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ruesol · 2 months ago

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ex-convict!Sukuna drops whatever he’s doing (killing a man) and runs to you after you text him for some much needed comfort.

(part of my ex-convict!Sukuna x academically burnt out reader series.)

cw: fem/afab reader, explicit sexual content, stiff sex talk, slight dom behavior on Sukuna’s part, and of course, attempted murder

——

Sukuna’s knuckles ache because of the force he just put on them.

The man in front of Sukuna looks haggard, blood dripping out his mouth and pooling on the cool, wet tar. Sukuna’s jeep is still parked out back, and in it was the money he had brought for the exchange of a particular package.

“Fucking hell,” the man groaned as he used his elbows to to lift his torso off the ground. “Still didn’t think you had it in you, Ryomen.”

Pathetic. Even with an almost broken nose and bruised eye, his opponent found some repulsive thrill in mocking Sukuna.

“You said you’d give me what I needed if I had the money. Why’d you try to pick a fight instead?” Sukuna walked over to the man, gun in hand as he clicked it. “I thought I told you I didn’t want any funny business. Got locked up once already and I’m not afraid to do it again.”

The man’s elbows trembled as he tried his best to summon up whatever pride he had left after getting beaten up by his former accomplice. “Shoot me. You know shit won’t end well for you even when you’re locked up. I’ve got people everywhere,” he chuckled, spraying blood on Sukuna’s boots that were now face to face with him.

Sukuna kneels down on one knee and cocks the gun in the middle of the man’s forehead. “You have some nerve to be talking up a storm right now.”

“Just get it over with, Ryomen,” the man barked.

Sukuna pushes the barrel onto the man’s forehead, making him hiss when the gunpowder makes contact with his skin. “Fine,”

His finger presses against the trigger and—

Vibrations. His phone vibrates in the loose pocket of his jacket. His victim looks confused. “Chickening out alread—“

Sukuna hits the man’s temple with the gun. That’ll knock him out for a while. He fishes his phone out and his heart lurches when he sees that it’s a couple texts from you.

come over. Right now

Please

His heart and mind conflict again. On one hand, he has to finish his pathetic job and on the other hand, you’re waiting for him at your apartment.

All soft, and probably teary like you usually are.

And forget the word ‘please,’ you never texted more than two words to him. Ever. It was always either “your place” or “not today.”

Sukuna stares at the passed out man on the road and debates on whether he should throw him into the woods or just leave him be.

In the end, he decided that he’d just leave the man be. They were in the middle of nowhere anyway and cops didn’t patrol the area as often. And even if they do find him, it’s not like they’ll get involved anyway—the giant tattoo on his arm was enough to prove that his condition was a product of gang violence.

Well, that, and you were a little impatient (as much as you never admitted to it.)

His friend called him smart—using a young and insecure college girl for ‘pussy’ (as he put it.)

But deep down inside, he knew it was more than that. His vehement heart gushed when he’d see you cling to him with tears in your eyes, body soft and warm for the taking and heart broken beyond compare.

The fact that you needed him to stabilize your mind spoke volumes to him. It reminds him that you wanted him in your life as much as he did you.

Though his desperation wasn’t as veiled as yours. You were quick to push him away after you’d get what you needed.

His truck juxtaposed with the other much smaller cars at the guest lot at your apartment complex; just like in reality, where he starkly stood out wherever he went. Shoulders too broad, height too towering, and face too rugged with scars and tattoos. The universe’s spotlight shines on him every time he makes a move.

Sukuna takes a gulp of water from the crinkly plastic bottle in his cup holder and swishes it around in his mouth so he could clean up the taste of blood. He walks over to a nearby bush and spits it out. Viscous carmine smears the myrtle leaves, weighing them down as each drop of blood drips into sod.

After getting into your apartment building’s elevator and pressing the button for your floor, he wipes his mouth one last time while staring at his blurred reflection on the dirty mirror wall to get rid of the wetness left behind.

He lives life in segments. There was before you—jail, during you—the arrangement you both have now, and maybe, if he fucks up or goes back to jail—after you.

He didn’t want to imagine what that would be like. In his mind, your existence was hauntingly infinite, reaching into his brain’s every crevice and immersing it in your scent.

Maybe it’s because he’s had to rely on his senses to navigate difficult situations for a long time, but he feels like he can smell traces of you as soon as he reaches your door. His cock aches against his jeans when he’s reminded that your shampoo still lingers on his pillow.

And how he touches himself to it at night.

He doesn’t knock and only sends you a text that he’s standing right outside.

You open the door a moment later, with your hair a mess and your T-shirt a size too big for you.

The picture of Sailor Moon on it rids him of vestigial jealousy because now he knows that it doesn’t belong to another man.

Your eyes are glassy and your face is swollen. If you didn’t shut him out as often he would’ve asked you what happened. But all he can reckon is that something or someone must’ve hurt you badly enough to call him to your apartment for the first time.

You wear your heart on your sleeve but you never speak out the words to Sukuna. But that’s enough for him. A temporary salve for the perpetual ache in the core of his chest.

He digs his blunt fingers into his palm to rid himself of the itch to comfort you by holding your waist and stroking your hair.

Your gaze falls onto his mouth, making your shoulders tense up and your lips press into a line. Silent judgement. “Is that blood?”

“Uhh..” He wipes whatever remnants of dried blood he had on his mouth and dusts his hands on his thighs. “Do you care?”

“Not really.”

“Good.” He doesn’t want your thoughts to linger on its cause so he grabs the back of your neck and slots his mouth against yours.

His teeth ache at your sweetness even when he can taste the strong mint left behind by your toothpaste. ‘Cute,’ he thinks. You were preparing for him.

His tongue prods open your lips, running it along your tongue and the hollow of your mouth. Saliva drips down both your chins as he pushes you into your apartment and slams the door shut with a kick from his steel-toed boot.

His sloppy kisses swallow your groan as you fist his faded denim jacket and press your chest against his, only the thin barrier of your T-shirt standing between your bare breasts and his warm body.

He’s quick to slam your back to a wall, and when he finally pulls away to catch his breath, you see the ravenous look in his eyes, black void replacing red irises.

His hand trails down to the hem of your T-shirt, and rucks it up to your collar.

And for a moment, he simply stares at your semi-bare body. Tits flushed and nipples hardening with every passing second, panties dampened and inviting, and your scent—

So saccharine and musky.

“Up,” he orders. You gulp and diligently raise your hands, and he pulls your T-shirt off in one swift movement, discarding it in some random corner of your studio apartment.

He doesn’t even hear the ruffle of the fabric landing because the roaring of blood in his ears renders him selectively deaf—the only sounds he can hear are the slick movements of your tongue nervously stroking your bottom lip and your heavy breathing. His dick is painfully hard, and the sight of you only makes his patience edge closer to splintering.

His heady gaze moves from your breasts to your eyes and you immediately look away. Almost like you’re afraid he’ll see past the lust and know why you called him out of nowhere. Especially since your meetups were usually calculated.

A day after a bad exam.

Right after a study session with your judgemental friends.

Or right before an important quiz.

But this was out of the ordinary. He’d mull over it later. His dick was starting to take over his brain.

His large, calloused hand grasped your neck and lightly applied pressure to the column of your throat as he kissed you once again. This time, dragging his tongue along the outline of your bottom lip before pulling away.

He drags a single hand down your neck, to your sternum and at last, rests it on top of your clothed mons. The hand that was choking you groped your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple as he buries his nose in your neck and takes a deep whiff.

Your underwear isn’t that special—it’s just a random white pair that had been sitting in your unkempt closet, but to him, it felt like an invitation to stain it with his spend. He made a mental note to secretly snag it on his way out. The smell of your shampoo on his pillow was dwindling into nothingness anyway.

Sukuna’s fingers inched down to the damp gusset, pressing on your covered clit, making you gasp and grind slowly against his thick fingers. “Let’s go to my bed,” you huffed out with a frown.

He moved away from your neck, resting his nose against yours. “Not yet. I wanna do something first.” The metallic notes in his breath make you scrunch your nose.

Syzygy. He blocks out the dim cloudy afternoon glow in your room with the vastness of his shoulders. A behemoth in presence and practice.

Sukuna kisses your lips and then begins to trail his mouth down your body, branding plum-colored stains onto your neck and breasts. His tongue finds your nipple and his incisors lightly nip it before he gives it a hard suck, making your hands immediately move from his shoulders into his hair.

He grunts when you tug his hair to get his attention. “What are you doing? Let’s just fuck and get it over with.”

Foreplay wasn’t a common practice between you two. And even if one of you did initiate it, it wasn’t anything more than a light make out session.

Your usual hookups would start with a few tongue kisses, followed by fingering so you could take his girthy cock in your sore pussy, and then a quick “I’ll text you later” from you before both of you went your own ways.

You never gave him head and neither did he you. You weren’t there to enjoy, just get your fill and go. The painful stretch of his cock opening up your pussy was enough to make you temporarily forget about your perpetual worries.

You mewl when he slaps your clothed pussy. “I’ll give you what you want if you let me take what I need.”

It’s a demand. More predatory than imperative.

He hisses when you lightly tug his hair before answering, “fine.”

Without breaking eye contact, he gets down on his knees and tightly grasps your thigh in his large mit, fingers digging into the muscle and fat. He slots his mouth against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and you bite your lip.

The tip of his tongue darts out to lick all the way to the crux of your pelvis and rests it against your clothed cunt before situating your thigh on his shoulder, sodden pussy basically pushed to his mouth because of the force.

His eyes roll to the back of his head when the scent of your arousal engulfs him. He sucks the fabric of your panties, priming his tongue with your juices as his fingers undulate your ass.

“At least take them off first—fuck,” you groaned out. He doesn’t listen, though. Instead, he only sucks harder, tongue directly prodding at where your swollen clit is.

Sukuna was never a vocal man but the sounds escaping him sounded like they came from the depths of his carnal desire for your pussy. His groans reverberate through you as your head leans back against the wall, trying to find some stability as he takes you to the edge and brings you back over and and over again.

After what seems like forever (to you), Sukuna slots two fingers down the front of your panties and yanks the flimsy fabric down. And without much warning, he splits your pussy lips with thick fingers and licks up a stripe from your slick hole to your glistening clit. His tongue circled around your hole, licking away whatever arousal dripped out.

His fingers soon replaced his tongue, prepping you to take his cock soon. You could never get used to the feeling of his hefty middle and ring fingers inside your cunt. They were always too rough and long, reaching into the parts of your body that your smaller and daintier fingers couldn’t.

His tongue laps at your sensitive nub, kissing it at unexpected intervals before harshly sucking it again like he did with your nipple. His fingers curl when he finds the spot that makes you sing, and your teeth let go of your lips as your body tenses when the wave of an onset orgasm washes over you.

The knot in your core, snaps and you cry out your release as you roughly pull at his disheveled pink locks.

Your limbs shiver, making Sukuna only hold you tighter so you wouldn’t collapse. “I’ve come, that’s enough,” you rasp out through deep breaths.

But his obstinate self did not listen to you. At your cries, he pulls out his fingers, but continues licking and making out with your pussy, eating you out more for his pleasure than yours.

“Please, I’m really sensitive. Just—just fuck me already,” you groan.

He knows you want him gone. He knows that he’s made you feel good enough to the point where now you need him to come.

Something grotesque in him grins at the thought of ruining any man that comes after him in your life.

Not that it’ll ever happen, though. He’ll make sure of it no matter what.

You didn’t know it, but you were always going to be his girl. Even before you two had met. Life had been pushing you around for this very moment—where he’d take you and keep you for himself forever.

Everything about the situation is so perfect. You’re bare, limp and needy, and he’s clothed, has all the power and is the only man you’ll ever need.

When he stands up, you realize how much he holds over you with his figure. Strength in one of his hands alone renders you weak against him. With his eyes trained on yours, he drags his hands from your ass to the back of your thighs and hoists you up, resting your spine against the cold cemented wall once again.

He unzips his pants and pulls down his boxers, precome already staining them. He’s painfully hard and hisses when he pushes his stiff cock against your hole, notching his leaking head at your entrance.

Alarmed, you gaze up at him with furrowed brows and swollen lips. “What about the bed?”

“Too impatient. I’ll fuck you there later.”

Later.

Later never happened with you two. It was always strictly whatever you wanted. You dictated how many times you wanted to go. You always had all the control, and now, he was slowly pulling it out of your timid grasp.

Before you can ask him about his implication, he pushes himself into your quim completely, hissing at the tight muscle contracting around his length. You yowl as your hands wrap around his shoulders and the back of your head tips against the wall.

“Shit,” he mumbles into your neck.

“Just move and finish up,” you whisper, still breathing hard.

“No,” he’s quick to interject.

“No?” The stretch of your hole around his cock makes each second feel like agony. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Look me in the eye when I fuck you,” he dictates against your lips.

“Will you go after that?”

“Do you want my cock or not?”

When he pulls away, he waits for your eyes to meet his.

And when they do, he slowly pushes himself into you, your chest coming close enough for your breasts to press flat against his pecs.

You try not to think about why he suggested so in the first place.

It’s almost as if he feels rejuvenated after looking into your eyes, even when your breasts deliciously bounce as his hips pick up speed as his balls slap against your skin. Your walls clench tighter and tighter as he bullies his cock into you over and over again, precome priming you for his final spend.

Fat droplets of tears roll down your cheeks and he kisses them away before they can reach your jaw and roll down your neck. He licks a lone tear and savors the saltiness. You’re everywhere: on his mouth, skin, cock, and mind.

Infinite; red hot iron branding the imprint of your face in his brain so whenever he closes his eyes, you’re all he can see.

His thrusts get sloppier as he finishes, excess come dripping down your thighs, and his own. He groans into your mouth, kissing your tongue to sooth his semi-soft and sensitive cock as he pulls out of you.

The feeling of cool air against your thighs reminds you of the rivulet of combined juices dripping down your legs.

Before you can wobble your way to your bed to final rest your legs, Sukuna picks you up in one swift motion, uncaring that the fluid between your legs is dripping on his arm, and walks over to your bed and lays you down.

—

Turns out later, meant going three rounds in two hours.

After Sukuna had eaten you out and fucked you against the wall, he was insatiable. Only wanting more, going as far as to making you warm his cock in your pussy till he got hard again.

Spent and sweaty, you now slept soundly in his arms. Uncaring that he had pushed you to break every rule you had set up. That too, in your own home.

He clicked his teeth as he remembered your surprised face when he casually said that he wanted to fuck some more. As usual, you were wary of him at first, but when his fingers stroked your clit the way you liked, you were pliant and malleable for his bidding.

He glances around around, finally getting a good look at your abode.

It’s not what he imagined it to be. It’s a mess: takeout containers stuffed to the brim in tightly tied plastic bags, cans of energy drinks huddled around your computer on the desk in the far corner of the room. Polaroids of your friends lay haphazardly on your coffee table, seemingly untouched with the film of dust gathering on them.

For a college student, the decoration is bleak and the lack of a living room makes him feel like there’s no space for him in your apartment. Much like your heart.

But that’s okay, he will take whatever he can get. Even if he can’t quell the curiosity has about your life away from him.

So he decides to put an end to it (only for this instance.) With only his boxers on, he walks to your computer, which, surprisingly, does not have a password.

He browses around, only finding assignments for classes that seem too complicated for him to understand. Maybe even for you too, with the way you’ve been sleeping with him more often than before.

And then he finds it—the reason why you called him to your sanctuary, the one place he was never allowed to step foot in.

An internship rejection email.

——

If you’re seeing this, thank you for reading!!

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strawberry-nugget · 8 days ago

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Based on the ‘somebody point me to the best ass eater’ tiktok trend

Tags // Warnings: MDNI, Suggestive, Crack

Characters are 20+

It’s Wednesday afternoon, that dooming hour after a 10 hour long patrol that included everything a hero should do in the span of a week. It has left you and Katsuki beaten and bruised, tired, and grimy all over your hero costumes and he has —rightfully so— spent the fifteen minute drive from his agency to your favourite restaurant whining because he will have to have his car detailed again.

Nonetheless, you’ve been doom scrolling on Tiktok from the second he stepped out of the car to get you the food he promised you; all you can eat sushi, boba tea for the drive back home and maybe a sweet treat that you hope and pray is strawberry mochi.

You're scrolling through endless edits, ‘get ready with me’s, pets, babies and yet the only thing that gets your attention is that new silly couple trend.

“Somebody point me to the best ass eater” the song chants and numerous girls have recreated the trend with their boyfriends and it’s just so silly, so stupid, so so funny that you wanna do it too.

You look around the parking lot, scanning to see if there’s any people around but it’s for sure empty, given the fact that it’s too early and you click on the sound on one of the TikToks and decide to set your phone on Katsuki’s phone holder on the dashboard.

And right on cue -perfect fucking timing- there goes your hero, with two big fat paper bags filled with food on one hand and two boba teas on the other. You can’t help but smile an evil grin as he sprint marches toward the car.

He opens the door, practically collapses in the seat, and you scrunch your eyes as you smile at him when he hands you your tea before smooching your lips. “Boba for my girl” he smiles against your lips and then, kisses you again.

“Katsuki gimme your phone baby” you ask and reach your open palm at him.

“Sure—“ he hands you his phone, presses his lips into a thin awkward smile as you go to open Spotify. Then his eyes fall finally on your phone on the dashboard.

“wait, the fuck is your camera open?”

“Shhhh I wanna film something”

He sighs, deeply, almost comically, rubbing his face with his palm.

“Can’t we go home first, i'm so tired” he whines, his voice cracking like you asked him to do another ten hour long patrol, but you just giggle, sipping on your tea before setting it down.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” you grin, unlocking his phone and queuing up your shared playlist—because ambiance matters, obviously.

Katsuki groans again, louder this time, and slouches into the seat like he’s trying to merge with it. “If it’s another cutesy dance thing, I’m crashin’ this car into the nearest pole.”

“You just got this car”

“And i'm damn serious”

“You say that every time, but then you eat up the comments when they say you look hot,” you quip, tapping through TikTok with laser focus. “It’s not a dance. It’s just a sound. A trend. Just trust me.”

“No,” he says immediately.

You ignore him and cue up the sound, and before he can protest again, your phone blasts from the dashboard: “Somebody point me to the best ass eater—”

Katsuki freezes like someone’s just shot him with a tranquilizer dart. One eye twitches, while he's giving you the nastiest side eye.

“What the fuck—” he starts, but you’re already cackling, doubled over in your seat, wheezing into the straw of your boba like it’s life support.

“You’re deranged,” he mutters, ears red, one hand suddenly gripping the steering wheel like he’s going to need it for emotional support. He bumps his forehead against it once, twice, then groans like he’s aging in dog years.

You pause the video and open a new draft under the sound, already giggling as you press record.

“Please, let’s go again. At least try to pretend you’re eating my ass.”

There’s not even a beat of hesitation—even if the phone is still recording, Katsuki reaches, lunges over your seat, full chest-over-console, arms reaching like a man possessed and makes it fly flat onto the back seat and grabs both of your hips with his palms to shimmy you towards him. He leans, leans fucking over your thighs with his mouth all open like a horn dog.

He’s fully tilted, upper body hunched over your thighs like you’re the dinner you’re supposed to be having at home. His mouth is still open, stupid and dramatic, like some depraved cartoon wolf seeing red.

“KATSUKI WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” You’re shrieking now, half laughing, half horrified by how fast of a turn this took.

“WHAT!?” He yells, sounding genuinely offended.

You’re laughing so hard, you're wiping actual tears from your eyes, when Katsuki, very slowly, very cautiously, says

“You’re askin’ me to eat your ass here.”

You choke.

Literally choke. You’re coughing into your boba straw. Katsuki’s immediately panicked, reaching across the console to slap your back softly and manspreads into the driver’s seat

“No! Katsuki—no! That’s not—” You’re laughing and wheezing at the same time, eyes wild, mouth burst open so wide that your jaw could just drop to the floor “That’s not what it is! It’s just a stupid TikTok sound!”

“But the sound said—” He furrows his brow like he’s solving math “It said—somebody point me to the best ass eater. You told me to pretend I'm eating your ass. How else am I supposed to do it then?”

You start giggling again and grab his bicep. “Yes, but it’s not literal! That’s just the trend! You point at your boyfriend when the sound plays and look really smug, maybe pretend you’re eating something out of my hand. It’s supposed to be funny!”

He blinks, pouts, fierce vermillion eyes stare deeply into your soul, like you’ve offended him once again.

“So… you’re not asking me to eat your ass.”

“NO, KATSUKI.”

“Shame” he says, lips pursing to the side of his face as he throws his hands in the air in surrender. Smirking. Eyes wide in condensation.

“KATSUKI- I wouldn’t ask you to do that in broad daylight, at a parking lot” You’re breathless from laughing, stomach sore and tears streaking your already grimy cheeks as you swat at his arm. “And wait, hold up—What do you mean ‘shame’?”

Katsuki just shrugs, forges a motherfucking stank face and says “Woulda done it.”

You nearly spit out your drink. “IN THE MIDDLE OF A PARKING LOT?”

He raises an eyebrow and deadpans, “You were the one who pulled out the camera and told me to pretend.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” You’re halfway between scolding and wheezing, already imagining the absolute clownery that’s going to flood your comments once people realize what just happened if you were to post that video.

He leans back against the driver’s seat with a long, satisfied exhale, smug little smirk curling at the corner of his mouth like he just won a fight no one else was in.

“I’m just sayin’. If you wanna do stupid internet trends, don’t blame me when I commit to the bit.”

“KATSUKI”

“Ahhhh” he whines, voice cracking again, mocking “Katsuki this, Katsuki that, just get on all fours and let me get to work”

“Shut up bro, what the hell”

He raises his brow at that, latching his forehead to yours. Had it been any other time you’d gulp, but he cracks a laugh, lets you know it’s not that serious… yet.

“Call me bro one more time” His lips twitch. “See what happens.”

Katsuki bites his lower lip, his nose bumps into yours. You pretend to shove him away, scrunching your face in fake disgust, but he pulls you back in, huge biceps trapping you in between his arms as he places ugly sounding kisses to the top of your head, your cheeks, your face. Anywhere he can land them, seriously.

“Im all dirty and musty from patrol you freak”

“Mmmmmmm” he smiles deviously, licking his lips.

You slap your palm over his mouth before he can say whatever ungodly thing he was about to follow that noise with.

“You need to be stopped.” You’re fully hot in the face now, not from any sort of flustered romantic nonsense—no, from the secondhand humiliation of knowing that your camera was absolutely still recording when he started making mating sounds over you telling him you’re absolutely musty after patrol.

Then again, Katsuki licks your palm.

“OH MY GOD—EW” You rip your hand away and flail, smacking the dashboard. “You’re disgusting. Depraved. Unwell.”

“‘S what you signed up for,” he says proudly, smug as hell and sipping on his tea like he didn’t just try to go full National Geographic in the front seat of his car. In front of a recording camera too.

“You’re not even denying it anymore.”

He shrugs. “I’m a man of the people. They want ass eater representation.”

“The people?! You didn’t even know about this trend a second ago, what people!?”

“My fans,” he says, nodding solemnly.

“Your fans? Katsuki, you have one fan and she’s sitting right here rethinking her entire life.”

He hums again, but this time it’s smug and low, and he wiggles his brows in a way that tells you he’s about to say something that will absolutely get him banned from the bed for tonight.

“So you are my fan…” he laughs, falling back on his seat, pulling that silly face he thinks is the sexiest thing on the planet—newsflash, it is. He looks at you, up and down, licking and biting his lips “Sorry sweetie, I don't sleep with groupies.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “I’m going to make you sleep on the couch.”

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hischiershoe · 1 year ago

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‘𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝’ - 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫

word count: 0.8k

summary: you do the ‘call your boyfriend your husband and get his reaction’ trend.

warnings: none! short and sweet. mostly dialogue. it's just cute!

You were scrolling through Tiktok as Nico watched whatever film he needed to for their upcoming game when you got the idea. The trend had appeared a few times on your for you page already, and the thought popped into your head each time, but you were always at work and by the time you got home, you’d forgotten about it. It was harmless and simple, but it was also cute and fun.

You turned your phone off and left it on the coffee table as you approached Nico from behind, wrapping your arms around his front as you leaned on him. He lifted one of his hands to rub the skin of your arm as he turned towards you and gave you a lazy smile. You delicately pressed your lips to his own for a fleeting moment before you pulled away.

“Can we go to that coffee shop down the street,” You ask, your lips turning upwards, “They got a few new drinks I want to try with you!”

Nico couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched your face light up with excitement, but he was quick to agree. The two of you are on your way to the local shop down the road after Nico had paused his game and the both of you slipped on your shoes. He always let you pick the music when you were riding in the car with him, but you always slipped in songs you noticed he’d been listening to recently and it always made him smile. When you had gotten the drinks, one for each of you, you sat back in the car and tried to set your phone up to film.

“What are you doing,” Nico shakes his head as your phone falls for the third time. He picks it up from his floor board and manages to balance it on his dashboard with the help of a half-drunk water bottle.

“Videoing,” You playfully roll your eyes, “I’m going to post it for this trend that I saw!”

“Okay, schatzi,” He laughs before he relaxes in his seat, watching as you reach for your phone to press the red record button.

“Okay, so my husband and I are going to be trying these new drinks from a little coffee shop in the city,” You begin, doing your best to keep your focus on the screen and your face neutral, but the way the word flows so naturally off your tongue makes you blush.

The use of the word ‘husband’ catches Nico off guard, but he quickly recovers and he can’t stop the smile from forming on his face. He’s only looking at you as you continue talking for a little bit, his eyes wide and adoration. He doesn’t care if it was a simple slip of the tongue, it makes warmth spread in his chest all the same when the word tumbled from your lips.

“First we have the cinnamon bun frappe, so my husband is going to try it and let us know what he thinks,” You grin as you take the cup from its holder and turn to Nico, “It’s not what he usually gets because he thinks it’s too sweet, but he’s going to try it for us right?”

He has a flustered look on his face, his cheeks red and eyes crinkled as he takes the drink from your hands, “Yeah, of course I am.”

He glances away from you and takes a small drink from the straw, his features slightly scrunching from the sweetness of the drink. He lets his gaze flicker over to you and he does his best to look like he enjoyed the sugary drink you mistook for a coffee, but he failed miserably. You giggled as you watched him forcefully swallow the small sip he had taken before looking back at your phone.

“Okay, so that one is not husband approved,” You point out as you let out a small laugh, listening to the way Nico shuffles in his seat so his body is angled towards you.

“Are you saying that on purpose,” He asks, raising his brows when you catch his eye.

“Saying what,” You feign confusion, slightly tilting your head as you bite back a smile of your own.

“Husband,” He smugly smiles as he leans over the center console, “I’m not complaining. I love it actually.”

You watch as he gets closer to you, your body instinctively leaning towards his own like he was your own gravitational pull. His eyes briefly flicker down to your lips as the two of you wait for the other to diminish the small distance between you. You let out a sigh as he reaches a hand over to cup the back of your head, his thumb massaging your scalp.

“Do you really,” You whisper, nudging his nose with your own as you ghost your lips over his.

“Yeah, I really do. Can’t wait until it’s reality one day.”

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nico hischier blurb #new jersey devils

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recklesssezon · 7 months ago

Text

𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗶

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | alessia russo x mma!fighter

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | alessia and ella find themselves in chaos of trouble and you have to go save them.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 | blood, violence, slurs, misogyny, i suck at warnings

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 | just gonna silently drop this here and dip. thank you to the anon that requested this!

“I knew I shoulda drove. Now look at what you've done. You gotten us lost.”

Alessia sighed, turning the wheel down an unknown neighborhood. “The map said turn left, Less!” she groaned, dropping her head on the steering wheel, halting the car in the middle of the road. That was the second wrong turn she had took, they’ve only been down three blocks.

Ella made the absolute mistake of letting Alessia drive. She should have manned up and drove with her tweaked ankle that surely would have gotten them to dinner faster.

“I swear it said turn right!” Alessia exclaimed, peering around the neighborhood for some familiarity. Ella gasped in disbelief, snatching the phone out its holder, shoving it right into Alessia’s face.

“Left! It said left!”

Alessia grinned sheepishly, the clear displayment of a left turn route proved Ella’s point. “We’ve all mistaken our left for our right.” Alessia flinched back when Ella reached over the console, threatening to strangle her. Alessia released her foot off the petal backing herself far from Ella as much as she could. Momentarily forgetting to put the car in park.

The car rolled forward, the two girls were far too busy fighting to notice the sudden movement. They jerked, Ella frozed mid-climb, Alessia had stopped screaming. Blue eyes staring into one another as stunned as they can be. Both too scared to look at the situation they found themselves in.

“What did we just do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you look?.”

“Why don’t you?”

“You’re the driver.”

“You’re the idiot that attacked the driver!”

“Okay. Let’s both look on the count of three.” Alessia nod, she grabbed Ella’s hands interlacing them for the worst to come. One…Two…Thr-”

“Hey!” Their heads snapped to the booming voice, a man furiously marching towards them. Hurling slander at the top of his lungs. Terror surged, and Ella repeatedly slapped Alessia to take action. “Drive! Drive!”

Alessia stammered, fumbling the gear between reverse and drive, “I can’t! The road’s too fucking small!” The attempt to make an escape was useless, giving up, Alessia scrambled out the car. “Sir! Sir, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-” She stumbled back startled by the closing proximity as he continued his march, no sign of stopping.

“You think I care what you mean! You hit my fucking car!” He screamed, inches away from Alessia’s face. She turned her head, shielding herself from the strong aggression. Ella instantly went to Alessia’s side, yanking her back. “I paid pounds for it! Only for some two stupid girls to wreck it!”

Ella scrunched her nose in disgust, spit flying everywhere from his yellow jagged teeth. Smart mouth as ever, Ella said, “Technically, we didn’t wreck it. A little bump to the side is more like it. So don’t go get your teeth in a twist.” His face grew beet red by the second, Alessia pushed her best friend behind her. There was no way they were going to get out of this alive if Ella kept talking.

“I understand you’re angry but we’ll pay for the damages.” Alessia pleads, hoping that by taking responsibility they’ll be good to go. “We?!” Ella cried, wincing when Alessia stomped on her foot. She threw a stern look, silently warning Ella to shut her mouth. “Yes, we. We’ll take full responsibility and pay for all expenses needed.” Alessia forced a smile, praying that what she said was enough to settle the tension.

He chuckled, “You think I’m going to trust two whores to have that kind of money?! Do you take me for a fool?! This is a vintage Rolls Royce, your family's generational wealth couldn’t pay for this!” He slammed his fist onto the hood of Alessia’s car, pointing a threatening finger at her. “I’m going to call the police, don’t go anywhere!”

Alessia gulped, her stomach tightened as storms of emotions winded her. She felt stupid for being distracted, stupid for not putting the car in park. She wishes that things will be handled privately, no need for the media or you to hear about this, especially you. But, while Alessia was preoccupied, Ella had made a call.

“Hello, mate? I think it’s best you get down here, Alessia’s a bit in a situation…Yeah, we’re nearing that pond you threw Lucy in last month. Alright, see ya. “

Ella tucked her phone in her pocket, just catching the man walking away. “Don’t stress too much, I’ve got it handled.” Alessia looked at her with red eyes, hot tears brimming slightly over the edge. Ella pulled Alessia to her side, wrapping an arm around while they waited. It didn’t take long for you to arrive, two minutes after the call to be exact. It’s a good thing they didn’t make it far with Alessia’s poor driving skills.

Her eyes grew large at the sight of you racing over, she didn’t expect you to be here. She zeroed in on Ella, knowing she had something to do with your sudden appearance. You had become the team’s go to person whenever they were in trouble, especially if Alessia was an unwilling participant. Then, certainly you’d show up.

“Alessia! Are you okay, love?”

You engulfed her in your arms, looking over her shoulder, Ella nodded assuring that she was unharmed. Alessia released a breath, the security of your arms brought her comfort more than she could imagine. “I’m okay. But what are you doing here? You can’t be here.” Alessia’s words tremble with worry. You were still under investigation after last year’s incident. Headlines that followed hours later spread like wildfire.

You became the center focus, your name and photos plastered on every media outlet there is. Your team did some damage control and ceased the fire but that wasn’t enough to call off the rumors and speculation circulating you.

In terms of Alessia, her name was out of the limelight. Your team along with hers worked overtime to ensure that her and her friend’s association with you wouldn’t be put to questioning. The possibility of your career tanking was on everybody’s mind, the last thing you wanted was for Alessia and her mates to get mixed up in it all.

You furrowed your brows, assessing your surroundings. Your eyes wandered over Alessia’s car, “I came as soon as Ella called. Said that you were in trouble, and it looks like she wasn't lying. What the hell happened?”

“Alessia hit another car and then this grumpy old man came out of nowhere and started yelling! He called us stupid and whores! I’m not a whore!”

Ella kicked the rubble on the road, more comfortable to express her anger now that you were here to ensure that she wouldn’t get hit for talking her smack. You looked for Alessia for confirmation, rest assured, she nodded. You sighed, pressing a kiss to Alessia’s forehead. “It’s alright, Less. I'll go have a little chat, rough him up a bit and then we can go.”

There was no point in stopping you, she had learned the hard way. You cupped her jaw, the heat radiating from her red cheeks soothed your cold hands. “Stay with Ella until I’m done. I mean it.” Alessia searched for anything else other than the love and determination, you always held. You didn’t let go until she said what you wanted to hear.

“Yeah, I’ll stay with her until you’re done.”

You softly smiled, understanding that she didn’t want you fighting her battles for her. Ever since your public outburst, Alessia’s been walking on eggshells with whom she interacted and how she interacted, becoming more reserved to avoid another mishap. “Don’t worry your pretty head. It’ll be quick.” You kissed her lips, smiling when she refused to pull away. You gave her a parting peck.

“Ella, you mind pointing him out?” Ella pointed an accusatory finger to the flat behind you, confident that you’d be kicking some ass today, and maybe she could jump in, earn some street credits to her name.

Alessia stared at her friend in betrayal, Ella shrugged, “What? If she ends up in prison, at least you know she’ll get your name tattooed on her neck.” Alessia rolled her eyes. Though you assured her multiple times that prison wasn’t in your future, it didn’t stop the possibility from potentially becoming a reality. “Maybe she could be the next Mike Tyson.”

The door opened, revealing a woman in her thirties, a wash cloth in hand. “Hello, darling. What can I do for you?” You gave a charming smile, not expecting a woman to be on the other end. Did the man that just called your girlfriend and friend a whore have a wife? “Um, I’m looking for your husband I presume. I wanted to speak about some problems we've made along the way.” She smiled politely, seemingly unsuprised that her husband got caught in a web of trouble.

“Oh, I’ll go get him for you.”

You gave thanks, rocking on your heels as you waited. A man appeared with a beer in hand, a phone in the other. “What do you want?” His voice gruffed, your nose twitched at the stench of alcohol, body odor and family disappointment.

"An apology. You see the two girls behind me. Well one of them is my girlfriend and the other is her best friend. And I don't know about you, but I don't take anyone disrespecting my girl lightly."

He scoffed, the audacity to scoff in your face had your self-control hanging by a thread. He stepped out the door threshold, guzzling his beer before throwing it down on the pavement. Shards flew up a few inches, yet you stood your ground.

"Yeah? What the hell are you going to do about it, bitch?"

Instantly, you grabbed him by the collar, throwing him down the small steps to his freshly cut lawn. Groans escaped his mouth, his body curled up withering in pain from the blow to his back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You skipped the steps, kicking his ankle when he tried to stand. “Many things but none that are worth discussing. What’s your name? Because I don’t think hillbilly bob is it.” He pushed himself up to his knee, this time you let him. He glared up at you, grumbling his name.

“Paul. The name’s Paul.”

You motioned for Alessia and Ella to walk over, “Girls, I know you already met, but this man here name is Paul. Now, Paul, we're going to try this again. Give the girls the apology they deserve.” You tapped your foot, unfazed by the lasers he shot at you. You’ve dealt with the worst people, all who're skilled in kicking your ass. Baseless men like Paul failed to install fear in you. You were the BloodHouse for crying out loud. You weren’t so easily shaken.

“She hit my car. I'm not apologizing for shit."

You huffed, your team thought it’d be best for you to lay off matches for a while, you haven’t stepped foot in the cage with another fighter for months. Your body was itching for a fight, a real one, and it looks like you found one. “I really wish you didn't say that.” You pulled your fist back, striking him across the jaw.

He fell back, and white flash of pain surged from his back to his jaw. Blood flooded his mouth. He gathered up the little strength he had to spit on you. You inspected at the red blob on your shoe, your heart pounding in your ears. Your fingers twitched, feeling the uncontrollable urge to pummel Paul black and blue.

You rushed forward, grabbing Paul by the ear, forcing him up before you tore it off. You inched closer, dropping down to a whisper. “You're lucky that she’s here. If it was just you and me, I would’ve beaten you until you’re tube fed. Now, say you're sorry.”

Fear striked through him, his doe eyes looking at you like some kind of monster. He turned to the girls, reluctant but nonetheless muttered what you were looking for. You purse your lips, unsatisfied. Grabbing his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back. "Louder and make it sincere.”

You weren't a very patient person, never have been, never will be. A trait you honorably gotten from your father, you pushed Paul's arm further as he took his sweet time.

“Sorry, girls. Seems like he lost his voice, no worries I’ll get your apology.”

“Babe, I don’t think-”

“Come on, mate. Say it. It’ll be done and over with before you know it.” Alessia threw a look over her shoulder, silently blaming Ella for dragging you into this mess. Ella raised her hands in surrender. She was partially to blame for this she'll admit.

He visibly clenched his jaw, no matter how hard he tried to conjure up his strength he was no match for you. Your stance established the power imbalance between you two. Him barely holding himself up while you stood firm. Ella smiled in triumph, Alessia winced as the man croaked out an apology, a fearful one, but one nevertheless.

You smiled at Alessia who stood weary behind you, she was still getting used to the extent violence could go, slowly she became immune but time could only tell. "What do you say, love? Do you think he's being genuine?"

Alessia glanced at you and then to the man down on the ground, her chest filled with a pride. “Yeah, I think he’s fine.” You patted Paul on the shoulder, feeling a hint of glee when he hissed.

“Told you were lucky.”

Though you weren’t done as they thought. You dragged Paul, not minding the dead weight as he tried to stop you. You flipped open the bin, readjusting your grip on the back of his shirt before tossing him in. You closed the lid, kicking it to the ground. Smirking when a shout came from the fall. You turned to Alessia, looking for a job well done.

Ella applauds, entertained by the show you provided, disbelieving that this is what she’s been missing. “Can we go now? I’m getting hungry.”

“Gladly. Wait before I forget.” You pulled out a wad of pounds from your pocket, throwing it beside the bin, “For your car!” You gave it an extra nudge, slinging your arm around Alessia as Ella took your spot and continously kicked the bin.

“Take that you arse!”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #woso fanfics #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #hound

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vanteguccir · 1 year ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTIKTOK TRENDS² * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　4 times that Y/N and Chris made a couple's trend on tiktok.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²　::　part 1 || part 3 || part 4

Y/N placed her phone on the phone holder that stayed on the dashboard of her car, reducing the brightness of the screen and opening the camera app, clicking on the video tab and pressing play on the red button.

She had just left the beauty salon where she had done her nails, cleaned her eyebrows, and waxed her body. Y/N and Chris had agreed for her to pick him up at their house after her beauty moment, so the two of them had lunch together.

The girl decided to browse her For You while she waited for him with her car parked in front of the entrance. One of the first videos that appeared was of a new prank between couples. A smirk appeared on her face, and she quickly decided to do it with Chris. The fact that she had just left the beauty salon would make everything more truthful.

Moments later, she saw Chris open the front door of their house, quickly shouting something into the hall before closing it - probably saying goodbye to his brothers. Y/N smiled briefly at her phone before taking a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

"Hi baby!" Chris greeted as soon as he opened the passenger seat door, getting into the car quickly and closing it, not needing to adjust the position or height of the seat, as that was his place and it was always ready for him - he was obviously the passenger princess of the relationship.

"Hi, my love." Y/N spoke back, turning her upper body towards him with a small smile on her face.

"Let me see them." The boy held out his hands, waiting for his girlfriend to show him her manicured nails, as they always did after she did them.

Y/N let out a laugh and raised her hands, resting her palms on top of his and wiggling her fingers lightly, feeling her cheeks burn in shyness.

Chris ran his blue eyes momentarily over her nails, his mouth opening in surprise at the choice before lifting his girl's hands carefully so as not to smudge the fresh nail polish.

He brought his lips closer to the top of her hands, sealing the soft skin, exhaling the fragrance of the cream that her manicurist always applied before gently releasing them.

"They're beautiful, baby!"

"Thank you! The eyebrows look amazing, too, and I had the best waxing experience today." Y/N had a big smile on her face, gesturing lightly. "James did exactly how I wanted-"

"Wait, James?" Chris felt his heart skip a beat, freezing in place and staring at his girlfriend, almost begging with his eyes to have heard her wrong.

"Yes, James. He was so kind and thoughtful-"

"No, no." Chris raised his right hand with his palm pointed at his girlfriend's face, cutting her off again. "I'm kind and thoughtful, not... this James guy." He shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Yes, you are, honey. But so was he, and he cleaned all the places I wanted-"

"What? Did he see you naked? While you were spread-legged? In the air?" Chris widened his eyes comically. "No, we're going to stop at a pharmacy right now, and I'm going to buy all the items for waxing. If this James guy can do it, so can I." His voice came out high and thin. He turned his body so that he could reach the seat belt, crossing it over his body and closing it.

Y/N laughed loudly at his words, observing him.

"Come on, what are you waiting for?" Chris ordered, waving his right hand in a "let's go" gesture.

Y/N raised her arms in surrender, laughter still escaping her mouth as her head shook in denial. She brought her right hand to the key in the ignition, starting the engine.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N propped her phone on the kitchen table so that the front camera caught the image of her and Chris, who was standing behind her with a straight look on his face, his hands resting in the front pockets of his Fresh Love sweatpants.

Y/N had asked him to record a video with her, but she didn't explain what it was about.

The girl clicked the red button on the TikTok camera, moving slightly away from her cell and positioning herself in front of Chris.

"If you want to get to him, you've gonna have to go through me first." Her tone was serious, and her eyebrow was raised. She extended her right hand and pointed it at Chris.

"Ooh, Y/N got Matt's toughness." Chris commented, nodding his head with a slight smile on his face.

Y/N laughed, turning around and facing him. She rested her hands on Chris's covered chest and stood on tiptoe, sealing her lips over his quickly.

The brunette lowered his head, still with his eyes closed, seeming to search for Y/N's lips again.

She chuckled softly at his reaction before turning to the camera, crossing her arms.

"Best brother ever." The girl added, her eyes focused on the image of Chris behind her that appeared on her phone screen.

The boy's eyes widened instantly, lifting his head and looking at her exasperatedly, his mouth opening into a perfect O.

"What the fuck? We're not in Alabama, Y/N." Chris practically screamed, taking some steps away from his girlfriend with his hands raised, feeling suddenly dizzy.

The girl threw her head back, laughing at the reaction she received.

"Oh yeah, sweet home, Alabama." Nick's voice sounded from behind her phone before the TikTok ended.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N's phone was on the computer desk in her shared room with Chris, the back of it resting against the computer so that the screen was vertical and facing the room. The TikTok camera was already open and ready to start recording.

Y/N clicked the red button, and as the 5-second timer started, she sat on Chris's lap, who was in his gaming chair. The girl adjusted herself slightly, smiling when she felt Chris wrap his arms securely around her waist, squeezing her lightly.

"Okay, today we're going to do the best couples therapy: we're gonna talk about the icks we have in each other." Y/N began as she saw the video start recording, turning her face to the right so that she could see Chris, who was smiling and nodding his head.

Y/N stretched her torso and picked up two sheets of paper that were on the computer desk, keeping one with herself and giving the other to Chris, who held it in his left hand, lifting it so he could read the list over her shoulder.

"Do you want to start, baby?" He asked Y/N, receiving a nod in response.

"First on the list, when we're talking and you burp in my face and blow the smell to my direction." Y/N skimmed the list briefly, raising her head and crossing her arms, glancing at Chris from the corner of her eye.

The boy opened his mouth in exaggerated offense, eyes widening.

"You hurt me like that, that's a new love language, don't you know?" He teased, shaking his head and closing his eyes, pretending to be disappointed.

"No, that's disgusting." She pushed her shoulder back slightly, slamming it against his chest and receiving a chuckle in response. "Your turn."

"When you wear that black cropped with silver details. It's horrible." Chris wrinkled his nose, putting the sheet down after reading it again.

"I love that cropped!" The girl turned her upper body to the left, turning her face and looking at her boyfriend with an offended expression. "In fact, I didn't find it on my side of the closet anymore." She added, squinting her eyes.

"Yeah, it's been gone a long time, ma." Chris shrugged. "You didn't even like it that much. Otherwise, you would have noticed it disappearing." He quickly added upon seeing the angry expression on his girlfriend's face, raising his left hand and scratching his nape slightly, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

"We'll talk about this later." Y/N muttered, turning forward again and reading the second item on her list. "My second ick is when it gets to the end of the day, and you're too tired to shower, so you just lie in our bed in the clothes you've been wearing all day-"

Chris opened his mouth to retort, but Y/N extended her left hand, raising her index finger, stopping him.

"And I have to pull you out of bed and practically drag you to the bathroom so you can finally take a shower." She finished, turning her face towards him and raising her right eyebrow, as if to say "I dare you to contradict me".

"It's okay, I admit it, I hate showering when I'm tired. I didn't even sweat during the day!" Chris defended himself, eyes widening and instantly shutting up when he saw the look in his girl's eyes.

"Next!" She announced loudly with gritted teeth.

"My other ick is when you can't choose what or where you want to eat." Chris read the last item on his list before stretching slightly and placing the paper on the computer desk. "It's not that deep, you know? It's not your last meal. Just choose the damn food!"

"But it is that deep, food is something very serious, baby. You have to choose what you want to eat very carefully. It's the most important thing in the world-"

"Hey, I'm the most important thing in the world!" Chris interrupted his girlfriend's sentence, raising his left hand as his eyes widened, his voice coming out loud.

Y/N threw her head back, a laugh escaping her throat.

"Okay, I'll say one more. It's my last." Y/N announced, clearing her throat and looking at her paper.

"But you asked me to think of just two icks." Chris muttered, raising his right eyebrow in confusion.

"Obviously, I don't have more than two icks, I'm too awesome to have more." She rolled her eyes playfully, lifting her chin in the air in an act of false snobbery.

Chris tried to hold back his laughter, smiling slightly while rolling his eyes.

"Okay, so, when you, out of nowhere, start punching the air right in front of me. Like you're going to punch me in the stomach or something, you look like a weird kid who just got out of karate class." Y/N finished her list, throwing the paper on the floor and smiling at the camera, waiting for Chris to respond.

"Yeah, how do you want me to train to smash the faces of the crazy guys who hit on you?"

"Chris!"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

(This takes place in the same universe as "Sleeping prank | Chris Sturniolo", when Y/N and Chris wake up and realize the prank Nick played on them)

"Matt, what are you doing?" Nick asked as he looked up after hearing footsteps in his direction, seeing Matt approaching with his own phone in his hand, and the rear camera pointed at the oldest.

His phone screen displayed the TikTok camera, already recording.

"There's a couple really mad at you right now." Matt announced, biting his bottom lip to contain his laughter.

Nick's eyes widened, getting up from the bed where he was sitting, standing and taking a few steps back, almost gluing his back against the large windows of the hotel room.

"Tell me you didn't show them the prank video?" Nick asked, looking at Matt with terror in his eyes. They were supposed to see when he posted the vlog many weeks ahead. Chris could be very vindictive when he wanted to.

"Nicolas Antonio Sturniolo!" The female voice echoed from behind the bedroom door, which was opened seconds later by a Y/N with crossed arms and an angry look.

Nick automatically raised his arms in surrender, smiling nervously.

"I can explain-"

"Did you see my horrible sleeping face? You're crazy!" The girl spoke calmly, squinting her eyes as she took slow steps towards him.

"No, you're wrong. You looked beautiful." Nick spoke nervously, nodding his head, keeping his arms raised.

Chris's loud laugh was the last sound Matt recorded before the video ended.

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imagine-it-was-us · 2 months ago

Text

ease || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Troye Sivan "Ease"

Author's note: First off – just like DTS, the F1 season of 2019 was dramatized to fit the narrative better. I tried to tie it to the events that actually happened as best as I could, but when you actually look at the season, Lando wasn't bad – the car was. Hope you like it.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, declining mental health.

Summary: Amid the highs and lows of a debut Formula 1 season, Lando navigates the pressures of the sport, self-doubt, and the weight of expectations. Through late-night phone calls and quiet moments of vulnerability, he finds solace in the one person who sees beyond the headlines.

Word count: 2k+

[Phone ringing…]

"Lando?? Hii!"

"Hey, you answered!" He grinned, leaning back against the couch.

"Of course I did! It’s your first Grand Prix of the year! I’m literally getting ready to go to Oliver’s and watch it." A pause. "Also, you called me, so you expected me to be up, didn’t you?"

"Yeah… but I kinda thought you’d still be asleep."

"I couldn’t. The nerves barely let me." A small pause. "Speaking of which—how are you feeling?"

"Oh, the nerves are definitely there. Jon’s been on my case about it. I barely slept and just forced down breakfast. Outqualifying Carlos was bold, and now I’m wedged between Kimi and Kevin… Those guys have years of experience. It’s gonna be tough to hold my own. I know no one expects me to land a podium, but, you know… a point would be nice."

"Oh, come on, Lando. It’s your first career race as a holder of an F1 seat! You’re not a reserve anymore, but you can’t hold yourself to such a high standard already. I know you hate losing, and I know being here is your dream, but please—keep it realistic."

"I know, I know." He exhaled. "But that’s the thing – I love this. The nerves are there, sure, but the excitement? It’s bigger. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid, and now it’s happening. It’s surreal. Like… I was just a fan, and now I’m in it."

"And that’s exactly why you need to enjoy it, Lando. Whether you finish in the points or not, everyone will be proud of you just for crossing that line. I’m already proud."

Lando chuckled softly. "Look at you, being my best cheerleader."

"I am! And you don’t give yourself enough credit for what you’ve done. You created this life for yourself. Now live it. To the fullest. Don’t let expectations steal the joy from you."

There was a quiet beat between them. Lando let the words sink in before murmuring, "Thanks."

"Anytime."

He glanced at the clock. "I should probably get going."

"Yeah. But Lando?"

"Hm?"

"Enjoy it. Every second of it."

A slow, growing smile spread across his face. "I will."

The call ended, but the words lingered.

_____________

[Phone ringing…]

"Hola, chica."

"Thank God, Lando." She exhaled sharply. "You’re alright?"

"Yeah, of course. Not a bruise on me. Just... gutted."

"I figured. It looked like quite the crash." A pause. "Obviously, I’m relieved you’re okay. Lance is as well, I guess?"

"Oh yeah, not a scratch."

"Lando–"

"I’m just really upset, you know?" He let out a breath, frustration laced in his voice. "I was already gutted after what happened in China, but at least then, I knew I didn’t do anything wrong. And today? Today, I did exactly what Kvyat did. I took someone out of the race. It wasn’t intentional, but… it doesn’t matter. I still feel like shit."

"Lando, accidents happen."

"I know." His voice dropped. "But that doesn’t help. What if McLaren thinks they made a mistake signing me? Maybe I should’ve stayed a reserve driver for another season, learned more before jumping in."

A silence stretched between them before he muttered, "All this driving is driving me crazy, actually."

Her heart clenched. "Oh, my sweet Lando… You’re doing it again, aren’t you? Beating yourself up over things that are part of the learning process?"

He didn’t answer right away. She could hear him shifting around, the rustle of fabric as he lay back against something.

"You’ve had, what? Five races?" she continued. "So what if half of them didn’t go as planned? Two of them did! You scored points, even outscored Carlos once. Do you really think McLaren doesn’t see that? That they’re not excited about what you’re bringing to the team? You’re learning. Even if today feels like a disaster, it’s just a part of the curve—"

"A really fucking steep curve."

"Maybe. But it’s still just a curve."

A heavy sigh left his lips.

"I appreciate your pep talks more than you know." He hesitated before adding, "I’m just… tired. And alone." His voice softened. "Maybe you’ll join me for the French GP? It’s not that far from home…"

She sighed. "Lando, I’m stuck at uni. Even Silverstone might be a struggle. But… I’ll try my best."

"Yeah." He let out a quiet chuckle. "Figured that was a long shot."

"But you’re coming home tomorrow, right?"

"I am, but I heard we have to go straight to MTC. They want us to go over everything, break it all down so we can learn from these mistakes. Might not have much time at home."

"We’ll figure something out, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

A beat of silence, then she sighed. "Look, I have to go. I have a shift at the café. But, Lando?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Please take care of yourself."

A pause. Then, softer than before– "I’ll try."

_____________

[Phone ringing…]

"Hi, Lan, sorry—I was just on the phone with Cisca."

"Oh, so that’s how we’re catching up now, huh? Interrogating my mother?"

"Actually," she paused briefly, "it was the other way around."

A beat of silence.

"What do you mean?" His confusion was audible.

"She’s worried about you. Especially after today. And…" she hesitated, unsure of how he’d take it, "she thinks you’re not being honest about how hard this lifestyle really is on you."

A sigh. A shift of fabric.

"And what did you say to her?" His voice was careful, guarded.

"I didn’t throw you under the bus, if that’s what you’re thinking." She let out a small breath. "But Lan… she knows. She’s your mother. Of course, she knows. And honestly? I think she’s right."

"Right about what?"

"That it’s taking a toll on you, even if you won’t admit it." A pause. "And that you’re not talking to anyone about it. Not even me."

"Listen–"

"It’s okay, Lando, I get it." Her tone softened. "You’ve always been the one to brush things off, to keep things light, to act like none of this weighs you down. But I know you too well for that. I see it, even if you don’t say it."

A silence stretched between them. For a moment, she thought he had hung up.

Then–

"When the paparazzi swarmed me today, when they kept pushing and shouting questions about the car, my career, if I thought I was failing—" he exhaled sharply, his voice falling quieter, as if he was telling a secret. "I thought, ‘I’m afraid of the life that I’ve made.’"

Her heart clenched.

"I knew what I was stepping into. I dreamt about this. But I never imagined people could be so cruel, so invasive. And then there’s all the articles, all the headlines about McLaren’s downfall, and guess whose face they always put next to them? Not Carlos. Me."

"That’s bullshit, what they are doing."

"It is." His voice was raw. "I get that Carlos is performing better, but blaming everything on me? Acting like I’m the reason the team is struggling? It’s just… unfair."

"You’re right. It is unfair." She wanted to reach through the phone, to shake him, to remind him of how much he’d already accomplished. "But tell me, Lando – what can we do? How can I help? How can your family, your friends… what do you need?"

Another pause. Then, softer–

"I don’t know."

But at least for the first time, he didn’t brush her off.

She held onto that small win and carried on. "Well, your parents are coming to France and Austria." A beat. "And I’m doing everything in my power to join you in Silverstone."

He let out a breath, but she wasn’t done.

"Lando, what people say online? It’s bullshit. They don’t know you. They see what they want to see, and they make judgments from the outside. Don’t give them the power to decide how you feel about yourself."

Silence hummed between them for a moment before he muttered, almost to himself, "I just realized that on top of everything, I’m a shit boyfriend. I didn’t even ask you how uni is going."

She huffed, exasperated. "Bullshit talking again, Lan."

A small, tired chuckle from his end.

"Call me an idiot, or just in love, but you are the best thing that has ever happened to me." Her voice softened. "And my struggles? They’re practically nonexistent compared to yours. I don’t have the whole world judging my every step."

A deep breath, a sigh.

"That doesn’t mean they don’t matter."

"Chill, we catch on to my boring life plenty. Same old, not failing and exams are coming at the end of June. I will be fine. As long as you are."

____________

[Phone ringing…]

"Lando, thank God you picked up. Talk to me, please"

On her end, the faint hum of the city – cars rushing past, muffled voices, footsteps against pavement. On his end? Nothing.

A shaky breath. Then – his voice, barely above a whisper. "I just don’t think I can do it anymore."

He hated admitting it. Hated how the words tasted like failure on his tongue. But God, he was so tired of trying to hide it.

Her grip on the phone tightened.

It was just one article. One goddamn article. McLaren considering a lineup change. His picture plastered all over it. He didn’t even read the full thing—if he had, he would’ve seen it was about 2021, about Sainz’s contract coming to an end, about how McLaren needed to step up to keep Carlos.

But he never got that far.

The comments were enough.

That McLaren made a mistake promoting him. That he was too young. That he was the reason McLaren kept failing.

He swallowed. She could hear it.

"What if they are right? What if stepping down would be the most mature thing to do. McLaren believed in me so much, I can’t help feeling like I’m failing them."

"Lando, you are not failing anyone. That article wasn’t even about you."

"You just say that to make me feel better.” A humorless chuckle. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this?"

"Stop. You are at the hotel, right?"

"Yes."

Silence stretched between them. He exhaled shakily, bracing himself for whatever comfort she was about to offer – except before he could even process her question, there was a hard knock against his door.

"Are you–?" His voice, laced with disbelief.

"Open the door."

He heard it both coming through the door and the phone.

His heart stuttered. With hesitant steps, he unlocked the door, and the moment it swung open, she was there – standing in front of him, eyes scanning his face, taking him in. And he must’ve looked like shit, because she didn’t hesitate.

The door clicked shut behind them as she dropped the handbag and stepped forward, wrapping herself around him. No hesitation, no questions. Just warmth.

He froze for half a second before melting into it, arms tightening around her, his cheek resting against the top of her head. Her touch was comforting. She smelled like home. Like the one place where nothing hurt.

She buried her face in his chest as she spoke softly. "You are none of the things internet trolls make you out to be. Your family and friends are rooting for you every time you cross that line, whether it’s P6 or DNF. Your team? They believe in you, you weren’t offered the seat by mistake or pure luck, it was your skill that guaranteed that. Carlos?" She hesitated for a beat. "He’s extremely proud to have you as a teammate, you keep him on his toes, and he’s worried sick about you."

His brows furrowed. "Carlos?"

"Before you say anything, I’ve been keeping in touch with him since you introduced us in Silverstone, he was just keeping an eye on you. How do you think I knew which room to go to?" She let out a small chuckle. "He cares about you, Lan. We all do."

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He just held on tighter, like letting go would send him spiraling again.

"This bullshit will pass. Don’t let them win. You don’t shut them up by stepping down, Lan. You do it by proving them wrong."

She could feel his breathing slow, the way his shoulders – usually burdened with the weight of the world – dropped ever so slightly. Maybe things wouldn’t miraculously get better overnight. Maybe the doubt wouldn’t disappear in a snap.

But he still felt the fragile sense of ease building in his chest.

206 notes · View notes

kbwrites · 9 months ago

Text

“Kentooooo” You hummed in a sing-song voice.

He let out a sigh through the phone.

“Y/N. How much have you had to drink?” His phone resting between his cheek and shoulder as he slips on his shoes.

“Not that much~” He can hear your pout through the phone.

Kento Nanami was a pretty serious guy, so how he got saddled with such a troublesome best friend was beyond him.

Maybe it was the fact that they’d known each other since high school.

Maybe it was the fact that despite your aloofness, you were a good sorcerer.

But maybe (definitely) it was the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the ache in his chest when you were near.

He got in his car, placing his phone into the holder as he tracked your location. Pulling up to the bar–he found you standing outside with some guy who wouldn’t leave you alone.

“I’m fine~ I swear.” You try to wave him off, but he really wasn’t getting the hint.

“C’mon baby, why don’t we keep the party goin–”

“(Y/N). Get in the car.” Kento yelled from the rolled-down passenger window. You eyes lit up as you saw your knight in shining armor.

“Ken!” You beam skipping over to his Mercedes.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?” The guy leaning against the brick wall of the bar sneered.

“She isn’t interested.” Kento remarks as he looks him up and down before driving off.

Kento opens the door to his apartment, holding onto you as your steps become more unsteady. You plop down onto his bed, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

He opens the bottom drawer of his nightstand, pulling out the makeup wipes he bought after your last sleepover.

“Here. Let me help.” he murmurs softly, kneeling in front of you. With delicate care, he begins wiping away the remnants of your makeup, his touch feather-light.

You hum as your eyes close, feeling the cool wipe glide across your face.

“Thank you Ken.” You mumble tiredly.

He only hums in response, focusing in as he removes your eyeliner.

“Kento? You’re such a good guy.”

“Thank you (Y/N).”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend yet?”

He pauses, his hand stilling as he looks at your peaceful face. Taking a deep breath, he brushes a thumb gently over your cheek. If only you knew…

“I’m… just waiting for the right one I guess.” he said, the same answer he always gave you.

You roll your eyes huffing, head hitting the plush of his pillow.

Kento can’t help the smile that graces his lips as he watches your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion finally taking over. He gently tucks the blanket around you, making sure you’re warm and comfortable. As he smooths the covers, you mumble a sleepy, “G’night, Ken.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” he whispers, brushing a final thumb over your cheek before standing, he grabs the pillow on your left side.

With a quiet sigh, Kento grabs a blanket from the closet and exits the room, leaving you to rest peacefully in his bed. As he makes his way to the couch, he glances back one last time, content to be the perfect gentleman, even if it means spending another night alone—as long as you were safe.

#kbwrites #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader

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hcneymooners · 1 month ago

Text

౨ৎ to be dangerous and blooming, to eat of you.

ceo!paige x architect!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: azzi is a sought-after architect known for her quiet intensity and near-spiritual approach to space. paige—a former wnba star turned sports tech ceo—didn’t expect much when her assistant picked her to design the house. but months pass, walls rise, and suddenly paige can’t stop thinking about her architect.

cw: mentions of parent death, fluff, slow-ish burn, strangers-to-lovers, aged-up!pazzi.

notes: this would not leave me alone, it was like a ghost against its own grave. fully inspired by @pbaz7 in general, but more specifically their beautiful, recent pazzi "finding peace in you" series which i want fed into my blood via an iv. as always i hope you enjoy. feel free to tell me what you think. i try my best to respond to everything. i love you.

the sky was still the color of ink, streaked thin with lavender and powder-blue light—a fragile morning that seemed to apologize for arriving at all.

paige hadn’t meant to be early, but she’d barely slept. her hoodie was inside out, an old relic from her uconn days, and her sneakers were unlaced; there was the familiar tension in her jaw from clenching through dreams she couldn’t remember. she tried to lose some of it, stretching her mouth into strange shapes as her white mercedes eqs rolled over the gravel beginnings of her destination.

the lot was quiet but not still. the wind picked at the edges of the tarps. there was the smell of fresh earth and wood dust, and something more subtle underneath—clay maybe, or sage. parked off to the side was a mercedes g-wagon, its body dipped in a deep green that pushed against the world's noise and begged it to be silent. the bottom of it was edged with a light layer of dirt. whoever drove it put it to its full use.

good taste, paige thought to herself. she stepped out of her car, closing the door softly. her phone buzzed with every step she took toward the skeletal structure looming just out of reach and eventually, she stopped, tilting her head back in annoyance.

she turned back, tossing her phone into the cup holder and leaving it behind. she walked again, back toward the specter of her future house, and tugged her blonde hair into a loose ponytail. her roots were dark and peeking through; she needed ingrid to book her an appointment at the salon before she flew to toronto for whatever conference she’d agreed to speak at.

paige stepped into what would be the front room, fingers brushing the frame of the temporary doorway. the beams still looked like bones. she stood there, one sneaker slightly sunk in the soil, letting her eyes adjust.

and then she saw her.

the woman was crouched at the far end of the lot, alone, barefoot, her hand in the dirt as if communing with it. she wore a cardigan in a soft, worn orchid purple that hung open, and beneath it an off-the-shoulder top, same color, thinner from wear. the fabric clung delicately to her chest and revealed its swell—not tight, not deliberate, just honest. it wasn’t sexual; it was a mere acknowledgment of her body. her pants folded at the waist like they were meant to, easy and fluid in motion, a smokey blue that matched the sky around them.

paige didn’t speak. just watched, leaning back against the doorway with a titled head.

the woman was tracing lines into the ground with the side of her hand, slow, rhythmic, not unlike a person stirring honey into tea or braiding hair without thinking. her braids were swept back—french curls, spinning down to the waist, a bath of dark brown—and clipped in pl.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･ace with an amber claw clip engraved with a delicate gold design.

for a moment, paige forgot she’d come here to meet anyone. her keys were still in her hands, but she couldn’t remember pulling them out. there was something inside her—a little itch behind the ribs, a breath trapped hot in her chest—that bloomed forward.

the woman didn’t look up right away. when she did, it was brief—just enough to clock paige, then return to the dirt, brushing her hand flat over the lines she’d made.

paige stepped closer and cleared her throat. “didn’t know anyone would be here this early.”

the woman looked up again. her gaze landed on paige and stayed, not exactly warm, but not unkindly either. only curious. quiet.

“neither did i,” she said. “but sometimes it helps to listen to the house before it starts lying.”

paige raised a brow, folding her arms. “houses lie?”

“all the time,” the other woman said, straightening slowly. she brushed her hands against her thighs, light swipes that somehow managed to look graceful. “to clients, to inspectors, to light. you learn to read through it. even hear it.”

“mm,” paige said. it was a noncommittal sound. “i don’t think my ears are tuned for that. you must be azzi.”

azzi crossed her arms, a smile flickering around her mouth. “and you must be ingrid.”

that startled a smile out of paige, her eyes brightening at the tease. it was a slight jab, but fair.

paige had been wielding her executive assistant like a shield when it came to this whole process. she’d be loath to part with her “bachelor pad” as her brother called it, to step further into her adulthood and put her name on a deed and a house but her family just wouldn’t leave her alone. she’d given in, mostly because she loved them, but had kept her distance until now.

“touché,” paige said. “unfortunately, ingrid couldn’t make it because she is not one to wake up at the ass crack of dawn. so, i had to show up. hope i haven't disappointed.”

azzi took a few steps toward paige, feet bare against the gravel like it didn’t matter. paige tried not to notice how the cardigan slipped further down her shoulder as she moved, exposing more soft, brown skin. she tried not to notice a lot of things.

“you haven’t,” azzi said.

paige could smell her, could feel the notes of her perfume begin to snake inside of her head like the smoke of a flame. gardenia, honey, hints of sticky peach, and milk.

“didn’t think architects got their hands dirty,” paige said, teasing lightly.

azzi tilted her head. “and here i thought executives stayed in their cars.”

that got a low laugh out of paige, caught off-guard. “you always this charming?”

azzi didn’t smile, but her voice softened. she stepped back. “no,” she said. “i don’t flirt. i build.”

there was a beat of quiet. the breeze tugged at the hem of azzi’s cardigan, and paige watched the weak, watery strips of sun land along her collarbone. then azzi nodded toward the frame of the house.

“you don’t know what you want yet. that’s okay. we’ll find it.”

paige looked over at her. “how do you know i don’t know?”

“because your questionnaire was surface level at best,” azzi said simply. “you keep using the words house, building. never ‘home.’ you are unsure if you even want this, let alone what you want to be inside of it.”

azzi crouched again, touching a spot near the beams, then gestured for paige to join her. she hesitated, then stepped forward, crouching too. azzi turned, her lips plump and wet with gloss. they parted, two pink petals. this close, paige could see the dirt on the fat of her fingertips and a thin ring of it underneath her nails.

“can i ask you a question?”

paige paused, then nodded.

“what was one thing in everyone else’s homes that you loved as a kid?” azzi asked quietly. “that you kept thinking about when you left? the thing that made you go ‘fuck, i wish we had that.’”

paige looked at her, startled for a second. she smiled wryly.“you ask everybody that?”

“only people who need it. my job is to be the nudge, not the push. given your history, you already push yourself.”

“so you looked me up?” paige asked, smiling cheekily.

azzi gave her a look, but paige saw the amusement settle across her face. “to work with you, i have to know who you are.”

“what do you know?”

“nothing,” azzi said. she smelled more like summer peaches the longer they crouched together. “i learned what your brand is. pro-athelete-turned-tech-mogul with a focus on health and mentorship. the body as a temple. the real you? that’s private. i’ll learn as we go, i think.”

something flickered behind paige’s eyes. not quite a smile, not quite defense. just something soft.

azzi didn’t press. she just touched the earth again, palm flat, grounding herself. “i don’t want to erase you. tech’s good,” she added. “you’ll most likely want it in an everyday sense based on what you sell. maybe a smart fridge, but we’ll build around it. we cover it with wood cabinets so it doesn’t reflect the flash when taking photos. or if there are kids one day, it doesn’t get cracked.”

paige blinked. “you think ahead.”

“i listen,” azzi said. “to the house. to you. sometimes to the light.”

she looked up at paige one last time, that long, quiet stare like a lighthouse beam—patient, unwavering.

then she stood. “i’m here to work with you, to give you what you want, paige. what i know of you, i like.”

paige opened her mouth, but words escaped her. azzi didn’t wait.

“i’ll see you at a normal hour,” she said, already walking off. “you, not ingrid.”

paige still didn’t say anything. just watched her disappear into the half-formed spine of the house. she was left alone with a strange fluttering in her ribs. not nerves. more of a mapping out.

it felt like a blueprint.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

paige didn’t hear a word of what the man across from her was saying. she only watched his mouth move, saw the whistles of air and speckles of spit leave the dark cavern of his throat.

he was old and patronizing, his face sagging with the weight of years gone past. ingrid sat next to her, diligently taking notes. she’d seen her boss's body become more tense with every passing minute and knew paige’s focus was more on not losing her mind rather than the supposed merits of the business deal being pitched.

the room was too warm. or maybe it was just the buzz of her body: tight at the shoulders, jaw stiff, throat dry like she’d swallowed chalk.

the man—walter? wally? fuck, she couldn’t remember—kept talking. words like incentivize and pivot floated up from his side of the table like gnats. paige thought vaguely about swatting them. maybe she could get away with a quick pop against his shoulder, a good silencing hit.

she blinked. realized she’d been gripping the stem of her water glass so hard her knuckles had gone pale. across the table, ingrid gave her a small, practiced glance. she did it often, instructing her to breathe without actually saying it.

paige appreciated it. ignored it.

her phone buzzed once on the table. then again. and again.

group chat. family. her brother, maybe, asking if she remembered their lunch reschedule. her mom, probably weighing in on the countertop debate with the same energy usually reserved for national elections.

her fingers twitched toward the phone.

william caught it. “everything alright, miss bueckers?”

she smiled, a slow, flat thing. “peachy.”

he laughed like he was supposed to. ingrid stopped writing.

paige tuned out again. she thought of the house lot. the bones of it. the hush of early morning pressed against her skin. azzi’s voice still lingered in her ears, velvet-wrapped steel: i don’t flirt. i build. her language was sexual in a hidden way, a psycho-phantasmic layering of words that ate your body in the moments when you were alone and could think of her.

paige looked at the window. not through it. just at it. the glass reflected her in pieces. hair up, newly blonde. blue eyes dark and tired. hoodie swapped for a navy knit blazer she didn’t remember putting on. she missed her sneakers.

missed dirt. missed quiet. missed—she barely knew the woman. still, the first impression ran deep, a little too fast to catch.

paige cracked her neck, the pop vicious. “goddamn,” she muttered.

“paige?” ingrid again, this time gentler.

the room had emptied. she hadn’t noticed. her eyes slid to ingrid, who closed the leather folio with a soft snap. she watched as the woman looped the polyester band over the body of her ipad, shutting its violet-colored case with a final, soft ‘plip.’

“you looked like you needed a minute,” ingrid said, already standing.

“thanks.” paige stayed sitting.

ingrid hesitated, then offered, “i’m unsure if you’re up to it, but azzi fudd is downstairs.”

that jolted something loose in her. not nerves. something cellular. like her blood shifted direction.

“in the lobby?” paige asked.

“in your office,” ingrid corrected, and then, almost conspiratorially, “i let her get settled. plus she had a bag of groceries. well—a vintage fox fur birkin of groceries. she brought you plums.”

paige blinked. laughed, small and confused. “like… actual plums?”

ingrid grinned. “dark purple. one already half-bitten. she said you needed fruit, not noise. i’m kind of jealous.”

paige stood without another word. on her way out, she touched ingrid’s shoulder. the younger woman turned, her auburn hair tumbling down the hill of her shoulders.

“maybe i can convince her to give you one.”

ingrid laughed.

paige’s office was mostly glass and light. minimalist and clinical, by design. she never liked clutter. still, sometimes her world got away from her and resulted in an impressive mess. she felt dread as she realized it was one of those times.

azzi was bent against the windowsill. she hadn’t touched a chair. she never did unless invited. her body moved like it always did—controlled, efficient, and humming with withheld energy. a saw that never needed to be against wood to prove its sharpness.

her outfit was issey miyake—a voluminous, sculptural black pleated mock-neck top that swirled around her torso with every breath. the pants, a tepid, banana yellow that warmed her skin, whispered across the floor. it appeared effortless, but was also clearly precise, carefully chosen to avoid any unnecessary fuss. her braids were tugged into one large plait, tied by a creamy, ivory bow sitting low at its end.

the bite of her perfume was softer this time—an amber lead, gardenia sandwiched between dripping honey and that same sticky, wet peach. spiced and rounded. in her hand: a plum, bitten once. the skin split like velvet, the flesh inside red and glistening.

“did i catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

the question was innocent, devoid of the typical ingenuity it held when asked by people who didn’t care about bothering her.

“nah,” paige said. “just in the middle of losing my shit.”

azzi offered the plum. paige waved it off. azzi shrugged. took another bite, her teeth flashing quickly.

“you’re doing too much,” she said between chews.

“you sound like my mother.”

“i sound like someone watching a client she kind of likes spiral for no reason.”

“kind of likes? there’s hope for me after all, huh?”

azzi snorted a laugh, her lips curling wide and fruit-stained. god, paige wanted to eat her. the thought was so surprising that paige choked in the middle of her next sip of water.

azzi’s eyes darted around the clutter of paige’s desk, politely ignoring the rising red of paige’s skin as the executive coughed. papers were sprawled across it in chaotic arrangements. aftermath, fragments of a brainstorm that never really took off.

her gaze was quiet, absorbing. a beat passed before she stepped forward and nudged aside a few of the design magazines and mock-ups that paige had been staring at like they held the answers. the silence stretched between them, thick but not heavy. azzi set her plum gently in a glass dish like it mattered. her fingers skimmed a stack of fabric samples that had appeared in the last week, all neutrals and beige-on-beige.

she didn’t say anything. just swept the whole stack into the trash.

“i appreciate you redoing the questionnaire for my firm,” azzi said, staunchly ignoring paige’s open mouth, “but it still felt inauthentic. there are other people in your ear. shut them up.”

paige blinked. “that’s not—”

“you’re not getting anywhere,” azzi continued, her tone light but the words cutting through the noise, unbothered. “you’re too tangled in everyone else’s version of what you should want.”

“okay, first of all—” paige tried again.

“you don’t want any of it,” azzi cut her off again. “i can hear it in your voice every time you talk about this house. it’s all noise. white noise in a dentist’s office.”

she picked up paige’s tablet and placed it in front of her.

“you will live in this. so start easy. and alone,” azzi said. “find something you like. you called yourself an ipad kid. so, maybe look on pinterest again. tunnel vision, just yours. email me when you’re done.”

“what if it’s still not me?” paige said finally.

“i’ll tell you. i’m capable of emailing you back.”

paige didn’t speak. just stared at her. at the braid thick against her back. the faint pink smear of plum on her thumb. the steadiness of her. the kind of woman who knew how to be still, who could hold paige down.

“you drive me crazy.”

the confession slipped out, but azzi didn’t mind. it was good—something paige wanted.

azzi looked up from beneath her lashes. paige liked that she was taller than her, that azzi would slot under her chin if they hugged. she watched as the other woman sucked in her bottom lip, rolling the skin beneath her teeth before letting it go.

“you’ve only met me twice,” was her response. then she was gone.

paige stood there. still vibrating from the closeness. still aching with something she couldn’t name.

ingrid, the ever-astute assistant, appeared in the doorway. she glanced at paige, then at the space azzi had left behind.

“i’m glad you picked her,” ingrid said with a knowing smile, her voice light, almost teasing. she left, closing the door with a gentle click.

the plum in the dish caught the light.

paige sat. picked it up and put her mouth around it, sucking azzi into the space behind her teeth.

it was sweet. her thighs clenched.

she put it down.

opened pinterest.

typed slowly, as if it mattered: big windows.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

things got easier for a while.

the next questionnaire paige filled out garnered nothing but a short email back. “good. more like you.” paige had grinned to herself, tossing her phone onto her nightstand with a little wiggle of victory. she figured she was finding a way to fit into the flow of things, by taking on this project.

so, she called up her parents. despite them living separate lives now, she wanted both of them there. her mother was ecstatic, so much so that paige held her phone from her ear with a grimace before putting the woman on speakerphone for her health. her father was less enthusiastic but promised to show. paige let it be enough.

but fuck if she wasn’t perfect at being self-destructive because thirty minutes in and paige wanted to slit her own throat. it was all turning into a bright blur. paige couldn’t remember half of what had been said by now, her mind swirling with the push-pull of her parents’ well-meaning but suffocating expectations.

they’d stood there in front of the lot, her dad pointing out ideas that sounded more like demands, his voice firm and authoritative, as if he could will the house into being by sheer force of will. her mom was quieter, watching the land with an expression that was half curiosity, half concern like she was seeing something paige couldn’t.

nothing felt right, despite how much paige liked it. the house, the project, it all suddenly felt like it was slipping through her fingers, and every suggestion from her parents only piled more pressure on her chest. every detail seemed to make her feel smaller, her ability to control anything vanishing in the shadow of their expectations.

she redid her bun for the sixth time, and her dad caught sight of her fidgeting only to push harder, talking about how this was going to be her legacy.

"you just want this to feel like you, paigey," he had said, but it sounded more like a reprimand than anything else.

“it does, dad. i like it. doesn’t that matter? why the fuck are y’all so invested anyway?”

“paige, don’t speak to your father like that,” her mother said absentmindedly, flashing her a look.

paige scoffed. her chest tightened and her breathing went shallow. the wide open space of the lot, the unfinished house—it threatened to swallow her.

"i gotta go," she muttered, turning away.

her mom called after her, but paige was already walking. she didn’t get very far before someone was beside her. she turned slightly, blue eyes catching on brown. minutely, her body relaxed in the face of azzi’s immovable calm. the woman didn’t say anything for a moment, just reached down and grabbed paige’s hand.

“come with me.”

it wasn’t a question. where else would paige ever go?

azzi's g-wagon truly was a tank of a car, dark green and unassuming, with a subtle sheen like it was meant to be a part of the landscape rather than stand out. the inside smelled of black cherry, and a pink-capped sonny angel dangled from the neck of the mirror.

it hummed quietly in the makeshift parking lot, parked off to the side like an afterthought. the house was in the distance, looming like a skeleton in the desert, half-birthed and still waiting for life. loomed, yes, but it had lost its monopoly on paige’s attention. what held it now was the woman sitting next to her, and the way she swayed to the soft music from the car’s stereo playing in the background.

the sun was starting to dip lower, but the light was still warm, flooding the space between them. azzi sat self-assured and uncompromised as she drove, the side of her face warm, almost covered in flame by way of the dying daylight. her curls were out, the braids undone momentarily for the time being. paige wanted the image of her burned into her mind forever, the heat of her desire so potent that it threatened to turn her brain into a pink molten mass; a pulse of nerves and pain.

they only stopped twice: once to pick up food and again, to sit and eat.

paige leaned back into the seat, her legs stretching long across the bench, the worn denim of her patchwork jorts fraying at the edges. her hair was falling from its messy bun, stray strands falling against her forehead as she absently picked at the edge of a fry, her eyes flicking between azzi and the world around them.

the trunk had been opened to create more space, the seats put down as well, and warm summer air gently invaded the backseat. a tangle of takeout bags sat between them, food half-eaten, the quiet hum of the forest just outside the window. azzi had driven them to a park but had made no effort to get out and join the throng of people in the center of the green.

she made it clear the car was their fortress, and everyone else must stay out. paige was grateful. she needed the boundary.

"tell me what’s holding you back," azzi said quietly, her eyes fixed on the grass ahead, though her hand was resting lazily on her thigh, fingertips drumming against it as she waited for paige to answer.

she was in stark contrast in her white scoop-neck halter top, her body leaned back a little too, like she was trying to make herself comfortable, but paige could see there was something tight in her posture. she had on low-rise jeans—old school, real low-rise that cupped the moonish curve of her hips—and they fit her perfectly, baring the cool jewel of her belly piercing every time she shifted.

paige couldn’t help it, her gaze lingering on the way azzi’s hips moved when she shifted, the soft line of her stomach that made paige’s heart skip a little each time she saw it.

paige chewed on a fry, squinting slightly out into the world, pretending to consider the question before shrugging. “i don’t know. i guess… it’s just a lot, you know? like, what if i can’t make it mine? what if i can’t figure out how to feel about it?”

azzi nodded, her profile sharp in the half-light, and paige noticed the tension in her jaw, the way she softened her gaze when it shifted back to her. “with what i saw of your parents, i imagine it can feel like a pressure cooker. you were right to ask why they are so…invested.”

paige snorted. “i’m a brand, ma. it’s about the pictures of my house, not the living in it.”

azzi said nothing of the pet name, but her eyes flickered to paige’s face. they were so dark and wide, a deer’s gaze from the middle of the road.

"you’re slowly getting into it though,” azzi added after a moment, her voice low. "there’s been a change. you were… distant before. but now? you’re letting it in."

paige looked back at her, meeting her eyes over the cardboard box housing her boneless wings, something wry pulling at her lips. she laughed lightly.

"mm, i’m gettin' more into something alright." she let the words hang in the air, a playful grin creeping up on her face. "but it ain’t the house."

azzi’s eyes widened just the slightest, and paige caught the moment before she could hide it. a small flush appeared on azzi’s cheeks, the softest blush of color. she tried to laugh it off, but paige felt the power in it—felt like she’d just forced a crack in the calm.

"okay, paige. do you always flirt like that?" azzi asked, voice not quite steady. she looked away, her lips tight, but there was an undertone of warmth underneath it. like she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or charmed.

paige chuckled, reaching for another fry, but keeping her gaze on azzi.

"nah," she said casually, "but you do something to me."

azzi scoffed, shaking her head in a way that was both endearing and disarming. "you know what they say. too much confidence isn’t exactly good for you."

paige couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corner of her mouth. “i’m good with it, trust.”

the air between them thickened, charged, in that brief second before they both turned their attention to the bags of food between them. azzi let her breath out slowly like she was trying to regain control of herself, but paige could tell—she’d gotten under her skin.

she felt an electric wave ripple through her. this could become addictive.

azzi shoveled a spoon of quinoa and grilled chicken into her mouth, her cheeks bulging adorably.

"so," paige said, popping a fry into her mouth, "you’re telling me you don’t sneak a little unhealthy snack every once in a while?"

azzi shot her a sideways glance, eyes flicking to paige’s takeout container with a raised brow. "i don’t know what you’re talking about," she replied, but her voice gave her away.

"you really don’t think i’m noticing how you’re eyeing my wings?" paige teased, leaning forward slightly, her chin resting on her palm. "you’re practically drooling over them, ma. and i don’t blame you because that," she pointed a fry at azzi’s chicken bowl, “looks like it hurts going down.”

azzi laughed, her eyes widening as if she were surprised by the sound of her own joy. it was a good sound—soft and easy. paige smiled and added another tally to the scorecard in her head.

paige: 2 | the most beautiful girl in the fucking world: 0.

"i don’t know what you mean," azzi repeated, though her eyes flickered to the box again.

without waiting for permission, she reached over and stole a wing, taking it in one fluid motion, her fingers brushing against paige’s hand. the touch was fleeting, but it landed somewhere deep in paige’s chest. she froze for a moment, and then, almost without thinking, she giggled.

"you’re sneaky," paige said, mock exasperated, though her voice softened when she said it.

azzi bit into the wing, a little too casually. she was pretending it was no big deal, but paige could see through the act. azzi was revealing herself through this act.

"you’re not even a little mad?" azzi asked, her voice lighter as though she was testing the waters.

paige glanced at her, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"i’m mad, but i’m also gonna let it slide," she said, leaning back again. she felt a grin tugging at her lips. "i’m just gonna remind you every time we’re together that you owe me, alright?"

azzi smiled then, a small thing that barely touched her lips but made something warm web through paige’s chest.

"i’ll make it up to you," azzi said, voice velvety. paige could tell she meant it.

there was a long pause, and for a second, paige was lost. the world around them felt muffled, like they were in their own bubble, floating in the warm glow of the late afternoon. paige found herself leaning in, watching as azzi wiped her mouth. she propped her elbows on her knees as she spoke, her voice quieter now, more serious.

"i think… i think i’m scared. of this whole thing. i’m scared of what happens if i let myself care about it. about the house. about the project."

“why?” azzi asked, her tone careful.

“before, when i lived on my own in my ‘bachelor pad’,” paige rolled her eyes as she said it, “i don’t know. it felt like a good barrier between the public and my life. with this house, as stupid as it sounds, i feel like it's going to open up more opportunities for people to feed on me. it’s going to be headlines about me purchasing and building, speculation about the next steps like kids and marriage, and shit. ‘why is the condo not enough? you know?”

azzi hummed, still leaving room for paige to speak. she set the finished wing down in the container, reaching for her water bottle, but not looking away from paige. she was listening—really listening.

“then there will be the interview requests. the architectural digest tours, the vogue spread. like fuck.” paige drew the curse out and azzi shifted as she did, her stomach surging with heat at the growl of it. “i hate the media, az. i hate it. i hate talking.”

"i think you’re scared of a lot of things, paige," azzi said quietly, her tone more serious than before. “but you have more control than you think. an interview request is a request, not a court order.”

she looked at her, her gaze needling deep into paige’s skin. she could feel the puncture, but there was no pain. only release.

“you don’t owe anyone anything.”

paige swallowed and closed her eyes. she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at the feeling of being seen so closely. she shook her head slightly, trying to push the feeling away.

“it’s not that easy.”

azzi made a noise of disagreement, and paige opened her eyes. “most of the time, it only feels that way.”

for a brief moment, their faces were close, too close, the air between them crackling with something unspoken. paige didn’t know when they had moved closer, but she didn’t want to move away. azzi was perfectly still, lips parted slightly, and for a moment, paige swore she could feel the weight of the entire world resting in that space between them.

then a child’s yell tore into the silence, and the spell broke.

“you like to give me nicknames,” azzi said lightly, beginning to clean up their meal. “ma, az. i didn’t know we were so close, ms. bueckers.”

paige shot her a knowing grin as she hopped out of the trunk and stretched.

“you’d complain if you hated it. i don’t think you’re the type to not say shit.”

azzi blinked, her face flushing with a mixture of surprise and something else. it was that familiar pull from before, the one that made paige’s heart run that race, send that thread through the needle.

"you're impossible," azzi muttered, but the softness in her voice told paige that it wasn’t an insult.

paige felt a small victory then, a little spark of something inside her. azzi liked her. and that felt like something.

“come on,” paige said, her voice thick with affection. “i’ll drive back.”

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

the sky was ink-dark when paige next turned into the driveway, her headlights sweeping across what was no longer just a skeleton. the house had skin now—walls and windows and the beginnings of a life. she killed the engine and sat for a moment, letting the silence settle around her. no elevator music. no neighbors' footsteps. no security guard nodding hello in the lobby. just… stillness. maybe this was what the whole house thing was about.

her flight from san francisco had been delayed twice. the flagship launch had gone well, honestly better than expected, but she'd spent the entire day surrounded by people wanting pieces of her: reporters with their hungry questions, investors with their anxious eyes, and fans with their phones already raised for selfies. by the time she boarded, her smile felt painted on.

but the closer she got to home, to azzi, the more settled her blood felt in her body. and now, stepping out of her car, paige felt something give and fall through her.

the house was dark except for a faint glow coming from somewhere inside—probably the temporary construction lights. she hadn't expected anyone to be here. she’d only wanted to come on her own, see it before she went to sleep. feel it, feel azzi, before she went to sleep. her key slid into the new front door lock, and the sound it made was satisfying in a way she couldn't quite name.

inside, the smell of fresh paint and sawdust hung in the air. most of the rooms were still unfinished, but they had walls now, and the concrete floors had been poured. her footsteps echoed as she moved through the entryway, following the source of light. a trail of tiny splatters—paint, probably—led toward the kitchen.

that's where she found her.

azzi was lying flat on her back in the center of what would be the kitchen, arms extended slightly from her sides, eyes closed. she looked fowlish, a bird trapped in the act of flight. the construction light cast long shadows across her face, catching on the high points of her features.

she wore faded jeans rolled at the ankles and a once-white tank top now streaked with gray-blue paint that matched the swatch on the adjacent wall. the same paint had somehow found its way onto her skin—a streak across her forearm, another on her stomach where the tank top had ridden up slightly.

paige stood in the doorway, strangely afraid to break whatever spell she was under.

"i can hear you breathing," azzi said without opening her eyes.

paige smiled despite herself. "that's low-key creepy."

"the house told me you were here."

"now you're just fucking w’me."

azzi's eyes opened then, finding paige's in the dimness. "maybe a little." a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "how was the launch?"

paige sighed, dropping her bag near the doorway. "exhausting. successful. the usual."

"congratulations, paige."

paige felt her dna rearrange as azzi said her full name, as she took in the way her sweet mouth moved around it and pushed it out.

"thank you, az."

silence settled between them, comfortable rather than strained. paige moved closer, sinking until she was sitting cross-legged beside azzi's prone form. she let her hand rest lightly on the cool concrete, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from azzi's skin without actually touching her.

"what you doing?" she asked, nodding toward azzi's position on the floor.

"what you hired me to do, bueckers. working." azzi's eyes drifted closed again. "the kitchen needs a skylight."

"is that right?"

"mm-hmm. the overhead light we planned won't work. too…" azzi gestured vaguely with one hand. "artificial. morning light should come from above in a kitchen. you'll want that when you make coffee."

paige snorted. "bold of you to assume i make coffee."

"you will, here." the certainty in azzi's voice sent something warm through paige's chest.

"how do you know that?"

"the house tells me things."

"you're so fucking weird." but paige was smiling as she said it, her fingertips inching closer until they just barely grazed the side of azzi's hand.

azzi opened one eye, the brown of it piercing even on its own. "lie down."

"what?"

"lie down, paige."

paige hesitated only briefly before stretching out on the concrete beside azzi. the floor was cool and hard against her back, but not uncomfortable. above them, the ceiling was still exposed in places, wooden beams intersecting with electrical wiring. she watched it swing, never looking away as she let her arm press against azzi's, skin to skin, the contact electric even through her exhaustion. she felt azzi press back, her body shifting to apply equal pressure.

"close your eyes," azzi instructed.

"we meditating?"

"we're listening."

paige closed her eyes with a loose grin, feeling slightly ridiculous but willing to play along. for a while, all she heard was their breathing and the occasional creak of the new structure settling. her awareness shifted to the places where their bodies connected—shoulder to shoulder, the sides of their arms, the occasional brush of azzi's pinky finger against hers.

she breathed in deeply, letting azzi’s smell web along her bones and veins. it was borderline erotic, how the peach note wept all over azzi’s skin and clothes. how the gardenia got stuck, how the cinnamon seemed to crawl and transfer over onto paige. she felt it like ants and her mouth parted, like she would’ve let them in if they were real. she wanted azzi all over, azzi inside of her, azzi all the time.

was this normal? she needed to read the reviews for this firm. or maybe she needed to test out that psychic ingrid was attached to. she’d know.

"what am i listening for?" she whispered finally.

"the house. how it moves. how sound travels. where the light wants to be."

paige turned her head slightly toward azzi and opened her eyes. "where did you learn to do this?"

the question hung between them for a moment. paige could sense azzi weighing her answer.

"my dad," she said finally. "tim. he took me to work with him when i was little."

"he an architect too?"

"contractor. he built things other people designed." azzi's voice softened with the memory. "we'd play hide and seek in the houses before they were finished. empty rooms, no furniture, just possibilities. he'd tell me to hide, and i'd have to listen for his footsteps to know where he was."

the image settled in paige's mind: a small azzi crouched in empty rooms, ears attuned to the subtle sounds of movement.

"i got good at it," azzi continued. "not just hearing him, but hearing the houses too. how sound bounced differently in different spaces. how light moved through the day. i saw the desire for purpose. dad noticed. started asking what i thought about the designs he was building." her lips curved into a smile. "i usually had opinions."

"nah, really?" paige murmured, and azzi's smile widened. her teeth were like pearls.

"once, when i was about nine, we were working on this huge house in greenwich. all glass and chrome, very modern. the owners wanted everything sleek, minimal. but the house didn't want that."

"the house told you that, huh?"

"it did." azzi's tone was matter-of-fact. "i told dad the living room was too cold, that it needed wood, not tile. he thought i was just being a kid, but the next week, the owners came by and said the exact same thing."

"so your dad listened to you after that?"

"he started to. said i had good instincts." azzi turned her head then, meeting paige's gaze. "he died when i was sixteen. heart attack."

"fuck, azzi. i'm so sorry," paige said softly.

"me too.” azzi's eyes glistened, wet and large. she shuddered with the weight of grief, turning her head and drifting back to the ceiling. "but by then, he'd already taught me what i needed to know. it's what made me want to be an architect. to create spaces that speak."

something about the vulnerability in azzi's voice made paige's chest ache.

“i wish it was different. that he’d been here longer, but then again, who would i be?”

paige watched the subtle shifts of emotion across azzi's face, the way the construction light caught in her eyelashes when she blinked. slowly, deliberately, she moved her free hand to rest on azzi's forearm, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath her touch.

"this house speaks to you?" paige asked, her thumb making small circles on azzi's skin.

"all of them do. but this one…" azzi paused, seeming to search for the right words. "this one's been waiting for you, i think. even when you weren't sure about it."

"that's a nice way of saying i've been difficult."

azzi laughed, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. "you haven't been difficult. you told me yourself—you've been afraid."

the word landed with unexpected weight. paige felt stripped bare by it, exposed in a way that should have made her uncomfortable but somehow didn't.

"maybe," she admitted.

"it's okay to be afraid of how much you may want something. i spend a lot of time that way."

azzi turned onto her side then, propping herself on one elbow to face paige properly. a smudge of paint marked her cheekbone, and without thinking, paige reached out to brush it away with her thumb. the touch lingered, her hand cupping azzi's jaw.

"is that why you keep pushing me away?" paige asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "because i want you?"

azzi's eyes darkened. "i'm not pushing you away."

"you're not exactly pulling me in. been leaving me on read."

"i wasn’t aware we’d been texting.”

“you know what i mean. emotionally.”

i'm trying to be professional."

"and how's that working out for you, ma?" paige shifted closer, the full length of her body now pressed against azzi's side, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, the subtle tension in her muscles.

the corner of azzi's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "not great."

their faces were close now, close enough that paige could feel azzi's breath against her lips. the space between them seemed charged with possibility, with wanting. it was a raw pause, a silence that held as their bodies communicated chemically. at a primal level, they ached. they needed one another.

paige's hand slid from azzi's jaw to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through the short curls there.

"tell me to stop," paige murmured, her nose brushing against azzi's.

“no, thank you."

that made paige laugh quietly. and it was all the permission she needed.

she closed the distance between them, her lips finding azzi's in the dim light. the kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, but quickly deepened as months of tension dissolved into hunger. azzi's hand came up to curl around the back of paige's neck, pulling her closer.

paige thought of azzi’s plum from that day in her office, of that first split of velvet skin, the sweet flesh inside. azzi tasted like that—like something ripe and perfect finally broken open. a sound escaped her throat, half-groan, half-sigh, as azzi's tongue slid against her own.

azzi let out an odd, fractured mewl as paige rolled them over. now, azzi was on top of her. her body pressed down into paige’s grip, letting the older woman snake a hand down her back and under her tank. she shivered as paige dragged her nails across her skin, her palm coming to rest over the lace cup of azzi’s bra.

azzi loved the way she touched her: urgent, desperate to explore but restraining herself and her necessity until azzi allowed her to break. and azzi would’ve fucked her right there, would’ve let paige suck and lap at the dark peaks of her nipples as her hips bucked.

but it wouldn’t be sanitary or comfortable.

when they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, paige rested her forehead against azzi's.

"been wanting to do that since i saw you barefoot in the dirt," she admitted, her thumb tracing the line of azzi's collarbone. "you got in my fucking blood. you’ve been driving me out of my mind."

azzi smiled, coy and sweet. "i know."

"you know? that's it? that's crazy, bruh."

"i wanted you too," azzi said, her voice soft in the space between them. her fingers traced a path down paige's cheek, leaving a blush in their wake. "but i needed to be sure you wanted the house first. not just me."

paige pulled back slightly, meeting azzi's eyes. "why?"

"because i build homes, paige." azzi's fingers found the hem of paige's shirt, slipping beneath to rest against the warm skin of her lower back. "not temporary spaces. i needed to know you were interested in any sort of permanence.”

"i am," paige said and was surprised by how much she meant it. "for real. i'm, like, really interested."

azzi laughed then, a full, unguarded burst that transformed her face. it was crystalline, an external expulsion of light.

she leaned in, kissing paige again, slower this time but no less intense. paige felt herself melting into the touch, her body responding to every point of contact—azzi's hand on her back, their legs intertwined, the soft press of breasts against her own.

above them, the moon was full, a white eye with no pupil or iris. it stained them silver, bled through where the skylight would eventually be.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

the house was near its end.

the contractors appeared less and less, and the house filled more and more. paige let her mother have free reign on the quality of furniture, sending her a rather massive pinterest board alongside ingrid’s number if she had any opinion that contradicted her daughter’s.

azzi stood by the window in what would be paige's bedroom, her silhouette outlined in late afternoon light. her burgundy sweater caught the golden glow, giving her an almost ethereal quality against the unfinished walls. the black maxi skirt she wore pooled around her feet like ink, making her seem taller than she already was. dust motes danced in the air between them as she turned toward the sound of paige's footsteps.

"i'm thinking maybe the bed should face this way," azzi said, gesturing toward the east-facing window. "so you wake up with the sunrise."

paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, taking in the sight of azzi in this space—her space. something about seeing her here, planning and dreaming, made paige's chest tighten in a way that wasn't altogether unpleasant.

"bold of you to assume i wake up before noon on days off," paige replied.

azzi's mouth twisted in amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "you will, here. this room wants light."

"the room wants light," paige echoed, pushing off from the doorframe and moving into the space. "what about what i want?"

azzi looked up at her from beneath dark lashes, her head slightly tilted. "what do you want, paige?"

the question hung between them, layered with meaning beyond just furniture placement. paige moved closer, stopping just shy of touching her.

"i want to know why you chose burgundy today," she said, gesturing to azzi's sweater.

azzi blinked, clearly not expecting that question. "i—what?"

"the sweater. why burgundy? do you like that color?"

a small smile played at the corner of azzi's mouth. "i don't know. i mean yes, but…it felt right."

"and the skirt?"

"are you interviewing me now?" azzi asked, her voice lilting with humor.

paige shrugged, her expression serious despite the lightness in her tone. "if you're gonna be in here with me, i need to know what you like."

"in your bedroom," azzi clarified, one eyebrow arched elegantly.

"in my life," paige countered.

azzi's smile deepened, a shy curve across her face. she turned back toward the window, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the glass. "that's rather presumptuous, isn't it? that i'll be with you forever."

paige moved behind her then, close enough that azzi could feel her warmth but not quite touching. "nah, it's not."

"no?" azzi turned her head slightly, just enough to catch paige's eye over her shoulder. “the amount of times we’ve been together, or gone on dates, still fits on two hands.”

“so? you and me?" paige said, her voice dropping lower. "that's forever."

azzi's breath caught, but she maintained her composure, that same amused twist returning to her lips. "and you know this how?"

paige closed the distance between them then, her chest pressing against azzi's back, hands coming to rest lightly on her hips. she could feel azzi's slight intake of breath, the way her body instinctively leaned back into the contact.

"god, maybe," paige murmured, her expression intense and unrelenting as azzi turned to face her fully. "i just—i just know."

the simplicity of her faith hung in the air between them, as solid and real as the walls rising around them. azzi studied her face, searching for any hint of doubt or artifice. paige gazed back, met her there. finding none, azzi slowly tilted her head back, exposing the long line of her neck in a gesture of surrender.

"my dad used to tell me that there would be times in my life when i’d get the closest that god would ever allow to what i wanted. no matter if it was good or bad. when i did, i had to reach out and hold on, or i’d be fucked over it for the rest of my life. i’d always be full of regret.” she tilted her head, and azzi watched her ponytail dip with it. “i don’t want to regret you.”

paige's lips found the sensitive skin of azzi’s neck, pressing gently at first. then the kiss grew teeth, swelled with intent. azzi's hands came up to grip paige's arms, steadying herself as her eyes fluttered closed. she knew it would leave a mark. blushing and bruising had the same internal mechanisms.

"so certain," azzi whispered, the words vibrating against paige's mouth.

paige smiled against her skin. "always have been. about the things that matter."

azzi turned in her arms then, bringing them face to face. her eyes were serious now, the playfulness replaced with something deeper, more vulnerable.

"forever is a long time," she said softly.

paige reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind azzi's ear, her touch lingering on the curve of her jaw. "not long enough."

the late afternoon light stretched across them, painting stripes of gold and shadow on the unfinished floor. in this half-built room, with walls still waiting for color and windows still missing curtains, they stood on the threshold of something neither had fully expected to find.

"you still have more to learn about me," azzi told her, the words quiet and full. “you still might regret me.”

"i won’t,” paige said. “i won’t, azzi.”

azzi reached up with one hand, cupping paige’s chin as she pulled her down. she didn’t close the gap, just held her there. azzi’s eyes never left her. they were two dark planets, heavy with inescapable gravity.

“i won’t,” paige repeated, her voice decisive. “i know it. like i know my own name.”

and azzi trusted that she did.

#mine ; 🐎.#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #lesbian #sapphic

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gregs-phone-adventures · 1 month ago

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#What is the best car phone holder

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brookediamonds · 2 months ago

Note

heyy i requested a similar prompt to another author but i think they went MIA 😞

fem!reader who used to be apart of iron dragons moved to california and joined miyagi do. Miguel and her started to get close but one day before the sekai taikai, reader catches Miguel and Sam together. Feeling betrayed and revengeful, she transfers back to iron dragons without the knowledge of anyone from miyagi do and it's not until the captains war that miyagi do and miguel see her as the female captain alongside Axel. she's sensei wolf's protegee and Axel's "close friend" (!endgame Axel). maybe where miguel feels jealous and guilty when he sees reader and axel together and close 😣

i see her in the back of my mind | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: After years of pining after your best friend, you're crushed to find out it's been all in your head when you catch him with someone else. In attempt to move on, you take the first opportunity to leave home and start new. But two years later, when you run into Miguel again, it tests the person you are today and sends your current close friend, Axel Kovačević, into a state of protectiveness.

Word count: 6.7k Warning: None, angst, fluff, friends to lovers

gif is not mine

The windshield wipers slapped back and forth, fighting against the rain that wasn't heavy enough to warrant their speed.

You turned them down a notch and swallowed the lump in your throat that had been there since fifth period.

Miguel and Sam. Sam and Miguel.

The image kept replaying in your head like some fucked-up GIF that wouldn't stop looping.

His hand on her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her yellow sweater. Her palm flat against his chest, right over the stupid Metallica logo he'd drawn on his white tee with a Sharpie last week when you both got bored in chemistry.

"Shit!" you shouted, swerving a little too sharply around a pothole. The car behind you honked, and you flipped them off without looking.

Not your problem they couldn't handle a little defensive driving.

The kiss hadn't even been that good. You could tell from twenty feet away in the school hallway.

Not that you'd spent time imagining kissing Miguel. Except you had.

For approximately three years, two months, and sixteen days. Not that you were counting.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you muttered, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel as you pulled up to a red light.

Your phone buzzed in the cup holder. His name flashed across the screen, and your stomach twisted into a familiar knot that was equal parts hope and nausea.

You let it ring. Let him wonder where you disappeared to after school. Let him worry.

The light turned green, and you pressed the gas pedal hard enough to make the tires squeal.

Rain streaked across your windshield in angry lines, matching your mood perfectly.

You pulled into your driveway with enough force to make the suspension groan in protest.

The house was empty, mom wouldn't be home until seven, and dad was working from the office today.

The stairs creaked under your heavy footsteps as you trudged up to your bedroom, backpack hanging off one shoulder.

You kicked the door shut behind you with enough force to make your collection of concert tickets flutter on the corkboard.

The same concert you and Miguel attended with sensei Lawrence last summer.

"Dammit," you muttered tossing your back pack to the corner of your bedroom.

You sighed heavily plopping down on to your bed, the mattress bouncing beneath you.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

"Jesus Christ," you hissed, finally grabbing it. Three more texts from Miguel.

Where'd you go?

Are you ok?

Can we talk?

You tossed the phone onto your pillow face-down, as if not seeing the screen could erase what you'd witnessed.

The rain tapped against your window in an uneven rhythm, like someone trying to get your attention. You ignored it, just like you were ignoring Miguel.

Your laptop sat on your desk, and you pulled it open, hoping mindless scrolling might numb the ache spreading through your chest.

You open a new tab for your emails, and see there’s a follow up letter from sensei Kreese about a dojo he’s been talking to you about.

Clicking on the recent message, your eyes scan over the long digital letter:

IRON DRAGONS INTERNATIONAL TEAM - INVITATION TO HONG KONG

"Wait, what?" you whispered, clicking it open before your brain could process what you were seeing.

The email loaded, its professional letterhead emblazoned with a sleek red dragon logo that coiled around the words "Elite Combat Sports Federation."

"Dear [Your Name],

Following your exceptional performance at the West Coast Regional Tournament and based on Sensei Kreese's recommendation, we are pleased to extend an invitation for you to train with the Iron Dragons in Hong Kong for our summer intensive program.

Our scouts were impressed by your technical precision and mental fortitude. We believe you possess the raw talent and dedication necessary to compete with our competitive team…"

The email continued, detailing a two year contract with international competitors, world-class instructors, and housing in the heart of Hong Kong.

All expenses paid. Your eyes widened with each line, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out.

Hong Kong, China. You jumped up from your bed, pacing across the worn carpet, re-reading the email three times to make sure it wasn't some elaborate joke.

"Holy shit," you whispered, running your fingers through your hair. "Holy shit!"

This was everything you'd been working toward since you first stepped into the dojo four years ago.

The bruises, the sprains, the 5 AM training sessions before school, all of it suddenly worth it.

You imagined yourself walking through neon-lit streets, training in ancient dojos, competing with the best of the best.

A chance to be seen by people who mattered in the martial arts world.

Your fingers reached for your phone automatically, muscle memory taking over before your brain could catch up.

Miguel's contact was already pulled up, thumb hovering over the call button when the image flashed again—his face connecting with hers, not too long ago.

The excitement that had momentarily lifted you crashed back down, replaced by a hollow feeling that spread through your chest like spilled ink.

Not anger anymore, just a deep, aching sadness that made your shoulders slump.

Miguel would have been the first person you called. Always. But now…

Instead, you dial the number below the dojo name at the bottom and make your decision that you know will change everything for the better.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

2 years later...

Hong Kong had changed almost everything about you. The way you moved, more fluid now, like water finding its path.

The way you carried yourself, chin up, shoulders back, eyes forward.

But some things hadn't changed at all. Like the way your heart raced before a competition.

The way you bounced on your toes to burn nervous energy. And the way you still occasionally thought about what might have been if you'd stayed in California.

Your parents were supportive enough to let you go, and venture out. They always wanted you to find yourself and be the best you could when it came to karate.

So when sensei Kreese took you under his wing and helped you find the Iron Dragons, your parents were on board to help you achieve your dreams.

Which lead you here, to the Sekai Taikai, the world tournament of international dojo’s that come together to fight for the championship.

"Nervous?" The voice came from behind you, deep and accented, familiar enough now that you didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"No," you responded confidently, pivoting on your heel to face Axel, your training partner for the 2 years.

Your foot caught on the edge of the practice mat, sending you stumbling forward.

You crashed into Axel’s chest, his strong hands catching your shoulders before you could completely demolish what little dignity you had left.

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your palms where they were splayed against his green gi.

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement dancing in them like firelight.

"Not nervous at all, I see," he teased, steadying you with a gentle squeeze. "Very convincing performance."

"Shut up," you muttered, feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

Two years training with elite fighters, and you still managed to trip over your own feet like an idiot. Some things really hadn't changed.

"Just testing your reflexes," you said, straightening your gi with an exaggerated flick of your wrists. "Good to know you're alert. Might need those quick hands today."

Axel raised one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile that always made your stomach do a little flip.

The one that said he knew exactly what bullshit you were selling and was choosing to buy it anyway.

"My reflexes are perfect," he said, his Croatian accent wrapping around the words like silk. "Unlike your balance, apparently."

You narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing the challenge in his voice.

Your time spent together had taught you to read Axel Kovačević better than anyone.

The slight tilt of his head, the way he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, he was baiting you.

His stance shifted subtly, the change so slight most people would miss it, but you'd spent hundreds of hours training with him.

You knew what was coming.

"Don't you dare—" you started, but he was already moving.

His hand shot out, a lazy jab that you easily deflected, slapping it away with your forearm.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, the closest he ever came to a full smile when he wasn't actively laughing at your expense.

You countered with a half-hearted knife-hand strike aimed at his ribs, which he blocked with practiced ease, his forearm connecting with yours in a satisfying thwack.

The familiar rhythm of sparring settled over you both, the anxiety about the upcoming tournament dissolving into the background.

"Your form is sloppy today," he points out, his eyes never leaving yours as he circled you slowly. "Distracted by something? Or someone?"

"Yeah, your massive ego is taking up all the oxygen in the room," you fired back, feinting left before throwing a roundhouse kick that stopped just short of his thigh.

He caught your ankle in his large hand, holding it suspended between you.

For a moment, you were perfectly balanced, trusting him not to let you fall.

"My ego?" His eyebrow arched higher, those unique blue eyes narrowing playfully as he held your leg captive. "Says the person who bragged about breaking three boards with one strike for twenty minutes yesterday."

"It was four boards, and it was impressive as hell," you corrected, using his grip on your ankle as leverage to hop closer, throwing him off balance.

His eyes widened slightly at your unexpected move. You smirked as he stumbled back a half-step, his pale skin flushing along his cheekbones.

He shook his head, releasing your ankle but not before his thumb traced a quick circle against your skin, so fast you might have imagined it if not for the trail of heat it left behind.

You landed gracefully, finding your center again as you circled each other in the practice area.

"You know," Axel said, his voice low enough that only you could hear, "when we first met, I thought you were just another American with more confidence than skill."

You lunged forward with a quick jab that he deflected, his forearm sliding against yours with practiced precision. "And now?"

"Still American," he replied with that half-smile, as he dodged your next strike. "But your skill..."

His movements slowed for just a moment, those unusual eyes studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "Your skill is undeniable."

Something in his voice made your breath catch. These moments caught you off guard, when his usual quiet arrogance gave way to something genuine, something that felt like respect.

"Undeniable, huh?" you said, circling him with deliberate steps. "That's almost a compliment, Kovačević. Better be careful or people might think you actually like me."

Axel's eyes followed your movement, a predatory focus that somehow never felt threatening when it came from him.

"I tolerate you," he corrected, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him. "There's a difference."

"Uh-huh," you said, throwing a lightning-fast front kick that he caught with both hands this time. "That's why you spent three hours helping me perfect my hurricane kick last week. Because you 'tolerate' me."

"I was bored," he shrugged, releasing your foot. "And your technique was painful to watch."

"You’re painful to watch," you snap back jokingly.

Axel snorts, his green-ringed blue eyes catching the light as he shifts positions, moving into a defensive stance that's become as familiar to you as your own reflection.

He's about to respond when you hear sensei Wolf call out for you both.

"Time to head in," he says simply before walking away, leaving you two alone.

You take a deep breath, which Axel notices and lays a hand on your shoulder.

Wordlessly, he reassures you and you both head into the arena, ready to face the competition.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Miyagi-Do. Cobra Kai. Both names make your stomach twist as you read the names lined up with your dojo for Captain’s War.

Out of all the random selections, and they had to be in your first category?

Your team decides to attack the other team first, leaving Cobra Kai to approach Miyagi-Do first.

Fortunately, your four teammates impressively protect you and Axel from the opposing team, leaving you to fight the last three fighters on Cobra Kai.

You easily take their female captain down with a karate version of a Fujiwara armbar technique sensei Wolf taught you last summer.

But the minute you stand up straight to go stand by Axel, your co-captain who just won his match as well, your eyes interlock from across the mat.

With Miguel.

You can see the look of genuine surprise written across his face, those dark brown eyes widened with shock.

He’s standing next to Sam, who is just as shocked as he is, with the rest of your old teammates and sensei, sensei Lawrence.

Axel notices your lingering stare at the team across from you, and furrows his eyebrows when he see’s them, specifically, Miguel looking back at you a certain way.

The tournament announcer's voice fades to a muffled drone as you stand frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from Miguel's face.

Two years have changed him, his jaw is sharper, shoulders broader, hair styled differently, but his eyes are exactly the same.

The same eyes that used to crinkle at the corners when you made him laugh. The same eyes you'd avoided in the hallway that last day.

Axel shifts beside you, his presence solid and warm at your shoulder. You feel rather than see his attention move from you to Miguel and back again, those observant eyes missing nothing.

"That's them," he says quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. It's not a question.

Your throat tightens. "Yeah."

Axel's hand brushes against yours, a fleeting touch that could be accidental but isn't.

His fingers are warm, briefly tangling with yours before he shifts his body slightly, positioning himself between you and Miguel's stare like a human shield.

"Come on," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. "Sensei is waiting."

His hand finds the small of your back, not pushing, just guiding with a gentle pressure that grounds you to the present.

The touch is protective without being possessive, and something about it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

The protective gesture isn't lost on you, it's so unlike Axel's usual hands-off approach that it momentarily distracts you from the shock of seeing your old friends.

Your feet move automatically, following his lead as he navigates you back to your team.

"You okay?" Sam asks as she watches Miguel watch Axel place his hands on you.

"Fine," Miguel breathes, ignoring the turning in his stomach as he sees the corners of your lips tug up when you look up at your male captain.

You used to look at him like that.

Sensei Wolf is smirking down at you when you return alongside with Axel.

"Great job implementing that MMA strategy into your fight," Wolf compliments you, sending a sense of satisfaction through you.

"Thank you, sensei," you nod, appreciating his acknowledgement.

"Next up are individual fights, and then bo-staff 1-on-1’s," he explains.

When you’re standing in front of your sensei, the past you left behind is soon forgotten, and you’re ready for the next category.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The tournament's food court buzzes with activity, a cacophony of different languages mingling with the clatter of plastic trays and the hiss of soda fountains.

Teams from every corner of the world cluster around tables, some celebrating early victories, others strategizing for upcoming matches.

The air smells like a weird mix of fried food, sports drinks, and the faint tang of antiseptic from the first aid station.

You balance your tray carefully, navigating through the crowd toward the corner table where Axel has already claimed territory.

He sits with his back to the wall, long legs stretched out, scrolling through his phone with a slight furrow between his brows.

"They were out of those protein bars you like," you announce, sliding into the seat across from him. "So I got you this weird energy drink instead. The lady swore it tastes like blueberries, but I'm pretty sure it's just chemicals and lies."

Axel looks up, tucking his phone away as his eyes land on the electric blue liquid.

He picks up the bottle, examining the label with suspicion.

"This says it contains 'essence of victory,'" he reads, his accent curling around the words with dry amusement. "Very scientific."

"Well, you better drink it then," you say, unwrapping your sandwich. "We need all the victory essence we can get after seeing that Brazilian team's forms. That girl with the red highlights was like a human tornado."

Axel snorts, but uncaps the bottle and takes a cautious sip. His face immediately contorts into an expression of such profound disgust that you nearly choke on your first bite of food.

"Oh my god," you laugh, covering your mouth. "Your face!"

"This," he says with quiet horror, staring at the bottle like it personally offended his ancestors, "tastes like someone melted a blue crayon into window cleaner."

You're laughing so hard now that tears spring to your eyes. "You- You did not have to be so dramatic!”

You're still laughing when Axel slides the offensive drink toward you with two fingers, as if minimizing contact might somehow protect him from further assault on his taste buds.

"You try it," he challenges, one eyebrow raised. "Since you find my suffering so amusing."

"No way!" you push it back toward him. "I value my taste buds too much."

"Coward," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Strategic," you counter, taking another bite of your sandwich. "Can't win gold if I'm dead from whatever that is."

Axel shakes his head, unwrapping his own lunch with methodical precision.

"So," he says after a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "How's your shoulder?"

He nods toward your right side where you'd taken a hard hit during the bo-staff competetion. You'd won, but not without cost.

"Fine," you say automatically, then amend when his eyebrow lifts skeptically. "Okay, it's a little sore. But nothing serious."

"Let me see," he wipes his hands off on the napkin to his left.

"It's fine, Axel, really," you protest, but he's already moved to sit beside you, the bench creaking slightly under his weight.

His proximity sends a rush of warmth through you that has nothing to do with your sore shoulder.

"I'll be the judge of that," he says, voice low enough that only you can hear. "Remember Taipei? When you said your ankle was 'just a little sore' and then we found out it was sprained in three places?"

"That was different," you mutter, but you're already shifting to give him better access, dropping your sandwich onto the tray.

His fingers are gentle as they probe your shoulder through your team jacket, finding the tender spot with unerring accuracy. You wince slightly, and his touch immediately lightens.

"Hmm," he hums, the sound vibrating through his chest. "It might be strained. Not serious, but we should put ice on it before the finals."

His hand lingers on your shoulder, thumb brushing back and forth almost absently as he studies your face.

You're suddenly aware of how close he is, his warm breathe softly hitting your ear.

"I told you it wasn't bad," you say, but your voice comes out softer than intended.

"You also told me that energy drink would taste like blueberries," he counters, his lips quirking up at one corner. "Forgive me if I question your judgment."

You laugh, shoving him gently with your good arm. "That was the vendor, not me! I was just the messenger of that chemical disaster."

"Chemical disaster," Axel agrees, but he's smiling now, a real smile that transforms his usually serious face into something that makes your heart skip. "An accurate description."

His hand slides from your shoulder down your arm in a casual touch that somehow doesn't feel casual at all.

The spot where his fingers traced your skin tingles with phantom warmth.

"Your poor taste buds," you tease, picking up your sandwich again. "Maybe you should—"

The words die in your throat as a shadow falls across your table.

You look up, sandwich halfway to your mouth, and time seems to stretch like taffy, pulling thin and slow around you.

Miguel stands there, one hand gripping the strap of his gym bag so tightly his knuckles are white, the other hand shoved deep in the pocket of his white gi.

"Hey," he says, the single syllable hanging in the air between you like a physical thing.

Axel goes perfectly still beside you, his body a solid wall of warmth against your side.

You feel your mouth go dry, sandwich forgotten in your hands.

Two years of imagined conversations, of what-ifs and should-have-saids, and now Miguel is standing right in front of you looking like he's seen a ghost.

"Hey," you finally manage, your voice steadier than you feel.

Miguel shifts his weight from one foot to the other, dark eyes flickering between you and Axel.

The silence stretches, charged with unspoken words.

"You look..." Miguel starts, then stops, swallows. "Different. Good different. I mean—you look good."

Axel's presence beside you feels suddenly more significant, his shoulder brushing yours as he straightens.

You can practically feel the tension radiating off him.

"Thanks," you say, because what else is there to say? "You too."

Miguel nods, a jerky motion that betrays his nerves.

"I didn't know you were competing," Miguel says, eyes darting between you and Axel. "I mean, I knew you were training somewhere, but Hong Kong? That's... wow."

The silence that follows feels like quicksand, pulling you deeper with every second.

You can sense Axel's eyes on your profile, observing, calculating, reading the situation with that uncanny perception of his.

"Iron Dragons," you finally say, gesturing vaguely to the logo on your jacket. "It's been... amazing."

Miguel nods again, shifting his weight. His eyes drift to Axel, question written clearly across his features.

"This is Axel," you say, trying to fill the awkward silence. "My co-captain—"

"And boyfriend," Axel interrupts smoothly, his accent thickening slightly as he extends his hand to Miguel. "Axel Kovačević."

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you manage to keep your expression neutral despite the shock rippling through you.

Boyfriend? What the hell is he doing?

Miguel's eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he takes Axel's outstretched hand.

You watch their knuckles whiten as they shake, neither willing to be the first to let go.

"Miguel Diaz," he responds, his gaze flicking between you and Axel. "We, uh, we used to train together. Back in California."

"Yes," Axel says, his voice warm but his eyes cool as winter. "I've heard all about The Valley."

He drapes his arm casually across the back of your chair, not quite touching you but definitely marking territory.

The gesture is so unlike him that you almost laugh—Axel, who normally maintains a careful distance in public, suddenly transformed into this possessive figure.

You shoot him a quick glance, trying to communicate a silent "what the hell?" with your eyes, but his attention remains fixed on Miguel, his expression perfectly pleasant and completely unreadable.

"So, boyfriend, huh?" Miguel says, his voice catching slightly on the word. "That's... great. How long have you two been...?"

"Two years," Axel says smoothly, his fingers finding the nape of your neck beneath your hair, tracing small circles that send shivers down your spine. "Almost since the day she arrived in China."

Your jaw nearly drops, but you manage to keep your expression neutral, though your pulse pounds in your ears.

"When you know, you know," Axel continues, his eyes never leaving Miguel's face. There's something almost predatory in his gaze, like a wolf protecting its territory.

"I watched her first practice with the team and thought, 'This one is different.'" His thumb brushes against the sensitive skin behind your ear, and despite your confusion, goosebumps erupt down your arm.

"She broke one of our teammates nose that day," Axel says, his voice taking on a warm, reminiscent quality that sounds so genuine.

"He tried to intimidate her," Axel continues, his eyes softening as they flick to your face. "You remember? He said something about American fighters being all flash, no substance."

You do remember. The memory floods back with startling clarity—Jian's smirking face, the way the other students had fallen silent, waiting to see how the new girl would respond.

"And she just smiled," Axel says remembering that little half-smirk sitting on your lips that said you knew exactly what you were capable of doing.

"And I remember thinking," Axel says, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always makes your stomach flutter, "this is someone who understands what it means to fight for respect."

As he speaks, your mind drifts back to that first day with the Iron Dragons.

The memory is so vivid, the unfamiliar dojo with its high ceilings and walls decorated with ancient weapons, the smell of polish and sweat, the curious stares from two dozen fighters who'd trained together for years.

You'd felt so alone, so far from home, until that moment when you'd stopped trying to fit in and simply showed them who you were.

The satisfying crunch when your fist connected with Jian's nose. The shocked silence that followed.

And then Axel, standing apart from the others, those unusual blue-green eyes studying you with quiet approval.

"I knew I had to know her,” he finishes.

You stare at Axel in awe, your face warming up at his words.

The way he's recounting the memory, it's like he's describing a moment you both shared, something intimate and precious.

And the thing is, he's not wrong.

That is exactly how it happened, except for the part where he apparently fell for you on the spot.

At least that’s what you think.

Miguel stares at Axel, then at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looks almost like resignation.

"That's... wow," Miguel says, running a hand through his hair. "I guess Hong Kong was good for you."

There's a question in his eyes, one that's been there since he walked up to your table, but you can feel it fading now as he watches Axel's hand at the nape of your neck, the easy way you've leaned into his touch without even realizing it.

"It was," you confirm, your voice softer than intended. "It is."

Axel's fingers trace a pattern on your skin that feels like a question of his own.

You find yourself leaning further into his touch, not even realizing how natural it feels until you catch Miguel tracking the movement.

"Well," Miguel says, shifting his weight again, the vinyl floor squeaking beneath his sneakers. "I should probably get back. Semi-finals start in twenty minutes."

"Good luck," you offer, the words feeling both too much and not enough for everything that hangs unspoken between you.

Miguel nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, which remain fixed on where Axel's fingers continue their gentle exploration of your nape.

"You too," he says. "Both of you."

He hesitates for a moment longer, as if there's something else he wants to say, something important perched on the tip of his tongue.

"It's really good to see you," Miguel finally says, his voice dropping to something almost tender. "You look happy."

The statement hangs in the air, simple yet weighted with meaning.

"I am," you say, and as the words leave your mouth, you realize they're true. Not just a convenient answer to push Miguel away, but a genuine truth that settles warmly in your chest. "I really am happy."

You lean back slightly, your body finding the solid warmth of Axel behind you, his presence steady and grounding.

His arm shifts to accommodate you, wrapping more securely around your shoulders in a gesture that feels both protective and possessive.

Miguel's eyes track the movement, lingering on the point where your body connects with Axel's.

Something flickers across his face—resignation, maybe, or acceptance—before he nods once, decisively.

"Good," he says softly. "That's—that's good."

His smile turns genuine then, though tinged with something that might be regret.

"Bye," he says softly.

"Bye, Miguel," you respond before he finally turns on his heel and walks back to his teammates waiting for him at another table across the room.

You turn to Axel smirking, not bothering to move away from him even though Miguel is now well out of sight.

The warmth of his arm across your shoulders feels too comfortable to abandon just yet, like slipping into your favorite sweater on a cold morning.

"Boyfriend, huh?" you spoke, your voice pitched low enough that only he can hear. "That's news to me. When exactly were you planning to let me know about our relationship status?"

Axel has the decency to look slightly abashed, a faint flush creeping up his neck to color his pale cheeks.

The red tint makes his unusual eyes stand out even more, the blue seeming brighter against the green rings around his irises.

"It seemed... efficient," he offers, though his arm remains firmly in place around your shoulders.

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the smile that threatens to break across your face. "Efficient?"

"Efficient," Axel repeats, but there's a hesitation in his voice you've rarely heard before.

His fingers absently trace patterns on your shoulder, sending little sparks of warmth through the fabric of your jacket. "I saw how he looked at you."

"And how was that?" you ask, unable to keep the curiosity from your voice.

Axel's eyes darken slightly, the blue-green depths shifting like an ocean before a storm. "Like he was seeing something precious he'd lost. Something he wanted back."

Your breath catches at the intensity in his voice.

"So you decided to stake your claim?" you ask, trying to sound teasing, but your voice comes out softer than intended.

"No," Axel says, his voice dropping to that low register that always seems to vibrate through you like a physical touch. "I wanted him to understand what he threw away."

His eyes meet yours, direct and unflinching in that way that's uniquely Axel.

No games, no pretense. Just truth, whether you're ready for it or not.

"The first day you walked into our dojo," he says, his voice so low you have to lean closer to hear him over the cafeteria noise, "with your shoulders back and your chin up like you were daring anyone to challenge you, I knew."

"Knew what?" Your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

"That you were extraordinary." The words fall between you like stones into still water, creating ripples you can feel spreading through your chest.

His words hang in the air between you, honest and bare in a way that steals your breath.

The cafeteria noise fades to a distant hum as you search his face, looking for any hint of teasing or insincerity.

But there's only Axel, waiting for your response with a stillness that betrays his nerves.

"You never said anything," you finally manage, your voice barely audible over the clatter of trays and distant conversations.

Axel's lips quirk up at one corner, not quite a smile but something softer, more vulnerable.

"What was I supposed to say? 'Welcome to Hong Kong, I think you might be the most fascinating person I've ever met'?"

"That would have been a start," you say, your heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to break free. "Instead of waiting two years and using Miguel as an excuse to finally say something."

Axel's fingers still against your shoulder, his eyes dropping briefly to study the table between you as if it might hold the right words.

"You were hurting," he says simply. "I could see it in the way you fought. Like you were trying to prove something to someone who wasn't even there."

Your breath catches in your throat. No one has ever read you so accurately before, seen through the layers you carefully constructed around yourself.

"I was waiting for the right moment," he admits, his voice carrying that slight rasp it gets when he's being completely honest. "And then I saw him looking at you, and suddenly I was afraid there wouldn't be a right moment if I waited any longer."

Suddenly you couldn't wait any longer either. The realization crashes through you like a wave breaking against the shore—this feeling has been building for months, maybe longer.

In all those late-night training sessions when everyone else had gone home, the quiet conversations in broken English and halting Croatian as you both tried to bridge the language gap, the way his eyes always found yours across a crowded room.

"You know what?" you whisper, leaning closer until you can see the individual flecks of green circling his blue irises. "I'm tired of waiting for the right moment too."

Your hand finds the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as you pull yourself toward him.

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his usually composed features before understanding dawns.

Time seems to slow as you close the distance between you.

The first touch of his lips against yours is hesitant, questioning, a barely-there pressure that sends electricity sparking down your spine.

It's nothing like you imagined kissing Axel would be—and you have imagined it, in moments of weakness during sparring sessions, when his shirt would cling to his torso with sweat, or when he'd demonstrate a move with such fluid grace it made your breath catch.

No, this is softer, more tentative, as if he's afraid you might disappear if he presses too hard.

And then something shifts, like a key turning in a lock.

His hand slides from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer.

The kiss deepens, transforms from a question into an answer, and suddenly you're drowning in sensation.

He tastes like mint and the faintest hint of that terrible blue energy drink, and somehow the combination is intoxicating.

The cafeteria noise fades completely, replaced by the thundering of your heart.

His arms wrap around you, strong and secure, and you melt into him like you've found your way home after a long journey.

The kiss deepens, and you're vaguely aware that you're in a public space, that your teammates could walk in at any moment, but you can't bring yourself to care.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dizzy, the noise slowly comes back into focus around you.

Axel's eyes are darker now, the blue almost completely overtaken by dilated pupils, and there's a vulnerability in his expression that you've never seen before.

"I've wanted to do that since you broke Jian's nose," he confesses, his voice rough around the edges.

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you, genuine and free in a way you haven't felt in years. "That's a weird turn-on, Kovačević."

"Only for you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. "Only ever for you."

The words settle into your bones like they've always belonged there, like they've been waiting for you to hear them.

You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes to savor the moment.

"So," you whisper, not pulling away, "that boyfriend thing wasn't just for Miguel's benefit?"

You feel rather than see his smile, the slight shift in his muscles.

"Not just for him," Axel whispers back, his breath warm against your lips.

"Though his face when I said it—" He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, a rare mischievous glint in his own. "Worth it."

You laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. "You're terrible."

"And yet," he says, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips, "you kissed me anyway."

A pleasant warmth spreads through your chest at the gesture, so unexpectedly gentle from someone who can break boards with his bare hands.

"Maybe I was just curious," you tease, even as your fingers intertwine with his.

His fingers tighten around yours, a silent reassurance that this moment is real.

"Just curious?" he echoes, his voice pitched low enough that the words feel like they're traveling directly from his lips to your skin. "Should I be offended?"

You laugh, the sound light and free in a way you haven't felt in years. "Maybe. Or maybe you should convince me it was worth the wait."

The corner of his mouth lifts in that half-smile that's become so familiar over the past two years.

The one that used to drive you crazy with its quiet arrogance but now sends warmth pooling in your stomach.

"A challenge?" Axel raises one eyebrow, his thumb tracing the delicate bones of your wrist. "You know I never back down from those."

"I'm counting on it," you murmur, surprised by your own boldness.

"Maybe I'm just curious too," Axel counters. "Curious about how long I can keep kissing you before Sensei Wolf sends a search party."

Axel doesn't release your hand, instead pulling you closer until your knees bump under the table.

The contact sends a fresh wave of warmth through you.

"We have fifteen minutes," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes search yours, suddenly serious. "But before we go back, I need to know..."

He pauses, and you're struck by how unusual it is to see Axel hesitate.

He's always so certain, so measured in everything he does.

Axel's thumb traces an invisible pattern on your palm as his eyes study your face with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"I need to know," he continues, voice pitched so low you have to lean closer to hear him over the cafeteria noise, "if this is real for you. If it's not just about showing Miguel what he lost."

Axel Kovačević, the most confident fighter in the Iron Dragons, the man who once took down three opponents in under two minutes without breaking a sweat, is looking at you like you hold his heart in your hands.

"Axel," you say softly, squeezing his fingers between yours. "Miguel has nothing to do with this. With us."

You take a deep breath, your eyes never leaving his.

The room bustles around you, but in this moment, it might as well be just the two of you in the entire world.

"When I left California, I was running away from something," you admit, your voice steady despite the vulnerability of the confession. "From Miguel, from what happened, from feeling like I wasn't enough."

Axel's expression softens, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your palm that somehow ground you, giving you the courage to continue.

"But somewhere between my first day at the dojo and you helping me hang string lights in my apartment because I was too short to reach the ceiling," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I stopped running away and started running toward something." Your voice softens as you hold his gaze. "Toward you."

The confession hangs in the air between you, honest and raw.

Axel's fingers tighten around yours, his usually stoic expression shifting into something open and soft that makes your heart ache.

"It's always been you," you whisper. "Not Miguel, not anyone else. You."

You slide your free hand up to cup his face, feeling his soft skin against your palm.

Axel's eyes darken at your confession, the blue nearly disappearing as his pupils dilate.

"You have no idea," he murmurs, his accent thickening with emotion, "how long I've waited to hear you say that."

His hand comes up to cover yours where it rests against his cheek, turning slightly to press his lips against your palm.

The gesture is so tender, so unlike the fierce competitor you've trained beside, that melts your heart.

There’s an announcement over the PA system about the semi-finals starting soon, but it all fades to white noise as Axel slowly leans forward.

"We should go," he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. "The finals..."

But neither of you moves, caught in the gravity of this moment two years in the making.

"They can wait another minute," you murmur, your fingers sliding up to trace the sharp line of his jaw.

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that half-smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. "Just one?"

"Maybe two," you concede, your own lips curving to match his.

His smile widens at your words, and there's something almost reverent in the way his eyes trace your face, like he's memorizing every detail.

His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with his strength in the ring.

"Two minutes," he agrees, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your chest. "But I should warn you—"

"What?" you whisper, already leaning in, drawn to him like gravity.

"Two minutes won't be enough," he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. "Not even close."

And then he's kissing you again, and this time there's nothing hesitant about it.

His lips move against yours with purpose, with certainty, with two years of unspoken longing finally given voice.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: here's a long one to make up for not writing these last few days, I just got a few more requests that are gonna be so fun to write, I can't wait for y'all to read them!! Don't forget to like, comment, reblog, love y'all! ps. also no hate to sam, that's my girl. don't pmo.)

#axel kovacevic x reader #axel kovacevic imagines #axel kovacevic imagine #axel kovacevic #axel cobra kai #cobra kai #axel x reader #sam larusso #miguel diaz #tory nichols #eli moskowitz #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai fanfiction #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai x you

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bugixxxbunny · 3 months ago

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Ryoman Sukuna x Reader

Description: Reader wants to get her cherries pierced but is a bit of a bimbo once paired with her brute of a piercer, Ryoman Sukuna. He pierced and popped her cherry from the back seat of his black BMW I7, leaving her with the question: What piercing should she get next? ~ ♥

Content Warning: Car sex, description of cramped spaces, swearing as always!

Word count: 10,637

This would be your first "rebellious" action that Mommy and Daddy wouldn't approve of; you wanted more "sex appeal," being a virgin well into adulthood wasn't anything to brag about. So that lovely sunny Saturday morning, you woke up and decided to get your nipples pierced! Then You showered, brushed your teeth and hair You headed out of your house and to the best-reviewed piercing shop, reading the reviews on the walk there. A few customers complained about one employee named Ryoman Sukuna. One review said he called her "a bitch" and told her to get out after she showed the design. Another one read when he was doing this woman's clit piercing, he didn't care when she asked for privacy, saying she should "suck it up; your getting it for a reason."

You sigh and speak to yourself, "As long as my piercer isn't Ryoman Sukuna, I'll be fine." Then you hear a deep sigh. "Why don't you want the owner of the shop to pierce you?" You gasp and quickly turn around, and it was a man with long black hair. He had deep purple eyes and piercings littering his body. He held a drink carrier with four coffees, all made differently. "Um, have you seen these reviews!?" You asked, holding the phone to him, "Yeahhh, I've seen. I work there, and Sukuna is rugged, but no one does their job like him," and he starts walking away. You chase after him, "Wait!?" and you start walking with him. "Really? I'm going there right now. How good do you say?" You ask, "Well, he can do any tattoo in any style, and he's quick—maybe two sessions for a sleeve," the man said before you interject, "What about pain and straightness of piercing?" "Like I told you, Sukuna, the best of the best in the moment it isn't that painful, but it depends on what piercing too?" "Well, what about nipples?" you whisper. The man snickers, "Sukuna does them well, but the issue is privacy, he doesn't understand some piercings people don't want to show to everyone." You nod. "What's your name?" you ask, staring up at him. "Geto," and before you know it, you both arrive.

You follow Geto inside, and he walks over to a man with white hair and bright blue eyes and hands him some caramel frozen drink. "Here you go, Satoru," and the white-haired man kisses his cheek and leaves the shop. "That's Gojo; he doesn't actually work here." Geto said softly, rubbing his cheek, then he walked over to one of the stations. "Choso!" Choso walks out. "Here's your hot cocoa." Geto hands him the warm drink. "Thanks," Choso said. He had tattoos and pale skin with two twin pigtails. "Are you still tattooing someone?" "Uh, yeah." Choso said quietly; his voice was monotone he seemed unsure quickly dismissing himself, he walked back behind the curtain. Geto shrugs and turns to you, "Well, it looks like the boss will be piercing you today." "Geto! Why can't you do it?" you ask. "Oh, I'm off the clock. I don't even work today; I've got a date with Satoru," and then you cut him off. "Well, when do you? I'll come back!"

"Geto." A deep voice said it sounded irritated. You and Geto both turned around, and there he was, the man you heard about in the reviews: "brutish," "tall, pink hair." "Black tattoos all over his face and body and an eyebrow piercing?" "Extremely handsome and horribly rude!!" You thought back to the comments; they were all right; he was handsome! He snags the black coffee from the holder before Geto speaks up, "Sukuna, mind doing a favor for me?" "What is it?" "Pierce this girl in private; she's a friend of mine," Geto said as he gently shoved your lower back towards Sukuna. "Ugh, what do you want woman?" Your mind went blank, staring into his gaze, and you shuddered out, "M-my cherries!..."

This cause Geto to snicker behind you and Sukuna runs a hand down his face "Choso is using the only privacy we have in here" Sukuna says rolling his eyes and rubbing his temples like this was causing him a headache. "There's always your car," Geto interrupts before turning to you and nudging your side with his elbow. "He has a nice car; it will be comfortable for you." Sukuna groans and starts walking away, but he turns over his shoulder. "Give me 10 minutes to set up." Geto pats your back. "See, he's not so bad." "Definitely scary," you whisper. Geto and you continue to talk.

Before Sukuna came back, "I'm ready for you." You wave to Geto, "Have fun on your date!" Sukuna watches you out of the corner of his eye and brings you to a back alley. "It's getting dark already?" You said finally you both stopped at a black BMW I7. "Get in," Sukuna groans. "This is your car. Whoa, this is super nice!" You blushed, embarrassed by how stupid you sound. Sukuna gets in the back after you, and turns on the car light. The car was so small with someone like him so large next to you forcing you to feel the heat radiating off him.

"Take your shirt off for me?" You freeze and look away. Pulling off your hoodie, leaving you in your bra, your shaky fingers pop off the clips, letting your bra slide down your shoulders, freeing your chest. This made Sukuna smile, his canines sharp. "Got to get your nipples hard" You knew this was professional, but something about it felt so dirty. You went silent as Sukuna put ice on your nipples. His finger softly pinches and rubs your left nipple. Sukuna speaks up, "So why is a woman like you getting your "cherries done?"" You blush and look away. "Forget I said cherries…and because I want to." "Yeah, sure," he said, switching nipples. "What do you mean by "Woman like you""? you ask, watching him. "A woman who's painfully and a clear virgin." "Hey, what's wrong with being a virgin!" You said before your face falls, "How did you know?" "It's easy really…" he said, his hand grabbing something. "You were scared to show me your small tits and you're extremely sensitive." He rolled his eyes before a sharp pain made you gasp, and you looked down as he quickly puts in the jewelry behind the needle he sat up straighter, sighing and looking away disinterestedly. "You did that so quick!" You sniffle, and Sukuna's head tilts; his large hand wipes your single tear.

"The healing process hurts much more," he sighs and continues, "so the idea is you think these piercings will get you more action, hm?" You whimper, "I guess..." You whisper, "It won't work on everyone," You take a moment to process what Sukuna meant. "I don't understand?" Sukuna snickers, "You really are dumb." Sukuna pulls you into his lap, making you press very clearly on his hard-on. "Comfortable?" Sukuna asks you to nod, and he quickly pierces the other nipple. This time you stare at his concentrated face. The way his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes blank, the way he does it quickly to not disturb you and as precise as possible, Geto was right; no one does their job like Ryomen Sukuna. "You're amazing!" you ramble. Sukuna just smirks, "Great, now you can pay me, with this last cherry." He smiles once more, flashing you that sharp grin. Sliding in the jewelry for the second nipple.

"Only one more cherry that needs to be attended to," you whimper. "Aww, are your piercings feeling sore already? Don't worry; let me make you focus on something else." Sukuna pulls off your sweatpants, deliberately letting his fingers drag down your thighs. His hand wanders back to the lace of your panties; his index and thumb play with the dainty fabric. "So pretty, I just want to ruin it" he whispers, before he takes the underwear off of you and tosses it to the front of the car. His fingers press into your thigh, pulling it back, letting his left-hand wander to your lips. A soft gasp leaves you as his middle finger slides into your pussy with the faintest squelch. "Mhm? Different than yours, right?" Sukuna teased. Sukuna began to move his fingers, making you whimper and bite your lip. "Come on, let me hear you; don't be a bitch." He scissored his fingers, tilting the angle to hit that spongy spot, making you moan, head tilted to rest on his shoulder. "Y-yes, so different. Hngh—Sukunaa!" You stuttered out, making him chuckle darkly. "Got to make this pussy sloppy before I fuck you, huh?" "Ah—yes, yes!" you blabber as Sukuna pushes in a second finger, adding to the stretch. "Making you more stupid, aren't I?" A jolt of electricity going through your body "YES!" before your pleasure came to a halt. Sukuna pulls his fingers out before roughly shoving your back to the middle console in-between the seats. "Be a good girl and wait there." You complied watching as he unbuckles his belt, pulling the leather from his waist and shoving the fabric of his baggy jeans and boxers down. He slaps the spongy tip against your soaking pussy before slipping the tip in. A painful hiss erupts from your throat. "Does it hurt?" He snickers but rubbing your back in a soothing manner. "Y-yes," you whisper as he pushes more in. "Then it means it's working, woman."

Finally, he bottomed out; it was twisted how much you liked it as his hips pulled back and slammed into you, moaning as the increasing pleasure overwhelmed you. The small car shook: the inside was warm and smelled of sex. Your moaning droned out the radio that played some shitty pop song on low. Sukuna continued to pound you into the center console. He loomed over you in the cramped car. "Feel good, angel?" Sukuna pushes your legs back, placing you in a mean mating press, his cock repeatedly slamming into your cervix. "Come on, answer me, you've got it" he grins. "Yes, yes—I'm going to cum. So deep." you replied stupid "Already?" Sukuna teased his hips, speeding up till you gushed around his cock, dumbly blabbering, Sukuna's hips don't falter till he cums. He tossed you a small towel from his back seat. He looked away. "Hurry up; I will drive you home." You looked up, kind of shocked he knew you walked here. "Uh, how—" Sukuna cut you off. "Well, you were worried about how dark it was." "I guessed either way I'd drive you home." Sukuna pulls up his pants and throws you your bottoms and top purposely forgetting your panties, and he looks away almost bored-like, but you had a feeling he wasn't actually bored. You dressed, already scooting closer to Sukuna. "This is your love language, isn't it?" "I don't know what you're talking about!?" He shoves you, his ears cherry red. You just cling onto his arm. "What should I get done next, Sukuna?" "Cookie for sure. I'd like to work up close with that." Sukuna chuckles to himself. His smug grin makes you slap his arm. "No," Sukuna brushes your hair out of your face. What about your nose?" You nod. "Yes, definitely! Promise to pierce me next time, Sukuna?" Sukuna rolls his eye but still puts out his pinky. "I promise," and he looks away, the tips of his ears red once more. You link pinks...

omg, I'm sorry this took so long to come out!! I just am such a perfectionist to my core; also, requests are open!!! Thank you again for reading!!!

-Bunny ♥

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #i need him #choso kamo #geto suguru #jjk geto #gojo satoru #jujutsu sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #sukuna smut #jjk x you #bugixxxbunny

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rootedinrevisions · 5 months ago

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Too Late: Part 2

SUMMARY: After leaving, you've put some distance between you and Tyler. And Tyler has to come to terms with you being gone. But he can't let you go, and comes up with a plan to try and when you back - or at least figure out what to say to you. That is until an unexpected accident throws a wrench in both of your plans. Tyler is determined to show you that he can be there for you when you need him to, but the emotions of being around him again start to rise inside you. Memories of what you once had - and what you lost - keep pulling at you. Especially when Tyler doesn't let the space between you stop him from quietly being there when you need him most.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and support on Part 1 of this! I was definitely not expecting this story to take off and get the reactions it did! Thank you for the comments, reblogs, and likes! This story ended up being way longer than I planned on it being and there will be a PART 3 coming soon (probably sometime next week after the holidays so I can finish up the last few holiday fics I'm working on)

WARNINGS: None, just a lot of heart-shattering angst. This one made me cry while writing it, so be prepared!

WORD COUNT: 6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

TYLER’S P.O.V.

Tyler stood on the front porch of his old farmhouse, staring out at the horizon as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the tree line. The weight of the conversation he was preparing for sat heavy in his chest. His truck keys dangled from his fingers, his grip tightening and loosening as doubt gnawed at the edges of his determination.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to you–only that he needed to say something. He couldn’t let things end the way they had, not without trying to make it right. He had so many things he still needed to say to you.

But the weight of your words, the hurt in your eyes the last time you’d spoken, kept playing on a loop in his head. Then the doubts crept in. What if he’d already blown it? What if showing up just made everything worse?

But then he thought, what if it helped? What if it fixed everything? What if you gave him a chance?

With a final sigh, he pushed off the railing and headed for his truck. He figured you were probably at your mom’s house which wasn’t too far of a drive from his place. He pulled open the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel.

He had just turned the engine over when his phone buzzed in the cup holder. He glanced down and saw your best friend’s name flashing across the screen. His stomach dropped. Why would she be calling? Was it to chew him out for breaking your heart? He wouldn’t blame her if it was. Tyler hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone. He almost let it go to voicemail, but then a pang of guilt hit him. He deserved whatever lecture your friend was about to give, so he swiped to answer.

“Look,” he said, bracing himself. “I know what you’re going to say, and-”

“Tyler.” Your friend interrupted, her voice sharp but trembling slightly. His brow furrowed at the crack in her tone. “Something’s happened.”

The world seemed to tilt under his feet, Tyler clutched the steering wheel as your friend’s words came out in a rush. “It’s her mom. There was a car accident. Her mom’s in surgery right now. She…she’s at the hospital by herself, and-”

“Wait,” Tyler cut in, his voice hardening as he processed her words. “Surgery? Is…is her mom gonna be okay?”

“They don’t know yet,” your friend admitted, her voice quieter now. “Tyler, I don’t know. It…it sounds bad. And she’s…she’s trying to be strong, but you know how she gets. She’s telling us all that she’s fine, but I don’t think she is.”

Tyler stayed silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His pulse pounded in his ears as the reality of the situation hit him. Your mom was in the hospital. You were alone. And here he was, debating whether or not he should show up.

“I think you should go.” Your friend said.

“I don’t think I’m the guy she wants to see right now,” he admitted, his voice low.

Your friend huffed, frustration creeping into her tone. “You’re exactly the guy she needs right now. Whether she realizes it or not.”

“She told me-”

“I know what she told you, Tyler.” Your friend snapped, cutting him off. “Trust me. I was there the night of her birthday when you weren’t. I know. But I also know she’s hurt and scared and stubborn as hell, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you. She won’t say it, but I will…get over yourself and get to the hospital. She shouldn’t be alone right now, and you know it.”

Tyler’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t respond right away, his mind spinning with doubts and what ifs. What if showing up made things worse? What if you pushed him away again?

“Tyler.” Your friend said softly, her tone shifting. “You love her, don’t you?”

The question hit him square in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. “Of course I do,” he murmured.

“Then prove it,” she said simply. “Be there for her.”

Your friend hung up after that, but her words lingered in his mind. Tyler sat frozen for a moment, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He could still hear your voice from the last time you’d spoken, the way it had cracked with anger and pain. The fear of making things worse clawed at him, but your friend’s voice echoed louder: Be there for her.

Tyler put the truck in drive and started making his way towards the hospital. Screw his doubts. This wasn’t about him. It was about you. And if there was even a chance you needed him, he wasn’t going to let you down again.

YOUR P.O.V.

The waiting room was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional voice paging a doctor over the intercom. You sat in the corner, hunched over with your elbows on your knees, your hands clasped tightly together. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, but you hardly noticed. Your foot tapped a restless rhythm against the tiled floor, the nervous energy pulsing through you too much to contain.

You’d sent everyone away. Your best friend had tried to stay, but you insisted you didn’t need her hovering. You also told her some lie that the nurses said only immediate family could stay. Your dad had called multiple times, offering to send a neighbor or someone to sit with you until he could get there. But you told him the same thing. You didn’t need anyone there with you. You’d be fine until he could get there.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the steady thud of boots against the linoleum floor, echoing down the hallway. You barely glanced up, expecting to see another loved one ignoring your instructions to stay away.

Without lifting your head, you muttered, “Go home. I’m fine.”

The boots stopped. You waited for a response, but none came. Irritation flared, and you straightened slightly in your chair.

“I said, go home,” you repeated, sharper this time.

Still nothing. Finally, you glanced up, ready to tell whoever it was to leave in no uncertain terms.

The words caught in your throat when you saw him. Tyler stood in the doorway, his hat tucked in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed with concern, but his eyes softened when they met yours.

You swallowed hard and dropped your gaze back to your hands, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated for a moment before stepping into the room. “Your friend called me,” he said simply. “She told me what happened.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in your lap.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be here. You can leave.”

Tyler didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unrelenting. Finally, you glanced up to see that he hadn’t moved an inch. His expression was unreadable, but there was a steadiness in his gaze that made your chest ache.

“Go home, Tyler,” you said again, this time with more force.

He didn’t budge. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you. “When you can look me in the eye and tell me you’re okay without lying,” he said, his voice steady and calm, “I’ll leave. Until then, I’m staying right here.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you quickly looked away, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Not when he saw right through the mask you’d been wearing all day.

Your eyes landed on the brown bag in his hand. The logo was instantly recognizable, and despite everything, a flicker of confusion crossed your face.

“What’s that?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Tyler glanced down at the bag as if just remembering it. He crossed the room, closing the distance between you, and held it out.

“Figured you hadn’t eaten today,” he said simply. “It’s well past supper, and you need food. Stopped by your favorite place and got you your usual.”

You blinked at him, the unexpected gesture catching you off guard. For a moment, you just stared at the bag in his hand, unsure whether to take it.

When you didn’t move, Tyler set it down gently on the chair beside you and crouched down so he was at eye level. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “Just eat something, okay?”

The tears you’d been holding back all day finally broke free, and you quickly turned your head, pressing the heel of your hand against your eyes. Tyler didn’t say anything, didn’t try to touch you or pry. He just stayed there, steady and calm, his quiet presence more comforting than you wanted to admit.

You didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore, so you reached for the bag, the smell of your favorite meal filling the room as you opened it. It was still warm, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a blanket.

You managed to eat about half of the food Tyler had brought before your stomach protested. Setting the container back into the bag, you folded it shut with deliberate care, focusing on the crinkle of the paper as a distraction. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you muttered a quiet, “Thank you.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unrelenting. The silence stretched again, broken only by the distant murmur of hospital staff and the faint beeping of monitors from somewhere down the hall.

After a few moments, Tyler cleared his throat, the sound startling in the stillness. “Do you have any updates?” he asked, his voice low but careful, as if afraid of pushing too hard. “Have you heard how she’s doing?”

Your throat tightened, and you shook your head without looking up. You couldn’t speak—not without your voice breaking. You clenched your hands in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep the tears at bay.

Tyler’s eyes softened as he watched you, the effort you were putting into holding yourself together painfully clear. He saw the slight tremble in your hands, the way your shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Without a word, he stood from the chair across the room and moved to the one beside you. You didn’t look at him, but you noticed the shift, and felt the heat of his presence closer now.

You glanced sideways as Tyler settled into the chair, his broad frame filling the space beside you. He didn’t say anything, but he opened his arm, leaving it resting on the back of the chair as he leaned slightly toward you. It wasn’t an overt gesture—just enough to let you know it was there, an unspoken invitation.

You hesitated, your breath hitching as you looked at the open space he was offering. A part of you wanted to retreat, to keep the wall between you firmly in place. But the ache in your chest—the one you’d been fighting all day—finally won out.

Slowly, you leaned over, your weight shifting until your head rested against his chest. His arm closed gently around you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. He didn’t pull you in too tightly, giving you the space to move if you wanted, but the warmth and steadiness of him made you feel like the world might stop spinning just for a moment.

The steady beat of his heart was soothing against your ear, a rhythm that felt like home in a way you couldn’t bring yourself to think too much about right now. You closed your eyes, your shoulders sagging as the tension slowly began to leave your body.

Tyler didn’t speak. He didn’t ask any more questions or try to fill the silence. He just sat there, holding you as the tears you’d been holding back slipped quietly down your cheeks. And for the first time that day, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely alone.

The quiet warmth of Tyler’s presence, combined with the emotional toll of the day, eventually caught up to you. Your breathing slowed as you sank deeper against his chest, the exhaustion overtaking your attempts to stay awake. Tyler glanced down at you and realized you’d fallen asleep, your face relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived.

He didn’t move. He stayed as still as he could, not wanting to disturb you. His arm remained firmly around you, holding you steady as your head rose and fell gently with the rhythm of his breathing.

Tyler rested his head back against the wall, his free hand rubbing tiredly at his face. He stared at the sterile ceiling tiles above, his mind racing with a mix of relief and guilt. He was here, and you were letting him be here, but he couldn’t help thinking about all the times before when he hadn’t been.

Nearly two hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional murmur of passing staff. Tyler shifted slightly, careful not to wake you. Just as he was debating whether to adjust his arm that was starting to go numb, the sound of the waiting room door opening caught his attention.

He turned his head, his gaze landing on the doctor who stepped into the room. The man was middle-aged, with a kind but tired face, his scrubs wrinkled from what must have been a long shift. Tyler straightened slightly, his movements gentle enough that you didn’t stir.

“Are you the family of (your mom’s name)?” The doctor asked, his voice soft but clear.

Tyler hesitated for a second, glancing down at you. “She is,” he said, his voice low so as not to startle you. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he shook your shoulder gently. “Hey, wake up,” he murmured.

You stirred, your brow furrowing as your eyes blinked open. For a moment, you seemed disoriented, but then you sat up quickly, your hand brushing your hair from your face as you glanced between Tyler and the doctor.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice still thick with exhaustion.

“The doctor’s here with an update about your mom,” Tyler said gently, giving you a reassuring look.

You swallowed hard and turned your attention to the doctor, your hands twisting nervously in your lap.

“Surgery went well,” the doctor said, his tone calm and steady. “She’s in recovery now. We’ll keep her here for a few days to monitor her, but she’s expected to make a full recovery.

A wave of relief hit you so hard it almost felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out. Tyler’s hand moved to rest lightly on your shoulder, grounding you as the doctor continued.

“She’ll be groggy for a little while when she wakes up, but she’s stable.” The doctor reassured.

“Can I see her now?” you asked quickly, your voice trembling.

The doctor nodded but held up a hand. “Only one person can go in at a time. She needs to stay as calm as possible while she comes out of the anesthesia.”

You hesitated, glancing at Tyler for just a moment. His blue eyes softened, and he gave you a small, encouraging nod. “Go ahead,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Your heart clenched at the steadiness in his voice. Without another word, you stood, your legs shaky beneath you as you followed the doctor out of the waiting room. Before you passed through the door, you glanced back at Tyler. He was still sitting, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher—concern, affection, and maybe something deeper.

He gave you a faint smile, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared into the hallway.

A few hours later, the hum of the hospital had settled into a quiet rhythm as the nurses moved efficiently between rooms. You had been sitting at your mom’s bedside for as long as they allowed, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept peacefully. Relief had begun to seep into your bones, replacing the earlier tension, but exhaustion lingered, weighing heavily on you.

Eventually, a nurse came in, her smile kind but firm. “She’s stable now and will need her rest through the night. We’ll call if there are any changes, but it’s best if you go home and get some sleep too.”

You nodded, reluctant but understanding, and stood slowly, brushing your hand against your mom’s. You whispered a quiet goodbye and promised you’d be back first thing in the morning.

As you made your way back to the waiting room, you pulled your phone from your pocket. You’d been dropped off earlier and hadn’t even thought about how you’d get home. You scrolled through your contacts, landing on the name of a neighbor who’d always been quick to lend a hand. Just as you pressed the call button, Tyler’s voice interrupted you.

“I can drive you home,” he said softly, standing up from the chair where he’d been waiting.

You froze, lowering the phone from your ear. “Tyler, it’s late. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted, his voice calm but steady. “But I’d like to. If you’d let me.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. The idea of being alone in the car with him made your chest tighten. Not because you didn’t trust him—but because you weren’t sure you could handle the quiet, the possibility of him pressing you about everything that had happened between you.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Tyler raised his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender. “It’s just a ride home,” he assured you. “That’s it. No talking, no pushing. I know this isn’t the time for… everything else. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

His words settled over you, soft and sincere. You studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of an ulterior motive, but there was none. Just a quiet steadiness in the way he looked at you, the same steadiness that had kept you grounded all night.

Finally, you nodded, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Okay,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

Tyler gave a small nod, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slipping it on. He didn’t say anything else, just gestured for you to follow him.

The night air was crisp, the faint hum of insects filling the quiet as you and Tyler stepped into the dimly lit hospital parking lot. He stayed a step ahead, his boots scuffing softly against the pavement as he led the way to his truck. When you reached it, Tyler opened the passenger door, pausing to glance at you.

You climbed into the seat, the familiar scent of his truck—faintly leathery, with a trace of pine—wrapping around you like a memory. He waited until you were settled, buckling your seatbelt, before carefully shutting the door.

You watched him through the windshield as he walked around the front of the truck, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the rumble filling the silence.

As he eased out of the parking lot, Tyler glanced over at you. “Do you want me to take you to your mom’s house or home?”

The word hung in the air between you for a beat too long. Tyler’s jaw tightened slightly, and he quickly corrected himself, his voice quieter. “I mean… my place. Do you want me to take you to my place instead?”

You turned your head to look out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across your face as the truck rolled forward. Your mom’s house would feel empty, too quiet for you to face tonight. Every room would carry the weight of her absence, the echoes of your worry. The thought of sitting there, alone with your thoughts, was unbearable.

“Can I… stay with you tonight?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

Tyler’s hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, he just nodded and turned the truck onto a familiar road, the one that led to his old farmhouse.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Of course.”

The drive was quiet after that, neither of you saying much. The occasional hum of the truck’s tires against the road filled the silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more like an unspoken agreement to let the quiet speak for itself, to let the exhaustion and the events of the day settle.

As the farmhouse came into view, its porch light glowing faintly in the distance, you felt your shoulders relax ever so slightly. Tyler parked the truck in the gravel drive and killed the engine, the sudden stillness almost startling.

He glanced at you, his voice low. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Tyler unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside and flipping on the lights. The warm glow illuminated the familiar space, but as you stepped through the doorway, you hesitated. The house felt the same, smelled the same—like cedarwood and faint traces of whatever cologne Tyler always wore—but you didn’t.

You paused just inside, unsure if you had the right to walk through it as freely as you used to. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, and your arms wrapped around yourself almost instinctively, like a shield.

Tyler paused near the bottom of the stairs and glanced back at you, his brow furrowing slightly when he noticed your hesitation. He rubbed the back of his neck before offering a small smile.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, his voice soft. Then, after a beat, he added, “You know where everything is.”

You nodded faintly, still unsure, but before you could say anything, he gestured to the stairs. “I’m gonna run up and see if I can find you something comfortable to wear for tonight. Be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, Tyler jogged up the stairs, his boots thudding softly against the wooden steps. You stood there for a moment, listening as the sound of his footsteps faded, before finally stepping further into the house.

You found yourself drifting toward the kitchen, your fingers brushing lightly against the edges of the counters as you passed. The farmhouse kitchen had always been one of your favorite spots—it was warm, lived-in, and full of charm. But now, as you glanced around, you noticed how disheveled it was.

Dishes were piled high in the sink, crumbs scattered across the counters. A forgotten coffee mug sat near the edge of the table, and you spotted a pair of work gloves tossed haphazardly onto one of the chairs. It was clear Tyler hadn’t been keeping up with housework.

Your chest tightened slightly. He was probably just as exhausted as you were after the week you’d both had. Without really thinking, you filled the sink with warm water, adding soap until suds began to rise. You rolled up your sleeves and got to work, grabbing the first plate from the pile.

The rhythm of cleaning was soothing, your hands moving on autopilot as you scrubbed and rinsed. One dish turned into two, then three, until the pile began to shrink. You didn’t hear Tyler come back down the stairs until his voice broke through the quiet.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Startled, you glanced over your shoulder. He was leaning against the doorframe, holding a neatly folded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in his hands. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.

“I know,” you said softly, turning back to the sink. “I just… wanted to help.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Tyler set the clothes down on the table and walked over, his boots clicking lightly against the tile. He reached past you and grabbed a clean dish towel, drying one of the plates you’d just washed.

The two of you worked in quiet tandem, the only sounds coming from the water and the soft clink of dishes. When the last plate was dried and put away, Tyler finally spoke again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he repeated, his voice lower this time.

You dried your hands on the towel and glanced at him. “I know,” you said again, meeting his gaze. “But I wanted to.”

Tyler held your gaze for a long moment before nodding. He motioned toward the clothes he’d brought down. “Those should be comfortable.

You nodded, taking the clothes from the table and brushing past him, your fingers grazing his for just a moment.

Tyler held your gaze for a long moment before nodding, but instead of leaving it at that, he started to speak, his words coming out in a ramble—something you knew he only did when he was nervous.

“I, uh, was looking to see if maybe you’d left something here. You know, clothes or—just… something. But it looks like you cleared everything out when you left—”

He cut himself off abruptly, the weight of the words hanging in the air like a stone dropped into still water. You saw the flicker of regret cross his face as if he wished he could take them back.

Your chest tightened the reality of the distance between the two of you crashing back in. You forced a nod, your throat too tight to speak, and clutched the clothes tighter to your chest.

Without another word, you turned and headed toward the bathroom down the hall, your steps quick and purposeful, driven by the sudden need to put space between you and him.

You changed into the clothes Tyler had given you, silently hating how comfortable they felt. The fabric was soft and worn in all the right ways, and the faint scent of him lingering on them—woodsy, clean, and unmistakably Tyler—settled you in a way you didn’t want to admit. It felt too easy, too familiar, and you tried to shake the thought as you ran a hand over your face and took a steadying breath.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the farmhouse was quiet, save for the faint creak of the old wood floors beneath your feet. You padded into the living room and spotted a throw pillow and blanket folded neatly on the back of the couch. Without giving it much thought, you reached for them and began to lay them out, preparing to make a bed for the night.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you pause, and you turned to find Tyler standing in the doorway, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. His brows furrowed slightly as he tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

You glanced at the blanket in your hands and then back at him. “I’m making a place to sleep,” you said simply, motioning toward the couch.

He shook his head almost immediately, his expression firm. “No, you’re not.”

Your brow knit in confusion. “What do you mean, no? I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Tyler.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened briefly, but his voice was calm and steady when he spoke. “And I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“Tyler—”

He cut you off, his tone a little more resolute this time, though still gentle. “You’re sleeping upstairs. In the bed. End of discussion.”

You frowned at him, not sure whether to feel annoyed at his stubbornness or oddly comforted by it. “And where exactly are you planning to sleep, then?”

“The couch,” he said plainly, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.

“Tyler, that’s ridiculous—”

“It’s not,” he interrupted again, his voice softening just slightly. “You’ve had a hell of a day, and you’re not about to spend the night crammed on this couch. You need to rest, and you’re sleeping in the bed.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the way he was looking at you—his gaze steady and full of quiet insistence—made the words catch in your throat. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you. Finally, you exhaled, realizing there was no point in fighting him on this.

“Fine,” you muttered, reluctantly grabbing the pillow and blanket and handing them to him. “But if you wake up sore in the morning, that’s on you.”

Tyler chuckled softly, taking them from your hands. “I’ll take my chances.”

As you turned to head upstairs, you could feel his gaze on you, but you didn’t look back. It wasn’t until you were settled beneath the covers, the familiar scent of the farmhouse wrapping around you, that you realized how much you’d missed the quiet comfort of this place—and, if you were being honest, him.

Downstairs, you heard the faint sound of the couch creaking as Tyler settled in, followed by the soft exhale of his breath. And for the first time in days, you felt the edges of exhaustion pulling you into sleep, knowing you weren’t alone.

The soft sounds from downstairs pulled you from your sleep, and for a moment, you lay there disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. The room was too quiet, too still, and it wasn’t until you spotted the framed photos on the wall—the ones you’d seen countless times before—that you remembered where you were. Tyler’s house. His bed.

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and the faint smell of coffee and something cooking reached you, accompanied by the faint clang of a pan. Pushing the covers off, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, padding toward the stairs.

The kitchen came into view as you reached the bottom step, and you stopped in the doorway, momentarily caught off guard. Tyler was standing at the stove, barefoot, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt that clung to his back just enough to remind you how unfairly attractive he was. He looked so casual, so domestic, like he belonged here in this space that had always felt like home to you too. And that realization was almost too much to take, given the current mess of emotions between the two of you.

He must have heard your footsteps because he turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips when he saw you. “Morning,” he said, his voice warm and easy, like this was just another day in the life you used to share. “How’d you sleep?”

You hesitated for half a second before answering. “Fine,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “Thanks for…everything last night.”

He just nodded, as though it were a given. “Feel free to make yourself some coffee,” he said, motioning toward the Keurig sitting on the counter.

You blinked, your gaze landing on the sleek machine that had replaced the old, battered coffee pot he’d had for years. The sight of it caught you off guard, like it was proof that time had moved on in this house even when you hadn’t been here to see it.

“I didn’t remember how you like your coffee these days,” Tyler admitted, running a hand through his hair. “With all the stuff you used to add to it, I figured I’d mess it up. But there’s still some pods and syrups in the cupboard. And I, uh—” He cleared his throat and motioned toward the fridge. “I went to the store and picked up some creamer. It’s the kind you used to like. Figured it couldn’t hurt to have it, just in case.”

Your chest tightened at his words, at the small gesture that felt far too thoughtful for what you thought you deserved right now. You opened the fridge to find the familiar bottle sitting there, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at it, trying to process the sudden wave of emotions.

“Eggs’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Tyler said, his voice pulling you back. He glanced over his shoulder at you as he stirred something in the pan. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You shut the fridge door and turned, your gaze settling on him again. He looked so at ease, so natural standing there, that it made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep your voice steady as you replied, “Yeah. I think I could eat.”

He nodded, turning his attention back to the stove, and you lingered in the doorway for a moment longer before making your way to the counter to fix your coffee. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d stepped back into a memory, even though you knew things weren’t the same anymore.

Not even close.

You sat across from Tyler at the small wooden table, the one that had been in this kitchen for as long as you could remember. The plates between you held scrambled eggs and toast, simple but enough to ease the ache of an empty stomach. The air between you was thick with an awkwardness that neither of you seemed willing to address, and the only sounds filling the room were the soft scrape of forks against plates and the occasional clink of a glass being set back on the table.

You stared down at your plate, taking another small bite, trying to focus on the food and not the tension that was quietly suffocating the space. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Setting your fork down, you cleared your throat softly, your voice tentative as you broke the silence.

“Thank you,” you said, your gaze lifting to meet his, though he didn’t look up right away. “For everything. For… being there for me.”

Tyler’s fork hovered over his plate for a moment before he set it down. He looked down at his plate, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “It was about time,” he murmured, his voice quiet but weighted. “About time I was there when you needed me to be.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through the delicate balance you’d been trying to maintain. You blinked, your throat tightening as you realized what he meant. He wasn’t just talking about yesterday or last night. He was thinking about all the times he hadn’t been there—your last birthday, the other moments and milestones you’d quietly endured alone. The guilt in his tone was unmistakable, and it settled heavily in your chest.

“Tyler…” you started, your voice soft, but he quickly shook his head, stopping you before you could go any further.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said firmly, finally glancing up at you. His eyes were steady, but there was a flicker of something raw in them that made your breath hitch. “It is what it is.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, cutting off any argument you might have made. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what you could even say to that.

Tyler leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly as he tried to steer the conversation away from the growing tension. “Once you’re done eating,” he said, his voice lighter now, though it still carried a trace of that earlier guilt, “I can take you over to your mom’s to get your car.”

You nodded, grateful for the change in subject, even if it felt like a half-hearted attempt to escape the unspoken weight between you. “Yeah, okay,” you murmured, reaching for your glass and taking a sip of water.

The silence returned, but this time it felt less oppressive. You both focused on finishing your meals, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a fragile truce. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough for now.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Angst

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sevcasejay1chicago · 3 months ago

Note

hiii I hope you are doing ok

Could I please request a Jay Halstead x GF Reader

Reader is Diabetic and her monitor gets broken on a call out a couple of hours later when back at the station reader collapses and becomes unresponsive she is rushed to med where they find out she has gone into DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis) and has a seizure Jay is worried and is panicking ect.

Happy ending please

Thank you in advance if you decide to write this request 😘

DKA-Jay Halstead

Authors note: I found this deep within my inbox. I’m so sorry it took me forever to do this. I hope you enjoy it anyways. Also, not really completely proof read, but I hated waiting any longer. 😂

Warnings: vomiting, language, possible inaccurate medical information

🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔

What should have been a run of the mill bust and paperwork day ended at Med. You’re barely conscious as Jay leans over your head, yelling for Nat to do something as you seize, barely getting a breath in. Everything flutters in and out of focus as your mind replays the day.

🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔

You sat in Jay’s passenger side, restlessly waiting for Voight to give you the go ahead. You and Jay have been on this stake out for over 24 hours and your ready to do the bust so that you could go file your paper work and go home with Jay. It was also time to change your monitor this evening and you wanted nothing more than to shower without the old device before replacing it with a new one.

“I can hear you thinking.” Jay mumbled, head laid back as he rested his eyes.

You jumped, thinking your partner was asleep. Last time you checked, his breathing was even and his jaw was slack. “Thought you were sleeping.” You muttered, rubbing your eye where the binoculars you were looking through hit it when you jumped.

Jay sighed, sitting up in his seat and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Well, the sun is up and your thinking too loud, so I figured it was time to wake up and check in.” Jay said, smirking as he reached across the console to kiss the side of your head. “Sooooo?” Jay drug out, wiggling his eyebrows to make you crack a smile.

“Just ready to go home.” You said, looking in his eyes briefly before sweeping the area. There were only a few cars in the area at this time of morning, but this was the time they liked to move product.

“I know baby. Soon enough.” Jay said, reaching for your luke warm coffee and taking a sip before placing it back in the cup holder. “Let me take a turn. Maybe close your eyes or check in with the team.” Jay said, opening his now empty hand for the binoculars.

You sighed, not wanting to argue with him. You handed the binoculars over to Jay before pulling out your phone and shooting a text to Kim to check in. While you waited for her reply, you leaned your head against Jay’s shoulder and snuggled close, letting your eyes slip shut.

Jay leaned his back into the center console to provide you access to his shoulder, knowing you sleep best when you can feel him. His eyes stay trained on the surrounding area, checking closer with the binoculars every now and then. He keeps his movements to a minimum to not disturb you seeing as you’ve been up most of the night. You never rest well on stake outs, but Jay’s former Army background has proven useful for sleeping pretty much anywhere.

Half an hour later, you wake to Jay speaking on the phone in a hushed voice. “Sarge. Get everyone down here. We’ve got a small box truck and three more vehicles pulling into the warehouse.” Jay said, leaning back to look at you as he felt you remove your head from his shoulder.

You took the binoculars, narrowing in on the open garage door. You could see a table lined with wooden crates. All of them appeared to be unmarked, but big enough to contain guns. “I see boxes that probably contain weapons, but they are unmarked and I can’t see inside from this angle.” You spoke into your own phone.

“We will be there in 5.” Voight said, causing you and Jay to jump into action. “50-21 requesting backup to 1415 Kincaid. Multiple players. Assumed to be armed and dangerous.” You and Jay heard called out on the city wide radio.

Jay grabbed your bullet proof vest and handed it to you before grabbing his own. He threw his seat back to avoid hitting the wheel by accident as you scrambled to grab Jay’s rifle from the back and place it on the floor board next to your feet. By the time both of you have your gear on, ears in, and weapons checked, the team has pulled up. Voight’s tires screech as he parks his SUV to block the entrance with Kevin’s car blocking the rest of the way. Jay pulls his truck behind Kevin’s before you are both jumping out and running into the building after your team, patrol flanking as they arrive.

“Watch your backs. We got guns.” Kevin says, peeking into the boxes as you all run by.

“Chicago PD! Come out with your hands up! We’ve got you surrounded.” Voight yells, eyes scanning the warehouse. Tall boxes block the view, but you can hear scrambling as the men pick up guns and begin to take off on foot.

“Stop! Police!” You yell, running as fast as your legs can carry you. You stop every now and then to shield your body with varied crates as you all begin to exchange gunfire, but you don’t let it stop you from reaching an open area blocked off with more boxes for cover. You take off, yelling to Kim and Adam “We are coming to you guys at the back.” As you continue your pursuit of two men running along the other side of the boxes. Once you reach the end, you are able to tackle one to the ground as you hear Kim announce herself, stopping the other man in his tracks.

Silence, other than the clicking of handcuffs, is now the only thing you hear. Jay runs up, pulling you up off the ground as Adam puts the cuffs on the man. “You good?” Jay asks, holding you by the shoulder so that you don’t fall over as you bend at the waist, propping yourself up with your hands on your knees, attempting to catch your breath. You nod, giving a shaky thumbs up as adrenaline pumps through your body. Jay leads you to a crate and sits you down. “Catch your breath and then we can start processing the evidence.” Jay says, kissing you on the forehead before walking away.

~TIME SKIP~

Once you finished doing what you all could, Jay leads you to the truck and helps you climb in, stripping your vest off of you as you basically collapse into the passenger seat. You’d been dragging the past hour, which was now starting to become noticeable by everyone. When you started recounting the items in your possession for the third time, Voight sent you and Jay back to the precinct to change and go home, having everyone wrap up as well.

“Hey baby. Let me see those y/c/e.” Jay spoke softly, tenderly holding your head in his hands. When you groggily peered at your lover, you let a dopey smile spread across your face. “There’s my girl.” Jay whispered, kissing your forehead. “Drink your water and I’ll get us back to the precinct.” Jay said, helping you to put your legs into the truck and buckle you up before handing you your water. Once he had you situated, he closed your door and rounded the truck to get into his side.

You winced as the truck started moving, lightly hissing in pain. Jay didn’t seem to hear it since he didn’t start grilling you about potential injuries, which you were thankful for. You didn’t want or need to be interrogated for a tummy ache. Instead of saying anything, you drank your water, gulping yours down and Jay’s down within minutes when you suddenly realized how thirsty you were. Jay didn’t comment, thinking you were dehydrated from the stake out.

Once back at the district, Jay helped you up the steps and into the locker room. All the movement made your stomach churn. You tried to ignore it, but suddenly all the water you drank was pushing to the surface. You launched yourself out of Jay’s arms and over the trash can before he could even process what was happening. You had a white knuckle grip on the rim of the trash can as you hiccup and heave, letting out a stream of water.

“Woah! Okay. Okay baby. I gotcha.” Jay says, rushing to grab your pony tail and tuck it into your shirt before he is wrapping an arm around your chest and rubbing your back with the other hand. “I gotcha. Just let it out. It’s alright honey. It’s alright.” Jay soothes, not really sure if it’s mostly for you or some for himself.

You cough and heave a few times, shakily latching onto Jay’s arm around your chest with one hand while clutching your stomach with the other. You moan as your vision blurs and you feel your knees begin to buckle. “J-humph.” You try to call his name, fear taking over your voice.

“Sh Sh Sh. I know. I know. Hang on.” Jay says, getting a better grip on you from behind before turning to yell out the door. “I need some help in here!” Jay hollers, having a gut feeling that something is really wrong.

Footsteps can be heard running up the stairs in multiple directions before Trudy comes running in from the stairs near the Sargent desk and Kim comes through the door you both just came through, Voight and Adam not far behind.

“What the hell happened?” Both Trudy and Hank yell at the same time, coming up to the pair of you.

“I don’t know. I gotta get her down. She’s fading Sarge.” Jay says, leaning over you to grip you better in his arms.

“Kim, guide him back with her to straddle the bench. Adam, go call a bus. Tell them we have an officer down. Trudy, help me move this trash can with them. She’s still going.” Voight instructs, immediately taking charge.

Once Kim has her hands on Jay’s sides, he allows her to guide him back, you being practically dragged along. Platt and Voight follow close to you, making sure you stay over the large trash can. They tilt it some once Jay sits and pulls you down with him. Voight has a hold of one of the handles as Trudy goes to grab a few paper towels and wets them. Adam comes running in with a med bag.

“Ambo’s 10 out. 51 is sending Brett and Violet from a call. They are closest.” Adam relays the information, kneeling at your side. “Lemme check her vitals. They want us to watch her stats.” Adam explains, taking out the pulse ox and attaching it to your finger as your heaves start to calm.

Voight sets the trash can down and slightly to the side before taking his phone out, checking your monitor. “Jay, how long has her monitor been down?” Voight asks, seeing that it is no longer transmitting information.

“What?” Jay asks, leaning around you and lifting your shirt. When he sees the broken monitor, he mutters a curse. “DKA. Fuck. Sarge, she’s in DKA.” Jay quickly realizes, having seen you in this situation before.

Trudy has a wet paper towel on your neck and forehead as your head lulls forward. “Y/n!” Trudy yells as Jay tightens his hold on you.

“I gotta lay her down. Kim, I need your jacket.” Jay instructs, allowing Adam and Voight to help him lower you into the recovery position on the floor. “Give me the glucose machine.” Jay says, holding his hand out to Adam. Once the monitor beeped, Jay swore lowly. “It’s 487.” Jay mumbled, pulling out his phone. He pressed it to his ear as Adam monitored the pulse ox.

“Jay?” Nat asked as soon as she picked up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/n. 61 is on the way, but I need a room cleared and prepped. She’s in DKA.” Jay explained, running a hand through his hair.

“Is she conscious?” Nat asked, moving to April and Maggie to whisper the urgent need she had.

“No. She threw up and she passed out. We’ve been on a stake out and then a bust. Her monitor probably broke during the bust, so we had no idea. She’s been struggling with her sugar the last couple of days, but now she’s at 487.” Jay quickly explained, thankful that Brett ran in has he spoke. “ Brett’s here. We should be landing in 20.” Jay said, not waiting for a reply as he locked eyes with Brett’s movements.

“Hey Y/n? Can you hear me?” Brett asks, turning you over slightly, using Jay’s lap to tilt you enough to do a sternum rub. You groan and Brett relaxes some. “She’s not coming out of this. We gotta load her up and get h-“ Brett stops as you tense up, immediately being thrown into a seizer.

“Oh fuck.” Jay gasps, rolling you completely on your side as Voight leans down to move your legs into a more stable position and lightly holds them there.

“Vi, I need the med kit in the locker rooms now!” Sylvie says into her radio. “Everyone else that is not helping, please clear the room. We need space.” Brett instructs, leaning over to make sure your airway is clear and to check the pulse ox that is still on your finger. “Vitals are mostly fine. Elevated for obvious reasons, but not dangerous. I’m going to give her meds to stop the seizer if it continues. Let’s see if she can ride it out first.” Brett says, not wanting to pump you with anything knowing that you have weird drug reactions.

Jay nods and sits back, a hand lightly in your side to keep you there. He mutters soft reassurance in your general direction has tears quietly roll down his face. He’s never seen you this bad before.

“Oh God.” Violet says as she walks into the room. “Here.” She hands Brett a saline bag and a IV kit before she leans down to recheck your stats and airway.

After roughly 45 seconds, the seizer stops. You go completely lax under Jay and Voights’ hand. Your breathing is erratic, but the pulse ox results aren’t causing any other alarms.

“Sargent. Get Ruzek to grab the stair chair. It’s in the lobby next to the watchman’s desk.” Violet says, taking the prepped saline bag from Brett and standing, putting pressure on it to speed up the process and get you rehydrated.

——PRESENT——

Everything else is a blur. Now, as you open your eyes to various voices and bright lights, you do your best to lay still. Everything feels wrong. You immediately feel anxious and start to reach for the mask over your face.

“Hey hey hey. No baby.” Jay says, immediately taking your hand and gently lowering it back to your chest. “Hey. Look at me. I’m here sweetheart.” Jay says, brushing your hair back from your face and gently coaxing you as the heart monitor starts to pick up.

You open your eyes and look around. You are clearly in one of the icu rooms at med. You can see Nat and Will exchanging words outside your room as they glance between you and their computers.

“Baby?” Jay calls, grabbing your attention.

You slowly turn to Jay, locking eyes with him as he finally comes into view. You squint against the light, but Jay leans further over to block the assault.

“Hey you. Welcome back.” Jay whispers, tears threatening to spill.

“W-wha-“ you try to say, clearing your throat.

“Hang on.” Jay says, reaching for the water next to your bed and carefully helping you sit up and take a few cautious sips as he pulls the oxygen mask to the side. Once your done, he places the water aside and immediately replaces the oxygen mask.

“What happened?” You ask, clearing your throat from what feels like disuse or sickness.

“Well you went into DKA. You got sick in the locker rooms and we had to call 61 to transport you. You had two seizers and stopped protecting your airway so they had to intervene. You’ve been out for 48 hours. Your in the ICU at Med.” Jay explained, soothing your hair back as he speaks.

Your eyes widen, staring at Jay as you process what he just said. “H-how?” You ask, wracking your brain. You haven’t had an episode this bad in years. They don’t happen with the monitor.

“Your monitor broke during the raid. We knew your sugars had been out of wack, but since you weren’t attached to the monitor, we had no clue how high it got until you went down.” Jay explained, squeezing your hand that you slipped into his.

You slowly nodded. That made sense. Now you had just one more question. “When can I go home?” You whispered, looking at Jay with the biggest puppy dog eyes you could.

Jay chuckled. He knows you hate hospitals as much as him. “Soon enough baby. Soon enough.” Jay promises, leaning up to kiss your forehead.

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