely does he not have it in his pocket. But also, there’s this perfume he wears. It clings. Intoxicating and addicting, and you wonder if it’s just you who’s not immune. It lives in your hair, your pillow, your skin. You catch yourself breathing deeper when you catch it, like your body recognizes what’s safe faster than your mind can.

You no longer think about what you used to think of him. When he only said four words, and always closed his eyes.

Finally, you know Min Yoongi. Not the pixels, but the person.

You know him now in the noise and chaos of backstage, from watching him when you have your kit open and he’s on his chair waiting to be groomed. 

But you’ve come to know him more in the quietest hours, too. When he wakes beside you in his California king, face bathed in the kind of morning light no makeup could ever imitate. When he opens his eyes, and leans into your space like he always does, all soft and sleepy and sexy.

There’s no need to polish him here. Because this is him at his most perfect in your eyes. When you can just reach for him. 

Not because he’s Min Yoongi, the idol. 

He’s Min Yoongi, yours. Even without the labels, yet.

You: yoongi. Yoongi: ? You: we almost got caught in the fucking meeting room 😭 Yoongi: that was close. You: close??? do you know what would’ve happened if someone saw? Yoongi: i’d probably get a raise You: ddaeng i’d get fired Yoongi: we’re fine You: you are not serious Yoongi: you kissed me You: you pulled me in Yoongi: yeah and? You: AND?? Yoongi: should’ve locked the door You: Yoongi 😩 Yoongi: you wanted it You: i did NOT Yoongi: your hand was where? You: BYE

You (photo attached: wine glass, bare legs, tv in background): guess what i’m watching Yoongi: don’t care Yoongi: all i see is leg You: rude Yoongi: wear a skirt tomorrow You: so direct Yoongi: thought we’re not teenagers You: thought you said you’d behave Yoongi: sure 😃

Another day in the glam room, another TikTok dance challenge Yoongi somehow said yes to. This time with members of TXT. He’s really never beating the allegations of rizzing up his juniors.

He’s already styled when he walks in. And looking at what he’s wearing... Honestly? He’s wearing you the fuck out. And it’s barely noon.

White tank under a greige short-sleeved shirt, pretty, purple embroidered butterflies sitting on either side of his chest. But it’s the jeans—loose, shredded clean through the knees—that have you scandalized like a Victorian maiden seeing skin for the first time.

“Good morning,” you greet.

He hums, eyes you up and down shamelessly and you know the conversation last night is about to resume in the flesh.

“Hey,” he takes his spot on the chair.

“Looking forward to today?” You ask, turning to pluck a brush and pot from your kit.

“You can say that…”

As you face him, he parts his legs, glancing down at the freshly cleared spot on the floor, then looks back up at you. Waits.

You sigh, already knowing what it is. An unspoken invitation to take your place between his knees. To get closer. So you do.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, feigning indifference, as you swirl the spoolie through your brow gel, wiping off the excess on the rim.

“Not exactly,” he says, smirking, knees closing in on the side of your hips. “But close.”

You start brushing his brows up, grooming them into a perfect arch when you feel it. His fingers, slow and sneaky, sliding up your skirt, skimming the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

You look him dead in the eyes.

He winks.

“Yoongi…” you tsk, moving to brush up his other brow.

“Noona…” he shifts forward, tongue peaking on the side of his mouth, which you try try try to ignore.

“Somebody might see,” you mumble. 

“Let them.”

“Such a little shit.”

“You love it.” You freeze when you feel his fingers hook your panties to the side and when he discovers that you’re more excited than you let on, “Oooh. You really do.”

Mortified, is what you are. Soaked from anticipation and some light, slight petting. How dare your body betray you like this?!

“I like your skirt,” he murmurs. The hand that isn’t currently violating you taps the floofy fabric like it’s innocent. As if the other one isn’t busy toying with your cunt.

Dignity hanging by a thread, you grit, “Didn’t wear it for you.”

A bold-faced lie. He knows it, too. “Sure you didn’t,” he chuckles.

His index swipes your folds, lazy, teasing strokes that get deeper with every pass, never quite reaching the one spot you need him to.

“But aren’t you glad you did?” At that exact moment, he flicks your puffy clit, circling it like he’s known exactly where it was all along.

“Fuck,” you gasp, pitching forward, hands gripping his knees just to stay upright.

The pot and brush drops to the floor and rolls into oblivion. Much like your sanity.

He hisses through his teeth as he eases his middle finger inside you, walls fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“So wet for me, baby,” he grins, lower lip caged between his pretty teeth in his pretty mouth. It’s devastating. He’s devastating. And the way he’s watching you fall apart while knuckles-deep, pumping steadily in and out of your dripping pussy only makes it worse. Or better. Definitely worse. But shit, it feels so good.

“Yoongi… shit…” you breathe, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as your knees threaten to give out. Your palms, slick with sweat, slide beneath the frayed denim of his jeans, desperate for more skin, more heat, more of him. Fingertips dig into his thigh, surely to leave little crescent moons in his flesh. He groans, but doesn’t stop. If anything, he moves with maddening precision, adding just enough pressure to make you whimper. You moan, high and sharp, the sound slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do it,” he licks the shell of your ear. “I got you, baby.”

That fuckin’ does it. 

You come with a soft gasp, body jerking slightly as heat rushes through you in quiet waves. It’s not loud, not messy, but it rocks you all the same—your breath hitching, muscles clenching, forehead buried in his neck to muffle the sound.

“Shit…” you breathe, blinking as the aftershocks melt through your limbs.

He pulls his fingers out slow and slick, and you wince at the emptiness he leaves behind. 

Your mouth falls open. “Yoongi.”

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours so you look up. “When you lose control.”

His lips meet yours, stirring more chaos in your mind. When you pull back, trying to reorient yourself, he leans in again.

“Yoongi… fuck, you need to behave, okay?” You mumble against his lips, nipping his plush lower lip before attempting to pull away.

“But noona,” he lifts himself up, bucking against you once just so you feel the hardness between his thighs. “You're making it hard….”

You’re about to give in, when the door creaks open.

You spring backward like your life depends on it, bumping your back against your kit and you suppress the dull pain across your spine. A familiar voice floats in, Hyein, asking if you saw Jimin.

“Nope,” you reply as you start fixing bottles and palettes randomly. You meet Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror and almost crash out when he brings his hand to his lips—without shame, without pause—and licks two fingers clean.

You nearly choke on air.

“Yoongi needs to be out in 5,” Hyein calls out and closes the door.

The company Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really optional, since you’re both employees. But after a magazine shoot, Yoongi lingers as you pack up and still asks if you want to go with him.

“Why do you say it like that,” you laugh. “Like you’re inviting me to prom.”

 “Well… I’m down if you wanna match…” He shrugs, leaning against the wall as he watches you zip up your Zuca.

That’s how you end up in all black—simple, classic, and just a little coordinated with his own sleek black button-down shirt and pants. Yoongi always finds a way to underdress the right way. You compliment him, but he downplays it saying, he just ‘wore an old shirt.’ Yeah, it's the same look from their Grammy performance, but he says it like it should somehow make him look a little less. Joke’s on him, your humble king.

The event is important, but low-pressure. Not quite a red carpet, but still enough eyes to notice when the two of you walk in together. Thankfully Namjoon and Jin are not too far behind with one of their female producers.

You keep a respectful distance, like the professionals you are. But people see. You know they do. A couple of glances. Some whispers. Nothing rude, just… curious. To your insistence and his disappointment, you have dinner with your glam team. Because wouldn’t it be strange if you’re seated with them? You don’t know if you’re ready for a soft launch.

But it sure seems he is. The way he looks at you like there’s no one else in the room. And it’s in the way he caters to you. Like while you’re walking toward the open bar, the strap of your heel suddenly slips loose. You pause, bending slightly to fix it, but Yoongi beats you to it.

He kneels (!!) right there on the marble floor, one hand steadying your ankle as he buckles the strap with steady fingers.

You panic, pulling him by the sleeve of his shirt. “No, you don’t have to—”

 “Let me,” he tells you as he so often does. Head down, thumb brushing the side of your foot, he fixes your shoe and suddenly you’re Cinder-fuckin’-ella in your own damn fairy tale.

Obviously, more than one pair of eyes are turning toward the scene. Cos the scene is not something you see everyday: Min Yoongi, rapper-producer-self-proclaimed bad boy, on his knees for this random girl, rugged hands wrapped delicately on her ankle. 

A couple of stylists from another team, wide-eyed. One of the project managers from digital looks like she might combust. 

Yoongi rises slowly and nods his head towards the bar. You follow him. And that’s that.

After the dinner, you end up at his place. Still dressed up, both of you nursing hot tea listening to a record he chose. Something low and jazzy filters through the room as you curl into his sofa.

“I usually don’t like company parties,” you murmur. “But it wasn’t that bad.”

“Didn’t think it would be,” he says. “I’m glad you came with me.”

He looks at you for a moment, asks, “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

You were always a good kid, so you never knew what it felt like to be summoned to the principal’s office. It’s probably something like this then. When two days after the company dinner, you were asked to go to HYBE’s HR department.

You’ve never met this woman before, but it’s clear she’s a higher-up. The tightest hair bun you’ve ever seen, cartoonishly wide cat-eye glasses, you already know she’s ripped at least one person a new asshole in the last five business days.

Not much preamble. When she started, oh, she really didn’t mince words and waste time. The way she looked at you spoke volumes of what she thought you had plotted.

“Miss Y/L/N, it has come to our attention that you have gotten involved with one of the members of BTS. As such, you can no longer be the lead makeup artist for the group effective immediately.”

“Due to our current headcount, we are unable to reassign you to another division.”

“Given the years of our professional relationship, we will still provide you with any recommendations you need should you choose to find employment in another company.”

“Your final pay will be sent to you within 30 business days. Please pack up your things and surrender your ID on your way out.”

Somehow, you are able to hold your head high, temper the storm in your chest, and nod as dignified as you can. “I understand. I’ll see myself out.”

You saw this shit coming. Sniffed it out from a mile away. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting. You spent more than a decade in this company, shaping and sharpening the creative vision for their two biggest acts, and they’ll let you go all because you decided to date a coworker.

Although they are clearly correct, you are involved with Yoongi, no clear evidence was even presented to you. Nothing was said to indicate that they were in touch with the member of BTS in question to get his side. Regardless, it was never gonna be a man’s fault. She thinks you probably seduced him and took advantage of your close working relationship. Ahh, this is so fucked up. 

“Noona…” a voice interrupts your thoughts.

Namjoon.

“Hey—are you…?”

You swipe a tear quickly from your cheek, but he already saw.

“What happened?”

You pull your cardigan tighter around your frame. Was there a point in lying about it? You sigh, “Got fired.”

“WHAT?” Namjoon’s voice echoes down the hall and your eyes widen like saucers.

He springs into action, stringing you like a marionette into every direction until then you end up in… his studio?

“The hell’s goin’ on?” 

You shrug, take a spot on the couch. “Not much to it, Namjoon. They fired me because they found out about me and Yoongi.”

It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged this to any member verbally. It feels oddly comforting to say it out loud.

“Does he know about this?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Imma call him right now,” Namjoon fishes his phone from his pocket, but he knocks over something from the side table. It’s a half-full cup of coffee from god-knows-when. “Shit.”

You take some paper towels from his desk and help him soak the brown liquid from the carpet. It’s not really working. His paper towels are kinda thin. And the brown liquid is almost black at this point and it’s making you gag.

“You know what, shit,  let’s just leave that. We’ve got bigger problems…”

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna go.” You rise to your feet, smoothing your skirt down.

“Yoongi won’t allow this.”

“I know. But I did break the number 1 rule.”

“Let’s call him.”

“It’s ok, Namjoon-ah. I’m gonna pack up my stuff and go home. It’s a lot to process and I think I need to just… yeah. I’m gonna go home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you give him what you hope is a placating smile. “I just wish I got to say goodbye to everybody.”

“We’ll fix it,” he promises.

“No need,” you call over your shoulder. “Nothing’s broken.”

Bzzt… bzzt…

Your eyes crack open, a slow, confused blink. You’re warm, groggy, skin dry from sleep and mouth sticky from wine. The room’s dark except for the kitchen pin lights still on.

You glance at your clock: 11:02 p.m. it says.

The hell? There’s some heavy knocking going on now.

You pull yourself off the couch, legs slightly cramping, brain not quite awake. So out of it you don’t actually check the peephole before you pull the door wide open.

“Baby—what the fuck?!”

Yoongi’s voice hits first. Then his body—arms wrapping you up so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip between his fingers. His coat’s cold but he smells like cedar and mint shampoo..

“I thought you—” he chokes out, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the back of your sweatshirt. “You weren’t answering, I—fuck, I thought you—”

“I fell asleep,” you whisper, dazed, unsure how to hold all of this emotion spilling from him. “I’m sorry.”

His hands come up to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s checking if you’re real. His eyes are wet. His breathing unsteady.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did,” you say. “You didn’t pick up. So I just… went home.”

He follows your gaze to the half-full wine glass on the coffee table. His jaw flexes.

“Had a few drinks and crashed,” you add, quietly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just exhales shakily and pulls you into his chest again, tighter this time. You press your face against his shirt, feel the way his heart is hammering through the fabric.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you mumble.

He doesn’t answer that either. Just holds you there, arms wrapped around you like he needs to physically keep you in his orbit.

You pull back slightly. Look up. “Let me just wash my face real quick. Just sit, okay?”

He nods, wordless, and sinks into the couch like he’s been holding himself up all day.

You go to the bathroom, splash cold water on your cheeks. Brush your teeth. Run a brush through your hair. Change to a lounge set.

You can hear Yoongi’s voice outside. He’s on the phone with someone, and he just told them that you’re okay.

You stare at your reflection, pale and puffy-eyed. Yeah, you’re okay. The lines under your eyes are deeper than usual. But overall, you’re fine.

When you step back out, Yoongi’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. He lifts his eyes the moment you enter, teeth pulling at the skin of his lips.

You sit beside him on the couch, tuck your legs under you. Let your knee rest against his thigh.

“So I got fired…” you say softly, voice thin.

“Namjoon told me,” he says. “I wanted to punch that new HR guy.”

“It’s a woman.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Found that out belatedly after I barged in.”

You smile despite yourself.

“Anyway, I talked to Bang PD. He didn’t authorize this. This HR lady, she’s new. A bit too eager, trigger-happy. I think she wanted to make a statement.”

“Well what kind?”

“She said she just wanted to protect Bangtan from people…” he pauses, shakes his head. “Who might be taking advantage of us. I told her you’re my girlfriend. Fuckin’ idiot!”

Oh?

“They could assign you back to Seventeen,” he prattles on, nostrils flaring. “Not like they’ve found a new person to take over. It’s not easy to find your level of talent and they’re stupid to…”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You said something…”

His mouth parts, a little confused.

“No cause you just casually dropped that.”

“Baby,” he hangs his head, pinching the space between his brows with his index and thumb. “That’s your takeaway?”

“Well,” you shrug. “News to me.”

“You’re my woman, okay? Don’t–” he tuts when you almost cut him off. “Baby please don’t even argue with me on this. You know I’ve been yours. And right now I feel guilty. I should have said so earlier and done my due diligence with the paperwork and shit. But I hate getting legal involved in my personal life. Hoba told me to do it. Cause he’s doling out NDAs left and right, but I don't want you to think you're just some hookup. This is on me. And I’m fixing it, okay. They will transfer you to any group you want.”

“I don’t want it,” you say, more firmly than you expected.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want it,” you repeat.

“You don’t want your boys?” 

You roll your eyes, because Seventeen is still some kind of chip on his shoulder. “No. I don’t want pity. Or to feel like they just let me stay because they’re afraid of you.”

“Damn right they are.”

You breathe out, jaw tight. “I want to leave with my head up. And I did.”

Yoongi nods, slow. Like he gets it. Because of course he does.

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t last. Yoongi is still a ball of fire.

“You’re terrifying.”

“Why?”

“You’re so calm.”

You take a moment before you articulate your introspections as you enjoyed your merlot earlier. “You know what? Deep down, I knew it was gonna come to this,” you say. “And if it came down to it, I’d rather just leave HYBE… than you.”

That finally pulls a gentler sound from him. A quiet, pained exhale. His hand finds yours, holds it tight. When you look over, his eyes are glassy again, but his smile is faintly there—gummy, a little lopsided..

“What?” you ask.

He just shakes his head.

“Seriously, what?”

He presses his forehead against yours, closes his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You kiss him, and he lets you. For a minute or two you savor the way his lips slide against yours, no thoughts, just love. Then he pulls back and says something kind of out of pocket.

“I’m rich.”

You stare. “Okay…?”

“You know I can take care of you.” He says it so earnestly, but you can’t help but giggle.

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy. How do they even call it if the woman is older?”

“How the hell are you so cool about this?”

“Because I know I have you, but I know I got me, too. I have some money saved up and some stocks I can sell if need be. Market’s looking bullish anyways…”

“You know how sexy you sound right now?”

“Umm talking about the stock market turns you on?”

“Something about a bull…”

“Want me to ride you like a bull?” You raise your brow.

“If you don’t let me fuck you right this second…”

Yoongi removes each button from your top, one by one, kissing every patch of skin revealed to him. You close your eyes, savoring the tiny, wet kisses deposited to your neck down to the valley of your breasts where he lingers for a beat. Purrs as he presses his cheek against your soft mounds and sighs before lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Use me,” he says. “I know you’re angry, baby.” He peels your shirt down your arms. “Let it out…”

He holds your nipple between his fingers, twists it, and you groan helplessly in response.

“You can punish me. if you want…”

It takes a while for you to process his offer, between butterfly kisses and the teensiest sucks against your skin, a combination that's driving you wild. 

But he’s right. As always. You are mad. Not at him. But the broken sexist system.

“Yoongi?” You tug his hair.

“Hm?”

“Sit back against the headboard.”

He nods and situates himself as you asked.

You walk over to your closet to find a scarf, this white and black Valentino that he gifted you some weeks back. You climb onto him, knees bracketing his hips as you watch the curiosity glistening from his eyes. 

You’ve never really done anything like this before. But you’re familiar with it and you’ve always been down to try anything new. Bonus is you know Yoongi likes to play, so this is perfect. Honestly, he is perfect.

“I’m gonna blindfold you. And you’re not allowed to touch me. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

The scarf drapes over his eyes, darkening everything he knows, leaving him with nothing but sensation. Breath. Sound. You.

“Use colors, okay?” you whisper, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

He nods, swallows. “Yes.”

“What’s it now?”

“Green:”

You hum in approval, fingers ghosting down his chest. “Good boy.”

You take your time with him. Explore his body in ways you never have before. Yoongi shivers. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, the breath hitch in his chest. 

“You asked for this,” you say softly, dragging your nails across his ribs, just enough to raise goosebumps. “So I’m going to use you.” You slap his cheek, earning a soft gasp from him, before his lips curve into a smile. He’s going to enjoy this, you can already tell.

You trace the lines of his body with your mouth. Flick your tongue on his nipples before nibbling on them until they're raw, slightly bruised. You blow cool air against it, earning you a low purr from the back of his throat.

He’s hard already. His huge cock straining against the waistband of his boxers, but you don’t touch him there. This is not like other nights. You want him aching for it.

You slink down to suck faint bruises into the soft dip of his hipbones. Let your nails wander, grazing his soft tummy where pink lines have bloomed like cat scratches. When he moans, hips bucking slightly, you press a palm flat to his stomach.

“Stay still,” you warn.

His voice is a rasp. “Yes, noona.”

You peel his boxers off slowly. His cock springs free—dark at the tip, already leaking. The bead of cum on his tip shines. You circle it once with your finger, feather-light.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching again.

You slap his thigh—not hard, just enough for pain to mix with the pleasure painted clearly on his face. “I said still.”

His hands flex against the sheets he’s gripping sooo tightly. You see the tension, the need. His mouth opens, lips trembling.

“More…”

You smirk, finally leaning down and licking a slow stripe up his shaft. He whimpers, whimpers! And by god, if it’s not the prettiest sound in the world.

And just for that you can throw him a bone. But you suck only the tip into your mouth and let it pop free. 

His body arches off the bed instinctively and one errant hand makes its way to the back of your neck.

Another slap—gentler this time.

“Sorry, noona.”

“Patience, baby. You wanted to be used, right? That means you wait until I’m done.”

You tease him for what feels like forever. Stroke him gently, then quicker, then stop just when he thinks you’ll give him more. Every whine you pull from him shoots straight to your cunt.

His thighs are trembling. “Noona. More…”

You finally straddle him, not lowering yourself yet, just grinding super slow against the base of his cock, letting your slick drag across him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek where the blindfold wraps around his head. 

“Fuck, noona, let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you lean forward, let your tits press against his chest, and drop a small peck on the corner of his mouth. His lips pucker belatedly as you pull back.

“You are so hot like this, baby. So good to me,,” you assure him, sliding a hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping it just once, then again, tighter. “Color?”

“Green. Fucking green.”

Finally, you shift to guide him to your entrance. Still hovering. Still making him wait.

He’s breathless now, forehead sweaty beneath the scarf. “Fuck noona. Put it in. I need to feel you—fuck—need to cum in you, please.”

God, he sounds broken. Ruined.

You sink down in one slow, aching glide, and you moan in unison, in pure fucking ecstasy. Your voice high and needy, his low and desperate. He’s pulsing inside you as you steady your hips, letting your walls adjust, keeping him warm.

“Fuck, you feel—fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so tight, noona. So warm—please let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you grit out, riding him slow and mean, using him. You let your clit drag against the short hairs on his crotch, finding the perfect angle to get you off. He can probably sense it now in the steady swivel of your hips and the stutter in your breath. 

“Yeah, just like that, noona,” he says, voice hoarse. “Use me.”

You dig your nails into his chest, bite at his shoulder. You pant. Speeding up your grind. His legs are trembling now, the muscles on his thighs, stomach, taut. “Noona…” He’s babbling now, half-words and curses, his head tossing side to side. “Can’t—shit, please—I’m….”

He’s close. You’re almost there.

“Touch me.”

His hands immediately fly towards your hips, pressing you down, deeper. Grabs your ass and guides your movements.

You fuck him harder like this, ride him like your life depends on it. You feel him losing it. Coming undone beneath you. 

“Where?”

“Inside me, baby. Fill me up…”

His whole body convulses, a strangled moan torn from his throat as he spills into you. You follow a heartbeat later, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as you unravel together.

You don’t move for a moment. Just feel his chest heaving beneath you, the sweat between your bodies. You remove the blindfold.

His lashes are wet. He looks wrecked and raw and beautiful.

“Was that okay?” you ask softly, fingers combing his damp hair back from his forehead.

He nods slowly. Smiles. “More than okay.”

You guide him to lie flat again, press your palm to his chest to calm his breathing. You grab a warm towel and clean him gently, kissing each place you left a bruise or scratch.

He pulls you close afterward, arms around your waist, face pressed to your shoulder.

Before you drift off, you remember something you wanted to address.

“Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

“Why were you so worried earlier?”

“Namjoon said you looked a little, like, out of it, you know. And when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I thought you…” he heaves a sigh. “I don’t know why my mind went into that. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s not gonna happen, Yoongi. I’m yours.”

He hugs you and doesn’t let go.

Post-HYBE life turns out to be pretty… as Yoongi says, slayyy. 

It was tough in the beginning, starting from scratch. You start your own website and portfolio, reach out to friends and contacts to help get your skin back into the game. A few months in, you’re now affiliated with a salon who specializes in editorial and product campaign shoots. Your last one was with Choi San for D&G Beauty.

Yoongi slips deeper into your life until the boundaries blur. A toothbrush in his cup. His shirt in your hamper. 

You never needed to say it. Because you both knew that this wasn’t fleeting. That you weren’t getting any younger. That whatever this is feels constant. 

One night he sends you a Spotify link. To one song. It’s a BTS track.

He usually doesn’t send his own stuff when you exchange playlists (a ritual that stayed on). You listen to it.

🎵Home - BTS

Your chest tightens. Your fingers hover over the reply. But then he calls.

No hi or how are you. Just one question: “Move in with me?”

Life with him is a burst of pigments.

Yellow, in the warm sunlight that wakes you both every morning. Orange, in the tips of his fingers when he’s peeled his umpteenth tangerine. Blue, in the fabric softener he overused to the point that it triggered an allergic reaction for both of you. (Downy is now banned.) 

Green, in the hangover soup you cook for him after a night out. (You, on the other hand, are sober for 2 months now.) Purple, in the marks he leaves on your inner thighs and the soft bruises on your chest. Pink, in the way he blushes when you walk out in his clothes. 

And then, finally:

Red, in the two faint lines. 

You blink down at the stick in your hand, seated on the toilet, heart pounding.

It’s only a minute before the door creaks open.

“Babe?” Yoongi floats in. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He sees your face first. Then the test clutched around your fingers.

He’s piecing it together.

“Omo,” he breathes, stunned.

You nod, heart tight in your throat.

“OMO OMO, you’re pregnant?” he says it with so much disbelief it makes you laugh through the lump in your chest.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?!” he kneels on the tiles in front of you. His hands are on your cheeks, your shoulders, your belly. “Holy shit!!!”

You’re laughing now, ugly and teary. He pulls you into a tight hug, still stunned.

He leans back, eyes wild with emotion. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

“I guess we are.”

And then the tears come, his. Yoongi chokes out a wet little sound and buries his squishy face in your neck. “Fuck. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too.”

You are.

So happy.

So ready.

So loved.

Between pigments & playlists. 

In technicolor. In surround sound.

In the forever you never thought possible.

This spring day.

:)

A/N: Soooo?? Did y'all bogo your shipdas? (dk what the means, but hope you liked it?)

Yoongi is back! While it was a bittersweet note that we got today, I know things are only going to get better from here for him and us. I hope and pray that he knows that he is so so so loved by ARMY.

So the fic! Yes the fic! I’d love some feedback. And a reblog if you are so inclined?

Thank you for reading this you lovely beautiful human, xo

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[dontpulltohardman]

Secrets, Surprises and Sunburn

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

Summary: Nobody but Maverick and Phoenix knew Bob was married, so when you got the message from Maverick to join them on the beach, how could you say no to surprising your husband and his coworkers.

warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, jake being a bit of an ass, established relationship(but secret), Maverick is like a father to reader, Bob ogling reader in bathing suit, mentions of Bob getting hard, slightly suggestive if you squint, drinking mentioned

word count: 1.6k

FINALLY a lewis/bob fic, hope you guys enjoy don’t forget to like, comment and reblog also leave some requests for fics. love you lots and lots like jelly tots🥰

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:

You hummed quietly, folding the laundry both you and Bob avoided like a plague all weekend, but with him at work today you decided to keep busy by doing some chores, that was until your phone buzzed on the dresser.

“Maverick: Why don’t you pay me an our pal Bob a visit? we’re at the beach behind the hard deck.”

You smiled at the text, dropping everything to go look for a bathing suit and to pack a bag.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:

You smiled brightly feeling the sun against your skin, not having been to the beach in a while, that’s when you heard someone call you name. You look forward to see Maverick beckoning you over towards the beach chair he had set up.

After laying down your beach towel you discard your bathing suit cover revealing the black bikini underneath, that was when you heard someone whistling up ahead.

“Well who do we have here Maverick? This your daughter?” the man who you have come to know as Jake, aka hangman, asked not taking his eyes off you. You rolled your eyes as he bared his pearly whites, eyes running down your form, when other voices came into frame.

“Guys Maverick has a hot daughter!” Jake called gaining everyone’s attention, “Not my daughter” Maverick grunted yet a smirk threatened to form when his gaze landed on Bob whose face was a mixture of excitement, flustered and jealousy when he registered who Jake was commenting on.

“Hey, Y/n” Natasha gleamed walking up to you, “Lookin good” she winked before embracing you. You smiled and hugged her back before noticing Bob downright staring at you, just as he was about to move Maverick spoke up.

“Ladies and Gentlemen I would like to introduce you to, Y/n Floyd” you smiled at the sound of your name while everyone else looked around confused, “So Bobby has a hot sister?” hangman quipped but before anyone else could say anything, “Wife. I have a hot wife” Bob corrected walking up to you embracing you, not shying his hands away from your dum, when Jake cleared his throat.

“Excuse me did you say wife?” he scoffed, “Yeah right and if you were married it wouldn’t be to her” he laughed and it made your blood boil that he not only undermined your husband but also your marriage

But before you could intervene Maverick shooed everyone away leaving you and Bob alone. “Surprise” you smiled weakly, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders to play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “A great one, what are you doing here” Bob smiled as he stared into your eyes, his hands resting comfortably on your hips.

“Maverick” you shrugged not hiding your smile. “So, you like” you smirk doing a little twirl to show off your new bathing suit, Bob groaned lowly as his eyes dropped to your ass and back up to your face, but not without lingering near your chest.

“What do you think” he muttered pulling you against him, pressing his hard on into your thigh, you gasped as your face heated up, “Robert-” you started but was cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours.

you moaned into the kiss, gripping onto his hair, pulling him closer than ever when you were both startled by Maverick’s voice.

“Oi! Mr. and Mrs. Floyd! We still need Bob over here so please send him back” He chuckled with his hands on his hips and a football in tow, “Yea and we get that you’re married but we don’t need to see it” Payback called, earning laughs from everyone and a small groan from Bob who just tucked his head between your neck an tugged you closer.

“I don’t wanna go” he whined squeezing your hips, you pressed a kiss you his cheek before lightly pushing him away, “Go or Maverick will never let me visit you guys again” at that he perked up, he quickly kisses you before running towards everyone else where he was greeted with whistles and pats on the back, to which you just smiled.

You lounged on you beach towel, sunglasses on as you laid under sun enjoying the game of “Dog fight Football” as Maverick called it. You sipped your cocktail that Penny brought for you from inside the bar, book sprawled out on the towel when a shadow blocked the sun from your body.

When you looked up, a soaked and beet red Bob stood over you, bare back and an evident sunburn highlighting his abs, “Oh baby” you giggled , allowing him to sit in your towel, you pulled out a bottle of sunscreen from your bag, rubbing the ointment on his back, chest, face and torso to prevent the sunburn from getting worse.

He winces at your touch, his skin sensitive and raw from the burn, you press a kiss to his jaw to apologize before rubbing more sunscreen onto pouting his face. “You’re to cute” you coo right as you finished covering him, he grunts but pulls your hips close ignoring his discomfort just wanting you to be close to him.

“Had fun?” you asked running your fingers through his hair, staring out to the water where everyone else was still enjoying themselves. He nodded as his fingers traced your bikini bottom, “You look really good” he spoke, slightly mesmerized by your body, before look up at your face to see you smiling at him, “Thank you baby” you hummed pressing a kiss to his head, avoiding his sunburn.

He suddenly stood up with you in his arms, his sunburn long forgotten, “Bob!” you squealed wrapping your arms around his neck, that was when you noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, “Robert Floyd don’t you dare” you tried sounding stern, but your laugh reverberated across the beach as he walked you towards the water.

“Bob!” you scream as he held you over the water, a huge smile plastered on his face, “Ya’know babe, you seem a bit hot why don’t you cool off” he smugly says before dropping you into the water.

You resurfaced, hair drenched, skin glistening and face slightly red. You looked like a goddess to Bob but all you thought about was how you were gonna pay him back. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his arms instinctively holding your waist when you pull him down into the water with you just as his lips brushed yours.

“Hey!” he whined running his fingers through his now drenched hair, “You needed to cool off” you winked, letting him pull your hips closer. “I’m glad you came today” he said softly resting his forehead against yours, “Me too” you say staring into his eyes.

“Don’t get to comfy Floyds” a voice called right as a splash of water hit you and bob straight in the face. The whole team laughed while Fanboy snickered next to the both of you. You smiled warmly as Bob chased after Fanboy and the others who all ran about the beach to get away from him.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:

The cool breeze of the evening flowed through your hair, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your arms and a chill running up your spine as you pack up your stuff, “Cold?” you hear Bob say behind you but before you can reply he’s wrapping his jacket around your shoulders and taking your bags away from you, “Hey, I can carry my own bags you know” you grumble as you adjust his jacket, “I know, but i don’t really care” he shrugs before walking towards your car.

You scoffed as he walked away going to follow him when Jake stopped you, “I- uh I’m sorry for what I said earlier about baby on- Bob uh sorry for what i said about Bob and you” he winced as his apology was far from perfect but it sounded genuine, “It’s alright, just don’t let it happen again” you deadpanned before walking towards Bob who was leaning against the driver said of your car.

You waved to everyone as you and Bob drove away, sighing as the beach grew smaller the further you were from it. “You know they’re gonna freak out when they find out we have a kid right” Bob’s laugh rattled against the interior of the car, “I can’t wait for that day” he pressed a kiss to your temple before focusing on the road as you slowly drift off with a smile on your face.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:

[imtaashu]

Click📸

(Teaching Him to Use Polaroid Camera 📷 )

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to teach Bucky how to use your Polaroid camera. He ends up more interested in taking pictures of you than anything else. One kiss. One photo. That’s all he wants… or so he says.

Genre: Soft Fluff, Domestic Vibes, Clingy!Bucky, Hurt-Your-Teeth Cute

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: None, unless you count excessive pouting and unrelenting affection

💌Author Notes: This one’s pure mush. Like sticky marshmallow fluff on a warm day. Clingy, pouty Bucky, armed with a Polaroid and zero chill, is here to ruin your day in the sweetest way possible. Inspired by the idea of him just wanting something to hold onto when you’re not home. 😭

🩷 Please enjoy — and yes, he will ask for another photo in the middle of the night.

✦ feel free to request more fluffy Bucky things ✦

Based on ✦ this ✦ request.. thank you @buckyismysafehaven 🫶🏻

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────

“you know this isn’t a weapon, right?” you ask softly, raising a brow at bucky, who’s holding the pastel blue polaroid camera like it might explode.

“are you sure?” he replies, squinting suspiciously at it “feels like it’s got a mind of its own.”

you giggle, gently pushing his arms down “babe. it’s literally made of plastic.”

“so are landmines in cartoons.”

“okay, soldier,” you tease, taking it from his hands and showing him, slowly “this is the lens. this is the shutter. this button here—”

he cuts in, voice low and all heart-eyed “you’re really hot when you go all teacher mode, y’know that?”

“bucky.”

“sorry.” (not sorry at all.)

⸻

ten minutes later, he’s already used half the film.

not one photo of furniture like you suggested.

just you.

you tying your hair up.

you reaching for the remote.

you laughing with your head thrown back, nose scrunching just right.

“you were supposed to practice with objects, not your emotionally-unavailable girlfriend,” you say, flopping dramatically onto the couch.

he hums, carefully tucking the latest photo into his wallet “the couch doesn’t smell like vanilla and steal my hoodies.”

you peek over. “what are you doing with that one?”

“backup.”

“backup??”

“yeah. in case you go to the grocery store without me again and i spiral.”

⸻

click. you blink. “did you just take one without asking?”

he smiles, slow and sleepy, cradling the photo like it’s treasure.

“you looked real soft just now. had to keep it.”

“you can’t just collect pictures of me like—like trading cards.”

“why not?”

“because i probably look weird in half of them!”

he walks over, lifts your chin with gentle fingers “you’ve never looked weird. not to me.”

twenty minutes later, you’re wrapped in a hoodie that almost eats you alive, legs tangled in a blanket on the couch.

“don’t even think about it,” you mumble, not even opening your eyes.

“i didn’t say anything!”

“you don’t have to. i can feel it. you’re staring at me like i’m a sunrise.”

caught. he pauses, camera halfway to his face “okay, but hear me out: the angle? god-tier. the light? holy. your face? illegal.”

you groan into the pillow “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re breathtaking.”

“that’s not gonna get you another picture.”

“…worked seventeen times already.”

eventually, he curls up beside you, cheek smushed against your shoulder, arms tucked around your waist.

he’s quiet for a while—just tracing little patterns on your skin then, he whispers, shy “can i take one of you kissing me?”

you blink. “like… a photo?”

he props himself up “yeah. just one.”

you hide under the blanket “nooo, that’s so embarrassing!”

“what? why!”

“i don’t look cute when i kiss. i squint weird.”

he gasps like it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever heard “your kissing face is my favorite face!”

“bucky—”

“i’m serious! that’s the face that says you love me.”

You stay quiet.

he softens, leaning down with a pout so genuine it borders on tragic.

“baby.”

no response.

“baby please.”

silence.

“you don’t love me.”

you peek out. “bucky.”

“you don’t. that’s why you won’t let me have a picture. my heart is broken. i might cry. this is the end of bucky barnes as we know him.”

you start laughing.

he immediately flops into your lap with a dramatic groan.

“just one photo of my girl loving me. is that so much to ask?”

“you’re a menace.”

“i’m your menace.”

finally, you give in. one kiss. one photo.

he sits up straighter than a soldier, camera ready, eyes wide and sparkling like he’s about to meet santa.

you lean in. kiss him softly.

click. his lashes flutter. His hands tremble slightly as he gently fans the developing photo, like it’s sacred.

and when the image comes in?

he just whispers, barely audible “…wow.”

later that night, while he’s asleep, you find the photo tucked into his wallet next to his dog tags.

you trace your thumb over it and smile.

he stirs, catches you looking.

“needed something to hold onto when you’re not home,” he murmurs.

“bucky, i was gone for ten minutes today.”

“and they were the longest ten minutes of my life.”

next morning, there’s a new polaroid stuck to the bathroom mirror.

you, fast asleep, curled into his chest on the back, in his boyish handwriting

“this is what peace looks like.”

and when you roll your eyes and tell him he’s obsessed?

he grins without missing a beat

“with you? yeah. obviously.”

-end

[mooningningg]

notes, this was a lovely request from a anon.

★ Roommate!Sukuna brings another girl home.

You barely got past the first bite of your noodles when the front door opened with a loud creak.

Then: a giggle. Shrill. Bubbly. Way too excited for a weeknight.

You didn’t even have to look. You knew.

Sukuna’s voice followed, deep and amused, laced with that fake charm he only ever used when he wanted something easy.

“Yeah, yeah. Shoes off,” he muttered, and you could already picture the way he was barely holding the door open for her, head tilted with boredom. “Unless you wanna wipe out on my floor.”

Another laugh. You rolled your eyes.

Of course.

Of fucking course he’d bring a girl home tonight. Not even two days after he ruined your date. The guy didn’t even make it to the couch before Sukuna opened the door shirtless and said, “Nah.”

And now this?

You stayed quiet, eyes on the TV, bowl in your lap. You didn’t even flinch when they walked in, but you could feel it — that low, smug heat on the side of your face as Sukuna made sure you saw him.

He was shirtless. Naturally. Sweatpants slung low. One arm slung lazily across her waist like she was some prize he barely cared to carry.

You glanced up.

His eyes were already on you.

And when your gaze met his — narrowed, unimpressed — he didn’t look away. He just smirked.

“Don’t wait up, princess,” he said, voice smooth and low, tugging the girl toward the hallway.

That did it.

You watched them disappear around the corner, listened to the click of his bedroom door shutting, and then very calmly stood up.

You grabbed your phone.

Connected to the Bluetooth speaker in his room.

And you played the most annoying thing you could think of.

“Baby Shark.”

At full volume.

The walls shook.

It took five seconds. Maybe ten.

Then—

SLAM.

The door burst open so hard it rattled the hallway mirror.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Sukuna growled, appearing shirtless and already pissed, his hair half-tousled and chest rising with visible irritation.

You didn’t even pretend to look innocent. You were already leaning against the counter, sipping from a juice box like it was wine.

“I’m sorry,” you said flatly, “do you hear music? That’s weird.”

He stormed toward you, jaw tight, hands flexing. “You’re really doing this shit again?”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “Just trying to enjoy my night. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

He stopped right in front of you. Close. Annoyingly so. Your face tilted up slightly to meet his glare.

“You’re jealous,” he accused, voice low and dangerous.

You scoffed. “Of that girl? With the spray tan and two brain cells between her and her crop top?”

“She’s hot.”

“She’s a walking vape ad.”

He leaned in, teeth gritting. “You’ve got five seconds to stop acting like a brat—”

“Or what?” you shot back. “You’ll throw me out too?”

He stared at you. His mouth twitched. His hand curled at his side.

Then, without warning, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked back down the hallway.

You blinked.

Then froze.

Inside his room, muffled but still clear, you heard it:

“Put your shoes on.”

There was a pause. You could hear the girl rustling around, confused.

“Wait—what? Why?”

“I’m taking you home.”

Another pause. “Did I do something?”

“No,” Sukuna snapped. “She did.”

A beat of silence.

And then hurried steps.

You were still standing near the counter when the girl reappeared, awkwardly pulling on one boot while holding her purse under her arm. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at you. Just kept her eyes down, humiliated.

Sukuna followed behind her, casually cracking his neck, jaw still tight like he was clenching back everything he wanted to say.

He opened the door.

She slipped out without a goodbye.

He didn’t wait for her to reach the steps. Just slammed the door shut behind her, hard enough to make the walls shake.

Then silence.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just stood there, back to you, hands still balled at his sides.

You stared. Heat crawled down your spine. You swallowed.

He turned slowly.

And when his eyes met yours — low, heavy, still sharp — he finally said it:

“You knew she wasn’t staying.”

His voice was calm. Way too calm. That calm that came before the storm with him — tight control stretched thin.

You didn’t reply.

He walked toward you. No rush. Just long, heavy steps across the wooden floor. You stayed where you were, back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest.

“You think I didn’t know what you were doing?” he asked, voice thick. “Cutting the Wi-Fi? Blasting that shit through my speaker? Dropping a whole-ass jar outside my door like a raccoon broke in?”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe next time, don’t bring someone home like you didn’t ruin my date two nights ago.”

He stopped right in front of you again. Closer now.

“You think that little accountant was gonna survive five minutes with you?”

You blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. His chest was rising and falling. Eyes flicking between yours like he wanted to say something, but didn’t trust himself to say it out loud.

Then, low and rough:

“You don’t bring guys home anymore.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. A territorial claim dressed in jealousy.

“And you don’t get to bring girls here and act like I won’t say shit about it,” you shot back.

He tilted his head.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

You blinked. “I didn’t ask—”

“She sat on my bed and I felt sick.”

You froze.

“She touched your hoodie,” he muttered, voice quiet, like it burned his throat to admit it. “It’s still on my bed.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth off his bare skin.

“She’s not you,” he said.

Then he walked away.

And left you speechless.

Taglist, @humeysaga.

[belli5]

Off Limits .ᐟ ೀWS²

╰ Synopsis Will insisted that you’d meet his teammates, but he didn’t think he’d be jealous of his teammates, but how couldn’t he though?

Tags/contains Fluff, Angst if you squint, Will Smith x fem!reader, jealousy, Will being protective, kissing(grow up pls), not proofread(yet)

➺ from Sera, to you📨. Lowkey missed writing for Smitty, so hoping to see soon more Smitty requests. In real life scenario I KNOW Smitty would not talk to his friends like that but I like to be a little delusional about how he'd be as a boyfriend.

masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission!

It starts with Will tapping his fingers on your thigh. Not seriously, more like like he’s working up to something, the way he does when he’s thinking hard but trying to act casual about it.

You glance over at him from your spot on the couch, tucked his arm with your legs curled up. His phone glows in his free hand, screen half covered by his thumb. You try to read it, but he tilts it away from you with a little smirk.

“Why are you hiding your phone?” You ask, voice light and teasing a bit.

He chuckles. “I’m not hiding. Just figuring something out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

Will hesitates, just long enough for you to know it’s something he’s been thinking about for a while. And then he blurts it out. “I want you to come to the team dinner tomorrow.”

You blink. “Team dinner?”

“Yeah.” He lifts his arm from your leg and leans back, a little more animated now. “It’s nothing fancy. Just the guys and a couple staff, probably at a steakhouse or something. But I want them to meet you.”

You smile, because it’s sweet, it really is but the nerves bubble up fast. “Are you sure? Like.. is that something people do?”

Will frowns, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean..” you pick a loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Isn’t that a lot? Bringing your girlfriend to something that’s usually, like, just the team?”

He pulls a face. “It’s not that serious.”

You snort. “Sounds kinda serious.”

Will leans closer, ducking his head until your noses are almost touching. “Okay. Maybe I want it to be serious. And the guys said they’ll also bring their girlfriends aswell.”

Your stomach flips, and he grins like he knows it. Because he does.

Sure, you’ve seen his teammates when you go to his games, but you’ve never met met them like that. And not to mention you’ll meet some of the other wags.

“I’ve already told them about you,” he adds casually, like it’s no big deal. “So you might as well come meet them. Save me the pain of hearing them speculate for another week.”

You narrow your eyes. “Speculate?”

He groans. “You don’t wan to know. Smitty this, Smitty that. ‘Why doesn’t he bring her around?’ It’s relentless, because I do bring you around, but they haven’t met you..”

You laugh, fully picturing Mack or Tyler egging him on in the locker room. “Okay. I’ll come.”

He lights up, practically vibrating with satisfaction, and pulls you into his lap with no warning. You yelp, hands landing on his chest as he presses a kiss to your jaw up to your lips.

“But I swear to God,” you mumble into his shoulder, “if they’re weird or mean or make you feel weird—”

“They won’t,” he says quickly. “They’ll love you.”

You can’t help but melt a little at the confidence in his voice. Maybe it won’t be so bad meeting his teammates, to you it just means he’s taking you more serious, which makes you feel good.

You spend most of the day obsessing over what to wear.

Will insists that it’s not a big deal, but you can’t help it. Meeting a whole NHL roster of guys who are basically brothers to your boyfriend? Yeah, that’s a big deal.

And you’re gonna meet the other wags, which is a lot more motivation to you, to make a good impression to fit in with them, because you plan to spend rest of your life with Will.

He’s lounging on your bed while you tear through your closet, tossing tops over your shoulder and rejecting everything out loud.

“Too casual. Too formal.” And more.

Will watches you with a lazy grin, arms folded behind his head like he has all the time in the world. “You can wear anything and you’ll still look good, babe.”

You pause. “That’s not helping.”

He shrugs. “Sorry, babe. Facts are facts.”

Eventually you settle on denim skirt and a black top you know he loves, one that hugs you in all the right places. Will throws on a simple button up and jeans, and the two of you head out.

The restaurant smells like steak and butter by the time you step through the front doors. Warm lighting bathes the space in soft golds, catching the shine of glassware and polished cutlery. There’s music playing low under the hum of conversation, and Will’s hand slides naturally into yours, fingers laced tight.

“They’re already here,” he murmurs, tugging gently as he leads you toward the back of the restaurant. “Big long table. You good?”

You nod, offering him a small smile even as your nerves tap quietly at your chest. “A little nervous.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. “They’re gonna love you. Just be your cute, sweet, hot self.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. Great combo.”

He smirks, leaning in to whisper, “You’re my whole combo.”

You barely have time to laugh before you arrive at the table and see them all and a handful of girls scattered along a long wooden table, already deep in conversation. A few drinks have clearly already been had.

“There he is!” Someone calls, and heads turn like coordinated play. And then they see you.

It’s not aggressive. Just a collective, slightly too long pause as they take you in.

Will’s hand drops to your waist, possessive in a quiet, casual way, like it belongs there. “Guys,” he says, voice steady. “This is my girlfriend.”

The way he says it makes your chest tighten. He’s so calm, so confident. No room for debate in his tone. “This is Y/n.”

You smile, lifting a small wave. “Hi.”

And then they greet you at once. You see Mack start talking, you knew Macklin was his best friend. “There’s a spot here,” he insists, tapping the back the chair beside him. “You don’t have to sit across from Will. He never shuts up.”

Will’s hand stay on your waist, firm. “She sitting next to me,” he says, not in a rude way though.

You glance at Will, he doesn’t say anything else, but his hand slides under the table to rest on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles.

Introductions fly by, many names, you barely catch half of them. Their girlfriends around the table smile at you kindly, some more curious than others. One of them, lean over to ask if it’s your first team dinner. You nod.

Throughout the dinner, it becomes clear that several of the guys are trying to get your attention. Not in a weird way. Just a little much.

Mack leans forward across the table everytime you speak, like he wants to catch every word. William is quick with a comment whenever you so much as smile.

Even a few of the others throw in jokes, chime in when you laugh, or ask a question about your program, your hobbies, what brought you to San Jose.

It’s nice. But noticeable. And Will definitely notices.

His hand never leaves you. He keeps it on your leg or waist the whole time. At one point, he gently tugs your chair closer to his until your knees are brushing. When Ferraro asks what you two did on your first date, Will answers before you even open your mouth.

“She doesn’t remember the name of the place,” he says. “But I do. I planned it.”

You smirk, nudging him. “I remember! Just.. not the exact name.”

“She said I was a better date than she expected,” Will adds, eyes gleaming. “Swear.”

“She told you that? On the first date?” Mack asks from the other side of table.

Will shrugs. “She did.”

You look down at your drink to hide your blush. When you glance back up, William is looking at you, a little focused if you could say. “You play any sports?” He asks casually.

“Nope,” you reply, shaking your head. “Not anymore.”

“You look like you could’ve,” Mack adds.

“Good genes, I guess.” You say, laughing.

Will’s arm wraps around your shoulders now. “Okay, you two don’t need to run scouting reports on her.”

Some of the guys at the table laugh, but you don’t miss the subtle edge in his voice. You lean in to murmur, “baby..”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head down to brush a kiss to your temple. “She’s not a prospect.” Will mutters quietly, that only you could possibly hear him.

By dessert, things mellow out. A few of the girlfriends start asking about school, and you fall into conversation with them while the guys argue about some call from the last game. Still every now and then you catch one of the boys eyes lingering just a little closer than necessary.

Will plays it cool. Doesn’t call it out. But you feel it. In the way he keeps you close. In the glances he shoots across the table. In the way he responds to anything said to you that could even vaguely be taken as flirtatious.

And when it’s finally time to leave, and everyone’s saying their goodbyes, some of the guys hug you a little too tight, leaving Will holding your arm gently tugging meaning he wants to leave faster.

You catch the way Will tenses beside you, thanking them quickly before steering you toward the door. Once you’re outside in the cooler night air, you exhale. “That was a lot.”

“You were perfect,” Will says, unlocking the car. “They loved you.”

“You okay?” You ask as he opens the passenger door for you. “You were a little quiet toward the end.”

Will doesn’t answer until you’re both inside the car, engine humming low. “I just don’t like the way a couple of them looked at you.” He finally admits, glancing over.

“Too friendly?”

He nods. “Yeah. That.”

You smile, reaching across to rest a hand on his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks over at you, expression softening. “I know.”

You add, teasing, “You were kinda hot though. Quietly fuming.”

Will groans. “I wasn’t fuming.” He laughs, but reaches for you hand and brings it to his lips. He looks at you for a beat longer, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I hated every second Mack looked at you,” he mutters.

You grin. “You gonna bodycheck your best friend over me?”

He leans in, kissing you. “Don’t tempt me.”

[carbonfiction]

Jackson sunsets

Just a little first time joel miller blurb in an attempt to get me back into writing. been hit big time with writers block and a bunch of other stuff lately but i crave this man (and his damn brother) carnally. Lmk what you think <33 ps im working on asks slowly but surely! Love seeing what you guys share w me!

Masterlist- Warnings?: hints at thigh/lap grinding, kissing, cheeky neck smooch- just soft slightly suggestive stuff. Honestly super fuckin tame for me lmaooo

The chair rocks gently with weight, joel first and you perched into his lap. His fixed up guitar propped against the railing from earlier use. Hours spent teaching you cords he could remember, throaty hums filling the air as you'd began picking the movements up.

Its nice, you think, to spend time with Joel like this. Quiet, unhurried, moments that serve as a reminder you're both still alive. Still together, despite it all. The wo of you now watching the world go by as the sun sets. The chill of the season changing begining to creep into your bones.

Another cool breeze making you shiver slightly as it combines with the careful brush of joels lips on your neck as he nuzzles in slightly. The brush of his peppered facial hair tickling as he smirks against the soft skin.

But then, and you're so very sure Joels doing this on purpose, he bounces his leg. Careful and calculated as it rocks you forward, the seam of your sweats knotching so deliciously at your center. Again.

He's been at it for far too long, offering those intermittent little jolts, guiding you along the meat of his lap. You can feel the slick glide of your cunt against the fabric of your panties with each shift. Building, sparking need growing like hunger in your belly.

"S' the matter?" he eventually murmers quietly. He sounds smug more than concerned, like he knows the exact way he's been torturing you the last half hour at least- And he does, perhaps more than you care to register.

Yet you swallow, putting in the effort to keep your voice steady. An attempt at nonchalance. "Nothin, M' fine, why?"

You feel hot, too hot, considering the light flurries of snow that begin to coat the surrounding trees.

"You sure it aint nothin peach?" he continues, a brow raised while a large rough hand squeezes at your waist. His voice wavers just a little too amused for it not to be purposeful. "Cause you're breathin pretty heavy, pulse is thrummin n' those cheeks are gettin so warm i can feel em from here. Gettin cold?"

He shifts you again as he pulls you deeper into his arms under the guise of warmth. Jostling you forward a little deeper until you rut against both the curve of his plaid covered stomach and the chubbed crotch of his own denims. The evidence of his own arousal and the barley there friction making your eyes flutter, throat choked on a muted groan. "You're s-such an asshole"

"Yeah.." Joel huffs, head nodding slow in honest agreement. His chapped lips quirked as he nips then soothes the spot below your ear. "but I'd bet it feels real good dont it.. sounded like it, gaspin all pretty like that"

He doesnt give you a moment to respond, to catch your breath or even think, let alone nod. Joels voice dropping into a deep drawl as his lips instead meet yours. Pillowy flesh melding, enjoying the taste of him, the tang of the whiskey he drank earlier still clinging. His tongue slowly making its way across your lower lip for one last drag before he pulls sway just enough to speak. "How bout we head inside 'n see what other sounds i can get you makin.. That soundin like a plan sugar?"

[notsodelirious]

you know what sounds so good rn? smoking weed with jason, cuddling him and cockwarming him. i think he’d love the closeness and the intimacy, heightened sensitivity for the warmth and skin to skin contact. i love high sex and intimacy send tweet.

hi, yes, absolutely you are very right

also I say I’m not taking anymore requests, and then turn around and write a drabble for an ask that wasn’t even a request lol—anyway, enjoy <3

synopsis: Smoking a blunt with your boyfriend while you sit on his dick

notes: NSFW MDNI, also said in two different places but like recreational drug use (it’s weed)

tags: established relationship, fluff, cockwarming, gn!reader (no mentions of the reader’s genitalia), wc: 600 words

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

 You brought Jason’s hand up to your face, a loose grip on his wrist as he held the joint for you. 

You took a small hit before settling back down against his chest, letting the haziness of the weed and the soft evening wash over you. 

It was seven. The sun was just about setting outside your apartment window, bathing the entire room in yellow and gold. You’d pulled the curtains closed but small rivulets of sun still poured in through the cracks. 

The TV was playing, an old movie that had come out before either of you was born—it had largely become forgotten but it filled the static silence. 

You giggled a little when you felt Jason’s chest rise under your head, then still, before he finally exhaled, making sure not to blow smoke in your hair. 

“Still okay, sweetheart?”

You hummed as you looked up at Jason, resting your chin on his chest—his cock was still buried deep inside you, a quiet but insistent presence as you tucked yourself against Jason. It was the closest you’d ever be able to come to crawling into his skin while cuddling. 

And it was a compromise you both enjoyed. 

You’d stolen his shirt halfway during the sesh—not entirely sure why, but you now enjoyed his shirt as he lay naked under you like a grecian statue. 

“I’m good,” you smiled before reaching up to hold his face and kiss the corner of his mouth. “You?”

“Doing great, love,” he smiled down at you as he squeezed you softly with his arm. “More?”

You easily shook your head, more than content with how you felt in that very moment. 

You would have suspended time if you could, basking in the closeness and weightlessness of life. 

Jason stretched to put out your blunt in the ash tray—the movement made his dick shift in you a little. Jason hushed you softly as you moaned. 

You felt his lips on the crown of your head, his arms readjusted around you, his heart beat beneath your ear. 

“Love you,” you mumbled as you kissed his neck, then shoulder, an absent almost soothing motion. 

It didn’t matter how many times you said those words, you meant it every single time, with the same affection every time.  

You never tired of saying them, not when it meant you got to watch Jason relax under your weight, watch the small shy smile that spread across his face when he looked at you. 

He’d mumble it back—some variation of it. Never I love you too, but everything else he did for you was steeped in so much adoration you’d never once questioned if he loved you too. 

“Still okay on my dick, pretty thing?” you heard him ask softly—for a moment you forgot about the question entirely, entranced by the feeling of his voice deep in his chest. 

“Hmm?” you looked up at him, squishing your cheek against his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good. Do you want me off?”

“No, sweetheart,” he pressed his lips to your forehead. He mulled over his words, for a little while—a long while actually as you watched him try to sort his words in the right order before saying them, “You can stay there as long as you like.”

“Yeah?”

As long as you liked sounded nice. Forever, an eternity, like this sounded nice. 

Soon enough the illusion would be shattered when the sun finished setting and the moon rose in its stead; when you’d sleep off your peaceful high to get to work the next day. 

It wouldn’t last. 

But for a moment you could pretend that’d stay like this with Jason. For as long as you liked. 

 •─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

hi, I wasn’t meant to write this but I’m sick and up late so here you go <3

also as a side note: I headcanon that Jason doesn’t smoke (because you know, dying of asphyxiation might do that to a person) but,, the ask was really good and I couldn’t resist (also, Jason is a grown man and can get high if he wants, I just think he would use edibles)

anyway, requests are closed but you can find my masterlist and my wips list here!

[sunflowerry-vol6]

FAMILY FIRST || Harry x Reader

characters count: 11553

summary: paparazzi take pictures of your son, while you try to protect him

“Then maybe we could just grab takeout,” I say softly, not to wake up our two-year-old son who is safely sleeping on your shoulder, his little fingers gripping your shirt. I keep my hand on the small of your back as we walk. We just got back from Italy, where our son spent most of his life—a decision we made together.

Our house in Italy was practically in the middle of nowhere, which gave us privacy and security. Who wants to deal with paparazzi, stalkers, and thousands of fans while taking care of a newborn? I also recognized that you needed time to heal and rest, away from all the buzz, so that decision was really a no-brainer. When we would go out in Rome or Florence, my fans were surprisingly understanding when I said “no pictures.” There wasn’t even one sneaky photo of Dorian, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I could actually breathe.

Today, we were taking a stroll around London, enjoying the sunny weather. Dorian perhaps had too much fun on the playground. You picked him up when you noticed how he was rubbing his eyes—a sign that he was sleepy. The warmth of your body and the familiar scent of your perfume lulled our little one to sleep pretty fast. He was resting safely in your arms.

“Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. Dorian loves their pasta, so we…” You don’t even get to finish your sentence as we both snap our heads at the sound of a camera shutter going off along with a flash. I can feel your body tense as you cover Dorian’s head with your palm, hiding his face.

“What the fuck did you just do?” I dart to the paparazzo across the street, and you don’t even attempt to stop me. Usually, you would be the one to calm me down, but this time I know we both need those pictures deleted.

“Delete them or I will fuck you up and you’ll have to deal with my whole legal team,” I practically bark at him.

The man lowers his camera slightly, startled but not apologetic. He’s one of the cocky ones, the kind who think a public sidewalk gives him the right to anything. I can feel the rage blooming hot under my skin as I close the distance.

“I said delete them.” My voice is low now, deadly. Controlled in that way I only get when I’m past the point of losing it.

He smirks. “It’s just a photo, mate. You’re in public. You of all people should know that.”

“That’s my son you photographed.” I jab a finger toward his chest. “He’s two. He didn’t sign up for this shit. You take pictures of me, fine. But him? That’s off-limits. Always.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking down to his camera screen. “Could’ve blurred his face later—”

“I don’t care what you could do. Delete it. Now. You don’t fucking understand that one picture of him online—face blurred or not—can put him in danger?”

There’s a shift in his expression, the faintest flicker of discomfort, of realizing maybe this wasn’t worth it. Then, a few taps on his camera. I watch the screen. He deletes not just the photo, but the whole damn set.

“Happy?” he mutters.

“No. But that’s a start.” I step closer, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Next time you even think about pointing a lens at my family, I will make sure you can’t sell a picture to a tabloid ever again.”

He swallows. Good.

I turn away, my pulse still pounding, and jog back across the street.

You’re standing where I left you, arms wrapped protectively around Dorian, your cheek resting on his head. You don’t say anything when I reach you, but your eyes are darker than usual—with fury. The kind of fury that comes from watching someone threaten the peace we fought so hard to build.

“He deleted them,” I say, breath still ragged.

“I’ll have the lawyers put pressure on the outlet he works for. Just in case.” I reach out, brushing a hand down Dorian’s back as he shifts slightly, still asleep.

“He didn’t even stir.”

“He trusts us,” you murmur. “He knows he’s safe.”

And he is. Because we made damn sure of it.

We start walking again, slower now, and my hand finds your side.

“Still up for takeout?” I ask, trying to soften the weight between us.

You glance up at me, a faint smile forming. “Only if we eat it in bed.”

I laugh quietly. “Deal.”

“You ever think about just… vanishing? Not permanently. Just… renting a cabin in Iceland or something,” you say after a long pause.

“Every time someone points a lens at you or him,” I sigh.

“You’ve always been the one to protect us. But I’ve never asked—who protects you?”

“You do. When you make things simple again. When you look at me like I’m not some headline.”

You stop in your tracks. “You’re not. You’re just—ours.”

I reach for your hand, threading our fingers together. “And that’s more than enough.”

“I hate that we have to think like this,” you say finally. “Always ten steps ahead. Always defensive. Even here, in a random corner of London, just walking with our kid.”

I don’t answer right away. You’re not asking for solutions—you’re naming the truth, the life we carved out and the cost that comes with being visible.

“I know,” I say quietly. “And I hate it too. But we knew this wasn’t forever. Italy was… a pause. A beautiful one. But we always said we’d come back when it felt right.”

You nod slowly. “Do you still think it was the right time?”

I look at you—really look. The way your free hand rests over Dorian’s back. The way your jaw is tight, but your shoulders are starting to ease.

“I think the right time doesn’t mean the easy time,” I say. “It means when we’re strong enough to face it again. And we are. You are.”

That earns me a sideways glance and a faint, skeptical smile. “You’re getting very philosophical for someone who was threatening legal apocalypse three minutes ago.”

“I contain multitudes.”

You snort, but your smile softens. I can feel you letting go of the tension, piece by piece.

“I’m glad he slept through this,” you sigh softly, stroking his back gently.

“Me too. He’s too young to understand it.” I brush the curls away from his face. “Are you okay?” My eyes meet yours.

“It’ll take some time for the anger to wear off, but I’m glad he’s safe.”

I wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’ll make sure nothing like this happens again.”

We walk in silence for a bit, the tension from the encounter still clinging to us. Finally, I speak again.

“I hate that we can’t just enjoy a simple walk without worrying about a paparazzo. It’s not fair.”

“I’m okay with them sneaking a picture of us, but he’s just a child. He should be able to have a normal childhood.” You lean into me, softly stroking Dorian’s back.

I sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders melt away a bit as you lean into me. “You’re right. He deserves a normal life, not one where we have to constantly look over our shoulders.”

I look down at Dorian, his little face still peaceful in sleep. “I don’t want him growing up feeling like he’s under constant scrutiny. It’s not right.”

We reach a quiet spot, away from any crowds, and I stop, turning to face you.

“Promise me something?” I cup your face in my hand, looking into your eyes. “Promise me that, no matter what happens, we keep fighting for our family. Promise me that nothing will break us or come between us.”

I lean in closer, my voice softening. “I love you. And I love that little boy more than anything. We won’t let anything shatter this.”

Your expression softens as you lean into my touch. “Baby, I know that none of this is your fault. It’s a part of your job, and it’s something I knew came with you. I would never let them win.”

I exhale, the weight on my shoulders lightening a bit at your understanding.

“I know you get it. But sometimes it feels like I’m not doing enough to protect you and Dorian. Like I’m failing you both.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration and guilt mixing in my words. “It’s just… I hate feeling so powerless.”

“Hey.” You reach to gently stroke my cheek. “I feel safe and protected when you’re around. So does Dorian. Remember, cats don’t sleep with their bellies up if they don’t feel safe.”

I smile weakly at the metaphor. “Always with the animal facts.” I look down at the little one in your arms. “You and Dorian are everything to me. I just… I wish I could shield you from everything.”

“You are, love. You are our shield and our rock.” Your eyes hold nothing but sincerity in them.

“Promise me you’ll never doubt that. No matter what storms come our way.”

“I’m planning to grow old with you and watch him get married, together.” You smile softly.

I chuckle, picturing our future together. The thought warms my heart, though there’s a hint of worry too.

“Sounds like an ideal plan to me. But growing old together requires us to stay sane through all this chaos.”

I place a tender kiss on your forehead, holding you close.

“Together, right?”

“Always.” You smile.

I return your smile, feeling a bit lighter. “Good, because I can’t imagine going through any of this without you.”

We stand there for a moment, just holding each other in quiet solidarity. The city around us keeps buzzing, and the paparazzi incident is still on my mind. But right now, all I care about is you and our little family.

Dorian shifts a little in your arms. “Let’s get that takeout and go home.”

I nod, reluctantly letting go of you. “Yeah, let’s go.”

I take your hand, and we start walking again, this time a little quicker. I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of paparazzi, though it seems like the incident outside the playground has scared them off for now.

“How’s our little sleepyhead doing?” I ask, peeking over to look at Dorian.

“Still sleeping,” you smile softly.

I smile at the sight, my heart swelling with love. “He looks so peaceful.”

We grab pasta for Dorian from one of those fancy Italian restaurants and finally reach the Chinese takeout place—a little hole in the wall that we’ve grown to love. The smell of sizzling kung pao chicken and fried rice fills the air as we step inside.

I order our usual: a couple of beef teriyaki dishes and some crab rangoons. The owner, an old lady named Mrs. Liu, smiles warmly at us.

“Haven’t seen you two in a while.”

“We took a little vacation in Italy to grow this one,” you chuckle softly. “We did miss your cooking.”

Mrs. Liu beams at you. “Italy, eh? Sounds romantic.”

I nod, grinning. “It was. But nothing quite compares to your kung pao chicken.”

She chuckles, handing us our order in a brown paper bag. “You young folks and your lovey-dovey vacations. You’re making me miss my younger years.” She looks at Dorian with admiration in her eyes. “Ah, they grow up so fast. One day you’re changing diapers, and the next they’re off to university.”

I smile softly. “That’s why we try to cherish every moment with him.”

Mrs. Liu smiles. “Smart. I’m sure you two are great parents for a little one.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Liu,” your voice is soft. “We’ll be coming more often.”

“You’re always welcome here, my dear, you know that,” she beams. “And the little one too—he’s too adorable to say no to.”

Our house is dimly lit, takeout spread out on the bed, Dorian nestled safely between both of us, fast asleep, some movie playing in the background.

You’re picking at your food, quiet again—but this time, it’s the good kind of quiet. The kind that feels full.

I glance over. “You still thinking about it? The photo?”

You nod. “Not because of what he saw. But because he didn’t. He just slept through it all. Like he knew we had him.”

“We do,” I say simply.

You look over at me, eyes soft now, almost shimmering. “Can we keep doing this? Building something real, even in the middle of all the chaos?”

I lean over and press a kiss to your lips—slow and certain.

“We already are.”

And outside, the city keeps moving. But here, in this little pocket of stillness, we’re exactly where we need to be.

Current taglist: @pauli-loveslouistomlinson @cherryberrystompers @hontpwk @avensgreenvans @venusnettles @nanaisinmars @sincerely-yours-marsbar

[ashthesalamipiece]

This might be a bit specific but I’d like to request a fic where reader and Bakugou have twin boys who are already teenagers in like high school age (they can have more if you want, but these two are the oldest ones) where one of them does nicely academically, behaves properly, never disobeys his parents and the other —who’s the younger twin— is the complete opposite, basically a teenage Bakugou who likes to revolt and worry his mom and dad.

Anyway, it would go something like this; it’s like in the middle of a school night, maybe 2 to 3pm and reader feels like something is wrong and goes to check on her children finding out that the younger twin sneaked out. She wakes Bakugou up and they wait for him while he tries to calm her worries down. When he gets home they bicker until it turns into a full argument, both guys are screaming at each other and the son lets something out about how he thinks reader is not a good mother, that he hates her and that she favors his brother more (something like that) she has to hold her husband down for him not to jump on their kid and he runs to his room, she calms the man down and goes to talk to her boy and they talk, even with him being reluctant at first he apologizes and things turn out fine, but he was kind of an asshole still so she can’t help but cry when it’s just her and Bakugou.

I’m so sorry if this is too much I just needed to get it out of my mind, it will be totally fine if you prefer to ignore this love your writing💕

Thank you so much♡

enjoy♡

"We’re Still Learning"

Bakugou x Reader | Family Drama | Angst & Comfort | Long One-Shot

It was 2:46 AM when you woke up, heart pounding for no clear reason.

You sat up in bed, eyes scanning the dark room. Katsuki slept beside you, one arm stretched across your side protectively, his face soft in sleep — a rare sight. But something gnawed at your chest. An itch in your ribs. A mother’s instinct.

You slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded down the hallway. First stop: the twins’ room.

The older one, Haru, was sound asleep, arm flung over his head, mouth slightly open. But the other bed — Kaito’s — was empty.

Blankets pulled back. Window slightly cracked.

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed back into the room and shook Katsuki awake. “Katsuki—wake up.”

He jolted up immediately, eyes sharp even in half-sleep. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Kaito’s gone.”

It only took two words.

He was out of bed in seconds, tugging on a hoodie, checking the hallway, the back door, the garage. You called his phone. No answer.

“God, what if something happened to him—what if he’s out with those older kids again—”

“Oi, stop,” Bakugou growled gently, grabbing your shoulders. “Breathe, baby. We’ll wait. He’ll come back. You know he always does.”

But your mind spiraled. Kaito had been distant lately. Angry. Cold. He snapped more. He was only fifteen, but it felt like he carried the weight of the world on his back and refused to let anyone help.

You sat on the couch, fingers twisted in your shirt. Katsuki sat beside you, holding your hand, his grip steady but firm.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” you whispered.

“Tch. Don’t start blamin’ yourself for his shit. We’re doin’ our best.”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at the clock.

3:38 AM.

The front door creaked open.

Kaito stepped inside, hoodie up, earbuds in, expression hard.

You shot to your feet. “Kaito—!”

“Don’t start,” he muttered, brushing past you.

Bakugou’s voice cracked through the room like thunder. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Out.”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat. Do you know what time it is?! Your mom's been losin’ it over here!”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Kaito said, loud. “It’s not like she actually listens when I’m here anyway.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You only care about Haru. You always have,” he snapped, voice rising. “He gets better grades, he talks more, he’s easier, right? So why would you ever wanna deal with me?”

“What?! Kaito—”

“I hate coming home to this! I hate how you look at me like I’m always the problem!”

Bakugou surged forward, voice like a war drum. “You don’t talk to her like that—”

“Or what?!” Kaito shouted back, stepping toward him. “You’ll hit me?! Do it! Just get it over with!”

“Katsuki—!” You grabbed your husband around the waist, stopping him before he lunged. His muscles were coiled, trembling with restraint, jaw clenched so tight you could hear it creak.

“Let me go,” he growled.

“No,” you whispered. “Don’t be that kind of father.”

Kaito’s eyes widened—not in fear, but in challenge. But when he realized you weren’t letting go, that Katsuki wasn’t going to blow, he scoffed and turned on his heel.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I should’ve stayed gone.”

He slammed the door behind him.

---

Ten minutes passed before Katsuki finally moved. He sat down hard on the couch, hands on his knees, breathing heavy. You knelt in front of him, touching his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No. I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I almost lost it. He said that shit about you and I just—”

You kissed his knuckles. “I know. You were protecting me. But he’s hurting. I need to go talk to him.”

“I don’t know how you’re so calm.”

“I’m not,” you said, standing. “But I’m his mom. If I fall apart, he’ll never learn how to put himself back together.”

---

You knocked softly before entering Kaito’s room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, staring at the floor.

“Can I come in?”

Shrug.

You walked in anyway.

Silence.

“I don’t love Haru more,” you said quietly. “I love you both. Differently. Equally. But I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.”

He scoffed. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” you said, kneeling in front of him. “You said you hate me.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He stayed quiet for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he muttered eventually. “I just… I always feel like I’m messing up. And you’re always disappointed. Even when you’re not saying anything, it’s just… there. In your face.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Kaito, I’m not disappointed in you. I’m scared. Because I see you pulling away and I don’t know how to reach you.”

His eyes welled up. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

He wiped his face angrily with his sleeve. “I don’t know how to not be angry all the time.”

Your heart shattered. “You’re allowed to feel angry. But you’re not allowed to use that anger to hurt the people who love you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I feel so lost.”

You wrapped your arms around him, and for a moment, he let himself be held.

“I’ve got you,” you said. “We’ve got you. Even when you’re lost.”

---

Later, when the house was quiet again, you crawled back into bed beside Katsuki. He was awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“How is he?” he asked.

You let out a breath. “Better. Still angry. Still hurt. But… he apologized.”

He turned toward you, pulling you into his chest. “You’re too good at this,” he mumbled.

You didn’t answer.

Because the moment his arms wrapped around you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled. You buried your face in his shirt and cried quietly—out of relief, exhaustion, and heartbreak.

Katsuki stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re not perfect,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

He held you tighter. “None of us do. But we’re not quittin’. Ever.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the night settling over you both, you realized something: being a parent didn’t mean having all the answers. It just meant loving your kids enough to keep showing up.

Even when it’s 3 AM.

Even when it hurts.

Even when they say they hate you.

You’d still be there.

Always.

[alotofpockets]

Terminal tantrums | Steph Catley x Reader

5k celebration prompt: “They get their stubbornness from you.”

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.5k

-----

Usually the flight from London to Australia was the toughest with your three year old, but you had been lucky this time around. With an early flight out, you and Steph had managed to get her onto the airplane while sleeping, and once she woke up on the flight, she had been happy to watch a movie in your lap.

However, for today’s flight that same luck did not seem to be on your side. While the flight was going to be a lot shorter, it would be after she had her nap at the hotel, meaning that your girl would be wide awake and full of energy.

“No shoes.” She said when Steph sat down to put her shoes on. “Bubba, we need shoes to go to the airport.” Your wife tried again. “No!” She yelled back with tears threatening to fall down her cheeks, and a shaking bottom lip. You really didn’t have time for a tantrum so Steph decided to give in temporarily. “Okay Bubba, no shoes on the bus, but when we get to the airport you will wear your shoes.”

You came walking back into the room after dropping off your bags downstairs and looked at the shoes in Steph’s hands, the shoes she was going to put on your daughter while you took the bags downstairs. “Don’t ask.” Steph said with a slightly frustrated sigh. 

With a light chuckle, you say, “She gets her stubbornness from you.” Steph gives you a look that screams, stop talking now or I'm going to be upset. You try to hide your smile as you lean in to kiss her cheek.

When you got onto the bus with the rest of the team, your daughter quickly found her way to Alanna’s lap. “Hey kiddo! Sitting with me today?” The defender said with a smile, your daughter responded by nodding her head eagerly. She loved her fellow Aussies a lot, she had grown up with most of them by her side at every Matilda’s camp, and you were just so lucky to have so many amazing aunties for your daughter.

The bus ride to the airport went smoothly, Alanna seemed to be enough of a distraction for your daughter to enjoy the trip without anything needed from you or Steph. When the driver parked the bus, you walked up to Alanna’s seat with your daughter’s shoes in hand. Her eyes widened when she saw what you were holding. “It’s shoe time, Bubs.” She shook her head so quickly that her hair was moving all over the place. Before you could say anything Alanna spoke up. “Look, I’m wearing shoes too, don’t you want to match Auntie Lani?”

That seemed to do the trick, as she nearly ripped the shoes out of your hands as she stood up on Alanna’s lap. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her and walked back to grab the rest of your stuff. 

“How did you get her to do that so quickly?” Steph asked in disbelieve when you were back so soon. “I wish I could take the credit, but it was all Lani.” Either way, you were glad that it worked and that she would be wearing her shoes now.

By the time you had arrived at your gate, your daughter had enough of all the waiting around. She pulled her hand out of your grip and ran off towards the window, while you put your bag down on one of the chairs. “Not so fast!” You called after her. Her legs might be little, but your girl could sprint just as well as her mum. 

“Mama plane!” She yelled out as she pointed to the plane that was stationed to the gate next to yours. You smiled at her enthusiasm despite having been on more planes than she could count up to, “Yeah! We’re going on one that looks like that too. Are you excited?” She nodded, “Yes!” 

Patience was not your daughter’s strong suit. She had sat at the window looking out over the moving airplanes for maybe five minutes, when she decided that she was over it. “Hi Bubs.” You said as she jumped onto your lap and hugged you tight. “Mama, where Harper?” You brushed some hair out of her face. “Harper is a little sick, remember? She stayed at the hotel with her mommy.” Your daughter pouted, “But I want to play.” 

Steph stepped towards the both of you and said, “Did I hear someone would like to play?” Your daughter’s face lit up, “Me! Me!” She picked her up from your lap and placed her down on the ground. “You better start running then because… tag you’re it!” Steph poked her finger to your daughter’s shoulder and started jogging off, your daughter running after her giggling.

You watch them run around with each other giggling, and then your daughter runs right to you. Thinking she was done playing tag, you open your arms for a hug, but at the last second you see the mischief in her eyes. She pokes your leg and runs off, “You're it!” She yells. 

There is no choice but to start running with them. A few of the girls joined in as well, much to the delight of your little girl. She had the biggest smile on her face as she was running around the gate with her moms and aunties.

Just as you were all sitting back down again to catch your breaths, it was announced over the intercom that your flight would be delayed. Nothing you weren't used to by now, so you got out some snacks to make waiting feel less long.

“No, me no want.” Your daughter said with crossed arms. “Bubs, after all that you have to eat something.” With her arms still crossed she counters. “Me eat candy and ice cream only.” 

“But big girls that want to be strong need to eat food like this. Just like Mommy and me, and all your aunties.” She seemed to be slightly more open to the snack now. Just one final push, you thought. “How about you go find one of your aunties to share your snack with?” 

That seemed to do the trick. Well at least make her take it from you. She walked around, trying to find the auntie she wanted to share it with. Finally she stopped in front of Caitlin with the bag held out in front of her. “Me share.”

Caitlin chuckled, “Alright munchkin, come here.” She picked her up and put her down on her lap. They shared the snacks, Caitlin secretly giving your daughter more than herself. But she was content for a bit again, and even kept sitting in Caitlin's lap for a while after the snacks were done.

Waiting for a three year old was never easy, so eventually she slipped off Caitlin's lap as well. “We go now.” She said as she grabbed her bag from the bench and walked over to the bridge.

“We can't yet, Bubs.” You say as you walk after her. “Yes, plane now.” She tries to walk further, but you grab her by her hand to hold her back. “I wish we could, but the plane is not ready yet.”

“Plane is there, me go on it.” She said, stomping her feet on the ground. “We can't. We have to wait a bit longer.” Your daughter shook her head. “No, now!”

“Come on, we're gonna sit and wait until it's ready. It's very important for the plane to be all good, so it's safe for us to fly.” You pick her up from the ground. While you lift her she starts screaming, crying, and kicking her legs. You hold her tight to your body, hoping to reduce the kicking. “It's okay, Bubs, the plane will be ready soon. Mama promises.” 

The crying didn't stop for a while, you wanted to fix it for her, but you knew only getting on the plane would do that right now and you didn't have control over that. You wish you could explain it in a way that she would be able to understand, so that it wouldn’t be that frustrating for her, but you knew that in her mind the plane was there and she wouldn’t be able to grasp that they needed some time to work on it.

When the plane was finally ready and they announced the first boarding call, the girls were quick to let your family be the first to board the plane.

“Bubba, the plane is ready!” Steph says while she grabs your passports and tickets. “Are you ready?” She nods eagerly, her cheeks still stained with tears. Steph wipes the tears away, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Alright, come on.” 

Steph gives your daughter her own ticket so she can show it to the employee to board. With your bags, you follow Steph and your daughter onto the plane.

-----

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