#Me at the start: I have barely thought about these two in this way.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: Professor Higuruma has entered the chat. I’m sorry this part is a little short, but if I included the next scene in this part, it would be WAY too long.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. |

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

You’re starting to believe that you dreamt the whole marriage negotiation with Sukuna.

It had been nearly a week since he sat you down in his office, and he’s been radio silence ever since. So, maybe you dreamt it all, or perhaps he decided against the whole marriage thing. If that was the case, you needed to start looking for other jobs.

Your Friday afternoons were reserved for Higuruma’s criminal law class. You sat at your desk, typing away on your computer that your student loan paid for. It was second-hand from a different girl who had just passed her bar exam. Her parents bought her the newest MacBook on the market as a present.

When you passed your bar exam, you’d probably buy yourself a two thousand yen cake from the grocery store. Maybe you’ll even splurge and spend five thousand yen on an ice cream cake.

You halfway hear your professor assign a plethora of readings spanning from case files to different codes of law.

"It's a good thing C's get degrees, huh?" a sheepish playful voice whispers from beside you. Your eyes glance over towards the guy next to you. You're able to immediately recognize him as Yuji Itadori.

Before Sukuna, you only took notice of Yuji since he tried to make friends with everyone, regardless of social status. Even if you've barely spoken with him, you feel a sort of kinship with him.

Now, your eyes immediately fix on his soft pink hair. While Sukuna's felt more like a dusty rose color. Yuji's was brighter -- untainted from crime.

"Is a C going to help you pass your bar exam though?" you whisper back softly, giving him a smile.

"You're so cruel~" Yuji softly whines as he dramatically slumps back into his chair. You quietly laugh from his theatric display. "And here I thought you'd be so kind and offer to help me study..."

You glance back towards him before scanning everyone else in the lecture. The majority of the other students were dutifully taking notes.

"Uh... why me?" You ask, cocking your eyebrow at the male before you realized how rude that probably sounded. "I mean, why would you ask me for that? Wouldn't you be better off asking the top performers in our class?"

"One of those pretentious jerks? Give me a break," Yuji rolls his eyes as he leans towards you. He's not too close to make you uncomfortable, just close enough to whisper without disturbing anyone. "Besides, you seem nice. Also, we sit beside each other everyday. Aren't those good enough reasons?"

Before you could even think to reply, Higuruma addressed the entire class. It was the end of the lecture period.

“Alright everyone, please remember to have a safe weekend and to stay out of trouble,” Professor Higuruma says from the forefront of the class. Students immediately begin to gather their belongings and shuffle out of the lecture hall.

"Let me know what you decide next week!" Yuji said as he rushed out of the door like he couldn't get away from the academic setting fast enough.

You finish up a few quick edits on your notes before saving them and promptly sliding your laptop into your bag. You thought about checking your phone to see if Sukuna had left you any cryptic messages, but you decided against it. It’s not like you were desperate or anything.

“Ah, Y/n, do you mind staying for a bit? I would like a word with you,” Higuruma’s voice spoke up. He wasn’t nearly as loud as he could be while lecturing.

Your body tenses as you slowly pull your messenger bag over your shoulder. “Sure…” you respond hesitantly.

He knows. He knows that you’re practically engaged to a yakuza lord. He knows that you’ve been dancing dangerously close to sin at Malevolent Mass. He’s going to report you to student affairs. He’s—

Your mind swirls with all of your thoughts Your brain was running so fast you could barely keep up.

The last student leaves the lecture hall, and you can hear the soft sounds of the second hand ticking from the clock mounted to the wall.

Your steps are slow and calculated. Higuruma was at his desk, collecting papers into his bag. He then looked up at you and gave you a calm, fond smile.

You try to ease your weary heart, telling yourself that he’d look much less happy if he had caught onto you.

"I apologize. I'm sure you must be busy," he starts out as he finishes packing up his bag. He straightened his posture, having to look down at you now that he wasn't hunched over. "I wanted to just touch base with you about your paper."

"Oh okay," you inwardly let out a huge sigh of relief, but your curiosity soon resurfaced. "What about my paper?"

"Don't worry. It was a great paper, y/n. I have read summations from licensed attorneys that pale in comparison to your paper." You narrow your eyes at him, feeling a gnawing sensation of anxiety sink in.

"But..?" you prompt.

Higuruma gives a knowing smile, appreciative of your inquisitive nature. "But I was wondering what made you write about spousal privilege... The last I checked you were looking to be civil litigation attorney -- not a criminal defense attorney. So, why would you want to research something like spousal privilege?"

You swallow thickly. You had found interest in spousal privilege due to your arrangement with Sukuna. Spousal privilege allowed for wives and husbands to refuse to testify against their spouse if it would indict their spouse on any crime. There were specifications on this law, and there were certain instances were spousal privilege couldn't be upheld. Overall, Japan looked to uphold the sanctity of marriage, and you looked to uphold your image by not being called to testify against your husband one day.

"Oh... I just found it to be interesting. I think it's good for all attorneys to be well-rounded, right?" you finally respond, giving your best attempt at bluffing the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma.

"You're most certainly right." He places his messenger bag on his shoulder. "I was just looking forward to you switching majors. It'd be a pleasure to steal one of Kento Nanami's best proteges."

You feel your face warm from his overzealous compliment. You were definitely not one of Nanami's best students. Still, you enjoyed the praise.

"I'm sorry to disappoint," you give a small laugh, consciously making an effort to joke with him naturally.

“Disappoint? No, no, you impress me.” His eyes meet yours, and for the first time since starting school, you see him for who he is. He had been nothing but kind, patient, and nurturing. He cared a lot about the subject he taught, and he tried his hardest to help his students learn.

Criminal defense attorneys get a bad wrap for being arrogant and pretentious to a degree, and that’s not exactly a lie either. You’ve seen Higuruma in court before. You know his persona can overwhelm a courtroom easily with his confidence.

“I really appreciate that, Mr. Higuruma.” You drop his gaze, letting your eyes rest upon the floor as a small smile curled up on your lips.

“You can call me Hiromi when we’re not in class,” Higuruma said as he walked towards the door. He held his hand out for you to follow him. “Well, if you ever have any doubts about civil law, please let me be the first to know. I’d love to have you on the criminal law side.”

You follow beside him closely, and you feel a warmth rush your cheeks as Hiromi hovers his hand over the small of your back. He wasn’t exactly touching you, but you could feel him there — guiding you.

“I promise I’ll come to you first if I ever want to betray Mr. Nanami,” you laugh softly, but your mind is racing, wondering where he was guiding you.

Coincidentally enough, a tall muscular figure with blonde hair was walking towards you two in the hall. “Who’s betraying me?” Nanami asked as he walked closer towards you and Hiromi.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between Nanami, Hiromi, and the girl who was standing beside Nanami. You took a moment, trying to place her here as a student, but you came up short.

“Stop trying to steal my students away from me,” Nanami lightheartedly scolded Hiromi with an eye roll.

“It’s not stealing if she decides to leave civil law on her own volition. I’m simply showing her the good side to law,” Hiromi responded. You feel your back arch a bit underneath his touch as his hand rested against your back now with more casualty.

“Ah yes, the good side. Also known as the side who gets troublemakers off the hook. Don’t forget, y/n. Civil law is all about holding people accountable. Criminal law is about being the least accountable,” Nanami said with a calm smile. Your eyes wandered towards Nanami’s hand, noticing it was also placed on the young woman’s back. What was going on here?

“Alright. That’s enough from you,” Hiromi warmly laughed. It was a laugh that put your nerves at ease. Still, your skin crawled where his hand was placed. Your mind flashed back to the club, remembering how it felt when Sukuna had his hand in that exact spot, guiding you to his office.

Sukuna’s touch oddly felt like a warm security blanket, while Hiromi’s touch felt like static electricity building. You knew you were about to get shocked.

“Miss Nanami, it’s always good to see you.” Hiromi bowed slightly with respect. You feel the weight of realization set in on you. That was Nanami’s wife who he was touching like that.

“You as well,” Nanami’s wife responded fondly.

“Alright. Let’s go, Destinee, before Hiromi also tries to indoctrinate you into some sort of criminal law degree.”

Hiromi merely laughed before guiding you away from Nanami and his wife. You felt your heart start to thud in your chest. Where was he leading you?

“You don’t have any other classes today, do you?” Hiromi asked as he looked to his side. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at you thanks to the size difference.

You bit your lip slightly out of nervous habit, wondering if you should lie to him. His hand felt heavy on your back, and a weird sensation of guilt was pooling in your stomach. You weren’t even exactly committed to Sukuna yet since you hadn’t signed whatever contract, but you two have a verbal agreement.

You had already begun to feel some sort of loyalty to the yakuza lord, and maybe that was because you knew he wouldn’t take seeing Hiromi’s hand on you lightly.

Still, you reminded yourself that your professor hadn’t done anything wrong yet. The hand on your back could be seen as a supportive touch. Perhaps he didn’t know how he was coming off right now.

“No, I was going to use the rest of today to write a paper for my economics class,” you say finally after a beat of silence.

“Aren’t you such a good student? Are you struggling in any of your classes?” he asked as he reached out and opened up the door for you. Your eyes blinked as you had to adjust to the afternoon sun beating down.

Maybe he was just walking with you out towards the parking lot. You quirked an eyebrow as you realized this was the staff parking lot though. Your dorm was in the complete opposite direction.

“Uh.. well, not really..” you replied sheepishly, trying to soothe your nerves. This just kept getting worse and worse by the second. “My lowest grade this semester is copyright law.”

“Mmph, yeah, that one is unnecessary tedious. You’ll rarely work on cases of copyright infringement,” Hiromi nodded thoughtfully. “Listen, I know it’s easy to get caught up with being a law student, so I was wanting to know if you wanted to grab a bite to eat together. We can chat about whatever you want whether it be about school or—“

A loud roar of an engine and tires squealing into the parking lot completely cut Hiromi off. You instinctively jumped back a little out of fear that the car was going to ram right into you.

A car that didn’t even look like it belonged on regular civilian streets came to halt right in front of where you and Hiromi were standing. The engine purred lowly as it sat idly in the parking lot.

Hiromi furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the car. No professor had the money to afford a Maserati GT2 Stradale.

Your eyes admired the car in front of you. In all of your time of living, you had never had the luxury of seeing such a car. It was completely blacked out, but in the direct sun, a subtle deep red tint shined through. It was flip painted. It was your saving grace — your prince charming. The license plate on the front read, R. SUKUNA.

The butterfly car door opened upwards, and you held your breath. You had never been more happy to see Sukuna in your life, yet you also felt confused. How did he get into the staff parking lot..? It was guarded by security.

Slowly, your future husband stepped out of the car, rolling up the sleeves to his black button-up top. Even while you were outside, Sukuna’s dominating presence filled the air.

“Can I help you, sir?” Higuruma asked, his face hardening at Sukuna. You wondered what he must be thinking about all this. Did Hiromi know about Sukuna’s status? He is a defense attorney, so it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility.

“No, but she can,” Sukuna gave a feline grin as he held out his hand and curled his finger towards himself, beckoning for you to come with him.

You took a deep breath, knowing that you really couldn’t refuse Sukuna. Also, you didn’t want to know what getting dinner with Hiromi would lead to.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Maybe a rain check?” you said as you gave a polite smile up towards your professor. His eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly agape as he looked down at you.

As soon as you went to peel yourself from his side, Higuruma suddenly grasped your arm. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it was firm enough to stop you dead in your tracks.

“You can tell me if you don’t feel safe with him. You can give me some sort of nonverbal cue..” his voice was low enough for only you to hear. You were briefly taken aback by Hiromi’s kindness, but you also found it ironic how you felt less safe when it was just you and him.

“I’m fine.”

Sukuna watched interaction, and he cocked an eyebrow. He felt an unfamiliar tight feeling in his chest. The thought of him untucking his gun from where it was concealed in his waistband crossed his mind briefly, but he decided against it quickly. It would cause too much of a scene. Too many variables.

“Hiromi Higuruma, is it?” Sukuna asked, but he already knew the answer. “The famous criminal defense attorney who spends his free time teaching other future aspiring attorneys. How kind of you.”

“That’s me. I’ll ask again. Can I help you?” Hiromi’s hand hadn’t unwrapped from your arm yet. His jaw was tight as his dark eyes looked at Sukuna with suspicion.

“You can start by letting go of my wife.” Sukuna said as he took a step closer. His hands were shoved in his pockets, giving off a confident display. You could see the curvature of his muscles bulging through his shirt as if he didn’t already look big enough.

Hiromi’s eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you. All of the admiration and praise had melted from his gaze. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. It was as if you had disappointed him in some form or capacity.

He silently let go of your arm, conceding in the battle with Sukuna over you. “Nonverbal cue,” he muttered to you, still cautious that you’re maybe being forced to do this.

Little does he know, you’re the one who proposed marriage to Sukuna.

You walked straight towards Sukuna, not daring to look back at Hiromi as you didn’t think you could handle the look on his face.

Sukuna immediately enveloped your smaller body in his arms, giving you a hug that could only be described as a hug that a husband gives his wife. He had to lean down to fully hold onto you. You shivered as his nose and lips just barely brushed against the crook of your neck.

Your arms could barely wrap around him, hugging him back to fulfill the facade of being a happy wife. Your face was tucked into his chest, and his cologne assaulted your nose. His scent was deep and heavy with notes of cedar wood, leather, and tobacco.

Despite this being a facade, it felt safe and secure. Nothing could touch you right now.

In all of his time of working with accused criminals, Hiromi had never felt true fear until Sukuna’s eyes met his while he looked over your shoulder. He could practically see the red hues of Sukuna’s eyes darken as he stared him down. Hiromi could feel Sukuna marking you as his territory. It felt like time stood still for everyone.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. I have reservations for us,” Sukuna’s dark gravely voice broke the silence, and Hiromi watched as Sukuna placed his hand on your hip, guiding you over to the passenger side seat. He opened the door for you and made sure you were settled before shutting you in.

Sukuna shot one last glare in Hiromi’s direction before he got into the driver’s side and sped off.

Hiromi let out a deep sigh. How did such a pretty young student like you get caught up in this? His fingers came up, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled out his cellphone. He had to report this, even if it put you as risk.

It took several rings for the phone to pick up. “Yeah?”

“Gojo? Sukuna was just at the school. He was heading north.”

The other end of the line promptly went dead.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord @nina-from-317 @pandabiene5115 @paintedperidot @dissociativewriter @lmaoshush @ninani-nanina @sadrna @boisenberry77 @tojifush @erwinawesomeness @meanwhilesomewhereelse @safasz @kassfunk19 @moncher-ire @gradmacoco @riahlynn-102 @diduzzula @juiceeypeach

[ama3003]

The Cost of Sides

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes! I didn't want to respond directly since it does contain some Thunderbolts Spoilers but I really hope you see this. If you do see this, please message me that you did so, I can have some peace of mind.

The request started with "Can I request a fic for Bucky please? I’m wanting lots of angst of reader and Bucky not seeing eye to eye after..."

Type: Angst

Summary: You and Bucky seem to be on opposite sides.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You met Bucky through Steve during the U.N. bombing fiasco—back when everything was falling apart and nothing felt safe.

From that moment on, you were in it with him. Every step, every fight, every quiet moment in the aftermath. He never had to ask; you were just there.

And when Steve died, when the weight of it all came crashing down, the two of you leaned on each other like you were the only solid thing left in the world. Somewhere in that grief, love happened. Slowly, then all at once.

After that, you were just… you and him. No big declarations. No drama. Just this steady, easy rhythm.

Sure, there were arguments—small ones, over stupid things like laundry or leaving dishes in the sink—but never real fights. Nothing that stuck. You could read each other so well it never got that far.

Until you played the video Sam sent you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers,”

And there was Bucky. In the center. Wearing his suit. Standing with them.

Your heart dropped so fast you couldn’t breathe for a second. Not because you thought he betrayed you or Sam though he definitely did—but because he let it happen. Because he stood there, quiet.

You didn’t want to pick sides. God, you really didn’t. But it felt like he already had.

He said he didn’t ask for it. Said he wasn’t even sure how it happened. But he kept showing up to their briefings, kept running missions with them, kept wearing that title like it didn’t burn.

And the worst part? The government—the government—was backing them. Funding them. Controlling them. You grew up watching them twist heroes into weapons. And now they had Bucky.

You tried to talk. At first, it was calm. Then it wasn’t.

Now it’s been fourteen months. And you barely recognize the way your fights stretch out, sharper, faster, more frequent. Less about the Avengers and more about everything that’s not being said.

You still love him. That’s not even a question. And he loves you. You know that. But sometimes love isn’t enough to close the space that’s growing between two people who don’t see the world the same way anymore.

You try. You both do. But it’s harder than it used to be. Way harder.

This morning, you show up at the compound with coffee in your hands, the paper tray trembling just slightly from lack of sleep—and everything else. It’s your way of saying sorry without saying the words. Not for what you fought about, but for the way it happened. For the silence after.

That’s how you find yourself stepping off the elevator and into the team’s living space chest still aching from the night before—just in time to hear it:

"Weren’t you going to talk to him?"

"I already did," Bucky says. His voice is low, tired. Like he’s already lived through the argument in his head too many times to want to say it again.

"And?"

"It went poorly."

You stop just past the doorway, your stomach twisting. You shouldn’t have heard that. But now that you have, you can't pretend you didn’t.

“You spoke to Sam?” you ask, stepping into the room fully.

Everyone looks up. The weight of too many eyes lands heavy on your skin. No one says anything. They don’t have to. Everyone knows what’s been going on—what’s been quietly breaking between you and Bucky for over a year now.

“I brought coffee for everyone,” you offer, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. It doesn’t hide the tension. It only highlights it.

Then, gently to Bob: “I got you decaffeinated tea.”

“Thank you,” Bob says, offering a soft smile, trying to smooth out the edges of the moment. But it doesn't do much.

You turn back to Bucky, heart in your throat. “You spoke to Sam?”

He exhales slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?” you ask. You already know the answer. You’re just hoping it’s not the one you’re thinking.

“To see if he would stop all of this,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face.

You stare at him, jaw clenched. “I told you he wouldn’t. Ross is breathing down his neck. He basically has his hands tied.”

Bucky shakes his head, frustrated. “That doesn’t give him the right to make this whole thing hell for us. It’s not our fault that Valentina decided to do all of this.”

You feel the words catch in your chest before they come out. “But you didn’t fight it.”

The room is still. Even the air feels heavy.

Yelena, sitting off to the side, casually adds, “You do know that he filed for copyright of the name.”

Bucky turns toward her, caught off guard. “Did he?” Then his eyes swing back to you. “See? We're not doing anything. He’s taking it too far.”

You feel heat rise in your chest. Not anger exactly—something messier. “Look, the Avengers stay with the one who has the shield. He has the right to start up the team again. And don’t forget—you’re the one who told him he should.”

“I never said that.”

You glare at him, the words hitting before you can stop them. “He vented to you, Bucky. You gave him advice. You told him Steve didn’t make a mistake handing him the shield. You told him to lead—to build something new. The Avengers. And now not only is there a new team, but you’re in it. With the same government that once tried to erase him. And you didn’t even try to understand his side."

He scoffs, voice rising. “Sam’s side? He’s the one who doesn’t want to speak to me! He’s the one who’s blaming me like I planned this!”

“What happened during that call?” you ask, arms crossed tightly in front of you like it’s the only thing holding you together.

“I told him—” Bucky starts, then shrugs, eyes flicking away. “I told him he was being ridiculous. That there’s already an Avengers team. That there’s no reason to start a second one.”

Your lips part, but it takes a second for the words to come. “So you basically told him to back off.”

“He’s making this really difficult,” Bucky mutters.

You feel something in you crack—quietly. You can't keep arguing. You lost all willpower. You grab your purse off the counter. “I’m not doing this right now,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

But behind you, his voice calls out, rough and wounded. “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

You stop. You turn. Slowly. “I’ve been hearing you out for fourteen months, Bucky,” you say. “Every time. I’ve listened. I’ve tried to understand. But you signed on with them. What more is there to hear?”

He steps forward, like being closer might help you hear him better. “It’s not like that—”

“No?” Your voice trembles, but the anger in it keeps it from breaking. “Because it feels like exactly that. And fine, let’s say you didn’t sign up for the politics, but you’re still here. Standing next to them. Like that shield and that name didn’t come with blood and pain and history.”

His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. That flash of guilt flickers in his eyes again—but he swallows it down too fast. Again.

“This isn’t about Sam.”

You almost laugh. “Everything is about Sam.”

“I didn’t want this,” he snaps. “But sometimes we don’t get to wait for the perfect cause to show up. The world’s on fire. Sam had time—he could’ve acted. But now he’s creating this new team out of spite.”

You look at him like you don’t recognize him for a second. “And sometimes you don’t even realize you’re helping the very system that tried to erase your best friend from history...That tried to bury you.”

He flinches. That one lands. You can see it in the way he goes still.

You take a shaky breath. “Sam bled for that shield. He earned it. But they made him prove himself again and again. Until he was almost broken. And now you’re smiling for the cameras next to the same people who happily tried to hand that legacy to John.” You glance at Walker. “No offense.”

“Some taken,” Walker mumbles. You ignore him.

Bucky’s face darkens. “I haven’t forgotten what they did. But I haven’t forgotten the threats out there, either. This team… it’s not perfect. But we show up. Sam’s team haven’t shown up at all.”

“And when they do?” you say, stepping closer. “Are you really going to go up against Sam? Against his team? Over a name?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

It feels like a punch to the ribs. You stare at him, voice soft and hollow. “And what about me?”

That shatters something in his expression. You see it—the flicker of fear he tries to bury but can’t. Because this time, it’s different. You’ve fought before—circling this dilemma for months, both of you carefully pretending it lived outside your relationship. Like you could keep love and ideology in separate rooms. But this? This is the first time the line disappears. The first time it feels personal.

And you can’t pretend anymore.

“We’re a family, Bucky. After Steve, it’s always been us three. And now you're ready to go against him? Over a group name that we both know belongs to him.”

“I want to be where I can help,” he says, quieter now. “Sure, the government backs us up, but we're not letting them control us. We're on the right side."

Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. “And what happens when the lines between right and wrong blur, Bucky? When the people you’re working with start justifying things again?"

He doesn’t answer right away.

You lower your voice, barely above a whisper now. “What happens when history repeats itself?”

He looks at you, offended. “You think I’d let that happen again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

The silence hung there like a bruise. No one said a word.

Silence settled between you again, broken only by the muffled sounds of the team whispering amongst themselves, trying not to be obvious, failing miserably.

You turned toward the window because it was easier than looking at him. Easier than seeing what was—or wasn’t—left in his eyes.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant, cracked at the edges.

“I can’t follow you into this, Buck.”

You heard him breathe in—sharp, like maybe he hadn’t expected that. Or maybe he had.

“I never asked you to,” he said. But there was something in his voice. A break. A catch. Something small but real.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You nodded, once. No drama. No grand speech. Just… done. Then you turned and walked toward the elevator.

No one stopped you.

You felt their eyes on your back. You felt his most of all.

The elevator dinged open, and you stepped in stiffly, trying to keep your hands from shaking and your heart from breaking right here in front of them.

The doors started to close.

He still didn’t move.

Still didn’t say your name.

And that? That was the part that broke you. He was letting you go.

Only when the doors shut and you were alone did your shoulders slump. Only then did the breath you'd been holding finally let go—and it came out shaky.

You didn’t cry. Not yet.

You pulled out your phone, meaning to call Sam. Ask if you could crash for the night.

But your screen lit up before you could type.

Your lock screen.

That damn photo.

You and Bucky, wrapped up in each other, grinning like idiots. Some blurry picture someone else had snapped at some rooftop barbecue. He had his arm around you, his mouth near your ear. You were laughing like the world wasn’t ending.

Back when things still felt easy.

Before sides. Before names meant more than people.

Before all of this.

You stared at it, and your chest ached. Actually ached.

Different times. Different battles. Same man.

But maybe not the same love.

You’d followed him through hell and worse. You would’ve followed him anywhere.

But not this time.

Not into something that went against everything you believed. Not when it meant losing pieces of yourself just to stay close to him. Not when it meant standing against the memory of the only real family you've ever had.

Ahhh, I seriously love getting Bucky requests—they're always my favorite to write!

Also, I know this whole Sam vs. Bucky situation has stirred up a lot of emotions, but honestly, their friendship is so strong that I doubt it'll last long.

Anywhoooo I hope you enjoy this one! Love you all and thank you for all the support!!!!!

Pleaseeeee send me more requests (I'm on a Bucky roll right now lol)! And to those who have requested don't worry I'll get to yours soon!

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 2

paige x azzk

word count: 7.1k

a/n: just wanted to get this out before i got too busy this weekend. kind of moves the story forward a little bit but not much lol. let me know what you think if you can 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Azzi didn’t see Paige again for about two weeks.

Not that she was counting. That would be weird…right?

The Sparks’ starting shooting guard wouldn’t admit to anyone—not even herself—just how often the blonde had crossed her mind in that time. How many random moments she spent wondering what Paige did when no one was watching. If she ever took a day off. If she had any hobbies that didn’t involve punching something until her knuckles were raw.

She told herself it was just a casual curiosity. That it was normal to think about someone who barely acknowledged your existence but still managed to leave an impression. It was the—your mind craving what it can’t have kind of thing.

Once on their way to a game in Seattle, Azzi had asked Cam about her. Just in passing, trying to keep it casual. Cam had glanced up from her phone, smiled a little as she thought about her sister, and rattled off the usual—Paige liked her space, didn’t go out much, trained more than she slept and that she just had her weekly lunch date with her the day prior.

That was it. No further elaboration. No insight.

So when Cam mentioned that Paige would be in Dallas for All-Star weekend, Azzi wasn’t about to admit the small wave of anticipation that washed over her. Or the stupid little jolt of excitement that followed.

Because she hadn’t forgotten that house in the hills. Or the girl with the blue eyes and quick hands who didn’t smile but had somehow still managed to get under her skin.

…

As soon as someone stepped into the arena for All-Star weekend all they would notice were the bright lights, cameras flashing, and fans on their feet. Azzi had just taken her warm-up shots for the three-point contest and a towel was now slung over her neck as she walked back toward the sideline with a bottle of water in hand.

Her eyes moved toward the tunnel entrance when she heard Cam’s laugh cut through all of the noise. Rickea was next to her, clearly having just said something that had Cam laughing. A couple of their teammates trailed behind, but Azzi didn’t fully process which ones they were. Because Paige was trailing slightly behind Cam and Rickea and Azzi had to do a double take.

She didn’t have on sweatpants and a hoodie. Instead, Paige had on baggy low-rise pants that showed the band of her boxers and a black tank top that clung to her skin perfectly, revealing the lines of her stomach muscles. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and a simple silver cross chain sparkled at her neck. She had silver huggies in her ears and rings on a few of her fingers. The contrast made Azzi freeze for just a second, because damn—she looked good.

Azzi had known Paige had a nice face; everyone with eyes did. A sharp jaw and pretty eyes, light freckles if you looked close enough. But Azzi had only ever seen her in gym clothes. This version was attractive in a completely different way.

Azzi blinked, forcing her gaze away, her heart skipping once before she reached for her towel again to wipe her face—like that would distract her. It didn’t. Her hands felt just a little warmer now.

Eventually, during a lull before the contest started, Azzi walked toward the sideline where her teammates were gathered. She greeted them with quick hugs, some of them teasing her about bets placed for her to win.

Eventually her eyes drifted to Paige. She was standing up near the back, hands in her pockets, Paige gave her a once-over, expression unreadable as always before giving her a simple nod. “Wassup.”

Azzi arched her eyebrow, her smile making an appearance. “You came for the show?”

Paige’s head tilted slightly. “That's what we’re calling it?”

Azzi stepped a little closer to hear her over the noise, crossing her arms. “Well, I didn’t come here to lose.”

Paige’s eyes flicked over her face, lingering for a second longer than before when they made eye contact. “Let’s hope the ball agrees.”

Azzi laughed. “That almost sounded like encouragement.”

“Wouldn’t call it that,” Paige replied dryly.

Azzi tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. “So you won’t have a problem putting a little bet on the table then? Seems like that’s what everyone’s doing.”

Paige blinked at her in confusion. “A bet?”

“Mhm.” Azzi didn’t break eye contact. “When I win, you have to get a drink with me.”

Paige didn’t blink. “I don’t drink once I have a fight scheduled.”

Azzi smirked. “Alright. I’ll get a drink—and you can sit there and pretend to enjoy yourself.”

A breath passed between them. Paige’s gaze finally lifted back up to meet hers, unreadable as always. “And if you lose?”

Azzi shrugged, eyes a little bright. “You tell me.”

Paige watched her for a moment, considering her options. “You do a workout with me.”

Azzi’s smile grew. “Perfect, so I win either way.”

“You do?”

Azzi tilted her head to the side slightly in a flirtatious way, her gaze softening. “Either I get you out or I get you alone. Win win.” With that she turned and walked back toward the court.

Paige just shook her head, lips pressing together like she was fighting off something—maybe a smirk, maybe a sigh.

Paige looked over at Cam, her voice dry. “What’s with your friends flirting with me?”

Cam just shrugged, looking at something on her phone. “You’re weirdly their type, apparently.”

Rickea leaned around Cam with a hand on her chest. “Nobody can replace me though, right, Paigey-poo?”

Paige didn’t even look in her direction. “A fly could replace you.”

Rickea gasped dramatically, hitting Cam’s shoulder. “Did you hear that? She’s so disrespectful.”

Cam laughed. “You know that’s just how she says she loves you.”

Paige shook her head, but her jaw relaxed just slightly, her eyes moving to Azzi as she took her position on the court.

Round one passed without much drama—Azzi setting the tone as soon as she stepped on the court for her turn. Her form was smooth and consistent. Rack after rack, shot after shot, she barely missed. By the time she reached the final ball, the crowd was on their feet and it was obvious to everyone she’d be advancing.

Rickea, Cam, and Rae were up and yelling before the buzzer even sounded. “That’s my shooter!” Cam shouted, hands cupped around her mouth. Rickea was clapping so hard it echoed, while Rae jumped and hollered, almost spilling someone’s drink beside her.

Paige didn’t move much. She just sat in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, a bottle of water balanced in her lap. Her expression stayed unreadable, but her eyes never left the court.

After her turn Azzi sat with her warm up jacket unzipped, bouncing one knee as the next shooter lined up. She wasn’t really watching—at least not the court. Cam and Rae had walked over to talk to her in between her turn.

Her gaze drifted again, pulled without permission to the row of seats across the court where Paige sat, arms draped over the back of Cam’s empty chair like she had nothing in the world to care about.

Until someone smacked the back of her head.

Azzi blinked in shock but Paige didn’t even flinch knowing exactly who it was.

It wasn’t until the woman—Azzi recognized her after a second, DiJonai—stepped around the chair and stood in front of Paige with her arms open expectantly that Paige finally moved. She shook her head, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her mouth, and pushed herself up. She threw one arm lazily around DiJonai’s shoulders, pulling her in for a quick hug.

DiJonai said something that made Paige huff a laugh—one of those small ones that looked more like exhaling her amusement than expressing it.

Azzi tilted her head. She didn’t notice she was staring until Cam leaned down near her ear. “Careful,” Cam said quietly, so no one else could hear. “You’re gonna make it obvious.”

Azzi glanced up at her, lips twitching. “I’m just studying the competition.”

“Nai’s definitely not competition.” Cam said casually before she fully processed Azzi’s words. Then she pulled back slightly, her eyebrows raised. “Pause. Competition?”

Azzi shrugged, casually. “Maybe.”

Cam stared at her for a moment, long enough that Azzi met her gaze. Then came the slight shift—her shoulders straightening, ‘big-sister’ mode taking over.

“Wait, let’s get one thing clear Az—”

Azzi held up a hand, laughing. “Relax. I’m not trying to fuck are with your sister’s head.”

Cam narrowed her eyes but didn’t say anything.

“I just wanna get to know her,” Azzi added, this time without any sarcasm.”

Cam studied her a moment, then finally said. “Just don’t come crying to me when she disappears on you for three days and pretends it’s normal.”

Azzi grinned. “Noted.”

Cam leaned back in her seat with a quiet scoff. “And you better come correct. She’s my sister so no matter what the situation is I’m going to be on her side. ”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

Once the conversation settled Azzi’s gaze drifted right back across the court—drawn in again without even meaning to.

Dijonai had taken the seat beside Paige, her posture relaxed. One leg was crossed over the other, her foot bouncing lightly, the outer curve of her knee pressing against Paige’s from the way Paige was taking up space—her legs wide, both arms draped loosely over the sides of the chairs next to her like she owned them.

Their conversation seemed to flow in low tones easily. What caught Azzi’s attention was the way Paige was talking. More than usual. Not animated, but more consistent, like she didn’t feel the need to censor herself around Dijonai. She still wasn’t look directly at her, gaze mostly ahead or on the court, but every now and then, when Dijonai said something that almost pulled a laugh out of her, Paige’s mouth would twitch at the corner—one of those rare flashes of expression Azzi had been waiting to catch again.

It didn’t seem flirty but then again it did seem a little more intimate for Paige.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, watching the scene unfold with curious eyes. Just observing the scene.

Then Paige’s eyes flicked over to her and she caught Azzi looking.

Their gazes locked across the space, a weird static humming between them. Paige didn’t glance away. She just held the look, seemingly reading Azzi in the same way that the brown eyed girl had just been doing.

Azzi raised a single eyebrow, challenging the silent conversation.

Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t frown either. She just looked for another second—and then slowly turned her attention back to Dijonai, as if the moment hadn’t happened at all.

"You're still talking too much,”" she said dryly, leaning back further in her seat. Her voice was calm. She didn’t need to look at Dijonai for her to know it wasn’t serious. Just Paige being Paige.

Dijonai bumped her knee against Paige’s with a mock offense. "And you're still pretending like you don’t like Dallas so here we are.”

Paige’s lips parted like she might answer, but her eyes drifted back to Azzi

She was still looking but bolder now. Like she wanted Paige to know she wasn’t hiding it.

Paige didn’t turn away again. Letting her gaze linger longer than it should’ve. Long enough for her brain to feel that subtle pull again. What the hell was she doing?

Dijonai said something else—something about the skills competition—but Paige didn’t really catch all of it.

“Mm,” she responded automatically, but her eyes didn’t leave Azzi.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, smiling a little. Nothing obvious. Just the tiniest invitation.

Paige swallowed, then finally shifted her attention back to Dijonai with a delayed blink. But even as she spoke, her thoughts were still across the court. “So wait what’d you say she did this time?”

Dijonai sighed, resting an elbow on the back of Paige’s seat as she leaned in a little. “She didn’t do anything wrong, technically. Just… she shuts down every time I bring up anything serious. It’s like dating a wall. She’s irritating.”

Paige nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch as her eyes scanned the court. “And you’re trying to get serious right. Settle in Dallas?”

Dijonai gave a dry laugh. “Exactly. Thank you, Confucius. Or however you say it.”

Paige let out a breath at her last sentence—almost a laugh. “Maybe she just need more time Nai.”

“Paige, she's literally had time. We been doing this for years. ” DiJonai leaned her head back, her knee pressing more firmly into Paige’s because of how Paige still had her legs spread out. “I’m not asking her to propose. I just want her to tell me if I’m wasting my time. Anything.”

“You tell her that?”

“I did. Got a bullshit ass ‘I’m hearing you’ and then she changed the subject.”

Paige finally glanced over. “Want me to talk to her?”

Dijonai laughs before saying, “Hell no. I won’t have a girlfriend when you’re done.”

Paige huffs a laugh at this.

Dijonai tilted her head before saying, “But look at you being all supportive and shit.”

“I have my moments.” But as she said that Paige’s eyes drifted to where Azzi was talking to Cam before she looked back down at her shoes.

Dijonai leaned forward a little bit and smirked. “You worried about me or ole girl who’s been staring at you since I sat down?”

Paige didn’t react. Just blinked once. “Cam’s friend?”

“Mmhm,” DiJonai said. “She got that ‘undivided attention’ look. She trying to make it clear she want you.”

Paige’s eyes had already wandered back to Azzi and she shook her head once. “Cam’’s friends always flirting with me.”

Dijonai leaned back with a grin. “Azzi look deadass, though.”

That earned her the rarest thing—Paige laughing, the blonde biting her bottom lip a little to stop the smile. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “I noticed.”

The final round of the contest was louder. Brighter somehow, even with the same lights. The energy from the crowd had tripled. But to Azzi it all dimmed for a moment as she stepped behind the line to start shooting again.

Thousands of eyes tracked her every move, but somehow, she only felt two. She knew it was the blue ones. She felt them but they weren’t distracting. If anything, they just reminded her that she actually wanted to win the contest.

The moment she started she was moving with a mechanical ease. Her eyes stayed on the rim the entire time, her release time consistent as she moved through the racks. Once her final ball dropped through the net, she let her follow-through hand for a second longer than necessary. She had only missed two shots. After letting the cheers from the other players around her settle, Azzi's eyes cut toward Paige, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Across the court, Paige didn’t smile back but Azzi caught the way her chest shook slightly. A laugh, maybe. Quiet and held close to the chest like everything else about her.

Next to her, Dijonai narrowed her eyes at the blonde. “What was that about?”

Paige’s gaze didn’t move. “We got a bet.”

Dijona raised her eyebrows. “You have a bet?”

“Mm,” Paige hummed, like it barely mattered.

Once the contest wrapped and Azzi had won in a landslide she gave a very brief interview and was presented with the trophy that she didn’t care much about. She handed it to her manager and eventually, her feet carried her toward the edge of the court, where Paige and Dijonai were sitting in the middle of a conversation that slowed when she neared.

Azzi greeted Dijonai first with a kind smile, the kind of warmth that was for familiar players who'd shared the floor with her enough times to earn a mutual respect. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Dijonai replied, pulling her into a half hug. “Congrats.”

Azzi thanked her and her smile lingered before her eyes shifted to Paige.

Paige hadn’t moved much, still lounging like she had nowhere to be. But her eyes were already on Azzi when she looked over.

“So…I win.”

Paige blinked, nodding slightly. “Yeah. You did.”

Azzi smirked, stepping in just a touch closer, lowering her voice. “I don’t get a good job? Only missed twice, and not even a pat on the back?”

Paige glanced at her, just the corner of her mouth twitching. “You get a drink with me. Worth more than a pat on the back.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow. “You’re really committing to the whole emotionally unavailable bit, huh?”

Paige took a breath, eyes flicking down to Azzi’s shoes before dragging back up. “You’re the one who wanted to bet. Don’t start acting like you need compliments now.”

Azzi leaned her weight onto one leg, arms crossed loosely. “Maybe I just like hearing you talk.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment, then asked, “That why you were staring?”

Azzi’s smile grew, but her voice stayed quiet. “Maybe. You gonna start keeping count or something?”

Paige didn’t respond the way she knew Azzi wanted her to, didn’t smirk, didn’t frown. Just let out a short breath through her nose and said, “Tell me when and where.”

Azzi tilted her head again, like she was studying something. “Tomorrow night. I’ll find somewhere quiet.”

Paige gave the faintest nod. “Text Cam.”

Azzi’s eyes sparkled, and she leaned in just a little. “You’re not gonna give me your number?”

Paige stood up casually. “I don’t give my number to strangers.”

Azzi squinted her eyes, her lips tugging into something between a smirk and a pout. “I’m a stranger?”

Paige’s eyes flicked over her face. “I don’t know your favorite color.”

“Pink,” Azzi answered without hesitation.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Guess I have some work to do then.”

Before Paige could reply, Dijonai stood back up, brushing down her skirt. “Can you come with me? I gotta go get ready for the skills challenge in the back.”

Paige gave her a quick nod, then looked at Azzi one more time. “Tell Cam to give you my number.”

And with that, she turned and walked off, leaving Azzi standing there with her arms slightly crossed and a smile tugging at her lips.

…

Azzi [2:08 PM]:

so about that drink…

where’s your favorite spot in dallas?

Paige [2:14 PM]:

i don’t go out like that

you can pick

Azzi [2:16 PM]:

hope you like rooftops and overpriced appetizers

Paige [2:20 PM]:

sounds like you googled “places in dallas to impress a girl”

Azzi [2:21 PM]:

and it’s clearly working since you’re still texting me

7:30?

Paige [2:22 PM]:

send the address

i’ll meet you there

…

Later that night Azzi stepped into the rooftop lounge just as the sun began to dip behind the skyline, casting a glow across the space. Her shirt was cropped—black with just the right cut to hint at the abs beneath. She had on high-waisted jeans and her hair was pulled half up, half down, her soft curls falling just past her shoulders. There was something easy and confident about the way she moved through the crowd, like she belonged anywhere she went.

Paige didn’t look over right away, but the second she felt her presence, her eyes flicked to her—sweeping over Azzi’s figure a little slowly. She greeted her before turning her attention back to the bar in front of her.

Azzi slid onto the stool beside her, shoulder brushing Paige’s for a second before she leaned her elbows on the bar. “You always look this thrilled to be out, or is it just for me?”

Paige didn’t look over. “Depends who I’m out with.”

Azzi grinned. “So...you like the place? I picked it just for you.”

Paige gave the space a once-over. Exposed brick walls, low lighting, music just under the noise of conversation. “Didn’t peg you for the moody rooftop type.”

Azzi shrugged. “Multifaceted.”

They sat in a comfortable beat of silence before Azzi leaned in slightly. “Soo is this the part where I pretend to enjoy myself?”

Paige’s lips twitched, barely. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow. “You’re not gonna entertain me at all?”

Paige gave her a sidelong glance. “You invited me here, remember?”

“That’s true.” Azzi swirled the ice in her water with her straw. “I figured you’d at least try to keep up. Thought you were competitive.”

Paige exhaled a quiet breath. “What—you used to women falling all over you or something?”

“Yes, actually.” Azzi said without thinking about it. Then, with a tilt of her head, she added, “You’re not?”

Paige looked at her. “What do you think?”

Azzi let her eyes sweep over Paige for a second—deliberately slow on purpose. “I think if they’re not, they’re definitely missing out.”

Paige’s eyebrow arched slightly, a small scoff escaping her lips as she turned back to the bar. “You don’t stop, huh?”

Azzi just smiled and swirled the straw in her drink, watching Paige over the rim of her glass. “So…you like hitting people for a living?”

Paige let out a short laugh through her nose. “Something like that.”

Azzi leaned her elbow on the bar, chin resting in her hand. “You ever think about why?”

Paige’s gaze dropped to her water for a moment, fingers tapping lightly against the glass. “It’s quiet,” she said finally. “Everything goes still. You physically can’t think about anything else while you're there. Just…them or you.” She shrugged lightly.

Azzi nodded slowly, studying her. “So it’s like peace in chaos.”

Paige didn’t respond right away, but her eyes flickered with something—recognition maybe. “Sure.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, head tilted slightly, saying nothing.

Paige’s eyebrow lifted. “What’s that about?”

Azzi blinked innocently. “What?”

“You,” Paige said. “Always looking at me.”

“Well, one—you’re nice to look at. Two—still trying to figure out how to make you smile.”

Paige looked at her again, more direct than before. “What if I just give you one right now?”

Azzi shook her head, a grin spreading. “Wouldn’t be genuine. And I’m not a cheater.”

That pulled a soft chuckle from Paige. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” Azzi said, folding her arms on the bar. “I want to earn it.”

Paige tilted her head, eyes flicking over her. “You always work this hard?”

Azzi shrugged. “Only when I think the reward’s worth it.”

At these words Paige leaned back slightly, arms crossed as she looked at her like she was trying to figure her out—maybe for the first time, maybe not. “You don’t even know me.”

Azzi’s voice softened. “Then tell me something I don’t know.”

Paige took a long breath, eyes flicking down for a second before lifting again. “Look…if you think I’m some project or sum,” she said, her tone calm but slightly tight. “Or if you got this weird fixation on tryna fix me—I’m not interested…truthfully. I’m good.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. She just watched her quietly before saying, “Who said anything about fixing you?”

Paige shrugged, but it wasn’t careless—it was careful. “You’re just…too interested in tryna get me to talk. Smile. Open up.”

Azzi let out a small laugh, not mocking her, it was lighter, more like surprise. “That’s because I’m attracted to you, Paige.” She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Paige blinked once, eyes steady on her. “Like I said. You don’t even know me.”

Azzi leaned in slightly, resting her elbow on the bar. “That’s kind of the point of talking, isn’t it?”

Something flickered across Paige’s face—quick, almost gone before it could land.

Azzi decided to add, “I’m not trying to fix you. I just…like what I see. And I’m curious about you.”

Paige was quiet for a long second. “Curiosity gets people in trouble.”

Azzi smiled. “Only when it’s not mutual.”

Paige tilted her head slightly, seemingly unimpressed. “You think it’s mutual?”

“I think you wouldn’t be here with me if you weren’t at least curious.”

Paige let the words hang there for a moment before replying, dry as ever, “What if I’m just kind?”

Azzi laughed and gave her a look showing that she was unconvinced by the words. “You don’t strike me as the type to entertain people out of kindness.”

Paige’s lips twitched. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

There was a pause and something crackled in the silence between them.

Azzi leaned back just slightly, deciding to tease Paige some more. “You going to keep pretending like you don’t like me, or should I give you more material to work with?”

Paige’s gaze stayed fixed on the bottles behind the bar. “I don’t know what I think about you yet.”

Azzi smiled like she’d been waiting for the honesty. “Well, I can help you with that. If you let me.”

Paige exhaled lightly, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “That so?”

“Mmhmm. I’m good with people. Real good if they let me be.”

“Mm.” Paige’s fingers tapped once against her glass of water. “You this confident with everyone or just me?”

Azzi tilted her head. “Just you, lately.”

Paige didn’t look over, but the corner of her mouth curved up slightly. “Lucky me.”

“You are,” Azzi replied, her tone casual, like it wasn’t even up for debate.

They fell into a pause. It wasn’t awkward—just space to breathe. Then Azzi added, “What would I have to do to get you to relax for real?”

That got Paige to look over. “I am relaxed.”

Azzi raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sure…What do you do for fun?”

“Hit a bag.”

Azzi rolled her eyes lightly. “Outside of that.”

Paige thought for a moment before saying. “Cardio.”

Azzi let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “You are exhausting.”

Paige just shrugged, unapologetic.

“Alright,” Azzi leaned on the bar, turning slightly toward her. “If you couldn’t work out, couldn’t hit a bag or do any training for a day—just one—what would you do?”

Paige thought for a second. “Prolly watch basketball.”

Azzi perked up, smiling. “See? We’re getting somewhere. Why basketball?”

Paige’s eyes dropped to the rim of her glass. “I grew up watching Cam play.”

Azzi nodded, quietly interested. “How’d your families meet?”

“Our dads were best friends and lived down the street for each other,” Paige said. “So we grew up together.”

Azzi’s expression softened. “That makes sense. You two definitely have that annoying sibling vibe.”

Paige just hummed in agreement, eyes still on the bar.

Azzi didn’t fill the silence right away. She just let it hang there, like she was getting used to the rhythm of Paige’s pauses.

Then, casually she asked, “Are you single?”

“I wouldn’t be at a bar with another woman if I wasn’t.”

Azzi let out a low laugh. “That’s fair. Just had to make sure.”

Paige was already looking ahead again but she already knew what made Azzi ask her that.

“DiJonai is prolly my best friend,” Paige said plainly.

Azzi tilted her head, eyes still on her. “What makes you think I was asking because of her?”

Paige let out the faintest breath—maybe a laugh, maybe just air. “You haven’t seen anyone else to make you ask.” She paused, then added, “She’s a less annoying version of Cam. Only less than Cam because she’s in Dallas most of the year and Cam pops up at my house like it's hers.”

Azzi nodded as she listened. “So…has anything ever happened there?”

That pulled Paige’s gaze. Her eyes flicked to Azzi, and this time, the edge of her mouth curved—barely. “You ask a lot of questions,” she said. After a second, she spoke again. “To answer—no. She’s like my big sister. Spent all-star weekend complaining to me about her love life actually.”

Azzi leaned back with a quiet “Mmhmm,” her smile growing just a bit.

Paige gave a slight nod, but didn’t say anything—just let the moment settle. Paige’s eyes drifted toward the bar, then to the seat in front of Azzi. “You don’t have a drink,” she said, a statement more than a question.

Azzi glanced down at her water, then back up. “Tequila pineapple,” she said with a small grin. “Unless this is some kind of setup.”

Paige didn’t rise to the bait. She simply caught the bartender’s attention with a subtle nod in Azzi’s direction.

Azzi turned toward the bartender to order, but her eyes flicked back to Paige with a quiet amusement. “Didn’t think you were chivalrous.”

Paige kept her eyes forward. “I’m not.”

When the bartender brought Azzi’s drink over, he lingered a second longer than necessary, his gaze settling on Paige. “Where do I know you from?”

Paige looked up at him, her expression blank as ever. “Nowhere.”

He squinted like he was unconvinced. “Nah, I swear I’ve seen you before…”

She shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

The bartender looked like he might press again, but something in Paige’s expression—or lack of one—shut it down. He let out a soft “huh” before walking off.

Azzi sipped her drink, watching Paige over the rim of her glass. “You sure you’re not famous?”

Paige didn’t look at her. “Positive.”

Azzi hummed, amused at Paige’s clear disdain for the topic. “Could’ve sworn I watched you in a fight once. Women were basically throwing their clothes at you.”

Paige’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Probably somebody else with blonde hair and blue eyes again.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You saying you don’t get that kind of attention?”

“I’m saying I ignore that kind of attention.”

Azzi grinned. “So what kind do you pay attention to?”

Paige finally turned her head toward her again. “Apparently the ones who don’t stop asking questions.”

Azzi lifted her glass again, smirking before she took a sip. “Sounds like I can keep your attention then.”

Paige didn’t deny it—just leaned back in her seat as she replied, “You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?”

That earned a soft laugh from Azzi, who took it as her cue to keep going.

The next forty five minutes passed in a rhythm that didn’t feel rushed or forced—it was almost steady. Azzi did most of the talking, not in an overbearing way, but with the kind of ease that made silence feel optional. She told Paige about growing up with younger siblings, how she hated running unless it involved a basketball, and her low-key obsession with romance novels. Paige offered small comments, dry humor, the occasional question that showed she was listening even if her body language stayed relaxed and unreadable the entire time.

Azzi ordered a second tequila and pineapple, then a third—this time switching it to cranberry after Paige made a sarcastic joke about how she probably ruined Sponebob’s house at this point. Azzi raised an eyebrow, grinning as she took a sip of her new drink.

“Happy now?” she teased.

Paige’s expression barely shifted, but her chest moved with a quiet laugh. “Didn’t know you cared to make me happy.”

Azzi leaned in slightly, her brown eyes dancing. “I aim to please.”

Paige stared at her for a moment—fighting the urge to lick her lips. “Crazy thing to aim for.”

Azzi smiled. “Only if I’m not good at it.”

Before Paige could respond, the bartender reappeared, snapping his fingers as if something had just clicked. “Nah I remember now—you’re that UFC fighter who broke that girl’s jaw!”

Paige’s gaze barely lifted away from Azzi. “Am I?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, grinning. “I just watched the video—man, that shit was crazy. Her shit was fucked up me and my buddies were talkin about it for weeks.”

Paige didn’t respond. Just nodded once slowly.

“You got that real killer instinct for real. I’ve seen a lotta knockouts, but that one? Different. You training for something now?”

Paige’s jaw moved slightly like she might answer, but she just shook her head once.

The guy kept going, oblivious. “That right hook? Crazy brutal. You always fight like that?”

Another slight shrug. Her eyes stayed on her glass.

“Damn,” he muttered, clearly impressed. “I wouldn’t be caught dead messing with you. You ever think about teaching classes or something?”

Azzi’s head tilted as she watched Paige—curious about the interaction but staying quiet.

Paige let the silence stretch before finally saying, flatly, “Not really.”

The bartender leaned his forearms on the bar, still animated. “Why not? I’d definitely take a class—no hesitation.”

Not a people person.”

He laughed. “Nah, that’s fair.” He tossed his towel over his shoulder. “You just got that look, y’know? Like you don’t fuck around. Gotta be wild, getting in the cage like that.”

Paige gave the faintest nod, eyes still forward.

The guy lingered a little too long, clearly trying to stretch the moment. “So how long you been training? Since you were a kid prolly right?”

She entertained it—barely. “A while.”

“Yeah you definitely could teach a thing or two then. Especially to guys like me. Willing to learn you know,” he laughed.

Paige turned her head toward him. “You’re kinda interrupting our conversation.”

That got him. He blinked, then looked over at Azzi like he’d just remembered she was there. “Oh—my apologies, sweetheart. I didn’t mean no harm. Just got a little excited to talk, that's all.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “It’s okay.” Her tone was smooth, but her eyes flicked back to Paige.

Once the bartender walked off, Azzi swirled her drink, then looked over at Paige with a smile. “I think you might actually be famous.”

Paige tilted her head slightly. “I think you might like attention.”

Azzi laughed softly, leaning her elbow on the bar. “Only when it’s yours pretty.”

That got Paige to glance at her, just for a second, before her gaze returned to the glass of water in front of her.

Azzi caught it. “You never react to compliments.”

Paige didn’t look back. “You want me to react.”

Azzi smirked. “So you are playing hard to get.”

“No,” Paige replied dryly. “Not in the business of satisfying people just for the hell of it.”

Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?”

Paige turned toward her slightly. “Work for what?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “You.”

Paige didn’t blink. She just looked at her evenly for a long moment before lifting her glass of water and taking a sip. “I’m not a prize, Azzi.”

Azzi rested her chin on her hand, still smiling. “Didn’t say you were. Now can you tell me why you won’t accept my compliments?”

Paige's eyes flicked over to her. “You like bets, right?”

Azzi perked up slightly. “Yes.”

“If you can float around for the next month, I’ll accept your compliments.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted. “Why a month?”

Paige’s gaze dropped briefly to the condensation on her glass before answering. “I can get a little…tense closer to fight time, for lack of better words. Not everybody can handle that.” She gave a small shrug. “I’m not dense—I know it’s something I need to work on. But that’s where I’m at.”

Azzi faked a look of shock, hand to her chest. “This is you relaxed? Wow. Who would've thought.”

That drew the faintest curve at the edge of Paige’s mouth.

Azzi leaned in slightly. “Can I at least flirt?”

“If that floats your boat.”

Azzi smiled at that, pleased with the outcome. “It’s a bet, then. What do I get when I win?”

Paige looked at her. “You tell me. You’re the one winning apparently.”

There was a pause. Then Azzi said, “A date.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “A date?”

Azzi nodded once, holding her gaze. “Mhm.”

Paige hesitated just a second, then gave a small nod. “Alright bet.”

Azzi reached her hand out. Paige looked at it, but still shook her hand. “What’s this?”

“Shaking on being friends,” Azzi said. Then, after a slight pause, “For a month.”

Paige smirked, just barely. “Friends, huh.”

Azzi grinned. “Friends…For now.”

After another thirty minutes at the bar—Azzi nursing one last drink and the conversation never quite losing its playful edge. Once the two of them decided to call it a night Paige slid off her stool and pulled the keys for the rented car from her pocket. “I can drive you,” she said simply, already heading toward the door.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I can Uber.”

“Unnecessary,” Paige replied, opening the door and waiting.

The ride to Azzi’s hotel was quiet in a comfortable way. The Dallas lights flickered through the windshield as quiet music hummed through the speakers—nothing distracting, just enough to fill the space. When they pulled up to the curb of Azzi’s hotel, Azzi turned to her. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Paige nodded. “Goodnight, Azzi.”

Azzi smiled, lingering for just a second before stepping out. Paige didn’t drive away right away. She waited until Azzi was safely in the lobby, then reached for her phone.

She pulled up DiJonai’s contact.

Paige [10:17PM]:

where’s that gym u were telling me about?

The response came almost immediately with a dropped pin.

DiJonai [10:17PM]:

You want me to meet you?

Paige thought about it for half a second, thumbs hovering before she replied.

Paige [10:18PM]:

u don’t have to. just need to hit somethin. haven’t been in a gym today

DiJonai [10:18PM]:

I’ll meet you.

Paige liked the message, tossed her phone in the passenger seat after pulling up maps, and drove off.

When she got to the gym Paige sat in her car with the engine off, one arm draped over the steering wheel as she stared out at the empty lot. The gym looked exactly how she liked it—quiet, barely lit from the soft glow of streetlights bouncing off the windows. She didn’t move until DiJonai’s car pulled in beside her.

Paige stepped out and popped the trunk, pulling out a gym bag that had seen more miles than most people she knew. DiJonai stepped out of her car and put her hands in her hoodie pocket as they walked toward the entrance of the private gym.

“How was your date?”

Paige didn’t miss the side eye Dijonai threw her way. “Wasn’t a date.”

DiJonai just smirked and flicked on the lights as they walked in. The fluorescents buzzed overhead, illuminating the rows of heavy bags, speed bags, mats, and benches. As soon as the space lit up fully, Paige felt her body respond—her shoulders loosening, chest less tight. Like just seeing the setup gave her permission to exhale.

She glanced over at DiJonai as she walked toward a bench. “You wanna hit?”

DiJonai shrugged like it wasn’t a question. “Yeah.”

They settled across from each other on a bench, facing inward. Paige unzipped her bag, pulling out a pair of hand wraps. Without saying anything she motioned for DiJonai to give her one of her hands. DiJonai lifted one and Paige started wrapping her knuckles with ease as the two of them sat in silence.

As Paige tightened the wrap around DiJonai’s wrist, DiJonai gave her a look. “Okayyy…so how was your not date?”

Paige didn’t glance up, just shifted to grab DiJonai’s other hand, her eyes still focused on the wrap. “It was cool. Just talked.”

“About?”

“She asked me about fighting. Talked about basketball a little.” Paige paused for half a second. “She flirted nonstop.”

DiJonai’s eyebrows shot up at this, a grin spreading across her face. “A pretty girl was flirting with you all night, and you look like you’re in pain and dragged me to a gym. Please make it make sense.”

Paige motioned for DiJonai to flex her hand so she could finish the wrap. “Not sure if you heard,” she said dryly. “I’m fighting somebody who’s fucked up every person she’s stepped in the cage with.” She finally looked up, sarcasm laced in her voice. “So I’m sorry if I’m a little distracted.”

DiJonai dropped down into a deep quad stretch as Paige started wrapping her own hands.

“So how’d you respond to all the flirting?”

Paige gave a small shrug, eyes on the wrap. “Told her to give me a month, basically.”

DiJonai switched legs. “So you’re interested.”

Paige didn’t look up. “I’m not…not interested.”

“But?” DiJonai asked, already knowing there was one.

Paige let out a breath, securing the loop around her thumb. “I can’t wake up without thinking about what I can do that day to make sure I don’t get my shit rocked in a month.”

That made DiJonai laugh, it was a short real one. Not surprised or concerned. Just letting the subtle joke land.

And that’s what Paige loved about her—everyone else either flinched or tried to change the subject when she joked like that. DiJonai just let her say it and kept it moving.

“The money must’ve been nice,” DiJonai said, still stretching.

Paige hummed as she finished up her hand wrap. “1.5. 2 if I win.”

DiJonai stood up straight, shaking her head. “Damn. That’s crazy. I’ll make sure I send my invoice for the free therapy.”

Paige laughed as reached into her bag and pulled out two sets of gloves, tossing one to DiJonai without looking.

“Exactly, so I can’t really think about shit else right now even if I wanted to,” she said, flexing her fingers as she slid her gloves on.

DiJonai looked at her as she adjusted the velcro on her gloves. “That’s fair. You’re locked in. I get it.”

Paige nodded once. “Doesn’t leave much room for flirting and cute drinks, though.”

“Which is why you dragged me out of bed to punch something,” DiJonai said with a laugh.

“You volunteered, I said you didn’t have” Paige responded back, laughing too as she stepped toward the mat.

The two of them moved in sync, warming up—light footwork, shoulder rolls, stretching. One they were about to start hitting Paige circled her quietly, eyes scanning like she was a coach.

“Your stance is too narrow,” Paige said, gently nudging DiJonai’s front foot out with her own to widen it. “You’re gonna fold if someone comes at you heavy.”

DiJonai adjusted. “Didn’t know I signed up for a critique tonight.”

“You didn’t,” Paige said, with a small smile. “But I can’t help it.”

DiJonai laughed mumbling, “Control freak.”

Paige didn’t deny it—just nodded as she watched DiJonai hit the speed bag a few times before moving to her own bag, slipping into a rhythm that calmed her for the first time today.

[rain-water-flowers]

Take You Down

WC: 1738

Synopsis: Hyunjin doesn't think anyone knows about your relationship. Enter Felix. Literally.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (you know better), dirty talk, desperation, very slight exhibitionism, very slight voyeurism, softdom!hyunjin, switch!felix? (maybe), sub!reader, reader is out of it for like half of the fic, jerking off, reader didn't explicitly consent to Felix watching but she's all for it, I think I got it all?

A/N: This was a request from a reader, soooo thank you! There was supposed to be some plot to this. That went out of the window when I started writing the smut. Im disappointed in myself, smh. Thanks to my beta @midnighthazee who continues to put up with my continuous smut writing. Enjoy!!

Y/n was excited when Hyunjin told her that the members were gonna be out for the day — everyone having schedules and being too busy to even think about being at home. Except for Hyunjin. 

He had just gotten back from a promotion video shoot for a skincare company. He had two days off before going back to his regular schedules, leaving him time to spend with y/n.

Hyunjin Do you wanna come over? The members are at schedules all day. I miss you…

Y/n had almost jumped for joy at that text. She hadn’t seen Hyunjin for a month now, starting to feel the distance drag on her. 

Y/n Of course! I’ll be over in like 30 I’ve been waiting to see you for weeks now :((

Hyunjin told her how much he missed her, and that he would cook her a nice big meal when she came over. They planned on watching a movie and cuddling until y/n inevitably had to leave before the members got back. 

He felt bad about keeping their relationship in the dark, but he feared that other people would make it seem like he wasn’t able to do his job if he was in a relationship. That’s how they always act, and he wanted to save y/n from the backlash they would receive — even from management. 

Y/n didn’t care, she wanted the whole world to know. The backlash didn’t matter, and if his managers wanted to scold them then they could scold them. It wasn’t going to keep y/n from being in his life either way. 

— — — —

When y/n had arrived at his dorm, she knocked softly and he opened the door eagerly. Hyunjin immediately took her into his arms and squeezed her so much she couldn’t breathe. 

“I missed you so much, baby.” He said, smiling brightly at her and taking her face in his hands. 

“I missed you too, so much.” She replied. She closed the distance between them and their lips met. 

It had been a month since they’d last seen each other, but now, finally alone, they couldn’t get enough of each other. 

Y/n moaned into the kiss, her fingers making their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer and pressing herself against him. Hyunjin was just as desperate, his hands roaming her body possessively as he guided her towards his bedroom. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about you these past few weeks,” Hyunjin groaned against her lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Fantasized about having you in my bed again.” 

Y/n whimpered, arching into his touch. “Me too,” she breathed. “I need you so badly.”

They stumbled over to the bed, already tugging at each other's clothes. Y/n yanked Hyunjin’s shirt over his head trailing her fingers down his abs before untying the string on his sweatpants. 

Hyunjin groaned as he pushed her shirt up and off, cupping her breasts in his hands and squeezing them, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “Fuck, I’ve missed these,” he rumbled, dipping his head to suck one into his mouth. 

Y/n cried out, her head falling back as pleasure raced through her. She kicked off her jeans leaving her bare except for her underwear. Hyunjin made quick work of that too, tossing it aside and exposing her fully to his hungry gaze. 

“Gonna worship every inch of you,” he promised, his voice roush with desire. “Remind you who you belong to.”

Y/n shivered at his words, the primal possessiveness in his tone making her pussy clench with need. “I’m yours,” she gasped. “Only yours.” 

Hyunjin smiled dangerously. He loved hearing those words from her. He pushed her back onto the bed, settling between her thighs and rubbing his hard cock against her dripping cunt. 

“Fuck you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, reaching down to stroke himself. “Gonna fill you up so good, hm?” 

Y/n spread her legs wider, mind only focused on him and his words. His voice had a strong effect on her, and she could’ve sworn he was born a siren. 

She keened as he pushed into her slowly, his thick cock stretching her open and hitting all the right spots. He was so big it was hard not to. 

“Ah, fuck, yes,” Hyunjin hissed, starting to move faster after pulling out and pushing in once. “Take it all, baby.” 

He reached up and took her hands into his, interlacing their fingers and squeezing. Y/n could only moan in response, wrapping her legs around his hips as he pounded into her. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust. 

They moved together like they were made for each other, and they were. Hyunjin fucked her so well, sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine with every pass. Y/n arched her back, urging him on as she chased her release. 

They were so in their little world of pleasure, they didn’t hear the front door shut loudly, the automatic lock clicking into place. They were so lost in each other that they didn’t hear the bedroom door open, Felix letting out a gasp as he saw the scene in front of him. 

Hyunjin noticed him when he gasped, not stopping his thrusts, and only looking in his direction to confirm his thoughts before turning back to his girl, thrusts turning rougher. 

Y/n made eye contact with Felix, unconsciously clenching around Hyunjin. He groaned and moved one of his hands from hers to wrap around her throat. 

“You see him over there, baby? See how desperate he looks just from seeing us?” Hyunjin whispered in her ear. Y/n let out a moan at the sight of him. 

“Looks like we’ve been made.” He said, an amused tone to his voice and a small smirk on his face. 

Felix finally came back to himself after what felt like an hour of staring at the unbelievably arousing sight in front of him. “I–I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had company!” He rushed out, sounding stressed. 

All y/n could do was moan and lay there and take what Hyunjin was giving her. She was barely able to acknowledge the fact that he was saying anything, Hyunjin’s thrust feeling too good. 

“We were just getting started,” Hyunjin said, that addictive siren-like tone in his voice again. “Are you just gonna stand there? Grab a seat, hm?” 

Felix’s brain glitched.

He stuttered out a response, feeling hot all over. He walked over to the gaming chair in the corner of the room, sitting down and facing the scene in front of him. His dick was so hard in his jeans it hurt. 

Hyunjin turned his focus back to y/n, pounding into her at a ravenous pace. She was gonna cum soon. She could feel it building up and Felix’s presence wasn’t helping. 

Hyunjin could feel her squeeze around him. “So tight,” he groaned, extra loud for Felix. “Gonna cum, sweetheart?” He asked, knowing she wouldn’t answer. She was barely present. 

Felix had taken off his jeans and pulled his cock out of his underwear. He was so hard and red and leaky. He had never been this turned on in his life. Hyunjin kept showering y/n in his dirty words and Felix was so embarrassingly close to cumming all over himself. 

It was made worse when Hyunjin looked his way, gripping y/n’s jaw and turning her head to face Felix. “Doesn’t she look so fucked out, Lix-ah?” 

Felix groaned loudly, taking in the pleasured look on her face and stroking his cock faster. Hyunjin smirked and brought his hand down to her throat, restricting her airflow. 

It took three more thrusts for y/n to squeeze around him harshly, moaning so loud throughout her orgasm that Hyunjin would have been afraid the neighbors would hear if he didn’t feel so good right now. 

He let out a loud groan at the tight feeling of her squeezing around his cock. Felix couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned loudly, pitch rising as he came all over himself. He was twitching, stroking himself through his orgasm and letting out soft little moans. 

Hyunjin came next at the sight of Felix cumming and the feeling of y/n squeezing around him. He moaned loudly, the sound tapering off into a groan as he filled her up, pumping into her and working himself through his orgasm. 

Y/n was so out of it, she didn’t even realize he pulled out, subconsciously clenching to keep his cum inside of her. 

“That’s a good girl,” Hyunjin said softly in her ear. 

Felix bit his lip nervously, waiting for Hyunjin to kick him out after he just walked in on them and jerked off to the sight of them. 

He didn’t though. He picked y/n up off of the bed and just as he reached the doorway of the bedroom, he turned back and jerked his head toward the hallway. “Come on,” 

Felix immediately got up and followed him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He sat on the toilet as Hyunjin sat y/n down on the counter and started a bath for them. 

“How long have you known,” Hyunjin asked, squirting the bubble solution from the bottle into the water. 

“Maybe two months?” Felix said. 

Hyunjin nodded in understanding. “Do the others know?” 

“Not that I know of,” he responded, glancing over at y/n. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“It’s okay, you were gonna figure it out sooner or later. My main problem is our management. They can be real assholes.” Hyunjin gritted out, walking over to y/n and lifting her off of the sink and into the bathtub. “Get in, Lix.” 

Felix stood and climbed into the tub, sitting opposite of y/n while Hyunjin sat behind her. “I won’t tell them. It’s not my business anyways.”

Hyunjin smiled at that, feeling his love for his band mate increase as he started to wash y/n off. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to tell the rest of the group. They would all be supportive, and would back him when he inevitably told his managers. 

Little did he know, they already knew. Felix had been the last to find out. 

[solecize]

°⛧  ‧  ₊   　 　⠀mnemonic 　⠀⠀⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀⠀ [2]

　 　⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 *ੈ  ✩  ‧  ₊  ˚  .ೃ

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: swimmer!jk x female reader, college au, slow burn friends to lovers to ??, fluff, angst, slice of life, coming of age

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, substance use, college party and hookup culture, mentions of greek life hazing, characters experiencing just about every feeling a lost college student goes through, depictions of and discussions surrounding mental health (depression, anxiety, substance abuse), disgusting amounts of yearning and clueless pining, yes he's her tutor at one point, yes they're in denial, also features other third gen idols, dare i say found family, there is a beach episode and a fireworks festival too lol

in which a little box of memories tells the story of how you and jeon jungkook slowly, but surely, fell in love against the backdrop of the growing pains of your college years. jungkook presents this box to you as a final gift at graduation and each item in the box is a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the forces that brought the two of you from strangers to friends to more. 

⇢ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐱: masterlist. / prologue. / the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop. / ticket to the haunted horrors house (admission for two). / a worn out deck of cards. /handwritten no-bake cheesecake recipe. / cd soundtrack for stand by me (1986). / travel brochure to derry beach. / a clipping from the school newspaper. / pieces of confetti. / one empty tequila shooter. / epilogue & the final item.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: see masterlist for chapter summaries if u want also i edited this while fried so was it really editing

the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop

 the first time he ever saw you was at the cafe at the student union centre. 

 the bean was situated at the bottom floor of the student centre building and was the most popular stop for pre-class caffeine. it was a pretty spot, as sunlight streamed in through floor to ceiling windows and overlooked the quad. at all hours, it was bustling and filled to the brim - the morning of the first day of classes was the worst of them all. the entire shop teemed with figures, some hunched over laptops and others pondering at the menu. you knew it would be busy, ignored the fact, and that was why you stood in line for a latte with a pained expression on your face.

 “i’m going to be late,” you muttered under your breath, barely able to peek over the shoulder of the person in front of you to see just how far you were from the front counter.

 there was only about ten minutes until the first ever lecture of your college years and there was still three people ahead of you in line. by your estimates, it would take about five minutes to get to the hall, maybe a solid three if you sprinted. sacrifices had to be made and something told you that you shouldn’t have stayed up all night with your roommate, doyeon, the night before. you needed coffee and you needed it now.

 It was just a relief in general that you got along with her. one of your biggest fears going into college was even making friends after leaving your hometown. you dove headfirst into a new life in a new place and the least you could accomplish was befriend the person you were going to live with for the rest of the year. these were the thoughts that swirled your mind first thing in the morning as you got ready for class, which is why you were late in the first place. 

 by the time you placed your order and received your iced vanilla latte, you could have transformed into usain bolt. you were more than determined to get a running start out of the bean - a little too determined. 

 “ah! oh fuck, i’m so sorry.”

 when you turned around, ready to make the sprint, you’d bumped directly into the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your life. you could say that with your chest, too. he was tall, extremely beautiful eyes, and something about the way his smile reached them made your heart skip a beat. it was a sheepish grin, embarrassed by the collision. his dark hair fell just around his eyebrows, one of them adorned with an eyebrow piercing. needless to say, you did, in fact, have a type and this guy fit the bill like a glove. 

 “no, shit, i’m sorry!” you managed to sputter.

 unfortunately for you, as glorious this meet cute would have been perfect at literally any other time, you were running late from class and your latte was now spreading across the floor. thankfully, none of it ended up on either of your clothes. you could physically feel your life drain from your body, knowing that you were going to fall asleep in the lecture within the first couple minutes without your coffee. 

 the empathy in this man’s eyes knew this, too, and they suddenly lit up. he then thrusted his own plastic cup in your direction.

 “here, do you wanna take mine? i’m not in a rush,” the mysterious man insisted and you could have jumped into his arms, giggling like a school girl.

 the very first time jungkook caught your eye, you felt like you had been struck by a lightning bolt. then, the sharp electricity itched your chest and planted sparks of a feeling you’d never felt before. it was a repetition of thunderous growls that sunk beneath your skin, booming quietly over the years and as you fell in love with him. it was sparks in your bones and in your veins, of jungkook who permanently rumbled in your being. 

 in this moment, you remained collected. there was no way you were going to act like a total fool in front of this beautiful stranger. you took an extra second to give him a once over, he wore a hoodie that read ‘springfield university swimming’ and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

 you feigned reluctance. “oh, no, i couldn’t - it’s my fault anyway.”

 “no, seriously, you look like you’re in a rush,” he shook his head rapidly. “i insist. it’s just a regular iced coffee, but you should have it!.

 as much as you wanted to stay at the bean and flirt your way into getting his number, the reality struck that you had about two minutes to make it to your lecture. 

 finally, you nodded and smiled gratefully. “thank you, thank you - you really just saved my life!”

 “no worries, have a nice day!”

 as you ran off, you could only wish that you got his name. little did you know, you would run into him again and again and not only would you get his name, it became the one constant in your life for the next four years. 

 by now, it was two weeks into the semester and you found out that your roommate, doyeon, was a type a brainiac. she also happened to be in the same major and declared that she would help keep you on top of your work. despite the quiz for your intro to sociology class carrying a very low amount of weight for your final grade, she insisted that the two of you hold a study session a few days prior. 

 it was by luck that jungkook would be one of the few souls lingering around the bean in the late evening. the early september sun hugged all corners of the coffee shop with its curtains streaming in from the darkening skyline, as you gazed out into its streaks of ember and rose. you sighed, wishing that you were outside instead of studying for your first quiz. 

 “it’s literally friday night, why are you studying?” a random voice quipped. 

 you eyes shot up, seeing two guys approach your table. the one who spoke looked somewhat familiar, but the first bit of college had been such a blur. you were introducing yourself in all your classes to dozens of faces and were meeting all kinds of people on campus, in the dorms, and just about anywhere else. you didn’t expect your first semester to be so high-paced and you were struggling to remember names. 

 the second one, though, was definitely familiar. something nagged at you and you weren’t sure what. you hoped that you weren’t staring, but you were trying to calculate where exactly you’d seen him before. his eyes trailed over to you and recognition began winding at the back of his head. then, it hit you.

 he was the one who you crashed into on the very first day of the semester, the mysterious man who selflessly sacrificed his coffee for you before class. your heart dropped and you wanted to shrivel up and hide because that meant it was the same boy who watched you throw up outside the dorms last weekend.

 doyeon looked up and rolled her eyes upon their appearance. “because our free time isn’t being taken up by pledging for those kappa gamma losers like you, seokmin.”

 the boy - seokmin, as doyeon called him - laughed. “it’s kappa alpha psi. i won’t be such a loser in a few weeks when you’re begging me to get you into one of our parties,” he said.

 “sure, sure,” she replied, not convinced. “oh, y/n. this is seokmin, my cousin. seokmin, this is my roommate, y/n.” doyeon gestured to him, already looking back at her notes and disinterested in the conversation.

 seokmin and doyeon could not be more than complete opposites. from the first moment that you met doyeon, she gave you sophisticated, old money vibes. she just looked like her parents owned a beach house on the coast and spent her summers at country clubs. it was intimidating at first, considering your family’s financial background was the complete opposite, but she ended up being much more down to earth than you expected.

 meanwhile, seokmin wore expensive yeezys with mud stains on them, his polo shirt had its collars popped up and his tennis bracelet could blind you. that didn’t take away from his character, though, as he held out a friendly handshake. 

 “hi, nice to meet you,” seokmin flashed a smile that reached his eyes. “this is jungkook, we’re on the swim team together.”

 “we’ve met,” you and jungkook both said in unison, which forced you to resist a wince. 

 jungkook, instead, chuckled at you. “i didn’t take you to be the type to study on a friday evening.”

 you sighed, feeling the embarrassment creep up on you in the form of reddening cheeks. to your left, doyeon was confused and looked between the two of you. you figured that you would tell the story instead of giving her questioning look a silent answer. 

 ***

 last weekend, you came to the conclusion that college was going to be really, really fun - or so, you kept slurring, as your other roommate, yeri, helped you into an uber. it was the end of the first week after moving in and she convinced you that it was a good night ot get loose. she was definitely the party girl out of your trio that dormed together and was ecstatic when you accepted her invitation to join you at a bonfire party that night. it was one of the first things she said to you actually, as you met just ten minutes before the party - yeri was already a social butterfly by the first week of school and had been getting up early and leaving late nearly everyday.

 “it’s so fun, i love it here,” you sang, as yeri giggled at you and pushed your legs into the car.

 earlier that week, on the very first day of move in, you had an inkling you would wind up in this sort of situation.

 it was apparently a well-known fact across the student body that stratton hall was one of the least desired residence buildings. it was a poorly designed dormitory with strange floor layouts and an air-conditioning system that worked on a system of luck, maybe some prayers. the walls were also notoriously paper thin. worst (or best, depending on what kind of student you were) part of it all was that it was a party hall. students were loud and loved to have fun. that was definitely why some students hated stratton, or that it was the only dormitory that had three people rooms. 

 the idea didn’t really occur to you to mind. it would have made more sense that you would, as you were an only child and never had to share a space in your life. if anything, you were a bit desperate for friends.

 a strange feeling pooled in your stomach after your mom dropped you off and you were left alone with no one to even share the news with. you walked away from your hometown and didn’t look back on your old life, which meant the people in it were also a memory put behind you. 

 the falling out you had with your childhood best friends after high school ended was not only timely, but deceivingly painless. it came at a time where you had to pack up regardless, so you made sure the change wasn’t something to dwell on. you figured you would make new friends in college, but nobody could have prepared you for how empty you would feel on the very first day. 

 there was no one to tell about how you were now eighteen and on your own, which meant that you could do anything you wanted. buy a lottery ticket and some cigarettes. if you ever failed college, you could go ahead and sign up for the military. you could get one of those butterfly tattoos you keep seeing on your pinterest feed. the possibilities were endless. . .but, no one to share these thoughts with.

 “oh!”

 a pretty girl with dark hair hauling a louis vuitton suitcase burst into the room, as if she didn’t mean to open the door with such force. her eyes were wide like a doe and she caught her balance by clutching onto the timber door. 

 for a second, you forgot that other people would be living in this room. after shooing your overprotective mother away, you dragged all your boxes inside by yourself. the room was just as small as you expected, but the scene outside framed a view of the quad and let sun pour in a way that made the eggshell white walls sparkle. there was a bunk bed and one twin bed. you claimed the latter, not feeling bad about it. you had just plopped down to test the mattress for how cardboard-y it would feel, when she walked in. or, rather, nearly fell in. 

 “hi,” you started. “er, doyeon?”

 it was a lucky guess, a real fifty-fifty chance based on your papers from the housing department, and you got it right. she nodded with a smile that belonged into a toothpaste commercial. you liked the sunglasses perched on top of her head, they were tiny black circle lenses and pulled back her hair in a way that just the perfect amount of strands fell out in the front, framing her face. she had long eyelash extensions and wore jean shorts with a plain t-shirt. 

 doyeon walked up to you, not even blinking at the fact that you took the twin bed. “nice to meet you,” she extended her hand.

 you were grateful for her instant warmth. otherwise, you would have probably second guessed every single interaction, hoping that she didn’t secretly hate you. doyeon made it clear that she was genuinely looking forward to living with you.

 making friends on the first day of college was akin to making friends on the first day of kindergarten. everyone was hopelessly trying to make friendly eye contact and propped their doors wide open, crossing their fingers that the people passing by in the hallway would say hi. most people filled out their “get to know us!” piece of paper and pinned it to their doors by the end of the week. 

 you and doyeon became friends as fast as any kids on the playground. the first day of college was just like the first day of kindergarten, where these things came fast and naturally.

 after a bit, it became obvious to you that doyeon was struggling with meeting new people, but she also wanted to try hard. she seemed shy and you admired that she wanted to move past it. 

she admired your confidence that shone in your easy smile and casual suggestions of what you wanted to do together, automatically considering her a friend. the two of you went to the dining hall together for the first time ten minutes after this meeting. 

 “do you know anyone else here?” you asked, digging into your mess of a salad. the salad bar in the dining hall had an insane amount of options and you piled a little bit of everything onto your plate. 

 honestly, you panicked. you’d never seen so many choices at once and the line moved at lightning speed. you were pretty sure you ended up putting three different dressing onto your meal. 

 doyeon picked at her lasagna. “my cousin, that’s it,” she replied. “i hope we meet our other roommate soon.”

 “do you think she’ll also want to do a spa night with us?”

 “maybe she can braid our hair since we don’t know how to.”

 you thought for a moment. “that would be nice.”

 there were some signs of life from your third roommate - kim yerim - but, never her actual presence. by the time the two of you returned from the dining hall, she had moved her belongings onto the empty top bunk and claimed a desk. she put up her taylor swift records on the wall and laid out pink, satin sheets on her mattress. after that, she seemed to constantly come home later than everyone else and wake up earlier, leaving before either of you could have a conversation with her. you saw her several times in the middle of the night, her figure turning on the top bunk and it felt like she was a sleep paralysis demon that only appeared at ungodly hours. by the time the sun rose and your eyes fully opened, she was always gone.

 at this point, you were starting to wonder if she was a weirdo or she hated the two of you. maybe she didn’t like the fact that the two of you claimed your beds. but, she was leaving cute little post-its on the door that said “have a good day!<3” and she filled out the get-to-know-me form. you discovered that she preferred to be called yeri and that her favourite movie was legally blonde. all green flags. 

 you and doyeon had been speculating that entire week about when you two would finally meet your third roommate. it was nerve wracking to share a space with two other people for the first time in your life and you’d hit it off with doyeon, so you were praying that yeri wouldn’t turn out to be some obnoxious monster that you would have to be stuck with for the rest of the year. it was a little scary, how she snuck in and out like a shadow without being seen for the entire week. doyeon had a habit of staying up late to read and even she had yet to meet yeri when she came home.

 the behaviour was bizarre and you thought she was going to be insane.

 instead, yeri turned out to be a blonde ray of sunshine that bursted into your room at around six pm on the first friday of the semester, clutching a box of muffins that she bought for you and doyeon. she apologized for not being around, since she was determined to attend every single orientation week event, and introduced herself with a smile. 

 with one glance at her seemingly boundless energy, you finally understood. she was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement and you could totally see how she could survive off of three hours of sleep if her body was so naturally full of energy.

 doyeon chuckled awkwardly. “i was thinking you weren’t real.”

 “i’m an early riser! oh, and my parents didn’t leave after helping me move in until today,” yeri explained. “they insisted i crash at the hotel a few times.”

 she had just entered the dorm and both you and doyeon thought you were seeing a ghost, not believing that it was actually yeri in the flesh. apparently, she had made an effort to explore campus and do just about everything offered to freshmen.

 it was easy to talk to her, though. yeri swung her legs happily as she sat at her top bunk, chatting with you and doyeon like she’d known the two of you her whole life. in addition to attending all the orientation week events, yeri also made it her mission to seek out just about every extracurricular activity at the club fair. 

 “i’ve signed up for model un, cheerleading, the pre-med students association, ceramics club, acapella. . . “

 you blinked. extracurriculars hadn’t even crossed your mind since arriving at college. maybe it was something worth considering if you wanted to make new friends. 

 “were you home-schooled or something?” doyeon blurted out, genuinely concerned. 

 meanwhile, yeri giggled at the statement and shook her head.

 your roommates to be completely different from you, yet you would find out that these girls would become your closest friends and would complement you in ways that you’d never found in people before. the three of you spent the next thirty minutes formally getting to know each other. 

 you learned that doyeon was, in fact, loaded. she said her dad owned a “few” businesses and that was all you needed to know. yeri had all brothers, which was why she was so excited about living with the two of you, even if it was in the dreaded three person dorms. you mentioned casually that your parents just got divorced earlier in the year, but didn’t delve too much into it. not yet.

 introductions wouldn’t last long that night, though, as yeri told you and doyeon that she was off to a bonfire party and invited both of you out. of course, doyeon declined, opting to stay in and read a book. on the other hand, yeri’s sparkling eyes were difficult for you to say no to. 

 and, in a matter of time, yeri was cheering you on by the murky local beach water, as you took a shot of vodka straight from the bottle. and again. and again. the person encouraging you and helping you walk?

 jeon jungkook.

 this boy just showed up everywhere, it seemed. 

 “you’re really good at this!” yeri exclaimed, as if your face wasn’t scrunching into one of complete disgust after the first. 

 the sun was already slowly going down by the time you arrived, as the first glimpse of the stars danced in the sky and twinkled upon you. you didn’t think hard enough to dress properly for the occasion, as yeri left your dorm wearing just itty bitty jean shorts and a tank top, but she didn’t seem to be as bothered by the sea breeze as you were. you chose to wear baggy jeans and a tube top, which was exactly what you were donning all day, and ended up being left shivering as soon as you arrived at the beach. you tried to stay close to the bonfire, which was difficult to do when the crowd began increasing as the night went on.

 this went on for hours and if asked today, you couldn’t remember too much of it. you remember college kids lamely singing along to pursuit of happiness on someone’s busted up bluetooth speaker. at some point, a random beer was shoved into your hand and you hated every sip of it, but felt awkward without anything in your hand, so you kept it as a prop. yeri introduced you to all kinds of people that were blank faces in your memory that night. 

 all blank, except one.

 “jungkook! i didn’t know you were here!” yeri waved happily to an oddly familiar man, along with his friend. “y/n! this is jungkook! we went to high school together.”

 when you looked up and saw who jungkook was, it took you a second to recognize him from the bean. he didn’t seem to realize, though, which you attributed to the mystery liquid swirling in the red solo cup clutched in his hand. he was as incredibly attractive as he was the first time you saw him, now wearing a maroon hoodie and jeans. 

 “nice to meet you,” jungkook said, “oh, this is jaehyun, my roommate.”

 jaehyun didn’t seem like the type to enjoy people on a cold beach with drunk people. you thought he was initially pretty shy, hands stuffed in his pocket and the eyes behind his black frames often gazing into the distance during conversation. he had on a polite smile, but didn’t spoke unless spoken to. 

 meanwhile, the other male was more at ease. you noticed he was chatting with a few other partygoers before yeri approached him, easy jokes and chatter flowing out of him. he’d been in a pretty laid back mood, sipping on the disgusting jungle juice that someone brought. he greeted yeri with a familiar side hug and then, he noticed you.

 right then and there, jeon jungkook wasn’t entirely drunk.

 though he was introducing jaehyun, his own eyes remained fixed on you like glue. for a moment, time seemed to stop, even if it were for a split second. it was a foreign feeling warming your chest when his eyes were locked on yours, just as it was when you met at the bean. you tried shaking it off, but it wasn’t necessarily unwelcome. the feeling was inviting and so were jungkook’s eyes.

 nobody seemed to notice this synergy except yeri, whose lips stretched out into a devious smile. “do you guys want a shot?” she offered, pulling a flask out her back pocket. you didn’t even know she had that. her sneakiness elicited a laugh out of you and that was when you realized that you were properly tipsy.

 without hesitation, you nodded enthusiastically and she handed it to you with a sly smile.

 “what is it?” jaehyun asked, just as you brought the opening to your nose and gagged at the sharp attack on your senses. 

 yeri laughed, “don’t do that, silly! that’s the last thing you wanna do. c’mon, y/n, it’s all you!”

 you caught jungkook’s amused expression watching in the corner of your eye and realized that there was no going back now. even yeri’s face read ‘don’t you embarrass yourself in front of this cute guy,’ so you squeezed your eyes shut. 

 the liquid burned your throat and you nearly gagged it back up once you threw your head back with the flask. your newfound friends were the only reason why you didn’t, as they cheered you on. without opening your eyes, you held out the flask for the next person to take.

 “let’s go, jungkook!” jaehyun let out an amused chuckle, clapping.

 you watched jungkook take a healthy shot out of yeri’s flask like a pro, in spite of the shudder he made after completing the job. as yeri and jaehyun took their turns, jungkook turned to you in low conversation.

 “i’m not a big drinker. . .” you admitted, as the warmth of whatever liquor you drank began to spread across your body. 

 your parents were always the strict type and upon choosing a college hours away from home, you made it your mission to try and do things you were never able to do. go to parties late at night. drink until you were drunk. all sorts of things that you wanted to shape your ‘college experience’. taking shots out of anything was a new development for you.

 he flashed one of those dangerous boyish grins at you, the kind that mothers warned their daughters about.

 jungkook said, “nah, you did good. going out of your comfort zone tonight, huh?” 

 truth be told and although you would never admit it aloud, you entered college blazing and desperate to make friends. this was a new start and you were more than eager to forge a friendship with yeri, with whoever sat next to you in lectures - hell, you were trying to even make friends with the janitor in the science building. 

 “something like that.”

 the ‘something’ ended up being several more shots until standing straight became a chore. 

 you were having the time of your life, taking polaroids and playing volleyball until the time swept by like wind. at some point, after one drink too many, you took a look at your phone and when the words kept moving in your line of sight, you mustered enough self awareness to call it a night.

 you liked this. maybe you could get used to college. subtracting the way your stomach churned after all those drinks would also be nice. 

 at this point, the party split up into different groups by nightfall and you were nestled in a small circle with her and a few other people. others were slowly starting to leave due to the bite of the sea breeze picking up by the shoreline. the party was still lively, as animated conversation weft between everyone with music continuing to play in the background.

 “yeri, uhmmm, i think i should go back now,” you poked her arm. “i’m not feeling too, erm, well.”

 thankfully, she agreed in an instant to return to campus with you. yeri took one look at your face and didn’t hesitate. 

 “of course! i’m getting cold anyway,” she said, completely ignoring the jacket loaned to her from the random boy sitting on the left. 

 at the same moment, sitting in the same circle around a small fire, jungkook noticed the two of you getting up to leave and also stood up. he mumbled something to jaehyun, busy wedged in a conversation with several girls fluttering their eyelashes at them,. he nodded and bade his friend goodbye.

 jungkook already caught up to you before you got too far, eyebrows raised.

 “you guys going back to campus? i’ll order the uber,” jungkook offered, stifling a laugh at yeri, who was fumbling with her phone - too drunk to get past the passcode screen.

 looking back, it took a while to realize that it wasn’t just you and yeri in the uber, but jungkook, too. he’d been the one to open the door for the two of you, ensuring that nobody left anything behind, and even managed to get into yeri’s phone for her to text whoever she needed to. even if he was several drinks in himself, his watchful eye put you at ease.

 midway through, you had no choice but to roll down the window of the uber, desperately needing fresh air or else the contents of your stomach would surely end up on the floor of the car.

 “erm, so you guys are high school friends?” you asked casually, hoping it would take your mind off of the impending disaster in your body.

 by now, yeri was actually knocked out in between you and jungkook. her phone was still lit in her lap and she seemed to be mid-text, now with her eyes closed and mouth hanging open. you thought it was actually cute and a weight was lifted off your shoulders - you were grateful to find a friend in your roommate. you had a feeling that you and yeri would stick around each other for a while. meanwhile, jungkook looked over at her and snorted.

 “actually,” he began, “yeri used to date my older brother. we’re not super close, but we know each other enough - she’s the only other person from our high school to come to school here.”

 that was surprising, as you thought they were actually friends, but you’d also stick by any sense of familiarity if you had someone like that. you came to college without knowing a single person and it’d been one of the most stressful experiences of your life, regardless of whatever adventure your parents promised you would embark on.

 “are you from somewhere far?” you asked.

 jungkook hummed in confirmation. “yeah, out of state. what about you?”

 “about four hours away down south,” you answered. “still so crazy to me. . . how so many people here are from all sorts of places.”

 you were definitely a little bit too far in the deep end if you were swinging your feet, making philosophical remarks out of your ass. jungkook either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, instead entertaining your thoughts with meaningful nodding. 

 “i was a bit nervous about coming here, worried i’d be weird or stick out too much since i’m not from around here.” 

 that was one of the first thoughts you had when you arrived at school. you were second guessing every move, every word you said, because you were so concerned with making friends and creating a good impression on everyone you met.

 you sighed. “so, i’m not the only one?”

 “i almost wanted to turn back when my parents left me alone in my dorm room,” he revealed.

 “that’s a bit hard to believe,” you commented, which made him raise an eyebrow at you. “we just met, but you seem like the kind of guy who’d make friends and get through college just fine.”

 jungkook said, “oh yeah? why so?”

 maybe you had it all wrong. you always thought that beautiful people could have everything they could ever want in the palm of their hands. you found it to be one of those natural abilities that pushed you towards success in life - having people drawn to you, being personable, and not wandering around like a fly on the wall. it took quite the amount of liquor for you to even muster up the courage to not be so shy.

 jungkook was just that. he’d been making random people laugh all night and took shots with strangers like they’d been best friends for years. but, then again, so were you and you weren’t that kind of person.

 when you didn’t answer, jungkook smiled. “my brother told me all about how college is the place where you find yourself and blah blah blah. but, honestly, maybe he’s onto something.”

 those words were the same ones stuck to you like a tattoo. it made you smile - you weren’t alone in clawing for some semblance of a new identity.

 “didn’t realize fresh starts would be so nauseating,” you murmured, now clutching your stomach after the driver went over a particularly bad bump in the road.

 jungkook laughed. “you’re real funny, y/n.” even though you were thoroughly inebriated, the compliment still made your cheeks burn and momentarily made you forget about how the car ride almost just made you throw up. 

 thankfully, the bump happened just seconds before the driver pulled up to your dorm building. you breathed out a sigh of relief now that you were free from the sickness of the car ride. after thanking the driver, you nearly burst out of the car.

 at this point, jungkook shook yeri awake and she groggily stepped out of the car. 

 “hey, when did we get he - oh! y/n, are you alright?”

 yeri scurried over to where you dashed to, now down on your knees and hurling the contents of your insides into the nearest container you could find. unfortunately, it was a pot of daisies outside of stratton that fell victim to your drinking. 

 she didn’t hesitate to come over and hold your hair back. you couldn’t hear much, except her words of encouragement and the feeling of her rubbing your back like a mom. 

 “i’m - ergh,” you were cut off by another round of vomit, “never. drinking. ugh - again.”

 little did you know, this would be a moment between you and yeri that you would never forget. she would bring this night up about as often as she could for the next four years.

 meanwhile, jungkook walked over to the nearest vending machine, conveniently housed just outside of stratton hall, and bought a bottle of water. before he generously handed it over to you, he had also taken a few gulps. you didn’t notice, still heaving over the damn potted plant.

 “shh. . .good job. now, drink up!” yeri said, putting the bottle in your hand, before alarm flashed in her eyes. she frantically patted down her pockets. “crap! i lost my keys.” 

 you groaned. “shit, i’m so sorry - i left mine on my desk.”

 yeri scratched her head. “aw man, i hope doyeon doesn’t hate us for this. . .i’ll call her now,” her shoulders dropped, as she walked away to make the call. luckily, you knew doyeon wouldn’t mind. 

 “i’ll stay by until you guys get into your floor,” offered jungkook, who was now sitting on the bench beside you. “i live on the third floor here with jaehyun.”

 you forgot he was there and now you were embarrassed that he witnessed all that. jungkook didn’t seem to mind, though, completely unaffected. he was too focused on examining your face, as you became initially self-conscious that he was just randomly staring at you. you clocked in that he was also not sober yet either. you realized he was in deep thought when he finally tilted his head at you.

 “i know you. we met at the bean,” he concluded, as if solving a riddle.

 “recognized my look of distress?”

 “i seem to keep giving you beverages whenever i run into you.”

 you laughed, making a crackling sound when you squeezed the water bottle. “yeah, that was me,” you said. “thanks for that coffee, by the way. you saved my life.”

 “i was hoping i’d run into you again,” he mused. by now, you realized that he was conversing with you as you were still hunched over the potted plant, so you swiftly rose to your feet as smoothly as you could.

 you cleared your throat, trying to act casual. “why so?” you asked slowly, unsure what the tone implied was. there was no way he was. . .flirting with you? no, it was the liquor playing games on you. 

 “y/n! doyeon is coming down to let us onto our floor!”

 you and jungkook both jumped at yeri’s shrill voice. she might have woken up the entire block with that yell. 

 the last thing you wanted to do was keep doyeon waiting, considering it was three in the morning and even if she was awake, she was likely tucked in bed. but, there was also some nagging part of you that didn’t want this conversation with jungkook to end. you weren’t sure why, but you just seemed to be lost in a trance with him. he also seemed disappointed that you were to leave, as his shoulders fell slightly with yeri’s announcement. 

 he smiled. “have a good night, y/n.”

 “hold on.”

 jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, as you fiddled around for your wallet. you thankfully found the piece of cardstock that you were looking for right away and handed it to jungkook.

 “what’s this?” he asked, examining the front and back.

 “it’s the loyalty card from the bean. i bought four coffees, so the fifth one is free,” you explained. “you can have it - i owe you one, don’t i?”

 when you walked into your dorm room that night, yeri was already fast asleep, despite having only been a few steps ahead of you. doyeon was, like she said she would be earlier, reading and tucked into bed after unlocking the door for you. you offered an apology, but she only waved it off with a giggle, clearly amused by you two. 

 before drifting off into sleep, you noticed how bare the dorm room walls were and decided you would buy some posters the next day. thoughts of string lights and polaroids wrapped your mind, as you wondered if you would see jungkook again.

 ***

 and that was the last you remembered of jeon jungkook from that night.

 now, he was standing in front of you, at the very coffee shop where you first met and you watched as the memories played back for him in front of his very eyes. eventually, his recollection came back to him and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

 this was your third meeting now and you wondered if it was this easy to run into someone on a campus full of thousands of undergraduate students.

 (you realize by junior year, after watching several friends falling victim to unfortunate situationships, that running into people you would rather die than see is, unfortunately, common.)

 doyeon and seokmin looked between the two of you strangely.

 “uhm, jungkook and i met at a bonfire at the beach last friday,” you explained, eying him. “he’s the one that called you, doyeon, to help yeri and i get back into the building when we were locked out.”

 he was too kind for his own good, considering he waited patiently to ensure that his barely an acquaintance of his brother’s ex girlfriend and a random girl would make it home safe. 

 “oh! that was you?” doyeon nodded slowly. “thanks for that, you’re really nice for helping out.”

 jungkook chuckled, “no big deal. it’s nice seeing you again, y/n.”

 his eyes fell on you and you stifled an ugly, nervous laugh. 

 you managed to swallow down the weight of embarrassment. “are you off to another party tonight?”

 “nah, we just wrapped up practice and shit was tiring as hell. we’re just gonna call it a night, maybe game,” jungkook said. “not all of us are party animals like you.”

 that was definitely far from who you were. the morning after the bonfire, you continued to further swear up and down that you would never drink again. even now, thinking about alcohol made you shudder and you were convinced that you needed several more business days before you could even consider going out, whether there was alcohol involved or not. 

 “hilarious,” you laughed dryly at him.

 meanwhile, doyeon was just growing irritated with her cousin. ”you made the swim team?”

 “pft, obviously.”

 “you’re awful. you couldn’t even get a scholarship,” she shot.

 seokmin rolled his eyes. “that’s what walk-ons are for, stupid,” he said. “kook’s the scholarship, though, he’s freakin’ amazing.”

 as the two went back and forth, you and jungkook shared an entertained look. they fought like siblings and their clashing personalities didn’t help. 

 “anyway, no party tonight, but we’ll be going to the tailgate next saturday, though!” seokmin continued with enthusiasm.

 doyeon began to grumble. “seokmin, you know i don’t go to those things,” she began to wave him off.

 “what tailgate?” you asked.

 jungkook shrugged. “it’s the parking lot party before the big football season opener. campus security doesn’t really care about drinking at these things, so it usually ends up being crazy every year.”

 “you’re so boring, doyeonie, just show up once,” seokmin pleaded with his cousin, before turning to you. “y/n, tell her!”

 “can you leave us alone, we’re trying to study,” she snapped before you could answer and it was more of a command than a request.

 both you and jungkook were not prepared to get in between them, instead continuing to observe the argument with amusement. eventually, doyeon cussed at seokmin enough for him to concede - at least he did after she physically swatted him out of her space.

 “hey,” jungkook spoke up, which made you turn to him. “if you change your mind about the tailgate, let me know.”

 it took a second to realize that he was now pulling a random notebook out of his backpack. jungkook then tore off a random page and began scribbling on it. it was his number. 

 now, you were not the kind of girl to throw up in front of someone you just met and have the confidence to hang out with them again. in fact, you could have probably gone without seeing jungkook ever again for the next four years out of sheer shame. however, you were too preoccupied with the fact that a boy was giving you his number. you were also fixated on the fact that he’d written it down, old school - who does that anymore? these days, guys only ever wanted a girl’s snapchat or instagram.

 you gingerly took the paper, still baffled that it just happened. seokmin and doyeon were still bickering next to you, before jungkook took it upon himself to finally interrupt.

 “let’s go, seokmin,” he insisted, exasperated that they were still going back and forth. 

 seokmin rolled his eyes, but gave up. “yeah, yeah, i’m coming,” he said. “bye y/n, nice meeting you!”

 as doyeon muttered profanities under her breath about her cousin, you were trying to not make it obvious that the piece of paper with jungkook’s number literally burned into your palms. you could have squealed like an idiot. instead, you slid it into your anthropology binder and pretended to go back over your notes for the quiz. 

⇢ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @fancypeacepersona @petiteparler @lanie97 @httpjeonlicious @bleumornings @rpwprpwprpwprw @kikiflwr @kissyfacekoo @knivesdoingcartwheels @joyjunk @jksusawife @haru-jiminn @fancypeacepersona (reply to be tagged and if i forgot to tag you!)

[pankowcrumbs]

The Other Side of Us X Oscar Piastri (Requested)

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Requested: Oscar Piastri x Reader Best friends to lovers. He finally has the courage to tell her his feelings.

If you asked anyone in the paddock who Oscar Piastri’s best friend was, they’d point to me without hesitation.

It had always been us. Since karting days, when I’d been the awkward kid tagging along with my brother, and Oscar had been the quiet, polite boy who always saved me a seat under the tent. Over the years, we’d grown up side by side him behind the wheel, me in the garage with a stopwatch and too many snacks.

We were inseparable. But never more.

At least… that’s what I told myself.

Lately, though, it had felt different. Subtle shifts. The way his eyes lingered when I laughed too hard. How his hand brushed mine but didn’t move away. The text messages at 2 a.m. when he couldn’t sleep. The way he said my name like it held weight.

Still, I never dared to ask. Because if I was wrong, I didn’t want to lose him.

Today was a rare day off, and we were back in Melbourne. I was sat on the bonnet of his car, sipping a takeaway iced coffee while Oscar fidgeted with his keys.

"Why do you always tap them like that?” I asked, watching his fingers rhythmically tap against the steering wheel.

He glanced up. “Nervous habit, I think.”

“What’ve you got to be nervous about? You drive 300km an hour for fun.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

We were parked along the coast, waves crashing in the distance, the sky smeared in soft pinks and oranges. It was the kind of evening that begged for honesty. I wrapped my arms around my knees, my hoodie far too big because it was his, and I’d nicked it ages ago.

“You’ve been quiet,” I said gently.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

I turned to face him fully, my heart thudding. “Okay. You’re not quitting racing to become a surfer, are you?”

He laughed nervously. “No, although the thought’s crossed my mind after that last race.”

I smiled, but it faded as his expression turned serious.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said, voice low. “About us.”

My breath caught.

“Oscar”

“Let me finish?” he interrupted gently, shifting to stand in front of me. His eyes locked on mine, uncertain but determined. “I’ve liked you for a while now. Actually, that’s not fair. I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even realised. I’ve just been too scared to ruin what we have.”

The world tilted slightly. I stared at him, blinking as if that might slow everything down.

“You... love me?” I echoed.

He laughed again, nervous and soft. “Yeah. I do. You’ve been my best mate since forever, and I didn’t want to mess that up. But pretending I didn’t feel it was starting to hurt more than the idea of telling you.”

I was speechless. And that never happened.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, stepping back slightly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

I slid off the bonnet and closed the space between us. He looked at me, open and vulnerable, and I saw every version of us flash before my eyes karting days, silly bets over milkshakes, race weekends, hotel room movies, bad jokes over comms.

And all I could think was: how had I not said it first?

“I was scared too,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for months. Maybe longer. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

His eyes widened, and then his whole face lit up, like someone had flicked a switch.

“You’re serious?”

I nodded. “Completely.”

The relief that washed over him made me laugh. Then his hands found my waist, gentle and unsure, as if asking for permission.

I leaned in first.

It wasn’t a grand kiss. No fireworks or swelling music. Just the soft press of two best friends realising they didn’t have to pretend anymore.

When we finally pulled apart, I stayed close, forehead resting against his.

“So… what now?” I asked.

“We keep doing everything we already do,” he said with a small grin. “Except now I get to hold your hand.”

“And kiss me.”

He smirked. “And kiss you.”

We stood there as the sky deepened into twilight, the waves below crashing with the same rhythm as my heart. For the first time, it felt like everything had shifted into place.

Oscar reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[ochacoca]

MY GOOD-LOOKING BOY

now playing ♫ good looking by suki waterhouse

IN WHICH you take care of your boyfriend who turns into an absolute toddler when he's ill.

wordcount: 753 words + text messages

timeskip!oikawa x reader

You knew that the minute Oikawa started complaining about his sore throat that it was over. You could officially say goodbye to your freedom. All of your weekend plans had to be canceled so you can take care of your fully grown boyfriend who has transformed into a helpless, miserable baby.

And of course if he went down, you had to go down too. ‘We're a package deal’ He would say. What an excuse.

When you walked into the house you were met with the sound of groaning and the sight of Tōru looking extremely pale with a mix of green with a reddened nose. He looked like Rudolph. “Help me.” He said dramatically reaching out to you as if he was about to take his final breath, his voice filled with congestion and two octaves lower than his usual tone.

You barely had time to set down the plastic bag from the counter before he crashed onto you with a grunting sound. He loosely wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder. “Why did you get out of bed?” You asked as you leaned back slightly, pressing your hand on his forehead to check his temperature. Still burning hot.

“You were taking too long.” He mumbled, leaning his body impossibly furthur onto yours. You sighed and grabbed his arm, slowly guiding him upstairs to his bedroom.

“I thought you were never coming.” He muttered under his breath, speaking so lowly because of his sore throat. You couldn't help but laugh at him.

“I only took for 20 minutes.” You reasoned, struggling to keep him up as he leaned onto you with all of his deadweight.

“20 minutes too long.”

Once you arrived, he plopped down on the bed and stretched his limbs everywhere, taking every blanket his could find and stacking them ontop of him.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, already knowing the answer. You brushed his bangs back on his sweaty forehead, slightly pouting at your boyfriend's sicken state.

He grumbled and turned over on his bed, wrapping his arms around himself. “I think I'm dying.” He croaked out.

You scoffed and playfully rolled your eyes. “Quit being so dramatic, youre not dying.” You said as you fixed his position on the bed. “You have a fever.”

“Google told me I have 3 days.”

You jaw slightly dropped. “You trust google more than your pre-med partner?”

“Yes.”

“Tōru!”

“I'm SCARED.”

You tried to fight off the smile the made its way onto your face but you couldn't help it. He could be so annoying when he was sick, but he could be so adorable as well.

You grabbed the medicine and the water you bought from the store. Pouring some pills into your hand, you handed it to him and unscrewed the water cap for him. He reluctantly took the medicine then laid back on the bed after it went down. You placed a wet cloth on his forehead in hopes it'll settle his fever before the medicine kicks in. “Now rest. You really do look like you’re dying.”

He grumbled in response but did as he was told. He was fading out quickly. His eyelids were threatening to shut as he forced himself to keep them open and his cheeks were flushed pink from the fever. Tōru grabbed your hand and held it tightly against his chest.

“I love you so much,” He said drowsily. His eyelids were drooping and he seemed as if he was fading in and out of sleep. “The love of my life. My future nurse. My guardian angel.”

You shook your head and gave a short laugh. “You're just saying that cause I'm taking care of you.”

“Maybe,” He mumbled. “but it's still the truth.” He shut his eyes and stuffed himself further in his blankets.

You continued to sit on the edge of the bed, slightly pressing your body against his. Your hand found its way to his hair, brushing the brown locks back while your hand lingered for a seconds longer than it should've.

“My good looking boy.” You whispered softly as you gently played with his hair. “Still cute even when you're sick.”

A small smile etched its way onto his face. “Especially when I'm sick.” He mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You laughed then pressed a kiss onto his fevered temple.

“Yeah. Especially then.”

requested by @miiikooooooo !

©OCHACOCA 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[morcez]

IFHY

Synopsis: You are forced to work on a project with the man you hate the most, Satoru Gojo. Satoru is the campus fuck boy, but what happens when he tries to add you to his roster?

Content: College au, Fuckboy!Gojo x Nerd!Reader, Nanami Kento x Reader, rejection, mature, suggestive, Gojo is a huge asshole.

enemies to lovers. enemies to even bigger enemies.

wc: 2.4k

Satoru Gojo is the biggest asshole known on campus, the standard fuck boy. He’s a spoiled brat. You hated him. You hated him the same way oil hates water. You hate the way he’d get praised like a god for the bare minimum, you hated how he treated women like mating holes, you hated how damn fine he is. He wasn't fond of people like you either. Girls who don't throw themselves at him and much rather focus on their peace. Guys like him found quiet girls like you as homework answers or a checkpoint to brag about to their douchebag friends ‘Yeah dude, I fucked loser in me lang class.’ It makes you shiver thinking about how gross those types of guys are, and how pathetic you must be to let one in your pants. You’ve had very minimal interactions with Satoru. You weren’t his usual type, so why bother speaking to you?

It was a normal day for the most part. You sat in the back of your ethics class, the class you happened to share with Satoru. You’re not quite sure why he even takes this class, as if he’s ever thought critically a day in his life. He sits in the very front of class, likely to Kento's request. He sits with his two roommates, Suguru and Kento, who couldn’t be any more different from him. 

As class starts, the professor announces that there will be a project that must be worked on with a partner. Nothing out of the ordinary. You look around the class, seeking who you would partner up with. There weren't too many promising options. Maybe Nanami? You've partnered with him before in other classes. He’s probably the only one who’s on the intelligence level. You’re eyeing the handsome blonde so intensely that you don’t even notice Satoru standing in front of you.

“You got a thing for Kento?”

You jump at the sudden sound, then groan, realizing who it is.

“Ya’ know he’s way less classy than he displays himself to be.” He says, looking down at your seated frame.

“I was just going to ask to pair up with him,” you say quickly, hoping Satoru would just go away.

“He’s already partnered with Suguru.” Something in his blue eyes twinkled with mischief. Satoru and Suguru are two peas in a pod. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen one without the other.

“Why aren’t you paired with Suguru?” You ask with your eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

“I’d much rather you be my partner.”

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh. ewwwwwwwwwwwww. You aren't sure what game he’s playing, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let him use you to win.

“No, thank you, Satoru.” You stare him straight in the eye. Expecting him to have a harsh reaction. But he stood there looking at you with the same smug smile on his face.

“Everyone else already has a partner,” he bites his lip to attempt to contain his giggle.

You look around the class to see everyone already seated with another person.

He won.

He begins to turn and walk away, a smug grin still on his face.

“I’ll see you soon, partner.”

It’s been two days since you were forced into being group partners with Satoru. You had Satoru Gojo blocked on all your social media; he had to get your number by begging Kento. Satoru insisted that you should come over and study because "libraries and cafes cause too much distraction." You smelt bullshit from a mile away, but school is too expensive to be fucking around with your grades, so you reluctantly agree.

You honestly contemplated ignoring him and the assignment altogether, but here you are, standing outside of his apartment door. You knock on the door a few times. Part of you hoped that he forgot so you could just go home. The door unlocks and opens carefully. You're greeted by Suguru, his sharp eyes stare at you for a minute before flashing a kind smile.

"Satoru, your partners here!" He yells before letting you in.

Their apartment is huge, it might as well be considered a house. The kitchen and living area are spacious and surprisingly clean. Their home is gorgeous; you couldn't help but compare it to your compact dorm. Both Satoru and Kento are seated on the coach. Satoru gets up once he notices your presence. Kento gives you a small smile and wave, then looks at Satoru in disgust. Satoru gives Kento a cheeky smile in response.

The air felt heavy, and you sensed there was some type of bickering occurring before you arrived. Too scared to say anything, it felt like you were standing on fragile glass.

"Let's get some privacy," He says, staring straight at Kento. He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you to his room. " I wouldn't want us to have any distractions."

Satorus' room is isolated from the rest of the home, standing at the end of a long and empty hallway. His room is actually decently decorated. Posters and Vinyls littered his walls. His desk set up was neat, with expensive gaming equipment, of course. There are flourishing plants decorating his windowsill. You wondered which girl he screwd helped him decorate. Soundproof foam plastered to his wall, you didn't want to think too hard about what he had it for.

You’re sitting in the Satoru Gojo's bedroom. He’s sitting on his bed, a huge textbook sprawled across his lap. You’re sitting at his desk, on his overly pricey gaming chair. You tried to create as much space as possible between you two. You didn't say a word, as if you hoped he’d forget you're there. Hold your breath; scared to breathe too loudly. The man releases a dramatic sigh, finally breaking the loud silence in the room. 

“Ya’ know, the whole point of being partners is to work together.” He says, slightly annoyed. You give a hum in response. You refuse to turn to look at him, opting to look at the words on the computer screen in front of you instead.

He lets out a scoff. “Why so far? Hm?”

You choke on air. You haven't entertained him whatsoever. Why is he trying? Is he that committed to being a whore?

“C’mere." He pats his navy blue sheets, the space next to him. This textbook is sooo confusing. I need your help.” 

You turn to face him. Greeted by a sinister grin. You knew it was a ploy to get you in his bed, but you weren't going to let this horny bastard ruin your grade. With a groan, you stand up from his comfortable gaming chair and make your way over to his bed. You sit as far as you can, while still being able to see the textbook lying on his lap. So not far. He scoots closer to you, closing the already small gap between you two.

“What were you confused about?” You say trying to steady your voice. 

He grabs your hand that's closest to him and drags it to the page, using your hand to point to the portion he was ‘confused’ about. Your breath hitches at the contact.

The nerve of this guy.

“Explain it to me? Please, Smarty?” His bright eyes lingered on you, as if he were not allowed to look away. You refuse to maintain eye contact any longer. Mumbling the explanation he asked for, as your nervous eyes try to find anything else to look at. He continues to look at you, intently and amused, as if your anxiousness was entertaining. His thumb lightly rubs over your hand sensually. 

“So much knowledge in that pretty head of yours.” He coos.

Is he allergic to reading the room? So damn sure that every woman that crosses his path wants to fuck him. 

You're angry. So damn annoyed. Who even is he?

You scoffed and aggressively retracted your hand from under his. You expected him to be angry, annoyed, or surprised. But when you look at him, he has confidence written all over his face. He closes the textbook and removes it from his lap. He turns his body to completely face you.

“Think you’re too good for me, smarty pants?” He teases.

You turn to face him completely.

He’s fucking unbelievable.

“I know I’m too good for you.” You state

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, “What’s the ethics behind being a stubborn know-it-all?”

“Want to tell me what’s the ethics behind you being a dick for a brain whore?” You snap.

He has that flirtatious grin stapled on his face, as if he’s plotting something mischievous. Satoru places his hand on your knee, then slowly glides it up to your thigh. A chill shoots down your spine.

“Want me to show you instead?” 

His words make your stomach flip. His blue eyes make you freeze as if he were Medusa.

Your brain was yelling at you to go off. To scream at him. To hit him. To move his hand. But you didn’t stop him, and neither did you want to.

“You’re gross.” You mutter under your breath. Looking everywhere but at his face. Fearing that if you looked too long, you would've folded.

He chuckles amused. His hand travels up to the waistband of your pants.

“Sooo fucking disgusting.” He mocks

 He hooks his finger over your waistband, using it to tug you close to him.

Sitting face to face.

So close you can feel his breath. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear how fast your heart is pounding.

His hand plays with the elastic of your waistband a bit more like it’s a yo-yo toy. 

“You’re impossible.” You snark at him.

He laughs a bit, then lets go of your waistband. Letting the elastic slap your skin. You flinch at the impact.

“Is that so, smarty pants?” He asks with that filthy grin on his lips.

You give a small nod.

“real cute.” His hand slithers to grab your waist.

“I fucking hate you.” You say this, yet your actions are contradictory to your words. Your body is moving closer to him. Your arms move to rest on his shoulders. “I’m sure you do, sweetheart.” He lifts your hips and moves you closer to make you sit on his lap. You’re straddling the Satoru Gojo. His hands wander around your waist, your hips, and gives your ass some attention too.

“No, I mean it. I really do hate you.” Your hands once again betray your lips as you glide your hands over his muscular shoulders and pecs.

His hands slide underneath your shirt. You slightly jump at the sensation of his warm hands against your cold back.

“I hate how cocky you are, and how you think the whole world revolves around you. I hate how you think rules don’t apply to you…”

His eyes linger on you. The look on his face was unreadable. Was he getting upset? His hands grip on your waist slightly harsh, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your skin.

“I hate how you-“ suddenly his hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb landing on your lips. You finally shut up. He traces his thumb along your lips. He looks at you, engrossed in every single slight movement you make. 

“Well, I hate how you don’t know how to stop running that smart mouth of yours.”

He giggles at your silence.

“Hear that, smarty?” He pauses, referring to the silence. “Much better, right?”

You give him an annoyed glare, not daring to say another word. 

His other hand grips your hip securely. His glowing eyes glance down at your lips with a grin plastered on his.

He's ready to go in for a kiss. The move that solidifies his entry into any girl's pants. He's heard countless 'I would never sleep with him.'s Yet they all end up in his bed. Words couldn't express his excitement to finally add your name to the long list of bedbugs. He didn't care that Kento was upset about his little bet with Suguru to get in your pants. All that mattered was that you're exactly where he wanted you to be. He leans closer to you as he pulls you in. He closes his eyes. He’d never have thought he’d be this close to you, feeling your fluttering breath on your face. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and he’s already enjoying himself way more than he expected, way more than he should.

So very close to the two of y’all’s lips meeting, when suddenly he feels pressure to his forehead pushing him back.

Did you just push him?

Did you just reject him?

He lies back, his elbows holding his upper body up. He looks at you with confusion. His big blue eyes look up at you for answers, just to see you grinning. Satoru looks like a big, sad puppy.

He quickly sits up to be on the same level as you. His hands grip your hips tightly.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” He whines. He fucking whines. His eyes look at you desperately. 

“Real cute.” You mock.

He looks at you as if you’re pure evil. How could you be so cruel, and look beautiful doing it?

“Don’t look so mad." You coo, "I was trying to tell you all the reasons I hated you, but you didn’t want to listen.”

He glares at you, and all the admiration in his eyes is gone.

“You’re such a fucking smart ass.” He barks.

You giggle with amusement.“You’re just mad I didn't get your cock wet.”

 He rolls his eyes at your words. 

“I should get going.” You sing with a sweet smile on your face, in contrast to Satoru’s sharp grimace. You give his shoulders two friendly taps before getting off his lap. His hands loosen their grip on your hips. It was weird. Even though he was seething with frustration, he didn’t want to let you go. He felt despair wash over his body once you were out of reach.

You make your way to his bedroom door, giving him a simple “See you around, Satoru.” Before walking out.

 

Soon after you left, Suguru and Kento went to Satoru's room, finding him lying on his bed, defeated. His hands covered his ashamed face.

Geto leans on the doorframe of Satoru's room. "Never thought you'd finish so fast." Geto calls out to him mockingly.

"Shut up," Satoru mumbles into his hands. "She rejected me."

Kento lets out a loud sigh of relief, and a "thank god" slips from his lips. Suguru laughs loudly at the platinum's defeat. "Smart girl." He says in between chuckles.

"She's not even that smart."

lie.

"She's not cute either."

Another lie.

"I fucking hate her"

Loud incorrect buzzer.

dividers from @v6que

A/N: I haven't made a piece this long in forever, so please spare me. I might make a part 2, so lmk if you'd like to be tagged! Thank you for reading!

[randominchident]

from friends to this

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max verstappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you've been friends with max for as long as you can remember, it takes a redbull engineer asking you out for both of you to realise you want more. (so much softness and longing)

alternative ending possessive version can be read here

You couldn’t remember the exact day you two had become friends. It was some day in middle school, you were sure of that. But the details had blurred over the years. It felt like you had always known each other.

Max had always been in your life.

You had always been in his.

Sitting in each other’s orbits just felt natural—though entirely platonic. That was the part others struggled to understand.

It was laughable the amount of times waiters had brought candles to your dinner table, 'for the mood', assuming the two of you were on a date. You'd stop correcting them after the third time it happened. Besides, it was fun to laugh about. To joke about how much you'd annoy each other if you really were a couple.

"You snore like a bear," you said, laughing over a glass of red wine, "I pity your future girlfriend."

"Doesn’t seem to bother you too much."

“For a free hotel room, I’ll put up with anything.”

He laughed.

After all these years of sporadically sharing hotel rooms, late night drives, unlimited paddock passesand crude jokes—you two had stayed simply good friends. He'd held you through bad break ups and you had held him through every DNF and every crash. You knew eachother like the back of your hand. Friends for life, that was what you always said.

Until things started to shift. Slowly. Subtly. So gently that neither of you really noticed.

It was Free Practice.

Rain had settled over the city days ago and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. The paddock was chaos—engineers scrambling to keep tires warm, trainers trying to keep drivers from catching colds.

Max stood calm in the middle of it all. You watched him, helmet in hand, exchanging quiet words with GP. It was always a strange sort of magic, how he could look so at home in the storm—like it was made for him.

You smiled to yourself.

He’d be fine today. You knew it.

“So, how long have you been together?”

The voice broke you from your thoughts.

You blinked, turning to find Marcus—one of the newer engineers—looming beside your seat. Tall, a bit cocky, but charming in a way that probably worked for him.

“What?” you asked, unsure if you’d misheard.

“You and Max. Been together long?”

You snorted. “Oh. No. We aren’t together. Just friends, y’know?”

It wasn’t the first time someone has misunderstood your relationship with Max. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time someone from Red Bull had made the mistake. Marcus glanced back toward Max, then returned his gaze to you with a slow smirk.

“Damn. And here I thought I had no chance.” He grinned. “You free tonight? I’d love to take you for a drink.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your brain fumbled for an excuse, but none came fast enough.

“Sure,” you found yourself saying. “Why not.”

Barely a few minutes later, Max is by your side, throwing a tyre blanket over you to keep warm.

“It’d be unfortunate if you died of hypothermia before you saw me win on Sunday.”

“Yeah, what would you do without your only supporter cheering in the crowd?” You joked, burrowing into the blanket and sighing from the sudden warmth.

“I’d be lost without you,” he said, mock-solemnly. But there was a warmth in his voice that caught you slightly off-guard.

Max had told you to wear an extra jacket this morning. You had ignored him. He was pretty smug about it, but it didn’t stop him from trying to warm you up—even going as far as to offer his own jacket. As if he wasn't also standing out in the cold.

“Dinner tonight?” He asked, sipping on his water bottle and moving to sit beside you.

“Uh, I’ve got plans actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Plans? With who?”

“Marcus,” you answered, feeling a strange knot form in your stomach. “He asked me out for a few drinks.”

“Oh.”

Max didn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze flickered briefly to Marcus, cold and stiff, before returning to you. There was something unreadable in his expression.

“Well,” he said, his voice casual but slow, jaw tight and face still, “He seems… nice. I guess.”

You smiled slightly, though it didn’t feel true. You were unable to keep the small flicker of guilt from beating in your chest.

That night, as you found yourself in the dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of wine with Marcus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. Not with Marcus, exactly. He was a decent guy—charming in that way that could probably win anyone over—but the whole time, you couldn’t stop thinking about Max.

Suddenly a text came through. You knew who it was before you even checked.

Going ok?

Marcus leaned over to see the message. He scoffed slightly, “I thought you weren’t together?”

“We aren’t.”

“Then why is he checking on you? Need his permission to go out?”

“Of course I don’t. He just…” you weren’t sure how to phrase it. “He just likes to know I’m ok.”

Another text came through, you angled your phone towards your chest so Marcus wouldn’t see:

I can pretend to be sick if you want to leave.

Then another:

I can see you reading these… is he that boring?

You laughed slightly and put your phone away.

It was ridiculous. You were here with someone else. Yet Max’s face kept slipping into your thoughts, his teasing smile, the way he always seemed to have your back without even trying. The way he cared so effortlessly. Always checking to make sure you were safe, you were happy.

When the evening ended and Marcus walked you back to your hotel, you could tell he wanted to kiss you. But a pit formed in your stomach at the thought of it. So you just smiled, thanked him for a nice night (not a great night, but a nice one) and quickly walked into your hotel room.

Being alone again was a breath of fresh air.

The next day, quali day, you found yourself wandering the paddock, watching the flurry of activity around you as everyone prepared. Max was in his element, once again, focusing completely on the task ahead. But when he saw you, that familiar, soft smile curved across his face.

“Survived last night?” he asked, walking over to you, his voice a mix of teasing and genuine concern.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the tiny smile that tugged at your lips.

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward despite your best effort. “Barely. I think I hit my lifetime quota of polite smiles. I can only listen to guys explain their workout routine for so long.”

Max let out a low laugh. “Sounds fucking borning.”

You bumped his arm with your elbow, the familiar rhythm of your banter helping smooth the awkward edge that had hung in the air since last night. “Maybe I just have high standards.”

He tilted his head, eyes steady on yours. “Maybe you just went out with the wrong guy.”

The words hit you in the chest harder than you expected. You opened your mouth—half to laugh it off, half to challenge it—but nothing came out.

Max seemed to catch himself, blinking once, then glancing toward the garages like he hadn’t said anything at all. “Anyway,” he said, softer now, “Glad you survived.”

“I always do,” you replied, your voice not quite as light as you meant it to be.

Another pause. A quieter one.

Then he asked, “Did he try anything?”

You looked up at him, surprised by the question—not because he asked, but because of the way he asked. Not teasing. Not brotherly. Just… careful. Like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“No,” you said. “It wasn’t like that. I don’t think I wanted it to be.”

Max nodded once, but didn’t say anything. His jaw ticked slightly. You noticed.

Before you could decide what it meant, one of the Red Bull crew called his name from across the paddock, breaking the moment in two.

He started to walk off, then hesitated. “You’ll be watching?”

“You even have to ask?”

He smiled at that, something warmer than victory flickering in his expression.

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with a hundred unsaid things heavy on your tongue.

Max dragged the car to pole, of course.

By the time the final times were locked in, your voice was hoarse from cheering and your heart felt like it had been running laps alongside him. You waited until the press was done pulling him in every direction before slipping backstage near the motorhome.

He spotted you instantly, eyes lighting up under the brim of his cap. “There she is.”

You didn’t hesitate. You threw your arms around his neck and held tight, letting him feel the full weight of how proud you were. “You killed it out there.”

He laughed into your shoulder. “You think?”

“I know.”

When you pulled back, his hands lingered at your waist, grounding you. The smile on his face softened as his gaze dipped lower, hovering somewhere near your mouth.

You swallowed. He didn’t say anything else—just gave your hip the lightest squeeze. You thought he would step back, like he always did after a celebratory hug. But instead he stayed there. His eyes remained locked on yours.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing.” His eyes flicked to someone behind you, then back to you.

“Nothing,” Max repeated, but there was a flicker of something in his voice. Something restrained. “Just… you’re here. That’s all.”

You huffed out a small laugh, though your heartbeat was climbing at a concerning rate. “Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer that. Didn’t need to. You both knew where he was thinking of—across a bar table from a different guy, smiling politely, checking your phone too often.

Someone called Max’s name again—sharper this time. He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, then slowly stepped back. His hands dropped from your waist. You tried not to feel the loss of warmth too acutely.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, already backing away.

You nodded, watching him go. The moment, so suddenly, over. The warmth of his hands on your hips lingering after he had gone.

Later that night, you found yourself standing in the hallway outside Max’s hotel room, quietly debating whether or not to knock. He had texted earlier—Movie? My room? Just us?—like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But it didn’t feel casual.

Not anymore.

You knocked.

The door opened almost instantly. He must’ve been waiting.

He stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, barefoot, hair still slightly damp from a shower. Your gaze dropped instinctively to the nape of his neck, the clean skin of his collarbone and familiar freckles.

He stepped aside without saying a word, and you moved past him into the room.

It was quiet inside, dim and warm. The curtains were drawn, a movie already paused on the screen—some familiar, ridiculous action flick with explosions every other minute. You smiled.

“Got snacks,” Max said, moving to the side table. “But no wine. Sorry.”

“Guess I’ll survive,” you said softly, taking off your jacket.

He sat on the bed, remote in one hand, and gave you a small smile that was all shyness and something a little deeper. “You coming?”

You joined him, sitting close enough that your shoulders touched.

The movie played.

You tried to focus, really, you did. But the warmth of his leg against yours, the way his fingers occasionally brushed the comforter close to your hand—it was pulling all your attention away from the screen.

And then it happened. Slowly. Like everything else with him.

Your head dropped to his shoulder.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just let you stay there. Like he’d been waiting for it to happen. Hoping it would. You felt, more than heard, the breath he released. It ghosted across your hairline.

“I missed you last night,” he said, barely a whisper.

Your heart stuttered. “You knew where I was.”

“Doesn’t mean I liked it.”

You turned your head to look up at him. He was already looking down at you.

A beat of silence stretched between you. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

So you reached first.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him a little closer.

“I saw you walking back with him last night,” Max went on, his voice rougher now. “And all I could think about was how he got to be the one beside you. Even if it was nothing. Even if it didn’t mean anything. I hated it.”

The silence stretched out.

“I didn’t kiss Marcus,” you said, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel if it were you.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to your mouth. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

Another breath. Then, finally, his hand rose to your cheek—tentative at first, almost reverent. Like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way. His thumb traced just below your cheekbone, and his eyes were full of something deep and aching.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t sudden. It was slow. Careful. Like he’d been dreaming about it for so long he didn’t want to get it wrong. His lips moved against yours with a kind of quiet desperation, like he was pouring years of longing into the space between you.

You melted into him instantly.

And when you finally pulled back, breathless and heart thundering, Max rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“I’ve wanted that for so long,” he whispered.

“I know,” you whispered back, smiling. “Me too.”

He opened his eyes, and they were softer now. Unshielded. “Please tell me this isn’t just for tonight”

“It’s not,” you said. You knew then, as you think you knew years ago, that this was it for you. Max was always where you were meant to end up.

hope you enjoyed <3 i've never written this trope before so apologise if it dragged a bit! as always requests are open!

[yslgreen]

Fucking Disappointment

Pairing: dbf!Joel x afab!reader - 10k.

SUMMARY: You’ve always disliked Joel Miller, your dad’s grumpy friend and neighbor. Growing up, he was nothing but short responses and cold glares, never bothering to hide how little he cared to even speak to you. Rude. Dismissive.

You never thought you could feel anything for him. But years later, everything feels different. And so does the way he’s looking at you.

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, age gap, mean joel,pet names, alcohol consumption. weed consumption, oral m!receiving, dirty talk, degradation

A/N : First time writing Joel Miller, but this fucking guy is stuck in my head on a loop and I had to get him out of my system. Even created a whole new blog just for him. And now that I’ve written this, I somehow have even more ideas?? No beta, because life is life. Hope you enjoy

Here on AO3

ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ

"Waiting for you at the exit!" the text from your dad read. You checked it one last time as you made your way toward the terminal exit, eyes scanning the crowd. The rolling of your suitcase felt almost too loud in the busy airport, but you barely noticed it as you searched.

And then, a hand waved in the air—there he was. Your dad. His face lit up with that familiar, wide grin, and before you knew it, he was already moving toward you, eager and excited.

As you reached him, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like you were still his little girl. You sank into the embrace, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart familiar and comforting.

You pulled away from your dad’s embrace, smiling up at him. "You look like you’ve been waiting forever," you teased, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. Your dad chuckled, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger.

"I’ve been here for a while, actually," he said, his voice a little too cheerful. "Couldn’t wait to see my favorite graduate."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I’m your only graduate, Dad."

"Yeah, yeah." He laughed again, clearly proud. "Still feels like a big deal."

You smiled again, the pride bubbling up inside you. It felt surreal ; starting college years ago, it seemed like a lifetime ago. And now, here you were, finally done with it all. Sure, college had been a great experience, but nothing beat the satisfaction of being done.

Your dad reached for your large suitcase, lifting it from your hand. “I can take it, really,” you protested with a smile, appreciating the gesture.

“No, no,” he responded, waving off your offer. “The flight must’ve been tiring. Today’s about you, so let me take care of you.”

You thanked him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his caring words, and the two of you made your way outside the terminal. As soon as you stepped into the Texas air, the familiar thick heat hit you like a wall. You had almost forgotten just how intense the summer heat could be, especially after spending so much time in the cooler, more temperate climate of Chicago.

You both made your way to his car, and soon you were on the road toward your childhood home.

"I'm so happy you're here," your dad said, his smile wide and genuine as he glanced over at you.

"Come on, I was here for Christmas," you chuckled, brushing off his excitement. "It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in years."

"It felt like it for me," he replied, his voice softening a little as he focused on the road. "The house always felt so lonely without you. I’m really happy you're home."

"I'm happy too, Dad," you said, your own smile creeping up. It felt good to hear that—good to know your presence meant something more than just the occasional visit.

The conversation naturally flowed as the miles ticked by. Your dad asked about your last few days at school, how the flight had been, and whether you’d managed to catch up with any of your friends before leaving. You found yourself laughing and reminiscing, the easy familiarity between you two making it feel like no time had passed at all.

After a little while, the car slowed, and you could see the familiar neighborhood signs in the distance. The streets, lined with houses you once knew so well, felt like a snapshot of your childhood, almost frozen in time. And then, the house came into view. The old oak tree in the front yard stood tall as ever, its branches casting long, familiar shadows over the driveway.

As you opened the car door, you could see your dad grinning from ear to ear, his excitement practically radiating off of him. You shot him a questioning look, but shrugged it off, assuming he was just that happy you were home. If you’d been paying closer attention, you might have noticed the unusual number of cars parked along the street—more than you'd expected for a quiet neighborhood.

But you didn’t notice. Not yet.

When your dad handed you the key to the house and told you to go ahead and open the door, you were too caught up in the warmth of the reunion to think twice about it. You turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open slowly, expecting the quiet stillness of home.

But before you could even step inside, someone flipped on the lights.

In an instant, a chorus of voices erupted from the shadows, and people leaped out from every corner, yelling, "Surprise!" Laughter and cheers filled the air as you blinked in shock, your heart racing. There, in the middle of the living room, was a crowd of familiar faces—family, friends from home, and even some you hadn't seen in years—all smiling wide with excitement, their surprise catching you completely off guard.

You clenched your hand to your chest, letting out a startled yelp. You hadn’t expected this. The shock of the surprise hit you hard, and before you could even catch your breath, your dad patted you on the shoulder from behind.

You turned to him, eyes wide. “What the—?”

He smiled, his voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “She’s home!” And the room erupted in cheers once more.

“Say hello,” he continued, his grin never fading as he gestured to your luggage and backpack. “I’m gonna take these to your room.”

You were still frozen in place, your mind racing. This wasn’t how you had imagined the evening going at all. You’d expected a quiet night—maybe convincing your dad to order some takeout and watching a stupid movie together, just the two of you. Definitely not a surprise party in your honor.

Before you could even process it, people were already crowding around you, greeting you with warm smiles and happy chatter. It took a few sentences before your brain caught up with reality, but once it did, you found your rhythm, smiling and thanking everyone as you pulled them into quick hugs. You exchanged brief words, trying to take it all in, but it was impossible to focus on everyone.

You couldn’t even guess how many people were there—maybe twenty? Most of them had already split into smaller groups, some headed toward the kitchen, others into the backyard. The whole house felt alive with laughter and conversation, buzzing with energy.

Just then, your dad returned, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a brief side hug. You squeezed his shoulder, still processing the surprise. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth.“Is it impolite if I go take a shower and change?” you asked, motioning to your travel outfit—a worn pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. You felt ridiculously underdressed for a party like this, your clothes inadequate for the occasion.

He chuckled, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He kissed the top of your head, then nudged you toward the stairs. "Go on, don’t take too long."

You quickly excused yourself, sprinting toward your room. Your dad had definitely gone all out to surprise you—the room was spotless, everything neatly in place, just as you remembered. It was a comfort to see your space waiting for you, a small piece of familiarity in the chaos of the evening.

You threw your suitcase on the bed, quickly unzipping it and rummaging through the contents in search of something nice to wear. It didn't take long before you darted into the bathroom, the cool tile floor a relief after the heat of the day. You were the type who loved to take long showers, sometimes staying under the warm water until your dad had to yell from downstairs, complaining that he also needed hot water for his own shower.

Tonight, though, you needed to be quick. You didn’t want to keep everyone waiting too long, especially after they’d all come out to celebrate you. The trip had been exhausting, and while the time under the water was always soothing, you knew there was no time to indulge tonight. The warm water washed away the tension from your muscles, soothing the soreness from the weird position you'd managed to fall asleep in on the plane. You barely bothered to dry your hair, knowing the humid air outside would do the job quickly enough.

You grabbed the first sundress you had found, a simple white one that was light and breathable enough for the Texas heat. It wasn’t too fancy, but it was comfortable and easy, and right now, that was all that mattered.

You made your way back downstairs, already feeling more like yourself. The shower had worked wonders, and the light sundress helped you settle into the warm, familiar air of your childhood home.

Your dad spotted you first, his face lighting up again. He was mid-conversation with one of your aunts but paused as you approached. “There she is,” he said proudly, motioning for you to join them.

Your aunt greeted you with a warm hug, immediately launching into the usual questions—congratulations, how was school, what was next. You gave her a polite smile and nodded through the compliments, but when she asked about your future plans—a question you weren’t ready to answer—you skillfully deflected, asking her about her work, her garden, anything to shift the spotlight.

Your dad stepped in then, mercifully. “I didn’t even offer—do you want something to drink?”

“Sure,” you said, flashing a grateful smile at your aunt before following your dad toward the kitchen.

On the way there, you exchanged quick hellos and short hugs with a few familiar faces scattered through the living room. The noise of the party pulsed gently around you—music low, conversations layered, the clink of glasses in the background.

Once in the kitchen, your dad turned to you, hands already moving toward the fridge. “What’ll it be?” he asked.

“What are you offering?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

He opened the fridge. “Well, we’ve got enough beer to last us a few days,” he said with a grin. “Or, if you’re feeling bold, I could get you something stronger.” He nodded toward the assortment of bottles lined up neatly on the counter.

“A beer’s fine to start,” you replied, smiling.

Your dad handed you one, and you popped it open, ready to head back and rejoin the crowd. But just as you turned, you collided with something solid—someone, actually.

You stumbled a little, beer sloshing near the rim of the bottle, and barely had time to react before your dad’s voice cut in, cheerful and unaware of the tension that had just shifted the air.

“Joel! Wondered where you went!”

Your whole body tensed for a beat, instinctual and sharp. Of course. You took a quick step back, enough to finally look up and get a good look at the man you’d just bumped into.

Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend since the day he moved into the house next door. He stood there, looking down at you with that same gruff expression he always wore around you. Taller than you remembered. Broader, too. The kind of presence that filled the room without trying.

“Was just outside,” Joel said, his tone casual as his eyes slid right past you. “Came in for a new one,” he added, lifting his empty beer bottle like proof.

Your dad reached into the fridge and tossed him another without missing a beat. Joel caught it with practiced ease, cracking it open one-handed. Then, for the first time, he actually looked at you—and at the matching bottle in your hand.

“Since when are you old enough to drink?” he asked, the words edged with something that wasn’t quite teasing.

You met his gaze, unimpressed, and took a slow sip before replying. “It’s been a while.” Your voice was flat, arms crossing over your chest.

The man had known you your whole life and somehow still looked at you like you were a surprise—and not a pleasant one.

The air between you bristled, charged with the same tension that had always simmered there. You didn’t like him. He didn’t like you. And neither of you bothered to pretend otherwise.

Joel turned away, launching straight into a conversation with your dad as if you weren’t even there. Like this wasn’t your party. Like none of this had anything to do with you.

Typical.

He’d never really cared about you, and he’d never made an effort to hide it. The bond between him and your dad had been instant, the kind of easy friendship built on shared interests you’d never been part of. Their jobs, fixing things, football and other stuff you’d always found boring or just flat-out irritating.

With you, Joel was different. Always had been. You weren’t part of the equation, just some brat he had to tolerate in order to spend time with your dad. He’d never been subtle about it either—rolling his eyes when you asked questions, sighing when you pushed his buttons, offering only the bare minimum in response when forced to talk to you.

You used to think he hated kids. But no—he just didn’t like you.

Which was fine, because you didn’t like him either. You tolerated him, because your dad liked him, but as you got older, you stopped pretending to be polite. If Joel couldn’t be bothered to try, then why should you? You rolled your eyes when he spoke, talked back when he got snippy. Your dad had always tried to get you to see the good in him, but you never did. And honestly, it didn’t really matter. Joel was just… there. Always hanging around whenever you came home, like part of the furniture : annoying, unavoidable, and easy to ignore.

You left them to their conversation, not bothering to hide your disinterest, and stepped outside to find people who actually enjoyed your presence. The scent of barbecue drifted through the air, warm and familiar, and your stomach growled as you grabbed a plate from the folding table piled with food.

Before long, you found yourself seated at a picnic table with a mix of childhood friends and cousins you hadn’t seen in ages. The conversation flowed easily, catching up, teasing each other, slipping back into old rhythms like no time had passed at all.

People came and went as the night wore on, stopping to hug you, offer congratulations, ask about school. You recognized a few of your dad’s work friends lingering on the patio, most of them clustered in the same spot—around your dad and, of course, Joel. 

The conversations kept going, and so did the beers. You were genuinely grateful to whoever had stocked the fridge like they were prepping for the apocalypse, because no one was going easy on them, least of all you and your friends.

As the night wore on, people started saying their goodbyes. A few last hugs, warm smiles, and congratulations passed between you and the guests as they filtered out. You thanked them all, the praise and attention making your cheeks ache from smiling.

Eventually, only a handful of people remained—six or seven at most. You and your friends made up one little cluster, your dad and his made up the other. Joel, of course, was still right there with your father, like he’d just been absorbed into the foundation of the house itself.

When your last friend finally stood to leave, mumbling something about an early shift, you pouted dramatically. “You’re really gonna leave me here with them?” you whispered, tilting your head toward the older crowd.

She snorted, pulling you into one last hug. “You’ll survive. But in case it gets too hard…” She slipped something into your palm with a grin.

You looked down to see a neatly rolled joint nestled in your hand.

“Figured you haven’t had time to stock up yet. Consider it a graduation gift,” she said with a wink.

You stifled a laugh, hiding it quickly in your fist like a teenager. “You’re the best,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t I know it,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the night.

You watched her disappear down the driveway, then turned back toward the house, heading toward the patio where your dad and his friends were still gathered, half-lit by the string lights draped above.

“Goin’ to bed already?” your dad asked as you passed by, the buzz in his voice saying he hoped you’d stick around a little longer.

You smiled, still carefully cradling the joint in your closed hand. “Nope. Just takin’ a lap. Think I might’ve had one too many.”

Frank leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. “Can’t hold your beer, huh? Like daughter, like father.”

You shot him a grin, backing away into the house. “Give me five minutes and I’ll prove I can outdrink him.”

That got a round of laughter, your dad laughing loudest of all while his friends chimed in with mock protests and teasing.

You were a smoker—on and off. Mostly when you were stressed, or buzzed just enough not to care, like tonight. Your dad wasn’t—never had been—and you didn’t exactly feel like getting a lecture tonight. You just wanted a little more fun, to stretch the evening a bit longer.

So you slipped into the kitchen, quietly opening one cupboard, then another. You were hoping, maybe, some old forgotten lighter had been tossed in a drawer. A leftover from a guest. Anything. But no luck so far.

You didn’t hear the back door creak open. Didn’t notice the presence behind you until a low voice cut through the quiet.

“What are you doin’?”

You startled, spinning around. Joel stood a few steps inside, the kitchen light casting a warm line across his face. You must’ve looked caught—like a teenager up to something—because his brow lifted in that way of his. That silent judgment.

Normally, he wouldn’t have cared. Would’ve walked right past you without so much as a glance. But not tonight.

He moved to the fridge, opened it like he’d done it a thousand times—which, to be fair, he had—and grabbed a beer. ““What’re you diggin’ through drawers for like that?”’

“Nothing,” you said, crossing your arms like a shield.

He cracked the cap off with one hand, took a long pull, then looked you over again. “Nothin’, huh.”

His voice was skeptical, casual in that way that always grated on your nerves. He didn’t believe you. That much was obvious in the way he leaned back against the counter and just... looked. Waiting.

The stare stretched long between you, hot and heavy like the Texas summer outside.

You didn’t look away. Just stood there, jaw tight, staring back. The message was clear in your eyes:

Why the hell are you still here?

You didn’t want to be the first to break, to move, to let him think he’d gotten under your skin. But at some point, your patience thinned, you just wanted to smoke and unwind. So you walked past him, your every step saying I’m done with this.

You didn’t bother hiding the way your shoulder brushed his slightly on the way out. Didn’t mask the glare you shot up at him as he looked down at you, still leaning there like he owned the place.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t offer a word. Just walked out of the kitchen, your footsteps solid on the hardwood as you made your way to the stairs.

You didn’t look back—but you could feel his eyes on you, lingering, sharp as ever, watching you disappear.

Once in your room, jaw tight and heart still a little too fast, you dropped to your knees by your bag. You were annoyed—annoyed at him, at the whole damn moment—and all you wanted was the comfort of a quiet high. You unzipped the front pocket, fingers digging past receipts and pens, and there it was.

The lighter.

Right where you needed it.

You walked down the stairs slowly, careful with each step, not wanting to draw any attention—especially not from Joel. If he was still brooding in that damn kitchen, you had no interest in crossing paths again.

A quick glance confirmed the coast was clear. No voices. No movement. You slipped through the front door without a sound.

Outside, the night wrapped around you in a warm hush. The air was thick with leftover summer heat, cicadas buzzing low in the distance. You made your way to the old oak tree, the one that had watched over you since childhood, and slid down with your back against its trunk.

The joint was still in your hand, slightly bent from your grip. You brought it to your lips and flicked the lighter you’d grabbed from your bag upstairs.

Nothing.

You tried again. Pressed harder.

Still nothing.

“Fucking really,” you muttered under your breath, jaw clenching as you stared down at the useless plastic.

You shook the lighter, flicked it again, and like a gift from someone above, a blessed spark appeared long enough for you to light your joint. You inhaled, slow and satisfied, the burn calming, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a weighted blanket.

Then, a voice cut through it.

“You serious right now?”

Your eyes flew open mid-exhale. Joel.

He stood at the edge of the porch, arms crossed over his chest, face shadowed—but the tone was all too clear. Disapproval, plain as day.

You coughed lightly, caught off guard, waving a hand like you could erase the smoke between you. “Jesus, do you ever make a sound when you walk?”

“Didn’t think I needed to,” he said, stepping off the porch, boots crunching against the grass as he came closer. “Didn’t figure I’d catch you hidin’ out here like a damn teenager.”

“Not a teenager anymore,” you shot back, trying to steady yourself, annoyed by the interruption.

“You sure? Then why are you smoking here, hiding from your daddy?” he asked, his tone low, judgment lacing the words.

“Can’t I just want a moment to myself?” you retorted, holding his gaze steady as you took another hit.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes flicking down to the joint between your fingers. The judgment was all over his face. If a cigarette would've earned you a lecture from your dad, this? This would light a fuse.

But you didn’t hide it. You didn’t even flinch. Hiding it would’ve meant guilt. It would’ve meant Joel won.

And you weren’t giving him that.

He huffed through his nose, like he couldn’t believe you had the nerve, but wasn’t surprised either. “Y’know he’s gonna smell it the second he steps outside,” he muttered.

“Then maybe he shouldn’t step outside,” you said calmly, shrugging as you brought the joint back to your lips.

“You never admit when you’re in the wrong, do you?” he snapped back, his tone clipped. Joel didn’t like getting talked back to—especially not by you.

You stood up, brushing grass from your dress, chin lifting as you squared up to him.

“Oh my god, Joel. It’s one joint. I’m not twelve anymore,” you said, voice rising with each word. “I drink. I smoke. I do a lot of things.”

That made him pause. His eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it looked like he might ask what exactly those "things" were. You saw it, the curiosity, judgment, maybe even a flicker of something else but he bit it back, jaw clenched.

“Let’s not pretend you’re some saint who’s never touched a joint in your life. Or worse,” you added, eyes narrowing. “We both know that’s not true.”

He took a step closer, slow and sure like he always moved, and before you could react—before you could even take another inhale—his hand reached out. Quick. Firm. He plucked the joint from between your fingers like it was his.

“What the hell—” you started, already ready to snap, but the words caught in your throat when instead of lecturing you, instead of crushing it under his boot like you half-expected, he brought it to his own mouth.

Joel inhaled. Long, steady. The ember flared, lighting up the edges of his face—the hard line of his jaw, the crease in his brow, the scar on his temple..

He stood there, smoke curling from his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he brought a hand up to run through his hair like the weight of the night had finally sunk into his bones. There was more gray than you remembered. At his temples. Scattered through the strands like dust on old wood. He looked… older. In a good way.

You blinked hard. You didn’t want to notice things like that, not about Joel.

“Never seen you smoke before,” you said, trying to cut through the strange haze between you.

“That’s ‘cause I know how not to get caught,” he muttered, taking another pull. Calm. Unbothered.

You scoffed. “Oh, so you’re hiding too? What, scared my daddy’s gonna ground you?”

That pulled the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but close enough to spark something sharp in your chest.

“You’re gettin’ old, you know that?” you said, letting it land like a tease, but there was an edge to it.

He tilted his head, gaze pinning you in place. “Am I now?” he said, voice low, thick with that familiar southern drawl—like honey and gravel. He stepped in just enough that you caught the scent of smoke and the heat from his skin. “Funny, comin’ from the girl sneakin’ off like she’s still seventeen.”

You rolled your eyes. You were starting to think this might be the longest conversation you’d ever had with him.

You reached out, palm up. “You gonna give it back?”

Joel didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, he stepped forward—close. Too close. The air shifted instantly, thick with something that wasn’t just smoke or summer heat. His hand lifted, steady, unhurried. And without asking, without a word, he pressed the joint back between your lips.

Your breath hitched. Not just from the inhale—but from him.

His fingers brushed your lower lip, slow and deliberate. Not an accident. Not rushed. Just enough to leave heat in their wake.

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly around the joint. Your heart beat too loud in your chest, but your body stayed still.

He didn’t look away.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

His gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable, like he was waiting. Like he was daring you to break the silence first.

But for once, you didn’t.

You took a slow drag. Held it. Exhaled—right between the two of you.

And still, neither of you moved. Joel held your gaze for one long second more.

Then, like a switch flipped, he stepped back, just a half-step, but it felt like miles. The heat between you cooled instantly, and when he spoke again, his voice had that old, familiar edge.

“Well,” Joel said, his eyes flicking over you with that familiar, judgmental gaze, “didn’t even last a day before you were back to your old tricks.”

The words landed sharp, biting in that casual, offhand way only he could manage. Like everything you did was somehow a little wrong, a little too much..

And just like that, there he was—that Joel. The one who couldn’t help but offer a comment about everything. The one who never missed a chance to nitpick, to point out what you were doing wrong.

You scoffed, jaw tight. “There he is,” you muttered, dragging on the joint, blowing out a thick plume of smoke. “Was wonderin’ how long it’d take for the real Joel to show up.”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice low and sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You took another hit, your thoughts swirling for a moment. You could just let him go, ignore him like you had countless times before. But no, he had to make that damn snarky comment, didn’t he?

You turned to him, the frustration boiling over, and before you could stop yourself, the words came sharp. You stepped in, jabbing a finger into his chest—hard, deliberate. “Always so fucking rude to me. What the hell did I ever do to you?” 

He stiffened at your words, clearly not expecting the bite behind them. You poked him again, harder this time. “You never said anything nice to me, never even looked at me like I was a person. Just a damn inconvenience in the way of your ‘good time’ with my dad. So tell me, what did I do to deserve that, huh?”

Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before your finger could make contact again. His grip was tight, not painful, but enough to stop you in your tracks. His eyes—those goddamn eyes—narrowed as he looked down at you, frustration boiling behind them.

“Come on,” he said, voice low and cutting. “You really wanted me to coddle you? Like your dad does—pretending you don’t make everything harder than it has to be?” He laughed once, bitter and short. “You’ve been a storm since the day I met you. You’ve been acting out your whole damn life, never grateful, always pushing. What, you think that deserves kindness?”

He stepped in closer, the distance between you shrinking, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not your dad, sweetheart. I don’t have to pretend to care. And I sure as hell didn’t have to put up with you when you couldn’t even take care of yourself. You think I wanted to deal with you?” He gave you a smirk, as if the very thought was laughable.

The bitterness in his voice cut through you like a knife, the words searing with years of unspoken resentment. Maybe you had been a pain in the ass as a kid, always causing trouble, always pushing boundaries. But you were a kid. Yes, your dad worked himself to the bone to provide for you, and you were left trying to figure it out on your own. 

You looked up at him, jaw clenched, trying to hold on to the anger that was threatening to slip away.

“You think I asked for any of this?” you snapped back, your voice dripping with contempt. “I didn’t ask for you to come around, either. You think I wanted to be stuck between you and my dad, always the damn inconvenience? Maybe I was just trying to figure out my own damn life. Maybe I didn’t need someone like you breathing down my neck every time I fucked up.”

His eyes flashed at that, but he didn’t move. Didn’t back away.

"Was I just a disappointment to you, then? Is that it?" you spat out, the question lingering in the cold air between you two.

“No,” Joel replied, his voice hard but low, like he was forcing the words through clenched teeth. “You never disappointed me, kid. You were always exactly who I expected you to be.”

It hit you harder than it should have. Those words stung, but you didn’t let it show. You fought to keep your composure, to hold onto that anger that had been building in your chest. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt.

You yanked your wrist from his grip, the heat of his touch still burning into your skin. “Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, the words biting as they left your lips. You didn’t give him a second glance as you turned and walked toward the front porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.

The joint had stopped burning, but you didn’t care anymore as you trew it away. You needed a moment to breathe. You went straight to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on your face to shake off the heat of the argument. You stared at yourself in the mirror, frustration building inside you. Fuck him, you thought. Fuck him.

You spritzed some perfume, just in case the lingering scent gave you away, and then walked back down the stairs, your steps purposeful and steady. In the kitchen, you opened the fridge, but it was the bottles on the counter that called to you. You didn’t bother with the beer. Instead, you grabbed whatever whiskey was within reach, pouring yourself a drink and letting the burn settle in your chest.

You walked back toward the backyard, taking slow steps as you made your way to the patio. Your dad was deep in conversation with Frank and Bill, laughing lightly at something one of them had said. When he saw you, his face lit up with a smile.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” he said, his voice warm.

“I said I would,” you replied, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You didn’t feel like explaining much right now.

You found a chair around the table, making sure to settle yourself just far enough from your dad. You didn’t want him to notice anything—the lingering scent or the storm still brewing in your mind. There was no need for him to ask, and no need to bring it up.

Joel wasn’t around the table, and part of you felt a little relief. Maybe he was already on his way home, back to wherever he belonged. But, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was—appearing from the same way you had come.

"Thought you forgot where the bathroom was," your father teased as Joel slid into the empty chair across from you.

"Not that drunk," Joel muttered, a little too casually, his eyes flicking over to you like he was trying to catch your gaze. But you didn't bite. Instead, you focused on Bill next to you, making small talk, pretending not to notice the tension building in the air.

Your father’s attention shifted to your drink. "Didn't expect you to be a whiskey girl," he remarked with a smile, eyebrows raised.

You shrugged, taking another sip. "It's nice," you replied, your voice nonchalant, though the warmth of the alcohol barely did anything to calm you.

Your father patted you on the shoulder. "Well, finally, something you’ve got in common with Joel, huh? He’s the one who brought it, you know." He looked over at Joel, pride edging his voice. "You should see his collection," he continued, clearly pleased with the fact that you two could now bond over something.

You kept your eyes on your glass, trying to avoid the sharp edge of Joel’s stare, but it didn't escape you—the way your father was so eager to find common ground, any excuse to connect you with Joel. You gave your dad a small, practised smile enough to ease his attention off you. But your eyes caught Joel’s across the table.

He was staring.

Not in the careless, absent way people sometimes do when lost in thought. Joel was watching you, steady, unreadable, like he hadn’t stopped since he sat down. Like the words you’d thrown at him earlier were still echoing somewhere behind his eyes.

You tilted your head just slightly, a silent question or maybe a challenge, and took a slow sip of your drink—intentional, deliberate. His gaze didn’t flinch.

If anything, it sharpened.

Frank leaned forward slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. “So,” he said, glancing at you with a friendly grin, “Happy to be finished with school ?”

You nodded, taking a sip. “Yeah, finally..”

“Damn, time flies,” Bill said, impressed. “Feels like we were just talkin’ about you leavin’. What’d you end up majoring in?”

“Communications,” you said, voice light. “Which is code for ‘I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life.’”

That got a laugh from Frank. “Well, join the club. Took me years to figure out what I wanted, and even then, I changed my mind half a dozen times.”

Your dad beamed quietly, pride flickering behind his eyes. “She’s smart,” he said. “Always has been. Stubborn as hell, but smart.”

You gave him a small smile, choosing not to argue.

“So what about work?” Bill asked. “You stayin’ around here, or just visiting?”

You hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know yet. Thought I’d come back, take a breath before jumping into anything serious.”

There was a pause, and then Frank grinned. “And anyone special back at school—or here—giving you a reason to stay?”

You raised your eyebrows and laughed under your breath, deflecting with a sip of your drink. “Jesus, Frank.”

He held up his hands, grinning. “What? Can’t ask a question?”

Your dad chimed in, playing along. “Hey, pretend I’m not here if it helps.”

You laughed, relaxed. You didn’t mind your dad. The two of you had gotten close, especially in those past years, separated by college. If there had been anyone serious, he’d probably already know.

“No one worth mentioning,” you said after a moment, flicking your eyes back to Frank. “Just me for now.”

Frank gave you a look, all charm and teasing. “I don’t buy that for a second. Pretty thing like you? I bet you left a trail of broken hearts in Chicago.”

You let out a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Eh,” you said lightly, the smile not quite reaching your eyes, “disappointment’s kind of my thing, apparently,” you said, smiling just enough to pass it off as a joke.

Your dad chuckled, clearly not reading the undercurrent. “You? Please. You’re doing just fine.”

But Joel—he wasn’t laughing. He stopped mid-sip, his eyes fixed on you over the rim of his glass. His gaze was sharp, piercing, the silent understanding hanging between you like a weight.

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t have to. You knew he heard it.

You kept the conversation going with Frank, though his words were starting to blur as the alcohol made him a bit more loose-lipped than usual. Bill, ever the more sober one, finally pointed out that it was time for them to head out. Frank, clearly one glass of wine too many, was a little wobbly on his feet, but that didn’t stop him from giving you his signature ruffle on the head. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips.

“You’re gonna find someone who sees you for who you are, kid,” Frank slurred, his voice filled with an odd mix of affection and drunken sincerity. “You’re too smart, too pretty, not to," Frank said, his voice a little louder than necessary as he nudged you with a playful grin. “Ain’t she, Joel?”

Joel, who had been deep in conversation with your dad, looked up, clearly caught off guard by Frank’s question. "What?"

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?”

You raised an eyebrow, already anticipating the awkwardness that would follow. Frank was a little tipsy, but you knew he didn’t mean any harm. It was just Frank being Frank.

You half-expected Joel to brush it off, mutter something gruff, or look away entirely—anything to avoid the attention. But instead, he met your gaze briefly, his eyes looking you up just for a second, before shifting back to Frank.

“Very pretty,” Joel said quietly, the words not quite as reluctant this time. It was almost as if he couldn’t help it, like Frank’s teasing had pulled it out of him.

“See?” Frank said, giving Joel a playful shove, not realising the undercurrent of tension in the air. “Even Joel says so!”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything more.

Frank and Bill left, their goodbyes echoing softly as they promised to invite you and your dad for dinner soon. You stayed outside as your dad continued his conversation with Joel about the upcoming game and who was going to host it. The voices of the two men blended into background noise, the hum of the conversation barely registering in your mind. You were half-listening, half-distracted, your thoughts lingering on the anger you’d been holding onto all night.

The burn of the whisky slid down your throat, and without even realizing it, your eyes found Joel. You were still mad at him, the words he’d spoken earlier lodged under your skin. It stung in a way that made it harder to push away. Normally, you would’ve brushed it off, moved on, but tonight, his words had managed to hit deeper than usual. And for some reason, it bothered you more than you were willing to admit.

At first, you looked at him with nothing but irritation, your gaze sharp, unforgiving. The way he leaned back in his chair, so at ease after everything he’d said—it grated on you. But then, without meaning to, your eyes lingered. You noticed how the porch light caught the strands of gray in his hair, more than you remembered. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, the rough stubble along his jaw peppered with silver. And yet, somehow, it suited him. He looked… good. Annoyingly so. That solid kind of good that didn’t come from trying. The kind that made some of your dad’s female friends earlier laugh too loud at his jokes and linger a little too long near wherever he stood. 

He shouldn’t have looked good. Not after the shit he said. Not after the way he always made you feel small and in the way.

And then, as if he could feel the weight of your gaze, his eyes found yours.

You hesitated for a second, but didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Not this time. You weren’t going to let him think he had any power over you. Not now. Not ever again.

He held your gaze, serious now, almost as if he was silently asking you what the hell you were looking at. It was like a challenge, an invitation for you to either break or keep going. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t break the connection.

Your dad, oblivious as ever, continued tidying up the table, clearing away the bottles, while he kept talking to Joel. But you didn’t shift your focus. And so, knowing damn well he was watching, a strange boldness crept in, aided by the drinks you’d had. You let your eyes trace him—across his chest, his hands, then slowly, almost instinctively, to his lips.

You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the tension hang in the air, lingering just enough on his lips for him to feel the weight of it. Then, you lifted your gaze back up to his. You saw the way his brows furrowed for a second, his eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of what you were doing.

In that instant, your dad clapped his hands, breaking the tense silence between you and Joel. Both of you snapped your gaze away, turning towards him.

"I'm busted," he said with a grin, clearly oblivious to the quiet storm that had just passed between the two of you. "I think it's time for me to go to bed. What about you two?"

You raised your drink to him, trying to mask the lingering heat in your chest. "Gonna finish this first, then I'll crash too," you said, voice calm, though your mind was anything but.

Your dad chuckled, giving you a playful look. “Whiskey, huh? Careful, it goes under your skin quickly.” He glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“I’ll finish my drink too and go,” Joel replied, his voice steady.

Your dad nodded, then walked over to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “So glad you’re here,” he said warmly. You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him, before waving as he turned to head back inside. As he passed Joel, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

And just like that, the two of you were alone again. Your eyes drifted to the door your dad had disappeared through… then back to Joel—only to find him already watching you.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said casually, but that familiar edge was there—like he was already halfway into a fight.

You scoffed, lifting your glass. “Funny, coming from you.”

Joel raised a brow, slow and deliberate. “What’re you tryin’ to say?”

You didn’t flinch. “That you’ve been staring at me all night. Like you’re tryin’ to set me on fire.”

He took a long sip, unfazed. “And why the hell would I wanna do that?”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who keeps acting like I’m a pain in your ass.”

Joel gave a low, humorless laugh. “Darlin’, you are. Don’t mean I gotta kill you for it.”

You leaned back, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself, the word darlin’ echoing like heat under your skin. “How kind of you..  So what do I owe this stare? Full of love and all,” you added, letting the word drag with thick sarcasm.

Joel scoffed, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Love ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Mm,” you hummed, tilting your head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He lifted his glass, took another long sip, then set it down with a soft clink—clear as day he was ending the conversation. Funny how he’d been the one to start this fight, but didn’t want to finish it. You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out; pushing his buttons was too tempting to resist.

“Am I really that pretty?” you pressed, leaning forward, voice low. “Is that it? Enough to make you unable to look away?”

You saw the way his jaw twitched before he met your gaze again, his eyes darker than before. In the past, that little tell would’ve tipped you off and you’d have backed down, let him off the hook. But tonight, you didn’t care. If he couldn’t find the decency to be kind, why should you?

“Not gonna answer?” you teased, your voice soft but edged. You lifted the glass in a salute, then drained the last drop.

“Careful.” His voice was low, dangerous and it made your stomach tighten.

“Or what, Miller?” you shot back, setting your empty glass on the table. “Gonna ground me? You’re not my dad, remember.”

With those words, you stood, smoothing the hem of your dress. For a heartbeat, you saw his gaze drop to your bare leg—just a glance—before snapping back up to yours. 

“Always gotta be smart, don’t ya?” he called after you, voice rough as you stepped toward the door.

You stopped mid-step, one hand on the doorframe, and turned back. The patio light caught your face just right. Arms crossed, you gave him a small, mocking smile. “Oh, so I’m smart now?” you snapped, tone brittle with sarcasm. “Pretty and smart—what’s gotten into you, Joel? Running out of insults?”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes hard. “Don’t push your luck,” he said, his voice low and dry. “I said you were smart, not that you stopped bein’ a brat.”

“Oh, right,” you scoffed. “Because you’re the king of saying exactly what you mean. Never cryptic, never cruel, never hiding behind that goddamn scowl.”

He stood then—slow, deliberate—his glass forgotten on the table behind him. His height always had a way of pressing down on a room, and now, with only the patio light casting long shadows between you, he felt even closer than he was.

“You done?” he asked, low and tight.

“No,” you snapped, taking a step toward him without even thinking. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. “You’ve been staring at me all night like I’m something stuck to your damn boot, but God forbid I look back. You start shit, and then when I give it back, suddenly I’m the one who’s too much?”

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t move at first—but you saw it in his jaw, the way it clenched, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was holding something in.

He stepped toward you, and the space between you narrowed into something heavy—your skin prickling with heat, not entirely from anger. His voice dropped, rough and controlled, but far from calm.

“Does that mouth ever do somethin’ other than complain?”

The words hit like a slap, and a dare. The way he said it, slow, his voice coiled tight with something darker, something heavier, made your pulse jump.

Your breath caught, not from fear, but from the sudden pulse of heat that curled low in your stomach. Maybe it was the whiskey still humming through your veins, the warmth of it making you bold, reckless. Sober, you never would’ve said what came next.

You looked up at him, stepping in just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the space between you now little more than a breath; eyes fixed on his, daring. “Why?” you said, voice low and steady. “You want my mouth to do something else?”

Joel didn’t hesitate. His fingers came up, rough and warm, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, firm, not gentle. He tilted your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You wanna play like that, kid?” he muttered, the word kid sounding more like a warning than an insult. “Keep talkin’ like you know what you’re askin' for.”

The word echoed in your head—not just what he said, but how he said it. Low, rough, like gravel under pressure. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared, like he was waiting to see if you’d flinch first. Your heart kicked harder against your ribs. You should’ve backed off. Maybe any other night, you would’ve. But the way he was looking at you — like you were the last line he hadn’t crossed — made your mouth move before your brain could stop it.

“Not scared of you,” you said, but the words came out softer than you meant them to.

He leaned in closer, just a breath away, the porch light casting deep shadows over his face. “You should be,” he paused, his eyes dark. ”Get on your knees.” 

Your breath hitched at his words, the patio suddenly too quiet. For a second, you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. The heat that rushed between your legs, however, confirmed that you had.

“What?” you asked, your voice a little breathless.

Joel didn’t blink. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unmoving, unreadable. “You heard me, girl,” he said, voice rough, low. 

You should have backed off. You knew that. It was Joel, for crying out loud. The one you couldn’t stand. He was your dad’s best friend, your least favourite person in the world. The guy who made you feel small with every sharp word, every lingering glance.

And yet, you sank to your knees. The hand that cupped your chin went to the top of your head, guiding your descent. Joel’s breath became more rugged as you did, never leaving your eyes. 

Your knees fell on the cold patio floor, but you didn't care. Joel's gaze was intense, unreadable, yet unmistakably focused on you. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, as if he was trying to see right through you. You feel the weight of it pressing in on you, challenging you to see how far you were willing to go.

You didn't want to back down. You looked in front of you, his crotch right there. Your hands quickly moved to unbutton his dark jeans, making them fall to the ground. He was already hard, the fabric straining against his thickness, precum staining the front of his boxer, leaving a print that made your mouth salivate a little more than it should.

Joel was big, of course he was. Broad shoulders, large hands, big cock. It made sense. You would be lying if you said you’d never thought about it. After all, Joel Miller was the better-looking of your dad’s friends. He just happened to be the most annoying. 

You brought your mouth closer, letting Joel feel your hot breath on his cock. His hand was still in your hair, a little tug inviting you closer, wordless but clear. Your hand rested on the waistband of his boxer, not taking it off just yet. You could see a bit of his happy trail, his dark hairs inviting you to explore more of his body. You pressed your lips into a small kiss where you could see the print of his tip, earning you a low, guttural groan from Joel. The sound was exquisite, and you already wanted to hear it again. So you pressed a few more kisses, relishing in the small noises he was making. You couldn’t wait to take him in your mouth. 

Finally, you took down his boxer, and his throbbing cock stood in front of you. Large, thick. perfect. You swallowed a gasp, realising you’ve never taken one so big in your mouth — or anywhere else for that matter. It only made it more enticing. You looked up to Joel, who had his eyes on you. Waiting, hungry, and he looked way too good in that instant. It made you feel things you didn’t want to think about Joel. Made you want to take a hand between your thighs and deal with the heat that had been pulsing all evening. But later. Now you only wanted to focus on him.

One hand on his thigh, the other finding the base of his length, you looked at him one more time before opening your mouth. Slowly, teasingly, you licked his tip, tasting the glistening precum off him. Salty. Musky. Joel. Then, you pressed your lips around his length, the warmth of your mouth making the man grunt. Knowing you were the one making him moan like this was exhilarating. Powerful even. The need to hear this sound again pushed you to take more of him, inch by inch. You started a steady rhyme, your mouth so full —  and you hadn't taken all of him yet. 

Joel let out a guttural moan, his hand pushing you further down his length as he thrusted his hips up slightly into your warm, wet mouth. You dared look up to him and saw how his head tilted backwards, the hand that wasn't in your hair on the table behind him, keeping him steady. Fuck, he looked so good and you were the one doing that to him. You clenched your thighs together, feeling a wetness you couldn't take care of right now. 

“Fuck, darling…” he groaned, his calloused fingers tightening their grip on your head when you took him a bit deeper, hitting the bak of your throat. The pet name made you moan around his cock without you even realising, the sound vibrating around his cock. 

At that, Joel looked down at you, a slow, smug smile spreading across his face. Your nose pressed agasint the base of his cock, your throat bulging obscenely with his girth.

“You like it, don’t you? Choking on my dick like that ?” He asks, his voice rough, almost breathless. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and it sent a shiver down your spine so sharp it left your skin buzzing. You nodded on his cock without even realizing. “Of course you fucking do, you mouthy little thing.”

He started to thrust harder, faster, driven by the thrill of having you here, worshipping his cock like it was your sole purpose. You had sucked dick before, sure. It was something you enjoyed, making your partner come undone with only your mouth. College had been the right place to experience it, but you never had your throat fucked like that. And you liked it more than you thought was possible.

“You take me so good, baby, “ Joel praises you, his voice heavy, taking in the sight of you, the way you are so eager on his cock, and the feeling shouldn't feel so good. You looked up at him, your eyes, your lips stretching around him, your eyes watering slightly as you take him as deep as you can. “F-fuck…” he curses, his breath ragged, as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.“Gonna make me cum doin’ that. Are you gonna be perfect for me and swallow like a good girl ?”

The answer came in the way of a whimper you couldn’t stop, causing Joel to chuckle darkly as an acknowledgement. He picks up the pace and, with a final, hard thrust, Joel buries himself deep in your throat, coming in a strangled moan that sounds very much like your name. 

And so there you were—knees on the cold patio floor of your dad’s house, lips still tingling and your mouth full of cum. Joel Miller, the man you despised, was standing in front of you, his chest rising with rough, uneven breaths. His hand was still tangled in your hair, idly, almost possessively, like he hadn’t decided to let go yet. He looked down at you, and you swallowed under the weight of his gaze. His eyes dragging over your mouth, down your throat, and finally meeting yours again, his breathing just beginning to steady. Then, he loosened his grip in your hair, allowing you to move from him, a strand of cum and saliva connecting your swollen lips to the tip of his softening cock. The sight of you—lips parted, breath shaky, eyes still wide—made Joel chuckle, low and dark. There was no humor in it, not really. Just heat. Satisfaction. 

He helped you back up, his touch steady, almost too gentle after everything. You wobbled for a moment, heart still racing, and smoothed your dress with shaky fingers, eyes avoiding his like they might burn. The silence was deafening as he pulled back his clothes. You couldn’t even look at him, not really—not with the feel of his dick still lingering in your mouth, the taste of him still not gone. The air felt colder now. Or maybe it was you, sobering fast under the weight of everything that just happened.

But before you could say anything, his thumb slid over your lips once more. Just like earlier with the joint, but this time it wasn’t casual. This time it lingered, drawing a painfully slow line against your skin. His eyes were fixed on your mouth, dark with something primal, an intensity that made your breath hitch. It was like he could still feel you there, still feel the way you had taken him so well, so eager. And from the smug tilt of his lips, it was clear he liked it.

“Guess you can back up that mouth after all.”

[palmersluvr]

MY QUEEN!!!! I am obsessed with your writing 😍😍 pls write friends with benefits/fuck buddy Luigi getting absolutely feral jealous that you went on a date but he feels insane because you guys are not exclusive so he has ‘no right’ to feel such a way but he’s just a hotheaded Italian man when it comes to you 😩😩😌🫦

sports car

summary: you go on a drive with your “fuckbuddy” luigi in his bmw, which ends with a pleasant surprise.

warnings: head (m!receiving) unprotected sex, semi public sex, breeding

notes: the start of this is a teeny tiny bit self indulgent lol

thee restaurant buzzes with low conversation and the clatter of silverware, but you’re barely engaged, nudging a piece of dry salmon across your plate with your fork.

the guy across from you… brad? chad? you’ve already forgotten his name, leans in with a kind of forced familiarity that makes your skin crawl. his presence is heavy, invasive, like he’s trying to fill more space than his body actually occupies.

the grin plastered across his face doesn’t soften anything. it only stretches too far, too tight, like he’s wearing it for effect. his cologne is sharp and overbearing, his eyes, glassy and unblinking, track your every movement with a precision that feels less like interest and more like calculation.

without warning, he veers into a monologue. his voice lowering, turning conspiratorial, as he starts talking about andrew tate. not casually. reverently.

“that guy’s a genius,” he says, grinning like he’s just named a personal hero. “he says what everyone else doesn’t have the guts to say. if you ask me, that’s real powerful. the world needs more men like him.”

you couldn’t fathom what was coming out of his mouth. what the fuck were you doing? you knew that agreeing to go out with this guy was a bad idea.

“you live by yourself?” he probes, the question dressed in a casual tone but heavy with an intrusive edge that sets your nerves on edge.

you end up dodging the question with a vague, “i get by.”

he doesn’t flinch, just gives a slow nod, his fingers tapping too near your side of the table. and the way he mimics your movements… tilting forward when you do, drinking when you drink, feels deliberate, almost stalker like.

suddenly the air between you feels thin, brittle. you force a tight smile, your mind already scanning for an excuse to leave.

you glance at your phone, then get an idea.

you open your text thread with luigi, your chest tightening at the sight of his name. for two months, you’ve been hooked on him, meeting up whenever one of you needs to blow off steam, fucking with reckless abandon wherever the mood strikes.

it started with a chance encounter at a bar, his gorgeous smile and teasing banter pulling you in, leading to you accompanying him on a drive in his bmw. eventually he pulled into a quiet, secluded spot by the beach, diving into the backseat where clothes were torn off in a rush, and he fucked you senseless for the first time.

since then, you’ve found each other again and again, always meeting up whenever you’re horny. you mostly do it somewhere at his place, or his car.

each encounter is a blur of sweat slicked skin, tangled limbs, and gasped curses, leaving you trembling in his arms, your body sated but your heart aching. you’re ashamed to admit that you’re fucking in love with him. but he’s never said it back, and it eats away at you night after night.

that’s why you’re here, enduring this dreadful date, listening to this weirdo go on and on, in a hopeless attempt to move on, to numb the sharp longing for a man who might not love you the way you love him.

your thumb hovers over luigi’s last text, a cheeky “miss me already?” from 3 days ago, and you fight the urge to reply, the candle’s faint glow doing nothing to ease the growing dread of this date or the deeper pain of trying to let go of the man who consumes your thoughts.

you hate feeling like a burden, you absolutely LOATHE the vulnerability of needing to ask for a favour… it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment, like you’re imposing on someone who might resent you for it. but the dude across the table is still staring, his vibe growing darker, and you can’t stay here any longer.

swallowing your pride, you type out a quick text to luigi. your finger lingers over the send button, a wave of self doubt hitting hard as you imagine him sighing at the inconvenience.

you hit send anyway, heart pounding, the candle’s dim light doing little to ease the dread of this date or the nagging fear that you’re asking too much of the man you can’t stop loving.

you: hey… can you come get me? im on a bad date

as soon as the message sends, a surge of regret engulfs you. why did you do that? you mentally berate yourself, your thoughts tumbling into a chaotic frenzy. what the fuck were you thinking? he’s probably busy, out with friends or having a rare night to himself for once, and here you are, thrusting your problems onto him like some needy, burdensome mess.

you picture him reading the text and rolling his eyes, judging you for being too weak to handle a creepy date on your own. what if he’s fed up with you? just because you’ve been having sex with him for two months doesn’t mean that he owes you anything. you should’ve sucked it up and ordered an uber home. anything but pulling luigi into your drama.

your thoughts churn with worst case scenarios: luigi ignoring your text completely, or worse, sending a cold, dismissive “no” that makes it clear you’re not his concern. you imagine him brushing you off, and you know what? you wouldn’t even blame him. why should he drop everything for you?

you stare at your phone, the screen still blank, your stomach knotting with the humiliating realization that you’ve just laid bare how much you need him, when he likely doesn’t give a shit about you like that at all. you’re just someone he hooks up with sometimes, that’s it.

suddenly, your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a new text from luigi.

luigi: a date??? wtf are you doing on a date???

your heart stumbles, a rush of shock and cautious hope surging through you as you stare at the words on your screen. his message is blunt, cutting through the fog of your spiraling thoughts, and your fingers shake as you grip the phone, caught between relief that he’s responded and dread that this could unravel. why didn’t you just order a fucking uber?

you hesitate, then type out a response, your thumbs unsteady.

you: it’s nothing serious, just dinner. why does it matter?

seconds later, your phone vibrates with his response.

luigi: cus it does. where you at anyway? bet whoever you’re with is some loser lol

the words hit like a playful jab, sharp and teasing, yet laced with something heavier. you glance at your date across the table, his voice now droning on about cryptocurrency, eyes glued to his drink mid rant.

a wry smile tugs at your lips. luigi’s not wrong. your fingers hover over the keyboard, then you type.

you: at amigos. and yeah, he is a loser, and that’s why i need you to come get me

you: happy now?

your phone dings twice, almost instantly, his reply lighting up the screen.

luigi: oh baby, i’m already grabbing my keys

luigi: i’ll come save you soon, better be ready for me

the messages drip with a flirty edge, a promise woven into the tease, and your stomach flips, a grin creeping onto your face as you steal another glance at your date, now staring at you.

you quickly muster an excuse. “i’m so sorry, my mom just texted me, my grandma’s in the hospital, i oughta go down there and be there with her.”

chad… or brad? stares at you, his unnervingly wide grin twisting into a sullen grimace, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. the glint in them dims, replaced by something colder, more petulant.

“fine.” he mutters, his voice a low, gravelly grumble, dripping with annoyance as he leans back in his chair, arms crossing tightly over his chest. his jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might argue, but instead, he lets out a sharp huff, shoving his chair back with a loud, grating scrape against the polished wood floor.

the sound cuts through the restaurant’s soft hum, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. without another word, he rises, his broad frame looming briefly as he snatches his jacket from the back of the chair, the fabric rustling angrily. he storms toward the exit, his heavy footsteps thudding with purpose, the glass door swinging open with a jingle before slamming shut behind him.

through the restaurant’s large window, you watch him stride across the dimly lit parking lot, his silhouette sharp against the neon glow of the restaurant’s sign. he yanks open the driver’s side door of his black toyota, the motion jerky and aggressive, and slides inside. the engine roars to life, headlights flaring as he peels out, tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving a faint trail of burnt rubber as he speeds off into the night.

you’re left alone at the table, your heart still pounding from the tension of his presence, but a wave of relief washes over you, the candle’s faint flicker now feeling like a small beacon of calm in the wake of his departure.

you feel as though you’ve just dodged a MAJOR bullet.

taking a deep breath, you steady yourself and glance around the restaurant, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses grounding you. determined to wrap this up and get out, you catch the eye of a nearby waiter, a young guy with a polite smile, and gesture him over.

“could i get the bill please?” you ask, keeping your voice soft.

he nods and steps away, returning shortly with a glossy black folder containing the bill. you open it, a spark of frustration flaring as you remember chad…?….brad?…or is it actually tad??? promising over text before you even met up that he’d cover dinner, his cocky messages about “treating you right” and about how a woman should “never have to pay for dinner” now feeling like empty bravado now that he’s stormed off without a word.

with a quiet scoff, you slide your credit card into the folder, not bothering to check the total. paying for this disastrous date is a small price to be free of his creepy presence. after a swift transaction and a brief thank you to the waiter, you grab your purse, rise, and smooth your dress, threading through the packed tables toward the exit.

the glass door swings open effortlessly, and you step out, the crisp night air hitting your skin, a refreshing relief from the restaurant’s stifling atmosphere.

entering the parking lot, your eyes scan the dimly lit area, and your heart skips a beat when you spot it… luigi’s red BMW, its glossy paint gleaming under a streetlight, parked near the edge of the lot. the sight of it, bold and familiar, sends a rush of warmth through you, chasing away the last remnants of the date’s unease.

⊹˚✧₊‿︵ʚɞ︵‿₊✧˚⊹

he’s here. he actually came. you clutch your purse tighter, a small smile tugging at your lips as you start walking toward the car, the sound of your heels clicking against the concrete, mingling with the sound of the nearby passing traffic.

as you get closer, luigi’s gaze locks onto you through his windshield, his eyes raking over you with unapologetic hunger, tracing the way your dress molds to every curve of your body. your hips, your waist, your chest… before slowly climbing back to your face.

the stare is brazen, smoldering, and it ignites a tingling heat that blooms across your skin, defying the crisp bite of the night air. you reach the passenger side, fingers curling around the cool metal handle, and swing the door open, sliding into the leather seat that cradles you like a lover’s embrace. as you settle in, luigi lets out a slow, appreciative whistle, the sound low and deliberate.

his head tilts, tongue pressing firmly against the inside of his cheek in that cheeky, teasing gesture that screams confidence and flirtation, his dark eyes glinting with a wicked spark as he drinks you in up close.

“damn…” he drawls, voice rich and smooth as molten honey, each syllable laced with a weight that sends your pulse into a wild sprint.

a shy blush creeps up your cheeks, warm and betraying, as his words and that brazen look settle over you. you shift in the seat, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your face gives you away.

“what?” you reply, your voice light but tinged with a nervous laugh, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your purse as you meet his gaze.

luigi leans back, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, his eyes still roaming you with playful mischief. “this is the hottest i’ve ever seen you look,” he says, his tone teasing but warm, a grin tugging at his lips. “you went all out to go to dinner with that asshole? i’m the one who’s been fucking you for almost 2 months, and you’ve never dressed up this much for me.”

his words carry a mock pout, but the laughter in his voice and the way his eyes crinkle with amusement show he’s having fun with it, clearly relishing in how good you look tonight while still managing to tease you.

you tilt your head, a playful smirk curling your lips as you lean slightly toward him, your voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “well next time i’ll show up in my tightest, shortest dress.” you say, letting the words linger, your eyes locking with his, a spark of challenge in your gaze as you raise an eyebrow.

luigi’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with delight. “i wouldn’t complain.” he shoots back, his tone warm and flirtatious, the laughter still threading through his voice as he holds your gaze, the air between you charged with a familiar, electric pull.

before you can respond, he leans over the center console, closing the distance between you. his hand finds the side of your face, fingers brushing your cheek as he pulls you into a kiss. his lips are warm, firm, and hungry, moving against yours with a slow, deliberate intensity that makes your breath catch.

the kiss deepens quickly, his tongue slipping past your lips, teasing and exploring as it tangles with yours in a slick, heated dance. his stubble grazes your skin, a faint, delicious roughness, and the faint taste of mint from his gum lingers, mixing with the raw, masculine scent of him that fills your senses.

when he pulls back, his eyes linger on yours, a soft, knowing look passing between you. your lips tingle, still buzzing from the kiss, and a flutter of butterflies dances in your stomach, the intimacy of the moment leaving you both grounded and dizzy with want. you’re acutely aware of how much you’ve missed this, missed him, and the realization only deepens the ache of your feelings for him.

luigi settles back into his seat, a faint, satisfied smile playing on his lips. he turns the key in the ignition, the car’s engine purring to life with a low, throaty hum. with a quick glance over his shoulder, he shifts into gear and pulls out of the parking lot, the red car gliding smoothly away from the restaurant, the glow of its neon sign fading in the rearview mirror as you leave the disastrous date behind.

the city lights flash by in streaks of gold and white as he drives, the car navigating the road’s gentle curves with effortless grace. the low thrum of the engine and the rhythmic hum of tires on asphalt create a soothing bubble, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension of the restaurant. his left hand rests casually on the steering wheel, guiding the car with easy confidence, while his right hand drifts to your thigh, settling there with a warm, intentional weight.

his palm presses against the thin fabric of your dress, the heat of his skin radiating through, and his fingers splay slightly, the tips grazing the soft, sensitive skin just above your knee. the touch is both possessive and gentle, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles that send a quiet thrill through you, each small movement sparking a tingling warmth that pools in your core.

the faint roughness of his fingertips, calloused from work, contrasts with the smoothness of your thigh, anchoring you in the moment while stoking a slow burning desire. his grip tightens briefly as he rounds a corner, the subtle pressure sending a jolt of awareness through your body, and you catch the faintest quirk of his lips, as if he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having.

“so…” luigi says, his voice low and casual, though there’s a curious edge to it as he keeps his eyes on the road. “who was this guy you were having dinner with? some wannabe hotshot?”

his tone is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of something sharper beneath it, maybe jealousy, maybe just genuine interest. his hand stays on your thigh, thumb still circling, the touch grounding you even as his question pulls your mind back to the creep you’d rather forget. “i mean, you got all dressed up like that for him…” he adds, glancing at you briefly, his dark eyes flicking over your dress before returning to the road, a playful challenge in his expression.

the car cruises steadily, the city unfolding around you, but with his hand on you and his voice drawing you in, the world outside feels distant, the focus narrowing to the space between you.

you roll your eyes, a frustrated huff escaping as you slump back in the leather seat, the memory of the date reigniting your irritation. “ugh, don’t even, he was the fucking WORST,” you groan, crossing your arms, your voice dripping with exasperation. “some wannabe sigma crypto bro who wouldn’t shut up about “dominating the market” or whatever the fuck and how he’s, like, hacking the blockchain or whatever. kept bragging about his ‘gains’ and how he’s ‘not like other guys.’ oh, AND he left without paying, so i had to pay for dinner.”

you shake your head, annoyance flaring as you picture that asshole’s smug smirk and eerie gaze. luigi’s hand on your thigh is a grounding force, calming your rant, his thumb still drawing slow, tantalizing circles that spark a quiet heat beneath your aggravation.

a low chuckle from him breaks through your thoughts, the sound warm and amused. you whip your head toward him, one eyebrow arched, your voice a mix of teasing and irritation.

“are you giving me attitude?” you ask, half playful, half annoyed, fixing him with a look as you wait for an explanation.

luigi’s chuckle deepens, his eyes glinting with mischief as he keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other still resting on your thigh, his thumb tracing those slow, deliberate circles that keep a faint heat simmering under your skin.

“i just think it’s hilarious,” he says, his voice low and teasing, a playful edge to it as he glances at you briefly before focusing back on the road.

“you’re out here getting this phd from me, and yet you’re stuck at some fancy dinner with a wannabe crypto loser who probably couldn’t even find the clit with a map.” he laughs again, the sound rich and unapologetic, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it.

“like, come on, baby, you’re slumming it with that guy when you’ve got me on speed dial?” his tone is light, cocky but not cruel, and the way his fingers give your thigh a gentle squeeze underscores the playful possessiveness in his words.

the city lights streak by as the car cruises smoothly, and despite your lingering frustration from the date, his teasing and that warm, steady hand on you start to pull a reluctant smile to your lips.

your heart rate quickens at his words, a glimmer of hope flickering deep inside… does he care that you were out with someone else? could he actually be jealous? the thought sends a rush through you, your feelings for him, unspoken and hidden, surging with a quiet ache. but you shove it down, feigning nonchalance as you shift in the plush leather seat, tossing him a sidelong glance with a carefully crafted smirk.

“hey, i’ve got my own life,” you say, voice cool but laced with a playful edge, shrugging slightly. “we’re not exclusive, luigi. you made that clear from the jump, remember? no strings, just fun, that was the rule that we agreed on.”

your words are sharp enough to remind him of the boundaries he set when you first started fucking, but your casual tone masks the pang in your chest, the longing for him to want more. his hand stills on your thigh for a beat, the circling thumb pausing, and you catch a fleeting shift in his expression, maybe surprise, maybe something deeper, as he keeps his gaze on the road, while clenching his jaw.

luigi stays silent for a moment, the engine’s soft hum filling the void. then he speaks, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual playful edge, laced with a vulnerability that makes your breath falter.

“you know,” he begins, still staring straight ahead, “it gets to me, thinking about you with other guys. going out with them, fucking them, or even just… sitting through dinner with some asshole.” he falters, his grip on your thigh tightening just a bit, not possessive but almost instinctual, like he’s steadying himself.

“i’m the one who said no strings, keep it chill. but picturing you with someone else? it hurts way more than i thought it would.” his confession is soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s grappling with the weight of it, and the rawness in his tone sends your heart racing, that faint spark of hope you felt earlier flaring into something brighter.

he shifts gears, the car picking up speed as he guides it away from the city’s vibrant lights, taking the twisting roads toward the lake. the urban sprawl fades into darker, emptier streets, the scenery opening up as the road stretches toward the water’s edge.

his hand stays on your thigh, warm and steady, but his jaw remains taut, his gaze fixed on the road, hinting at an inner conflict. the city’s hum recedes, replaced by the distant whisper of the lake, and his words hang heavily in the air, leaving you caught between the thrill of his admission and the uncertainty of what it might mean for the two of you.

you shift slightly in your seat, his unexpected vulnerability stirring a mix of emotions, hope, nervousness, desire. the road stretches darker now, the city lights long gone, and curiosity nudges you to break the silence.

“where are we going?” you ask, your voice soft but tinged with playful curiosity, glancing at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the faint glow of the dashboard.

luigi’s lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, his eyes still on the road as he replies, “where do you think? we’re headed to our usual spot.” his voice is low, carrying a familiar teasing edge, but there’s a warmth beneath it that makes your pulse quicken, the implication of “our spot” sending a rush to your core.

he steers the car down a familiar narrow road, the pavement giving way to a gravel path that crunches under the tires. the lake comes into view, its surface shimmering faintly under the moonlight, framed by dense trees that create a secluded cocoon.

he pulls into the quiet clearing by the water’s edge, the same spot you’ve been to countless times before, where the world feels like it belongs only to the two of you. the car rolls to a stop, the engine’s hum fading as he cuts the ignition, leaving the soft lapping of the lake and the distant chirp of crickets to fill the silence.

he shifts in his seat, turning to face you, his eyes catching yours, moonlight highlighting the depth in his gaze.

“these last two months,” luigi begins, his voice softer now, laced with a raw honesty that makes your heart skip. “they’ve been the happiest of my life. no joke.”

he hesitates, his thumb now grazing your hand lightly, a rare nervous tic from him. “it’s not just the sex… although i will say, it’s been the best sex i’ve had in my life. it’s… you. hanging out, laughing, just… being together. it’s hit me different. and lately, i’ve been feeling like… i want more than just this no strings thing we’ve been doing.”

he continues. “you’re sweet, funny, kind, beautiful… the whole package. but i can’t keep doing this casual shit. it’s not right for you, and it’s tearing me up. i want us to be official. you and me, together, for real.”

⊹˚✧₊‿︵ʚɞ︵‿₊✧˚⊹

that does it for you.

you lean over the center console, your dress shifting slightly as you move, and your fingers find his belt, the cool metal buckle clicking softly as you deftly undo it. the sound is sharp in the quiet car, charged with intent. luigi’s eyes widen for a split second, a flicker of surprise giving way to a hungry understanding as he catches on.

he shifts in his seat, his hands moving quickly to help, tugging his trousers down with a rustle of fabric. the waistband slides past his hips, revealing the tight grey calvin kleins clinging to his thighs, the fabric stretched taut over his growing bulge, the outline of his cock already thick and prominent, straining against the cotton.

a faint sheen of precum darkens a small patch near the tip, betraying his arousal, and the sight sends a jolt of desire through you, your mouth watering, your core clenching with need. his thighs, muscular and dusted with dark hair, flex slightly as he adjusts, the air between you crackling with anticipation, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the quiet lapping of the lake outside.

you lean across the center console, your dress riding up slightly, and lock eyes with him, your voice low and commanding, dripping with need.

“underwear off. now.”

luigi’s eyes spark with surprise, then amusement, a deep, warm laugh spilling from him, the sound rich and filling the car. “you’re even hornier than usual,” he says, his tone laced with playful awe, a grin spreading across his face. “are you ovulating?”

his laugh is teasing, but the fire in his gaze matches yours, his pupils dilated as he reads the desire in your expression. he doesn’t hesitate long, already moving to comply, but first, he closes the distance between you.

his lips crash into yours, hot and insistent, the kiss immediately deep and consuming. his tongue slips past your lips, tangling with yours in a slick, fervent dance, carrying a hint of mint and his own unique taste. one hand cups your jaw, fingers steady yet gentle, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while his other hand fumbles with the waistband of his underwear.

the fabric shifts as he pulls them down, the tight cotton catching briefly on his erection before sliding past his hips, freeing his cock. it stands thick and heavy, the swollen tip glistening with precum, veins pulsing along the shaft, and though you’re lost in the kiss, the knowledge of his exposure sends a fresh wave of want through you.

his stubble scrapes your skin, a thrilling roughness, and his low groan vibrates against your lips as he slides the underwear off completely, leaving him bare from the waist down. the kiss grows messier, more desperate, teeth grazing, breaths mingling, his hand moving from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough.

the car feels smaller, the lake’s quiet whispers fading against the pounding of your heart and the intense, electric connection of his mouth on yours, his nakedness only amplifying the urgent heat between you.

you break the kiss abruptly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, dark and heavy with lust. without a word, you shift over the center console, your dress hiking up as you lean down, your breath hot against his skin. his cock stands rigid, the flushed tip slick with precum, and you pause for a moment, letting the anticipation build.

then, you press a slow, deliberate kiss to the sensitive head, your lips brushing the smooth, velvety skin, tasting the salty tang of his arousal. luigi lets out a surprised moan, a low sound that reverberates through the car, his hips twitching involuntarily at the sudden contact.

but you don’t stop there. your lips part, and you slowly take him into your mouth, inch by torturous inch. the thick, pulsing heat of his cock fills you, the weight of him heavy on your tongue as you slide down, feeling every ridge and vein against your lips.

then swollen head presses against the roof of your mouth, slick with precum, and you hollow your cheeks, creating a tight, wet suction as you begin to suck him off. your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing the sensitive slit, then flattens along the underside, tracing the throbbing vein as you take him deeper, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth.

the musky scent of him, mixed with the faint leather of the car, floods your senses, driving your desire higher. you move slowly at first, savoring the way he fills your mouth, the way his body responds, his thighs tensing, his hands gripping the edges of the seat.

another moan escapes him, louder this time, a ragged “fuck” slipping out as he watches you, his breath hitching in surprise and pleasure, the sound spurring you on as you work him with deliberate, hungry precision, the secluded lake outside forgotten in the haze of this moment.

luigi’s thighs tense under your touch, his muscles flexing as he shifts slightly in the driver’s seat, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. his hand finds your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentle but firm grip, not forcing but guiding, urging you closer. “my girl… my baby…” he moans, his voice low and ragged, dripping with pleasure as he watches you.

“so beautiful… making me feel so good.” his words are sweet, murmured nothings that spill out between moans, each one stoking the fire in your core. he gently pushes your head down, encouraging you to take him deeper, his touch careful but laced with need. the pressure sends a thrill through you, your throat relaxing to accommodate more of him, the stretch of your lips around his girth making your jaw ache in the best way.

you pick up the pace, your mouth gliding over his cock, wet and slick with your saliva and his precum. the head bumps the back of your throat with each downward motion, and you swallow around him, the tight constriction drawing a louder moan from him, a desperate “just like that, you’re sucking my cock so fucking good.”

your tongue flicks and swirls, lavishing attention on the sensitive underside before circling the tip again, sucking harder, the wet suction loud in the confined space of the car. his fingers tighten in your hair, not rough but possessive, his hips twitching upward slightly, chasing the heat of your mouth. “y’look like a fucking angel…” he groans, his voice breaking with pleasure, the sweet praise mingling with the raw edge of his moans.

his other hand grips the edge of the seat, knuckles whitening, as he fights to stay in control, but the way his cock throbs in your mouth, pulsing with every suck, tells you he’s unraveling. the moonlight filters through the windows, casting soft shadows across his tense frame, and the intimacy of the moment, his hand in your hair, his moaned affirmations, the lake’s quiet seclusion, heightens the electric connection, driving you to please him even more.

you let out a soft moan around his length, the vibration humming through him, your own arousal spiking as you feel him twitch in response. the sound is muffled but needy, your core aching at the thought of driving him wild, your dress riding up as you lean further over the center console. your jaw aches deliciously from his girth, but you don’t slow down, bobbing your head faster, taking him deeper until the tip brushes the back of your throat.

you swallow around him, the tight squeeze pulling another ragged moan from him, his fingers tightening in your hair as his hips buck slightly, chasing the heat of your mouth. “i-i’m getting close,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure.

but then, his hand shifts, releasing your hair to tap lightly on the top of your head, a gentle but urgent signal.

“stop.” he says, his voice hoarse, laced with a desperate edge. you pause, pulling back slowly, your lips glistening as you look up at him, his cock still hard and slick, twitching in the cool air. his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and he flashes a heated, almost predatory grin.

“get on my lap.” he rasps, his tone leaving no room for argument. “i wanna cum inside that pretty little cunt.”

the sheer bluntness of his words hits you like a shockwave, your body responding instantly, a rush of wetness soaking your panties as you nod, already moving to climb over the console, eager to give him exactly what he wants in the moonlit seclusion of your lakeside spot.

you move swiftly, climbing over the center console, your dress snagging briefly on the leather seat. you straddle his lap, knees framing his hips in the tight driver’s seat, moonlight flooding through the BMW’s windows, casting a silvery sheen over you both. your hands work fast, yanking up your dress, the fabric bunching at your waist to reveal the delicate black lace panties hugging your skin.

your fingers tug the material aside, exposing your pussy, slick, swollen, and dripping, the glistening folds catching the light, your clit throbbing with anticipation.

luigi’s gaze drops to your cunt, and a deep, primal groan escapes him, his cock jerking against his abdomen. “jesus fuck…” he mutters, hands clamping onto your hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he stares at your soaked, parted lips, your juices dripping down your inner thigh in a glistening trail.

“so perfect, it’s practically screaming for me.” his voice drips with hunger, and before you can react, his hand darts forward, delivering a sharp, deliberate slap to your clit.

the sudden sting sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you squeal, your body jerking as you gasp, “luigi!” your voice is a mix of surprise and needy whining, your core throbbing at the unexpected sensation, wetness pooling even more.

he just laughs, low and heated, his eyes locked on yours. “sweet girl, cmon, give me a kiss.” he says, voice softer but thick with lust, drawing you in. you lean forward, lips colliding with his, the kiss instantly deep and messy, tongues tangling in a fervent, sloppy dance. his mouth is hot, tasting of mint. one hand presses against your back, pulling you closer, while the other grips your hip, guiding you as your slick pussy grazes his cock, the brief contact drawing moans from both of you into the kiss.

the weight of your emotions his admission, this moment… overwhelms you. you pull back from the kiss, chest heaving, and look into his eyes. “i love you.” you breathe, the words spilling out raw and unguarded, your voice shaky with the truth you’ve kept buried. your heart pounds, exposed, but the way his eyes soften, the way his breath catches, makes it feel right.

luigi lets out a deep, needy groan, his hands tightening on your hips like he’s anchoring himself. “shit,” he rasps, voice heavy with feeling. “turn around, i want your back against my chest.” his tone is a heated order, sending a shiver through you. you comply, shifting in his lap to face away, your dress still bunched at your waist, panties pulled aside, your dripping pussy exposed and practically calling out his name.

you lean back, your back molding to the hard planes of his chest, the heat of his skin seeping through his shirt, his cock pressing against your entrance, thick and throbbing. his hands slide to your hips, steadying you, his breath hot against your neck as the lake’s soft murmurs fade.

your dress stays hiked up around your waist, panties tugged aside, your soaked pussy bare. his cock nudges your entrance, thick and pulsing, the flushed tip grazing your wet lips, sending a tremor of need through you. the lake’s gentle murmurs outside fade into the background.

his lips brush your neck, hot and intentional, landing a slow, wet kiss on the delicate skin just beneath your ear. the touch is searing, his breath warm and tantalizing, and then his tongue darts out, tracing the sensitive spot with a deliberate, lingering lick. a soft moan spills from you, primal and unrestrained, your head tipping to offer him more as your body instinctively arches into him. the slick heat of his mouth sends shivers of pleasure cascading through you, your core tightening, your pussy juices dripping in a glossy trail down your inner thighs.

luigi’s mouth closes over the spot, sucking softly at first, then with more force, his teeth lightly scraping as he marks you. his hand moves from your hip to your pussy, fingers zeroing in on your engorged clit with effortless precision. he begins rubbing in tight, deliberate circles, his rough fingertips slick with your wetness, teasing the sensitive bud with maddening accuracy.

the dual assault is intoxicating, his lips and teeth working your neck, sucking hard to leave a dark, tender hickey, while his fingers stroke your clit with unrelenting focus.

your hips jerk against his hand, a louder moan tearing from your throat, the pleasure surging as his touch pushes you toward the brink. the hickey pulses with a faint sting, a bold claim that makes your heart pound, your pussy clenching under his fingers, each circle sending sharp waves of heat through your body.

“you’re fucking drenched,” he growls against your neck, voice hoarse and thick, rumbling against your skin as he licks the fresh hickey, easing the sensitive mark. “need to get you ready for my cock.”

his fingers pick up speed, pressing harder against your clit, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal blending with your breathless moans and the faint groan of the leather seat. your thighs quiver, splayed wide across his lap, your body sinking into his chest as he drives you wild, the combination of his sucking mouth and merciless fingers pulling you closer to the edge.

without warning, luigi’s hand leaves your clit, gripping your hip as he shifts beneath you. in one swift, ruthless motion, he thrusts upward, his cock plunging into your dripping cunt, bottoming out with a single, deep stroke. the sudden stretch is overwhelming, his thick shaft splits you open, filling you completely, the pulsing veins and swollen head dragging against your slick walls with a searing intensity.

you cry out, a sharp, “oh lu!” tearing from your lips, your body jolting against his chest as the pleasure-pain of his intrusion sends a shockwave through you. your pussy clenches around him, gripping his cock so firmly, every inch of him buried so deep you feel him pressing against your cervix, the fullness almost too much.

“so fucking tight…” he groans, his voice a low, guttural rasp against your ear, thick with lust. his hands clamp onto your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you in place, letting you adjust to the brutal stretch. “this pussy was made for me, yeah, hear me?” his words are filthy, possessive, and they ignite a fresh wave of arousal, your walls fluttering around his cock, slick and hot.

he doesn’t move yet, savoring the way you’re stretched around him, your juices coating his shaft, dripping down to his balls, pooling on the leather seat beneath you.

you whimper, your hands scrambling for purchase, one gripping his thigh, the other reaching back to clutch at his shirt. “baby… fuck, you’re so big…” you gasp, your voice trembling with need, your hips twitching instinctively, desperate for friction.

the fullness is dizzying, his cock throbbing inside you, every pulse sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. your clit aches, still sensitive from his fingers, and the hickey on your neck pulses with a faint sting, amplifying the sensory overload.

he snickers darkly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “you love it, don’t you? love how i fill you up.” he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup your breast through your dress, his thumb grazing your hardened nipple, making you moan again. slowly, he starts to move, pulling out just an inch before slamming back in, the wet, obscene squelch of your pussy taking him echoing in the car.

“fuck, listen to that… so wet… and all for me.” he growls, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he sets a deliberate, punishing pace, each thrust deep and hard, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting spots that make your vision blur.

you moan loudly, your head falling back against his shoulder, your body rocking with every thrust. “yes, yes, fuck luigi!” you cry, your voice breaking as he fucks you relentlessly, the car rocking slightly with the force of his movements. your pussy grips him tighter, the slick friction driving you wild, your arousal coating his cock, making each thrust smoother, deeper.

his hand on your hip guides you, lifting you slightly before pulling you down to meet his thrusts, the angle letting him hit your g spot with devastating precision. “don’t stop… please!” you beg, your nails digging into his thigh, the pleasure building so fast it’s almost unbearable.

“stop? no fucking way,” he groans, his lips finding your neck again, kissing the hickey he left before sucking on a new spot, his teeth grazing your skin. “gonna fuck you till you can’t think straight.” his other hand snakes back to your clit, fingers finding the swollen bud and rubbing in tight, fast circles, the added stimulation making you scream, your thighs trembling as you teeter on the edge.

your pussy milks him with every thrust, the wet, sloppy sounds of your bodies colliding filling the car, drowning out the lake’s whispers. his cock pulses inside you, thick and relentless, the head battering your deepest spots, and you feel the coil in your core tightening, ready to snap.

“baby… i’m so close,” you whimper, your voice ragged, your body shaking as he pounds into you, his fingers relentless on your clit, his lips sucking another dark mark onto your neck. the pleasure is overwhelming, a tidal wave threatening to crash, your love for him mixing with the raw physicality of the moment, making every sensation sharper, more intense.

“oh baby, let go for me,” he rasps, his voice strained, his thrusts growing harder, more erratic, his cock throbbing inside you as he chases his own release. “cum all over my cock… wanna feel that perfect cunt squeeze me.” his words push you over the edge, and with a final, desperate moan, your orgasm hits, your pussy clamping down on him, waves of pleasure crashing through you as you tremble in his lap, your juices gushing around his cock, soaking his thighs and the seat below.

but he doesn’t stop. his hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps fucking you, his cock slamming into your oversensitive pussy with relentless, punishing thrusts. each stroke drags against your spasming walls, his tip battering your g spot, sending jolts of overstimulation through your already trembling body.

you’re loud now, uncontrollably so, your moans turning into high pitched cries and gasps, each one spilling out louder than the last. “fuck, it’s too much!” you whimper, your voice breaking, your hands clutching at his thighs, nails scraping the flesh as you squirm in his lap.

“you sound so beautiful,” he groans, his voice low and ragged, his breath hot against your neck as he pounds into you, chasing his release. “wish i was recording right now… you’re gonna make me cum baby.” his hips snap up, the wet slap of his cock plunging into your drenched cunt echoing in the car, mixing with your desperate cries and his own guttural moans.

his thrusts are frantic now, his cock throbbing harder, the veins pulsing against your walls as he nears the edge. “fucking incredible,” he growls, one hand sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place as he fucks you deeper, the car rocking with the force of his movements.

your body shakes, oversensitive and overwhelmed, your pussy clenching involuntarily around him with every thrust, drawing out more slick, your thighs soaked and trembling. “luigi, please!” you cry, not even sure what you’re begging for, your voice hoarse, your head thrown back against his shoulder as you ride the razor’s edge of too much pleasure. the hickey on your neck throbs faintly, a reminder of his claim, and your clit pulses, untouched but aching from the intensity of his cock filling you so completely.

“gonna cum,” he moans, his voice breaking, his thrusts growing sloppy but no less forceful. “gonna fill that pretty pussy up… fuck, baby.” with a final, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing violently as he cums inside you. hot, thick spurts of his cum flood your pussy, coating your walls, the warmth spreading deep as he groans loudly, his hips jerking with each wave of his release.

you feel every pulse, every gush, the sensation pushing another overwhelmed whimper from your lips as your pussy clenches around him, drinking in every drop. his cum mixes with your juices, leaking out around his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the seat, a sticky, filthy mess that marks the intensity of the moment.

both of you are panting, your breaths ragged and uneven, filling the BMW’s confined space. luigi’s chest heaves against your back, his heart pounding so hard you can feel it through his shirt. his hands, still on your hips, soften their grip, his fingers brushing your skin gently as he catches his breath.

the air is thick with the scent of sex and leather, the lake’s quiet ripples outside barely audible over your shared gasps. slowly, he shifts beneath you, his softening cock still inside, and his voice breaks the silence, low and tender. “let me look at you.”he murmurs, his tone soft but insistent, carrying a warmth that makes your heart skip.

you nod, still dazed, and with his help, you carefully lift yourself off his lap, his cock slipping free with a wet sound, more of his cum and your slick dripping down your thighs. he guides you to turn around, your dress still bunched at your waist, panties askew, as you maneuver in the tight driver’s seat to face him.

your knees settle on either side of his hips again, your bodies close in the cramped space, the moonlight casting soft shadows across his face. his dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of adoration and intensity, and his hands move to cup your cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over your flushed skin.

luigi leans in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your forehead, the gesture so intimate it makes your chest ache. his lips linger there, warm and grounding, before he pulls you into a tight hug, your face nestling into the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go. the heat of his body, the steady thump of his heartbeat, grounds you, and you melt into him, your arms looping around his shoulders.

“i love you.” he says, his voice quiet but firm, the words vibrating against your skin, carrying a certainty that sends a wave of warmth through you. “i mean it, baby. i love you.”

your heart soars, the love you’ve held back for months now mirrored in his confession, and you press yourself closer, savoring the safety of his embrace. he pulls back just enough to look at you again, his hands still cradling your face, his eyes searching yours with a soft, unguarded affection.

“let’s go back to my place,” he says, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, his voice low and inviting. “wanna be with you tonight… just us.” the promise in his words, coupled with the lingering heat of your shared release and the quiet intimacy of the lake’s seclusion, makes the idea of being alone with him, in the comfort of his bed, feel like the perfect next step.

🎀…ONE MONTH LATER…. 🎀

lately, something’s been off. you’ve been exhausted, far beyond your usual tiredness, your body feeling heavy and sluggish even after a full night’s sleep. your appetite’s been unpredictable, some days ravenous, others repulsed by foods you used to love.

nausea creeps up at odd times, a queasy wave that hits you in the morning or when you smell coffee. and your emotions? they’re all over the place, swinging from joy to tears in moments, leaving you reeling. you’ve brushed it off as stress or maybe a bug, but a nagging thought has started to take root, one you haven’t dared voice aloud.

you’re standing in the small, fluorescent-lit bathroom at work, the door locked, your heart pounding so loud it drowns out the hum of the ventilation. sure enough, in your trembling hand is a plastic stick, its small window displaying two unmistakable pink lines. a positive pregnancy test.

soooo… do we keep the baby?

tags: @alleviatcd @luigisbambinaaa @diors002 @corrodeddeadlydoll @contrarianshitstan-blog @weegeewifey @mangionesdoll @mangobabygirl @luigisnumber1fan @fligniuz @number1yearner @soulsmangione @ohsorrythen @bbyelle12 @briarloves @mangionesdaisy @thm12 @purplebadd1e @kikigoogoogaga @daydreamingwithluigi

masterlist | previous work

[cap-trio]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down (I'll Crawl Home to Her)

Summary: After a bad fight, Matt ends up in a coma. Unsure if he's going to make it or not, you decide to finally get something off your chest. It feels safer to confess assuming he most likely can't hear you, but when Matt wakes up, you find out you were wrong.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: Angst, fluff, friends to lovers, love confessions

TW: Mention of a coma and hospitals

Word count: 4.5K | Read on AO3

You get the phone call on a Tuesday night.

It started as a typical day; you got up at 6:00 on the dot to get ready for work. Matt met you at your door at 7:30 to walk with you, despite your numerous protests you could make it to work fine on your own. Not to mention your apartment was out of his way by ten minutes. But he knew about the danger that lurked around every corner of Hell’s Kitchen and when it came to you, he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Foggy’s name lights up your phone. Nothing out of the ordinary, but things go south as soon as you accept the call. “Hey, what’s -”

“Matt’s in the hospital,” he interrupts. “He’s in a coma.”

The phone falls to the ground, and you ignore Foggy’s voice calling your name. You don’t care that the screen is definitely cracked. You have tunnel vision and can only focus on Matt. You hear Foggy repeatedly asking if you’re okay and that you’re still on the line.

Sinking to the ground, you pick the phone back up. “Sorry, I’m here. What hospital?”

After getting the address, you make it there in record time. You don’t even bother waiting for the elevator, instead climbing the stairs two at a time to floor five. The ICU.

Foggy and Karen greet you in the lobby. Both look disheveled, with fresh tears on their cheeks, dark circles under their eyes, and hair askew from constantly running their hands through it. “What happened? Is he…” going to make it? You can’t bring yourself to finish the question. If you don’t say it, you won’t accidentally speak it into existence. You don’t want to let your thoughts go down that path, but how can you not?

“Fisk got to him,” Karen’s voice is low. “We don’t know what Matt told them happened, or if he said anything at all.”

“He called me, and I knew this was worse than the other times. He could barely breathe and then he passed out. I called 911, then you guys. It’s just been a waiting game.” Foggy takes a deep breath. “All I could make out was something about Fisk and how he got the upper hand this time.”

It takes every last ounce of strength not to collapse to the floor. Karen notices and leads you over to the seating area. “When can I see him?”

“We aren’t sure; they haven’t left his room. No updates yet, ” Foggy replies. 

You were on a mission to get to the hospital as fast as you could. Now that you’re here, everything hits you like a truck. It’s a pain you’ve never felt before, like someone carved a hole in your chest, ripping out your heart like they were pulling weeds out of a garden, leaving you hollow. So hollow you can’t even cry. Everything is just numb like the switch controlling your emotions was flipped off. It’s like an out-of-body nightmare; you’re aware it’s not real, but you’re stuck anyway, forced to live in it. What you wouldn’t give for this to only be a fucked up dream. 

The three of you sit in the lobby, hands interlocked, waiting in silence. Between the fluorescent lighting beating down like the sun, the faint sound of heart monitors, and the receptionists carrying on conversations like you weren’t at risk of losing your friend, you knew you couldn’t handle it for much longer before going crazy.  

Maybe that would be okay though. It would prove you could still feel something other than the shell of who you were an hour ago. 

“Am I broken?” Your voice is just above a whisper. “Why am I not breaking down in tears? Or having a panic attack?”

“It’s a stressful situation. Your body doesn’t know how to respond, so it’s pretty much just…not. It’s normal to shut down, so I promise you aren’t broken,” Karen assures you.

“I’m at the same level. I don’t want this to be real, so my body is responding like it’s not. Like this is all some fucked up dream,” Foggy adds.

For some reason, Foggy’s words are what bring on the tears. Not a gut-wrenching sob like you had expected, but still something. “Shit, was it something I said?” He asks.

“No. Yes,” you let out a small laugh. “I was just thinking how grateful I am that you two are here with me. If I were alone…” You don’t finish the thought, and you don’t need to. They know exactly what you mean.

Karen pulls you in for a hug, shedding a few tears herself. Foggy tries to brush off how he’s doing the same. The receptionist notices and quietly brings over an extra box of tissues and gives an apologetic smile. The sound of the door opening separates you three in hopes it’s any sort of update, but they go to the other family waiting.

An hour passes. You don’t move from your seat.

Another hour. Foggy goes to the vending machine for snacks. You don’t eat.

The third hour is when the panic really starts to seep in. You don’t want to be one of those people, but you’re about to go to the desk and demand some sort of update. Instead, you pace around the lobby to try and release the nervous energy.

The sound of the doors opening again freezes you in your tracks. Finally, a doctor appears. “Murdock crew?” She calls out. The three of you race over, but she says, “It’s best if we sit down.” Nervous glances are shared. That’s a telltale sign things are most definitely not good.

“So, I’ll start by saying Matthew has improved since he first arrived. Vitals are almost where we want them, but he needs to stay in a medically induced coma while we continue working on him. I don’t want to make any guarantees as he’s still in bad shape. Matthew is suffering from a concussion, several broken ribs, and internal bleeding. The coma could last up to a month, depending on whether or not he shows signs of recovery.”

Whether or not. Her words ring in your ears. Or not. Or not. Or not. 

“But he’ll live, right? People have survived worse. He’ll be fine. Right?” Foggy sounds delirious, not that you can blame him. It’s not the update you guys were hoping for.

“Like I said, I don’t want to make any promises. I’m sorry I can’t give any definitive answers. Just know we’re working our absolute hardest.”

“Can we at least see him?” You beg.

“Not tonight, unfortunately. We’re hoping he’ll be ready for visitors in the next few days. We’ll keep you guys updated. For now, I recommend getting some rest and making sure you’re fed and hydrated. In stressful times, we tend to shut down and not take care of ourselves. We’ll call if anything changes, good or bad.”

Good or bad. Or bad. Or bad. Or bad. 

“Thank you,” Karen says with a small smile.

She leaves the three of you alone again. “I don’t want to go home,” you admit. If something happens and you aren’t here, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

“They don’t let people stay overnight,” Foggy sighs. “My apartment is the closest, why don’t we all head there and at least try to sleep?”

You’re all too exhausted to walk, so Karen hails a taxi. No one speaks, not even the driver. He takes one look at your group, mumbles a “sheesh” to himself, and starts the drive to Foggy’s apartment. 

He provides some pajamas for you and Karen while you all set up camp in the living room. Phones charging and on the loudest setting, you all settle into your positions for the night. Karen on the couch, you on an air mattress, Foggy on the loveseat. It would almost be a fun sleepover if not given the circumstances. Not to mention how empty it feels without Matt.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep, but the fatigue kicks in and you can’t resist it any longer. Hoping to get an escape from this hell, you close your eyes and slip into an escape.

“We’re sorry. We tried everything, but Matthew wasn’t able to pull through. You’re welcome to come in and say your goodbyes. Again, our condolences. He was a fighter.” A painful sob comes from deep within you. You don’t even recognize yourself, everything feels raw and cracked. Grief fills you to the brim, like a thick smoke clouding your lungs, enough to leave you choking and gasping for air. You follow behind Foggy and Karen to say your goodbyes to Matt. The sight of him lying lifeless in the hospital bed sends you collapsing to the floor.

You wake with a scream. Foggy and Karen shoot up, immediately asking what happened. You can’t answer yet; your body takes a second to come back to reality and recognize it was just an awful dream. But it could happen, a twisted voice reminds you. 

“I’m so sorry. I was having a nightmare, and it felt so real,” you sigh. 

“It’s okay, we’re here,” Karen squeezes your hands. “I think we all had the same dream.”

Foggy nods in agreement. “Just wanted to get some rest, but here we are.” He chuckles humorlessly. 

No one knows what to say next. Nothing can be said to make anyone feel better; trying would be pointless. It would all just feel like one person is saying what everyone wants to hear when really, no one has a clue how this will play out.

“Maybe we watch a movie? It doesn’t seem like sleep is an option, and it might be somewhat of a distraction,” Karen suggests. 

It’s better than sitting in silence, especially when that silence invites dark thoughts to creep in, so Foggy fires up the TV and finds the most absurd comedy he can find.

Eventually, the three of you are able to doze off again by the time a second movie plays. No bad dreams happen this time, but the sound of someone's ringtone jostles everyone awake. The small amount of light peaking in lets you know it's sometime the next day, but everything feels disorienting.

Foggy answers and puts the phone on speaker. “Hello, we’d like to let you know Matt is ready for visitors. Our visiting hours are from 9:00 a.m to 9:00 p.m every day. If anything about that changes, we’ll reach out.” 

“Thank you so much,” Foggy says before hanging up. Everyone takes a few minutes to freshen up before catching a cab back to the hospital. Anxiety courses through you, though it's different from last night. You’re not sure what you're going to say to Matt, or how he’ll look; you feel entirely unprepared. Having Karen and Foggy with you makes it a little less scary at least.

Karen checks in with the receptionist, and five minutes later a nurse comes to let the three of you in. She pauses outside his door. “I want to warn you that he looks pretty beaten up. It won't be easy seeing him in this state, but having someone with him might be good for his recovery.”

She has everyone take a deep breath before opening the door. Matt looks similar to how he did in your nightmare, all bloody and bruised, hooked up to various machines with tubes. You’ve seen him after a fight before, even helped clean him up, but it was never like this. Not even what the nurse said could’ve prepared you. 

“What should we say to him? Anything that could make him wake up?” You ask.

“Hearing familiar voices is good no matter what. We recommend just telling him about your day, or maybe reading him a book he likes. Anything that feels right for you.”

None of this feels right, you want to scream. Instead you thank her for the tips. 

“I’ll leave you guys alone, but feel free to press that button if you need anything at all.” She gestures to a CALL button near Matt’s bed before slipping out the door.

It's silent at first while everyone takes in the sight of him. 

“Maybe tell him a story from college?” You suggest to Foggy. “It might be good to hear something familiar.”

He launches into the avocados at law story which has you and Karen laughing. You would’ve loved to have known them back then.

“I don’t think anything I say will top that,” Karen says. “I don’t even know what to say, anyway.”

Foggy assures her anything will be better than nothing, so she tearfully tells Matt how grateful she is for her and Foggy’s help during her trial. It moves you and Foggy to tears too, and everyone ends up a blubbery mess.

“Sorry to kill the mood,” she chuckles. “What’ve you got?” She asks you.

You decide to tell him about the first day he showed up at your apartment to walk you to work. How you weren’t expecting him at all, given that you’d only been friends for a few weeks at that point and he never mentioned he would be there. How even though you poked fun at him for it at first, he makes you feel safer and you’re lucky to have him.

“I didn’t even know he does that,” Karen says.

“I always thought it was weird when he’d be late for work when it wasn’t related to his…activities,” Foggy adds, not knowing if anyone outside the room could hear. “He really loves us all, huh?”

That brings on more tears. How grateful are you all to have someone like Matt in your lives?

“Alright, I think I’ve had enough crying for the rest of my life,” Karen laughs.

“I think it’d be good to talk about our day like the nurse suggested,” you say. “Not after we found out what happened, but before that.”

And that’s what the three of you do for the next week and a half, once a day and always together. Foggy brings up the idea of doing separate visits, suggesting it might be good for some alone time with him. 

Your first visit alone is awkward. Without Karen and Foggy to describe your days together, you aren’t sure what to say. It’s like trying therapy for the first time, knowing you have things to talk about, but being too scared to bring anything up, making it feel too real.

His progress has been up and down, worrying you that it might stay like that for months. Or years. And there is one thing that Matt doesn’t know about you, a secret you’ve acknowledged and thrown into a locked box, refusing to open it. The sick, dark voice from before warns you this may be the only chance you get to tell him.

“Hi, Matt. It’s just me today; we decided it might be good to spend some alone time with you. Uh, today was alright. We went to Josie’s, played some pool, and had a few beers. Felt empty without you though. I’m trying to stall here because I want to tell you something. Something big. But I’m terrified, and a wuss, so I have to do it while you probably can’t hear me or respond at all.” You laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. 

“Well, here goes nothing,” you pause. “So uh, I’m kind of in love with you? Not sure why I phrased it like a question. I know I’m in love with you, and it scares the shit out of me. We’ve known each other for years, and I don’t know if telling you is worth the risk. I care about you too much to let some feelings get in the way. So yeah, that’s my secret.”

You’re not sure if you feel better or worse now that it’s out there. It feels good to get it off your chest, but nothing has really changed by admitting it. Matt will continue to be oblivious to your feelings while you have to continue carrying them around.

Exhaustion kicks in and you slump back in the chair. Just as your eyes begin to drift shut, you hear a groan and shoot awake. Matt starts stirring, mumbling to himself, and you watch helplessly before adrenaline kicks in.

“Nurse! I need a nurse!” You shout into the hallway. They instruct you to wait in the hall; on your way out, you see Matt’s eyes open and you let out a gasp. You swear you see him reach for you, but you’re also feeling a bit delirious so it could be your mind playing tricks on you.

You call Karen and Foggy with the news. Less than ten minutes later, the three of you are standing outside of his room, playing another round of the dreaded waiting game. You fill them in on the moments leading up to Matt waking up, purposefully leaving out details of the conversation.

Thirty minutes go by until one of the nurses comes into the hallway. “He’s awake and stable. You can come in and see him, but I’ll warn he may be slightly out of it.” 

Matt gives a weak smile as the three of you enter. “How do I look?” 

“Out of it, my ass,” Foggy laughs. “You look like shit.”

“Ouch. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to someone in a hospital bed? A blind man I might add.”

“Little too late to be playing the blind card,” Karen adds.

He turns in your general direction. “What’s your verdict?”

“I’m with these two. You’ve looked better.”

It feels good to be joking around like this again. Things certainly aren’t back to normal, but this is a step in the right direction.

“Even though you hurt my feelings, could we talk alone for a second?” 

Foggy and Karen exchange a look and turn to raise their eyebrows at you. You shrug, indicating you’re not sure what this is about.

“I better get some alone time too,” Foggy pouts.

“There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Your friends leave, and as soon as the door shuts you feel like you’re suffocating with anxiety. What could he want to talk about that he couldn’t say in front of his best friends?

“Can I ask you about something?”

“Of course. Anything.” Your voice shakes when you answer. 

“Earlier, right before I woke up, I thought I heard you say you’re in love with me.” 

Panic settles in hard and fast, like being taken under by a cold ocean wave when your back is facing the water, unexpected and unpleasant. 

Fuck. 

“That’s not a question.” Stupid. It's the only thing your brain can think of to say, trying to delay the shitstorm that’s brewing. 

“Okay,” his mouth quirks up into a small smile, trying to cover a laugh. He knows you well enough to know what you're doing. “Let me rephrase - are you in love with me?”

“I uh, no. I’m not. Must've been a crazy coma dream or something!” Your laugh that follows is too loud and brash to sound even remotely convincing.

“You’re lying.” There isn’t any uncertainty in his voice. He says it like it’s a known fact and not an educated guess. 

“Wow, I feel like I should be offended,” you huff. You’re not sure why you’re angry at him when he’s right. Or maybe you’re angry that this conversation is even happening when you vowed to take these feelings to the grave. “I promise I’m not.”

“You are.” The way he emphasizes the word sucks all the air out of the room. That one word makes everything feel different. It’s confirmation you can’t brush this conversation off. Matt isn’t going to let it go.

“Jesus Matt, can we just drop it? I told you, I never said it. I don’t know why you can’t believe me. And is this really the most important thing to be focusing on right now?”

“To me? Yes, it is that important. And I can tell you’re lying.”

You roll your eyes. He knows even though he can’t see it, because he knows you. “Because of what, my laugh? I admit I sounded weird, but -”

He cuts you off. “It was your heartbeat.” He’s frustrated that you can’t understand, as if this is some normal thing people can do, or like he’s mentioned it before and it’s something you just casually forgot. Like you would ever forget something like that. 

You snort at how unbelievable this situation has gotten. “My heartbeat? What the hell are you talking about?” 

Surely this is a weird side effect of the concussion. Maybe he’s hearing things now? Or he’s playing some weird prank on you? You should probably call the nurse back in.

“I can hear people’s heartbeat. When they lie, it changes rhythms. When you said you aren’t in love with me it got faster. So I’m asking you again, are you in love with me?”

“Matt, you can’t just brush that off like it isn’t the most insane thing I’ve ever heard! You expect me to believe you, especially when you can’t prove it? Look, I’m gonna call in the nurse and have her check your head because clearly, the concussion isn’t any better.” 

You reach for the call button but he grabs your wrist before you can press it. Warmth spreads across the spots where his fingers are touching you. Now is not the time you try to relay that message to your body. It doesn’t listen.

He lets go of your wrist and sighs. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes. You constantly made up excuses when you’d show up to work with mysterious bruises or cuts. Not gonna work in this argument.”

“I didn’t realize we were arguing,” he raises an eyebrow. “But to be fair, that was only to keep you safe. Have I ever lied about anything else?”

“I don’t know, I can’t hear your heartbeat.”

Now he rolls his eyes. “I know you’re trying to avoid talking about it. But please know I wouldn’t make something like this up. After the accident, my senses got heightened more than what would happen to the average person. I know it seems like I’m an asshole for keeping something like this private, like I use it to take advantage of people, but I don’t. Even when someone lies, I don’t force them into telling the truth. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

He sounds exhausted, and can you blame him? Having to live with this gift, but knowing he can’t really do anything with it, would take a toll on anyone. 

But he’s also putting you in an uncomfortable position, despite claiming he doesn’t use it against people. “So why are you doing it to me now?”

“I’m sorry. We can drop it, but don’t you want to know why I’m so hung up on this? Why I’m seconds away from getting on my knees and begging you to tell the truth?”

Yes. No. Because admitting that makes this all too real. Too scary. It opens up a door you want to bolt shut because it allows too many what-ifs into the mix. What if things don’t work out? What if you work better as friends and break up, making everything complicated? You could write a whole book full of different scenarios.

But there is another possibility: what if Matt loves you too? 

It’s enough to make you want to unlock the door and throw it open. “I do.”

Time seems to stand still. You both know what’s coming, and it scares the hell out of you, but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

“Tell the truth. Please, I want to hear you say it.”

You already did, you want to point out. But now isn’t the time to be a smart ass, not with the way his gaze is piercing you and the tension rising with every second unspoken. 

“I’m in love with you, Matt.”

Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound is music to his ears, better than any song he’s heard. If he wasn’t ruined by you before, he sure is now.

“I’m in love with you too.”

“Good, or else that would’ve been really embarrassing.”

He laughs. “Now was that so hard to admit?”

“Oh please! You didn’t give me much of an option.” You deepen your voice in a terrible attempt to mock him, “I’m Matt and I can hear people’s heartbeats, so I know when they lie. I’m in love with you too, but instead of saving time and saying that, I’m gonna make you do it first. Even though I clearly heard you before.” 

You both erupt into laughter; you can physically feel yourself getting lighter as the crushing weight of tension leaves your body. 

“I’m never going to get over hearing you say that,” he admits.

“I won’t either.” You pause, feeling a shift in the conversation tone. “I honestly never wanted you to know. I only said it because I was scared of losing you, and it was a cowardly way of getting it off my chest. I tried convincing myself maybe you also felt that there was always something more between us, but then I’d get in my head and decide you didn’t. Decided it wouldn’t be worth losing you if I said something and you turned me down, but then I thought I’d lose you in a different way.” Your voice cracks at the end, and you force the tears back in, hating that you’re making things serious again. 

“I’ve always felt it,” Matt confesses. “I never wanted to pressure you or make things weird if I misread the signs. Am I happy this is what it took for us to be together? Of course not, I pictured this moment a million different ways, and not one involved a hospital. But I am happy it happened. So unbelievably happy.”

“I am too. I’ve wanted this for years.”

“I really want to kiss you, but…” he gestures to his current state. 

“We can make it work. We’ll just be careful.”

“I’ll make it up to you when I’m healed,” he smirks. He gets a little cocky from how he can make your heartbeat quicken, and how intimate it is that only the two of you can experience it together.

“Such a tease,” you roll your eyes, leaning down inches from his mouth.

“You’re one to talk.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

His hands cup your chin while yours rests on his hip, careful not to apply any pressure. You can both feel the other holding back; his lips are just grazing yours, but it’s enough to feel like hot lava is coursing through you. If his lingering touches over the years left sparks in their wake, kissing him is like being electrocuted. It’s delicate and sweet and you’re overwhelmed with how right it feels. The only thing on Matt’s mind are you and more, but he knows this is just the beginning. 

So instead he focuses on the now, mentally adding this moment to a scrapbook of memories filled with you.

[etherealrin]

Good morning Tiff. I'm here for the 500 event. May I order: iced mocha + pain au chocolat + for here! Scenario: Megumi and Reader grew up together as neighbors before Reader relocates to another district in Tokyo due to her father's job. After a routine mission, Megumi and Gojo comes across a grown-up Reader purifying a cursed spirit-haunted factory. Gojo expresses his surprise when he detects Reader using purifying energy.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. it’s you!

warnings: none pure fluff // gn reader, childhoodbffs! // wc: 573

fushiguro megumi doesn’t get shocked easily. no matter the circumstance, he’s always one to be calm and level-headed. not even his childish and far too lax teacher, gojo satoru, was capable of disturbing his composure. he’s definitely not one to get distracted during a mission, especially not while his teacher was monitoring him.

but suddenly, megumi’s stunned, paused and jaw-dropped in the middle of the long hallway at the sight of you.

you, who he’d moved next door to at the age of five on a cloudy day. it had started raining, but megumi was locked out of the new house. his father was gone somewhere, tsumiki’s mother nowhere to be found, and tsumiki herself void as well. the light drizzle threatened to turn into an all out downpour, and just as he prepared himself to be soaked—you were there. door to your home open, gesturing him inside like you’d been friends for eternity. he was stuck in your living room for an awkward two hours, in which you essentially interrogated him; but he oddly didn’t mind. your bright eyes lit up when he gave answers longer than a few words, and he knew even then: he was completely sold.

inevitably, megumi had gone to school with you, where he was often in trouble. you, on the other hand, were the golden child adored by teachers and students alike. despite the popularity, you had never failed to seek megumi out during lunches and recesses. in short, you became his world, until the both of you were eleven and your parents moved you out of the city. megumi had wanted to say it then, what had been on his mind for the past six years, but the words were glued to the back of his dried throat. he could only watch in silence as you said your tear-filled goodbyes, and muster one of his own.

you had saved him back then. and funnily enough, you’re still saving him now, many years later.

“watch out!” your voice tinged with worry snaps him out of his thoughts, and megumi barely has time to duck before you purify the curse that had lunged for his head.

he looks up, and he swears it’s just like a movie scene. your hair falls perfectly, almost like slow motion as you look down at him, and your familiar eyes widen with recognition.

“…gumi?” you sound shocked, speech tinged with indiscernible emotions. you’re the only person who can call him that, and the way the nickname floats off your tongue makes megumi melt.

“it’s been a while” he says at last. you raise an eyebrow.

“really? that’s all you have to say to me?” you’re half joking.

“no, but i’m not good with words.” and so he pulls you into a tight hug instead, basking in your presence. it says all the unsaid words megumi cannot convey. you still smell the same, and he thinks he still feels the same way about you too.

click. the white flashing of a camera momentarily blinds megumi, and the moment is wholly interrupted. so that’s why gojo had been oddly quiet the entire time.

“sending this to nobara and yuuji now! the caption will be: breaking news: the ever-stoic megumi shows a shred of emotion!!” the supposed adult in the room gloats, waving his phone at megumi.

“is that your…uh, co-worker?” you try, eyeing the blindfolded man with suspicion.

“no. absolutely not. i don’t know him, actually.” megumi deadpans.

“oh don’t be like that megumiiiii” gojo drags the last syllable. he then turns to you, pointing at the black haired boy, “this is my cute and stellar student!”

megumi winces, left eye twitching.

ılılılılılılı now playing: it’s you by max ft. keshi

a/n: HIII TYSM FOR REQUESTING!!! HOPE U ENJOYED THE TREAT ❤️

cafe orders. cloud 9 cafe! regular masterlist.

[seraphrelic]

⟡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ SWEET SURPRISES — Sam Monroe x reader.

SUMMARY: Sam Monroe doesn’t know how to bake, but when he needs help making a birthday cake for his mom, he turns to you.

A/N: i’m so sorry if this is so sloppy omg.. i have no idea how to write about baking LOL reblogs appreciated !

WARNINGS: no explicit content, swearing (just a little), fluff

──────────────────────

“We’ll be back later, Sammie. Is that alright?” Robin asked, pausing in the doorway with a warm, hopeful smile.

Sam glanced up from where he stood, hands in his pockets. He didn’t roll his eyes or scoff like he might’ve on a normal day. Instead, he gave a small nod — subtle, but real.

Robin’s smile softened, and for a second, her eyes lit up like she saw the boy he used to be. “Alright then,” she said gently. “Be good.”

Sam smirked faintly, barely there. “It’s your birthday. I’ll try.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her — not loud, but full of affection. She reached out and briefly touched his arm before turning to join Peter at the car.

The engine soon started, the sound of the car starting and leaving the driveway present, earning a glance from Sam before he turned his gaze away.

Sam found out last minute — from Peter, of course, that he was responsible for preparing the cake for his mother’s birthday.

Which would’ve been fine, normally he’d just buy something from the store or a bakery nearby, except he couldn’t. All the stores were closed today, so he had no way of getting anything.

He could only scoff sarcastically, rolling his eyes at that, putting two and two together to realise that Peter did this purposefully, taking his mom out for dinner and leaving him the hard part, great.

Figuring he only had a few hours to somehow whip out a dessert, Sam stepped into the kitchen, frantically looking around for any useful ingredients. Not that he even knew what was required to bake a cake.

“Fucking hell,” Sam muttered under his breath, shoving through the kitchen cabinets to find all the unnecessary things. Even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he really didn’t want to disappoint his mom, not on her special day.

With an irritated sigh, he finally left the cabinets alone, leaning over the counter instead, trying to gather his thoughts.

He had two options. Either he could walk around town meaninglessly, hoping something’s going to be open,

Or, he could head to your house, which was conveniently two houses away from his. He didn’t even question why you came up into his thoughts.

Maybe it was because you always knew what to do. Or maybe it was because being around you made things feel... less complicated.

Without overthinking it, he tied his shoes and walked out the door — already knowing where his destination was.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Upon hearing a few knocks on your door, you reassured your mom you’d get it instead of her, and oh, what a surprise would that be.

The moment the door swung open, you could see a familiar face. Jet black hair, smudged eyeliner, messy clothes. Sam Monroe standing right in front of you.

“Sam? What’re you doing here?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow, subconsciously crossing your arms.

He didn’t reply right away, clearing his throat before leaning against the doorframe with his arm.

“I… might need some help,” he muttered, gaze shifting away for a second, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.

Your eyes narrowed a little, still unsure if you should let him in. “Help with what?”

Sam shifted, a small sigh escaping his lips, his posture more slumped than usual. “I’m supposed to make a cake for my mom’s birthday,” he explained, voice barely above a whisper. “But, uh... I don’t know how to bake.”

You blinked, surprised, your arms relaxing just a bit. “So you came to me because...?”

He shrugged, almost as if the idea hadn’t fully dawned on him, but he already knew he didn’t have much choice. “You’re the only person I know who won’t judge me for not knowing how to bake a fucking cake.”

A small laugh bubbled up from you, and for a moment, the tension between you both lightened. You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “I’ll help. But you’re doing the hard part.”

He smirked, stepping inside, his worn boots making a faint noise on the floor as he dropped his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

Sam untied his shoes and placed them with the other pairs, following you inside your home. It was nice, organised, sort of how he saw you already.

“Miss L/N,” He greeted your mother immediately, figuring it was respectful to do so, even though it felt a little awkward.

She only returned the smile, shortly leaving the both of you alone, kind of like a silent understanding, the subtle wink she gave you almost impossible to miss.

Dismissing your mom’s teasing smile, you led Sam into the kitchen, only then realising you didn’t even know anything about what he wanted exactly.

“What cake did you have in mind?” You suddenly spoke up, turning around as you leaned against the edge of the counter.

“There’s different types?” Sam looked confused, as if he genuinely had no idea what he was even talking about.

“Well, yeah, there’s chocolate, vanilla..Here, I’ll tell you what.” Pushing yourself off of the counter, you walked over to the shelf located not too far away, searching for something.

The moment you found what you were looking for, you pulled the book out, bringing it to Sam to observe.

“I’ve got a few recipes here, do you know what flavours your mom likes?” You turned to face Sam who was standing a lot closer to you now, watching him eye each page.

“No idea.. Hell, I didn’t know all these existed up until now.” Sam smirked, looking confused yet somehow amazed.

Figuring it was probably hopeless to try and read Sam’s thoughts, it was time to take matters into your own hands if you wanted Ms. Monroe’s birthday to not be a fail.

Your hands gently brushed as you flipped the page back to the chocolate cake recipe, but Sam was more focused on your subtle touch just now, not that he’d ever admit it.

Scanning the ingredients, a smile formed over your lips the moment you realised you had all the ingredients needed to prepare the dessert. Thankfully.

Sam simply watched you roam around the kitchen from cabinet to cabinet, from the fridge and back, carrying everything you needed. It was a lot, to him, at least.

“Is that really all we need?” His eyes went over each item displayed on the table, not even knowing where to start.

“Yeah, I’ll teach you how to get started.” You shot back, smiling back at Sam as you crouched for a second, grabbing a huge bowl to begin with. It was spacious, shouldn’t be a problem to work with.

Your fingers pulled the box of eggs closer as you invited Sam to stand closer to you, which he obliged, scanning your movements intently.

“You start with the eggs — you crack them, like this,” you said, tapping an egg on the side of the bowl, your fingers breaking it open. A small splash of the yolk fell into the bowl, the warm yellow contrasting against the white.

Sam’s hand lingered near the bowl, but he didn’t dare move. Instead, he just stared at the crack in your egg, his mind trailing back to the way you looked when your fingers touched — deliberate, soft.

“Your turn,” you said, nudging him, unaware of his thoughts.

He reached for an egg, his fingers brushing yours again, and he swore he felt the jolt of that touch all the way through his chest. With a deep breath, he cracked the egg, a little more clumsily than you, but he tried.

“You’ve got this,” you reassured him, leaning over to fix the small mess he made, your fingers brushing over his. He stiffened for a moment, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

“Right.” Sam cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “Right.”

You smiled at his nervousness, though you didn’t let it show. The way he was trying, despite his usual indifference, made your chest flutter just slightly.

As the eggs were cracked and the bowl was filled, you turned to grab the flour, but in doing so, a cloud of powdery white dust puffed up from the open bag, lightly dusting your face. You frowned, brushing it off, but before you could grab a towel, Sam was already there, his fingers gently wiping the flour from your cheek.

“You’ve got a little...” he muttered, his voice low, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his thumb lingered just a second too long against your skin, a quiet intimacy in the gesture.

You met his gaze, the moment stretching between you two. Sam didn’t say anything else — he just let his hand fall back to his side. But for a brief moment, it felt like there was more than just cake in the kitchen.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, the sudden proximity making everything feel a little more real than before.

“Anytime,” Sam replied, his voice strangely soft, though he quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

He stepped back, pretending to focus on the ingredients, but you noticed how his hands fidgeted at his sides. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the cake... or something else entirely.

Fast forward a few hours, the cake has been baked, cooled and was now set on the countertop. A rich, chocolate-y smell filled the room, the both of you enjoying it.

“Now for some finishing touches,” You spoke up, grabbing a spatula and a tub of frosting, allowing Sam to observe.

Sam stood by the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a curious expression. “You make it look easy.”

You smiled, spreading a thick layer of frosting over the top of the cake. “It’s all about patience.

After a few more minutes, the cake was finished. The frosting was smooth, the decoration simple but sweet. You stepped back, admiring your work for a moment before turning to Sam.

“There. All set. This’ll be perfect for your mom.”

Sam glanced down at the cake, his expression unreadable for a second. Then, his lips quirked into a faint smile. “Thanks... I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“It’s nothing, really. Always happy to help,” Your voice was definitely a lot softer now, quiet. Loud enough for Sam to hear, though.

As Sam picked up the cake, the space between you two felt different. There was a subtle shift, something unspoken, as if the afternoon had drawn out something more between you both.

“Thanks, again,” He turned to face you, a genuine smile formed on his face. No hints of sarcasm or anything of that sort.

You wouldn’t admit it, ever, but spending time with Sam was nice, you were glad he came to you with this request, or perhaps, excuse?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

♡ taglist : @harmaa-aurinko , @alealuvshayden

[quandaledlnglepink]

⸻ アレクシス ネス ALEXIS NESS.

TW; yandere!ness, yandere themes, implications of murder, pervert behaviour, undergarment stealing, reader being oblivious, implied fem!reader, cannablism as a metaphor, kaiser implied being killed at the end. unknown masturbation over the phone. w.c; 0.7k

thinking about yandere!ness, who's your best friend, and has been since childhood. he's been there through thick and thin, is an angel from heaven, and more than you could ever ask for.

you find it weird that your panties and bras go missing conveniently when he comes around, but you just chalk it up to your brain being forgetful these days. you don't question it when you two meet after a rather long season for ness, and his hugs are a bit tighter than usual. it's difficult to ignore the hardness of his bulge just below your belly button, but you don't want to embarrass him. after all, you once learned in health class men can just get random, uncontrolled boners, it's not his fault.

you don't mind his clinginess, or the fact he calls you more then a normal person would, you totally appreciate that he cares! it's not like he's jerking off on the other end of the line, trying to muffle any sound with his free hand, stabilising his voice before he tells you, 'keep talking schazi, i'm listening.'

what he doesn't tell you is that he's the sole reason your friends and acquaintances keep disappearing.

he's grateful you're not perceptive enough to pick up on his mulberry irises darkening at every laugh, smile, and touch that pours out of you. the ones not directed at him.

he would let you crack him open like a pomegranate if that meant you were his until death did you both part. he would let you crack and snap every individual rib like a wishbone, let you rip out his still beating heart with no hesitancy, and he would still use his last breath to thank you.

with every calculated stab, with every strangle of a neck, with every loss of life he sees in their eyes, those who were unfortunate enough to get too close–the more relief he feels.

and the more he feels his sanity failing him.

he barely manages to convince himself his twisted methods are just to protect you from the bad people you seem to attract. you couldn't see it, so innocent, so naive–but he could. he could see it in every shamelessly hungry look men at the bar would give your tits, or the sly comment of your 'friend', and it frustrated him to no end that you were never being able to pick up on her jabbing tone.

he was doing all this for you. every death caused by his hands was for you.

nothing irritated him more than the bitter serge in his chest from witnessing your reaction, devastated from another loss of a boyfriend. they go missing without a trace, your insecure mind always falling to the conclusion they ghost you on purpose. but ness is still here! he soothes your nasty thoughts with words of affirmation and support, the tears that spill from your eyes never falling past your cheek when his thumbs gently wiped them away.

he jumps through hoops in a attempt to keep his football career far away from his killings personal life, but he wasn't prepared for your relationship with kaiser to blossom more than it should have. he had only introduced you to him him once. he should have trusted his gut when he saw the sparkle of curiosity in your eyes towards his teammate, but he brushed it off, blaming his growing paranoia.

now he's in kaiser's apartment, his dominant hand gripping the sledgehammer so tightly his knuckles turned white. he stared daggers at the back of the blonde man's head, eyes manic and wide.

he silently raises it with a swift motion, as your last conversation with him flashes in his mind.

"micha asked me out on a date tonight, i think he's gonna ask me to be his girlfriend!'" you had squealed.

when did you start calling him...micha?

ness had felt nauseous, his stomach wildly turning, he was only able to throw a smile your way that didn't quite reach his eyes. softly congratulating you, he let you ramble on as he zoned out, thinking about how he was actively losing you, right in front of him. to his teammate, of all people.

you weren't going out tonight with kaiser. not now, not ever.

ness can only imagine you enthusiastically getting ready in your mutually shared bathroom, all dolled up while listening to music through that shitty speaker you didn't want to get rid of.

and that's enough ammo for him to violently force the sledgehammer down.

Quandaledlnglepink © 2025

[sturniolo04]

could you write this fic a wedding fic about Chris and i want everything, i want absolute tooth-rotting fluff i want love and emotions, i want Chris being stressed before the wedding and Matt and Nick calming him down, i want his reaction to seeing her in the dress, the kiss, the oath, EVERYTHING

A/n:  wait I am in love with thiss!! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

You always thought when the big day finally happened you wouldn't be nervous or be overwhelmed at all which was the furthest from the truth ever.

Leading up to this very day has been a journey nonetheless and now it was finally here. You stood in front of the floor length mirror in your wedding dress your childhood best friend and mom helped you pick out. You softly sigh admiring the detail in the dress feeling a little well.

"nervous"

you mom questions watching you admire yourself in the mirror as you let your head softly nod 'yes'.

"dont be what make this day any different"

your mom trails off coming up behind you and fixing your hair over your shoulders to lay perfectly just they way Chris likes it. Also being care not to disturb up the array of flowers within the style.

"only everything this is forever mom"

you softly reply to her looking at her through the mirror with a nervous expression painted on your face.

"sweetie you look gorgeous you will be just fine i promise"

she softly chuckles out giving you a slight hug resting her chin on your bare shoulder you comfortingly place your hands on her arms letting out a soft sigh.

"plus not to mention i bet your not the only one that is nervous"

she chuckles out giving you a lovingly squeeze of reassurance as you let out a light giggle.

Your mom definitely was right about you not being the only one with the big day scaries. Chris couldn't help but spiral into a series of thoughts of how everything could go wrong out of all days despite you two being in an extremely good place before this day arrived.

"chris calm down everything is going to be fine"

matt mutters out trying to get him to calm down and not stress out minutes before the wedding was going to start. Chris didn't mean any harm he was nervous.

"but what if everything isnt fine what if she changes her mind"

chris rambles out fidgeting with every piece of his suit he was wearing. Matt rolls his eyes at him.

"she wont you two were made for each other the last thing she would do is change her mind chris"

nick reasons with him.

"you dont know that nick"

chris mumbles out as nick hold his hands up in defense looking at marylou who finally made her way into the room.

"hey"

marylous trails off grabbing chris softly by his hands to get him to take a deep breath and face her.

"its going to be fine why do you think she would change her mine and seriously give me a valid reason"

marylou asks her youngest firmly and lovingly holding his hands as he lets out a deep sigh not coming up with a one because there wasn't one.

"exactly youre just nervous"

marylous giggles out a little trailing her hands to grab his shoulders to turn him to look in the mirror that was a few feet away from the pair.

"you got this i know you do because you are ready for this next chapter"

marylou sighs out looking at them in the reflection of the mirror.

"but how mom how do i know im ready how do i know i wont mess this up"

chris asks worried out of his mind.

"you wont mess it up my love im not saying everything is going to be easy but I know you will figure it out and you two will be okay you just have to trust in your relationship, trust in your fiancee and trust in yourself"

marylous replies softly rubbing chris' arm comfortingly. Chris lets out a shaky sigh of course he trusts his mom she is never wrong.

It was finally time, time. foryou to be escorted down the aisle to your soon-to-be husband. you nervous blow out a quick breath shaking her hands.

"its okay"

your dad mumbles out reaching his arm out for you to link on to hearing the soft cue of the music that is was time.

Chris couldnt help but let a soft smile play on his lips as he watches you come down the aisle. You looked breath taking. you looked unreal and he couldn't believe that your were his and only his.

You didn't realize you were holding a breath in until you were finally in front of him. Chris takes a hold of your hands as you let out a soft sigh letting out a nervous giggle in the process as well.

"Welcome family and friends. We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the marriage of Christopher and Sophia. This is not the beginning of a new relationship but an acknowledgment of the next chapter in their lives together. Christopher and Sophia have spent years getting to know each other, and we now bear witness to what their relationship has become. Today, they will affirm this bond formally and publicly"

the officiant states welcoming everyone to the ceremony. You couldn't help but exchange glances with chris to see if he was just as nervous as you were in this moment.

"Christopher and Sophia will mark their transition as a couple not only by celebrating the love between themselves, but by also celebrating the love between all of us—including the love of their parents, siblings, extended family, and best friends. Without that love, today would be far less joyous"

He continues as he approaches the part that you could say you both were extremely nervous about. Reading each other your personal vows.

"Okay i promised myself i wasnt going to cry but hear I am um Chris from the moment I met you I knew you were my person. Its not hard for me to believe that we made it to this day because I knew you were it for me."

you trails off trying to keep the tears from falling and ruining your makeup catching a small smile from chris. You let out a nervous chuckle looking back down at your paper.

"and i promise that as your wife I will nothing but be your partner in crime. I promise to be lpove you unconditionally, to rock with you through thick and thin. I promise I will always be your best friend and biggest supporter first because that is what you have always been for me and I love you genuinely for that"

you sob out finishing the last sentence.

"okay um tough act to follow huh"

chris jokes through his nerves as the audience chuckles a little. chris lets out a deep breath beginning to scan the piece of paper in his hand of the vows he had written down for this day.

"Soph you will always be the light at the end of every tunnel I am in and I promise to be that light for you in your darkest moments and as your husband I vow to always help you walk through life even on the days were you dont think you can or have the strength to"

chris chokes out. Your hearts softens reaching a delicate hand up to his face wiping the tears away from his face chuckling a little at the simple action.

"i am truly the luckiest person alive to be able to call you my partner in life and my best friend and I am honored that I get to do life with you"

chris states through a shaky breath.

"By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss the bride!"

the officiant announces as yout let out a giggle as chris trails his hands to grab your face pulling your lips into his. The audience cheering.

"hi"

you softly speak up over the music at the reception as you rest your head on chris' shoulder.

"hi"

he chuckles out.

"sooo"

you trail off dragging out the 'o' still kind of in shock that you two are married.

"hm"

chris hums out his reply looking down at you placing a sweet kiss on top of your head.

"we are married now huh"

you giggle out feeling chris free hand trail underneath your chin to bring your face him to his.

"yeah we are"

chris chuckles out as he leaves a quick kiss on your raw lips with you smiling into the kiss.

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