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sunsburns · 9 days ago

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30 for 30 (i.) — vi (league of legends) !

⟢ synopsis. you swear you would be in peace if it wasn’t for her. but this kept you on your toes, you guessed. just the way you liked it. besides, everyone knew that falling in love with your best friend’s older sister only led to trouble.

⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, the reader is lowkey insane i cannot lie, vi is kinda toxic but we love her anyway, modern!au, nsfw, fingering, oral, really bad ending sorry, SMUT 18+.

⟢ word count. 17k+

⟢ part two: 30 for 30 (ii.)

⟢ authors note. i have been working on this for the last 6 weeks and i have lived so many lives through this fic. christmas passed, then new years, and then my abuelo died a few days ago. no one talk to me for a while, please.

You were totally, utterly smitten.

Every curve, cave, and mark of your heart was tainted, etched with her name in invisible ink only you could read. It felt like liquid gold ran through your veins, molten and alive, heating your body from the inside out. The rush of it coursed through you, fingers buzzing with static, your chest tightening as if you were holding your breath for years without ever exhaling.

Your vision blurred, a tunnel of light where every refraction became an iridescent heart, glowing faintly in the distance. And yet, over it all, denial bubbled and crackled in your mind like a sputtering fuse. You told yourself it wasn’t real—just a trick of adolescence, a fleeting desire, the way your brain played with shadows and feelings to make you feel like this.

It wasn’t unusual, you reasoned. Lots of people thought their best friend’s older sibling was cool. Admiration was natural, harmless even. Powder sure loved to tease you about it.

And maybe, when you were younger, the way your chest fluttered when Violet smiled was just a childish crush, the kind you’d laugh about later.

But you didn’t laugh.

Because the years kept moving, and the feeling never left. It dug in, shifting from an innocent admiration to something heavier, harder to ignore. It was a slow burn—each year adding fuel to a fire you couldn’t destroy. Every glance she threw your way, every offhand comment that lingered in your mind like a melody you couldn’t stop humming, every time she showed up for Powder with that effortless swagger, the heat in your chest built.

She wasn’t just cool. She was intoxicating. Destructive. The kind of person who drew people in and broke them apart without meaning to, leaving them scrambling to put themselves back together again. And you were no exception.

You told yourself it was a passing phase, a silly infatuation that would fade as you got older. But it didn’t. Instead, it grew roots, wrapping itself between your ribs, tightening its grip with every stolen moment, breaking the bone until it seized your heart too.

She became a constant—there, just out of reach.

But then, there was a glance that lingered too long. And another. And then another. Shy gazes turned knowing, wanting. Kind smiles started to curve on themselves, smirking, teasing.

Then her hand brushed yours one night, deliberate, the press of her fingers against your wrist sending a jolt through your body.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice low, the kind that made you feel like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

You weren’t.

How could you be when her breath was warm against your neck, her hands mapping every inch of your skin with an urgency that left you breathless? Her touch was fire, consuming you, leaving marks you swore she’d never see. She kissed you like she was trying to memorize you, her lips and teeth and tongue tracing the parts of you that ached for her.

The nights that followed were stolen—whispers exchanged in the dark, her body tangled with yours beneath sheets that smelled of her and regret. She’d show up unexpectedly, her knuckles rapping softly against your window, her grin equal parts cocky and sheepish when you let her in.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered once over the pounding of your heart.

But she just kissed you in response, her hands holding your face, her touch rough but reverent.

It was reckless, a secret you both held tightly, but it felt like falling—wild and thrilling like nothing else mattered.

Until it ended.

You should have seen it coming. The signs were there, subtle but unmistakable, like the way her touches lingered less, her smiles carried an unfamiliar edge of hesitation, or how she started showing up later and leaving earlier.

She pulled away first. Her body still sought yours in the dark, her kisses still burned against your skin—but something else tugged her away. The linkage you’ve made, fragile and unspoken, began to crack under the weight of what neither of you could say.

And then, one night, it just stopped.

There was no confrontation, no goodbye. Just a shitty note, scrawled in her rushed handwriting. An apology that didn’t explain anything and only left you with more questions than answers.

Sorry, can’t keep doing this. Take care.

That was it.

What the fuck? Who fucking does that?

You used to think you knew Vi, considering the two of you have known each other for years but for fucks sake. A fucking note?

You were left hollow, raw, trying to patch yourself together while carrying the weight of what you’d lost. The ache wasn’t sharp or explosive; it was slow and steady, a dull throb that settled in your chest and refused to leave. Like an old injury, it reminded you of her every time you tried to move on.

And then there was Powder.

The one thing both of you could agree on is that Powder could not know.

You couldn’t look at her without guilt sinking its claws deeper into you. Every laugh felt tinged with the shadow of what you were hiding from her. You’d never wanted to hurt her, not Powder—your other half, your best friend. But now, even sitting in the same room as her felt suffocating. She didn’t know why you pulled away, why you avoided talking about her sister, but she noticed. You saw it in her eyes, the way they clouded with quiet confusion and hurt.

Shit. You fucked up. Really bad.

You tried to fix it, pouring yourself into your friendship with Powder to make up for what you’d broken. But the cracks were there, widening with every forced laugh, every moment her gaze lingered too long, silently asking you what was wrong.

Did this make you a bad friend?

You told yourself it didn’t, that you were doing the right thing by keeping the secret buried until the day you died. But Violet was everywhere.

She was in every corner of that house, in every fucking memory. Her laughter echoed in your mind when the silence stretched too long, and her absence hung heavy in the air, turning a place that should have been safe into something haunted.

Now, the crunch of snow beneath your boots was deafening in the stillness of the night. Your breath hung in the air, visible and fleeting, mingling with the sharp scent of winter. The cold was unrelenting, biting through the thick layers of your coat and scarf, nipping at your cheeks and fingertips despite your gloves.

Ekko stood beside you, adjusting the knit hat pulled low over his ears. He shifted from foot to foot, his warm brown coat dusted with snowflakes that clung stubbornly to the fabric. His scarf was wrapped snugly around his neck, and his expression was relaxed, a stark contrast to the tightness in your chest.

You tugged at the sleeves of your coat, pulling them further over your hands as if that could keep the cold—and your nerves—at bay.

The house before you looked like something out of a holiday postcard. Twinkling Christmas lights lined the rooftop, casting a golden glow over the snow-laden yard. Frost framed the windows, and a simple wreath adorned the weathered front door, its red bow vibrant against the muted greens. The faint aroma of pine and cinnamon drifted from inside, wrapping around you like a bittersweet memory.

You stared at the door, every second stretching longer than it should. Standing here again, in this place so familiar yet painfully different, you wondered if coming back was a mistake.

Ekko nudged you gently with his elbow. “You good?” His voice was soft, a puff of mist forming with each word.

You nodded, though the knot in your stomach said otherwise. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Just... cold.”

Before either of you could knock, the door swung open.

Vi stood there, her presence commanding even in the soft glow of the porch light. Her once-vibrant pink hair had grown longer, the colour almost red at the ends, with dark roots framing her face in uneven strands that still carried that effortless charm. She wore a sweater and a jacket that stretched over her broad shoulders and dark jeans tucked into worn combat boots.

Her gaze landed on you, and for a moment, something flickered there—recognition, maybe even surprise—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Her lips curved into a faint smile, but it wasn’t warm. If anything, it felt like a placeholder for something she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say.

“Oh,” she said after a beat, her voice carrying an edge of surprise but little warmth. “Hey, guys. You’re early. Like, two days early.”

“We’re staying for the night,” Ekko said, brushing snow off his coat. “I thought Vander told you. He and Powder invited us.”

Vi blinked, her expression shifting almost imperceptibly as her jaw tightened. Her eyes flickered toward you—briefly, like looking too long might hurt—before she stepped aside.

“Oh,” she murmured, her voice quieter this time. “Right. Yeah. I was just heading out... but, uh, come in.”

The warmth of the house hit you immediately as you stepped through the door, but it barely thawed the chill lingering in your chest. The soft creak of the wooden floor welcomed you back like an old friend, though the once-chaotic energy of the home was subdued. The living room was tidier than you remembered, with carefully placed holiday decorations that hinted at some change within the walls.

Ekko stomped his boots on the mat and shrugged off his coat, but you hesitated, taking in the quiet. The faint murmur of laughter from upstairs made you smile, though your focus was pulled back to the sound of the door clicking shut behind you.

Vi lingered in the entryway, her frame silhouetted against the soft glow of Christmas lights spilling through the frosted windows. She looked different—older, sharper. Her pink hair was darker now at the roots, the faded strands falling over her face in a way that made her seem distant, untouchable. She shifted her weight, the leather of her jacket creaking softly, and the tension in her shoulders was noticeable.

Before either of you could say anything, a blur of blue came bounding down the stairs.

“ Finally! ” Powder’s voice carried through the room as she launched herself at you, arms tight around your shoulders. Your bags hit the floor with a dull thud as you caught her, laughing despite the ache in your chest.

She hadn’t changed much. Though her hair was shorter now, spiked at odd angles and choppy. Her hair was shorter now, spiked at odd angles, and choppy in a way that screamed ’last-minute experiment.’ You remembered her midnight call a few days ago, her voice buzzing with nerves and excitement over the impulsive haircut.

You hugged her back with the same force and you could feel the warmth of her cheek against yours. There was something undeniably comforting about being near her again.

When you pulled back, your gaze drifted to her hair, and you reached out instinctively, teasingly tugging at one jagged edge. “It looks worse in person,” you said with a smirk. “I thought you said Silco would fix it for you?”

Powder rolled her eyes dramatically, though her grin stayed firmly in place. “Jesus Christ, I just got home a few hours ago. Cut me some slack.”

“I’ve missed you,” you said, your voice softening as you leaned back to really look at her.

“Missed you more,” she shot back instantly, her arms still lingering on your shoulders like she was afraid to let go. “God, it’s been way too long.”

“Not that long,” Mylo called from the end of the stairs, “We literally saw each other at Thanksgiving.”

Powder’s head snapped around, glaring. “Fuck off, Mylo.”

“Just saying,” he muttered, disappearing into the kitchen with a shrug.

Powder turned back to you with a huff but couldn’t suppress the laugh bubbling up. “What an asshole. I swear he hasn’t grown up a day.” She pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before bounding toward Ekko, who barely had time to react before she threw herself into his arms.

Ekko froze for a split second, his hands hovering awkwardly before resting on her waist. You stifled a grin as she leaned up to kiss him lightly on the lips. His ears turned crimson against his dark skin, and the sight almost made you laugh, but you held it in. Powder, of course, acted like nothing had happened, grabbing his bags and darting further into the house.

“Vander and Silco aren’t home yet,” she called over her shoulder, barely breaking stride. “They’re doing last-minute shopping with Claggor and Isha.”

You and Ekko exchanged a glance—his flustered expression made you grin wider—and then he followed her further inside.

You reached for your bag, your attention wandering as your eyes traced the wallpaper. It was new—bright and floral—but seemed oddly out of place against the worn, scuffed floors and familiar marked walls. Your fingers brushed at the strap absently, your mind still half-caught on the contrast between the house's old and new pieces.

A warm touch startled you.

Your hand stilled as you glanced down, finding Vi’s fingers barely brushing the strap of your bag. She froze too, her hand hovering awkwardly next to yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, the shared hesitation thick in the air between you.

“I just…” Vi’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d expected. “In case you needed help,” she added, her tone careful. Without waiting for an answer, she slid the strap off the floor and into her hand. The weight didn’t faze her—of course it didn’t.

She stepped back immediately, her hands dropping to her sides. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue. For a second, it seemed like she might say something more, but the moment passed.

You waited—just a beat longer than you should have—but when she didn’t speak, you turned toward the stairs. Each step thudded softly beneath you, the weight of her silence trailing after you like an unwelcome shadow.

The grooves in the banister felt familiar under your fingertips, grounding you as you looked back. Vi hadn’t moved. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her shoulders hunched forward as though she was trying to shrink in on herself. Her jaw worked tight, and her gaze was fixed on the floor, unyielding.

Something about the set of her shoulders tugged at your stomach, twisting it into an uneasy knot. But before you could decide whether to say something, she turned on her heel and slipped out the front door, letting it click softly shut behind her.

The ache in your chest lingered as you moved down the hall toward Powder’s room. Slipping in through the open door felt like stepping into a memory.

Nothing had changed.

The posters on the walls curled at the edges, faded from sunlight and time, but they were the same ones Powder had painstakingly arranged in high school. Her desk was a familiar mess of old art supplies, dried-up bottles of nail polish, and a tangle of wires from unfinished projects. A precarious stack of sketchbooks leaned against the desk lamp, and the familiar scent of vanilla candles mingled with something faintly chemical.

You smiled softly, running your fingers along the edge of her desk. It was comforting, in a way, to see how untouched it all felt, as though the past few years had been frozen in this space.

“What's the mattress for?” Ekko dropped his bag onto the floor with a loud thud.

Powder, kneeling on the ground by the end of the bed, didn’t look up as she smoothed the worn blanket over the mattress she’d pulled from the closet. “The three of us won’t fit on the bed.”

Ekko scoffed. “Don’t really want to share, anyway.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow at him. “Not sharing a bed with me, or Pow?”

“You can’t just claim the bed,” you shot back, indignant.

“Why not? First come, first served.” Ekko leaned back, folding his arms behind his head like he was already settling in.

“Oh, come on.” You kicked at the mattress. “You’ve got this nice old mattress right here.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly enjoying your indignation. “ You’ve got a nice old mattress.” Then he smirked, playing his trump card. “I’m the boyfriend. So I should get the bed with her.”

“By that logic, I’m the best friend,” you countered. “Therefore, I should get the bed.”

Powder glanced over her shoulder, her face split into a wide grin. “Flip a coin for it. I don’t care who gets the bed or not.” Then, as if anticipating neither of you would back down, she added, “Both of you can sleep on the floor if you really want.”

Her teasing pulled the tension out of the air, and Ekko shot you a victorious smirk as he rolled to the center to take up even more room.

You rolled your eyes, giving up the fight for now.

As the moment passed, your gaze drifted back to her desk. Amid the usual chaos of supplies and half-finished projects was something new: an open gift box. Curious, you stepped closer.

Inside was a framed collage, a carefully arranged mix of photos and clippings. There were pictures from Powder’s childhood, moments preserved from long-forgotten holidays and all the Christmases Vander and your parents had documented. A mix of photos showed her with her family, you, and Ekko in the snow. There were clippings of ribbons Powder used to wear in her hair, pressed flat against the collage, and notes you didn’t recognize.

“This is so cute,” you said, your curiosity piqued. “Who gave you that?”

Powder glanced up from the bed, her grin softening. “Vi. She gave it to me early—said she couldn’t wait until Christmas.”

Her tone was casual, but there was a warmth in her eyes as she spoke.

“Vi made that?” you asked, surprised.

Powder nodded. “She’s got her moments, you know.”

Ekko leaned back against the wall, chuckling. “You sound surprised. Vi’s the most sentimental person in this house.”

You blinked, caught off guard, your gaze flicking back to the collage. The little details stood out now—tiny notes scribbled in the margins of photos, careful placements that could only come from someone who knew Powder inside and out.

The realization settled slowly in your chest, like the soft weight of something long overdue. In the past few months, you’d let Vi’s tough act make a fool of you. You’d seen her through a lens warped by anger and frustration, letting her sharp edges and rough words overshadow everything else.

But you were wrong. You’d always known that, deep down.

Growing up, Vi had been a force of nature. Unstoppable, brooding, fierce in everything she did. She carried herself like someone who didn’t know how to back down, who didn’t know how to break. And maybe, as a kid, you’d believed that too—that she couldn’t break, that she was untouchable. But even then, there had been moments that broke through the storm, glimpses of the person she really was.

She’d always been the first to defend Powder when other kids teased her. She’d always been the one to step in when fights got too rough, when someone was about to cross a line they couldn’t take back. She was the one who stayed up late patching up scrapes and bruises with whatever supplies she could scrounge up, her hands gentler than you’d expected them to be.

Vi had always cared. Too much, maybe.

Her choices didn’t come from cold calculation or detached logic. She wasn’t distant. She wasn’t indifferent. Everything she did was rooted in emotion—raw, messy, overwhelming emotion that she couldn’t always hide. The same fire that made her so strong was the thing that burned her most. And somehow, you’d forgotten that.

Maybe it was because she played you. After all, she used you, used you like some toy until none of your tricks worked anymore. Until she got bored, you think.

Sorry, can’t keep doing this.

It had been months and the note is still tethered in your mind.

Powder, though, had never stopped seeing her for who she was. Powder fucking worshipped Violet. She always had. Even when they bickered, even when Vi’s temper flared, Powder talked about her like she was invincible. Her superhero big sister, the one who could do no wrong, who could fix anything.

To you, Vi had been more than a superhero. She’d been a storm. Something to admire from a safe distance, to watch in awe as she tore through the world around her. She was all the things you weren’t—bold, unyielding, unafraid. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t see her vulnerability. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to forget that she wasn’t just a storm.

Your gaze drifted back to the collage, to the careful placements and tiny notes scribbled in the margins. Every piece of it spoke to how well Vi knew her sister, how much she’d paid attention all these years, even when it looked like she wasn’t watching.

For all her strength, Vi had always been just as vulnerable as the rest of you.

Whenever Vi was around, you got quiet.

It wasn’t something you consciously decided. It just… happened. Words that usually came easily suddenly felt too big in your mouth, so when you were younger, you kept them locked behind your teeth.

The Last Drop was always noisy, the usual crowd of patrons filling the air with drunken chatter and the occasional crash of bottles. You weaved your way through the chaos, eyes scanning the room for Powder. She had a habit of disappearing into her projects, sometimes forgetting the world outside entirely, but she usually stuck to places where you could find her.

Though, she wasn’t at her usual corner table.

You hesitated outside the back room, your knuckles brushing against the door. It was already slightly ajar, faint light spilling into the hallway. You debated leaving—Powder would show up eventually, probably dragging some new contraption behind her—but then you heard the low murmur of a familiar voice.

Vi.

Your heart stuttered.

You pushed the door open cautiously, stepping inside. The smell of oil and something acrid lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth from the old, flickering light above. Violet was sitting at the edge of a workbench, her hands occupied with one of Powder’s unfinished gadgets. Her fingers worked with surprising precision , twisting wires together and securing pieces in place.

She looked up when she heard you enter, her sharp blue eyes pinning you in place.

“Looking for powder?”

You nodded, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself. You’d been so prepared to ask Powder if she’d remembered to grab Ekko’s spare slingshot, but now you were just... standing there, your mouth slightly open.

“Is she... here?”

“Yeah, she went to get somthing.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You wanna wait here?”

You nodded again, like it was the only thing you knew how to do.

She kept looking at you, “You can sit, you know.”

There weren’t many places to sit. The workbench was cluttered, and the rest of the room was lined with crates and boxes that didn’t seem sturdy enough to support anyone’s weight.

But then Vi slid over to the side of the workbench, her boots scuffing lightly against the floor as she made space, and she glanced at you expectantly.

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, before finally taking a step forward. Your movements felt clumsy like you were an awkward puppet trying to figure out its strings. When you finally sat down, you perched on the very edge of the workbench, choosing the spot farthest from her. Your legs dangled awkwardly, your hands gripping the edge of the bench.

It wasn’t that you were scared of her—not exactly. There was something magnetic about Violet that you couldn’t put into words. Powder had talked about her endlessly, weaving stories that sounded too cool to be true: how Vi could talk her way out of anything or fight her way through anything she couldn’t. How she always stood her ground, even when she was scared. Those stories had made Violet seem larger than life, someone untouchable and unreal.

But now she was here and suddenly all those stories felt real.

You’d only seen her in passing before—a fleeting glimpse in Powder’s hallway or her shadow leaning in through a doorway. Those encounters had been brief, easy to escape. This? There was no escaping this.

Vi must’ve noticed the space you’d intentionally put between you both.

She smiled, slow and lopsided, a faint shake of her head betraying her amusement.

“What’s funny?” you asked, defensive.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice edged with a chuckle. She leaned back on her hands, crossing her legs casually as though to make herself smaller—less intimidating, perhaps. “You’re just… I don’t know. Skittish.”

“I’m not skittish.”

“Right,” she teased.

Your hands curled tighter around the edge of the bench. You could feel your heart pounding so hard you were convinced she could hear it.

“Relax,” she said after a moment, her tone lighter. “I’m not gonna bite.”

“I know,” you blurted out, the words coming out louder than intended.

Vi chuckled softly, shaking her head again. “So,” she began, as if trying to put you at ease, “you and Powder—friends, huh?”

“Best friends.”

“You guys get into trouble?” she asked.

“No,” you said automatically.

Her eyebrows lifted. “You lying?”

“…No.”

The pause was too long to be convincing, and Vi’s smirk widened as she leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. “Uh-huh,” she murmured, clearly not buying it.

The door creaked open before she could press further, and you turned quickly, grateful for the interruption. Powder burst into the room, a notebook tucked under one arm and a precarious bundle of tools balanced in the other.

“There you are!” she chirped, her voice bubbling with excitement . “You’re not gonna believe this idea I had—”

Without waiting for a response, Powder grabbed your wrist, her grip surprisingly strong as she tugged you toward the door. She barely noticed Vi, too caught up in her excitement as she launched into an explanation of some wild project you only half-understood.

You stumbled after her, but as you reached the doorway, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder.

Vi was still watching you.

Her gaze was steady, her expression unreadable. It scared you. There was something in her eyes that made your stomach flip. Even as the door swung shut behind you, that look stayed with you, leaving a strange heat in its wake.

You’d always been a little jealous of how close Powder’s family was.

It wasn’t something you ever voiced aloud—it felt like a betrayal of your own family, even if there wasn’t much to betray. But the truth was that being around them, especially during the holidays, filled a space in you that you hadn’t even realized was empty.

Powder’s family had a way of making everyone feel like they belonged, whether it was Ekko or you slipping into the chaos of their home like you were meant to be there. Despite the worn walls, the mismatched furniture, and the chipped mugs of cocoa on the table, there was a warmth that couldn’t be shaken, a sense of togetherness that was tangible in the air.

They never made you feel like an intruder. In fact, you were certain you’d been assumed into the family years ago when Vander had hung up that photo of you winning your school’s spelling bee. It had a place of honour in the narrow hallway, wedged between photos of Powder’s first fight with Mylo (a blurry shot of fists mid-swing with Claggor and Vi trying to break them apart) and Ekko holding Isha as a baby.

Your photo was still there, a little faded from sunlight streaming through the windows, but it hadn’t budged. Vander’s way of saying you belonged.

The scent of cinnamon hung faintly in the air from Powder’s earlier attempt at baking cookies, but the chaos had only truly ignited when Vander, Silco, Claggor, and Isha returned from their last-minute grocery run.

The front door banged open, letting in a blast of cold December air, and the house erupted into chaos.

Isha launched herself off Claggor’s shoulders the second she spotted you and Ekko lounging on the couch with Powder. She gasped dramatically, her wide eyes shining as she yanked off her hat and darted forward, boots still tracking snow onto the worn rug.

“Shoes off at the door, Isha!” Vander called, his voice half-stern, half-amused as he stepped inside behind her, arms loaded with grocery bags.

Isha ignored him completely, stopping in front of you to tug insistently at your sleeve and point to the bag of snacks Vander had left on the counter. You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You want first pick? Only if you let me braid your hair later.”

Isha exaggeratedly rolled her eyes but gave you an enthusiastic nod, darting toward the kitchen before Claggor could even put the bags down.

“Didn’t we just clean the floor this morning?” Claggor muttered, shaking his head but smiling. He followed Isha into the kitchen, helping Silco unpack the bags while Mylo hovered nearby, his arm already snagging the bag of candy canes.

“We’re redoing those cookies,” Silco said, his calm voice cutting through Mylo’s protests.

“That’s not on me! Powder was supposed to—”

“You were distracting me!” Powder called from the couch, not even bothering to look away from the movie she and Ekko were half-watching.

“Enough bickering. Let’s just get it done,” Silco said with finality, rolling up his sleeves.

Warm greetings and laughter followed, and eventually, everyone found their way to the living room. It felt like old times—loud, messy, and alive in a way that was uniquely theirs.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, carefully weaving a braid into Isha’s hair. She perched in front of you with exaggerated patience, her fingers tapping on her knees every time you paused to adjust a strand. Every so often, she tilted her head back to glance at the movie, nearly undoing your work.

“Stay still,” you murmured, gently guiding her head back into place.

She groaned dramatically, her hands moving in quick, sharp gestures towards the television.

“You’ll see when it’s done,” you promised, laughing softly. “Almost there.”

Across the room, Powder was curled up on the couch with Ekko behind her, the two of them bundled under a mismatched blanket. Powder sipped from a steaming mug, her eyes half-closed as she relaxed against Ekko’s chest.

“You missed a spot,” Ekko teased, gesturing vaguely toward the braid.

“Quiet, or you’re next,” you shot back with a grin, earning a soft laugh from Powder.

“Next? You think I’d let you near my hair?” Ekko countered, sitting up just enough to look mock-offended.

“Keep talking, and I’ll braid yours while you sleep,” you quipped, finishing Isha’s braid with a quick twist and securing it with a small elastic.

Isha beamed as you let her go, rushing to the mirror by the dining room to inspect your handiwork. She returned moments later with a bright smile and a thumbs-up of approval, spinning dramatically to show off to everyone before plopping back down beside you on the rug.

The room hummed with quiet chatter and the faint crackle of the old TV. Vander sat in the armchair, flipping through the pages of an old, dog-eared book, while Claggor and Mylo argued over whose turn it was to get the snacks from the kitchen. Silco leaned against the wall, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched the scene unfold.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered when Vi would come back home. She always seemed to find her way back eventually, just like everyone else.

But for now, you let yourself sink into the warmth of the room, the sound of Isha’s soft humming beside you, and the way this mismatched family made you feel whole.

It was hours later until the house had finally quieted down.

By the time you got ready for bed, everyone else had already found their corners of the house to sleep in. Powder and Ekko had claimed the couch for a while, tangled up under the same blanket, their heads tilted toward one another before they went upstairs. Vander was stretched out in his recliner, his book slipping from his fingers as his snores rumbled softly through the room. Mylo and Claggor had retreated to their rooms. Even Silco, who always seemed to operate on less sleep than anyone else, had disappeared.

The last to go was Isha.

She hadn’t wanted to leave the warmth of the living room, her small hands clutching your sleeve as you led her down the hallway to her bedroom. She’d signed with exaggerated reluctance, dragging her feet just enough to make you laugh softly.

“Come on, you need your beauty sleep,” you had teased, tucking her into the small bed piled high with mismatched blankets. Isha grinned up at you, her eyes bright even in the low light, before closing them as if to humour you.

Once her breathing had evened out, you quietly slipped out of the room, shutting the door just enough to let a sliver of light from the hallway peek through.

And you? You lingered.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you brushed your teeth slowly, watching your reflection in the dim light. The rhythmic swish of the toothbrush and the faint creak of the old floorboards were the only sounds in the stillness. You were taking your time, you realized.

It wasn’t that you weren’t tired. You were—your limbs heavy from the warmth of the house, your eyes drooping slightly. But you’d noticed the way Powder had curled closer to Ekko as the night went on, the soft, shy glances she’d thrown him. They’d barely had a moment alone all evening, and you didn’t want to intrude, not when she’d looked so happy.

So, you stalled.

After rinsing your mouth, you padded quietly into the kitchen, your socked feet barely making a sound on the worn floor. You poured yourself a glass of water, sipping slowly as you glanced out the window. The snow had stopped falling, leaving a soft blanket of white under the moonlight. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like the whole world was holding its breath.

You set the glass down on the counter, letting your fingers trace the rim absentmindedly. The stillness felt comforting, though admittedly a little lonely.

The soft creak of the front door broke the silence.

You turned, your heart skipping just slightly at the unexpected sound. The door opened slowly, and a familiar figure stepped inside, brushing snow off her jacket.

Vi.

She quietly kicked the door closed behind her, her boots scuffing against the rug as she tugged her gloves off. Her hair was damp with melted snow, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She looked surprised to see you, her eyes narrowing slightly before recognition softened her expression.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hi.”

You watched as she shed her jacket, revealing the worn sweater she had underneath. She looked good, you realized, in that effortless way she always did. Like she didn’t have to try to draw attention—she just did. You hated that after all this time you still found her maddeningly attractive.

You cleared your throat. “Did you have fun?”

You were trying this new thing called: being mature.

Vi glanced at you, her brows knitting together as if puzzled by your question. It struck you that maybe she’d expected you to ignore her, to keep the peace by staying out of her way. “Oh, yeah. Jayce says hi.”

That tugged a faint smile from you despite yourself. It had been a while since you’d seen or even thought of Jayce, Mel, or the rest of the old crew. Memories stirred—ones you hadn’t decided whether to cherish or bury.

“I figured everyone would be asleep by now,” she said as she moved toward the kitchen, her voice casual but her movements careful, like she was testing the waters.

“They are,” you replied. “I was just… taking my time.”

Vi arched an eyebrow, leaning against the counter beside you, her frame close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating off her. “Taking your time? That’s a new one.”

You rolled your eyes, the teasing curve of her lips unsettling you more than you wanted to admit. “Powder and Ekko looked like they could use some space. I thought I’d give them a chance to… you know, not have me hovering.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I can be nice.”

“Sure you can.”

“Yeah, well, I try,” you said, shifting your weight and crossing your arms as you turned to face her.

The kitchen fell silent. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy, either. She met your gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment. Her gaze on your skin felt like a physical touch, and when it stopped at your lips, a shock of heat went through your body, from the crown of your head down to your toes. Her eyes moved over you like a caress of the summer breeze.

You watched her swallow. You saw her mouth part, her tongue emerging to wet her lips.

All of a sudden, the thought of being civil shattered, crumbling into a heap of raw, unfiltered anger. You were back in your bed that summer, the sunlight streaming through your curtains in lazy, mocking streaks. It was too bright, too cheerful, as if the world hadn’t just caved in on you.

Your eyes zeroed in on that damned note—the one she’d left on your bedside table, shoved beneath an old glass of water. Half-empty. The wet rim of the glass had left its mark, smudging the ink like it was trying to wipe her words away, but they were seared into your mind.

Sorry, can’t keep doing this. Take care.

Can’t keep doing what ? Can’t keep loving you? Can’t keep seeing the way your ribs were cracking? The skin breaking? The bone snapping? Splintering after each pound of your heart because she was close to you? Because she was kissing you? Because her lips left searing marks for you to remember the longing in her eyes, the blush on her cheeks?

Can’t keep doing what ?

Why couldn’t she take the heart you were giving her? Why couldn't she take it from your hands, blooded at the nails as you tore it from your own chest, strings and veins hoping to attach to hers if she lets you?

Huh.

Maybe you weren’t as over it as you thought.

Even now, the bitterness clawed its way back to the surface, sharp and unrelenting. You remembered the feeling—the quiet, creeping devastation of being blindsided. The hollow ache in your chest as you read her rushed words, so impersonal it felt like a stranger had written them. Not her.

The sharp edge of the memory made you flinch, thrusting you backward, too fast, your hip slamming into the counter. The pain was sharp, wrenching you back to the present. You winced, a pained groan caught in your throat.

“Hey—” Vi moved toward you instinctively, her arms half-raised.

“I should go to bed,” you managed, voice strained and uneven. You reached for your glass, fumbled it into the sink, and winced at the clatter. Frustration rose like a tide, threatening to pull you under.

Vi muttered your name, soft, almost tender. Her hand brushed against your forearm, the barest graze of her fingers sending a shock through you. You jerked back, raising a hand to keep her at a distance.

“You’re still angry,” she said, her voice even, like she was stating a fact.

A bitter laugh escaped you, sharp and cutting. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“Look—”

“What are we doing here, Vi?”

She tilted her head, trying for humour. “Standing in the kitchen?”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Vi.”

“What?”

“You left me.”

She went stock still. Rigid.

Finally, finally , there you were, hands balled into fists, turning in the middle of the room. Almost a decade’s worth of anger, disappointment, confusion, and, what the hell, maybe a little hatred boiled over, clawing its way out of you before you could stop it.

“ You left me,” you repeated, your voice rising despite yourself. “And I… I had no one to talk to about it. Do you have any idea what that was like?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“You told me not to tell Powder. You made me promise,” you continued, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “Do you know how fucked up it was to keep that kind of secret from her? From everyone?”

Vi’s jaw tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin, defensive line. “Obviously I know. She’s my sister. What the hell was I supposed to do? Just tell her I was hooking up with her best friend behind her back? How was that gonna go over?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Vi,” you hissed, trying to keep quiet. You threw your hands up, pacing a step away before turning back. “You really think Powder would’ve cared? She idolizes you. She’d have been thrilled if you had just—ugh—grown a pair and said something!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Vi snapped, “you weren’t the one breaking every unspoken rule of friendship with her. I was. I was lying to her, betraying her—”

“Easy for me? What? And what ?” you shot back, cutting her off. “You think I was just fine with lying to my best friend, pretending nothing was going on? I thought we were doing this together, Vi. But no, you had to make it this big, guilty secret. Like... like I was some dirty fucking secret to you.”

“It wasn’t like that—you weren’t—”

“And then—then you didn’t even have the guts to tell me you were leaving. You just—” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the memory of that note resurfaced, slicing through your chest all over again. You threw your hands in the air, dropping them by your aside, “You left a fucking note and ran off like a fucking pussy.”

Vi flinched at that, but her defences were back up in an instant. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice lower now, simmering with frustration. “I felt like I was losing myself. Like I was letting both of you down—Powder and you. I thought leaving was the only way to fix it.”

Her being vulnerable made you even angrier. You had thought you were prepared, that magically you’d be able to have a civil conversation that settled the matter in a way that left you with your pride intact and Vi still being the heartless bitch you remembered her as (which you knew was not true at all, but lately you only had that note to remember her by tied with whatever Powder would tell you).

Clearly, you’ve miscalculated.

“You were wrong.”

“I know.”

“And stupid.”

“I get it.”

You took a breath. “I just... I hope we can be civil. For Powder. I’m here because of her. For her. She’s the only reason I came back.”

Vi looked away.

“Goodnight, Violet,” you muttered, brushing past her before she could try to stop you again.

You didn’t think you could love anyone more than you loved Powder.

Powder wasn’t just your best friend; she was your gravity, the one who kept you tethered to the earth when everything else threatened to spin out of control. She was the ink blot in the centre of every map you’d ever drawn, the beginning and end of every plan. By the time you were fourteen, the bond between you felt indestructible, like it was woven from a thread that the universe had spun just for the two of you.

You were partners in crime, yes, but also in something deeper: a shared wonder at the world, a refusal to accept its boundaries. Together, you didn’t just dream—you built those dreams. With your hands, your voices, your endless supply of hope, you created things no one else dared to imagine. There were nights when you’d sit under the dim glow of a streetlamp, her head resting on your shoulder, as the two of you scribbled on scraps of stolen paper . Plans for impossible inventions, designs that were part genius, part disaster, but always wholly yours.

It wasn’t just that you loved Powder. It was that she was a part of you. Her laughter lived in your bones, her worries haunted your heart, and her victories felt like your own . She had a way of looking at you, wide-eyed and trusting, that made you believe you could do anything, so long as you did it together.

You both made a mess of things sometimes—scraped knees, singed eyebrows, stolen goods that were more trouble than they were worth. But those moments became stories to tell and retell, memories you carried like talismans against the dark. Because no matter how wild things got, no matter how many alleyways you ran through or rooftops you scrambled over, you always knew Powder would be there at the end of it , laughing, breathless, and shining like the only light you’d ever need.

If there were such a thing as soulmates, you were certain Powder was yours. Not in the way people whispered about under the glow of moonlight—not romantic, not fleeting. But something ancient, bone-deep, like the kind of love that could outlast wars, loss, even time itself. If the world ended, you were sure the two of you would still find a way to survive, together, cobbling something beautiful out of the ruins.

She was your compass, your north star, your reason for believing that things could get better. And you would have done anything for her.

Her room was your second home (much like your own was hers), a chaotic mess of everything that made Powder Powder . The walls were covered in scrawled blueprints pinned up with mismatched tacks, paper edges curling from the humidity of the Lanes.

Above her bed, a row of old family pictures was strung like fairy lights, clipped onto twine with tiny clothespins. The images were faded but warm—Powder as a baby, Powder with Mylo and Claggor, Violet grinning with her arm around a much smaller Powder, Vander and Silco somewhere in the background, a recent one with you and Ekko at each of her sides.

Her desk was a cluttered battleground of unfinished gadgets, scattered tools, and school assignments half-completed and half-forgotten. A worn, stuffed bunny sat propped against one of the desk legs, its button eyes long since replaced with mismatched screws.

On the floor next to the bed, your backpack sat half-open, spilling its contents onto a pile of Powder’s clothes that might as well have been yours by now. The two of you had shared so many hoodies and t-shirts that you barely knew whose was whose anymore.

You were perched on Powder’s bed, the mattress lumpy but familiar, as the sharp scent of nail polish filled the air. Powder’s fingers were smudged with blue from a bottle that had tipped over earlier, and she was trying to paint your nails without dripping polish all over the blanket between you.

“Hold still,” she muttered, her tongue poking out as she concentrated.

“You’re the one making a mess,” you shot back, laughing as you pulled your hand away to examine the streak of polish running down your finger. “This looks awful, Pow. You should’ve let me do this.”

She snatched your hand back with a huff, “Fuck off. It’s not my fault you have twitchy hands.”

With her exaggerated movement, she knocked over the bottle again. Blue polish spilled onto the blanket, spreading in a small puddle.

“Powder!” you exclaimed, though you couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling out of you.

“Oops,” she said with a shrug, clearly not sorry, as she grabbed a rag to clean it up.

The two of you burst into laughter, leaning against each other for balance, the kind that made your ribs ache and your cheeks hurt.

Scattered across the bed were the sketches for her latest invention—a spring-loaded trap designed to “keep Mylo out of my room.” You’d been helping her refine the design all evening, pointing out where the gears might jam or how to reinforce the springs so they wouldn’t snap.

“You think this will actually work?” you asked, picking up one of the schematics and holding it up to the light.

“It’ll work,” Powder said with complete confidence, leaning over to add a few more messy lines to the paper. “It has to... or, y’know, boom.” She grinned like that was the best possible outcome.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help grinning back.

You started to climb out of the bed, shifting carefully so you didn’t disturb the scattered nail polish bottles or the sketches on the blanket. Before you could get your balance, Powder jabbed a foot into your side with a mischievous grin, sending you sprawling onto the floor with a loud thud .

“Powder!” you groaned, rubbing your arm where you landed on the corner of a notebook.

Her response was to double over with laughter, the sound light and uncontrollable. “Sorry, sorry,” she wheezed, though the glint in her eye said otherwise. “You made it too easy!”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at her, hitting her square in the face. Powder let out a dramatic gasp, clutching the pillow as it had wounded her. “Oh, you bitch!” she declared, launching herself off the bed and tackling you back onto the floor.

The two of you wrestled in a storm of laughter and flailing limbs, your voices loud enough to rattle the pictures on her wall. At some point, she managed to pin you down, her blue-stained fingers triumphantly waving the pillow above her head.

A sharp bang came from the wall, followed by Mylo’s muffled voice. “Shut the fuck up! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

You both froze for a moment before bursting into another fit of uncontrollable giggles, clutching your stomachs as you rolled away from each other.

“I can’t breathe,” you gasped, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

Powder flopped onto her back, still giggling. “Mylo’s such a loser.”

When the laughter finally began to subside, your stomach growled loud enough for her to hear. You groaned in embarrassment while Powder perked up, her expression instantly brightening.

“Thank god,” she said, leaping to her feet and tossing the pillow onto the bed. “I’m starving.”

She bounded toward the door, knocking over a sketchbook you were sure belonged to Ekko and a bottle of glitter glue on her way. You sat up, still catching your breath, and watched as she paused at the doorframe, turning back to wave you over.

“C’mon, slowpoke,” she teased. “Don’t make me eat by myself.”

The promise of food was enough to spur you into action. You scrambled to your feet, brushing off the stray bits of blanket fuzz clinging to your pyjamas, and followed her out.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside filtering through cracked blinds. The air smelled faintly of Vander’s cigars mixed with the tantalizing aroma of whatever takeout Claggor ordered was waiting downstairs. Powder’s footsteps were quick and uneven as she hopped down the stairs two at a time, her voice echoing back to you.

“What d’you think they got? Noodles? Oh, maybe dumplings! Or those buns—what’re they called? The ones with the pork inside?”

“Bao?” you offered, gripping the railing to keep from tripping over a stray shoe someone had left on the stairs.

“Yeah, those!” she called over her shoulder.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, the smell of food was stronger, warm and savoury, wrapping around you like a hug. Powder darted into the living room ahead of you, but you stopped in your tracks as soon as you rounded the corner.

Violet was sprawled across the couch, her legs up on the armrest. Her boots were still on, the scuffed soles pressed into the worn cushions. Pink hair tumbled loosely around her face, half-obscuring her sharp features as she leaned back with a dumpling poised between her fingers. Her eyes flicked to yours mid-bite, and her smirk was immediate.

Beside her, Caitlyn sat upright, a contrast to Vi’s casual sprawl on her lap. Caitlyn’s dark hair was neatly tied back, and she rested one hand lightly on Vi’s hair. Together, they looked so at ease, so entwined in their quiet dynamic that it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t quite understand—or didn’t want to.

“Well, well,” Vi drawled, her voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt. “Look who decided to join the party.” Her eyes roamed over you and Powder, and her grin widened, sharp and almost playful.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You had seen them together before, but there was something about seeing them like this—so comfortable, so casual—that left you rooted to the spot. You glanced at Powder, silently begging for an anchor, but she was already tearing into the takeout bags on the table.

“Finally!” Powder exclaimed, holding up a box of noodles like it was treasure. She dropped to the floor without hesitation, crossing her legs and pulling the box into her lap.

She glanced pointedly at Vi and Caitlyn, rolling her eyes. “Are you two gonna take that upstairs, or do we have to suffer through whatever this is during our dinner?” She gestured vaguely at the space (or lack of) between them, nose scrunching in disgust.

Vi scoffed, stuffing the rest of the dumpling into her mouth. “We were here first,” she said, words slightly muffled.

“I don’t care.”

Vi leaned back further into the couch, looking entirely unbothered. “We’re not moving, Pow.”

You tried to ignore the way your chest tightened as you shuffled closer to Powder, grabbing the first takeout box your hand landed on. Powder nudged you with her elbow, grinning conspiratorially. “Ignore them,” she whispered, her tone light and dismissive.

And you did.

You ignored them for months, maybe even years. You ignored the way your stomach twisted itself into knots every time Vi was near. You ignored the lingering glances, the lazy smirks, and the moments that felt too heavy for what they were.

You ignored her when she stopped calling you “Powder’s friend” and started using your name instead—when she started seeing you not as an extension of her sister, but as your own person.

Maybe it was better off when she never saw you as such.

You figured (because you didn’t know how to act around Violet without wanting to scream and tear your own hair out) that the best way to be civil was to fall back on old habits. Childish habits, sure, but perhaps the most mature option available—given that talking about feelings had not worked out the way you’d hoped. For now, ignoring Vi entirely seemed like the safest bet.

When she walked into a room, you made it a point to walk out into another. If leaving wasn’t an option, you buried your nose further into whatever book was in your hands. Maybe Vander needed help in the kitchen, or Powder needed a hand with one of her endless projects. Claggor’s choice of movie—one you’d initially deemed boring—suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world.

It was a tactic you’d mastered as a kid. And if you were being honest, you blamed Powder for it. She’d started this habit of avoiding Vi, and it had rubbed off on you. Whenever a flash of pink hair crossed the corner of your vision, you’d instinctively turn the other way.

Back then, the reason was simple: Powder hated Caitlyn. Vi never seemed to go anywhere without her, so to show her disapproval, Powder avoided her sister like the plague and gave her the silent treatment for weeks—months, even. Naturally, being attached at the hip with Powder meant you also ignored Vi with just as much vigour. Though, of course, your reasons had always been different. They still were.

You were reminded of those days the next morning when you and Claggor exchanged knowing glances, your silent conversation punctuated by the sound of yelling from upstairs. Over the hum of the television, you could just barely make out Vi and Powder arguing about something as ridiculous as “ my jacket! ” and “ it’s not yours! ”

It is not exactly an uncommon occurrence in the household. Powder and Vi fought over stupid things all the time, and you inevitably got dragged into the middle of it.

Before long, Powder stomped down the stairs, rubbing at her eyes and grumbling under her breath. Spotting you on the couch, her expression brightened, a mischievous glint lighting up her tired face. “Wanna get out of here for a bit? See if any shops are still open? Or just... walk around?”

You opened your mouth, ready to point out that it was freezing outside, that the snow had to be inches high by now—but you caught the desperate edge in her tone, the almost pleading look in her eyes, and swallowed the protest.

“Sure,” you said instead, pushing yourself off the couch.

Getting ready was quick enough, though you couldn’t resist giving Ekko a side-eye as he sprawled across Powder’s bed, snoring lightly with one arm draped lazily over his face. You were lacing up your boots when the door swung open, and Vi appeared in the frame.

She froze for a moment when she saw you sitting at Powder’s desk instead of her sister. Her eyes flicked across the room, taking in the scene—the absence of Powder, the half-packed bag on the bed.

“Where’s—?”

“Bathroom,” you replied curtly, not bothering to turn fully around.

“Right.”

You expected her to leave after that. But as you turned back to the mirror over Powder’s vanity, adjusting your scarf, you caught Vi lingering in the doorway in your reflection.

It was so reminiscent of when you were kids that it made your chest ache. Back then, you ignored her when she barged into Powder’s room during your sleepovers, teasing her little sister with her typical swagger and throwing offhand comments that always seemed to be aimed at you.

Powder, immune to Vi’s antics, would roll her eyes and brush her off. You, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky. Heat would creep up your neck, and you’d stumble over your words when Vi’s gaze lingered on you for just a second too long.

Now, Vi’s presence was quieter, more uncertain. She didn’t tease like she used to, but her lingering still made your heart stutter.

“You guys going out?”

“Yeah.”

You fell back into the old routine more smoothly than you’d anticipated, and a small, self-satisfied part of you almost wanted to pat yourself on the back. It was easier this way—one-word answers, your refusal to meet her gaze, to acknowledge her properly.

For a moment, you wondered if she noticed.

“Where you going?”

“Dunno.”

“Not many places open. ’Cause of the snow.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, might start snowing again tonight, too.”

“ Cool .”

It was a rhythm you knew well, a game of evasion and clipped responses that kept you safely guarded. But then she threw you off balance.

“Do you need a ride?”

That made you pause. The unexpected question broke the rhythm, and your routine faltered. Against your better judgment, you glanced at her—just briefly—from the mirror. A mistake. She was still in her pyjamas, red plaid pants slung low on her hips, and a worn tank that clung to her in a way that made your breath hitch. You stared longer than you should have, breaking one of your unspoken rules.

Her smirk, subtle but unmistakable, told you she noticed.

You scowled, turning your eyes back to the mirror. “Ask Powder,” you muttered. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You hated how your voice betrayed you, a little too soft, a little too unsure.

“We’re taking Isha skating,” Powder chimed in as she walked into the room, her tone matter-of-fact.

Isha followed close behind, bundled in layers with a stride full of swagger and a bright scarf hanging loosely around her neck. She walked straight up to Vi, a grin lighting up her face, and promptly took off her own hat, stretching onto her toes to jump and plop it onto Vi’s head.

Vi froze for a moment, surprised, before reaching up to adjust the too-small hat, her fingers brushing against the wool. “Thanks, squirt,” she murmured, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

Isha just smirked, stepping back and crossing her arms with a triumphant air, clearly pleased with herself.

Powder barely spared her older sister another glance as she sauntered further in, kicking Ekko’s side as she passed. “Wake up, lazy,” she grumbled.

Ekko jolted awake with a groan, rubbing his face as Isha launched herself onto the bed. Her delighted squeal filled the room as she climbed over Ekko, her tiny hands tugging at his shirt to get his attention.

Meanwhile, Powder turned to Vi, hands on her hips, her expression unreadable. “You can come if you want,” she said with a shrug, her voice casual but edged with something more.

It was her way of forgiving her—or maybe apologizing. You could never quite tell. You hadn’t caught enough of their fight to figure out who’d been in the wrong this time.

Vi seemed to hesitate, her gaze flickering between you, Powder, and Isha, who was now giggling uncontrollably as Ekko tried to tickle her.

You sighed quietly to yourself. Skating sounded like a good escape. You loved it, always had, and the thought of gliding across the ice under the open sky was tempting. But the whole point of agreeing to Powder’s idea was to avoid Violet—not to end up skating in circles around her.

It was hard to ignore Vi the spring she got her first tattoo.

It was a simple design that spiralled around the back of her forearm. It was understated but bold, much like Vi herself. For weeks after, more tattoos appeared—on her shoulders, the side of her neck, her back. Piercings too. The ink seemed to mark milestones in her life that you weren’t a part of, reminders of how much she’d changed while you’d stayed tethered to the same place.

When your parents invited Powder’s family over for a barbecue and swim by the time summer came around, you tried your hardest to ignore her there too.

It wasn’t easy with the way the sunlight glinted off the ink on her shoulders, the intricate patterns shifting and coming alive whenever she moved. Her back muscles flexed when she leaned over to grab a drink from the cooler, her damp hair sticking to her neck in a way that made your stomach twist—a sleeveless shirt and boy shorts that showed off the tattoos snaking along her arms and neck.

And then there was Caitlyn.

She arrived with Vi, stepping out of the same car with a soft laugh that carried across the yard. Tall, composed, and impossibly pretty, Caitlyn’s presence lit up the space in a way that felt both magnetic and infuriating. Her fitted sundress swayed as she walked, fuck she was so perfect.

You liked Caitlyn.

She was kind, posh in that way that only people from richer side of the city seemed to be, and, sure, a little ignorant at times—but she had an earnestness about her that made it hard to hold it against her. She listened, really listened. She was understanding, and she was considerate.

She’d never given you a reason not to like her. Well, Powder might have a list if you asked her—snide little remarks about her polished accent or her insistence on “doing things properly.” But Powder’s grievances never carried any real weight, not to you. Caitlyn wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t trying to be, and that made it easier to like her.

You liked the way she did her makeup. When you mentioned it once, offhandedly, she lit up like you’d given her the highest compliment. “I could teach you, if you’d like,” she’d offered, her voice soft and a little shy, as if she wasn’t sure you’d accept.

Whenever she slept over at Powder’s house, she’d take you by the hand, leading you to the cramped little bathroom with its flickering bulb and streaky mirror (which Silco had fixed now). Out came her makeup bag, an immaculate little case filled with powders and brushes that looked impossibly fancy.

“Close your eyes,” she’d say, her tone somewhere between playful and professional.

You already knew how to do your own makeup—of course you did—but there was something comforting in the way Caitlyn worked. The gentle pressure of her fingers tilting your chin, the soft brushes grazing your skin, the quiet hum of concentration she always had. Her style never quite suited your face the way it suited hers but you didn’t mind. You liked the ritual of it, the way it felt like a secret just for the two of you.

More than that, you liked the way she tried. She tried to know you , to understand the patchwork family Powder had built around herself. She made the effort in ways that felt deliberate, and thoughtful, and it was hard not to respect that.

You liked to think she was your friend.

Caitlyn looped her arm casually through Vi’s, leaning in to whisper something that made Vi chuckle—a rare, unguarded sound that carried over the backyard.

Powder, bobbing beside you in the pool, nudged your shoulder with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

“Oh, there they go again,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain.

You tried not to react, forcing your gaze away from Vi and Caitlyn. Instead, you focused on the sunlight dancing across the water’s surface, glinting like shards of glass as it clung to your skin. “What?” you muttered, keeping your tone as flat as possible .

Powder tilted her head toward the scene. “I wish they’d get a room or something. It’s fucking disgusting.”

“Come on, Pow, they’re just talking,” Ekko chimed in, sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet submerged in the water. He leaned back lazily, his sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Talking leads to cuddling,” Powder grumbled, crossing her arms as she floated beside you. “And cuddling leads to kissing. And we all know where that leads to.”

“Gross,” you muttered under your breath before splashing her, the water catching her square in the face.

“I’m just saying,” she shot back, blinking water from her lashes. “They’re gross.”

“You’re her sister, of course you’re gonna find it gross,” Ekko reminded her.

Powder huffed, her brow furrowing. “No, it’s gross because I don’t think Caitlyn’s good for her.”

“And you know who’s good for Vi?”

“Of course I do,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone so self-assured it nearly made you laugh. “Just like I know Gert’s good for Mylo if he’d stop being a little pussy about it.”

You followed her gaze to where Mylo stood by Claggor near the grill, the two of them peering into the barbecue. Mylo was trying (and failing) to sneak a piece of food before it was ready.

“I love your way with words,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

“Thank you,” Powder replied brightly, poking your side. Then her grin faltered, and she sighed. “But seriously. It’s like I have to wrestle her for Vi’s attention. And it’s annoying.”

You’d tied your skates too tight. Not intentionally—at least, that’s what you told yourself—but enough that your feet screamed. The blinding ache radiated up your calves, sharp and unrelenting, and you welcomed it. Maybe if you focused on the pain, it could drown out the storm brewing in your chest, the bitterness, the ache of everything else you didn’t want to feel. Maybe even how fucking cold it was outside.

Every step sent a throb through your legs, forcing you to clench your jaw until your teeth ground together. Ahead, Powder and Ekko laughed as they circled the rink, Isha wedged between them, tugging at their hands to keep herself upright. Her gleeful giggles floated back to you, light and carefree.

You stumbled again, catching your balance just in time to avoid another fall. That was the third time in the past ten minutes. The third damn time. You weren’t bad at skating—far from it, actually. Normally, you glide over the ice with ease, cutting through the rink like a blade. But today, the weight of your mood clung to you like lead, pulling you down, making you clumsier with every step.

You tried to focus on the cold air biting at your cheeks, on the blinding sunlight against the white snow, the rhythmic scrape of skates against the ice, but it did nothing to shake the sourness coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.

You were mid-stumble, arms flailing slightly as you tried to catch yourself again when the faintest whiff of something familiar hit you—cologne, earthy and faintly sweet. And then, beside you, came the sound of old, busted hockey skates carving through the ice.

Of all the bad luck…

“Hey,” came Vi’s voice, “you okay?”

You didn’t turn to look at her. Barely spared her a glance out of the corner of your eye.

“Fine.”

She didn’t leave. Of course, she didn’t. Instead, she lingered, her presence as irritating as the ache in your feet.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, skating closer, her voice quieter now but still persistent.

You sighed heavily, exasperated. “My feet hurt.”

“You wanna sit?”

“No.”

She let out a breath—sharp, annoyed, and entirely too familiar. “Fine.”

She didn’t skate away, though. She stayed right where she was, matching your pace despite the wobble in your steps. Her silence gnawed at you, scraping at the edges of your resolve like sandpaper.

You tightened your grip on the thought—the hope—that she’d eventually leave, that she’d get bored and skate off to join Powder or Isha. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed, her presence an infuriating reminder of everything you were trying to forget.

You clenched your jaw and pushed forward, ignoring the sting in your feet, ignoring her, ignoring everything except the dull thud of your skates against the ice.

But then your skate caught on a groove in the ice, a small imperfection that sent you lurching forward. Your heart jumped into your throat as your arms flailed for balance.

Before you could hit the ice, a hand shot out, firm and steady, catching your elbow. Vi steadied you without a word, her grip warm and grounding even through the layers of your jacket.

“Thanks,” you muttered, pulling your arm away as if her touch burned.

She gave a faint nod, her expression unreadable, her eyes flickering to you before glancing ahead. You opened your mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but the words twisted up inside you, tangling with the bitterness that had settled in your chest.

You wanted to talk to her. You really did. But what would you even say? You’d already tried last night, hadn’t you? Tried to bridge the gap, to ask questions you weren’t ready to hear the answers to. And it had all fallen flat.

You wanted to hate her, too, to let the anger you’d buried beneath your sadness take root and keep you standing tall. But then she went and did this—acting all nice, like nothing had happened. Like you were still just Powder’s best friend, and by extension, her friend too. Like you hadn’t been broken by her absence, her coldness, her silence.

Your mind betrayed you, slipping back to the moments you wished you could share. You wanted to tell her about college. About the awkward first dates Powder still teased you about, the bad ones you couldn’t even laugh about yet. Maybe you even wanted her to tease you, to laugh along, like she used to.

But the thought of wanting that, of still wanting her, stung.

“You sure you’re fine?” she asked, her voice cutting through the haze in your head. It was softer this time, almost tender, and it sent a pang through your chest.

“Just thinking…” you replied, your words trailing off.

“About?”

You .

The thought alone made your jaw tighten and your scowl to deepen, the bitter ache winding tighter around your ribs. Why couldn’t you let it go? Why couldn’t you just move on? You’d told yourself you had. But now, here you were, on this damn rink, feeling every fracture of what had once been, with Vi skating beside you as if she had no idea. She must know.

She must know.

Why was she being so nice? Why was she looking at you like that? Like she cared? She didn’t, not really. If she did, why did she leave? Why did she care so much about what someone else had to say?

Maybe you shouldn’t have come back. Maybe you should’ve stayed with your parents for Christmas. Maybe you should’ve gone to some sunny, beach-side retreat and pretended to enjoy the holidays while being surrounded by strangers.

Shit, maybe you were the problem.

You blinked, startled back to reality by a kid skating too close and brushing against your arm. The rink was alive with motion—kids wobbling precariously as parents held their hands, teenagers zipping by in pairs, the sound of laughter mingling with the scrape of skates on ice. The faint, frosty smell of winter mingled with the warmth of spiced cocoa from the rink’s concession stand.

You took a sharp breath, your focus shifting to Vi, who was already watching you. Her brows were furrowed, a small line forming between them, her concern evident.

As if she cared.

Did she? Could she?

You clenched your fists, willing yourself not to scowl again, not to let her see the turmoil you were struggling to keep buried. You tried to be mature, to play it cool, to remind yourself you were over this. Over her.

“Nothin’,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Vi didn’t press. She just nodded slightly and kept skating beside you, her presence steady but silent.

Ahead, Powder waved with both hands, her grin stretching wide as Isha spun in a shaky circle beside her. Powder’s voice carried over the cold air, calling your names.

You didn’t wave back. You couldn’t. The weight in your chest held you down, rooted you to the ice even as your skates moved forward.

But Vi didn’t leave. She stayed right there, keeping pace with you, her quiet persistence chipping away at the edges of your resolve.

You wonder if you did the same for her.

The music was loud—too loud—but that was part of the charm. The thumping bass rattled through your ribcage, shaking you from the inside out, while the floor beneath you trembled with the rhythm of countless feet jumping in sync. You could feel the music in your blood, like a heartbeat that wasn’t your own, each beat pushing you higher, pulling you deeper into the chaos.

You loved to party with Powder.

Her hand was a lifeline, gripping yours tightly as the two of you wove through the throng of swaying bodies, your drinks sloshing in red solo cups that were more a suggestion of something to hold than something to drink. The cheap alcohol inside had long since gone warm, sticky trails of it slipping down your wrists every time you threw your hands up or spun around.

Your hair clung to your damp forehead, strands sticking to the sweat glistening on your skin. Powder looked no different—her eyeliner smeared into dark, uneven crescents beneath her eyes, like war paint after a battle. But she was radiant, her laughter sharp and wild, cutting through the pulsing music like a flash of neon.

“C’mon!” she yelled, tugging you toward the centre of the room where the crowd was thickest. Her grin was wide and manic, a spark of mischief in her eyes that made your chest ache with affection. You couldn’t say no to her, not when she looked like that—like the world couldn’t touch her.

The room itself was a haze of sweat, smoke, and bad decisions waiting to happen. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spilled beer, cheap cologne, and something acrid that burned your nose when you passed too close to certain groups. A strobe light pulsed erratically from one corner, painting everything in flashes of harsh white and deep shadow. It made the room feel surreal, like a dream you’d barely remember in the morning.

The house was somebody’s cousin’s or older sibling’s—or maybe it belonged to no one at all . You didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were here.

She bumped her shoulder into yours, almost sending you stumbling. “You’re not drinking!” she teased, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the music.

You raised your cup in mock defence. “You’re spilling half of mine!”

“Then drink faster!” she shot back, her grin turning sly.

You rolled your eyes but took a chug at it anyway, grimacing at the taste. Powder just laughed, tugging you further into the chaos, her energy infectious even as you tried to keep up.

There was a moment where you’d lost her—not that you minded much. You knew she’d find her way back to you eventually. She always did.

Besides, you’d gotten a little distracted under the gaze of someone across the room. You couldn’t even remember how it started—just a fleeting glance that turned into a shared smile, which turned into them crossing the room and you deciding, what the hell, sure.

They weren’t anyone special. Someone from another school, maybe, or a senior you’d seen hanging around but never talked to. The details didn’t matter. What mattered was that their attention was fixed on you, their grin lazy and inviting as they leaned in, a hand brushing against your arm.

It was messy and awkward in the way these things always are , their mouth too eager, your coordination not quite up to par. The taste of cheap beer and stale cigarettes lingered in the kiss, and you couldn’t decide if it was your inexperience or theirs that made it feel more like bumping noses than anything romantic.

Powder would tease you mercilessly—she always did—and you’d roll your eyes and swear her to secrecy after you told her. But in the moment, you let yourself get caught up in it. The noise of the party faded to a dull hum, the kind that thrummed in the back of your head, as their hands slid to your waist.

They leaned in close, the alcohol on their breath mingling with yours as they bridged the gap, their lips brushing against yours hesitantly at first. You weren’t sure who moved first, whether it was them pulling you closer or you tilting your head to meet them. Either way, the kiss deepened quickly—too quickly—teeth clinking awkwardly at one point before you adjusted.

Their mouth was warm but clumsy, lips pressing against yours with more enthusiasm than skill, and you could feel their inexperience mirrored in your own. Their hands fumbled a little at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like they weren’t quite sure what to do next. You tried to follow their lead, letting your hands rise to their shoulders, but your grip felt unsure, awkward.

When they tilted their head, the kiss became messier, more eager than graceful. Their lips parted against yours, warm and a little too wet, and you tried to keep up, to mimic the movements, but there was no rhythm to it—just the reckless energy of two people who didn’t know what they were doing but were too stubborn to stop.

“Really?”

The voice cut through the haze like a slap, sharp and incredulous. You broke apart immediately, turning to find Powder standing a few feet away, hands on her hips and an expression caught between disbelief and amusement.

“This is what you’re doing?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the two of you. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Your face flushed, embarrassment flaring hot under your skin as you stepped back, mumbling some excuse that you knew Powder wouldn’t buy. The person you’d been kissing looked equally mortified, scratching the back of their neck and mumbling a quick, “Uh, yeah, I’ll, um… see you around?” before disappearing into the crowd.

Powder’s grin widened, a strange gleam in her eyes as she sauntered up to you. “You’re so bad at that.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, pushing past her, but she caught your arm and spun you back around.

“I was serious ,” she said, her tone softening just a fraction . “Vi’s here.”

The words hit like a splash of cold water, dousing the buzz that had been warming your limbs. Your stomach dropped, and suddenly you were all too aware of the sticky heat lingering on your skin—the faint smudge of spit at the corners of your mouth, the raw sting of bites pressed too hard against your neck.

“She’s back?”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

You swiped at your lips with the back of your hand, a frantic, clumsy motion like you could erase the evidence before anyone else noticed.

Powder didn’t seem to catch you, or if she did, she didn’t comment. She just grabbed your hand and started dragging you toward the front of the house. “C’mon, we gotta go before she murders half the party looking for us.”

And murder she might. Maybe.

You could already picture her at the door, arms crossed, her expression equal parts exasperation and thinly veiled amusement. Vi had always been good at the whole “annoyed older sibling” act.

But when you saw her standing there, one shoulder propped against the doorframe, your breath caught anyway.

Vi had this way of looking like she didn’t belong anywhere but still owned the space around her. Even in the dim light of the doorway, she seemed to cut through the haze of the party with ease. The leather jacket in her hands hung loose and effortless, but it was her—bigger somehow, more solid—that made your pulse quicken. Her pink hair was shorter, darker, sharper, and something else about her seemed...different. More tattoos? A new piercing glinted on her nose, catching the light briefly before she turned her head, scanning the crowd.

She looked so good it hurt.

Or maybe you were still flustered from before. An ache was pounding deep in your stomach.

You tightened your grip on Powder’s hand, steadying yourself as you stumbled along, her swaying weight leaning into yours. The two of you were a mess—heels clicking unevenly on the tiled floor, shoulders bumping into strangers as you made your way to her. Powder looked ready to pass out, her pale green complexion doing nothing to hide the fact she’d be sick before the night was through.

Vi’s sharp gaze locked onto you both the second you came into view, her face twisting briefly in what could only be described as relief, followed quickly by annoyance. Of course, she was annoyed. She hadn’t come home from college to spend her nights wrangling her little sister and her drunk best friend from parties.

It wasn’t the first time Vi had been the one to pull you both out of the fire, though. Not even close. She had always been the responsible one—or, at least, more responsible than the rest of you. Vander’s wrath or your parents’ disappointment might’ve been enough to scare Powder and you straight for a few days, but Vi had a knack for showing up just in time to spare you from both.

Her boots crunched against the gravel outside as she walked you to the car, her jacket already draped over your shoulders by the time you made it to the front step. You always forgot yours, and she always remembered. The leather was heavy and warm, carrying the faint, clean scent of cologne mixed with something distinctly hers.

Powder, ever the louder of the two of you when drunk, sprawled across the back seat with an arm flung dramatically over her face, slurring about something neither of you could make out. Meanwhile, you sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the blurred glow of streetlights streaked across the glass.

“Thanks for getting us,” you mumbled because Powder would never say it.

Vi glanced at you briefly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Don’t mention it.”

And that was it. The way she said it—the casual ease, the softness that bled through despite herself— it left something twisting inside you.

The first time Vi had done this, you’d only felt gratitude. But as the late-night drives stacked up, the weight of her jacket around your shoulders or the faint, grounding pressure of her hand at your back as she helped you to the car had begun to feel...different.

Powder had caught on quicker than you had. One night, lying sprawled in the back seat as she giggled into the darkness, she slurred, “You know, she only comes to get us so she can see you.”

Vi scoffed, her knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Yeah, because I’m the only one responsible enough to drive your drunk asses home.”

But Powder’s teasing tone, the slight hitch in Vi’s voice, the way her hands flexed against the leather—it all stuck with you. You weren’t sure if it had been real or just the alcohol messing with your head.

Still, every time she came for you, it left another mark—a small, invisible stain that you couldn’t quite scrub clean.

You jumped a little when the basement door swung open, hitting the wall with a sharp thud. The footsteps that followed were loud, purposeful, and unmistakable.

Claggor sighed and paused his game, tugging his headphones down around his neck as he turned in his seat. You let your phone fall to your chest, craning your neck to glance over the back of the couch.

“Asshole,” Mylo muttered under his breath, not even bothering to look up. That was all the confirmation you needed to know who had just come downstairs.

Sure enough, Vi appeared, rounding the corner with a smirk that screamed trouble. On her way to the couch, she casually tugged at Mylo’s hair, earning a sharp “Hey!” as she passed. She didn’t even glance back, instead zeroing in on you and Claggor.

She stood in front of you both, her hair a bit of a mess, likely from the hat she’d been wearing earlier. You could still see the faint pink in her cheeks from the cold.

“Be honest,” she said abruptly, scissors in one hand and the other running through her tangled strands. “Should I cut my hair short again?”

You blinked, thrown off. “What?”

Her eyes stayed on you, wide and expectant, and for a moment, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

You glanced at Claggor for backup, but he was already turning back to his game. “She’s been going on about this for weeks,” he muttered.

“Why cut it?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you looked back at her.

“It’s getting too long. Too much work,” she said, almost defensively, her fingers combing through her hair as if to prove her point.

“More like half the work,” Mylo quipped from his corner, barely hiding his smirk. “Get it? Because half your head is shaved?”

Vi shot him a glare. “Hilarious.”

You could tell she was trying not to let him derail the conversation, her attention snapping back to you. “What do you think?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. The scissors in her hand didn’t help; it made the question feel oddly burdened, like your opinion actually mattered more than it should.

Your mind briefly wandered to earlier that afternoon, in the front seat of Vi’s car after Powder claimed the back with her usual cheeky grin. You’d avoided looking directly at Vi, whose raised eyebrows had been impossible to ignore as she glanced at you, then at Powder. Even in that moment, you couldn’t shake the strange awareness of how close you were when she turned the heat up too high.

It was strange, wasn’t it? How she could act so normal, so at ease, while you felt like you were constantly trying to tread water, pretending not to notice the things that lingered between you. Or the things that didn’t.

“I mean… if you want it shorter, just cut it,” you said.

Her lips twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. “But will I still look good?”

“Since when do you care about that?” Claggor snorted, shaking his head.

“I’ve always cared,” Vi shot back, a hint of indignation in her voice.

“Sure,” Mylo said, not looking up from his snack. “And that whole ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look? Totally intentional, right?”

“ Mylo ,” Vi said sharply, her tone cutting through the banter.

The way she turned back to you felt purposeful, like she was waiting for your response specifically. You felt the weight of her stare, the way her gaze seemed to linger just a second too long.

“I mean…” You shrugged, hoping to brush off the tension. “You’d probably still look good with a buzzcut.”

Vi snorted, finally cracking a grin. “Now that’s an idea.”

“You’re joking, right?” Claggor said, casting a side-eye glance her way.

“Maybe.” She twirled the scissors once before dropping them onto the coffee table with a clatter. Then, to your surprise, she plopped down next to you, stretching her legs out and leaning back against the couch.

Her knee bumped yours lightly, whether by accident or on purpose, you couldn’t tell.

“You’re so weird,” you muttered under your breath, trying to refocus on your phone. But there was a lump in your throat, and the videos on your screen blurred in your mind.

Even as you kept your eyes down, the heat of her presence next to you was impossible to ignore. It felt too close. Too casual. Like none of it ever mattered to her at all.

You tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted—half guilt, half elation—when you heard the news. It was petty, and you hated yourself for it. The announcement had come casually, as most bombshells from Powder did, dropped without ceremony in the middle of an otherwise uneventful afternoon.

“Yeah, Vi and Caitlyn called it quits,” Powder said, her voice muffled as she rummaged through your bag in search of snacks.

You froze mid-sentence, your pencil hovering above the textbook you were pretending to study. The words didn’t register at first, too surreal to process. “What? Why?”

Powder shrugged, unbothered. “Something about Vi not being ‘present.’ Caitlyn said they’re too different.”

She popped a piece of candy into her mouth and moved on, oblivious to the way her words had ignited a storm inside you. Your heart raced, an uncontrollable, traitorous thing, and hope flickered somewhere deep in your chest.

It burned too bright and too fast, like a spark catching dry kindling. You tried to snuff it out before it could grow. It wasn’t fair—least of all to Vi.

But it was hard. Harder still when you saw Vi after you heard the news. She was different then. Softer in some ways, quieter. The razor-sharp edge you remembered had dulled, replaced by a weight she carried in her eyes and the tension she held in her shoulders.

She’d laugh and talk with Vander, Mylo, and Claggor, her walls momentarily lowered in the safety of family. You’d catch glimpses of the old Vi then, the one who teased Powder mercilessly and made terrible puns at the dinner table.

On rare occasions, she’d join you, Ekko and Powder in the living room. Powder had a knack for pulling everyone together, dragging you into the fray whether you wanted to be there or not . The four of you would sprawl across the faded, mismatched couches, watching movies or swapping stories like you used to.

Vi usually lingered on the edges, her presence quiet but unmistakable. She didn’t say much, but her gaze would wander, drifting to you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. It was subtle at first —a flicker of her eyes when you laughed too loudly or wrinkled your nose at one of Ekko’s awful jokes. But once you noticed, you couldn’t unsee it.

Sometimes, during movie nights, the couch would become too crowded, and her leg would press against yours. The warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of your jeans would send your mind spiralling, no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself it meant nothing. She was just sitting there, just existing beside you.

But you knew better. You knew because her faint smile when she caught you snorting at something ridiculous lingered too long. Because the way her eyes softened when Powder teased you felt too deliberate. Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that she didn’t mean anything, it was a lie you could never fully believe.

And you hated yourself for it.

But more than that, you hated the way you couldn’t stop hoping.

You liked to think you were a handy person—decent with a wrench, quick to come up with ideas—but in comparison to Powder, you didn’t stand much of a chance. She wasn’t just handy; she was an artist with gears and circuits. You’d sketch out a vague plan, and she’d take it, run with it, and create something brilliant. That was why the two of you worked so well together: you dreamed, and she built.

The garage smelled like metal and grease, the air cold enough to make your breath fog. You tugged your sleeves down over your hands, shivering slightly as you handed Powder the screwdriver she’d been reaching for.

“Thanks,” she said without looking up, her blue hair glowing faintly under the harsh light of the overhead lamp. She was hunched over her latest college project—a tangle of wires and gears that looked more like a puzzle than a machine.

You scribbled something in your notebook, half notes and half doodles, glancing up every so often to watch her work. This was how most of your “girls’ nights” went: sitting in the garage, Powder building something while you brainstormed or provided moral support. It was the most comfortable kind of silence.

“What is this thing supposed to do again?” you asked, leaning closer to inspect her progress.

“It’s, uh... complicated,” Powder replied, biting her lip as she fiddled with a circuit board. “Basically, it’s gonna make stuff explode, but, like, in a controlled way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Controlled explosions. Totally safe.”

She laughed, “Don’t worry, I’m a professional. Sort of.”

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm—her working, you passing tools or holding pieces in place when she needed an extra set of hands. It felt good to have something to focus on, something to do with your hands to keep them from trembling.

But as the minutes ticked by, the silence started to stretch, your thoughts creeping in to fill the gaps. You glanced at Powder, her face scrunched in concentration and felt the words bubbling up before you could stop them.

“Powder,” you said hesitantly.

“Mm?” She didn’t look up, her hands steady as she twisted a screw into place.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something...”

She finally glanced at you, her wide eyes curious. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “It’s about Vi.”

“Oh.” Powder’s expression shifted into something wary, but she still looked amused. “I think I might know where this is going.”

“You do?”

“You’ve noticed she’s been a real dick lately, yeah?”

You want to nod but Vi has always been a real pain in the ass.

“It’s because she’s been hanging out with Caitlyn again.”

That was nowhere near what you were expecting to hear.

“What?”

“Yeah, something about Caitlyn helping her find a new job or something.”

“Oh,” you said, your throat tightening. “That’s... nice of her.”

“I guess. But you know I’ve never liked her much. She makes Vi act out all the time. It’s weird. You know what she said to me the other day? She said I should focus on stuff that matters, like my ‘actual life,’ whatever that means.” Powder rolled her eyes, her voice taking on a mocking tone. “‘Stop blowing things up, Powder. Stop wasting your time, Powder.’ Something about me being worth more than that or whatever. Like she’s one to talk.”

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “She’s just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got a crappy way of showing it.” Powder’s hands stilled for a moment, her expression clouding over. “She doesn’t even tell me what’s going on with her anymore. She just... disappears, and when she does show up, she acts like she’s got everything figured out. It’s so annoying. I mean, yeah, they ended on good terms or whatever, but she’s just... spreading a bad vibe around.”

You smiled weakly. “Bad vibe?”

“You know the vibe. It’s obviously bothering you since you brought it up.”

You didn’t stop to tell her that wasn’t what you’d meant.

“Oh, my god,” she added, setting down her tools. “And did you know Caitlyn’s with Maddie now?”

“Maddie? From fucking high school?”

“Yeah, isn’t that crazy?”

“What the hell?”

“Right? That’s what I said! And Vi’s been all moody about it too. See what I mean? Caitlyn brings nothing but trouble.”

You couldn’t help but wonder how much Powder knew about what was going on with Vi. There had been so many blanks in the last few months that you were struggling to put everything together.

“I think Vi’s just mad that her sorry ass got dumped,” Powder added, shrugging.

“What?”

“You never heard this from me though. Vi would kill me if she found out I kill you of all people but... she was seeing someone last summer—she didn’t tell me who—and then it just stopped. She’s been an asshole since. A bigger asshole than she used to be. Serves her right.” Powder grinned, her tone light despite the sting of her words. “And yeah, it’s harsh, but I can say it because she’s my sister.”

You looked away, guilt clawing at your insides. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Powder glanced back at you. “Anyway, did you want to tell me something?”

Your heart stuttered, the weight of your unspoken thoughts pressing down on you like a heavy hand. You opened your mouth, the words trembling on the tip of your tongue, a silent dare you couldn’t quite take. What if this moment shattered, splintered into something jagged and irreparable?

“Uh, yeah,” you said finally, your voice more breathless than you intended. “Just wanted to say thanks for inviting me for the holidays.”

Powder frowned, turning to you fully, “What are you talking about? You always spend Christmas with us.”

You forced a laugh, scratching the back of your neck. “I know. I know, it’s just...” The words tangle themselves in your throat. You screw your eyes shut for a moment, decided to be honest at least. She deserved at least that. “Ever since college started, I feel like I haven’t been the greatest friend in the world.”

“What are y—”

“You know it’s true,” you interrupted, the words rushing out in a jumble as if you might lose the courage to say them if you hesitated. “I haven’t called half as much, and I keep making excuses. It’s not that I don’t want to see you, it’s just... I don’t know.”

Powder set the screwdriver down, her blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not ,” you insisted, the crack in your voice betraying the guilt you’d carried for so long.

“It is ,” she said firmly, her voice taking on the same determined edge she used when defending her inventions from criticism. “Don’t you remember how I used to lash out when high school started? You put up with so much shit from me back then.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the turn in the conversation. “Yeah.”

“Man, I was fucking psycho,” she continued with a wry grin, leaning back on her hands.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you replied, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.

“I would,” she said, laughing softly. “I’m surprised you’re still friends with me after all that. I would’ve dumped me in a heartbeat.”

“Of course I’m still friends with you,” you said. “I love you, Pow.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening into something warm and familiar. “Love you too.”

For a moment, the weight in your chest eased, the tension unravelling as her laughter echoed through the garage. Maybe someday, you’d find the right moment to tell her the rest of it—the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say now. Maybe after a drink or two for courage, when the words wouldn’t stick so hard in your throat, you’d tell her everything. And maybe she’d laugh, the same bright, fearless laugh that always pulled you back from the edge.

But not now. Not yet.

part two

791 notes · View notes

forzarma · 10 months ago

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makeup disaster

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando Doing your makeup on stream what could possibly go wrong?

warnings:haven’t proofread 😞

You joined Lando while he was streaming last week, and both of you were playing a game. Well, you lost, which means you’re gonna let him do your makeup on his next stream.

Both of you sat, and you got your makeup essentials that you’re gonna have to use for this stream, hoping Lando wouldn’t freestyle your face considering the fact he doesn’t know anything about makeup.

“Hello chat,” he said while looking at the computer, “so apparently I’m doing your makeup,” giving a cheeky smile.

“I’m regretting this already, omg,” you said, laughing nervously.

“Anyways, first thing, I guess primer ’cause you have been nagging about killing me if I don’t put it first,” Lando said.

You rolled your eyes playfully at him.

He started tapping your face aggressively.

“Ouch, Lando,” you said, giving him a stern look.

“I’m trying, okay?” he said, looking at you innocently.

“Anyways, I think we need to use this,” he said while holding your foundation and your beauty blender.

He blended your foundation, and you were thanking god that he was doing good for now. Well, your happiness didn’t last long when you saw him taking your setting powder and putting it over your face.

“Wait, Lando—“ you were trying to tell him he should put concealer, but all you heard was “SHUSH.” You gave him a literal side-eye.

And then he had the audacity to put concealer after what the hell????

Looking at the mirror, all you could see is your cakey face.

He opened your eyeshadow palette and took a bright blue and started putting it over your eyes.

Then he picked your blush, PAINTED your face with it, making you look like a tomato.

Then he got the liquid eyeliner and hummed, “this is interesting,” and decided to literally act like your eyes are drawing papers.

He gave his attention to the chat, reading it, and people saying that’s not how he should put things, just for him to say, “nah, y’all are just wrong, I know what I’m doing.”

He took the lip liner, he put it on your lips, and gloss.

“Alright chat, that’s the finished look,” he said, looking proud as if he did an achievement.

“You did terrible, Lando,” you said, looking at him.

“You know, I did good, better than you do,” he muttered.

“Alright, I hope you guys enjoyed this stream and don’t fall in love with my makeup skills ’cause,” he said, smirking, then he ended the stream.

After ending the stream, Lando turned to you with a cheeky grin. "Alright love, let me help get that makeup off you. Can't have you walking around looking like a clown all night!"

You playfully hit his arm. "Whose fault is that?" You retorted with a laugh. Lando gently took a makeup wipe and started dabbing at your face, his touches soft and caring as he removed the remains of his "artwork."

"There we are, much better." He smiled, gazing into your eyes. You felt yourself getting lost in his stare, all thoughts of the disastrous makeup attempt melting away.

Suddenly , you leaned in and pressed your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Lando made a small noise of surprise but quickly melted into the kiss, cupping your cheek tenderly as he kissed you back. The spark between you that had been building for so long was finally igniting.

When you finally broke apart, Lando rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. "Well, I may not be able to do makeup but at least I know how to do that," he whispered with a wink. You giggled, feeling giddy and light. It seemed the stream had ended on a much sweeter note than anticipated. Your "punishment" had turned out to be quite the reward after all.

#Lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #formula one x reader #Formula one x you #formula one x fem!reader #F1 imagines #lando norris #Charles leclerc #lando norris fluff

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onlyswan · 1 year ago

Text

summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

“shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like moths to a flame when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 9 months ago

Text

When they misunderstand and kiss your cheek - svt 95z

💋Who; Seventeen 95 line (individually) x reader. 💋What; lil fluff reactions. 💋Wordcount; around 1k all together 💋Warning; Profanity. Kind of suggestive in places.

Read the other versions here; 96z - 97z - Maknae3

-2024 Masterlist - A/N-I don't even know where this idea came from, it just popped into my head. I got carried away so I had to split it up and shall upload the other members' parts when I finish them. If you have ideas about the other members then feel free to send them in, it could help with any I get stuck on 💖

💋Seungcheol💋 It's a hot day and for some reason, that apparently means Seungcheol wants to go to the store and get ice cream as if he didn't drag you out for the same reason yesterday. "I told you to buy some for your freezer yesterday!" You whine where you're slumped on the couch at his side with no will to move yet knowing you will because you're utterly whipped for Choi Seungcheol. "Shut up and get ready." He pats your knee, exposed due to your shorts, smearing something on you as he does. It grosses you out until you realise it's some of the sunscreen he's diligently applying to his face. So you sit up and rub in the remnants, then the extra he squirts on your skin assuming you had not applied any already. He's right. Seungcheol finishes first and just holds the bottle open ready to give you more as he tries to not stare at the way your hands glide over your legs for the sake of his sanity. He's already hot enough thank you. When you notice him just sitting there, you lift one hand to tap your cheek, implying that you want him to start working on putting the protective liquid on your face. Instead, he dumbly leans over and plants a kiss there, shocking you still. It isn't until he leans back and takes in your bewildered expression darting between his face and the bottle in his hands that he realises his mistake. "Uh, shit, sorry, I didn't think." "Makes it sound like kissing me is your automatic reaction." "Don't be a brat or you can buy your own ice cream." "Ha, yeah right, you always buy me everything." "I spoil you too much, dug my own grave there." He starts to apply the sunscreen to your face to distract you both from his embarrassing mistake. "You know, for the record, I didn't mind it." "You didn't?" He looks at you and you shake your head a little, cheeks slightly pink as you focus on your legs despite the fact all of the liquid was long ago absorbed. "So can I do it again? But maybe somewhere else this time?" "Pervert." "Complete brat, honestly." "You clearly like it, you want to kiss me so bad." "Yeah, I do. So?" "Do it." So he does and you get carried away enough that by the time you make it out of his apartment, the store is already closed.

💋Jeonghan💋 Everyone knows that Jeonghan loves Legos, a fact that means that pretty much every gift he received for his last birthday and Christmas were Lego sets. It's been months yet he still hasn't even managed to open most of them due to his busy schedule so he recruited you to be his assistant. It's mostly just a ploy to spend more time alone with you but he also does know you're probably one of the only people he knows who enjoys the building process as much as he does. "Ooh, making good progress." He comments after glancing over to see that you are pretty much breezing through the castle as he works on the ferris wheel. His words make you look up with a hum to look at his own progress. You give a thumbs up and look up at his face, he's already looking at you in that happy soft way he does when you two are spending quality time together like this. But you barely notice it, eyes instead landing on the smudge of something on his cheek. You lean a little closer and realise it's powder from the snacks he had earlier been eating. You tap your own cheek in the mirror position, silently telling him about the mark which isn't even an unusual action for you two but for some reason, on this day, Jeonghan doesn't take it as a sign to wipe his cheek but instead lean over, placing one hand on the carpet between you to press his lips gently to your skin. He quickly realises his mistake but in true Jeonghan fashion, he plays it off with a smug little smirk as he settles back into his place and gets back to his task. Not willing to let Jeonghan win this, you lean over and grab him by his collar to pull him closer, causing his eyes to blow wide. You wipe at his cheek before kissing it and then all but shoving him back into place. Neither of you says a word as you get back to your builds, both too flustered to remember how to work your mouths in a way that doesn't involve pursing lips.

💋Joshua💋 Lately, Joshua has been really into baking. At any random time, you can get a message from him requesting your help baking a cake or pie or some other kind of sweet treat. And if you don't respond to him fast enough, he takes it upon himself to turn up at your apartment laden with supplies and takes over your kitchen so that you have no choice but to help him bake. The latter is what has happened today; Joshua turned up a few hours ago declaring that you two are going to make "the best fucking chocolate to have existed. Think that Matilda cake but sexier" and who are you to argue with the sweet buff devil of a man. "Okay, I've got to admit, you were weirdly right about it being sexier," You mutter as you carefully pipe chocolate swirls onto the cake. Or attempts at swirls, neither of you is very good at the decor aspect of baking yet. "Told you!" He grins smugly and looks at you before laughing. "What?" "You've got icing on your cheek." "Get it then," He shows you his hands, already smeared with icing. "You've got a mouth, haven't you-" before you can finish and tell him to lick the icing from his hands, his lips are against your skin. "That didn't work." He mutters, leaning back and licking the smear of chocolate from his lips while keeping his gaze on your cheek. He leans in again and again and again, dragging his lips over that same patch of skin enough that he really should've been done long ago. "There." He finally leans back with a satisfied little smirk. "All clean now." And then he lifts his hands to lick the icing from them like you had tried to tell him to in the first place. You can't really focus after that and the smug bastard knows it.

#wkcnet #svthub #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #svt reactions #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #svt scenarios #seventeen seungcheol reaction #seventeen scoups reaction #seventeen jeonghan reaction #seventeen joshua reaction #seventeen 95z reaction

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munsster · 6 months ago

Note

Hi I just read fixer user and I loved it! I was wondering if you could do a part 2 💖💖

an act of true love

A/N: (your pfp made me scream and curl my toes) an unexpected amount of ppl rlly enjoyed this dynamic. i suppose i have found my people 🤭 (gif creds: @kingofscoops)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: In the dead of winter, there’s absolutely nothing that could keep you warm. After all, only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart. 1.5k words

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), mention of toxic ex boyfriend, cursing, gross flirting

Steve can hear you shivering through the receiver and your stuttered breaths crackling through the cord. You’re begging him to come over and fix your radiator in the middle of a snow storm. The roads aren’t closed yet, but a thin white powder blankets his front lawn and the top of his beemer and he can see the flakes whipping through the stream of light pouring from the streetlamp. So, he piles every blanket he has into his passenger seat and braves the drive to your house.

Does he know how to repair a busted radiator? No.

Is he determined to do anything you require of him? Every single day for the rest of his life.

He’s crouched by the window of your living room, looking for any telltale signs of wear or leaking. You’re standing just behind him, bundled in two blankets and holding a spare flashlight. He’s quiet as he tinkers, but your mind is racing watching his soft toned arms through his cream thermal and his back muscles working when he turns over his shoulder to glance at you with a dashing smile. You nod quickly when he says something, though you’re not exactly sure what.

“Sweetheart?” he coos, raising his brows when you recoil under his gaze.

“Sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t listening,” you say with a chuckle. He grins, dropping his head in understanding.

“Sorry, I know it’s boring,” he says, “but has it been making noises or anything?”

“Oh, yeah! It kinda groans when I first turn it on and it sounds like it might explode for the first couple minutes. I guess I’ve tuned it out by now.”

“That’s probably not a good sound then,” he teases, turning back to the radiator with a puzzled look.

“No, probably not.” You shuffle off to the kitchen, setting a kettle on the stove and humming softly.

After half an hour of tinkering and a roll of tape, Steve stands and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“That should do it! It’ll probably take a sec to heat up again,” he sighs, and you emerge from the kitchen, balancing two hefty mugs brimming with whipped cream. “Ooh, what’s this?”

“Hot cocoa. Secret family recipe,” you tease. In actuality, it’s just the standard package of chocolate powder and sugar. The secret lies in the healthy dash of cinnamon you mix into it.

“Secret, eh? Guess that gives me a reason to come see you more often,” he hums, following you to the couch and taking one of the mugs from your hands. It warms him up nicely, and he knows you gave him the bigger mug on purpose when you smile triumphantly. He takes a sip, moaning at the sweetness. You giggle at the whipped cream kissing his top lip.

“I hope I’m reason enough,” you say with a faux pout. He sits close enough to share the pile of blankets with you, your thighs pressed against one another in the captured heat.

“Duh, you’re the main attraction,” he huffs, “Your hot chocolate is like the flashy side show. It’s pretty neat but not quite as cool as the reason you bought the ticket.”

You giggle into your mug, face hot in the bellowing steam. Or because of his dimpled cheeks. Or the way his eyes swoop over your face. Or maybe the way he came rushing to your rescue in a storm without a second thought.

“Any new Brad-related developments? Or is he still giving you shit?” he says, swallowing a warm gulp of liquid chocolate.

You groan, head lulling back against the couch. “He keeps calling to say I’m a cold hearted bitch and then immediately hang up. I think he forgot that he’s the one who broke up with me.”

“Right, right. Why’s that again?”

“Something about his family’s values. And how he hates my friends,” you say, “I just remember getting mad because he seemed so jealous and mistrusting. Honestly, in hindsight, he was really childish about the whole thing.”

You shrug it off, but it snaps his heart in two all over again. He doesn’t even want to know the gorey details because he knows it’ll boil his blood. Just knowing that asshole said something like that to you makes his fists ball up in frustration. But he thinks of what you said. What did Brad have to be jealous about; he had the entire world and Steve never bat an eye. Not to you, at least.

“Jealous?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, he’d give me all these ultimatums where I’d have to choose between you and him. So random,” you huff. Though, maybe he was justified in some way. You and Steve have been this close since the day you met. Any love interest would feel threatened by his charm and that smile.

“Oh… weird”—He watches you take a cautious sip from your mug like maybe you regret saying anything at all—“Yeah. That’s random. Had no idea I posed such a threat to that guy. He seemed so… self-assured.”

You stare blankly, shrugging when you mutter, “you can call him a narcissistic prick, i don't care. And yeah, I was kinda surprised the first time he brought it up, because a big part of why I was attracted to him was for his confidence” you chuckle, “No idea what went wrong!

Steve absentmindedly squares his shoulders, sitting up straught on the plush cushions trying to make himself look strong and reliable and confident. You sip your hot chocolate and look at him funny.

“Are you okay?” you say, holding in a laugh.

He nods. “Oh, yeah. I’m just super confident ‘s all.”

You snort, choking on the sip you’d sucked down, pinching your eyes closed when he lurches forward with a worried look slapped across his face.

“Shit, here, let me help,” he huffs, setting his mug aside and wiping the drips from your chin with his sleeve, “Oh, god, are you hurt???”

You cackle with tears pricking in your eyes when he carefully takes your mug and places it next to his. You pat dry your neck, and he watches you softly.

“Stevie, you’re so sweet.”

His heart flutters in his warm chest when you smile at him.

“Well, I dunno about that.”

“No, seriously. You’re so caring and thoughtful, I’ve never met anyone like you,” you whisper.

He takes a shaky breath in.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You nod heartily and grin wide, and you notice he’s staring at you. So you kick his calf under the blanket.

“Hey, ouch!”

You giggle, but he’s quick to grab the crook of your knee and tug you close so you’re laying flat on the couch. Your hands cover your face when he tickles your sides and leans over you playfully. He’s almost glad you can’t see him blushing or feel his heart racing or hear his head booming with thoughts of you. He gasps when you plant your socked foot on his thigh, but he holds your elbow gently to keep you close to him while he leans over you.

You’re laughing, and he can confidently say it’s his favorite sound. You palm his chest, and he takes a deep breath in. Your eyes flick open because you’ve never felt someones heart beat so fast and so warm just beneath your fingertips. He’s flushed and pink but he looks like a prince in the orange lamplight. And he’s so close to you.

Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, barely grasping, and you crane your neck towards him. You watch his honey eyes draw over your lips just before he leans in and kisses you.

His hand molds into your side, melting over the exposed skin like hot syrup. You press into his hold and smile with your fingers drawing up and across the back of his neck.

But the kiss short lived when he pulls away, shoving a hand through his ruffled hair.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Steve huffs, standing and backing away, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I should go!”

He crosses the floor in a daze, forcing his feet back into his shoes before you even can sit up and call after him.

“Steve, wait!”

But he’s shaking his head and reaching for the ice cold door handle with his jacket barely slung over his shoulders. He whips the door open, and you can see the pure white snow floating down in sheets outside.

“Keep the blankets! Just call me if the radiator breaks again, and I’ll see you!”

The door slams shut.

You tut, hand coming to your lips as you look around at the scene before you. The abandoned mugs on the coffee table, his blankets folded over the back of the couch, your repaired radiator whirring softly in the corner. The absence of Steve. What would the kids say. You know they’d lose it, but would they be upset if you ended up together. Would they realize they changed their minds and you’d jeopardized not only your friendship with Steve but with the entire party.

What if everything changes?

Oh, but what if nothing changes: you and Steve tip toeing around each other, the kids scheming and giggling at your misfortune, but now changed by the fact that you’ve kissed Steve. And he kissed you back. And you like him so much.

"Oh, god.”

more like this

masterlist

#the babygirlification of steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #fluff #friends to lovers #best friends to lovers #stranger things #x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #x fem!reader #kristoff!steve x anna!reader #scoops ahoy #stranger things season three

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barefoothighlander · 2 years ago

Text

never going back again - 03

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), mention of nudity, mention of food, simons a flirt

prev part masterlist next part

a/n: haven’t proofread this yet, sorry for any grammatical errors

It’s a loud banging that wakes you, echoing through the walls of the small cottage, shifting frames on the wall as it continues.

In a sleepy daze you remember how Simon had mentioned he was going to fix the shower, something about mould and needing to redo the tile, what you didn’t recall was him saying he’d start work promptly at 7am, effectively disrupting your peaceful slumber.

You trudge your way out of the bedroom, wrapping the blanket around your form for some warmth as you stand in the doorway to the bathroom, heavy eyes watching him.

It takes him no time at all to acknowledge your presence, probably due to whatever training he’d acquired over the years, he could notice a mosquito shift from 10 feet away, such keen eyes.

He turns to you, his dark clothes sprinkled with powdered remnants of tile, “Did I wake you?”

You smile weakly, “You know there’s no rush, can always start these things, I dunno, in the afternoon”

“Woke up early, wanted to get a head start”

“Head start, sure, yeah” You dig your palms into your eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them, he drops his tools, moving closer to you and gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists, tugging them from your face.

“How’d you sleep love?”

“You mean before you shook my entire house at the crack of dawn? Very well, you’re quite comfortable”

“Am I?”

You smile, shifting your arms to wrap around him, letting the blanket draped on you fall to the floor, he snakes a hand behind your head, tugging it against his chest as he lifts his mask slightly, planting a kiss on the crown of your head.

“How long is this gonna take?”

“Shouldn’t be more than two days”

“You understand this is my only washroom”

“I know”

“And I use it”

“Mhm”

“Please don’t destroy it”

“Wouldn’t dream of it”

You peak your head around him, getting a full glance at the room, it’s a complete mess, tools and dust everywhere, fallen tiles scattering the floor.

“Oh my god”

He pulls back, following your line of sight, “It’s not that bad”

“Not that bad, Simon, be serious”

“You still have the bathtub”

You huff, your forehead falling into his chest, “Just, promise me you know what you’re doing”

He scrunches his face under his mask, “I know what I’m doing” Running his hands up your arms, lying.

“Okay, I’m trusting you”

“Go get some tea love, I’ll take a break soon”

You lift your head from him, gazing up at his masked face before turning around, picking up your fallen blanket and making your way to the kitchen, jolting at the sudden clanging from a wall away and silently praying he wouldn’t destroy your entire washroom.

It’s takes him a few hours before the banging stops, your hearing feeling like it was permanently damaged from the consistent noise as Simon emerges, completely covered in dust.

You bite back the smile that pulls on your lips as you watch him saunter in, reaching for a mug and pouring himself a cup of tea before dramatically huffing a breath while he sits down.

“Done yet?”

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head, “Done taking the old tile down”

“Seems like it took all your energy old man”

“Old man?”

You laugh lightly into your tea,

“Believe me love, I’ve got energy to spare” He smirks under his mask as you choke into your tea, drops of the liquid spurting from the mug as your cheeks flush.

You clear your throat, tilting your head lightly “Wanna use some of it to help me in the garden?”

“Give me five minutes”

You smile, standing from your chair and walking beside him, placing a hand to his shoulder and dragging it along the skin as you walk away.

It takes him more than 5 minutes to meet you, more interested in watching you move around the land whilst sipping his tea, the privacy granting him the opportunity to drink properly without the hindrance of his mask, he made a mental note to buy you proper tea considering the stuff you had tasted like wet dirt to him.

By the time he found you in the garden he had changed his clothes, opting for a more comfortable t-shirt and jeans, the man looked damn good, his arms flexing under the thin cloth that allowed you perfect sight of the ink on his arm.

“Must be hot with that mask on all the time”

“M’not gonna take it off” He groans, standing behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, he leans in to your ear “Yet”

You bite you lower lip as the thoughts flash through your mind, really you didn’t mean the words in a teasing way, more of an observation but now all you could think about was what he looked like. You knew his eyes were dark and his lips were full and pink, that his jaw was muscular and stubbled, from the few angles he granted you, you could tell he had scars on his face, specifically one that spanned his chin going down and another that cut through his left eyebrow.

It was enough, the small glimpses of him, the mystery intriguing but now there was a desire to know him under the mask, how he looked alongside who he was.

“Okay” You break yourself from your thought,la, pulling his arms from you and turning around, “I need you to help me plant these”

“Yes ma’am”

You hand him a small shovel, kneeling in the dirt, “So dig a small hole here, and then just put the pods in and cover them”

“Seems simple enough”

“So you won’t mess up?”

“I didn’t say that”

You smile, “Just do your best, need these to eat”

You watch him struggle to choose spots to dig, clearly overthinking his moves as he twists his body, reaching across the beds.

You shake your head, patting down the dirt in front of you at you settle one of the plants, untangling the vines and sitting back, wiping your hand across your forehead.

“Just plant it Si”

He whips his head to you, his eyes glued to your face in a panicked manner, it makes you uneasy,

“You okay?”

You slowly reach a hand down to rest on top of his, watching his reaction,

“Yeah fine” He shakes his head, “No one’s called me that in a long time, took me by surprise”

“Oh, m’sorry it just slipped out”

“No, I like it, sounds nice coming from you”

“Oh” You turn your gaze down, how did he always manage to make you so nervous, his hand meets your jaw, moving your gaze up to him as he holds you, his other thumb moving to swipe across your forehead.

“Got somethin”

He shows his palm, a smear of dirt on it as you realize, using your own hand to wipe it, you glance down at your body, stains of grass and soil covering you as you laugh.

“You’re filthy”

“You’re no better” You joke, gesturing to the clumps of spilt soil on his lap,

“Could probably use a shower”

“You think you’re so funny”

“Sometimes yeah”

You huff, grabbing a small handful of soil and tossing it at him, he closes his eyes for a moment, “Seriously”

You can’t fight the laughter that erupts from you, the dirt sticking to his sweat covered skin as he looks at you.

You yelp as he pounced on you, throwing your body back into the dirt as he hovers over your frame, his fingers tickling at your sides as you writhe under him.

“Say you’re sorry”

“Will not” You manage through laughs

His fingers poke at your skin, smearing the dirt from his arms onto your clothes in the process,

“Please, can’t breath”

He leans back with a smile, watching your heavy breaths raise your chest as your arms fall to the ground.

“Apologize”

“I’m-“

You’re sentence is cut short as you hear a car pull up, it’s door slamming shut, Simon jumps from you in full fight mode, extending an arm back to keep you guarded as a man exits the vehicle.

You squint your eyes at him, pushing Simons arm down gently as you recognize the person.

“William?”

“Hey doll”

Simon looks between you and the man, a sudden fire burning under his skin at the pet name, he stands back slightly as you approach him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Who’s this?”

You glance at Simon, giving him a small smile before turning back, “A friend”

The term feels like a punch to his chest.

“Pleasure” William extends a hand to Simon who neglects to shake it, eyeing the smaller man’s frame before turning back to you.

“What do you want”

“Came to drop something off, or someone rather”

He walks toward the car, opening the back door quickly as you watch a furry mass sprint toward you, gasping as you kneel down to meet it.

He licks your face as you scrunch it, running your hands over his fur, laughing as he prances around you before he catches Simons scent.

Simon watches the animal intently, studying it’s moves, as it approaches him quickly, jumping to his chest, licking his arms.

“He missed you, and I’m moving”

You tilt your head to him, “Moving?”

“Going to Spain, my mums sick”

“Will I’m so sorry”

“S’alright, just figured Riley needed a better place to stay”

“Yeah of course, thank you”

“We’ll I’ll get out of your hair, seems your busy, it was nice meeting you Simon”

Ghost is at a loss for words, he simply nods toward the man, his gaze focused on Riley.

“Seems he likes you”

“Where’d you get this dog” His tone is serious

“We adopted him when Will and I were together, he’s a retired-“

“Spec ops dog”

“Yeah? How’d you know”

“This is my dog”

“Simon what are you talking about?”

“I work in the military, that’s my job”

“And Riley was yours?”

“For a few years yeah, last they told me he’d retired in the states”

“They didn’t let you keep him?”

“Not protocol, I’m not home much”

“Home” The word triggers something in your mind, he’s not home, this isn’t his house, you’d been so caught up in being around him you’d completely forgot that he has a life outside yours.

Simons eyes crinkle as he plays with the dog, rough housing with him as they roll in the dirt, “We should get inside, looks like rain”

“Be in, in a minute love”

You walk slowly toward the house, resting your back against the front door and shutting your eyes, why hadn’t you thought about him leaving, there were people relying on him, it’s not like he could stay forever.

Even with the anxiety in your chest, your heart swells at the sight of Simon playing with Riley, even in the short time you’d known him, you’d never seen him this comfortable, he was so happy.

You glance at your arms, caked in dirt and sweat, deciding you needed to wash off. Stumbling over the mess of the washroom to turn on the bath, closing your eyes as you sink into the warm water.

Losing track of time in the water you notice your skin had grown wrinkled, scrubbing off the last bits of dirt and stepping out, wrapping a towel around your body and carefully navigating around the room.

Apparently during your alone time, Simon and Riley had moved their fun into the house, moving around the rooms together as they settled in.

You open the door, bumping directly into Simons chest, your nerves jumping as you collide. In a panic your towel falls,

“Sorry I didn’t see you” He struggles to get the last words out, his eyes roaming your naked form as you quickly move to cover yourself,

“Oh my god!” You reach for your towel but Riley runs over, grabbing it with his teeth and running away, “Riley! No, not a toy!”

Your cheeks flush with heat as you glance up, Simons eyes glued to you, your own eyes blown wide as you scurry away, slamming your bedroom door shut.

“Hey, wait” He follows you, leaning against your door as you drop your head to your hands on the other side.

“Please, go away”

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad”

“You saw my whole body”

“Lucky me”

“Simon” You laugh,

“It was bound to happen at some point”

“Well these are awful circumstances”

He moves the door open slightly, his eyes on your face as you hide behind the wood, face flush, he smiles, reaching to lift his mask slightly as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss.

“You’re so beautiful”

You take a deep breath, smiling against his lips before shoving him back and closing the door. He sits down, back resting against the door as you shuffle around in your room, quickly throwing on clothes.

“I’m serious, the most perfect girl i’ve ever seen, honestly just can’t believe it took this long for you to get naked”

You open the door quickly, his body falling backwards onto the ground, wincing lightly as he laughs, his eyes opening to see you standing above him.

“You’re very cocky, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Actually yeah”

Shaking your head you step over him, making your way to the kitchen, Riley following closely behind you.

Simon appears in the door frame, watching you pull food from the fridge, tossing items into pots and onto the cutting board.

“You hungry?” Twisting your head over your shoulder,

“Starved”

He rests an arm above his head against the frame, watching you cook, his hand extended down to pet Riley, this was perfect, the life he never knew he wanted, he had you and his dog and goliath his own little family.

He gives you some space to work, settling on the couch while Riley rests at his feet, seemingly tired out from the day. He reaches for the small tray of electronics on the table, toying with his comms for a moment before piecing it together finally, clipping in the missing cord.

There’s a massive weight on his shoulders, he knows what he has to do, he has a team waiting on him, a family, less conventional yes, but a family none the less, the team were his brothers, he had to get in contact.

He grabs his comm, tucking it to his ear before moving into the bedroom, closing the door so you couldn’t hear.

“Bravo Delta, this is Ghost”

He waits a few minutes before repeating himself, double checking his channel, those few minutes make his heart sink lower, either no one was there and his team had forgotten him, or his comms really were destroyed, and he could stay with you.

“Ghost?”

“Captain, good to hear your voice”

“Christ Son, we thought you’d died”

“Not yet Sir, just a little misplaced”

“Send your coordinates, we’ll get you evac”

“Negative Sir, I’ve got hostiles in the city near”

“Can you get out? We need you on base”

“How much time can you give me?”

He hears Price take a deep breath, murmuring to someone else in the room, “Three days Simon, then I’m sending everyone I have to get you”

“Copy, see you in three days”

“Be careful”

The line goes dead, Simons worries surfacing, he had three days, he didn’t want to face the idea of leaving you let alone how you’d react when he told you, he’d finally gotten his family, he wouldn’t give it up this easy.

tag list: @pepsicolacoochie @coolbanana44 @konigsblog @lialacleaf @mli345 @gghoulzz @fuckface-6996

#cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #cod mw x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #mw2022 #ghost mw2 #call of duty mwii #cod x reader

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crystallinestars · 5 months ago

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Romantic Scenarios

If I could draw, I would have drawn these instead of writing them out, but alas, writing is all I can contribute. This is 99% aesthetics and 1% plot.

Characters: Argenti, Jiaoqiu, Aventurine, Ratio, Sunday, and Luocha

🌹 Argenti

Inside an abandoned chapel of the Goddess Idrila, stood a princess and her knight. Moss and ivy covered the crumbling walls, and grass poked through the marble tiles, creating a carpet for you and Argenti to tread upon. You stood in front of the altar, illuminated by sunlight shining from the holes in the ceiling and the intact stained glass windows above. Argenti knelt on one knee before you, gazing at you with equal parts of devotion and adoration while extending a red rose to you, swearing to protect you as your loyal knight and secret lover.

🦊 Jiaoqiu

You entered a small medicine shop, and were greeted with the pleasant aroma of exotic spices and herbs. The walls were covered in shelves chock-full of colorful bottles, vials, and jars containing various liquids and powders. Behind the counter at the back of the shop sits Jiaoqiu, welcoming you with a sly smile and a polite greeting. A familiar tickling in your throat sent you into a coughing fit, and you cover your mouth with your hand while a concerned Jiaoqiu quickly walked over to you. Once your coughing subsided, you held up a flower petal for Jiaoqiu to see, one you had expelled from your lungs, much to his astonishment. He was your last hope, you said, your last hope in curing this mysterious illness. (Hanahaki AU)

🃏 Aventurine

Rain drizzled a steady beat against the window of your apartment. It was the middle of the night and the room was pitch dark, save for the dim light of a fluorescent shop sign shining inside from a neighboring building. It cast cyan and magenta hues through the window, outlining your and Aventurine’s silhouettes while you made out on the couch. Your wet hair was stuck to your face, both your and his hands eagerly peeled away the rain-drenched clothes on your bodies, but you didn’t feel the cold. There was only the warmth of Aventurine’s lips and the scorching heat of his whispered “I love you”s.

📘 Ratio

Countless stars reflected in the surface of the glassy, still lake, creating a beautiful cosmic pool. You and Ratio stood a few feet away from the water, gazing up at the glittering sky. It was a bit chilly so Ratio allowed you inside his jacket, holding you close to keep you warm while you both watched the meteor shower above. A myriad of shooting stars raced through the sky, leaving behind golden trails that disappeared in the blink of an eye only to be replaced with another. In that moment, you were grateful to Ratio for inviting you to watch this rare phenomenon with him, for it was truly beautiful.

🪽 Sunday

You and Sunday walked along the sandy beach, hand-in-hand. The cloudless blue sky reflected off the ocean’s surface and the warm water gently lapped at your feet. Each of you held an ice cream cone in your free hand, leisurely eating while strolling along the shore. Feeling mischievous, you lied, saying Sunday had a bit of ice cream on the corner of his mouth. Before he could react, you leaned in and kissed the corner of his lips, watching with restrained laughter how his face flushed at the sudden affection, and attempting to hide it from you by covering it with his wings.

⚰️ Luocha

Luocha’s hold on your hand and waist was firm yet gentle as he confidently guided you across the ballroom floor, dancing along to the live orchestral music. The glittering chandeliers, lively chatter and laughter of colorfully-dressed guests, and delicious scents of food piled on the tables had all overwhelmed you earlier, but now disappeared into the background as your gaze was caught captive by Luocha’s. The Duke’s eyes were gentle, and there was an unspoken emotion in his verdant depths that shone through every time he looked at you. You could never quite put your finger on it, but that emotion had your heart fluttering in your chest and wishing that this dance would never end.

#honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #argenti x reader #jiaoqiu x reader #aventurine x reader #veritas ratio x reader #ratio x reader #sunday x reader #hsr sunday x reader #luocha x reader

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thedemises · 1 month ago

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——— A BITE OF LOVE。 ★ jiaoqiu.

note; og idea — the idea of feeding your partner food & kissing them over the pots is so beautiful n intimate I wanna cry /j

“say, ‘aaah’ ,” a spoon was brought over to where your lips are, a red liquid emitting a spicy yet delicious scent into the air enters your nostrils. even while you're reading, jiaoqiu always has an excuse to make you his taste testee for his new dish.

“mhmm,”

your eyes still remain focused on your own business as you obediently open your lips for him to push the spoon into your mouth, the splash of hot flavor hits your tongue as you savour the tasty soup your partner had provided you to taste — of course, he made sure to blow on the spoon for you beforehand.

although it tasted as it was you expected from his excellent culinary skills, despite being a healer (“using food to treat my patients is my specialty, y'know,” is what you recall him saying a while ago), something was off; a missing element perhaps.

“well?” his large, furry tail sways behind him while jiaoqiu anticipated for your awaiting response, eyes shut with a smile and scheme in his heart, he knows how honest you can be with your feedback — which is why he deems you best when it comes to tasting his spices and whatnot, or anything in general; if you will.

even though your eyes were trained on something else at the moment, you still paused to make the effort to share your thoughts on jiaoqiu's soup.

“it just needs a pinch of salt, but it still tastes as exceptional as you are.” you remarked just as you slowly turned a page, your eyes flickering from the book to settle on jiaoqiu, unintentionally giving him a chance to lean in and press a chaste kiss on the lips.

it felt like a second too long but he pulled away just as quickly as it came, chuckling a bit at your taken aback expression.

“thank you,” and just like that, jiaoqiu swiftly leaves your area with a satisfactory look on his face. his tail swaying behind him while he makes his exit out of the room.

you stare dumbfounded from where he just left; the flavoring of pepper, paprika, chili powder, and other constituents still lingers on your tongue like an unforgettable, pungent aroma.

subsequently that same day, jiaoqiu had called you over to help him prepare rations for his patients. despite your initial confusion, you still agreed to help either way — to help others is something you like to do, occasionally.

“here, see if you like this,” jiaoqiu, yet again, calls you over as he motions for you to try something he’s eager for you to taste. of course you can't say no — although you're busy mixing something in one of the pots and the two of you are just a few feet apart in the kitchen — you faced your body towards him and moved forwards. you notice him offering something that seems to have filling of some sorts, it looks delicious too that you can't seem to resist... well, it's jiaoqiu; anything he makes is very appetizing.

with an eager bite, the treat yielded to your teeth, releasing a burst of flavor that spread across your tongue. the creamy filling mingled with the crisp outer layer, creating a harmonious blend that made you hum with delight. the contrasting textures and tastes melded together perfectly, creating a delicious explosion on your palate. you hum in delight, expressing your visible contentment.

“mm, that's good.”

you comment, gazing back at jiaoqiu with a smile and he smiles back; satisfied with your reaction as he settles the treat to the side on a plate.

“I think your food's trying to escape—it's on your face,” the foxian chuckles as he points out the small mess you had on the side of your mouth, where a smudge of filling lingers as you savor the last bites of the treat. you murmur a small ‘oh,’ and your hand reaches to wipe it off for yourself.

then, with a quick motion, jiaoqiu swipes the smudge of filling from your face onto his finger before you could. pausing for a moment, he brought it to his lips and licked it right off.

“mm...” he lets out a noise of consideration, a playful glint in his eyes as he savors the flavor. “... delicious.”

the peach foxian whispers and leans in, pressing a brief yet tender kiss to the corner of your mouth where the smudge had been, a fleeting act of affection that lingers longer in your heart than on your skin. without a word, he steps away, returning to whatever task had called him, as if the moment was as natural as breathing.

for a heartbeat, the world feels suspended, the gentle warmth of his gesture radiating through you. it’s only the soft bubbling of the soup in the pot that pulls you back to reality, your hand resuming its stirring almost instinctively. though your thoughts remain adrift, you can't help replaying the sweetness of the moment in your head.

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thewritergx · 22 days ago

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Lake Tahoe: Rafe Cameron x Thornton F!Reader

Summary: Rafe spends Christmas with the Thornton's on their yearly trip to Lake Tahoe when his feelings for the shy girl become too much to handle. I was supposed to post this like two weeks ago, but I got extremely busy, so happy late Christmas. I hope ya'll like this because it was a total bitch to write.

Warnings: Drinking, Mention of lost loved one (Rafe’s papa), Smut Containing: Soft!Rafe x F!Reader, Topper's little sister, Kissing, Begging (by both parties but mostly Rafe), Dry Humping, Oral (F!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Cumming in your mouth.

Word Count: 5K

EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune.

The bar is dimly lit, a warm glow from stripes of red and green Christmas lights cast shadows across the low-set tables. Conversations from couples and friends echo off the wall, blending into a quiet hum under soft piano music. Snow falls outside, covering the building in a thick pristine powder. It grows heavier, white flakes swirling in a biting wind. The ground is coated in a thick layer of pale white, covering any signs of the road or sidewalk. The wind howls a fierce and chilling gust that vibrates the bar's windows.

It wasn’t like you hated snow, but the cold never set well on your skin. You were used to sixty-degree winters with the occasional rain, a heavy contrast to the twenty-degrees and constant snow of Lake Tahoe. Your family has been visiting Nevada for the past three years. Slay rides, hot coffee, and campfires always made the trip fun, but it was growing old, and less exciting with each repeated year. Rafe joining the family breathed new life into the trip, an excitement dancing on your skin as his shoulders brushed against you on the seven-hour plane ride. You had hoped you were hiding it well, the lingering feeling of need that crept up anytime Rafe was around.

You spot Rafe from across the bar, his tall frame clad in a thick sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms to expose his tan skin. The soft material clings to his chest, a gold chain dangling from his neck. Rafe’s eyes lock onto you, watching the way you ease across the bar and settle on the stool next to him. His eyes rake over you, taking in every detail from your boots to the way your hair falls down your back. He takes a pondering sip of his bourbon, the golden liquid settling on his lips as he swallows. His dark green eyes meet yours in silence, your cheeks and nose rosey from the cold.

“You want a drink?” Rafe blows a quiet huff of air, an intense broodiness clinging to him like a second skin. He glances over at you, a cocky half smile formed at the corner of his mouth, his voice low and smooth under the music.

“What are you drinking?” You ask, turning your body to him.

Rafe smirks at the question, a hint of amusement you rarely see. “You’re not going to like it”. His eyes flicker over you. A low gruff as he chuckles hits your ears, another rarity.

“Let me try it.” You furrow your eyebrows, examining the ice that clings against the glass.

Rafe studies your face for a moment, that cocky smile creeping up again before he pushes his glass towards you. “Sure, but don't say I didn't warn you”, he replies, watching as you wrap your mouth around the rim of the glass, lips landing right where he previously was.

Your face turns sour, lips puckering as you swallow the cold drink. “What is that?” You laugh, whipping your lips with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

Rafe grins, his green eyes dancing with amusement. “It's just an old fashioned. Nothing crazy,” he chuckles. “Told you, you wouldn't like it.” Rafe gestures to the bartender, signaling them over with a wave of his hand. Even away from the Outer Banks, he has people at his beck and call.

“Can I get a vodka cran? Put it on my tab” He instructs the bartender, waiting as the man dressed in all black brings back a glass. “Here, you look like the type.”

“Hey, what does that mean?” You laugh, placing your hand on his warm chest. You would never tell Rafe, but Vodka had always been your go-to.

Rafe studies you again, peering down as a spark of green glimmers against the Christmas lights. His gaze falls down his body, landing on the way your hand lingers against him. “Nothing. I can tell you prefer it sweet, not too strong.” He clears his throat, his tone a playful mockery as he leans closer into you.

You shudder at his words, a slight shiver running through you as you grab the glass from his hands, fingers ghosting over his.

“Cold?” He asks, his expression soft.

“I’m freezing. I wish my parents would pick somewhere warmer for vacations”, you mumble, taking another quick sip.

“Here. Take my jacket.” You watch as Rafe grabs his jacket, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he places it around you. He drapes it over your shoulders, hands brushing the fabric up and down to create a warm friction on your skin.

You nodded your head, a quiet “thank you” scarcely audible over the music as you pressed your legs firmly together.

“Have you seen Topper?” You glance around the room, looking for any sign of your brother. He was supposed to be here having dinner with you and the rest of the family. It was just like him to run off, quickly leaving you and Rafe behind as he partied with some random girl. Your voice is less than thrilled, a dash of annoyance in your tone.

“I saw him leave a while around”, Rafe smiled, “had some blonde chick with him”. Topper had been a good friend, but Rafe was lying if he said he considered him a real, true friend. If Rafe was being completely honest, he only accepted the invitation to your family's vacation to spend more time with you, the girl he was reluctantly pinning over for the last year and a half.

Growing up, Rafe was constantly by Topper's side. When someone asked, he would say they were best friends or that he was like a brother to him. But in the back of his mind, Rafe knew. He knew the only thing still tying him to Topper was you. You were always lingering close by, a constant presence in his peripheral vision. Rafe didn't know when it happened but he stopped hanging out with your brother to spend time with him and switched to getting quick off-hand glances of you. You would be laid up by the pool, a tiny bikini clinging to your tanned skin, or sitting in your living room with a book, your legs spread out over the polyester. Everything about you pulled him in, a yearning he had kept quiet for far, far too long. You were a constant tease, always lurking in the background of his life. Just close enough to make you impossible to ignore but always out of his reach.

Now, he was stuck here with you, your hands lingering on him like a warm blanket. He was never a big fan of Christmas, especially not now that his father was dead and the rest of his family was refusing to speak to him. He hated to admit it, but the only choice he had for this Christmas was to third-wheel on your trip. He felt out of place, like a burden to everyone around him, even if Topper had guaranteed that he was welcome to accompany the family.

Rafe glimpses at the windows, watching the heavy snow fall silently. “Is it always like this?” Rafe stands motionless next to you, taking a big swig of his whiskey to cover the slight concern in his voice.

“No,” You laugh, watching the way his shoulders tense. “A storm is coming through. It’ll pass”.

“I don’t like it”, Rafe mumbles, his grip on the glass becoming strained. “Maybe we should get going. The hotel is just a block down. I’ll walk with you.”

“Okay,” You mutter, swallowing the remainder of your vodka. “You want your jacket back?”

“I’ll manage”. Rafe places a firm hand on your waist, his jacket loosely hanging as you stand from the stool. His grip is protective, a warm presence against the chilling air. “Besides, you look like you need it more than me. You’re shaking”.

He slips his hand in yours, fingers encasing yours as he leads you past the crowd and towards the exit door. Electricity surges through you, a hot blush covering your cheeks.

Rafe’s motions are fluid, the muscles in his back tensing under his sweater and he guides you into the cold night air. The frozen ground crunches under your feet, echoing in the silence between you. Rafe groans, the cold air hitting his face with an unexpected violence. He keeps his grip tight in your hands, a reassuring warmth in the freezing temperature.

Rafe leads you through the front door of the hotel. The lobby is a quiet ghost town, only a couple of the hotel staff linger behind the front desk. The air between you is still, almost like a storm is not raging just outside the thick walls. Rafe’s fingers finally loosen in yours, his eyes trailing over you as he gently brushes a bit of snow from your cheeks.

“I’ve got a fireplace in my room.” His fingers dance across your soft skin, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he loiters against your cheek, tracing along your jawline. “You can come warm up”. His eyes lock on yours, watching the way you shudder against his touch.

“Oh, u-um…o-okay,” you whisper, your eyes meeting Rafe’s as he towers over, his body close enough to fill yours with warmth.

The elevator ride is quiet, your breath hitching as Rafe presses the button to the fifth floor. He leads you towards the room, his strides are quick and calculated against the carpeted hallway. He stops at room 514, pulling out a key card, and quickly unlocking the bedroom door. Rafe gestures you inside the spacious room, an elegant and comfortable room dominated by a large fireplace. Soft carpet blankets the floor, a queen bed in the center.

“You look very pretty, by the way”, Rafe clears his throat, standing awkwardly in the doorframe, his hands stiff by his side.

“You think I’m pretty?” You mumble, a shy nervousness causing your eyes to fall to the floor.

Rafe shuffles, taking a step towards you. In a single passing second his body is pressed against you, his hand resting on your chin to force your eyes on his.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he smiles, tracing the plump skin of your lips with the pad of his thumb. It’s a gentle motion, one that forces a red-hot blush on your cheeks. You search for anywhere to look, darting your eyes between Rafe and the doorway.

“Getting shy on me, princess?” Rafe smiles, the hand on your lips traveling down to your jawline, tracing every inch of the velvety skin. You nod your head in a deafening silence, unable to stop the involuntary trembling of your body.

In all the years of knowing Rafe, he had never been this close. He never even made a pass at you. You figured he must not be into you, the way he used to frown at you from across the room at parties.

“It’s okay, I knew you would be. My shy, little girl”. His hands fell to the zipper of the jacket he had placed around you, slowly pulling the cold metal down until it clicked loose. His hand brushed against your shoulder, fingers hooking the thick material until it was falling down your waist onto the floor.

“Rafey,” you finally speak, your breath low and fatigued. You force yourself to look at him, studying the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart between yours, hands falling to the small of your back to pull you fully into him, your arms resting around his neck.

“Can I kiss you, princess?” Rafe’s voice is barely a whisper, almost inaudible in the white noise of the snow crashing down outside.

You try to respond, begging yourself to say that simple three-letter word, but your voice is stuck deep in the back of your throat. Instead, you give him an exasperated whine, your eyes pleading for his touch.

Rafe almost laughs, watching you squirm into him, your legs pressing tightly together. As much as he wanted to laugh, and release some of the thick tension built up, nothing was funny. He wished it was humorous, watching you try to fight off the desperation your body was echoing, but it was serious, deadly in the way your little moan sent an intoxicating jolt straight to his cock.

His eyes darted between yours, studying the way your eyelashes peered up at him. He bowed his head, bending his shoulder as leaned into you. Rafe’s small breaths ghosted over your lips, the grip on your back turning to iron. Every muscle in him tenses, his forearms flexing against your body.

Rafe groans, finally meeting your lips in the kiss he has spent years daydreaming of. It’s deep and insistent, his tongue gliding past your lips to explore the warmth of your mouth. He pulls you impossibly closer, molding your molding into his until you are practically one. A raw intensity ripples through him, burning just beneath the surface of his skin as his tongue dances along yours, prompting a low moan from your throat to echo into him. It vibrates through him, his body stiff and hard as his hands roam over you. Every curve, every soft dip is met with a possessive touch, his fingers tracing red hot patterns over the fabric of your clothes. His movements are slow, calculated even under the intoxication of your lips. His hands make a home on your sides, cold fingers gently slipping under the hem of the warm fabric of your sweater. Fire burns through him, the sensation of your smooth skin sending bolts of electricity straight to his cock. Rafe’s hands continue on a dangerous trail upwards, calloused fingers caressing your stomach and ribs.

Rafe’s lips leave yours, both gasping for air as he trails down your cheek, kissing a sloppy path down your jawline to your neck. You whisper his name, all shaky and out of breath as his teeth scrape at the skin, sucking a crimson mark easily seen by others. You should stop him, but your mind is in a daze. Whatever neurons in charge of firing were clearly asleep, your only thought focused on the way his hands travel up your shirt. His fingers trace the outlines of lace, feather-light and reverent as he lingers against the hem of your bra. He takes his time, eyes locked on yours as he teases the material, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern of the fabric before he cups your breast in one hand, his palm warm and firm against your flesh.

Your hands fall to Rafe’s chest, the gentle rising and falling of each breath expanding his muscles under your touch. He shivers at the contact, squeezing the subtle fat of your breast.

Rafe stands motionless for a moment, his only action the gentle caressing of his hands running up and down your sides. His eyes roam your face in thought, wondering just how far you’ll let him take this. His hands grip your hips tighter, his thumbs stroking the bare skin between your shirt and pants, as he gazes down at you with a look of conflicted desire.

“Can I-Will you let me…Fuck, you got me all messed up, princess.” His voice is shaky, the usual roughness betrayed by a yearning need of desire. He clears his throat, swallowing hard as his eyes flutter closed. For a moment he just breathes, holding you against him in a stoic mystery of private thoughts. “I want you…I-If you let me. I p-promise I'll make you feel fucking good. I’ll be gentle. J-just please, please let me inside you. God, I need you so bad, baby.” The words come spilling out of him, like a rush of freedom granted after a thousand years of silence. You swear he’s staring into your soul and you can’t help but wrap your lips around his again, this time a hungry desperate action, leaving a layer of his saliva around your mouth.

That’s all Rafe needs. The confirmation that you want him, that you need almost as much as he does. Rafe grabs at your thighs, a sickening desperation as he hoists you up to wrap your legs around his waist. His hands grip under your ass, squeezing at the fat concealed by a pair of denim jeans. His tongue dances in your throat, his steps messy and uncalculated as he searches for the bed.

The kiss grows more heated and desperate as his hands grip onto your ass, squeezing and kneading at the flesh there before he drops you on the bed, his hips pushing against yours in an anguished attempt for any kind of friction. His body traps you, your back pressed into the warm soft mattress and his muscular frame.

Rafe breaks the kiss, leaving your chest heaving as he gazes down at you with pleading lust-dark eyes. “C-can I take t-this off?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse as he tugs gently at the hem of your shirt. “Please, please let me see you.”

Never would you have expected Rafe to be so tender, the way he begged for just a hint of you almost making you cum right there. “Oh god, yes. Please Rafey, I-I need you,” you whine, your back arching off the bed and into his chest.

Rafe's eyes darken with desire at your words, his control snapping at the way you cried out for him.

“I know, baby. I got you”, he groans, his hands gripping your shirt tightly and quickly pulling it over your head. He tosses the fabric to the floor, his eyes roving over your exposed skin with a longing admiration. "So fucking pretty," he murmurs, his hands running up your sides and caressing your flesh.

Rafe's gaze drops to your bra, his eyes fixed on the lace that covers your breasts. He stares at the thin material, reaching out to caress one of the straps with a shaky hand, his eyes still locked on the way your tits bounce free. Rafe's hands are quick, his fingers falling to your back and unhooking the bra with trembling motions. He drags it down your arms, his eyes ghosting over your bare chest. He swears for a moment he dies, brought back to life by the way your hard nipples sit erect in the air, the subtle pink bud breathing new life into him.

"Fuck," he mutters, his hands immediately coming up to touch your skin. His fingers trace over your flesh, kneading fists full of fat before attaching your nipples between his fingers. Little moans flow out of you, your hips bucking into his relentlessly.

“So soft”. His voice is hardly above a whisper as he peppers wet kisses down your collarbone landing on the bone that separates your breast. He licks a long strip between the two mounds, slipping a nipple between his teeth and sucking. He bobs his head a bit, the swollen bud becoming impossibly harder as his warm tongue teases you.

“Rafey”, you whine, the unfamiliar gentleness of his touch relaxing your body. Your hands fall on his hair, the dirty blonde locks almost too short for you to grasp. He loves the way your hips writhe into him, just as pathetic and needy as him. He gasps at the feeling, his hard cock pressing against you. Even through layers of jeans, you feel him, hard and tight. Rafe growls around your nipple and presses himself against you until you're a grinding mess of moans and whimpers.

“Are you trying to make yourself cum like that, princess?” This time, he lets out a chuckle watching your failing attempt to get off on him. He hovers over you, snapping his hips against yours as your head falls onto his shoulder. “Let me help you,” he smirks, shuffling above you. He stands at the foot of the bed, fumbling at the button of your jeans. His fingers are shaking, his breath hitching as they tug at the fabric, quickly pulling the annoyance down your legs. You're left in a pair of thin panties, the light blue fabric becoming more of a dark grey as your arousal soaks the material, an obvious mark of how undone Rafe has already left you.

He towers over you, green eyes a shade darker than normal as he spreads your legs. A newfound confidence washes over him, and he’s pulling his sweater off in a swift motion. His tan muscles hit the cold air, his eyes roaming over the way your pussy lips are outlined, in clear view even though the panties hugging at your sides. He almost loses right there, watching you all sprawled out and begging for him.

Rafe undoes his jeans, his movements quick and urgent as he tries to get them off, throwing them off the bed with a light ‘thud’. You can’t help but stare, mouth watering at the way his boxers press against him, a large bulge pulling at the fabric.

Rafe’s motions are smooth as he positions himself on the bed, his back against the bed frame, pillows keeping him at a ninety-degree angle. You grasp your waist, pulling each leg by his thighs so you're straddling him. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he pushes you back in forth on his clothed cock. Even through his boxers, he can feel your slick wetness, his fingers digging into your sides as you buck into him.

“That’s it. Fuck, grind my cock baby.” That’s all he has to say before you’re throwing your head back, bouncing your tits in his face as you practically ride him. Sharp gasps escape you, the smooth skin of your thighs pressed against his as your hips stir in a string of circular motions, massaging your clit with his hard cock.

Fuck,” he growls between gritted teeth, his jaw clenched as his eyes flutter close. “You…you gotta slow down baby”. He knew he wouldn’t make much longer for his cum to spill out of him, not with you crying above him and using him like some kind of sex toy. Rafe dragged a finger to your panties, quickly rubbing soft motions with his thumb, circling your clit with gentle strokes.

It’s enough to push you just over the edge of no return, your legs already shaking as your stomach tightens. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, your hand grabbing at Rafe’s shoulders.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me baby?” He growls, pulling your hips harder against him and rubbing his thumb faster.

You nod your head, crashing your lips against his as your orgasm hits you like lightning, a single bolt sending shots of painful ecstasy to every nerve.

Rafe wraps his arms around you, still gasping for air as he flips you into your back, his body weight crashing down on you.

His hands dig into the hem of your panties, his eyes fixed on the fabric as if he’s completely entranced, not a care in the world other than what’s concealed underneath. "I need to taste you," he mutters, his voice gravelly with need. "Can I taste you?"

His words sent an uninvited shiver through you, your cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. You fight not to turn away, a gasp leaving your lips as he spreads your legs.

Rafe was no stranger to your shyness, always turning away when he looked too long or brushed against you. His eyes roamed over you, fingers lightly brushing your thighs. “Don't get all shy on me now,” he smirked, your adorable blush sending shockwaves to his cock. “Please, please let me do this,” he begged, lightly pulling at your panties again.

“I…O-okay,” you whined, watching your panties fall down your legs and Rafe sinks to his knees. He snaked his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he smothered your skin in soft kisses. His hand made smooth up and down motions against you, his breath hot against your core as he spread your legs, hooking your ankles around his neck.

Rafe lost it, the sight of your swollen pussy in his face. You were so fucking perfect, arousal leaking out of your dark pink hole and onto the blanket under you. He ghosted his lips over your clit, mankind small quick motions with his tongue as his fingers spread your labia apart. Your clit was so pretty, swollen, and hard against him as he sucked his lips around it.

“Fuck, ohmygod” Your words came out in one syllable, euphoria dripping from your throat as Rafe lapped at your pussy, soaking you in his salvia. His spit ran down your legs, mixing with your arousal in a warm concoction of need.

“Taste like heaven, princess. Fucking heaven” he groaned against you, vibrating your clit between his teeth. Rafe could do this hours, days even he thinks. Swirling his tongue through your folds and cleaning the mess you made against him just moments ago. The way you're moaning his name, your hips bucking into his mouth as you dig your hands in his hair, it’s too much for him to take.

“Oh, Rafe!” You pray the walls of the hotel are insulated enough to drown out your cries, your brother just on the other side. Your head falls back, spine arching in the air as you tremble around him.

Rafe needs more, needs to feel you stretching around him hopelessly as he drills into you. But he can’t rush, wanting even more in this moment for you to cum in his mouth, let him swallow every drop of wetness that falls onto his tongue.

“That’s a good girl. I knew you would like it,” he groans, sucking at your clit with vengeance. “Don’t I always take care of you?” He asks, recalling moments when he drove you home from parties or picked you up after school. He was always there, just a phone call away from rescuing you if you ever needed it.

“Ah! God, Rafe. Please, I-I’m gonna…” you were cut off by your own gasps, a second orgasm coursing through your veins.

“Good fucking girl,” Rafe growled, quickly standing to his feet and tugging his boxers down. He knows he should probably open you up with his fingers, help stretch your walls a bit before he pounds into you, but he feels like he’s got seconds to last before he’s nutting in his underwear like a bitch.

“Fuck, I need you baby. Please, can I put it in?” He whines, a sound so foreign to you, that you almost can’t recognize it’s him. Rafe tried so hard to wait for you to tell yes, but he’s already rubbing the tips of sick against your pussy, your slick wetness painting the underside of his.

Rafe grabs at your legs, pulling you farther back until your ankles hang on his shoulders. “Fuck baby, need to hear you say it. Tell me I can take you. Tell me this pussy is all for me”

The tip of cock pressed into you lightly, dangerously close to dipping inside you. Rafe can feel your walls clenching, the warmth of you on his cock destroying all the strength he has.

“Please, Rafey. It’s yours. Please, please, please,” falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the blankets as Rafe shivers his cock inside. One swift motion and you are seeing stars, the pit in your stomach filling with rapture.

Rafe swears you were made for him, taking his cock until his balls are pressed against your ass. He tries to be gentle, pulling out so tormentingly slow. He finds a steady, rhythmic pace as he slams back into you, your legs shaking like you just ran a 5K.

“Fuck, ain’t gonna last long with you squeezing me like that,” Rafe groans, pounding into you with an unforeseen violence even he didn’t know how to stop.

“I need you to cum baby, please. Cum around my cock, need it so bad.” He practically cries, biting at his hand as he watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust.

“Close,” is all the strength you have to say, your eyes clenched tight as Rafe slams into your cervix. He brings his hand to your clit, rubbing soft circles that make your mouth snap open.

“Fuck!” You scream, bucking your hips as much as movements would allow. In a second you're following his instructions. Your walls are like velvet, hugging his cock so tight he’s afraid he might not be able to stop. He growls at the thought, wishing he could flood you full of his hot thick seed.

“Shit,” he whispered through gritted teeth, pulling his cock out faster than he ever would have hoped. “Open that pottery mouth baby, fuck” Rafe grabs your hair, gently pulling you so sit just under his cock, your tongue pressed against his tip as he strokes every bit of his cum into you.

“Fucking swallow it,” he demands, pumping harder as he shoves his head passed your teeth, hitting the back of your throat as ropes of his juices fill you. Salty and bitter, but a welcomed taste you always dreamed of.

“Good girl” he whispers, watching you scope the drops running down your chin into your mouth, sucking your finger as you swallow.

“You okay,” he asks, a hint of nervousness overshadowed by breathless huffs.

“Great,” you laugh, pulling him next to you on the bed. You run your hands down his chest, the veins in his arms lightly sprinkled with sweat.

“You know I’ve always liked you more than your brother,” Rafe chuckles, running his fingers through your hair.

“Yeah, me too” you smile, sprinkling his shoulder in light kisses.

“I meant what I said at you being mine. I don’t ever want to be away from you.” Rafe pulls the blankets over your body, holding you tight as the storm outside continues to brew, the hollowing audible again.

“I meant it when I said I was yours.” You close your eyes, Rafe's strong arms warming your body.

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