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unconventional-lawnchair · 5 months ago

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Too Much Like Me

Potter!Reader tells her dad she's been asked on a date.

Summary: James finds out Lily's type in men is apparently genetic.

Wc: ~1.7k

CW: Just chaotic fluffy hijinks - a jab about Americans

“Dad.” You trailed James into the kitchen, fighting to keep your voice calm despite the storm brewing ahead.

But James Potter, in all his dramatic glory, had gone entirely deaf. Arms flailing like a prophet warning of doom, he roared, “Family meeting!”

“No! No family meeting!” you yelped, lunging for his arm. You barely stifled a laugh as he flailed harder, like a fish trying to escape the net.

James spun around, courtroom-drama style, and gasped at you with the intensity of someone catching their child red-handed with a cursed artifact. “Fred Weasley? Our Fred Weasley? That Fred Weasley?”

“Yes, that Fred Weasley,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Merlin’s saggy balls, I regret telling you already.”

James slammed his hand on the counter for emphasis, pivoting toward the sitting room like a man possessed. “Lily!” he thundered, shaking the walls. “Lily, get in here! Your daughter’s lost her mind!”

“Dad, for Merlin’s sake!” You tried to grab him again, but James had started pacing now, looking like a wizard unjustly accused of crimes against decorum.

“Not in my house! Not under my roof!” He spun around, hazel eyes bulging with a level of betrayal that deserved an award. “Fred Weasley doesn’t know the meaning of curfew! Or- Merlin help us- a respectable bedtime! Do you think I’m letting that chaos into my family? After all I’ve sacrificed? For you?”

“James,” came Lily’s voice, calm but laced with amusement. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, her lips twitching. “What are you yelling about this time?”

James turned to her, a man on the brink. “Fred Weasley! He asked her out! Our daughter! On a date! Alone! With no chaperone!”

Lily blinked, then turned to you with a grin brighter than a Patronus. “Oh!” she gasped, her eyes lighting up. “He finally asked?”

James froze mid-tirade, pointing an accusatory finger at his wife. “Finally? What do you mean, finally? Have you been... supporting this? Encouraging it?”

Lily shrugged, her grin widening as she pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the kitchen. “He’s a lovely boy, James. Polite, clever, charming. He reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“Don’t you dare—” James began, his tone low and dangerous.

“You,” Lily finished brightly, jabbing him in the chest. “Fred’s just like you were. All mischief and charm. No wonder she likes him.”

James gawked at her like she’d suggested selling their house to a pack of trolls. “That’s exactly why she can’t date him! I was Fred Weasley, Lily! Do you know what I would’ve done if someone let me date their daughter?”

“You married her,” Lily said sweetly, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek, winking at you as it effectively stunned the red mess that was your father.

James froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, completely derailed by Lily’s well-placed jab and affectionate kiss. He finally managed to sputter, “That’s- That’s completely different!”

“How, exactly?” Lily teased, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms again. “Because if I recall correctly, you were a menace, Potter. A charming menace, but a menace nonetheless. Fred’s cut from the same cloth, and you turned out all right.”

James spluttered, gesturing wildly at you. “Because this is my daughter! She’s not supposed to fall for charmers like Fred Weasley! I can’t just let this happen! Where’s the fatherly dignity in that?”

“Oh, James,” Lily sighed, patting his shoulder with exaggerated pity. “I hate to break it to you, but you lost your ‘fatherly dignity’ the day you wore those matching Christmas jumpers with Sirius.”

“That was solidarity!” James barked, his ears reddening as he straightened his posture in a futile attempt at reclaiming authority. “And anyway, this is different. I’m supposed to protect her! Shield her from the heartbreakers and mischief-makers of the world.”

“Fred’s not a heartbreaker, Dad,” you said, exasperated but amused. “He’s actually- dare I say- nice? And maybe even mature? A little bit?”

James looked like he might faint. “Mature?! You’re telling me Fred Weasley- the bloke who turned all the Quidditch goalposts into giant marshmallows- is mature?! What next? He’s taken up knitting?”

“Knitting would be a good look for him,” Lily quipped, clearly enjoying herself. “Very soothing hobby. He could knit you a jumper, James, to match that dignity you’ve misplaced.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the visual, and James threw his hands up, pacing the kitchen again. “I can’t believe this. I’m being outnumbered in my own home.”

“It’s called democracy- like the Americans,” Lily said, smirking as she leaned against the counter. “And right now, you’re the losing party.”

James stopped pacing to glare at her. “Fred acts like a damned American..” He mumbled before he raised his voice. “This is treason. Pure, unadulterated treason.”

“James,” Lily replied patiently, though her lips twitched with amusement. “You’ll survive.”

At that moment, Harry wandered into the kitchen, his face set in curious confusion as he surveyed the scene. He held a plate of leftover treacle tart, chewing leisurely. “What’s with all the shouting, then?” He asked, his tone disinterested but his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

James immediately pounced, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Your sister has decided to go on a date with Fred Weasley, Harry! Fred Weasley! What do you have to say about that?”

Harry blinked at him, clearly trying to piece together the situation. Then his gaze slid to you, and his smirk grew as he swallowed a bite of tart. “Fred, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Nice. Bold choice. Never a dull moment with a Weasley.”

“Bold-? Harry!” James looked genuinely wounded. “This is a betrayal! Your own sister-"

“Is an adult,” Harry interrupted, shrugging. “And you’re acting like she’s run off to marry Voldemort’s ghost.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” you muttered under your breath, earning a snort from Harry.

“Not helping, Harry!” James barked, looking thoroughly frazzled now. He pointed at you again. “Fine! Go on your date! But I’m watching him. One toe out of line, and-”

“And what?” you challenged, grinning now as Lily watched on, clearly entertained. “You’ll duel him? Turn him into a marshmallow like his Quidditch goalposts?”

James opened his mouth, floundering for a retort, but Lily stepped in, tugging him gently away from the center of the chaos. “Come on, love,” she cooed soothingly. “Why don’t we sit down, have a cuppa, and let the kids handle their own lives for once?”

James sighed, finally deflating. “Fine,” he grumbled, shooting you one last suspicious look. “But mark my words- an eye for an eye! Harry, date his younger sister!”

Harry froze, the bite of treacle tart halfway to his mouth as the words sunk in. His eyes darted between you, Lily, and James, clearly trying to figure out if this was his moment to fess up or quietly Disapparate.

“What?” James demanded, noticing Harry’s hesitation. “What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’ve already thought about it!”

Lily covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You, on the other hand, burst out laughing immediately, doubling over as the image of James putting two and two together hit you.

“Why are you laughing?” James barked, looking between the two of you like he was missing the punchline to a joke everyone else got. “What’s so funny? Harry, explain yourself!”

Harry, clearly seeing no way out, sighed and placed his plate of treacle tart on the counter. “Dad,” he started, bracing himself, “I’m already dating Ginny.”

James froze. Completely, utterly froze. His jaw hung slack, his hands hovering mid-air like a malfunctioning automaton.

“You’re what?” He whispered, his voice teetering on the edge of shock and betrayal.

You howled with laughter, tears forming in your eyes. “Oh, Merlin, this is priceless!” You gasped. “Dad, your face- your face!"

“James, breathe,” Lily advised through her own laughter, leaning against the counter for support. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke.”

James finally snapped out of his trance, his eyes narrowing into sharp points of indignation. “Ginny?! Ginny Weasley?! First her with Fred, and now you- how long has this been going on?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to make himself look smaller. “A while.”

“A while?" James repeated, his voice cracking. “Define ‘a while.’ A few days? Weeks?”

Harry hesitated. “Since... fifth year?”

“Fifth year?!" James bellowed, looking like he might explode. “That’s years! Years, Harry! And you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“What was I supposed to say?” Harry shot back, clearly frustrated now. “‘Hey, Dad, by the way, I’m snogging Ron’s little sister’? That would’ve gone over well.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than me finding out like this!” James cried, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular. “My own son! Betraying me! I raised you better than this, Harry!”

Lily wiped her eyes, still chuckling. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, James. They’re clearly happy, and Ginny’s a wonderful girl. You love her.”

“That’s not the point, Lily!” James snapped, his hands flying to his hair. “It’s- this is-!Fred! Ginny! My children and their Weasleys! What’s next? Ron’s going to marry into the family, too?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well... technically, Hermione-"

“No! They got her too!?" James cut him off, throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t even tell me! I won’t survive it! This is it- this is how I go. Betrayed by my own family and buried in a sea of Weasleys.”

You leaned against the counter, wheezing with laughter. “Dad, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” James turned to you, his face a picture of righteous indignation. “You don’t understand. I fought a war for this family- for this! And now my legacy is going to be a house full of Weasleys!”

“Sounds cozy,” Lily teased, patting his arm. “You’ll come around, James. You always do.”

James groaned, sinking into a chair as if all the fight had been drained out of him. “Fine,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Fine. Date your Weasleys. Marry them. Name your kids Fred and Ginny Jr. for all I care.”

You patted his shoulder, grinning. “Love you, Dad.”

He shot you a glare but muttered, “Love you, too. But don’t think for one second I’m not watching Fred like a hawk.”

“And Ginny?” Harry asked, daring to push his luck.

James pointed a warning finger at him. “You, young man, are on thin bloody ice."

Lily hushed James as she patted his back, leading him out of the kitchen. He continued to blabber on, muttering something along the lines of;

“Is this my fault?”

“Merlin, does Molly know?”

“Bloody redheads- OW!”

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solsticehymns · 1 month ago

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liar, liar: oneshot

james potter x f!reader / fluff / romcom vibes / truth serum shenanigans

summary: James Potter doesn’t mean to confess his feelings. Or overshare. Or humiliate himself in front of the girl he’s in love with. But when a truth-telling potion takes hold, he doesn’t really have a choice.

a/n: recently rewatched liar liar. EXCELLENT MOVIE. even though jim carrey’s face makes me irrationally angry, the plot is so good and heartwarming. this fic was heavily inspired by those vibes, and kinda just that 90s romcom vibe in general! really hope you love it <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻💞

wc: 3963

"You know," Sirius began, his voice thick with scrambled eggs, "if they can't manage to cook bacon properly, they really shouldn’t be serving it at all. It’s practically criminal."

Remus, barely glancing up from the Daily Prophet, replied with practiced indifference, "You say that every morning."

"And every morning, I’m still right," Sirius said, stabbing at a charred piece of bacon with melodramatic flair.

James Potter, seated between them, was only marginally involved in the conversation. The bulk of his attention—an alarming, disproportionate amount—was focused a few seats down the Gryffindor table, where you were nestled beside Lily Evans with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. You laughed at something she said, a sound so soft and clear that it reached him easily over the low hum of breakfast chatter. James didn’t even hear the joke. The moment you smiled, his brain short-circuited—something sparked, overloaded, and went still.

He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice, took a slow sip, and set it back down carefully. A droplet slid down the rim, clinging to his finger. He wiped it away absently, still looking at you.

There was something specific about mornings and you—a quiet kind of softness. Your hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, your oversized jumper hung loosely on your frame, and your hands gripped the mug as if it anchored you to the table. You leaned in, laughing again, and the sound caught in James's chest like a hook.

You weren’t trying to be radiant. That was the worst part. You didn’t angle for attention—you just had that gravitational pull, the kind of beauty that rearranged a room without asking permission. And James was, academically speaking, utterly and irreversibly besotted.

This wasn’t new. It had been happening slowly, over months—maybe even years. A quiet, resigned sort of yearning that made itself at home beneath his ribcage; a second heartbeat. He realized he was in too deep when he stopped fantasizing about declarations and started yearning for the ordinary. Sharing a table in the library. Catching your eye across a hallway. The occasional accidental touch that felt far too meaningful.

He’d made peace with the ache. As long as he got to see you every day, he could live with it.

Peter nudged him with a mouthful of toast. "Did you finish the Transfiguration essay?"

James’s jaw tightened. He was about to deliver a casual, harmless answer. Something that passed as effort.

Instead, what he said was, "Didn't even open the book."

Silence.

James blinked.

What the hell?

He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even consciously thought it.

Remus slowly lowered his newspaper. "Come again?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That’s not the James Potter we know and grudgingly tolerate."

James felt a prickling heat crawl up his neck. He tried again.

"I meant to, but I got distracted. By a leaf. Or a bird. Something shiny. I don’t know."

The words tumbled out uncontrollably. He slapped both hands over his mouth, a feeble attempt at containing the damage. His cheeks were already burning, and his eyes darted around as if he could chase the words down and pull them back.

Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe, he warned himself.

Sirius grinned, delighted. "Did you just involuntarily confess to procrastinating?"

James whispered, horrified, "I didn’t mean to. It just—happened. Like my mouth’s operating on its own."

Remus's smile faltered. He looked mildly concerned now.

Before anyone could respond, your voice cut through the moment.

"Did you hit your head this morning, Potter?"

You were looking at him, bemused, your head tilted slightly. You were clearly unaware that James was in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

He turned toward you with the intention of brushing it off—something witty, something safe.

His brain screamed: Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it—

"You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I think about your smile at least three times an hour."

Dead silence.

Your eyes widened.

James felt as if someone had suddenly electrocuted his nervous system. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

You blinked, once, then twice, and let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Right. You definitely hit your head."

You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and offered him one last look—a half-smile, curious and a little amused. An unknown emotion flickered in your expression before you turned away.

Gone.

James’s hand froze mid-air, toast still suspended as if caught in a still photograph.

His stomach plummeted.

Across the table, Sirius collapsed forward, laughter shaking his shoulders.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.

Peter leaned in cautiously. "Mate, what the hell was that?"

James turned to them slowly, wide-eyed and pale. "What did you do?"

Sirius beamed and gestured vaguely to the cluster of goblets in the center of the table. One still held a faint swirl of orange juice.

"This," he said reverently, "is the single best moment of my life."

James’s voice came out sharp and panicked. "Tell me. Now."

Remus hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his paper. "We might have… accidentally tested something. On you."

James stiffened. "Tested what?"

Sirius leaned back smugly. "The pumpkin juice. We brewed a variant of Veritaserum last night. Just for fun. You drank the one we spiked. Or maybe it was the goblet next to it. Jury’s still out."

"Lucky you," Remus added, not meeting James’s eyes.

James dropped his toast. It landed butter-side down with a soft, tragic thud.

He didn’t blink.

"Oh," he said flatly. "Fuck."

James spent the subsequent hours engaging in a masterclass of avoidance tactics. He deliberately skipped lunch, took unnecessarily long routes between classes, and at one point, concealed himself behind a seventh-floor tapestry for seventeen excruciating minutes while you stood just a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Dorcas Meadowes.

It was not dignified. But then again, dignity had abandoned him somewhere between blurting out "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen" and letting his toast fall like a tragic Victorian heroine succumbing to fate.

Remus assured him that the potion’s effects would wear off by mid-afternoon. James clung to that prediction like a drowning man to driftwood, crafting mental versions of the day in which he might make it through without hemorrhaging any further fragments of pride. Yet with each step he took toward the next class, doubt clawed at him—what if the potion lingered just long enough to obliterate his remaining social capital? The uncertainty scratched under his skin, carrying a similar feeling to an irreversible hex.

Sirius, on the other hand, made it his personal mission to test the serum’s potency every fifteen minutes.

"Prongs, mate, how do you really feel about Filch?"

"He smells like cabbage and despair, and I once dreamt he chased me with a ladle."

Sirius erupted into delighted laughter.

James groaned into his hands. "This is it. I’m going to die of Veritaserum-induced emotional exposure."

"You’ll survive," Remus said, although his tone suggested he was still conducting the risk assessment in real time.

They scraped through Herbology with minimal disaster. James uttered only one vaguely mortifying remark—"She hugged me once and I still think about how she smelled"—which he managed to reframe as a Weird Sisters lyric. Barely.

But Transfiguration? That was a catastrophe waiting in slow motion.

With exams approaching, McGonagall had declared the day a review session, which in practice meant organized chaos. Students clustered at scattered tables, muttering incantations under their breath, cross-referencing spellwork, and trying not to Vanish their self-respect alongside practice objects. James sat toward the back. You were near the front, half-turned toward your group so that he could see the slope of your shoulder and the line of your smile when you laughed.

You were surrounded by Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene—quills scratching, parchment rustling, the occasional gasp of horror as someone’s Vanishing Spell rendered an entire desk legless. James was meant to be revising. Instead, his hand trembled and his heart pounded like it had something to prove.

His notes were illegible. The phrase "turn to smoke???" appeared multiple times, alongside a sketch of a teacup that looked suspiciously like it was weeping. His quill tapped an erratic beat against the parchment.

Across from him, Sirius arched an eyebrow, already grinning.

"So," he said, low and gleeful, just loud enough, "how exactly do you feel about her again?"

James didn’t even look up. The words left him instinctively.

"She’s a walking daydream, and I’ve got about four essays overdue because of her face."

It echoed.

Not quietly. Not subtly. It was loud enough to carry over to three tables in the vicinity

Heads turned. Someone choked on a cough. Sirius bit his fist, shaking with the effort not to fall off his chair.

James froze.

His entire body went rigid—quill suspended mid-air, lungs locked in his chest. It was as if the very fabric of time had paused to acknowledge his downfall.

Then—movement.

You paused mid-sentence. Lily tapped your shoulder with subtle urgency. Dorcas leaned in, her expression intrigued. Marlene glanced over her shoulder with the kind of grin reserved for front-row seats to emotional train wrecks.

You listened. Blinked slowly.

Then—deliberately—you turned.

The entire table held its collective breath.

Your gaze found James’s like a targeting spell—brows raised, eyes wide. Not offended. Not amused. Just... intrigued. Like you'd heard something strange and didn’t know what to do with it yet—but wanted to.

James wanted the floor to open beneath him and deliver him mercifully into the void. He briefly entertained the idea of self-immolation.

But then—you smiled.

A small one. Tentative. Surprised, maybe. But not dismissive. Not cruel.

You turned back around, and chaos resumed. Lily covered her mouth. Dorcas said something that made Marlene snort into her sleeve. Whatever it was, it was very clearly about James.

James stared at the back of your head, wondering if it might offer a second chance if he looked hard enough.

Sirius was wheezing. Remus had buried his face in his hands. Peter knocked over his inkpot in the ensuing shockwave.

James slumped forward with a groan that seemed to exit his soul before his body.

He was, by every available metric, completely and irrevocably screwed.

He had barely taken ten steps from the classroom when a voice behind him called out.

"Potter."

He turned too quickly—jerky and obvious—and almost collided with you as you stepped directly into his path.

You didn’t flinch. You simply stood there, arms folded loosely, head tilted, gaze calm and inquisitive. The corridor had mostly emptied by now, the background noise reduced to the distant echo of footsteps and muffled voices behind heavy wooden doors.

James’s heart performed a complicated sequence of flips before lodging itself somewhere uncomfortably near his throat.

You met his eyes with an unreadable expression—curious, composed, lightly amused. Like you’d opened a door and were standing on the threshold, waiting to see if he’d walk through it.

"Quick question," you said, tone airy but precise. "Was that... about me?"

His mouth opened. Instinct surged to the front of his mind—sarcasm, a joke, maybe even a clumsy attempt at denial. But his thoughts lagged just behind his reflexes, and before he could intercept them, the words had already spilled out.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "And by the way, you’re absurdly pretty. Like—genuinely hard to function around. Painfully so."

Silence fell with the weight of a dropped textbook.

You blinked. Once. Then again.

James stood frozen, every synapse in his body firing off simultaneously, as though his nervous system couldn’t decide between fight, flight, or faint. His ears were burning. His hands twitched at his sides, completely useless.

Finally, you let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t cruel, or mocking. Just surprised. Genuine.

"You’re strange, Potter."

James flailed—just barely—before shoving his hands into his pockets like it might prevent further disaster.

"No—I mean, not in a creepy way. Or, alright, maybe slightly weird, but not bad-weird. I just think you’re... brilliant. And kind. And I notice when you wear that jumper with the rip in the sleeve because it makes you look comfortable. And I should probably stop talking now."

You looked at him for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Not unkind. Not amused. Something else—curious, thoughtful. As if you were seeing him clearly for the first time and hadn't yet decided what to make of it.

Your lips curled slightly.

You tilted your head. Evaluating. Deciding.

Then, finally, you smiled.

It was mischievous and warm, soft-edged and self-assured—the kind of smile that could level a person without trying.

"See you in Charms, heartthrob."

You turned and walked away with unhurried confidence, like you knew exactly the mess you were leaving in your wake.

James remained rooted in place, too stunned to move, like the rest of his body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Crunch.

Sirius appeared beside him, seemingly conjured out of thin air, munching loudly on an apple with the casual demeanor of someone watching a soap opera.

"You’re done for, mate," he said cheerfully. "She’s gonna marry you."

James emitted a sound that hovered somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze.

Sirius thumped him on the back with unearned confidence. "Better start writing your vows."

Charms was an unmitigated disaster.

James had spent the walk to class muttering desperate prayers to any higher power that might take pity on him. Maybe Flitwick would assign partners alphabetically. Or by wand length. Or perhaps he’d adopt some arbitrary sorting system blessed by divine chance—anything to keep James from sitting next to you.

No such luck.

The universe, as it turned out, had a cruel sense of humor.

You slid into the seat beside him, entirely casual, like his whole nervous system hadn’t just tried to exit his body at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you said simply.

“Hi,” he replied, voice cracking like a prepubescent banshee. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You doing alright?”

He gave a thumbs-up. Then immediately regretted it. Who does that?

Sirius, two rows back, made eye contact and mimed a halo over his head.

Flitwick launched into a lecture on the Cheering Charm, but James only caught every fifth word. Something about “light-hearted energy” and “proper wand movement,” none of which applied to the doom currently devouring his insides. His palms were damp. His quill was trembling slightly. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the desk.

You leaned closer, one elbow resting casually on the table as you peered at his parchment.

“Is that supposed to be a diagram of a wand or a tree?”

James blinked at the mess of lines he’d drawn. “It’s—neither. Abstract art.”

You grinned, wide and easy, and he felt it as a punch to the sternum. His heart lurched so hard it practically knocked the air out of him. You had no idea what that smile did to him—how it short-circuited whatever logic he had left.

You turned your attention back to your notes, but your voice was light. Curious. Teasing.

“Do you always talk like this to girls, or just me?”

James didn’t even have time to panic.

“It’s just you. Always been you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped pin in an empty room.

You blinked.

He stared at the table, mortified. His ears burned. He could feel Sirius’s psychic scream of glee from two rows away. He’d said it. Out loud. He’d said it out loud.

But you didn’t laugh, tease, or mock, as he had feared.

You only looked at him. Really looked at him.

Your expression held something quiet. Not surprise. Not pity. Something gentler—measured and soft. A flicker of understanding that warmed rather than burned.

James’s breath snagged in his throat. His fingers curled slightly around the base of his quill as he struggled to keep himself grounded. For one agonizing, wonderful moment, he thought he might cry—out of embarrassment, yes, but also because the moment was real.

And then—

You turned back to your wand.

Said nothing.

Your cheeks were slightly pink, your smile just barely visible as you bent over your parchment again. But you didn’t move away. You didn’t laugh it off. You stayed close, like the moment didn’t scare you the way it terrified him.

James blinked in the echo of it—your kindness, your quiet acceptance—completely undone.

He didn’t hear a word Flitwick said for the rest of class.

After class, James moved quickly—too quickly—trying to pack his things before reality caught up with him. If he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and exited fast enough, maybe he could outrun the emotional catastrophe he’d spent all day teetering on.

But you didn’t leave.

“James.”

His name stopped him cold. Charms book half-shoved into his bag, his spine went rigid.

Your voice was quiet—not sarcastic, not amused. Measured. Sincere.

He turned slowly, bracing for the worst. You were standing a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, your bag hanging off one shoulder. There was nothing smug about your posture. If anything, your presence felt... gentle. And somehow, that made it harder to bear.

Your expression was hard to read, but it held no sharp edges. There was a softness in your eyes, something patient and open, like you were holding back the question that had been building all class.

“Are you okay?”

The simplicity of it landed with an almost disproportionate weight.

Because you meant it.

James blinked, unprepared. His brain scrambled to summon a joke, a quip—something light enough to float him out of this moment.

But the truth arrived first.

"No," he said. "Not even remotely."

The honesty stunned him. It left his mouth before he could restrain it, like the words had slipped from a part of him he couldn't control. He winced as soon as it was out.

Desperate to recover, he backpedaled.

“I mean—I’m not sick or dying or anything. Just…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Emotionally compromised. Mildly feral. Truthfully unwell."

He offered a crooked smile. It held, barely.

Your brows lifted. Not out of judgment, but consideration. You looked at him like his words were puzzle pieces you were quietly fitting together.

“Truthfully, hm?”

James looked away. Embarrassment bloomed hot across his face.

It was absurd how much weight that single word carried. He fiddled with the zipper of his bag as if the act could insulate him from further exposure.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me today,” he muttered. “My filter’s gone. I think something and then—I say it. And somehow, it’s always when you’re standing nearby.”

Still, you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock. You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you took one small step closer.

And then, without saying anything else, you reached forward and gave the sleeve of his robes the gentlest tug. Just once. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t performative. But it said everything: I see you. I’m still here.

James swallowed hard. His throat tightened, but this time not with panic. Something else. Something quiet. Something close to relief.

You turned and walked away, unhurried, the last rays of afternoon light catching in your hair as you rounded the corner.

The classroom was silent now.

James stood motionless for several seconds before lowering himself into the nearest chair like someone had been holding him upright all day and finally let go. His bag hung off one shoulder, forgotten. His hair fell into his eyes.

He tipped his head back and groaned—long, dramatic, utterly defeated: “I am so fucking doomed.”

The Gryffindor common room was silent—eerily so.

James had barely stepped through the portrait hole when he sensed it. The stillness felt curated, like a scene hastily arranged moments before he entered.

He pivoted to leave, but Sirius materialized in his path, smiling with far too much innocence to be trusted.

“Where are you off to, Prongs?”

James squinted. “Nowhere. Anywhere. Just—not here.”

“Perfect,” Sirius chirped. “Come sit.”

Before James could object, Sirius ushered him toward the fireplace with the gentle coercion of someone leading a lamb to slaughter.

That’s when James saw you.

You were already seated on the sofa, legs folded beneath you, a forgotten book resting in your lap. The firelight danced across your features, softening the angles of your face in a golden glow.

James froze. "You planned this."

Sirius thumped him on the back. "Me? Never. Just a wildly convenient coincidence, right?"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius said, clutching his chest like he was moved to tears. “Two of my dearest friends. Alone. In the same room. Under the same roof. By sheer happenstance.” He turned to you. “Don’t mind me—I’ll just be over here, not spying and definitely not listening in.”

He took a single, dramatic step back.

“Actually, no. I should go. Destiny awaits.”

James whipped around. “Sirius—”

“Good luck!” Sirius called over his shoulder, already ascending the stairs. “Also, feel free to profess undying love! Or don’t. But you probably should.”

The portrait hole sealed behind him.

James turned to face you. You had closed your book.

“That wasn’t subtle,” you said.

James exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Not even a little.”

You rose, slow and deliberate. Arms folded—not defensive, but inquisitive.

“One question,” you said. “Why?”

James blinked. “Why...?”

You softened your tone. “Why have you been acting so strange today?”

That was all it took.

“I was dosed with a homemade version of Veritaserum,” James admitted, words tumbling out. “Sirius and Remus spiked my pumpkin juice this morning. For fun. That’s why I’ve been blurting things I’d normally take to the grave. Especially around you.”

He hesitated. Took a breath.

“Even so—I meant every word.”

You didn’t interrupt.

James’s voice quieted, like he was running out of room in his own chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever outright lied to you, not really. It’s more that I’ve been pretending. Like saying 'morning' without letting it mean anything. Sitting near you and pretending I wasn’t waiting for you to notice.”

He let that hang between you.

“I can’t believe it took a bloody potion for me to admit I’m in love with you. I think I’ve known for ages. Maybe since third year, when you lent me your notes and smiled like I hadn’t just failed spectacularly. Or maybe fifth year, when you hexed Mulciber for picking on that first-year and shrugged it off like it was nothing. I’ve carried it for so long it stopped feeling urgent. It just became part of me.”

The fire crackled. James stared into it, hoping he would vanish.

“I didn’t plan to say that either,” he murmured under his breath.

You studied him.

Then, voice barely above a whisper: “You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, completely genuine. “Madly.”

And when you kissed him—softly, surely, like you’d already decided—James forgot how to stand still. One hand found your waist like it had always known where to go; the other hovered, then gently cupped your cheek, as though the moment might dissolve if he wasn’t careful.

Your lips were warm and real, and James felt his entire body lit with quiet flame.

You kissed him like it hadn’t scared you off. Like maybe it had pulled you closer.

When you broke apart—just enough to breathe—your forehead pressed against his.

“You really are strange, Potter,” you said.

James let out a shaky laugh. “You kissed me anyway.”

You smiled. “I suppose I like strange.”

And for once, James Potter didn’t need to speak. But if he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life figuring out the right words for you.

By morning, Remus and Sirius had double-checked the potion’s timeline. It had likely worn off sometime around Charms.

Everything after that? All James.

☀️🌻 masterlist

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jaysbaefie · 2 months ago

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inmate 1697 | psh

synopsis: in which you agree to the jail guards offer for a small fee, you.

genre: prison au

pairing: jail guard!sunghoon x inmate afab! reader

warnings: non/dub-con themes, dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, lowkey ego hurt!sunghoon, oral (m.rec), hair pulling, face fucking? gagging, manhandling, grinding, slight nipple play, cuffing, choking (kind of), doggy, clit play, rough p in v, slight cum play, panty stealing, lowkey sweet!sunghoon at the end?

wc: 3.1k+

a/n: thank you for all the love on my previous fics. make sure to reblog and like, it’s what keeps me motivated to write! enjoy.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

the clearing of someones throat broke you out of your thoughts. the days had blended in together and you could no longer tell what day of the week it was.

you broke the trance that the scuffed walls had on you, peering away from the scratch marks and smears of what you hope is blood and not fecal matter on the walls.

you tune your attention to the figure standing on the other side of the bars, a prison guard. you roll your eyes, "i haven't been screaming or causing a fuss, it's the cell next to mine. trust me, i know it's loud," you explain dryly . you had been receiving the blame for your next door neighbours antics, with multiple guards coming to your cell to bitch you out.

when you don't receive an answer you scoff, shutting your eyes before leaning back against the hard wall. "how would you like to talk to your little brother, __," the voice boomed. your eyes snapped open at the mention of your brother, immediately sitting up right on your hard bed.

you hadn't seen or talked to your little brother for months, your family didn't allow him. saying that your bad habits would 'rub off' on him and that he'd become like you. you rolled your eyes at their words, you didn't deserve to be behind bars and you did nothing wrong—they knew that. yet, here you are.

"how?" you question lowly, now getting up from your bed to walk up to the front. you hadn't gotten a proper look at the guard until now, originally quickly dismissing him. when you were right in front of him you realized how attractive he was.

typically the prison guards that worked at the facility were old stubby men who often could care less about what was going on. they eyed down female inmates, with many of the women taking advantage of them and using them for commissary.

you almost let out a gasp when you saw his sharp eyes piercing straight into yours, he had thick black hair that covered his brows and plump lips that sat flat on his pale face. he was definitely one of the most attractive men you had ever seen and you were now hyper aware of yourself and your surroundings under his intense gaze.

he smirks at your question, "i'll bring you a phone, i'm sure you have your brothers number," he explains gruffly, his eyes raking your body before he juts his tongue out to swipe over his lips.

you swallow harshly, there was a twist to his strange act of kindness. "what do you want in return?" you ask carefully, narrowing your eyes at him as his smirk widens.

you weren't dumb, you knew he had ulterior motives. "aren't you a smart one, cell mate 1697," he muses, his eyes dropping down to your chest to read the numbers printed on your orange jumper.

you instinctively cover your chest when his gaze lingers a bit to long on the area making him let out an airy laugh. you quirk your eyebrow, "well.." you motion for him to get on with it.

"how about this, cell mate 1697. i bring you your phone, you call your brother. then, i come down after 9pm and you let me use your pretty little throat," he suggests with a grin, his hand gripping one of the cells bars tightly as he stares down at your figure like you were prey.

he was an attractive man, surely he didn't need to be doing this to get off.

you scoff, "use me? no. never." he shrugs in response, "if you want to talk to your little brother, you'll change your mind."

he leans down slightly, "i promise, i'll be quick," he almost purrs.

you thought about it for a moment, you knew what he wanted, thats what every guard wanted in return for a little something. you had heard of stories of many guards wanting more than that, weighing out the pros and cons you came to a decision.

"alright," you began before squinting your eyes to make out the small printed name on the corner of his uniform, "officer park sunghoon, i'll see you tonight."

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

he held his part of the bargain, you had gotten a phone a few hours after the meeting. you woke up to something hard under your head, when you lifted yourself from your pillow you noticed the sleek device in the cover of your pillow case.

you gapped at the electronic, it seemed to be a newer model and you wonder why you had received something so nice. you fully expected a flip phone or a shabby one on the brink of death device—not this. that only made you wonder, was there more that he wanted than he let on?

you clenched your thighs together at the thought before quickly dismissing it and fumbling with the phone in your hands. you quickly look around your cell, peering outside of the bars to see if any guards were making rounds. when you deemed the coast to be clear, you tried to unlock the phone—only for it to have a password.

you frowned, this wasn't apart of his plan.

maybe there was more than he let on.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

you awaited for his arrival, it was around 9:30pm when you heard the sound of keys jingling and your cell being unlocked. you didn't dare turn your head, instead you stayed seated and continued to stare mindlessly at the wall in front of you.

anything for my brother.

locking the cell door behind him he stalks up to your figure, looking down at you with his intense gaze. you gripped your bed sheets hard, peering up at him as he takes another step closer—his crotch now in your face.

you swallow roughly, looking down to see his dick strained against his black work pants. your eyes widen when you realize how big he was, a small chuckle snaps you out of your thoughts. before you could look up on your own, you feel his hands make their way into your hair. you let out a small yelp when he yanks on it, causing you to snap your head up.

"you know what i want, __," he rasps, his grip on your hair tightening as he forces your head closer—your face now pressed against his crotch.

you gulp, wincing when he ruts himself against your face—the zipper of his pants scratching your cheek.

"you're going to be a good girl and follow through with your end of the bargain, yeah?" he murmurs lowly as he continues his actions. "you're gonna do what i say to get that password, yeah?"

you nod slightly making him smirk, "good, c'mon take it out."

you begin to reach your hands up to unzip his pants but sunghoon immediately slaps them away, "not with your hands, your mouth."

your breath hitches, your eyes widening at his words. swallowing harshly your teeth bite at his zipper, peering up at him as you pull it down.

sunghoon bites down on his lip, hard, the metallic taste of blood seeping onto his tongue. the sight he was witnessing was worth getting fired for, he'd gone to great lengths to get here after all.

working in an all women prison was easy, he got payed to watch women—with many of them throwing themselves at him. when he first got hired he basked in the attention, but soon after he was disgusted by the inmates behaviours. he was flashed constantly and touched on whenever he got to close.

every time he did rounds many of the inmates would try to seduce him into coming into their cells for a "good time" which he rejected instantly. however, you never spared him a glance—and that hurt his ego.

after asking about you to fellow guards, he had gathered quite a bit of information on you. you kept to yourself, rejected all prison guard advances because "nothing they had to offer was something you needed" and that you were in for manslaughter of your sister.

he made it his mission to find something that he could offer you, digging through your files and searching you up in the system. finally, he found your weak spot—your younger brother.

he discovered that your parents didn't allow you to keep in contact with your brother, and it was something that you talked about often on your in-person visits with family every month. so, he offered you the one thing that he knew you'd have a hard time turning down. in return, he wanted you.

there was something about you that drew him in, maybe it was your looks, your lack in interest in him, or even the fact that you killed your own sister. whatever it was, he wanted you, and when park sunghoon wants something—he gets it.

you struggle to help sunghoon shimmy down his pants, his hand coming down to help you as the clothing drops to the floor. he makes you work for his dick, nuzzling against his crotch to get him out of the slit in his boxers.

sunghoon enjoyed watching you struggle, furthermore, he enjoyed how eager you looked to please him.

finally, his cock sprung out and hit your cheek causing sunghoon to snicker. your eyes widen when you see his uncovered length, surprised that it looked bigger that you originally thought he was.

"well, you just gonna look at it?" he asks, his voice heavy and strained.

immediately, you took him into your mouth. sunghoon lets out a chocked moan, his hips bucking as you try to adjust your mouth to his girthy length. your eyes water when his tip hits the back of your throat, gagging slightly as you swallow around him—driving him crazy. he forms two makeshift pig tails on the top of your head, using them to steer you and control what pace you were going. he almost combusts at the sight of you, your eyes drowning in tears and your mouth full with his cock. he could see a mixture of drool and his cum leaking out from the sides of your mouth, your grip on his thighs getting painful.

"f-fuck, look at you," he grunts, his pace getting faster as he feels his balls tighten. "taking my cock so well in your pretty mouth."

you moan at the praise, the sound vibrating against his length making his eyes roll back in his head. you feel your jaw start to ache and sunghoon forces his dick deeper and deeper into your mouth, your nose touching his pelvic bone as he lets out a series of curses.

you suddenly swallow around him, his length twitching in your mouth as he bucks his hips—chasing his high. "fuck m'gonna cum, o-oh," he lets out a guttural moan as he feels himself reach his high.

"you dirty bitch, you want my cum? yeah? you want your mouth painted with me? hm?" he moans wildly as you desperately nod your head, thighs squeezing together to relieve the pressure between your legs.

you let out a small whine when you feel his cum coat the inside of your mouth. he pulls out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting from his dick to your mouth making you flush in embarrassment. you swallow his cum, the taste salty and slightly tangy but manageable.

you feel yourself disassociate for a moment only for sunghoons voice to break you out of your trance, "you did so good for me, __," he praises, his hand leaving your hair as it comes down to softly caress your face.

you hum in response, "the password?" you manage to say, your voice coming out hoarse and strained. you thought that sunghoon just wanted his dick sucked, little did you know he had more in mind for tonight.

he snickers, "i'm not done with you yet," and with that he's hauling you up from your bed and manhandling you to face the other way to press your behind against him.

you gasp at the sudden change, "b-but.." you tried to formulate your displeasure however sunghoon had no interest in hearing your voice. he forced two of his fingers into your mouth, the sudden intrusion causing you to gag. "you were more well behaved when you had my cock stuffed down your throat," he sneered into your ear, his minty breath fanning against your ear making you shiver.

you cried against his fingers, hands coming up to try and remove his digits from your mouth. sunghoon 'tsks' before he's reaching behind him and snapping the cold cuffs against your wrists, securing the restraints tightly behind your back causing you to cry out louder. you struggled against him, "why are you being difficult, 1697? you agreed to this," he says harshly.

you shook your head, or at least tried to, you had only agreed to blow him—nothing else.

"surely you knew better than to trust me when i said i only wanted one thing from you," he snickers, his hand wandering around your figure making you flinch.

his hand reaches for the waistband of your pants, yanking them down harshly along with your panties. "be a doll, step out of them, __." when you shake your head 'no' you hear a loud slap ring through your cell, your eyes widen at the sensation of your butt burning. he had smacked your cheek, now holding it in a bruising grip. "step out of them," he says again as he begins to roughly massage your other cheeks making you writhe.

you shakily step out of your pants, in fear that he'd go for your face next. he smiles against you, reaching down to grab your panties from the pile on the floor.

he raised his eyebrows in shock when he notices how damp the material was, "you like this? don't you, 1697," he laughs. you hated how your body betrayed you, how it showed him that you wanted this.

he quickly removes his fingers from your mouth, replacing it with your soiled underwear. his hands grip your waist as he grinds himself against your bare behind, his cock resting on your lower back.

his hands move under your shirt and up your stomach, reaching your covered chest. he yanks down your bra harshly, causing your tits to spill out. his greedy hands fondle and play with your nipples as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck—inhaling deeply.

"you're so perfect," he murmurs against your skin, sucking on the skin of your neck as he ruts himself against you. you continue to struggle against him, your protests being drowned by the fabric stuffed in your mouth.

you manage to spit your underwear out, "get off of me you sick bastard!" you screech, twisting and turning your body as you attempt to kick him. sunghoon snickers, his hand coming up to grip you by your throat as his grip on your tit becomes punishing.

"you want to play like that? i can play like that," and with that your being bent over your bed, face smushed against your hard mattress with your ass in the air.

"i was going to take care of you, 1697. get you ready for my cock, stretch your pretty cunt out so it could take me with ease. but you just want to be a brat so bad," he tsks as he runs his pointer finger down your slit. you attempt to bitch back but sunghoon pushes you face down into your bed, holding you down as you struggle to breathe.

"guess i'll just have to show you want happens to disobedient little sluts like you," and with that he begins to push his cock into you. his grip on your head falters as he bottoms out, a strangled groan leaving him—your walls fluttering against him.

you let out a cry when you feel him stretch you out completely, clenching around him to try and accommodate his thick cock.

as soon as you stopped clenching around him, he began to pound into you at a punishing pace—his snapping wildly as grips onto your waist.

"f-fuck, you're taking my cock so well in your hungry pussy," he moans, the sound of skin slapping together and your whimpers filling the cell.

sunghoon could combust at the sight alone, your ass jiggled with every thrust he delivered. his grip on your waist was painful, you were sure that the area was going to bruise later on.

his thrusts become brutal as he chases his high, smirking when he feels your walls flutter against him—indicating that you were just as close as he was.

"you gonna cum with me, pretty? gonna cum all over my cock?" he cooed before hes gripping the back of your neck to bring you up so your back is arched and the crown of your head touches his chest.

he grips your throat as he continues to fuck into you, his other hand reaching down to play with your clit as you struggle to keep down your moans.

"answer me," he demands when you don't respond to his question, his grip on your throat getting tighter—your vision getting blurry.

you nod, "y-yes sir, m'gonna cum on your big cock. please let me cum," you cry out, all morals flying out the window as your body shakes—feeling yourself near your high.

sunghoon smirks, "yeah? go on then, cum all over my dick," he spits as he begins to draw firmer circles on your clit. he feels your body twitch against him before your walls grip him tighter, which he didn't think was possible.

you let out a shriek as you feel your high wash over you, sunghoons following soon after. he releases into you with a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as his pace slows down.

"milking me so good, hm? perfect pussy," he murmurs against you, planting small kisses on your head as he rides out his high—making sure to empty himself out into you fully.

he pulls out of you soon after, allowing you to fall onto your bed before he's tucking himself back into his pants. he watches his cum dribble out of your cunt, suppressing a moan that threatened to leave his mouth at the sight. he runs his fingers down your slit, pushing the cum that was falling out of you back into your cunt.

smirking when he sees your fucked out state, your body still shaking from the orgasm.

he un-cuffs you before he puts your pants back on, fixing your attire as you look at him dazed. he finds your panties on the side, quickly grabbing a hold of them before he's stuffing them into his pocket—a keepsake if you will.

he grabs your blanket and pulls it over you before he's crouching down.

he plants a small kiss on your forehead, "password is 1697," and with that he walks out.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

#enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen #jaysbaefie #smut #psh #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen smut

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yumequeenbr · 2 years ago

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171#Jumper

#warriorscats #wc designs #warriors #wcdesigns #designs #digital ilustration #warrior cats fanart #jumper #bloodclan

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cookiewrites · 6 days ago

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here's some rich scoups spoiling you thoughts i have been unable to get out of my head for the past months. the tl;dr of it all is that seungcheol is obsessed with spoiling his partner.

spoilt

wc: 1.0k

cw: rich!seungcheol x afab reader, mostly sfw but does mention penetrative and oral sex (reader reciving) a couple times, pet names for reader (baby, jagiya), little bit of praise kink. this has not been proofread.

seungcheol who loves when you spend his money. it starts simply, he makes sure he pays when you two eat out together. you try and protest it but he doesn't hear any of it, pulling out his card before you can even say anything about it - whether this is brunch or dinner.

seungcheol who uses this as an opening to start paying for things when you're at home too. ordering food in? use his card. doing some online shopping? put it on his account. you need new bedding? you both sleep in the bed, it's better to let him pay. he leaves a copy of his card around the apartment for you, putting it in your phone, making it even easier to use than your own, breaking down any excuse you have to use your own.

seungcheol who pays not as a method of control, but as a method of care. he knows you have your own money, and that you can afford to pay for things, you did it for all the years before he turned up. but he doesn't want you to worry about it any more, its part of how he looks after you. he explains this to you over and over, until you finally believe him, and put your own card hidden in the back of your purse for emergencies only.

seungcheol, who got so hard the first time you splurged on his card, that he had to bury himself in you. you came home with this beautiful necklace, rambling some apology about how expensive it was, and how you can return it if he wants, and all he can feel is his cock straining against the fabric at his jeans, seeing you finally feeling comfortable enough to let him pay for things.

"it looks so good jagiya, you look spoiled, that's exactly how i like you" he rambles as he kisses down your neck, putting a little mark right under where the chain sits. "lemme show you, baby, fuck..."

seungcheol who's favourite part of his day is coming home and seeing your haul from your day out, knowing he paid for all of it. you show him the trinkets you picked up for your shelves, and the new jumper you bought, and the earrings you bought already in your ears. the possessiveness he feels makes him feel a little dizzy, he treats you so well that you're showing it off. letting everyone else know how good he treats you.

seungcheol who gets whiney if you haven't bought anything in a while. he'll check his app and see you haven't spent anything in a bit and gets suspicious, knowing you've at least bought food in the last week, so why hasn't he paid? he'll bring it up to you, pouting, his lip sticking out. why would you hurt him like this?

seungcheol who'll use this as an excuse to pull up all the half filled baskets in your phone's browser and check them all out. he uses this as a threat, that if you aren't regularly treating yourself, that he'll do it for you. sometimes he'll just do it when you're cuddling. watching the tiktoks you're showing him, and then taking the phone out of your hands, to finish the purchases of a couple things, even as you try to stop him. there is no reason, to him at least, that you shouldn't have every single thing you want.

seungcheol who never uses the fact you buy yourself things as a reason to not buy you surprises as well. he uses the outgoings on his account to see what you're fixated on right now, and add on. is it blind boxes? he's bought you a full set. is it make up? he saw this palette he thought was cute. is it jewellery? you have a new ring to wear arriving tomorrow.

"it just reminded me of you!" he explains, pouting, as you question why he's bought you another gift. "it'll look so pretty on, baby, please? for me?" acting as if the gift for you, is actually a present for him.

seungcheol who literally gets off on spoiling you. he's finished in his pants several times as he ate you out, and you went on a shopping spree on his phone, telling him all the things you're buying. for him, this is exactly how things should be, you doing absolutely nothing, and getting completely spoilt anyway. all fucked out, and dressed up, getting anything you could possibly want.

"mmm baby you can give me another one" he groans against your thigh as you try to whine that it's too much, "i know you can baby, let me spoil you, yeah? yeah." he dives back in, losing himself in it, making you shake so much you can't even finish checking out - but he'll make sure to finish that for you later as well.

seungcheol who loves when you tell him how good he treats you, and how spoilt you are. it's a bit of a praise kink thing for him, but he just loves hearing how happy you are and how spoilt you feel. it makes his heart (and his cock) full. that's what this is about, making you feel even half of the love he holds for you.

"you're so good to me cheol" you groan, hands helplessly clawing at his back as he fills you up again. "f-fuck, so good to me, baby, no one treats me as well as you do." you ramble, letting him know just how good he is.

seungcheol who puts his black card in your mouth when you begin to complain that he is ruining your expensive lingerie, a very quick way to remind you that he can afford to buy you a new set a dozen times over - and sometimes he does it, just to prove the point.

seungcheol who's so proud when the guys point out how spoilt you are. if they even try and insinuate that it's a bad thing, he shuts it down immediately - reminding them that they'd be so lucky to even have someone to spoil. someone as special as you.

#scoups x reader #scoups smut #scoups imagines #svt imagines #svt smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt x reader #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol

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norrisradio · 17 days ago

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SMALL TALK

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ “one night he wakes / strange look on his face / pauses, then says / “you’re my best friend” / and you knew what it was / he is in love” + “Morning, his place / burnt toast, Sunday / you keep his shirt / he keeps his word” - Taylor Swift, You Are In Love

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.7K ᝰ GENRE: strangers-to-friends-to-????, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and other disasters, oscar piastri is a man on a mission ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: my first time dabbling in some mixed media (feat. texts, voice notes, and facetimes)! not entirely happy with it but hopefully it makes sense // sorry for disappearing i am back now i swear ꨄ requested by @princesspiastri007 !

send me an ask for my line by line event .ᐟ

Oscar Piastri ruins your life in a bakery line on a Tuesday.

You’re clutching your paper cup like a lifeline, half-hypnotized by the scent of cardamom buns and the threadbare sweater slung over your frame — navy, elbow-patched, fraying at the seams. It was your dad’s. Maybe even his dad’s. Handed down like a secret. You only wear it on soft days. The kinds that ask for warmth and not much else.

Then someone knocks into you from behind, and the tea goes flying.

A sharp breath. The hiss of liquid on wool.

You freeze. He freezes.

“Shit — God, I’m so sorry.”

The voice is breathless and kind of pretty. You look up, prepared to launch into an eloquent string of swears, but the apology is already in his face. He looks young. Startled. Dimples carved into his cheeks like a question mark. A lanky frame, messy hair, and a voice that sounds like Sunday morning. And behind him, some tall blonde girl in sunglasses (who you’ll later learn is Hattie, his sister) gives a wince-laugh and says, “Nice one, Oz.”

You look down. The sweater is ruined.

“That’s not just a sweater,” you whisper, throat tight. And somehow, that matters more than yelling.

The stranger — Oscar, apparently — blinks. “Wait — wait, is it special? Oh God. Please let me fix it.”

That’s how it starts: a burnt-sugar Tuesday and a ruined heirloom.

He buys you another tea. Apologizes twenty-seven times. Offers you his hoodie while you shiver on the bakery bench. It smells like laundry detergent and something citrusy, like a life that doesn’t belong to you. When you say he doesn’t need to do anything else, he frowns like you’ve insulted him.

“No. I swear — I’ll find a way to replace it.”

You scoff. “What, are you gonna time travel to the '80s?”

He grins. “Not quite. But I travel a lot. I’ll find one like it. You’ll see.”

It’s a joke. You think it’s a joke.

Until he’s in Spain two weeks later, and you get a photo of a sweater from a vintage shop in Barcelona:

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 1 Image] from: +61 *** *** *** Closer? Still hunting.

Then he’s in Canada. Silverstone. Budapest. Portugal.

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 1 Image - a blurry photo of a sweater, tagged €35 ] from: +61 *** *** *** Found a jumper in Lisbon. Not quite the right navy, but it has the elbow patches.

to: +61 *** *** *** you don’t have to keep doing this, yk

from: +61 *** *** *** I know. I want to.

Each time, a picture. A patch. A different shade of blue. An “Almost.”

You hadn’t expected it to become a thing.

You hadn’t expected him to become a thing.

But there’s a moment, three weeks later, when you're eating leftover curry on the floor of your apartment and your phone lights up with a voice memo. You hesitate. Press play.

Hey. I know it’s probably stupid but I found one in Tokyo today that kinda reminded me of the shape of yours. Didn’t get it though. The color was off. But I thought about you.

There’s a pause. You can hear wind. Traffic. And then:

Anyway. Just wanted to say hi.

You play it twice. Then a third time.

You don’t respond for an hour because you don’t know how to say, you’ve been living in my head since Tuesday.

The voice memos turn into calls. Almost by accident at first. One missed message becomes a call back, and before you know it, you’re dialing his number like muscle memory.

You start calling him after work, when the sky is the color of chamomile tea and the streets hum with the soft ache of winding down. He answers from hotel rooms, his voice low and warm, surrounded by the soft rustle of sheets or the faint murmur of unfamiliar cities outside his window. Sometimes you hear the buzz of neon. The clatter of luggage. The echo of a TV in the next room.

It becomes routine. Sacred, even. A ritual made of static and silence and shared space.

He listens when you talk about your family, about the sweater, about how you’ve always had trouble letting go of things that feel like home. Your voice goes soft when you tell him how your dad used to wear it on cold Sunday mornings, how it always smelled faintly of espresso and cedar. How you kept it on the back of your chair even after he passed.

There’s a pause.

And then: “That makes sense,” Oscar says, quiet enough that you almost miss it. “You feel... anchored. Even when everything else isn’t.”

You blink.

No one’s ever put it like that before.

You want to laugh. Or cry. Or tell him that he’s the first person in months who hasn’t made you feel like you’re too much. Too sentimental. Too attached to the past.

Instead, you murmur, “I like the sound of that.”

“Of what?”

“Being anchored.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his smile through the phone. That small, secret one you’ve learned to hear in the silence between words.

And when you hang up, well past midnight, your chest is full of something unfamiliar.

Melbourne - 00:42 / Sao Paulo - 11:42

Oscar’s face is sideways on your screen. He’s lying on a hotel bed, hair a mess, thumb under his cheek like he fell asleep on his own hand.

“I’ve seen twenty sweaters today,” he mumbles. “All of them were wrong.”

You smile, half-asleep yourself. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m determined.”

“Obsessed, maybe.”

He grins. “That too.”

There’s a long silence. Not awkward. Just full.

You whisper, “Why does it matter so much?”

He looks at you like he’s trying to read something written in a language only you speak.

“I think,” he says slowly, “because it mattered to you.”

Melbourne - 10:48 / Monza - 02:48

I found a vendor near the paddock today who hand-knits sweaters. Said she doesn’t repeat patterns but she can make something inspired by yours. I asked her how long it’d take. She said six months. I told her I’d wait.

There’s a long pause.

I don’t think this is about the sweater anymore.

The FaceTimes start to stretch longer. Past midnight. Into morning. Sometimes you wake up to a dead phone, his face still ghosting your dreams. He tells you what the gravel in Bahrain smells like. You tell him about your mother’s lasagna recipe. He starts sending you pictures of things that have nothing to do with sweaters.

The sea. His breakfast. A dog in the crowd with a bandana that says Team Oscar. His knees pressed up against the seat in a too-small plane.

You start recognizing hotel ceilings. The texture of his voice when he’s tired. The sound of his toothbrush.

You don’t talk about what it is. But you know.

You fall asleep with your phone tipped sideways, face half offscreen, mouth slack. Oscar snaps a screenshot once (you find it later in a photo dump he sends, sandwiched between two blurry shots of the Monza pitlane and one of a knitwear rack in Milan).

You’re in bed, face crinkled into your pillow.

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 4 Images] from: +61 *** *** *** I like this one best.

Melbourne - 03:23 / Abu Dhabi 21:23

from: +61 *** *** *** You awake?

You blink at the screen, the dim glow of your phone painting soft light across your face.

You shouldn’t be awake. You weren’t. Not really.

to: +61 *** *** *** only if you need me to be

from: +61 *** *** *** always.

You stare at it for a beat too long. Something in your chest tightens.

No FaceTime this time. Just voice. Just the warmth of him spilling through the speaker like something secret.

“Hi,” he says, a little breathless. Like he’d been pacing. Like he still is.

“You okay?” you ask, voice scratchy with sleep.

A silence. Not heavy. Just full.

Then: “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

Another pause, this one longer. Then he sighs, and it sounds like the beginning of a confession.

“I was at dinner. Team stuff. Everyone talking, laughing, and it was fine. It was good. But then I thought of something you said — about how your dad used to cut his toast diagonally, like it made it taste better.”

You laugh, soft. “Because it does.”

He smiles. You can hear it. But then his voice shifts. Warmer. Quieter.

“And I wanted to tell you. Just that. Just... share that moment with you. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to call. Even though it was nothing. Even though it was everything.”

Your fingers twist in the hem of your blanket. “Oscar-”

He exhales, quiet static against your cheek. “It just– it made me realize something.”

You hear him shift again, maybe run a hand through his hair. When he speaks next, his voice is quieter. Barely above a whisper.

“I think you’re my best friend.”

And the way he says it — it’s not casual. Not flippant. It lands somewhere low in your chest, blooming slow and steady.

You don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is, you already knew. You’d known for a while now, tucked in the space between time zones and half-laughed voicemails. In the way your day doesn’t feel finished until you’ve heard his voice.

Still, you make a soft sound into the receiver. “I know,” you say, because anything more might break it.

He breathes out a laugh. You can hear him relax, like he was bracing for something bigger.

“I should let you sleep.”

“You should.”

But neither of you hang up.

You don’t say anything else that night. Just let the silence stretch between you like soft thread, pulled taut. Your hand stays curled around the phone long after the call ends, thumb brushing the screen like it might still be warm from his voice.

And later, when you’re making toast in his kitchen for the first time and burn it so badly the alarm goes off, you both laugh like idiots, wheezing and barefoot.

You keep his hoodie. He lets you. You wear it when he’s gone. You send him a photo of it hanging beside the ruined sweater, like they’re twin relics of something that matters now.

He keeps his word.

He never finds the same sweater.

But somehow, you stop minding.

Oscar can’t look at a knit sweater without thinking of you, and maybe that’s the best kind of curse—a soft one, stitched with love, pulling him home.

#formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x yn #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri writing #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #⚡︎ race day #event -> line by line

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bu3ck3r · 1 month ago

Text

front row

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 4k

a/n: i still can’t believe uconn won a natty im so happy but anyways here’s a little cute blurb from anons suggestion ty and hope you enjoy it😜 (btw why didn’t anyone tell me how nice it is to write with lowercase letters)

paige had no idea she was being watched.

it was her 12th game in the league, and she was locked in, jersey clinging to her like a second skin, eyes scanning the court, feeding off the buzz of the packed dallas crowd. she was in her zone tonight — sharp passes, confident threes, smooth drives that made defenders look like practice cones. this was her best game yet.

what she didn’t know—what she couldn’t know—was that somewhere ten rows up, front and center, azzi fudd was watching her with the biggest, proudest smile on her face.

azzi had flown in from storrs that morning without telling anyone. she wore paige’s jersey with clean cargo pants and her natural curls haloed soft around her face. she looked effortless, stunning.

it had been a month since she’d seen paige in person. and every second of watching her move on that court made azzi’s heart beat harder. and god, she was unreal out there.

midway through the second quarter, paige hit a pull-up three with a hand in her face. the crowd roared, but azzi screamed louder than anyone. she stood up, clapping like she was at a finals game, yelling, “that’s my girl!” without even trying to tone it down.

paige glanced toward the noise, confused for a split second. something familiar flickered across her face, but she kept moving. locked back in.

then came a steal, a coast-to-coast finish through contact, an and-one that sent the bench flying. she pounded her chest once, fire in her eyes. azzi was right there, cheering like she wanted the whole arena to know.

azzi’s phone buzzed nonstop: you didn’t tell anyone you were coming?! are you really in dallas?? that’s you screaming?? she ignored every single message. her attention didn’t drift from paige for even a second.

and paige played like she felt it.

she dropped 30 that night. a season high. her movements were electric, sharp, beautiful. every no-look pass, every off-balance jumper—it all looked effortless, like she wasn’t even touching the floor. like she was showing off for someone.

because she was.

when the final buzzer sounded and her team sealed the win, the arena exploded. music, lights, people shouting—but paige turned her head and searched the crowd with wild, eager eyes.

and then, she saw her.

azzi.

in her jersey, curls glowing under the lights, yelling her name with her hands around her mouth.

paige froze. her whole face cracked into this disbelieving, overwhelmed smile. and then she ran—past cameras, past her teammates, almost tripping over a rope just to climb into the stands and throw herself into azzi’s arms.

azzi caught her like it was the easiest thing in the world.

they held each other tight, forehead to cheek, no words at first. just breathing. paige was hot with sweat and adrenaline, but azzi didn’t care. she just held her closer.

“you’re—” paige finally said, breathless. “you’re actually here.”

azzi kissed her temple. “i missed you too much. needed to scream courtside when you dropped thirty.”

paige laughed, shaky and glowing, and pulled back just enough to kiss her. real, warm, lingering. nothing rushed, nothing hidden. and azzi kissed her right back, fingers sliding into paige’s jersey collar, grounding them both.

it didn’t matter who was watching. let them.

this was her girl. her game. her moment.

and azzi wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

the post-game atmosphere was still buzzing with excitement. paige had just wrapped up her thirty-point performance, and the press room was buzzing with reporters trying to catch her for a quick word. a familiar sideline reporter waved her over, holding a microphone in one hand while pointing to azzi in the stands.

“paige, come on over,” the reporter said, giving a friendly wave. “first of all, congratulations on an incredible game tonight. thirty points and a win — can you tell us what was going through your head out there?”

paige smiled, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face as she walked to the reporter’s side. she nodded at azzi, who was still in the front row, looking too cute in her jersey with the “bueckers” on the back. it made her heart skip every time she saw her in it.

“thank you,” paige said, her voice warm. “honestly, i was just locked in. after the first few minutes, i felt the rhythm and just tried to take what the defense was giving me. my teammates set me up really well, and i couldn’t have done it without them.”

the reporter nodded, turning toward azzi, who was sitting right there, clearly enjoying the attention.

“and speaking of teammates,” the reporter continued with a playful grin, “it looks like you’ve got a special fan in the stands tonight. azzi, welcome back to dallas. i think we all know you’re not just here as a friend, but as one of the best in the game yourself. i’m sure you have some thoughts on paige’s performance tonight?”

azzi, dressed in paige’s jersey, leaned forward in her seat, her usual calm demeanor giving way to a proud smile. “oh, no doubt. i mean, everyone saw that game. thirty points, and she made it look easy. paige is a different kind of player. she doesn’t just show up for big moments; she makes them. so to watch her out there tonight was honestly just incredible.”

paige felt her cheeks flush, the compliment still warm on her heart.

“you make it sound like i can’t miss,” paige teased, her eyes sparkling with that confident, playful glint.

azzi smirked, leaning back in her chair. “trust me, i wish i could be out there alongside you. but no one could’ve played like that tonight except you.”

the reporter chuckled, looking at both of them with an amused smile. “you two are really something else. what’s next for you, azzi? any advice for paige?”

azzi shrugged, her tone casual yet full of sincerity. “it’s all about staying consistent and staying humble. paige has that natural gift — she’s already got what it takes to succeed. the advice i’d give her? just keep doing exactly what you’re doing. the future is bright for you.”

paige felt a little emotional at that, but she masked it with a wink. “don’t worry, i’ll keep it in check.”

the reporter laughed again. “i don’t think paige needs much advice from anyone, to be honest. but one last question — azzi, do you think we’ll see more of you and paige together on the court in the future?”

paige’s heart did a little flip at that question. azzi just smiled, cool as ever. “who knows? i’m here to cheer her on, whether we’re on the court together or not. but i’ve got her back, no matter what.”

after a few more quick questions and some closing thoughts, the interview wrapped up. the two of them walked off, the crowd dispersing and the media crew packing up.

as they were heading back to the locker room, paige couldn’t help but smirk at azzi, who was still glowing from the praise.

“you really went all out on that interview,” paige teased, nudging her side with a playful elbow. “making me sound like some kind of superstar.”

azzi laughed, shrugging. “well, you kind of are a superstar. you dropped thirty tonight.”

“don’t act like you didn’t mean it when you said i was a different kind of player,” paige shot back, raising an eyebrow. “it sounded pretty personal to me.”

azzi stopped in her tracks, turning to face paige with a smirk. “oh? is that what you think?” she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “maybe you’re right. maybe i was a little biased.” she took a step closer, her eyes mischievous. “i’ve got a front row seat to watch you work every night — kind of hard not to be impressed.”

paige grinned, catching azzi’s gaze. “guess i’ll have to give you more reasons to be impressed.”

azzi leaned in close, lips brushing against paige’s ear as she whispered, “trust me, i don’t need more reasons.”

the playful banter faded as they walked out of the interview area and into the quiet of the locker room. paige’s teammates had gathered by the doors, laughing and teasing her about her performance. azzi hung back for a moment, giving paige the space to bask in the attention, but when paige looked back at her, azzi shot her a wink. paige’s heart fluttered again.

later that night, as they layed in bed together, it was more than just physical attraction that kept them close. it was the way they understood each other without saying much. the quiet moments between kisses. the shared glances that meant everything.

and as azzi pulled her closer, paige whispered, “thanks for making me look good out there.”

azzi’s reply was simple but filled with everything paige needed to hear: “you already looked good honey, you always do.”

and then they kissed again — slow and unhurried — until the night wrapped around them, soft and warm, like they’d never been apart at all.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

paige woke up slowly, the kind of slow that only comes after a dream you don’t want to leave. but the thing was — she hadn’t been dreaming.

azzi was here. really here.

she was laying on her side, face half-buried in the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek. her curls were a little messy now, haloed across paige’s pillowcase like scattered stars. the t-shirt she was wearing was pushed up slightly, revealing a sliver of warm brown skin at her waist, the rise and fall of her breath impossibly steady, impossibly soft.

paige didn’t move. didn’t speak. just stared for a moment, letting the quiet wrap around them like a blanket.

she reached out gently, brushing a curl away from azzi’s face. her fingers lingered, featherlight against her cheek.

azzi blinked awake, barely, and then smiled, slow and sleepy, like she knew exactly how long paige had been watching her.

“hey,” she whispered.

paige smiled. “hey.”

azzi’s voice was still husky with sleep. “you staring at me again?”

“i haven’t seen you in forever,” paige whispered, eyes soft. “you think i’m gonna waste a second of this morning?”

azzi rolled onto her back with a smile, arm pulling paige in instinctively. “mmm. good answer.”

paige laid her head on azzi’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. their legs tangled without thinking. her fingers slid under the hem of the t-shirt, just to rest against the soft skin of azzi’s hip.

“i don’t want you to leave,” paige murmured.

azzi tilted her head down, kissing paige’s forehead. “i’m not thinking about leaving. not right now.”

there was a pause — not heavy, just full.

“i was nervous,” paige admitted quietly. “last night. you being here. i wanted to play well so bad.”

azzi’s hand slid into her hair, slow and steady. “you didn’t play well,” she said.

paige looked up, confused.

“you played out of your mind,” azzi smirked. “i was losing it on the sideline. you were stupid good.”

paige grinned, face flushed. “you always hype me up like this?”

“only when you drop thirty with style.”

they laughed together, warm and private, and then paige leaned in for a kiss — slow, unrushed, the kind that didn’t ask for anything but closeness. azzi kissed her back, her hand sliding around paige’s waist, holding her like she never wanted to let go.

after the laughter quieted and their lips met again — deeper, hotter this time — paige’s hands found their way up under azzi’s shirt, her fingers grazing her skin. the kiss didn’t stop, though, because neither of them wanted it to. azzi’s hands slid down to grip paige’s waist, pulling her closer, her body pressing against paige’s as their kiss grew more urgent. the heat between them intensified, both girls barely able to catch their breath as they pulled away from the kiss.

“you wanna stay in bed for a little bit?” her voice thick with desire.

paige nodded, her heart racing, and before she knew it, azzi was rolling on top of her, her lips trailing kisses down paige’s neck, soft and teasing. paige shivered, her hands gripping azzi’s waist as she arched up into her.

“i’m not done kissing you yet,” paige murmured.

“good,” azzi replied, her voice low, “because neither am i.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

paige and azzi decided to meet up with paige’s teammates at a nearby restaurant to grab a bite. the group gathered around a large table, laughing and talking about the game, but through it all, paige couldn’t take her eyes off azzi. there was a magnetic pull between them, something that even the bustling restaurant couldn’t dim.

azzi was talking with nalyssa and dijonai, but paige’s attention kept drifting. sitting next to azzi, paige’s hand slowly slid under the table, casually brushing against azzi’s leg. she couldn’t help herself. the chemistry between them was undeniable, and she loved the thrill of being close, teasing her without anyone else noticing.

at first, azzi didn’t react — just a small smirk that only paige noticed. but then paige’s hand drifted up higher along her inner thigh. azzi’s breath caught, and her eyes flickered toward paige for a split second before she continued the conversation as if nothing was happening.

then came the vibration of a text on paige’s phone. paige glanced at it, seeing a message from azzi.

azzi: stop doing that. i can’t focus.

paige chuckled under her breath, her fingers lingering on azzi’s leg for a moment longer. she sent a quick reply:

paige: we could always go to the bathroom yk😊

azzi’s eyes widened slightly at paige’s boldness, but she kept her composure, still talking casually with the team. paige could feel azzi’s tension building, her subtle shift in posture. the longer the dinner dragged on, the harder it was for azzi to stay focused.

after a few more minutes of playful tension under the table, paige noticed azzi’s leg twitching slightly. she knew it was time.

paige leaned in, her voice low and only for azzi’s ears. “want to get out of here for a bit?”

azzi didn’t need any more encouragement. she nodded, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she stood up, gently brushing her hand across paige’s shoulder.

in the hallway outside the restaurant, the noise of the restaurant muffled behind them, they found themselves alone. paige’s hand immediately went to azzi’s waist, pulling her closer. the heat between them was undeniable, and the anticipation was already building.

“i knew i wouldn’t be able to sit through the rest of that dinner,” azzi murmured, her lips brushing against paige’s ear.

paige leaned in, her lips ghosting over azzi’s jawline. “you weren’t supposed to.” she pressed her body against azzi’s, feeling the electric spark between them. “i don’t think i could focus either, especially when you look so beautiful.”

azzi smirked, her hands moving up to grip paige’s shoulders. “you’re lucky we’re in a public place, or i’d drag you somewhere more private.”

paige laughed softly, feeling that familiar thrill at azzi’s words. but she didn’t hesitate to pull azzi into the bathroom, away from prying eyes. the second the door clicked shut, paige’s lips were on azzi’s, their bodies pressed close in a heated embrace.

the tension that had built up over dinner exploded as they kissed, the passionate heat rising between them. paige’s hands roamed down azzi’s back, pulling her even closer, their bodies fitting together like they always did. azzi responded in kind, her hands sliding up under paige’s shirt, feeling the softness of her skin.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you all night,” paige murmured between kisses, her voice thick with desire. “i’ve wanted this all day.”

azzi’s breath was shaky as she kissed down paige’s neck. “you’re killing me, paige,” she whispered, her voice raw. “but i can’t say i don’t like it.”

paige’s hands slid down to azzi’s hips, pulling her even closer. “then let’s make it count.”

in the dim light of the bathroom, their kisses became more urgent. azzi’s hands slid to paige’s waist, tugging at her clothes with a mix of desire and impatience. paige responded just as fiercely, her fingers gripping azzi’s ass, pulling her closer.

azzi broke the kiss for a moment, her breathing heavy. “are you sure we’re doing this here?” she asked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

paige smirked, her thumb grazing azzi’s bottom lip. “when it’s just you and me, i don’t care where we are.”

without another word, paige pressed azzi against the bathroom counter, her hands exploring her body with the same urgency they’d shared earlier under the table. azzi let out a low moan as paige’s lips trailed down her neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spots.

they were lost in each other, the outside world forgotten, the rest of the night slipping away as they shared these private moments. azzi’s hands gripped the counter, her body responding to paige’s touch like it always did.

“god, you drive me crazy,” azzi breathed, her lips brushing against paige’s. “i can’t even focus when you’re around.”

paige’s hands slid higher, tracing the lines of azzi’s body with a hunger that matched her own. “i love it,” paige whispered against her lips. “i want you to feel everything.”

and with that, they were lost in each other completely, their bodies pressed together in the dim light of the bathroom, taking their time to savor the intimacy and heat between them.

afterward, both of them were breathless and flushed, but still smiling at each other in the quiet aftermath of their stolen moment. paige’s fingers gently brushed azzi’s hair from her face, her lips curling into a content smile.

“that was…crazy,” azzi said with a soft laugh, her voice still a little shaky.

paige grinned, her eyes warm with affection. “we should make a habit of this.”

azzi laughed again, but the look in her eyes told paige everything. she wasn’t about to let go of this moment, or of paige, anytime soon.

as they returned to the restaurant and walked back to their table, the moment was far from over. paige and azzi settled into their seats, trying to act casual, but their faces were flushed with lingering excitement. the team was mid-conversation, but as soon as they walked back in, the energy shifted. the playful banter resumed — but this time, it was laced with something else.

“you two were gone for quite a while,” arike said, raising an eyebrow. “everything okay?”

azzi shot her a knowing look. “yeah, just… needed a breather.”

arike’s grin grew wider as she caught onto the vibe. “a breather, huh? from what? looks like you two had a lot of energy to burn.”

paige rolled her eyes, her face turning red. “it was nothing, really.”

but her teammates weren’t letting up.

“we all know what’s up,” dijonai said with a wink. “you two practically glowed when you came back. was it that hot in there?”

azzi and paige exchanged a glance, trying (and failing) to hide their smiles. they couldn’t care less about the teasing. their love for each other was stronger than any playful comment from the team. they were happy, and that was all that mattered.

“alright, alright,” paige said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “y’all know too much.”

azzi leaned in, brushing her lips against paige’s ear and whispering, “let them talk. i don’t care. i’m just happy to be here with you.”

paige’s heart skipped a beat. as her teammates continued to tease them, laughing and joking, she squeezed azzi’s hand under the table. the truth was, they could tease them all they wanted, but paige didn’t care. she was right where she needed to be.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the door to paige’s apartment clicked shut behind them, and the second it did, the mood shifted.

it was quiet. soft city sounds hummed in the background. her place was dim, lit only by the faint golden glow from the kitchen light, but it felt warm. like home.

paige turned around, leaning back against the door, eyes locked on azzi. she let out a small laugh, breathless still from the night.

“so,” she said, her voice low, teasing. “you survived dinner. barely.”

azzi crossed the room slowly, a small smirk playing on her lips. “barely. your fault.”

“is it?” paige asked, tilting her head. “i wasn’t the one texting ‘stop touching me’ under the table like you didn’t want it.”

azzi was already in front of her, hands sliding up paige’s sides. “i definitely wanted it.”

their lips met again—slower now, less rushed, more deliberate. the kind of kiss that said i missed you and i need you all at once. their bodies pressed close, hands tangled in jackets, fingers brushing over waists, skin hungry for contact.

paige pulled away only long enough to whisper, “i thought about this all month. you. here.”

azzi’s gaze softened for a moment, thumb brushing paige’s jaw. “me too. nothing feels right without you.”

then came another kiss—deeper. paige’s hands slid under azzi’s jacket, tugging it off, letting it drop to the floor. azzi followed, pressing paige against the door again, her hands slipping under the hem of paige’s shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin.

“you drive me crazy,” azzi whispered between kisses, her voice just a little breathless. “i can’t think straight when you’re near me.”

“then don’t think,” paige murmured, pulling her toward the couch.

they sank into it together, tangled and close, lips never far apart. it was slow but heated—every touch drawing a sigh, every movement full of longing. their clothes became looser, hands bolder. azzi’s fingers traced paige’s back while paige’s mouth explored the curve of azzi’s neck, her shoulder, the soft spot just below her ear that always made her sigh.

the world outside didn’t exist. only the rustle of fabric, soft laughter, gasps that turned into whispered i love yous. azzi straddled paige’s lap, their foreheads pressed together, breaths syncing, hearts beating fast and steady.

“you’re so beautiful,” paige said softly, running her fingers through azzi’s curls. “every part of you.”

azzi smiled, her hand pressed to paige’s chest, feeling her heartbeat. “i’m yours. every part.”

and for the rest of the night, they stayed wrapped in each other—touching, kissing, whispering all the things they’d been holding in. love filling every space between skin and silence.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #fiction #paige x azzi #wbb #wlw

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