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natsaffection · 1 month ago

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Hold me like the road. | N.R

You’ve never ridden a bike before, and there’s Natasha, showing you just how beautiful it can be.

Warnings: first bike riding, little sexual tension

Word count: 3,2k

A/N: Thank a certain person that you’re all able to see this, it wasn’t originally planned that way. 🍸

You were halfway through pulling your favorite black tank top over your head when your phone buzzed on the nightstand. One glance at the screen made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with her.

Natasha: Downstairs. Waiting. Don’t keep me waiting too long, detka.

Your lips curled into a soft smile. She always called you that..detka, her voice melting into the syllables like honey in warm tea. It felt like her secret name for you. One of many things she gave you that felt like belonging.

You rushed through the rest of getting ready, hair tied back, jacket slung over your arm, keys in your pocket. You paused at the mirror before heading out the door and steadying your breath..It was just Natasha. Your girlfriend. The woman who kissed you like she meant it, who memorized your favorite songs and held you like she could hold back the world. But still, she had a way of making your heart race like it was your very first time seeing her all over again.

As you stepped out onto the sidewalk, heart light with anticipation, your steps faltered. She was there. Leaning casually against it. Her motorcycle.

It was a sleek, black beast of a machine, low-slung, growling softly even though the engine was off, its chrome parts gleaming in the sunlight like it had just rolled out of a Bond movie. And there she was, Natasha, dressed like sin and confidence, her leather jacket hugging her like it had been made for her body alone, her helmet tucked under one arm, and that small, secretive smile playing on her lips.

You froze a few feet away, eyes wide. “Oh no..”

She tilted her head, amused. “Oh yes.”

You blinked. “Are we…are we driving today? Like, on that?”

Natasha pushed off the bike and walked toward you. “I thought it was time.” she said, voice low, sweet with a teasing edge. “You’ve been staring at this thing like it’s a damn Greek god every time I ride it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You flushed, immediately defensive. “I do not-”

She arched an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Y/n, you whin-”

Your jaw dropped. “That is a lie! I gasped. There’s a difference!”

“Okay, Okay..”

You tried to glare at her, but the way she was looking at you, like you were her favorite thing in the world, made your resolve falter. Your gaze flicked back to the bike, then to her again.

“But I’ve never been on one..” you admitted, suddenly smaller in your voice. “What if I mess up? What if I fall off? What if I grab you too hard and crash us into a streetlamp?”

Natasha closed the distance completely, her hand finding your waist, grounding you, “I won’t let anything happen to you, detka. I promise. You trust me?”

Your answer was immediate, automatic. “Of course I trust you.”

Her smile softened, all flirtation melting into something achingly tender. “Then come on. I’ve got a helmet just your size.”

You hesitated only a moment longer, then sighed dramatically, making her laugh. “I can’t believe you’re seducing me with a motorcycle..” you muttered.

“Worked, didn’t it?”

Natasha reached into the sleek black storage compartment at the back of her bike and pulled out a second helmet, one you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t standard black or chrome or gritty gray. No. It was…elegant- sleek matte black with delicate pink floral designs blooming across the sides like ink in water. The petals had this almost painted look, not cutesy, but elegant..grown. Powerful. Feminine without apology.

Your brows lifted. “Is that…for me?”

Natasha turned it in her hands, inspecting it like she hadn’t done it a dozen times already. “I figured you wouldn’t want to wear one of mine. And I knew you’d pretend not to care, but secretly want something pretty.”

You blinked. “This is not just pretty. This is like…royalty. Bike royalty.”

Her smile softened as she stepped closer. “Not just pretty. It’s one of the safest designs on the market. You think I’d let anything less touch you?”

You smiled slowly. “It’s perfect, thank you..”

Without another word, she flicked open the visor, her hands moving like second nature. You’d seen her do it a hundred times with her own gear, so smooth, so practiced, like she belonged to the machine as much as it belonged to her. Then she held it up, just enough to invite you closer.

She dipped her head slightly toward the opening and made a soft c’mere gesture with her chin. “Tuck in.”

Your heart stuttered. The helmet gleamed inches from your face. You glanced at it, then at her, suddenly flustered. You hesitated, blinking. “Wait, my hair, it’s-”

Natasha didn’t flinch. She just leaned in, voice low and amused. “You’re stalling.”

You puffed a breath, cheeks warming. “Okay. Okay. I’m not stalling. I’m mentally preparing.”

“Y/n, I promise, you’re safe.”

You nodded, biting your lip. Then slowly, hesitantly, you dipped your head forward and let her guide the helmet onto you. The inside was padded and warm, smelling faintly of leather and something clean, almost like lavender. Her fingers steadied the sides as she adjusted the fit, tilting your chin just so.

And then she looked at you. Your eyes stared up at her, wide and bright through the visor. Cheeks pressed adorably into the padding, lips slightly parted in a dazed kind of wonder. You looked soft..Trusting, a little nervous.

Something in Natasha’s expression changed, just for a second. Like her whole chest caved in on itself. “You look…” she paused, searching for the right word, “…ridiculously cute right now.”

You flushed. “I feel like a bobblehead.”

She laughed, a real one. “The most beautiful bobblehead I’ve ever seen.”

She knelt slightly to secure the chin strap, fingers gentle as they moved beneath your jaw. You were already flustered, but then, she leaned in closer to adjust a side dial. Her gloved fingertips brushed the edge of your neck, slow and deliberate.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get more intense, you glanced up and realized, her helmet was already on. She’d done it while helping you, efficient as ever. Her own visor was up, her eyes locked on yours.

Something snapped in you. You lifted your hands and slapped her visor down in one motion, “Stop looking at me like that.” you whispered, breathless.

The silence that followed lasted just a second. Then she stilled, and you knew you’d triggered something.

Natasha didn’t say a word. Not at first. She simply reached forward, slow, and gripped the front of your helmet by the chin. Her gloved fingers curled under the edge with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. With one smooth motion, she tilted your head upward, forcing your eyes to meet hers through the glass.

She didn’t need to speak loudly. She didn’t need to move fast. It was the control in her touch, the confidence in the way she owned that moment, that nearly unraveled you.

“I look at you like that.” she said, voice low and wicked, “Because I like seeing you this nervous.”

Your lungs forgot what they were supposed to do. You blinked at her, wide-eyed, heat flooding your face, neck, chest, everywhere, and you swayed slightly, legs wobbling. Your fingers twitched, then instinctively clutched the front of her hoodie like a lifeline.

She finally released the chin of your helmet with a final, slow drag of her thumb along the front edge, like she wanted to make sure you’d feel her even after she let go.

You stayed right where you were, still clinging to her hoodie, pulse somewhere in your throat, trying not to melt into a puddle at her boots. Then she reached down, taking your hands in hers, and guided them gently away from her chest.

“Come on.” she said, voice back to calm and steady, but still lined with something darker, smoother. “Time for your first ride.”

Your knees definitely didn’t cooperate, but she helped you the whole way up, one hand on your hip, one steadying your back. You settled in, tense and unsure, blinking rapidly.

“You sitting comfortably?” she asked, her voice calm again.

“I…think so?”

She turned slightly and pointed behind your hips. “You’ve got a couple options. There are grab bars on either side of your seat. Or…” Her hand touched her own waist, “you can hold onto me.”

You froze. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hold onto her. Of course you did. But everything still felt new..bright and delicate and unsure, like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. So you glanced back at the seat handles and said, a little too quickly, “Seat is good! The bars. Definitely.”

Natasha just gave a small nod, not pushing, not teasing. “Okay. Seat it is.”

Then she swung a leg over, settling in front of you, and turned slightly over her shoulder.

“Alright. Some ground rules. When I’m driving, you can shift a little if you need to, don’t be afraid to move. But when we’re at a stoplight, I need you still. It keeps the balance tight.”

You nodded quickly. “Got it. Move while moving. Freeze at stoplights.”

“Exactly.” She paused, giving you one more long look. “Y/n, you’re doing great, you know.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You trusted me.” she said softly. “That counts.”

The engine purred to life beneath you like a living creature, deep and low in your bones. You jumped a little at the sudden growl, squeezing your knees tighter around Natasha. The whole machine vibrated slightly, and you could feel every shiver of it through the seat, through Natasha’s body in front of you.

Then came the clutch. She pulled it in smoothly, shifting the gear, her boots anchoring the bike. And then, a tiny lurch forward. You yelped, not loud, but startled, and your body instinctively jerked backward like you were about to fall off a cliff. Your hands flew from the grab bars to Natasha’s waist, gripping tight as your legs locked around the seat like it was your last tether to Earth.

“Whoa, whoa..!” you breathed. Natasha didn’t even flinch. She turned her head just slightly over her shoulder, voice amused. “That was one inch, detka.”

“That inch was death!” you hissed, knuckles white against the fabric of her hoodie.

She chuckled, leaning back ever so slightly into your grip. “I’ll warn the pavement next time. Poor thing almost caught a full-body fainting princess.”

You pressed your helmet gently into her back. “Shut up.”

“Understood.” she said, still grinning. She took mercy on you and started off slow, really slow. Rolling down the quiet side street like a whisper of movement. She didn’t try anything fancy. No sudden turns. No hard brakes. Just a steady, soft ride, like she knew your nerves were strung tighter than piano wire.

“How are you doing back there?” she called over the hum of the engine.

“I’m fine..” you replied immediately. Then added, “…Ish.”

Natasha laughed under her helmet. “That’s the spirit.”

A few more blocks went by. The wind started picking up, weaving its fingers through the sleeves of your jacket, brushing your cheeks through the helmet vents. The city opened around you in a way you’d never noticed before, closer, quieter, like you were part of its heartbeat instead of above it. It was..weirdly peaceful. If you ignored the roaring in your chest.

“You comfy?” Natasha called again. “Need to stop? Adjust anything?”

“Nope.” you answered, a little firmer this time. “I’m…good.”

There was a smile in her voice when she replied. “Proud of you.”

That..ugh.. That got you. Your grip on her waist softened into something more tender. Not panicked anymore. Just…there.

Then came the first stoplight. The bike slowed, smooth as butter, and came to a soft halt. Your whole body tensed again, and you remembered her warning. No shifting. No panicking. Be still.

You froze, shoulders stiff. Hands hovering on her sides, unsure if holding still meant not touching at all. But then, she leaned back. Literally turned her upper body toward you, twisting enough that her helmet was almost touching yours. You felt her hand reach behind and brush your thigh reassuringly.

“You okay?” she asked, quieter now. Closer. “You’re doing perfect.”

Your voice came out small, muffled. “I feel like a backpack with anxiety.”

Natasha laughed, head dropping a little. “You’re my favorite backpack.” she said, voice warm. “You’re doing so good, detka. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, chest tightening, not with fear this time, but something deeper. That twisty, warm feeling that always came when she looked at you like you mattered more than anything else on the planet.

“I really like this.” you whispered. “Like…being with you like this.”

She bumped her helmet against yours gently. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The light turned green, and she straightened up again, rolling forward. But before she moved too far, she reached down and gave your knee a little squeeze.

The wind grew stronger. You could smell grass. Earth. Something floral in the air, soft and wild. Natasha reached for your leg and gave it a gentle tap, her fingers warm through the denim.

“Alright.” she called over her shoulder, “I’m gonna speed up a little.”

You hesitated, heart clenching. But her next words anchored you like a lifeline: “I’ve got you. I always do.”

And just like that, she opened the throttle. The bike surged forward, not violently, but with a smooth, controlled power that made your stomach drop in the most thrilling way. The wind roared in your ears. Your eyes squeezed shut for a heartbeat, muscles tensing..but nothing happened. No lurching. No panic. Just movement. Motion, and trust.

You opened your eyes. And the world exploded. They weren’t just any backroads. Natasha had taken you somewhere breathtaking. A long, endless stretch of two-lane road wound between open fields of tall grass and flowers, golden wildflowers, violet lupines, splashes of red poppies waving in the breeze. The sky stretched wide above you, painted in soft hues of blue and clouds like watercolors. The sun hit your helmet visor just right, casting everything in golden light.

It was..god, it was beautiful. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. The air streamed past your jacket like silk. The field seemed to dance with you. You pressed your cheek lightly against Natasha’s back, smiling so wide your face hurt.

Then, just to show off (you were sure and right) Natasha leaned slightly to the left. Then to the right. Then again.

The bike moved in slow, smooth waves, gliding from side to side, weaving gently across the empty road like she was dancing with the wind. It wasn’t scary, it was fun. Exhilarating. Your arms wrapped around her tighter, and you let out the smallest, most joyful laugh.

“This is insane..” you murmured, knowing she probably couldn’t hear it, but saying it anyway. “You’re insane.”

She must’ve felt the way your arms squeezed her, because she gave your knee a little squeeze back, steady and loving.

The longer she rode, the more the nervous flutter in your chest turned to something else, something glowing and warm. You’d never felt this kind of freedom. It wasn’t just about speed or danger. It was about trusting her to hold you through it. About letting go, for once.

Eventually, the road curved again, and Natasha slowed as she turned off onto a smaller dirt path lined with tall grasses. The ride turned bumpy in the softest way, and then, she brought the bike to a stop near a little clearing, right where the flowers met a stretch of golden field. The engine rumbled low, then clicked into silence.

Your helmet was still on, but your breath was shaky and light. Like you’d just lived through something big. Natasha turned slightly in her seat, her helmet tilting as she looked back.

“You good?” she asked, voice muffled but warm.

You reached up and slowly unlatched your visor, flipping it up with a soft hiss of air. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy from wind and wonder.

“I’m so good..” you whispered. “That was..everything.”

Her voice lowered just slightly, rougher with emotion than before. “Yeah..” she said. “I thought you’d like it.”

Natasha killed the engine with a flick of her wrist, and for the first time since you’d gotten on the bike, everything fell into silence.

But not empty silence. The kind that hums with the wind rustling through wildflowers. Birds singing lazily from the nearby trees. The low hum of summer heat, thick with warmth and sun.

You sat there for a second, still on the bike behind her, the adrenaline slowly melting into a syrupy calm. Natasha turned slightly and knocked her knuckles gently against your helmet.

“Wanna see where I brought you?” she asked, her voice soft and smug and a little proud.

You nodded, still dazed. “Yes please.”

She reached up, unlocking the strap beneath your chin with tender, practiced fingers. “Let me get this off you.”

The helmet slid free with a soft pull, and the air kissed your face. Your hair was probably a mess, maybe sticking to your forehead, maybe crushed awkwardly, but Natasha didn’t seem to care. She looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, all flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

She pulled her own helmet off next, shaking out her braid with a shake of her head, then hopped off the bike with that fluid ease she always had. She turned and reached for you.

You took her hand. She helped you off like she’d done it a thousand times before, one hand on yours, the other steady at your waist. When your boots touched the soft grass, she didn’t let go immediately. Just lingered there for a moment, gazing at you.

“You’re glowing..” she murmured.

“I think I’m still vibrating.” you whispered, grinning.

She laughed, tugging you gently by the hand. “Come on.”

You followed her off the dirt path into the clearing, tall grass brushing your thighs, flowers swaying on their stems like they were nodding in approval. She led you to a little spot where the sun fell in a patchy circle through the trees, and, of course, Natasha had thought ahead.

She pulled out a folded blanket from the back of the bike. You blinked surprised, “You packed?”

She shrugged, spreading it on the grass. “Not my first time being charming.”

You sat down, still breathless from the ride, and lay back for a second, just looking up at the sky. It was too much. In the best way.

Then she sat beside you, pulling something else from her jacket pocket. A small container. Inside, tiny, bright-red strawberries.

Your head shot up. “Are those strawberries?”

She smiled and popped the lid open, offering one like a peace treaty. “I figured if I was gonna traumatize you on a bike, I should at least bribe you with something sweet.”

You took the berry and bit into it. It was soft, ripe, sun-warmed, and perfect. You let out a small moan. “Okay. You’re officially forgiven for every near-death moment.”

She grinned and leaned on one hand, watching you eat with lazy affection. “You know.” she said after a beat, “you didn’t have to do any of this. I would’ve waited forever to put you on the bike.”

You looked at her, lips sticky with juice, heart squeezing. “I wanted to..” you said. “Because it’s yours. And I wanted to know what it felt like…to fly with you.”

Her smile faded into something softer. More fragile. She looked down at the strawberries, like they might help her breathe. Then, barely a whisper: “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The words hung there, suspended in the stillness of the field. Your face heats up again and you try to hide it, but Natasha took her hand, and moved your face to her again, and leaned in. It was soft. Like petals. Like promise. And when she pulled back, your forehead touched hers.

You smiled. “I’m keeping the helmet, by the way.”

She grinned. “Damn right you are.”

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanov

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garciaasfluffypen · 2 months ago

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comfort me please (it's all i need)

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 1.9k warnings: sub drop, reader feels unappreciated for a bit (not the whole time i promise), this could be classified as reader having a small crash out if you squint

you were tired. you were tired, the first one home, the apartment was messy and you were tired. logically, the apartment was as clean as it could have been after being called in during an impromptu girls night. but there was stuff strewn everywhere and it was bothering your brain. you hated when your brain made you feel like everything was messy and nothing was perfect. there were ways for you to cope with it, yes, but sometimes they didn’t work and you started to feel like only you were the one doing everything.

which is how you currently felt.

emily and jj stayed behind to finish the last of the paperwork, leaving tara to drop you off at home since you didn’t want to wait. she had offered to come inside with you but you had declined, just wanting to go and curl up in bed. what you didn’t expect was for your brain to automatically be repulsed at the state of the living room as it proudly showed off the remnants of saturday night. with an annoyed sigh, you dropped your go bag in the front hall, giving yourself approximately one minute to throw a small temper tantrum before you went to the front closet where you kept all the cleaning supplies. you zoomed around the apartment, leaving trash bags in your wake as the cleaning commenced. in the midst of emptying the dishwasher you realized you were thirsty and that there was old leftovers in the fridge so of course that had to be emptied. and just as you suspected… they were emily’s leftovers. with an angry sigh, you threw them in the garbage and continued your cleaning spree.

meanwhile, emily and jj had pulled into the parking lot and were making their way up the drive, watching you pacing around through the window. emily had to hold back a chuckle at how animated you were being, flailing your arms around and screaming to the man on the tv who was playing some sort of horror game. emily and jj both jumped at the metal puppet looking thing that popped up on the screen, which you didn’t react to at all.

emily and jj stood in the foyer as you angrily paced to the closet, barely registering the two of them standing there in your… whatever was happening. they hadn’t seen you like this ever, and it was concerning to them. that’s how you felt? they shared a look as you walked by them again with the little green machine that you had gotten for christmas in your hand, placing it down and throwing the power cord in the direction of one of the many outlets. mumbling to yourself, you got down on your hands and knees to assess the damage, still unaware that your girlfriends were watching you pace around the apartment like a mad person. you walked over to the kitchen to grab the carpet cleaner, crouching down under the sink. emily and jj shared another look, trying to figure out if they should interrupt your tangent or not.

jj squeezed emily’s hand, grabbing your go bag as well as her’s and emily’s, quietly slipping into the laundry room as emily continued to watch you. there were a few options that ran through her head about what she could do, and none of them were ideal. all of them ended with you freaking out because your routine was messed up and considering it was late at night, you would probably end up breaking down. you had gone a while without having a break down, but emily knew your meds had to have worn off by now and there was no way she would be able to get through to you without causing a catastrophic reaction due to the way you felt. you had been cleaning since you had gotten home, and the tracking app the three of you shared stated that you got home around 1am. you had to have been tired, considering the team had been up since 6am the morning prior. if jj squinted, she could see the tiredness in your eyes. she didn’t want you to, but she had a feeling if they didn’t stop you that you would ultimately end up pulling an all nighter.

finally, emily sighed and cleared her throat.

“holy fuck-!” you jumped, dropping the spout of the green machine. “how long have you- how much of that did you see?”

“enough to know you’re upset. lovey, you could have told us you felt like that.”

you shook your head. “no.”

“you need to communicate with us” jj piped in. “we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us.”

“no.” you stared back at them, hints of your brat side starting to show in the flecks of your eyes. you moved past emily, putting the little green machine back in the closet. “i’m not done cleaning.”

you walked back past your girlfriends, heading to grab the trash bag on the coffee table. jj and emily watched as you stumbled a bit, pausing a second before continuing to clean. doing some math, jj realized that it had been almost two days since you had taken your adhd meds. of course, the adhd rage was kicking in at one of the worst times possible- when you were tired. from what jj remembered, it was harder for you to regulate your emotions when you were tired and it typically left you drained more often than not. you were pushing yourself, it was obvious to her. emily kept an eye on you as you started to loose your steam, waiting for a break to say something.

“it’s almost four in the morning.”

“‘m not tired. i just need to sit for a second.”

“you need to sleep.”

“i’ll sleep when i’m done.”

you blinked a couple times, realizing how tired you actually were. the trash bag you were holding slipped from your hands as you fell onto the couch, the fatigue and events of the past week catching up to you. you rubbed at your eyes, forcing the tired feeling back as you pushed yourself up, holding onto the arm of the couch before you continued to pick up the trash.

“my love-”

“i’m fine!” you snapped, staring at them. “everything’s fine. go to bed. i’ll come when i’m done. the living room needs to be clean. nobody took care of it so i’m taking care of it, it’s fine. just go to bed.”

“darling.” you locked eyes with jj, the look in her eyes the only thing you could focus on. “eyes on me. the living room is clean. give me the bag, we’re going to bed.”

within seconds emily realized what was happening as you started to bend to jj’s will, and it hit her. you had been going for so long, taking care of those around you that you hadn’t had time to care for yourself. between almost back to back cases, date nights with them and spending time with your brothers, you barely had any time to yourself. you hadn’t been able to sit back, relax and turn everything off. you were burning out.

jj realized this at the exact same time as she pulled you into her arms, rubbing a hand up and down your back in a comforting manner. you wrapped yourself around jj’s midsection, clinging to her as your sub drop became more and more noticeable to your girlfriends. this wasn’t the first time they had witnessed one per se, but it was the first one they’ve witnessed in the absence of sex. you let the tiredness take over as she caressed you, your head falling into the crook of her neck as the tears that sometimes happened when you pushed yourself too far started to fall.

“shh, darling it’s okay. we’ll get you to bed, come on.”

“shower?”

“when you wake up, okay?” jj ran a hand through your hair. “you’ve been up for almost two days. we need to get you to bed baby.”

“‘m dirty. feel my hands.”

it took jj a second to realize what you were saying. “you can feel your hands?” you nodded. “lets get you to the bathroom then, come on baby.”

jj picked you up with ease and led you into the bathroom, emily following close behind as she went into the bedroom to get everything ready. jj went to put you down, but you were holding on to her so tight that it was practically impossible for her to set you down. she grabbed a washcloth instead, leaning so you were hovering above the counter in case you decided to let go. you sniffled a bit as she started to move the washcloth across your face, wiping off the makeup that had run down your face. you leaned into her touch, your arms slowly dropping as she continued to wipe you off with the washcloth. your eyes slowly fluttered as you attempted to keep them open, the tenderness of the situation on top of your tiredness truly taking a toll on you.

you weren’t used to people taking care of you in this capacity. it had been so long since you had been cared for in a way that wasn’t people using you just because it was fun. you weren’t sure what exactly was happening in your brain, but you knew you felt loved and safe. something a partner hasn’t made you feel in a long time. you vaguely heard the door open and someone slip into the room, but you were too tired to try and figure out who was there.

emily walked over to you two, rubbing a hand up and down your back as she whispered to jj.

“i just talked to hotch, he said only one of us has to come in tomorrow so one of us can stay here with y/n. he’s the only other person to my knowledge who’s ever seen them like this.”

“not even garcia?”

“no.” emily shook her head. “from what he told me, they work really hard to make sure nobody on the team sees them like this. its why they get more time off than the rest of us.”

“reasonable accommodations.” jj nodded in understanding. “okay we got to get them to bed.”

“everything is ready, i have their pajamas here.”

emily helped jj maneuver you so they could get your jammies on, switching you over to emily’s arms so jj could go get you some water and your morning medication. emily pulled you into bed with her, wrapping her arms around you as you snuggled into her.

“fank you.”

“for what, baby?” emily looked down at you as she scratched your back, resting her chin on top of your head.

“takin’ care of me.” you shuffled closer to emily. “lotsa… don’t wanna.”

“you want to be told what to do sometimes,” emily started. “you haven’t had people who understood that like jay and i do.”

your head turned as much as it could in your half asleep state to face emily. “i jus.. wanna be cared for.”

“and we care for you, so much.”

“more than that.” you mumbled.

“then what do you want?”

“i dunno.” you curled into emily’s chest. “‘m sleepy.”

“go to sleep, lovey. we’ll be here for you in the morning.”

“mm okay emmy. i love you.”

emily blinked a few times as she registered what you said to her, watching you as you finally fell asleep. she’d definitely have to unpack this.

tomorrow.

it was definitely a tomorrow problem.

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

#criminal minds #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x y/n #jennifer jareau x emily prentiss #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #oh to be loved by you (two) universe #an i (queue) of 187

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lupinqs · 6 months ago

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CHAPTER FOUR ━━ I’ll Be Here

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.7K

❀ ━ warnings: descriptions of injury

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i love them this is by far my favorite chapter so far i think my writing abilities have returned

JO FEELS alive out on the court. The rubbery squeak of sneakers against polished wood, the sharp clap of the ball on the floor, the steady rhythm of her breathing—all of it feels right. She’s glad to be back on campus, playing with her team. The off-month of July was nice, but August is already proving to be full of Connecticut basketball—which, frankly, Jo can’t get enough of.

She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, sweat sticking to her skin. Practice is almost over, and everyone’s moving a little slower now, a little less sharp. Even Paige, who’s usually relentless, has started to show signs of fatigue. Not that Jo would say that out loud—Paige would probably take it as a challenge.

Jo glances at her. Paige is standing at half-court, hands on her hips, scanning the court with that laser focus of hers. Jo’s seen that look a hundred times since she’s got here, and she knows exactly what it means. Paige is plotting, figuring out how to dismantle Nika and Azzi’s defense, and Jo feels a flicker of anticipation.

Playing with Paige is easy. It has been since they first started. There’s something about the way Paige moves, the way she thinks, that just makes sense to Jo. It’s like Paige is speaking a language Jo didn’t even know she was fluent in until they started playing together.

The whistle blows and the ball is in play again. Jo takes off down the court, feet pounding, eyes scanning. Paige has the ball, weaving around Lou with an infuriating ease that makes it look like she isn’t even trying. Jo cuts to the left, then back right, trying to lose Azzi—and doing so—just in time for Paige to send a no-look pass her way.

The ball lands perfectly in her hands and Jo doesn’t even have to think. She takes the shot, her form automatic, muscle memory guiding her. The ball arcs high, spinning just right, and swishes clean through the net.

“Nice shot, Joey!” Paige calls, jogging over to bump shoulders with her.

Jo smiles a little, her cheeks feeling warm. Joey’s never been a nickname that anyone but her family calls her, but ever since that day in Boston, Paige has made it a point to call her it. Oddly enough, Jo sort of likes it. It makes sense that Paige has a nickname for her that the rest of the team doesn’t use, one for just the two of them. Paige is already moving, already focused on the next play, and Jo shakes her head, trying to refocus.

The game continues, and Jo and Paige fall into that easy rhythm again. They’re in sync in a way that’s almost unfair to the other team. Jo drives to the basket, Paige finds her with a perfect pass. Paige pulls up for a three, and Jo crashes the boards for the rebound just in case it doesn’t go in—not that Paige misses often.

And then, on the other end of the floor, Jo sees the opportunity before it even fully forms. Nika’s dribble falters for half a second, just enough for Jo to anticipate her next move. She lunges, quick hands swiping the ball clean, and takes off. There’s a surge of exhilaration as the ball leaves her fingertips in a perfect, arching pass up the court.

Paige is already there, as if she’s read Jo’s mind. She’s fast, faster than anyone on the court, her strides long and confident as she streaks toward the basket. Jo slows, her job done for the moment, and watches.

The ball lands in Paige’s hands like it was meant to be there, and she’s in full flight, her eyes locked on the basket. Jo can feel her own heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She doesn’t think about how good Paige looks like that—her bright blonde ponytail flying, the concentration set on her face, the fluidity of her movements—but the thought lingers at the edge of her mind anyway, uninvited and confusing.

Then, everything changes.

Paige plants her foot to go for the layup, and it happens so fast that Jo almost doesn’t process it at first. There’s a strange sound—something between a gasp and a groan—and then Paige is crumpling to the floor, clutching her knee.

Time seems to slow. The ball bounces, forgotten, the game dissolving in an instant as everyone rushes to Paige’s side. Jo’s body moves on autopilot, her legs carrying her before she can even really understand what’s happening.

She skids to her knees next to Paige, her heart racing so fast it feels like it might break free of her chest. Azzi and Nika are already there, their faces pale, their hands hovering as if afraid to touch Paige. Jo’s eyes dart to Paige’s knee, and her stomach twists violently. Paige’s hand is clamped over it, her other arm draped across her face to hide her tears, but Jo can still hear the shaky, uneven breaths the blonde is taking.

“It’s my knee,” Paige chokes out, her voice barely audible.

Jo’s breath catches. Her throat feels dry, and for a moment, she’s frozen, unable to force out a single word. The world around her seems to blur, the voices of her teammates fading into a muffled hum. Nika’s saying something, her voice soft but firm, trying to calm Paige down, but Jo doesn’t hear it clearly.

Because all she can think about is her own knee, two years ago, when she felt that same sickening shift, heard that same awful pop. She remembers the way the gym lights blurred as she hit the floor, the way the pain swallowed her whole, and the way everything—basketball, her future, her sense of self—seemed to unravel in that moment.

When Jo briefly makes eye contact at Azzi, she can tell she’s thinking the same thing.

Because now Paige is here, clutching her knee, tears slipping from beneath the arm covering her face, and Jo feels like she’s going to be sick.

Her hands shake as she reaches out instinctively, her fingers brushing against Paige’s. It’s a tentative gesture, one she isn’t sure will help, but then Paige’s hand blindly reaches for hers, gripping it hard. Jo swallows thickly, the lump in her throat making it hard to breathe, and her thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles over Paige’s knuckles.

Jo doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t trust herself to speak because every thought in her head is jagged and messy, spiraling out of control. ACL. ACL. ACL. It courses through her head like a mantra. Because the way Paige’s knee twisted, the way she fell—it’s too familiar, too similar to Jo’s own injury to ignore.

And if it is an ACL tear, then Paige is done for the season.

Jo clenches her jaw, trying to shove the thought away, trying to be the positive, optimistic girl she is, but it still lingers stubbornly. It feels like Paige just came back from an injury. Jo remembers watching the Notre Dame game last December—she was there, in support for her future team—and Paige had crumpled down on the court in the last minute, crying and clutching at her knee. Jo knows she went through surgery, through rehab, missing majority of the season, being sidelined while everyone else played. And now, to have this happen again—it’s not fair. It’s cruel.

Paige’s whole life is basketball. Jo knows that. She’s seen the way Paige pours everything she has into the game, how much she thrives on the court, how much she needs it. And Jo knows, too, how much it hurts to lose it, to have the game you love ripped away from you when you need it most.

Jo’s hand tightens around Paige’s, and she murmurs softly, almost unconsciously, “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.” She doesn’t know if Paige hears her, doesn’t know if the words mean anything, but it feels like the only thing she can do.

Paige squeezes Jo’s hand in response, her grip strong despite the tremor in her fingers. Jo’s heart aches at the silent plea in that touch, at the vulnerability in someone who’s always seemed so untouchable.

Eventually, Aaliyah and Aubrey kneel down on either side of Paige, their voices low and soothing. They coax her to sit up, their hands gentle as they help her shift her weight. Jo, Azzi, and Nika instinctively move back, giving them space, but Jo can’t seem to take her eyes off of Paige. She watches as Paige’s fingers slip from hers, the loss of contact leaving her feeling strangely hollow.

Jo stands, her legs stiff, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides. She watched as Aaliyah and Aubrey loop their arms around Paige’s shoulders, helping her to her feet. Paige’s face is tight with pain, her jaw clenched as she tries to put as little weight as possible on her injured leg.

It’s silent as Paige limps toward the trainer’s office, supported on either side. Jo stays rooted to the spot, her mind racing.

She can’t stop thinking about how this could be it—how this injury could take away everything Paige has been working toward. She can’t stop thinking about how Paige was determined to get that natty this year, how much she told Jo she was the missing piece for them to secure it. She can’t stop thinking about how unfair it all is.

And, most of all, she can’t stop thinking about Paige, about the tears hidden behind the arm draped over her face, about the way she reached for Jo’s hand without hesitation, as if Jo was the only anchor in a moment filled with pain and chaos.

Jo exhales shakily, nails digging into her palms. She knows the team will rally around Paige. They’ll support her, encourage her, do whatever it takes to help her through this. But right now, all Jo can do is stand there, her chest tight with worry and her mind looping endlessly through memories she’d rather forget.

She doesn’t want this for Paige. She doesn’t want this for anyone.

But as Paige disappears behind the gym doors, Jo can’t help but wonder if wanting it not to be true is enough to change anything.

JO SITS cross-legged on the worn couch in Nika, Amari, and Ice’s apartment, her knee bouncing nervously. It’s late, and the soft hum of the TV plays in the background, but she can’t focus on whatever show Ice flipped on. Her stomach twists as shifts next to her, phone in hand. Across the room, Amari and Ice are on the opposite couch, close enough to hear the incoming conversation but far enough to give some space.

Jo appreciates that. They all know how delicate this is, how fragile it all feels. No one wants to overwhelm Paige. She’s been through enough today.

Jo chews on the inside of her cheek as Nika taps on Paige’s contact and hits the FaceTime button. The dial tone seems to drag on forever, each ring stretching her nerves tighter and tighter. Jo adjusts her position, pulling her knees up to her chest, and hugs them as if that’ll somehow ground her.

When Paige answers, the screen fills with her face.

Jo’s heart clenches.

Paige looks tired—no, more than tired. She looks worn down, like the weight of the day has crushed something in her. There’s a forced smile on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her hair is pulled back haphazardly, and her face is pale, her features drawn tight.

“Hey,” Paige says, her voice quiet but trying for upbeat.

“Hey,” Nika says softly, her usual bravado muted. Jo stays quiet, her throat dry.

“How are you feeling?” Nika follows up. Her tone is gentle, but there’s a tremble in her voice, like she’s already bracing for bad news.

Paige lets out a long breath, her gaze flickering away from the camera for a moment before coming back. “I’ve been better.”

The words hang in the air. Jo’s stomach twists even tighter.

“What’s the verdict?” Nika asks carefully.

Jo doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Paige’s lips part.

“It’s my ACL,” Paige says, her voice cracking just slightly. She tries to steady herself, but the shaky breath she exhales gives her away.

Nika inhales sharply, and Jo can see her eyes immediately begin to swim. Instinctively, Jo shifts closer to Nika, resting her head on her shoulder. She feels like she’s been punched in the gut. She’s been preparing for this answer all day, replaying the moment over and over in her mind, but hearing it out loud makes it real in a way that feels unbearable.

“Oh my God,” Nika whispers, her tears beginning to fall. “Paige…”

Jo’s throat tightens painfully. She blinks rapidly, willing herself not to cry, but it’s a losing battle. The lump in her throat feels massive, her breathing uneven. She isn’t just upset because she won’t get to play with Paige this year—though that hurts like hell—but because she knows what this means for Paige.

Basketball is Paige’s life. It’s her everything.

Jo knows what it’s like to lose that, to have the sport you’ve built your whole world around ripped away from you. The endless months of rehab, the isolation, the frustration, the fear that you’ll never get back to where you were before—it’s hell. And Paige has already been through two other injuries within the last year alone; she doesn’t deserve this.

“It’s okay,” Paige says suddenly, her voice startling Jo out of her spiraling thoughts. Jo blinks, realizing that Paige is watching them both with an expression that’s equal parts exasperated and affectionate.

“You guys, come on,” Paige says, forcing a shaky laugh. “Why are you crying? I’m the one with the busted knee.”

Nika lets out a choked sob-laugh, wiping at her face. “Because we care about you, stupid!”

Jo can’t help the weak smile that tugs at her lips, even as the tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

Paige sighs, her forced smile softening into something more genuine, though still sad. “I’m okay, really,” she says, though her voice wavers. “It sucks. It really fuckin’ sucks. But God has his plans; everything happens for a reason. I’ll get through it.”

Jo’s chest tightens at that. Paige is trying to be strong for them, she realizes. She’s the one who’s hurt, the one who’s whole season has just been derailed, and yet here she is, comforting them.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay,” Jo says quietly. Her voice is hoarse, but the words come out steady.

Paige’s gaze flickers to hers through the screen, and for a moment, the facade drops. Her shoulders slump a little, and she exhaled a trembling breath. “I know,” she says softly. “But I will be. Eventually.”

Jo nods, though she feels her eyes begin to swim again. She wants to say something, anything, but her mind feels blank, overwhelmed by the weight of it all, the familiarity of this shit.

“Aye,” Nika says firmly, voice steadier now despite her tear-streaked face. “We’re all here for you, P. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. Yeah?”

Paige smiles faintly, her eyes glassy but warm. “I know. Thanks, twin.”

Jo swallows hard, her hand massaging over the scar on her own knee as she fights to find her voice. “We’re gonna get through this together, okay?” she says finally, quiet but resolute.

Paige looks at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes, and then she bore. “Yeah,” she murmurs softly. “Together.”

The call ends a few minutes later, after more reassurances and promises to check in tomorrow. As the screen goes dark, Jo leans back against the couch, her head resting against the cushions. Her chest feels heavy, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess of worry, sadness, and determination.

Paige is going to need them now more than ever.

And Jo is going to make damn sure she’s there for her, every step of the way.

THE ROOM is quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional murmur of voices drifting in from the hallway. Paige lies on the stiff hospital bed, staring up at the dull ceiling tiles. Her body feels heavy, not from exhaustion but from the crushing weight of the situation. The thin blanket over her legs is tucked too tightly, and she wants to kick it off, but she doesn’t move. It’s not worth the effort.

Her thoughts churn endlessly, looping the same questions and doubts over and over and over again. How is she supposed to do this, how is she supposed to live without basketball for a year? A year feels like an eternity. It feels impossible.

She shifts slightly, wincing at the dull ache in her knee. It’s wrapped up tightly, immobilized, but she can still feel the deep, bone-deep throb of it. The pain doesn’t scare her; it’s familiar. It’s what the pain represents that makes her chest feel like it’s caving in.

Her parents and Drew are here, their presence comforting and supportive. She’s glad they’re here—it means a lot that her dad and Drew flew in last night, and that her mom showed up first thing this morning despite how they all live several states away, over halfway across the country for her mom. But when they all insisted on staying, hovering, she’d encouraged them to go get lunch. She’d thought she’d wanted some time alone.

Now, though, with the silence stretching around her, she regrets it. Being alone means being stuck with her thoughts, and her thoughts aren’t kind to her right now.

Paige tries to steady her breathing, inhaling deeply through her nose and letting it out slowly through her mouth, just like the trainers taught her when her anxiety flares up before big games. The comeback will be greater than the setback, she tells herself firmly, trying to internalize the words that have been repeated to her so many times over the past twenty-four hours. God has His plans. Everything happens for a reason.

But it’s so fucking hard.

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinks them back quickly, jaw tightening. She’s not going to cry. Not here. Not now. Her chest feels like it’s been hollowed out, the ache of it sharp and unrelenting. Basketball isn’t just her passion; it’s her identity. It’s who she is.

And now it’s gone.

For a year.

She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the despair away, but it only seems to grow heavier. A part of her wants to scream at the unfairness of it all, but she knows that won’t change anything. She knows what’s coming—the surgery, the long months of rehab, the lonely hours in the gym trying to rebuild herself from the ground up. She knows because she’s been through it before, though she knows this time will be far worse.

A soft knock on the door jolts her from her spiraling thoughts. Her eyes snap open, her heart skipping a beat. She quickly wipes at her face, hoping she doesn’t look as defeated as she feels.

“Come in,” she says hoarsely.

The door freaks open, and Paige stills in surprise.

Jo steps into the room, a small gift bag and what looks to be a card in hand and a hesitant, almost nervous smile on her face. She looks so out of place in the sterile hospital room, like a burst of color in a grayscale world.

“Hey,” Jo says softly, tone warm but tinged with uncertainty.

Paige stares at her for a moment, her brain scrambling to process the sight of her. She didn’t expect this at all. The teams plans are to visit her after the surgery, not before. Paige resigned herself to facing this part alone, just with her family.

But now Jo is here.

And for some reason, Paige feels her chest loosen slightly, like she can finally take a deep breath.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice cracking despite her best efforts.

Jo steps further into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I, uh, hope it’s okay that I’m here,” she says, glancing around awkwardly. “I just thought… I don’t know, I figured you might need some company before… I know your family’s here—I met them—and they, y’know, told me to come up and say hi…”

Her voice trails off, and she shifts on her feet, suddenly looking unsure of herself.

Paige feels a strange warmth bloom in her chest. She doesn’t know why, but seeing Jo here, with that goofy gift bag and that hopeful look on her face, feels like exactly what she needed.

“No, it’s—it’s more than okay,” Paige says quickly, her lips twitching into a small, genuine smile for the first time all day. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Jo’s face brightens slightly, and she steps closer, settling the gift bag on the small table next to the bed. “Good,” she says simply, her voice lighter now.

She settles gently on the edge of the hospital bed, her presence grounding yet unobtrusive. Paige feels the mattes dip beneath her weight and fights the urge to shuffle closer, some irrational part of her craving proximity. There’s something about Jo that feels a safe, like a lifeline, and Paige doesn’t even know why.

She watches Jo carefully, studies her as Jo’s gaze sweeps over her, taking in her entire figure as if searching for the right words. Paige stays quiet, letting her look. It’s easier than trying to fill the silence herself.

When Jo’s eyes linger on her leg—hidden under the blankets, immobile but looming in its absence of normalcy—Paige notices the flicker of something in Jo’s expression. A soft dimming, like a light bulb sputtering. Jo’s usually bright eyes dull just a fraction, but it’s enough to make Paige’s stomach twist.

She doesn’t like seeing that.

Jo exhales heavily, dragging a hand through her hair as if the gesture alone can lighten the mood. “I’m… God, I’m really sorry,” she says. Her voice is sincere and laced with the kind of frustration that comes from knowing words can’t fix anything. “I know everyone’s probably saying that, and I’m sure it doesn’t help, but I really am. I just…” she trails off, shaking her head.

The apology hands in the air, filling the room with a bitter truth that Paige can’t escape. She nods stiffly. “Thanks,” she says quietly, the words trembling at the edges. “It just… sucks.”

Her hands clench at the blanket bunched in her lap, fingers twisting the fabric as she tries to keep the rising tide of emotions at bay. But the sight of Jo, who’s usually so optimistic, looking even slightly defeated by the situation feels like a punch to the gut. Paige can barely handle her own disappointment; she doesn’t need to see it reflected in Jo’s eyes, too.

Jo looks at her for a long moment, and then she nods. “I know,” she says softly. Her voice is low and calm, a salve to Paige’s raw emotions. “I get it. I really do.”

Something about those words ignites a spark of frustration in Paige, a flare of anger born from sadness and exhaustion. Her voice comes out sharper than she intends, cutting through the quiet like a knife. “Do you?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets them. The bitterness in her tone feels wrong, feels cruel, and the second she hears it escape herself, guilt tugs at her. This is Jo, the sweetest person Paige knows, who didn’t have to come here but did anyway, who’s been nothing but kind since the moment they met. Jo doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Paige’s frustration, no matter how much everything sucks right now.

Paige braces herself for a reaction—a flicker of annoyance, maybe, or even a hint of anger. But when Jo meets her eyes, there’s no trace of either. Her expression is soft, gentle, almost unbearable understanding.

“Yes,” Jo says quietly, after a beat. “I do.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the steadiness in Jo’s voice.

Jo shifts slightly on the bed, her gaze unwavering. “A couple years ago, when I was a junior,” she starts, her tone light but carrying an unmistakable weight, “I tore my ACL. Same leg as yours. Took me out for the rest of the season.”

The words hit Paige like a freight train, stealing the air from her lungs. For a moment, all she can do is stare at Jo, her mind reeling. She feels like an idiot—no, worse than that, a complete dick. She lashed out, accused Jo of not understanding when Jo actually does understand better than most people ever could.

Paige’s mouth opens, then closes again, her thoughts racing. She’s known about Jo for years, followed her on social media long before they were teammates. Jo was the single most sought-after recruits in her class, and Paige had watched her basketball highlights serval times. How had she not known about this? How had she missed something so monumental?

Her eyes flicker down to Jo’s legs, as if she can scan through her leggings for a sign of a scar. Has she ever looked closely at Jo’s knees? She tries to picture it, tries to remember if she’s seen anything, but she can’t. She wonders if it’s because Jo hides it well or if she just wasn’t enough attention.

Guilt settles heavily in her chest, mingling with a fresh wave of sadness. “Jo,” she says softly, barely a whisper.

Jo shakes her head quickly, cutting her off before she can apologize. “It’s okay,” she says earnestly. “Really. I didn’t bring it up to make you feel bad. I just.. I want you to that you’re not at all alone, okay? I know it feels like everything’s falling apart right now, and I know it’s going to suck for a while. But you’re gonna get through it. And you’re gonna come back an even better player than you were before, because I know you, and you will. Okay?”

The words hit Paige in a way that nothing else has since this whole ordeal started. She feels a lump form in her throat, and this time, she doesn’t try to fight it. She lets the tears come, hot and fast, and Jo doesn’t flinch. “Okay,” Paige forces out, nodding through the tears.

Jo lets her cry for a few moments, a bead of silent support. And then as the tears begin to slow, Jo shifts a little, smiling that smile at Paige—wide and easy and damn near perfect—Paige feels her chest loosen some, the tears finally halting.

Jo reaches over and grabs the gift bag from the small table near the bed, holding it up. “Please don’t laugh,” she tells Paige.

Paige blinks at her, still wiping at the tears streaking her cheeks, a soft chuckle escaping despite herself. “Why would I laugh?” she asks, sounding raspier than usual from the crying.

“Just don’t,” she insists, leaning forward to hand Paige the bag.

There’s something so endearing about Jo’s seriousness that Paige finds herself smiling again, the kind of smile that feels foreign right now but also deeply necessary. She pulls the tissue paper out of the bag slowly, dragging out the moment to tease Jo, who’s clearly fighting the urge to rush her along. Finally, Paige reaches inside and pulls out the gift.

A purple dragon Squishmallow.

For a second, Paige just stares at it, her brain short-circuiting at the sheer unexpected of it. Then, a laugh bubbles out of her, surprising even herself. It’s not the kind of laugh that mocks or undermines—there’s nothing mean-spirited about it. Instead, it’s warm and light and laced with something close to gratitude.

“I told you not to laugh!” Jo exclaims, though she’s grinning at Paige.

“I’m not laughing at it,” the blonde defends, though she’s still giggling as she turns the plush dragon over in her hands, taking in its soft fabric and adorable face. “I just… I dunno. It’s cute.” She pauses, then adds softly, “Thank you.”

Jo’s smile softens, and she nudges Paige’s shoulder lightly. “I know it’s dumb, but…” Jo shrugs, leaning back slightly, her gaze flickering to the dragon in Paige’s hands. “When I tore my ACL, my mom get me what she called an emotional support stuffed animal, and as stupid as it sounds, it helped. Like, just having something to hold onto when things got hard, y’know? So, I figured… maybe it could help you, too.”

Paige blinks, her eyes darting to the Squishmallow again, her fingers brushing over its wings. It’s not just a gift; it’s a piece of Jo’s own experience, her way of saying, I’ve been here, and I made it through, and you will too. And somehow, that makes it mean so much more.

And then Paige realizes—Bubbles. The plush turtle that Jo’s always carrying around—the one Paige’s seen tucked under Jo’s arm while she’s lounging on the couch or sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly holding it while scrolling through her phone. That’s the emotional support stuffed animal. The thought makes Paige smile again, and she feels something warm and unfamiliar bloom deep within her chest, right around the crevices of her heart.

Jo tilts her head, watching her with a curious expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige says quickly, though her lips curve upward involuntarily.

Jo narrows her eyes but doesn’t press, instead gesturing toward the dragon. “You gotta name it.”

Paige hums, thinking. And then she smirks, holding up the stuffed animal like it’s a crown jewel. “I’m naming her Sunny.”

Jo smiles. “Why Sunny?”

Paige shrugs. “I dunno. It just… fits.”

Jo seems satisfied with the answer, and Paige can’t help but feel a little triumphant. Jo doesn’t have to know the truth—that Paige picked the name because it reminds her of Jo, her own little pocket of sunshine. It’ll make her think of Jo every time she looks at the dragon.

Paige clutches Sunny to her chest, the plush fabric warm and comforting. Her eyes drift to the bedside table, where the card Jo brought in sits, its bright colors standing out. She tilts her head toward it. “What’s that?”

Jo follows her gaze, her expression shifting from amusement to mild apprehension as she leans over and grabs the card. “Oh, right,” she says, shaking her head a little, like she’d almost forgotten about it. She hesitates before handing it to Paige, fiddling with the edge of the envelope. “Um, it’s from Celeste. She saw me in the gym today and told me to give it to you. I thinks she, uh, really likes you.”

Jo’s voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it, a faint curiosity and something that Paige can’t place.

Paige furrows her brows as she takes the care, but she doesn’t open it. Instead, she stares at it for a moment, her stomach tightening. Celeste. Paige doesn’t like this. Not the care, not the fact that Celeste gave it to Jo, of all people, and definitely not the implication that Celeste likes her.

Paige just shakes her head, setting the card back down on the table without even looking inside.

Jo grins, biting back a laugh. “Paige,” she says, her voice lilting, teasing.

“I don’t want a card from her,” Paige says flatly, her tone sharper than she intends. She hugs Sunny a little tighter, as if the stuffed animal can shield her from that.

“She likes you,” Jo repeats, drawing out the words.

“Well, I don’t,” Paige says quickly. She glances at the card again, like it’s something toxic. “It was just casual.”

“Well,” Jo starts, her tone slow and deliberate, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “I don’t blame her. You really seemed to rock her world that one night.”

Paige’s head snaps toward Jo, her face heating up instantly. “Joey!” she exclaims, swatting Jo’s shoulder lightly, her mortification growing by the second. She remembers how she thought Jo was asleep, but then how Jo confirmed the next morning that she was in fact, not asleep. And how she’d heard all of Paige and Celeste’s… activities.

Jo bursts out laughing, and Paige can’t help but laugh too, even as she buries her face in Sunny, groaning. “You’re so annoying,” she mumbles, her words muffled by the plush dragon.

The laughter lingers between them, soft and warm, like a secret bubble in the otherwise sterile hospital room. Jo’s grinning at her, and Paige can’t help but hold onto Sunny tighter, as if clutching the dragon can somehow anchor her to this fleeting moment of happiness.

Then the door opens, and the bubble pops. Paige’s mom steps in, her expression shifting from neutral to outright surprise when she sees them.

“Hi, Mom,” Paige says, smiling at her.

Amy’s gaze flickers between Paige and Jo, her brows lifting as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. She looks relieved, probably at the fact that she’s seeing a genuine smile on Paige’s face for the first time since she got to Connecticut.

“Hi, sweetie,” Amy says, her tone careful, like she doesn’t want to disrupt whatever this is.

Jo stands almost immediately, smoothing her shirt as she steps away from the bed. “Here, I won’t keep you any longer,” she says, her tone polite but casual, the way Jo always is.

Paige feels an unexpected song at the thought of Jo leaving, her laughter fading too quickly. Before she can even think about it, her hand shoots out, grabbing Jo’s wrist. “Wait,” she blurts, her voice more urgent than it should be.

Jo stops, her eyes flickering down to where Paige’s fingers wrap around her hand. She doesn’t pull away, but Paige can feel the hesitation in her stillness, like she’s waiting for Paige to explain herself.

Paige swallows thickly, suddenly hyper-aware of her mom’s presence, the newfound tension in the air. But she doesn’t let go. “Will you… will you be here when I wake up?” she asks, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

Jo’s eyes soften immediately, the hesitation melting into something gentler. “As long as you want me here,” she says, steady but sure, like it’s the easiest promise in the world to make.

Paige’s heart picks up just slightly, and she squeezes Jo’s hand a little. “Of course I do,” she murmurs.

Jo’s smile is small but genuine, the kind of smile that makes Paige’s heart ache a little in the best way. “Then I’ll be here,” Jo says simply.

The words hang between them for a moment, and then Jo steps back, her fingers flipping from Paige’s grasp. The loss is instant and sharp, but Paige forces herself to let go, watching as Jo gives her mom a polite nod and heads for the door.

As soon as Jo is gone, Amy crosses the room to Paige’s bedside, her eyes still wide with something Paige can’t decipher. Then, Amy blurts, “P, she is so adorable!”

“Mom,” Paige says, drawing the word out, her cheeks heating.

“I mean it!” Amy continues, her grin wide and unguarded. “She’s sweet, and funny, and, I mean, seriously, she’s been amazing. She absolutely did not have to come today, but she did. Paige, you are so lucky to have her.”

Paige’s lips curve into a small smile despite herself. Her mom isn’t wrong. Jo has been amazing—more than amazing, if Paige’s chest full of warmth and what she thinks might be fucking butterflies is any indication. She hugs Sunny close, her fingers brushing over the dragon’s soft fabric as she thinks about Jo’s stupid, perfect smile and the way her laughter filled the room like sunshine.

“Yeah,” Paige says softly, almost to herself. “I am.”

JO SITS in the stiff chair of the waiting room, shifting every few minutes as if she can find some magical position that’ll make the tension in her chest ease. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead is steady and oppressive, a constant reminder of how clinical this place is. The occasional sound of a nurse’s squeaky shoes against the linoleum and f the distant beeping of a minute only makes the waiting worse.

Paige’s family is here, of course. Drew, Paige’s little brother, is perched beside her, his legs too short to touch the floor. He’s been playing video games on Paige’s iPad that he’s borrowed, occasionally glancing at Jo with a curious look that makes her feel both self-conscious and oddly endearing. Drew’s nine, all wild energy and blunt honesty, and Jo’s thankful he seems to like her. She’s always been good with kids—she has Mia, so she knows how to be patient, how to meet them where they are—but still, there’s something about being around Paige’s family that feels different. Like she’s auditioning for a role she’s not even sure she’s qualified for. Truthfully, she doesn’t know why she cares so much.

“Rematch,” Drew says, handing her the iPad without waiting for a response.

Jo chuckles, taking it. “You sure? I got you good last time.”

“I wasn’t trying my hardest,” Drew says seriously, though there’s a glint in his eyes.

They dive into the game, and for a little while, it’s easy to forget where they are. Jo even gets Drew to laugh when she deliberately fumbles one of the controls, letting him win. He gloats, much like his sister, but Jo doesn’t mind.

Eventually, though, Drew gets bored, as kids do, and he starts tugging on his dad’s sleeve. “Can we go get something to eat?” he whines.

Paige’s dad, who’s been scrolling through his phone with the same restless energy Jo feels, stands immediately. “Alright, let’s go, buddy. Jo, you want anything?”

Jo shakes her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

And then it’s just her and Amy.

The room feels quieter now, probably because it is without Drew’s chatter, and Jo suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She folds them in her lap, tracing the edge of her nail with her thumb as Amy turns to her.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Amy says earnestly after a moment. “I know Paige is, too.”

Jo blinks, caught off guard. “Of course,” she says, quickly. “I’ll always be here. I hope she knows that.”

Amy kids, her expression shifting to something more contemplative. “I think she does. But I want you to know, too. It means a lot to me, seeing her smile.”

Jo tilts her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I was with her all day, and I didn’t see her smile through any of it,” she says, her voice tinged with something heavy. “Not until you were in the room with her. And you didn’t just make her smile, Jo. You made her laugh. Really laugh.”

The words settle in Jo’s stomach, setting something alight, warm and unfamiliar. She doesn’t know what to say at first, so she just nods, looking down at her hands as she feels a faint blush creep onto her cheeks. “I just… I like to make people smile,” she’s says finally, almost shyly.

Amy’s smile is knowing, like she sees something in Jo that Jo hasn’t quite figured out yet. “I can tell,” she says. “You’re good at it.”

The compliment sends more heat into Jo’s face. “Thanks,” she murmurs, looking up at Any and offering a small, genuine smile of her own.

Eventually, Bob and Drew come back, and Azzi and Nika arrive, everyone who means so much to Paige, all there for her. Jo’s glad. But, oddly enough, there’s a part of Jo that feels almost… protective? She doesn’t know if that’s the word for it, but it’s almost like she wants to be the one Paige sees first when she opens her eyes. She knows it’s not her place—not even close—but she feels it anyways.

It’s a little weird, if she’s honest.

But as Jo sits there, waiting, she knows, with absolute certainty, that she’ll stay as long as Paige needs her. Longer, even.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #ncaa wbb #wcbb x reader #wlw #lgbtq #nobody gets me

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sinofwriting · 5 months ago

Text

Car Concerns - Jenson Button

Words: 1,107 Summary: Jenson gets a call that you’ve been in a car crash. Note(s)/Warning(s): Car Crashes, Hospitals, Injuries, Slight Angst but with a happy ending!

Masterlist | Support Me!

“Jens, I’m going to the store!” She shouts, grabbing her purse and keys.

“Take my car and grab some more fruit please!” he calls.

“Taking my car and will do. Love you!”

“Take mine! And love you too!”

She grins at the shouts but heads out the door with her keys in her hand. She loved her fiancé, but he had no respect for her car.

Jenson shakes his head in his home office when he hears the engine to her car starting. And his fingers fly across his keyboard. If she was going to insist on driving the thing, he’d put a new engine in it, one that didn’t sound like it was on the verge of dying if it sat for more than a day or two without being driven.

He gets lost in car parts, having far too much fun adding different things to his cart, choosing to replace a few other things as well. It wouldn't do to just replace the engine if other things needed to be replaced as well. He also pursues the stereo systems. She liked her car having a CD player, but it killed her to not have an aux cord like most of his cars did. She was too fond of her playlists she had and made too many to keep burning CDs.

An hour flies by and then another and it’s only when he’s pressing check out that his eyes glance down at the time in the bottom right corner.

His eyebrows furrow together seeing the time and he stands, letting out a small groan before jogging to the garage. The light automatically flicks on when he opens the door off the kitchen and he frowns seeing her car still gone.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, his frown deepens when he sees no text messages or missed calls from her. It never took her this long just for a simple stop at the store.

He’s about to call her, when his phone vibrates, an unknown number calling him, he nearly declines it but something stops him and he answers, raising it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Jenson Button?”

"It is."

“This is UCLA Santa Monica Medical Center, I’m calling because a Y/N Y/L/N was brought into our ER, you're listed as her emergency contact.”

He’s shoving his feet into shoes, grabbing his keys and wallet as he holds the phone between his shoulder and ear. “You said Santa Monica?”

“That is correct, Mr. Button.”

“I should get there in an hour, but is she okay?” He asks, the garage door nearly slamming close behind him.

“I can’t discuss her condition over the phone, but she should be fine.”

“Thank you.” And he knows it’s rude, but he hangs up as he gets into his car, sticking the key in the ignition before his legs are fully in it.

—

He gets there in forty minutes with a speeding ticket or two definitely going to be mailed to him, but he doesn’t care about that. His focus is on the person at the front desk and then the nurse that leads him to her room.

Jenson’s heart stops when he steps into her room. She’s either asleep or been sedated, bruising over her collarbone and he thinks her chest, and her arms and face are covered in scratches.

As he looks at her, he doesn’t hear the nurse say they are going to get the doctor or the doctor entering the room. He’s broken out of his reverie by a gentle touch to the shoulder.

“Mr. Button.”

“Jenson, please call me Jenson.” The words are barely above a whisper.

“Of course. My name’s Dr. Marsh, I treated your partner when she was brought in.”

“What happened?” He asks, looking briefly behind him at the doctor before moving to sit in the chair beside her, gently taking her hand.

“She was involved in a car crash. A truck ran a red light, smashed into the driver side of the car, most of the rear of the car took the impact. We had to sedate her due to a panic attack, she wasn’t breathing.”

Jenson nods, voice trembling. “She gets panic attacks sometimes, not often, but they are bad.”

“Overall, she got away with light injuries, she was very lucky. Lots of bruising, you can see from the seatbelt on her collarbone and down to her chest and stomach. Small cuts from the glass on her arms. Importantly the baby is alright.”

He nearly gives himself whiplash from how quickly he turns to look at the doctor. “The what?”

“The baby, she’s nine weeks along. Did you not know?”

He shakes his head, “no idea.”

He watches her with barely blinking eyes, waiting for her to wake up. And she does, thirty minutes after the doctor leaves the room.

“Jens?” Her voice is groggy and he leans forward, hand moving to gently touch her cheek.

“Hey, baby.”

She turns a little to face him, confusion clear on her face, but there’s relief in her eyes. “Where am I?”

He smiles, trying not to worry, the doctor had told him that she could be confused due to the sedative when waking up. “The hospital.”

Her hand with the iv darts to her hip and he can see everything flood back to her.

“They had to sedate me?”

He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, baby. They did.”

She winces as she adjusts. “How bad is it?”

“You got away pretty good. Lots of bruising, some scratches on your arms.”

She nods, looking down at them before looking at him, hearing something in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

He clears his throat. Jenson had considered while waiting for her to wake up that she knew, was waiting to tell him, but now that she was awake he knew that she didn’t know about the baby. It was odd to be the one telling her, never a position thought that he would be in.

“The doctor said that you're pregnant, nine weeks along.”

Her mouth falls open in shock. “What?”

“They did an ultrasound, checking for internal bleeding, but they noticed a heartbeat. You're pregnant.”

“I-” She stops, eyes glassy. “I’m pregnant?”

He nods. “You’re pregnant.”

She starts to sob and he immediately stands, wrapping himself around her, his hold on her more gentle than it ever has been as she clings to him desperately.

“We’re going to have a baby.” She finally manages to get out.

Jenson smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, as tears of his own drip down his face. “We are, baby. We really are.”

#jenson button x reader #jenson button imagine #f1 imagine #wec imagine #f1 x reader #wec x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #sins fics

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rdmasevi · 1 month ago

Note

Hello I just found out your blog! Is it okay if I request another version for "Between The Lines"? I was having a bad week and felt like hell after reading it. I wish you'd go full angst for ver 2 like reader absolutely moved on and ignored Max and Charles' attempt to fix things with him. And reader got comforted by Lewis and he confessed his love to reader if I may add. Tysm!

AC: Of course. Sorry for the late response, It took me some time to write this🙂 I hope you are feeling better and hope this it to your liking❤️

————

The Quiet Between Crashes

No one noticed when I stopped smiling.

Not really.

Not the media. Not the fans. Not the team swarming around me every weekend like clockwork.

But someone did.

Lewis noticed.

He noticed it when I stopped showing up for the group dinners.

When I sat in the briefing room with a blank stare instead of biting sarcasm.

When I started finishing races, parking the car, and leaving without a word.

But he didn’t push.

Not right away.

It had been three months since Max and Charles ended it.

Three months since they pulled me into that sterile hospitality room in Baku and told me it was over. That I had been a mistake. An experiment.

Charles had said, eyes on the floor.

Max just stood there with his arms crossed, like this was strategy — not heartbreak.

“We didn’t mean to lead you on,”

Charles had said, eyes on the floor.

Max just stood there with his arms crossed, like this was strategy — not heartbreak.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry.

I just said, “Got it,” and walked out.

And they let me.

——

Since then, I’d been... drifting.

Driving well — winning, even. But hollow.

Empty hotel rooms.

Half-eaten meals.

Podiums where my eyes glazed over the champagne.

I hated that part of me still missed them.

That some nights, when the ache got too loud, I’d check my phone — not for texts, but for the pain of no new messages.

That was the part no one saw.

Except Lewis.

——

He caught me one night after the Canadian GP.

I’d won the race but walked straight past the celebrations, past the paddock, to the back of the circuit where the trees lined the lake and everything was finally quiet.

I sat on a bench with my fireproofs still hanging around my waist. My hands shook. My chest hurt, like it always did when the adrenaline faded and the emptiness returned.

“Y/N,” came a voice. Soft. Familiar.

I didn’t look up.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

He sat beside me anyway.

“You’re not.”

I laughed bitterly. “And what would you know about it?”

He was silent for a beat. Then:

“Because I’ve been there.”

I turned then. Really looked at him.

The weight under his eyes. The quiet understanding.

And for the first time in weeks, something cracked.

“I hate that it still hurts,” I whispered.

“I hate that I gave them everything, and they tossed me aside like I was nothing.”

Lewis’s voice was a balm.

“You weren’t nothing.”

“They said I was a phase.”

“They were cowards,” he said. “Not honest enough to face how much you mattered.”

That broke me.

Tears welled — hot, sudden.

“I don’t know how to stop missing them.”

“You don’t,” Lewis said gently.

“You just learn to miss them less... and love yourself more.”

He hesitated — then reached for my hand.

Not forceful. Just there.

Solid. Warm. Real.

“I’ve watched you fall apart,” he said.

“You didn’t deserve it. But you’re still here. Still driving. Still surviving.

That’s strength, Y/N. And I see it.”

I squeezed his hand, afraid to speak.

Then he added, almost a whisper:

“And if you ever let yourself feel loved again...

I’d give you everything they couldn’t.”

I blinked.

“You—?”

“I’ve cared about you for a long time,” he said.

“I just never wanted to be another name that broke your heart.”

The wind stirred the leaves.

A bird sang somewhere across the lake.

And for the first time in what felt like forever... I breathed.

Not fully.

Not fixed.

But enough.

I didn’t say anything back. Not yet.

I just leaned into his side, and he wrapped an arm around me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’d been waiting to.

And maybe... maybe I’d let myself believe in something again.

Just not with them.

Never with them.

But maybe — someday — with him.

——

Monza

The rumors started quietly.

A leaked photo. A long-lensed shot.

Lewis and I sitting close in a quiet corner of the Mercedes motorhome, my head tilted back in laughter, his hand resting casually on my knee.

It wasn’t confirmation.

But it was enough.

The paddock buzzed. Whispers, double-takes, sideways glances.

We didn’t address it.

The next day, Max found me.

He didn’t even say hello.

“You and Lewis?” he asked, tone flat. “Is that real?”

I glanced at him. “Why do you care?”

He flinched. “We made a mistake. I made a mistake.”

I smiled — not kindly.

“You made a choice, Max. Don’t rewrite it now that it doesn’t serve you.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I walked away without giving him another second.

——

Charles came two days later, after quali.

He caught me behind the hospitality building, alone, peeling off my gloves.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said.

“About what we had.”

I stared at him.

“Wasn’t I just a phase?”

His face crumpled.

“We were scared. It was easier to push you away than admit we—”

“Felt something?” I snapped.

“Then you shouldn’t have lied.

You don’t get to burn someone and miss their warmth.”

He looked like he might cry.

I didn’t care.

“I’ve spent months putting myself back together,” I said coldly.

“You don’t get to show up now because I finally stopped bleeding.”

“But Lewis—” he started.

“—Was there when you weren’t.”

And with that, I left him standing in the shadow of a choice he’d never be able to undo.

——

Back at the motorhome, Lewis was sitting on the couch, one of his dogs curled in his lap.

He looked up when I walked in — calm, grounded.

“You okay?” he asked.

I sat beside him, exhaling everything I hadn’t said out there.

“They’re trying.”

“To fix it?”

I nodded.

Lewis handed me a bottle of water, his fingers brushing mine.

“You don’t owe them forgiveness, Y/N.”

“I know,” I murmured.

“I just… I used to think I’d break if I saw them again.”

He turned to face me, eyes steady and soft.

“And now?”

I looked at him — really looked.

The quiet strength in his eyes. The safety I’d found in his presence.

“Now I know better,” I said.

“I already survived the worst part.

And I’m still here.”

Lewis smiled — warm and steady.

“Yeah. You are.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, heart still bruised, but no longer shattered.

And somewhere across the paddock, Max and Charles were watching.

Too late.

Too far gone.

They’d had their chance.

And they lost the best thing they never even deserved.

#answered #request #reqs open #f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x male reader #charles leclerc x max verstappen #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x male reader #max vertsappen fic #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x male reader

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euaphora · 2 years ago

Text

give it to me on the daily!

✎ᝰ toji x reader

as much as toji hated to admit to things, he loved letting people know the ways you made him feel and what better way to admit his feelings for you than alcohol in his system.

He went out drinking with his friends for a couple drinks, his eyes felt so heavy and body felt like it was going to collapse.

It was a good thing Geto had called you earlier since he always knew before hand how much toji would drink.

“…like around twelve is good, we’re at the bar with like the thingy with the outside poster that says “enter if you dare” I think it’s for Halloween or something…so come when it’s time to pick him up.” Geto slurs, alcohol hitting him hard in the face already.

He would rarely go for a couple drinks, especially if it was with his friends, geto and gojo. Though, this week was kicking him in the ass so what better way to end the weekend off than with his friends and a couple drinks.

You got into you and got the car warm with the heater, holding you hands out while you start the car. Checking the time you realize it’s barely about to hit eleven so you get on the freeway and head downtown to the bar Geto mentioned.

Slowly pulling up to the gas station and parking your car, you step inside the store and buy some snacks for your boyfriend to munch on when you would pick up, not trying to get ready to hear his rambling. He would always get so hungry when he would go out to drink and begged you to make food or pull up to a fast food restaurant.

Walking over to the door to the bar you can hear someone whistling in you direction behind you and hear them screaming names at you, getting cat called pissing you off with the way how nasty guys could be. As soon as you enter you could immediately hear the loud laughs of familiar men making you smile.

“She even got me these cute black Uggs for this cold ass weather, I was ‘gonna wear them today but I didn’t want any…beer on them. And don’t even get me started…” toji hazily said, cutting himself from talking when he drops his fry that you were standing a few inches from.

He quickly looked up after realizing who’s shoes those were since you would always wear them with your gold anklet he bought you for your birthday.

He gets up from his seat while Gojo continues with his rant , automatically towering over you, looking down at you with low red eyes and a sly grin placed on his face, “Nice to see you..my sweet girl,” he gives you a passionate kiss on the lips, “did he call you again?” He asks, his hands holding onto your love handles.

“I think we both know the answer to that, you having fun?” You question, tilting your head while you bat your lashes up at him. He slowly nods, making you giggle at his slow demeanor.

“I’m fucking ready to leave, do you mind if we drop off the guys first?” He slid his hands off you and clamps his hands together, with a pout look in his face.

Reminding you of a little boy.

“Well of course, don’t want them to crash either,” you slightly laugh but then stay serious, looking at them you see them still rambling about work,“you guys ready to go already ?”

Heading out the bar, toji’s arm was wrapped around you for support so he wouldn’t fall and it seemed pretty impossible since his body weight was insane, muscles taking up most of his body weight.

Placing him down on the passenger sea, he mouths a small thank you and pulls himself off the seat to give you a hug. On the other hand, as soon as the other two boys entered the car, they knocked out the minute they felt cushions. You look in the backseat, watching them drool in their sleep.

Driving towards Gojo’s house, you feel a pair of eyes on you without having to look. Pulling out the bag full of snacks behind your seat, toji’s eyes lit up and grabs the bag once you pulled it out in his direction.

Fucking knew it.

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

Text

our three year plan pt. 2 | wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 3k~ Warnings/note: wonwoo's pov that i wanted to write so treat this as chapter 1.2

summary: you think your life is ruined when your parents announced that you’re marrying the heir of a tech chaebol; jeon wonwoo. so you offered him a plan, pretend to be in love until you can fake a catastrophe to break the engagement.

jeon wonwoo thinks his life just got better when his parents announced that he’s marrying the heiress of the medical group. his long time crush and basically the woman of his dreams. so when you offered him your plan, he’s going to use it to make you fall in love with him

masterlist | prev. part | next part

The first week of cohabitation passed in a strange dance of politeness and careful boundaries. Y/N and Wonwoo established routines that minimized awkward encounters—she took early morning showers, he preferred evenings; she often worked night shifts, he was typically gone before dawn for early meetings. When their paths did cross, conversation remained cordial but superficial.

Wonwoo cooked dinner most evenings he was home, leaving covered plates in the refrigerator with neatly written reheating instructions when their schedules didn't align. Y/N found herself oddly touched by this thoughtfulness, though she reminded herself not to read too much into it. This was, after all, a business arrangement.

On Friday morning, Y/N was enjoying a rare day off when her phone chimed with a message from Wonwoo:

My parents are expecting us for dinner tonight. 7 PM. I can pick you up at 6:30.

Reality crashed back. Of course their arrangement would include family obligations. She texted back a simple confirmation, then spent the next hour staring at her closet, suddenly aware that she had no idea what to wear to dinner with her fake future in-laws.

Another text from Wonwoo arrived as if he'd sensed her dilemma:

Casual elegant is fine. My mother appreciates understated sophistication. Don't worry too much—you'll impress them regardless.

Y/N wasn't sure if she should be grateful for the guidance or unnerved by his perception. She settled on a simple navy dress with subtle gold accessories—professional enough to show she took the dinner seriously, but not trying too hard.

At precisely 6:30, Wonwoo's Tesla pulled into the driveway. Y/N had expected him to honk or text, but instead, he came to the door, knocking politely as if he were picking her up for a real date rather than a performance for his parents.

When she opened the door, she was momentarily taken aback. Gone was the casual Wonwoo she'd grown accustomed to seeing around the house. In his place stood the corporate heir in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his usually tousled hair styled neatly, his round glasses exchanged for contacts that somehow made his gaze more intense.

"You look nice," he said, his eyes briefly taking in her appearance with what seemed like genuine appreciation.

"So do you," she responded automatically, then caught herself. This wasn't a date; there was no need for compliments.

The drive to his parents' estate was mostly silent, but as they approached the imposing gates, Wonwoo cleared his throat.

"Before we go in, we should discuss how we met."

Y/N blinked. "We've known each other since childhood, haven't we? Through family connections?"

"Yes, but that doesn't explain how we fell in love," Wonwoo pointed out. "They'll want the story. My mother especially."

Love story. The words hung between them, a reminder of the lie they were about to perform.

"What do you suggest?" Y/N asked.

Wonwoo's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "The closest to the truth is usually the most convincing. We reconnected at the tech-medical conference last year. The one your father keynoted."

Y/N vaguely remembered the event—a three-day bore of corporate networking that her father had insisted she attend. "I don't recall seeing you there."

Something flickered across Wonwoo's face. "I was there. We even spoke briefly during the reception." At her blank look, he added, "You were more focused on the doctor from Johns Hopkins who was discussing rural healthcare initiatives."

The specificity of his recollection surprised her. "You remember that?"

"I notice things," he said simply. Then, returning to the matter at hand: "We could say we reconnected there, kept in touch, and realized there was something more than friendship."

It was as good a story as any, Y/N supposed. "Alright. The conference it is."

As they pulled up to the house, Wonwoo reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. "One more thing."

Y/N's heart skipped uncomfortably. "Is that—"

"An engagement ring," he confirmed, opening the box to reveal a stunning platinum band with a modest but flawless diamond. "My mother will expect it."

When Y/N hesitated, he added gently, "It was my grandmother's. It seemed better than something impersonal from a jeweler."

The sentiment behind the gesture caught Y/N off guard. Using a family heirloom for their fake engagement felt wrong somehow, more deceptive than she'd anticipated.

"Wonwoo, I can't wear your grandmother's ring for this."

"Why not?" His voice was soft, his expression difficult to read in the dim car interior.

"Because it means something to you. It's... too real."

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, then said, "Maybe that's why it's perfect. The more authentic elements we include, the more convincing our story will be."

His logic was sound, yet Y/N couldn't shake her discomfort as he took her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her. The weight of it felt foreign, intimidating.

"Ready?" Wonwoo asked, his hand lingering over hers for a moment before he pulled away.

Y/N took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."

"So, Y/N," Mrs. Jeon said as they settled in the dining room, "Wonwoo tells us you reconnected at last year's innovation summit. How romantic."

Y/N glanced at Wonwoo, who gave her the smallest encouraging nod. "Yes, though I must admit I was quite focused on the presentations. Your son had to be quite persistent to get my attention."

Wonwoo's eyebrows rose slightly at her improvisation, but he recovered quickly. "Y/N was the only person there more interested in the actual innovations than the networking opportunities. It was... refreshing."

The warmth in his voice sounded so genuine that Y/N almost believed it herself.

"And now here we are," Mr. Jeon said, raising his wine glass. "To new beginnings and stronger alliances."

The business-like toast reminded Y/N of the true nature of their arrangement, grounding her. This wasn't about romance; it was about corporate synergy.

Dinner proceeded with surprisingly little interrogation. The elder Jeons seemed content to discuss business matters, occasionally drawing Wonwoo into the conversation but largely ignoring Y/N except for perfunctory questions about her family.

It wasn't until dessert was served that Mrs. Jeon turned her attention fully to Y/N. "Wonwoo mentioned you work as a nurse? How... unusual, given your background."

The slight pause conveyed volumes of judgment. Y/N felt Wonwoo tense beside her.

"I find direct patient care deeply fulfilling," Y/N replied evenly. "There's something irreplaceable about being on the front lines of healthcare."

"Surely there are more appropriate ways for someone of your position to contribute," Mrs. Jeon suggested, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Board work, perhaps, or fundraising."

Before Y/N could respond, Wonwoo cut in. "Y/N's practical experience makes her uniquely valuable. In fact, her insights have already helped shape some of our medical technology initiatives." He turned to her, his expression softening. "Her perspective is precisely why she's so important—to the company and to me."

The declaration, delivered with such conviction, momentarily stunned Y/N. It was a masterful performance, supportive yet plausible within their fabricated narrative.

"How sweet," Mrs. Jeon murmured, clearly unconvinced. "Still, once you're married, priorities naturally shift. Children, social obligations..."

"We're in no rush for children," Wonwoo stated firmly. "And Y/N's career is as important as mine. That's non-negotiable for both of us."

The tension around the table thickened. Mr. Jeon cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss the engagement announcement. We're thinking next month's charity gala would be an appropriate venue."

Y/N barely registered the rest of the conversation as Wonwoo and his parents discussed event details. Her mind was caught on Wonwoo's defense of her career—delivered with such natural conviction that even she had momentarily forgotten it was part of their act.

Later, as they drove home in silence, Y/N finally spoke. "Thank you. For what you said about my nursing."

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, his profile illuminated by passing streetlights. "I meant it."

"You did?"

He nodded. "Just because our engagement is arranged doesn't mean I don't respect what you do. My grandfather was saved by a dedicated ER nurse once. I understand the value."

It was the most personal thing he'd shared with her, and Y/N wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Still, thank you. Your mother clearly had other ideas about a suitable daughter-in-law."

"My mother has many ideas," Wonwoo said with a slight smile. "Fortunately, this is our arrangement, not hers."

The "our" lingered between them, a reminder of their strange alliance. Y/N twisted the ring on her finger, still uncomfortable with its presence.

"I can get you a different ring if that one bothers you," Wonwoo said, noticing her gesture.

"No," Y/N said quickly, surprising herself. "It's beautiful. I just... I'm not used to it yet."

As they pulled into their driveway, Y/N realized this was true of more than just the ring. She wasn't used to any of this—the house, the pretense, the strange intimacy of sharing space with a man who was simultaneously a stranger and her supposed future husband.

"My mother will call you tomorrow," Wonwoo said as they entered the house. "She'll want to schedule lunch, probably with your mother too. To discuss wedding plans."

Y/N groaned. "Already? We just got engaged."

"In their minds, we've been together for months," he reminded her. "And big weddings take planning."

The reality of their situation hit Y/N anew. This wasn't just about living together and attending occasional family dinners. There would be an actual wedding—a ceremony, vows, everything.

"I need a drink," she muttered, heading for the kitchen.

To her surprise, Wonwoo followed, reaching into a cabinet she hadn't explored to produce a bottle of expensive scotch and two glasses. "I think we've earned this."

They settled at the kitchen island, the warm amber liquid burning pleasantly down Y/N's throat. "I'm starting to think three years isn't going to be as simple as I imagined."

Wonwoo swirled his drink thoughtfully. "Nothing worth doing ever is."

"Is that what this is? Worth doing?" Y/N challenged, emboldened by the scotch and the surreality of the evening.

"For me, yes," Wonwoo said simply, his eyes meeting hers with unexpected intensity. "Is it for you?"

The question hung between them, heavier than it should have been. Y/N broke eye contact first. "It's necessary. That's enough."

Wonwoo nodded slowly, accepting her answer without pressing further. They sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks, until Y/N's curiosity got the better of her.

"Why did you agree so easily? To my plan?"

Wonwoo considered his glass for a long moment before answering. "Let's just say it aligns with my own interests."

"Which are?"

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Three years is a long time, Y/N. You'll figure it out."

There was something in his tone—a certainty, almost a challenge—that sent an odd shiver down Y/N's spine. Before she could pursue the matter, her phone chimed with a text from Seungcheol:

Emergency at the hospital. All hands on deck. Multi-car pileup on the highway.

Y/N was on her feet immediately. "I have to go. There's a major trauma situation."

Wonwoo stood as well, concern evident in his expression. "Do you want me to drive you?"

"No time. I'll call a taxi." She was already heading for the stairs to change into scrubs.

"I can be ready in two minutes," Wonwoo called after her.

Y/N paused, surprised by the offer. "You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to." Something in his voice made her turn back to look at him. "But I want to. Partners help each other, fake or not."

The sincerity in his expression gave Y/N pause. Maybe there was more to Jeon Wonwoo than she'd initially assumed. "Okay. Two minutes."

As promised, Wonwoo was ready and waiting when she rushed back downstairs in her scrubs. They drove to the hospital in focused silence, Wonwoo navigating Seoul's late-night traffic with calm efficiency.

When they reached the emergency entrance, Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, then hesitated. "Thank you."

"Text me when you're done," Wonwoo said. "I'll come get you, no matter what time."

It was such a simple offer, yet somehow deeply touching. "You don't need to wait up. I can—"

"I'll come get you," he repeated firmly. "Be safe."

Y/N nodded, strangely affected by his concern. As she rushed toward the ER doors, she caught sight of Seungcheol waiting for her, his expression changing from relief to confusion as he noticed the Tesla pulling away.

"Was that Jeon Wonwoo?" he asked as she approached.

"He gave me a ride," Y/N explained, already focusing on the chaos of the emergency department ahead. "What's the situation?"

Seungcheol studied her for a moment longer before switching to professional mode. "Five critical, twelve moderate injuries. Two ORs running simultaneously. We're assigned to Trauma Bay 3."

Y/N pushed all thoughts of Wonwoo and their complicated arrangement from her mind as she entered the familiar controlled chaos of the emergency room. Here, at least, she knew exactly who she was and what she was meant to do.

Yet even as she worked alongside Seungcheol with their usual seamless coordination, a small part of her remained aware of the unfamiliar weight on her left hand—the grandmother's ring that she hadn't thought to remove before rushing out.

Seven hours later, exhausted but satisfied after a successful mass casualty response, Y/N stumbled out of the hospital into the pale light of early morning. She had texted Wonwoo that she was taking the subway home, not expecting him to actually come at 5 AM after a single text.

Yet there he was, leaning against his car in the parking lot, two cups of coffee in hand.

"I said I'd come get you," he said simply, offering her one of the cups. "No matter what time."

Y/N accepted the coffee, too tired to argue and secretly grateful not to face the subway. As she slid into the passenger seat, the events of the previous night—the dinner, the ring, their conversation—seemed dreamlike compared to the visceral reality of her hospital shift.

"How was it?" Wonwoo asked as they pulled away from the hospital.

"We saved everyone," Y/N said, sipping the coffee—prepared exactly as she liked it, she noted. "One patient was touch and go for a while, but pulled through."

Wonwoo glanced at her, genuine admiration in his expression. "What you do... it matters. Real, immediate impact. That's rare."

The simple acknowledgment of her work's value touched Y/N more than she expected. Her parents had never understood her choice to practice nursing rather than pursue administration or medicine. To have Wonwoo, essentially a stranger, recognize it so easily was unexpectedly validating.

They rode in comfortable silence, Y/N fighting to keep her eyes open as exhaustion caught up with her. By the time they reached the house, she was half-asleep, roused only by the gentle stop of the car.

"Come on," Wonwoo said softly. "You need rest."

He walked beside her to the door, close enough to catch her if she stumbled but not touching her. The consideration in the gesture wasn't lost on Y/N, even in her fatigue.

Inside, she headed straight for the stairs, pausing at the bottom to look back at him. "Thank you. For the ride. And the coffee."

Wonwoo nodded. "Get some sleep. I'll be quiet when I leave for work."

Y/N started up the stairs, then turned back again, a question that had been nagging at her finally surfacing. "Wonwoo? At the conference last year... why do you remember me focusing on that rural healthcare presentation? We barely spoke."

A shadow of something—vulnerability?—crossed his face before he composed it into his usual calm expression. "Like I said, I notice things. Especially things that matter."

Before she could process his answer, he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Y/N with the distinct feeling that there was much more to Jeon Wonwoo than their arrangement had led her to believe.

In her room, she removed the engagement ring, studying it in the morning light. Beautiful, valuable, with history and meaning—yet ultimately a prop in their elaborate performance. As she placed it carefully on her nightstand, Y/N wondered if she was making a terrible mistake.

Three years was indeed a long time to pretend. What if the lines between pretense and reality began to blur? What if this arrangement cost her more than just her freedom?

What if Jeon Wonwoo had ulterior motives she couldn't begin to fathom?

These questions followed her into sleep, where she dreamed of warm eyes behind round glasses and a voice that said, "I notice things. Especially things that matter."

Especially you, the dream voice added, though the real Wonwoo had said no such thing.

Across the hall, in his own room, Wonwoo sat at his desk, adding another entry to his journal:

Day 8 of Our Three Year Plan.

She still doesn't remember me from the conference, but that's alright. I remember enough for both of us. The way she challenged the speaker about resource allocation. The passion in her voice when discussing patient dignity. The fact that she was the only person in a room full of executives who cared more about outcomes than optics.

She wore my grandmother's ring today. It looked right on her hand, just as I knew it would.

Three years is a long time, but I've waited longer than that already. I can be patient for what matters.

And she matters. She always has.

He closed the journal, unaware that across the hall, Y/N was dreaming of him, the first cracks already forming in the wall she'd built between their arrangement and her heart.

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gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 10 days ago

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what would happen if u drank 1 too many moscow mules and tried to fly a tardis. would u get arrested for a time travel DUI. would the tardis just not let u fly. would u crash and burn

What happens if you drink drive a TARDIS?

Let's start with the basics: piloting a TARDIS is not like flying a shuttle or a speeder or, for that matter, driving a terrestrial Earth vehicle. It's less 'you are flying it' and more 'you've convinced it to go along with your general idea.'

🌀 Who's Actually In Control?

TARDISes do the bulk of the piloting themselves, calculating Epsilon coordinates, managing course corrections, Vortex navigation, and avoiding phasing into the centre of a collapsing neutron star. In practice:

The pilot initiates the journey.

The TARDIS determines the safest (or most narratively interesting) route.

Then you hold on.

In short: the TARDIS does most of the flying automatically.

🍹 So, What If You're Drunk?

There are currently no known official Time Lord laws prohibiting intoxicated TARDIS operation. But this is probably because it's largely self-regulating, because if you were to try:

The TARDIS will know you are drunk no matter how many times you insist you're not.

It may silently ignore some of your button inputs to prevent disaster.

It could just straight up lock you out of the console room.

If it's feeling particularly annoyed, it may route you somewhere mildly humiliating as a warning, like an ethics symposium. Or a planet full of sober monks. Or your ex's house.

Either way, because of its self-piloting nature and millions of safeguards (the ACC, the EDS - see related), it's pretty hard to crash a TARDIS even if you're trying intentionally.

🏫 So...

Don't drink and time travel. But it's kind of OK because the TARDIS already does most of the work anyway.

💬|🛸🧑‍✈️What roles would six Time Lords have in piloting a TARDIS?: How having six pilots would work.

💬|🛸💥Can TARDISes or other time travel devices get into crashes?: How time capsules can crash and preventative TARDIS tech.

💬|🛸💥How do TARDISes deal with stress?: Theoretical ideas of stress management in TARDISes.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

#doctor who #gallifrey institute for learning #dr who #dw eu #gallifrey #gallifreyans #whoniverse #ask answered #gallifreyan technology #tardis #GIL: Asks #GIL: Species/TARDISes #GIL: Gallifrey/Technology #GIL

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ihaechans · 2 years ago

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Midnight Driver || N.JM

PAIRING ▸ Jaemin x reader

GENRES ▸ smut, semi-public sex

WARNINGS/CONTENT ▸ profanity, they are parked in an abandoned parking lot it’s just not stated, sex under the influence (alcohol), hints at drunk driving (please don’t do this), oral (f), pet names, unprotected sex (another stupid decision), cream pie (the decisions keep getting worse on the readers part), multiple orgasms, hints at shower sex, big dick jaem, hair pulling

SUMMARY ▸ Fucking in the middle of no where with a man you met no more than a month ago was not something on your bucket list, but for some reason, it wasn’t something you were completely against.

WORD COUNT▸ 1.6k

A/N: blessing y’all with two smuts today who cheered. Working hard lately because I feel like I haven’t been doing enough writing this year but I hope you guys enjoy this quick one. Feel free to send requests! They are always open! Also this is not edited lmao

“Ever fucked in a car before?”

Jaemin sits still next to you in the drivers seat, eyes ahead as he stares into the darkness of the night.

It’s pitch black outside, nothing is heard beside the soft breaths of Jaemin and yourself, alone with the crickets. The car engine hums softly, masking the otherwise eerie silence that surrounds you both.

The night started off innocent. A simple date with Na Jaemin at the bar down town, no sexual intentions, just a genuine connection and a few drinks to let loose.

Maybe one too many drinks.

A smile creeps up on your face as you turn towards Jaemin, giggling at his question. “No, have you?”

Jaemin chuckles, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the dim moonlight that filters through the windshield. “No, but we could change that if you want.” The words slide off his tongue a little too smoothly, your legs automatically pressing together as his deep voice hits your ears.

You feel a shiver run down your spine, both from the cool night air and the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Fucking in the middle of no where with a man you met no more than a month ago was not something on your bucket list, but for some reason, it wasn’t something you were completely against.

“And what would you do if I were to say yes?”

A mischievous smile dances on his lips as he glances at you, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Why don’t you just let me show you?”

You haven’t gotten butterflies in ages, but god Jaemin was such a sweet talker it was almost impossible not to feel anything with the way he was speaking to you.

“What makes you think I’d say yes Jaemin?”

Jaemin leans closer, his voice low and husky in your ear, “Come on baby, i see the way you’re pressing your legs together, why don’t you let me help with that, hm?”

Your heart races at his words, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. With every second, you were getting more and more turned on, the closeness in proximity between you two not helping any.

Jaemin doesn’t back away when he finishes speaking, staring straight into the side of your head. Your heart nearly stops when you feel his hand softly grab your chin, turning your head to face his own.

“Just say the word baby, I’m right here.”

Baby. That’s what does it.

A split second is all it takes for Jaemin’s lips to be on yours, a hand coming to rest on the back of your neck as he kisses you deeper, tongue begging for access into your mouth.

There’s desperation in Jaemin’s kisses, a desperation telling you he’s been waiting to do this for a while now.

With each touch of his lips, the car seems to fade away into the background, forgotten in the midst of this electrifying moment. Only when you try to shift closer, bumping into the armrest is when you snap out of the daze Jaemin’s kisses have put you under, breaking away with an embarrassed giggle.

Without a word, Jaemin pops the car door open, immediately hopping into the back seat, clearly waiting for you to join him.

Like an idiot, you climb over the armrest, nearly crashing face first into Jaemin’s lap.

“Someone’s a little clumsy,” Jaemin chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watches you settle onto the back seat beside him.

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he’s pulling you into his lap, hands resting on your hips. The car engine hums softly as the midnight air rushes in through the open windows, the city lights creating a vibrant backdrop to this intimate moment.

“You’re wasting gas by keeping the car on you know,” you remark, playfully poking Jaemin's chest. Jaemin smirks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“That’s really what you’re focused on right now?” He chuckles again, caressing your face intimately.

You can feel the thrill of the midnight air mixing with the electricity between you two, as you lean in closer, capturing his lips with yours once again.

The kiss is softer this time, yet the passion intensifies. Your hands entangle in each other's hair as you explore the depths of each other's desire, thinking of nothing but each other.

Jaemin maneuvers your body, positioning you so that your back is leaning against the car door, legs dangling off the seat as Jaemin kneels down in between them. “May I have a taste princess?” He stares up at you, eyes flooded with lust.

With a nod, your heart racing, you eagerly give him permission to explore, hips lifting up as he slides your shorts and panties down at once, revealing your wet core.

Unmoving, Jaemin stares at your cunt, a blush creeping up on your face. You’re about to ask him to do something, mouth opening to complain and immediately closing as he licks a stripe up your pussy, a weak moan leaving your lips.

“What a pretty pussy,” he slurs, wasting no time as he dives back in, slurping and licking relentlessly.

You can’t even form words, moans spilling out with every lick. Jaemin hold your thighs open with his hands, kneading the flesh as he eats you out like a starved man.

Your hands grip Jaemin’s hair, pushing his face into your pussy, rutting your hips up into his face as you near your orgasm. “Gonna cum like a good girl?” He moans as you grip his hair even harder, hips moving frantically against his face.

“Fuck keep going-“ and with one final suck to your clit, you’re toppling over the edge, legs twitching and moans spilling as you release on Jaemin’s tongue.

Finally, you release your hard grip on his hair, looking down in between your legs to be met with dazed eyes staring back at you. “What a good girl,”

It takes a moment for you to recover, Jaemin licking and nipping at your thighs while you catch your breath in silence.

“Let me ride you.” Only then, the silence is broken, Jaemin’s head perking up in surprise from between your legs.

With a smirk, he finds place on the car seat next to you, the car getting crowded with all the movement going on. “Well,” he pats his thighs, signaling for you to sit down on them, “Get to work then baby.”

You chuckle as you climb onto his lap, feeling the familiar heat coursing through your veins. Trying your hardest not to fumble with the belt on his jeans for too long, you finally manage to push the rough material down to his thighs, reaching into his boxers to free Jaemin's cock, eliciting a deep groan from him.

The boy licks his lips as you stare down at his dick, one of his hands finding place on the back of your neck as he pulls you in for another kiss.

Without thinking, you stroke him up and down, earning a few moans from the man In front of you. He rolls his hips up, fucking himself into your hand for a few before aggressively pulling you closer by your waist, breaking the kiss to catch your breath.

“Gonna ride me now?” He’s impatient, but you nod, grabbing him from the base and lining him up with your entrance.

In one swift motion, Jaemin is inside of you, a deep groan filling the air as your wet heat squeezes around him. Your eyes widen when you truly realize how big Jaemin is, a dark chuckle erupting from his chest when he noticed your expression.

“What’s wrong princess? Said you were gonna ride me but now you’re acting all scared.”

“S-shut up,” you slur out, immediately bouncing up and down in his lap after his teasing.

The both of you moan freely, the sound of skin against skin the only audible sound in the car besides your moans. Jaemin feels good inside of you, so deep and full. “Faster,” he growls, slightly thrusting his hips up to meet your bounces.

At this point, you’re moaning so loud it has to be obnoxious on the ears, but Jaemin finds it incredibly hot, thrusting up even harder into you, attempting to make you even louder.

Jaemin suddenly changes the pace, thrusting deep into you perfectly to find the spot that has you gasping for air, gripping onto his bicep impossibly tight, “I’m close,” you moan out, throwing your head back.

You squeal when Jaemin grips your hair, forcing you to keep your gaze on him as he thrusting into you. “Cum for me, come on baby I know you can do it,”

His encouraging words along with one last thrust against your gspot has your eyes rolling back, head dipping forward to rest on his chest as you release around Jaemin.

“Fuck,” he pants, “Where do you want me to cum?” Jaemin’s eyes light up when you mumble a barely audible, “inside”, the man wasting no time as he fucks himself up into you harshly, hips no longer carrying a rhythm as he releases in your cunt.

He groans, finally stilling his hips inside of you.

You open your eyes, head fuzzy as you stare deep into Jaemin’s eyes.

“Jaemin… how am I supposed to clean this up?” The both of you dip your head down in unison, staring down at the mess in between your legs.

Jaemin pulls out, watching as his cum slowly drips out of your hole.

“Shit, that’s hot. Guess you’ll just have to keep it inside until I get you home, yeah?”

With a smirk, Jaemin lifts you off of him, pulling his jeans back over himself. “Jaemin we can’t just stay dirty like this.”

“Alright then, let’s just shower back at my place.”

“Together?”

He chuckles, settling back into the front seat. “You said it, not me.”

#nct jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin nct #nct #nct dream #nct u #kpop boy group #kpop boy group smut #kpop smut #jaemin smut #nct jaemin smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #smut #ihaechans

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oakdrivingschoolcouk · 1 year ago

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Intensive Driving Courses in UK

Introduction:

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Embarking on the journey to become a skilled and confident driver is an exciting endeavor. For those seeking a rapid and efficient path to obtaining their driver's license, Oak Driving School proudly presents its intensive driving courses in Airdrie, Bellshill, Blantyre, Bothwell, Coatbridge, Hamilton, Motherwell, Uddingston, and Wishaw. These specially designed programs offer a fast-track to driving proficiency, allowing learners to master the rules of the road and gain confidence behind the wheel in a condensed timeframe.

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Intensive driving courses have gained popularity for their ability to streamline the learning process, providing a swift and effective route to obtaining a driver's license. The essence of these courses lies in their concentrated structure, compressing traditional learning timelines into a shorter, more focused period.

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Uddingston learners can take the quick route to confidence with Oak Driving School's intensive training programs. Understanding the psychology of intensive learning, our instructors focus not only on skill development but also on building confidence behind the wheel.

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In Wishaw, Oak Driving School offers express driving proficiency through its specialized curriculum in intensive courses. The modules are designed to address common challenges faced by learners, ensuring a comprehensive understanding of driving principles.

Tailoring instruction to the specific needs of Wishaw learners, Oak Driving School stands out with its commitment to delivering high-quality, relevant, and valuable content. The specialized curriculum sets the stage for success, preparing learners for the challenges they may encounter on the roads of Wishaw.

Frequently Askked Question FAQs:

Q1: Are intensive driving courses suitable for everyone?

Addressing the eligibility criteria and considerations for choosing an intensive program.

Q2: How long do intensive driving courses at Oak Driving School typically last?

Providing an overview of the duration options available and factors influencing course length.

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Clarifying the quality of instruction and personalized attention provided in intensive settings.

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Discussing the flexibility offered by Oak Driving School in selecting course locations.

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Outlining the options and support available for learners who may not pass on their first attempt.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, Oak Driving School's intensive driving courses stand as a testament to our commitment to delivering top-tier instruction, tailored to the individual needs of learners across Airdrie, Bellshill, Blantyre, Bothwell, Coatbridge, Hamilton, Motherwell, Uddingston, and Wishaw. With a focus on speed, safety, and success, our programs offer a unique opportunity for aspiring drivers to quickly and confidently navigate the road to independence. Join us on this accelerated journey to driving proficiency and experience the Oak difference.

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