#a lot of them too like twenty or something

[risingoftime]

I need a fic about Bo from sinners fastttttt😛😛😛😛😛

CHOW'S CORNER MARKET | BO CHOW X F!READER

SYNOPSIS: Returning to your hometown in the South, you see that a lot has changed, but many people have stayed the same. Bo Chow was one of them. Still behind the counter, still wearing that same unreadable expression, still Mei’s daddy… only now, you were old enough to notice how good he looked when he leaned back in that creaky stool, arms folded, eyes trailing just a little too long.

CONTAINS: 18+ mdni, age gap (reader is his daughter's friend), kissing, explicit sexual content, PDA, forbidden love, hard core yearning, widower bo chow, dry humping, Bo is a munch, public sex, oral, p in v.

A/N: i got you babe!! ;)

You never meant to return to this town, let alone set foot in the Chow’s grocery store. The bell above the door hadn’t even finished ringing when you saw him behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, cigarette tucked behind one ear. He hadn’t changed much. Still wore that tired smirk like he knew something about you that you wished he didn’t.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, not looking up immediately. “That’s what you always said, right? Said you’d burn if you stayed.”

You rolled your eyes in response. The past you was very theatrical, anything I opposed felt like the end of the world. You stepped past the fresh peaches. They smelled like summer spent on your Nana's porch, sippin' sugar water. “And yet here I am. Guess I didn’t burn fast enough.”

He finally looked at you. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught Bo staring at you, too long, back when you used to trail behind his daughter like a shadow. You were only a couple of years older than Mei, but those five years felt like lifetimes when you turned twenty-three and started noticing how Bo’s eyes followed you, carefully.

“You here for something?” he asked, voice low, half a joke and half serious. Bo Chow wasn't the type to play around, and sure as hell wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He didn’t blink as he looked you over. He waited as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it anyway.

You swallowed. The air inside the store felt humid, even though the fan whirred lazily overhead. “I came for peaches, and I plan on making a pie,” you said, picking one up. "But maybe you got something sweeter behind the counter.”

Bo stepped around it, wiped his hands on a towel. “Still got that charm in your voice,” he said, now close enough that you could feel the heat of him. His eyes dropped to your lips, lingered. “Bet you still know how to use it, too.”

“Learned it from watching you,” you replied.

Like candle wax down a spine, the tension burned slowly, teasing every nerve.

“You were just a youngin' back then,” he muttered, like he was trying to convince himself.

“And now?” you asked. “What do you see now, Bo?”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. And stayed there. “I see trouble,” he said. But he didn’t step away. Bo stood close, his fingers ghosting over the towel in his hands like he needed something to ground himself. You could hear the hum of the fridge behind you, the slow churn of old machinery and old feelings. Then, without thinking, you reached out.

Two fingers under his chin, tilting his face toward yours. A quiet challenge in your eyes. “If you see trouble, why aren’t you running?”

“Because I never could.” His jaw flexed under your touch.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. Bo wasn’t the gentle type. It was rough with restraint, the kind of kiss that tasted like heat and hunger and years of not now bottled into a single breath. His hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you in like gravity had finally given him permission to fall. Your back hit the counter, knocking a jar of honey loose. Neither of you noticed.

Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, mouths clashing like an argument long overdue. His lips were chapped, his stubble scraped against your skin, and when his tongue slid against yours, it felt like salvation disguised as sin.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he growled against your lips.

“But you are,” you whispered, tasting guilt and citrus.

Bo’s hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip. His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, trying to regain control but failing.

Outside, a car door slammed. You both froze. Reality slipped in like a cold wind through a cracked window. His chest rose and fell. Yours did the same.

“You need to go,” he said, voice low and tight.

But neither of you moved. Because no matter how far you ran, this small-town store always brought you back to the same place with lips swollen, bruised, and hearts just stupid enough to try again.

Mei’s friend.

That should’ve been enough to stop him. Had been, for years. Yet now, you stood there, lips parted, breath catching, and he felt it again, the sharp pull low in his gut.

Bo remembered you when you were younger, full of questions and quick wit, always hanging around the shop afterwith the other youth, stealing pickled plums and grinning like she owned the world. But now? You weren’t that girl anymore. And he wasn’t a man built for restraint.

Your fingers were still in his shirt, waist pressed flush against the counter. You weren't going to pull away, you were waiting and baiting his response.

His hand drifted without permission up your thigh, over your curves. He wanted to curse himself for how easily his body betrayed him. Because God, she was warm. And she made him feel alive in a way nothing had in years. Not since Grace died and the world's weight settled into his bones and stayed there.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he repeated, brushing his nose against hers, not quite kissing her again.

She smiled, slow and knowing. “And yet here I am. How often will you tell me what I should or shouldn't do?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I do.” Your voice was soft. “You’re the one pretending you don’t want it.”

Bo swore under his breath. His forehead hit hers again, harder this time. But when she confidently kissed him again, he let her. Let the whole world burn down around them. Because maybe he didn’t want to be good anymore.

Your fingers slid from his shirt to the nape of his neck, and just like that, he caved.

“Hold on,” he muttered against her lips. “Come on.”

Your eyes were already tracking him as he grabbed the keys off the hook and locked the store before closing all the blinds. The heavy metal clanged shut behind them, locking out the rest of the world and locking them in.

He backed her against the wall between sacks of jasmine rice and crates of long-forgotten sweets.

“You sure about this?” he asked, even as his hands were already sliding beneath the hem of your dress.

Your answer came in the form of curling your leg around his hip, pulling him into the space where only desire existed.

“You waited long enough, Bo,” you whispered, your voice thick with lust.“We both did.”

He lifted her like it was muscle memory. He’d dreamed of this too many times, not knowing how to do it by heart. Your back hit the wall. Bo buried his face in your neck.

“God forgive me,” he breathed.

When you moaned his name against his ear, he didn’t stop. In that moment, the woman, this girl who used to trail around with Mei like a shadow, had become a force of nature. And for once, Bo Chow let himself fall.

You grinded against Bo Chow's hard dick, already knowing the rhythm he hadn’t yet given you. His mouth found the hollow of your throat, tongue tracing the beat of your pulse as he pinned you to the wall.

“Bo, please!” You gasped as you searched for any friction he could give you and Bo felt it like a match to dry kindling. His hand slid up your back, fingers splaying wide, remembering the shape of your spine, the softness of skin he wasn’t supposed to touch.

“You feel that?” he growled into her neck. “How long you been waiting for this?”

“Long enough,” she said, breathless. “Long enough to know I don’t want you gentle.”

Bo pushed you harder against the wall, grinding his hips into yours with a slow roll that had your head dropping back, lips parted, eyes half-lidded with need. Your hands were under his shirt now, nails raking across his chest like she wanted to leave proof. Wanted to mark him. Own him.

She bit his bottom lip when he kissed her again, really kissed her this time, and he responded by sliding his hand between them, under her waistband, finding her already wet for him.

“Shit,” he muttered, fingers slipping through heat. “You’re soaked through your panties.”

She arched into his touch, shameless. “Told you. I’ve been thinking about this for years.”

A wave of pure, unfiltered longing surged through him, gripping his heart with an intensity that took him by surprise. She had no idea what kind of thoughts he’d buried just to survive around her. What kind of guilt lived in his chest every time she smiled too sweet or leaned too close.

And now? Now he had you underneath him, splayed across the desk.

“Hold on,” he said, voice rough and low.

Bo carried you across the store to the old desk in the corner, swept thereceipts off with one arm, laid you down like something sacred.

Then he dropped to his knees. Your breath caught.

“I thought you didn’t want gentle,” he smirked, kissing the inside of her thigh.

“I don’t,”

“Good.”

Bo Chow was done pretending. Tonight, he was going to taste every part of you that he'd denied himself for far too long. Bo took hold of your hips and dragged you to the edge with slow precision. He didn't break eye contact as he descended lower and lifted your dress to reveal your wet panties that stuck to your skin. Squirming under his gaze, breath stuttered when Bo kissed the creases when your thighs met your core.

The first stroke of Bo’s tongue had you grasping at the desk, a lewd whimper slipped loose from your mouth. You desperately thrust your hips to put more of your pussy in his mouth.

“You have such a perfect pussy” Bo rasped, low and rough. You tasted better than he imagined. His tongue worked slow at first, savoring. Drawing circles, teasing the sensitive parts until you trembled around his shoulders.

“Right there… that feels so good” Your voice cracked, and that was all the encouragement Bo needed.

Bo gripped you tighter and devoured you like a man starved. You arched, cursed, and even cried out with your body trembling with every flick and suck of his mouth. His name spilled from you like worship.

When he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to hit you G spot, your back left the table.

“That’s it,” he whined against her. “Let me have it.”

You came hard with your mouth open, and hands in his hair. Bo didn’t stop until you were twitching, breathless, wrecked.

When he finally rose, mouth glistening, chest heaving, your eyes met his. He leaned over you, pressed his forehead to yours, voice dark with promise.

He didn’t undress her, he roughly twisted her over, bent her bare chest against the cool wood of the desk, slid his pants just low enough, and guided himself into her with one steady, brutal thrust.

They both gasped. You were hot, tight, and still pulsing from before.

Bo planted himself deeper and deeper in you. The desk creaked under the beat. Your hand reached back to clutch his lower back, pulling him to drill into your insides, and he gave it to you. Every inch, every groan, every ounce of frustration and want he’d bottled up for years.

When he came, it was a full body surrender. He collapsed against her, both of them panting, and slick with sweat.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

And then, quietly, you asked, “What now?”

Bo didn’t have the answer.

[bu3ck3r]

back in your arms

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: p surprises a in storrs

a/n: thank u anon for this request i had fun writing it. also lmk if there’s any mistakes. enjoyyy

azzi stood near the free-throw line, drenched in sweat, hair tied up in a messy bun, trying to focus. afternoon light poured through the high windows, catching on the glow of her skin. she launched another shot—net. another—miss. another—net. she didn’t even care about her percentage anymore. she just needed to distract herself.

her phone had been sitting on the floor for the past three hours, still no response from paige.

one day. that’s all it had been. twenty-four hours since paige last texted her, but azzi felt like she was unraveling.

paige never went a whole day without replying. not even during her busiest days in the wnba. they always found time, even if it was at 1 a.m. “i love you” voice notes or a 30-second facetime just to say goodnight.

so where the hell was she?

azzi gasped and grabbed her water bottle, chugging half of it before checking her phone again. still nothing. her heart was punching at her ribs with that all too familiar fear. was she okay? was something wrong?

she shot another three-pointer. missed.

“damn it,” she muttered.

she didn’t hear the door open.

meanwhile, near the campus, a car pulled into the parking lot behind the gym. paige leaned forward in the passenger seat, pulling her hood lower over her forehead.

“you are so dramatic,” said caroline from the driver’s seat, trying not to laugh.

“i told you i wanted this to be a surprise. she probably thinks i ghosted her,” paige said, her mouth twisting with guilt.

“i swear if you get mobbed before you even make it into the gym, i’m leaving your ass here.”

“you’re a terrible friend.”

“i’m the best friend. now go before she actually breaks up with you.”

paige grinned and hopped out, sneaking through the entrance like she used to.

her stomach was fluttering. she hadn’t seen azzi in three weeks.

and now, paige was here.

she opened the gym door quietly, slipping in through the shadows. her heart instantly bounced.

there she was.

azzi.

mid free-throw, breathing hard, focus written across her face. she looked tired. she looked pissed. she looked beautiful.

paige stood there for a moment and watched. she could’ve watched forever.

then azzi turned—and froze.

the ball slipped from her fingers. it bounced away, rolling toward the sideline. her eyes went wide.

“paige?” she whispered.

and then she ran and launched herself at paige so fast she barely had time to open her arms. their bodies collided, hard, azzi wrapping her legs around paige’s waist, arms around her neck. her face buried in paige’s shoulder, paige stumbled back with a laugh, holding her tight.

“damn,” paige breathed. “you missed me that much?”

azzi didn’t respond at first—just kissed her, hard. it wasn’t gentle or slow. it was all lips and heat and the bite of longing. her hands curled into paige’s hair, pulling her in closer. paige’s fingers dug into azzi’s waist, grounding them both. when they finally broke apart, azzi glared at her.

“you didn’t respond to me for a whole day,” she said, accusing.

“i know,” paige said, nuzzling her nose into azzi’s cheek. “because i was flying to you.”

“you suck.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

paige grinned. “caroline picked me up. she thinks you’re gonna kill me.”

“i might.”

“you were one more missed text away from a breakdown, huh?”

azzi lightly smacked her chest. “shut up.”

paige kissed her again. “i missed you too, baby.”

they didn’t even notice that someone had walked in until ice’s voice rang through the gym.

“okay, what is going on here?”

azzi whipped her head around, still clinging to paige, as ice and kk walked in.

paige barely managed to catch azzi’s legs and set her down.

kk stared for a beat. “wait is that p boogers?”

“surprise,” paige said with a smirk, arms still around azzi’s waist.

ice nearly dropped her water bottle. “what?!”

they both ran over, crowding paige with hugs and disbelief.

“you didn’t tell anyone?!” ice said.

“caroline knew,” paige replied.

azzi grumbled, tugging paige back to her. “okay, okay. y’all got your hugs. she’s mine. back off.”

“god, you two are so gay,” ice said, sipping her drink. “can y’all not touch each other for one second, like damn.”

“nope,” paige and azzi said in unison.

kk snorted. “insufferable.”

but they were all smiling.

later, as they walked back to the dorms together, paige held azzi’s hand tightly. the sun was dipping low, casting gold across the trees. azzi hadn’t let go of her since the gym. she kept brushing their arms together like she couldn’t believe paige was real.

paige leaned in and whispered, “so… how mad were you?”

azzi narrowed her eyes. “i was this close to calling your teammates.”

paige laughed. “would’ve been worth it.”

“only because i didn’t actually.”

“mmm i like when you’re clingy.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “oh please, you’re the one who flew here.”

paige stopped her and pulled her close.

“yeah. because i couldn’t go another day without you.”

she kissed her again, soft and lingering, right there in the path. azzi melted into her, arms around her neck. they stood there for a long moment, caught in a world only they understood.

azzi whispered against her lips, “don’t disappear on me again.”

“i won’t,” paige said. “i promise.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the dorm was unusually quiet, but as paige and azzi stepped through the doors—still holding hands—there was an immediate shift in the air.

from around the corner, jana appeared, holding a bowl of cereal.

she blinked once. “wait, is that?”

before she could finish, ice and kk came walking down the hallway, still buzzing from the surprise.

“paige bueckers is in the buildingg,” ice announced to literally no one and everyone.

a door slammed. sarah’s voice floated down, “what?”

paige squeezed azzi’s hand tighter.

“oh my god,” jana muttered, mouth full of cereal.

azzi immediately stepped closer to paige, hand drifting from paige’s fingers to her waist, like claiming territory. “okay, okay,” she said coolly. “calm down.”

“i cant believe you’re here.” kk shouted.

“surprise,” paige said again, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“i literally cried last time you left.” jana threw her arms around paige dramatically. “welcome home, p.”

paige hugged her back, laughing. “missed you too.”

“alright,” azzi said, gently pulling paige back into her arms. “y’all got your moment. she’s with me now.”

“relax,” ice said. “no one’s gonna steal your girl.”

azzi didn’t let go.

kk raised an eyebrow. “damn, girl, we just want to say hi. you’re gripping her like she’s gonna vanish.”

paige turned to azzi, teasing: “i kinda like this new possessive you.”

“you’re never leaving again,” azzi mumbled, face tucked into her shoulder.

the girls all let out exaggerated groans.

“you two make me feel so single.” ice muttered, grabbing her cereal from jana.

“y’all are just mad we’re in love,” paige called after them.

“more like allergic to pda,” kk said. “bro can y’all not touch each other for a minute?”

paige grinned. “absolutely not.”

azzi looked at her with a smile.

they finally made it to azzi’s room—after paige was forced into one more group hug—and shut the door behind them.

the second it clicked closed, paige turned around and leaned against it.

“god, i missed this room,” she said. “smells like you.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “you missed me.”

“well obviously,” paige said, reaching for her.

azzi practically tackled her onto the bed.

they landed in a mess of limbs and soft sheets. azzi hovered over her, arms braced on either side of paige’s shoulders. she looked down at her for a long moment, her expression softening. paige reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from azzi’s cheek.

“you really scared me today,” azzi said quietly.

“i know,” paige whispered. “i’m sorry.”

azzi leaned down, forehead to forehead. “i thought something was wrong.”

“i just… i wanted to see your face when i showed up. i needed that reaction.”

“you needed me to almost lose my mind?”

paige grinned. “i was right though, huh?”

azzi sighed and kissed her. “shut up.”

their lips met again—slower now, deeper. the tension of the day began to melt into something warmer, needier. azzi’s body pressed flush against paige’s, hands roaming beneath the hem of her hoodie.

paige slid her hands beneath azzi’s tank top, thumbs tracing the soft skin of her waist. “been dreaming about this for days.”

azzi’s lips were hot against her neck now, teeth grazing lightly. “same.”

clothes started disappearing in quiet layers—hoodie tossed, shorts slipped off, tank tops lost between kisses. the room filled with the quiet hum of breathing, the creak of the mattress, the sound of two people desperate to feel every inch of each other after weeks apart.

paige took her time, lips and fingertips memorizing the curves she already knew by heart. azzi whispered her name like it was sacred.

after they finished, they stayed tangled together under the sheets, sweat cooling, hearts still thudding.

paige brushed azzi’s hair back and kissed her forehead.

“that was…”

“amazing,” azzi mumbled, lips against her collarbone.

“you trying to make me never leave?”

“is it working?”

paige laughed softly. “god, yes.”

an hour later, paige was half asleep when she heard it:

knock. knock. knock.

then ice’s voice from outside the door: “can y’all please be quiet next time? we could hear y’all loud and clear.”

kk added from the hallway: “i am so done with y’all.”

paige muffled her face into azzi’s shoulder, laughing.

“we weren’t that loud,” azzi protested weakly.

“baby i’m pretty sure you screamed my name. twice,” paige whispered.

azzi hit her with a pillow.

paige kissed her cheek. “i love when you yell.”

“oh my god stop.” azzi rolled her eyes, but she was blushing hard.

eventually, they got dressed again—barely—and cracked the door open. sure enough, kk and ice were on the couch playing fortnite, pretending they hadn’t just roasted them through a closed door.

“we’re getting food,” paige said. “y’all hungry?”

ice didn’t even look up. “starving.”

“but you two need to chill.”

paige smirked. “can’t promise that.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the night air was warm, the breeze filtering through the open windows of azzi’s car. paige was driving. obviously.

they were barely two minutes into the drive when paige’s hand found azzi’s thigh.

“really?” azzi murmured, glancing over with a raised brow, though she made no move to stop her. she even shifted slightly so paige’s hand could rest higher.

“i need my hand to stay somewhere calm,” paige said, eyes still on the road. “and your thigh is the softest thing i’ve touched in three weeks.”

from the back seat, kk groaned. “you two are disgusting.”

“bruh i did not miss this at all.” ice added, head tilted dramatically against the headrest.

azzi reached over and turned the volume up a little just to drown them out. “we’re being normal,” she said, smirking.

paige nodded. “it’s just a hand on a high.”

“if you two start making out at a stoplight, i’m walking home.” kk muttered.

paige flashed a grin in the rearview mirror. “no promises.”

“i’ll throw myself out the window,” ice said flatly. “i mean it.”

ice and kk ordered enough food for a football team. azzi and paige split fries, giggling like middle schoolers over how long the mozzarella sticks took.

azzi kept brushing her foot against paige’s under the table. paige kept whispering things in her ear that made her blush.

at one point, kk leaned back with her chocolate milkshake. “so, when are you two getting married?”

azzi nearly choked. paige just smirked. “you wanna be the flower girl?”

“i’ll be the priest if it gets y’all to chill out,” ice deadpanned.

they ended the night back in the car, food wrappers rustling, laughter trailing off as paige drove them through sleepy storrs roads.

back in the dorm, ice and kk peeled off toward the common room with a final warning:

“if we hear anything again tonight,” ice called out, “we’re starting a gofundme.”

“we finna put y’all down for a noise complaint for real,” kk added. “good night.”

azzi rolled her eyes, dragging paige toward her room again. “they love us.”

“they hate us,” paige replied, laughing.

azzi closed the bathroom door behind them, locking it out of habit. the warm light made the tiles glow softly. paige sat on the edge of the sink, tugging off her socks while azzi reached into the shower and turned on the water. steam rose slowly.

“i don’t even care that we’ve only been apart for three weeks,” paige said, standing to lift her shirt over her head. “it felt like a year.”

azzi glanced at her over her shoulder, smiling. “it really did.”

soon enough they stepped into the shower together. paige immediately pulled azzi close under the stream, hands sliding down her back, lips pressing to her temple. azzi looped her arms around paige’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder.

“i’ve missed this,” azzi said quietly.

“same.”

they stayed like that for a while—just holding each other, letting the heat soak into their skin.

then, inevitably, hands started wandering. paige’s mouth drifted down azzi’s jaw and azzi arched into her with a quiet gasp, fingers tangling in her wet blonde hair.

there was nothing rushed about it. it was slow. intimate. needed.

after the shower they were wrapped in fresh towels and oversized shirts, as they got ready for bed together—brushing teeth side by side at the sink, laughing as azzi sprayed way too much detangler in paige’s hair.

they climbed into bed with legs tangled, the fan humming above them. paige was on her back, azzi sprawled half across her, head on her chest.

paige’s fingers played lazily with the hem of azzi’s l shirt. “i really wish i could stay longer.”

“you have like… three days off, right?”

“yeah. but i already wanna freeze time.”

azzi looked up at her, eyes a little misty. “i miss you every day.”

paige kissed her gently. “you have no idea how proud of you i am.”

“same,” azzi whispered. “every time i see highlights of you, i scream. like. out loud. in the gym.”

“i know,” paige smirked. “caroline told me.”

azzi blushed, hiding her face. “traitor.”

“you’re gonna be there soon,” paige said softly. “wnba. i can’t wait to watch you drop 30 on everyone.”

azzi traced little circles on paige’s stomach. “you’ll be in the front row, right?”

“always.”

they kissed again—slow and warm, no urgency this time. just love.

and when they finally curled up under the blanket, azzi whispered into paige’s neck: “don’t leave until you absolutely have to.”

“i won’t.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the morning sunlight spilled into azzi’s room like it owned the place. paige groaned and rolled deeper under the sheets, burying her face in azzi’s neck.

“get up, sleepyhead,” azzi murmured, brushing her fingers through paige’s messy hair.

“no,” paige mumbled. “i’m retired.”

“you literally played a game last week.”

“exactly. let me live.”

azzi kissed her cheek. “i have practice baby.”

paige pulled her closer. “cancel it.”

azzi laughed. “you want me to get benched?”

paige shrugged. “then i’ll get benched too. solidarity.”

“you don’t even play for uconn anymore.”

“minor detail.”

azzi was in the gym with a few teammates running drills. her jumper was smooth as ever, but something in her posture said her mind was somewhere else—every glance toward the door, every pause between sets.

then the door creaked open.

“nice form,” paige called out, leaning casually against the wall in a uconn tee that showed off her muscles just right.

azzi froze. so did everyone else.

ice dropped the ball she was holding. “oh no.”

kk clapped dramatically. “here we go again.”

azzi jogged over to paige like she hadn’t already seen her all night and morning, like her body just moved on instinct. the moment she was close enough, she threw her arms around her and kissed her full on the mouth—right there in front of the team.

“wow,” jana muttered.

“you miss me that much?” paige teased when they broke apart, brushing her thumb over azzi’s cheek.

azzi grinned. “shut up. you’re the one who showed up looking like that.”

kk groaned. “i can’t be here.”

sarah pointed at the door. “take it to a room. this is a training facility.”

“you’re just mad we’re cute,” azzi called over her shoulder as she tugged paige toward the bleachers.

“i’m mad y’all are making me miss my girl,” kk shouted back.

later that night, paige and azzi were back in her room, sprawled out on the bed again, hair still damp from another steamy shower they’d taken “to cool down,” which was a lie and everyone knew it.

paige reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly folded t-shirt.

azzi’s eyes widened. “is that…?”

“my dallas warmup shirt,” paige said, handing it over. “figured you should have one. smells like me. you’re welcome.”

azzi held it to her chest. “i’m never taking this off.”

“please do, eventually,” paige said. “or you’ll smell like an actual locker room.”

azzi threw a pillow at her. “you’re so annoying.”

“you love it.”

“i do,” she admitted, smiling softly.

just before lights out, they wandered into the kitchen to grab snacks.

ice was sprawled on the couch with kk, both of them locked into a chaotic fortnite match. the second they spotted paige and azzi, they both screamed in unison:

“get a room!”

paige blinked. “we have a room.”

“y’all just came out of it,” kk said, tossing her controller down. “and now you’re back like nothing happened.”

“you two need supervision,” ice added.

“we’re literally just getting snacks,” azzi said, grabbing a bag of popcorn.

“y’all get snacks like you’re in a movie scene,” kk complained. “too much eye contact and way too much touching.”

paige slid an arm around azzi’s waist. “we’re just affectionate.”

“you’re menace-level affectionate,” ice muttered.

azzi just kissed paige’s cheek. “jealousy is a disease.”

kk gagged audibly.

back in azzi’s room, they climbed under the covers, the popcorn bowl between them, a movie playing softly in the background.

azzi wore paige’s dallas shirt. it hung down her thighs, barely covering her. paige stared for way too long.

“eyes up here.”

“you got it princess.”

they fed each other popcorn until paige started licking the butter off of azzi’s fingers, making her laugh.

azzi tackled her and they rolled around laughing until paige pinned her with a playful smirk.

“you’re so whipped,” paige teased.

“me?” azzi raised an eyebrow. “you flew across the country.”

“i came here for basketball,” paige joked.

azzi leaned down and kissed her, long and slow. “liar.”

paige smiled into the kiss. “you caught me.”

the next evening came too fast.

azzi lay on her back in bed, hair still damp from the shower they’d just taken together, paige resting beside her in nothing but an old uconn shirt and soft cotton shorts.

their skin still buzzed — from the warmth of the water, from each other.

they’d barely kept their hands to themselves while in the bathroom.

paige had been behind azzi the entire time — arms around her waist while they brushed their teeth, kissing her shoulder between swipes of the toothbrush, murmuring, “you’re so damn pretty,” through a mouth full of toothpaste.

azzi had almost spit hers out from laughing.

now, back in bed, it was quiet. paige’s hand was resting on azzi’s stomach, her fingers idly tracing small circles on her skin. her legs tangled with azzi’s under the blankets.

“you smell like my shampoo,” azzi whispered.

paige smiled. “you smell like heaven.”

“you’re such a cornball.”

“and yet, here you are,” paige murmured, nuzzling closer. “loving every second of it.”

azzi reached up and ran her fingers through paige’s slightly damp hair. “i really do.”

they kissed again — soft, slow, and lingering. like neither of them wanted it to end.

paige rolled onto her side, propping herself on one elbow so she could look down at azzi. her eyes were serious, warm.

“you know i think about you all the time when i’m in dallas, right?”

azzi nodded. “same. every single day.”

“i hate being away from you.”

“me too. but i think it’s also… making us stronger.”

paige smiled. “yeah. it’s like… no matter where we are, we’re still us.”

azzi leaned up and kissed her chin. “we’ll be together full-time soon.”

“i know.” paige gently tucked a strand of hair behind azzi’s ear. “when you get to the league… i hope we’re on the same team.”

“if not, i’m guarding you every time,” azzi smirked. “and i’m locking you up.”

paige laughed. “you wish. you’d foul out in the first half.”

“you’d fall in love again mid-game and lose focus.”

“unfair tactic,” paige grinned. “using my heart against me.”

azzi leaned up and kissed her deeply, then whispered, “you’re mine. always.”

paige kissed her again, slower this time, hands on azzi’s hips, holding her like she was everything.

because she was.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the next morning, the sun wasn’t even up yet. paige had to head back to dallas.

azzi stood in the hallway, wearing one of paige’s hoodies, watching as paige zipped up her bag.

“i should sabotage your flight,” azzi said, arms crossed, pretending to pout.

“don’t tempt me to miss it.”

they stood at the door for too long. hugging. kissing. whispering promises they’d already made a dozen times over.

“i love you,” azzi said into paige’s neck.

“i love you more,” paige said, pulling back and brushing their noses together. “don’t argue. i win.”

azzi narrowed her eyes. “fine. but only this time.”

caroline arrived to drive paige to the airport, honking once from outside the dorm.

paige opened the door, bag slung over her shoulder, azzi clinging to her hand like it might be the last time.

ice and kk were on the couch — again.

as soon as they saw the two lovebirds in the doorway, they both said:

“thank god, we can finally have peace again.”

azzi flipped them off, still clinging to paige.

ice pointed to the hallway. “now kiss and go.”

paige turned to azzi and, right in front of everyone, kissed her like she meant it — like she always did.

azzi was breathless when they broke apart.

“be safe,” she whispered.

“you too. text me the second you get out of practice.”

azzi smiled, tears welling up. “i love you.”

paige cupped her face. “i’ll see you soon, okay?”

azzi nodded. “okay.”

azzi was still in bed, paige’s hoodie swallowed around her like a second skin. the sheets smelled like her. the silence was heavier now, like the room knew it was missing someone.

her phone buzzed.

she didn’t expect anything—paige hadn’t texted since she left—but when she opened it and saw the name, her heart caught in her throat.

leaving sucks. i hate every part of it. packing, airports, this stupid seat that isn’t next to you. but i just wanted you to know that i’m still carrying the way you looked at me this morning. i’m still hearing your laugh in my head. i still feel your hands on me, like they left a print only i can see. i left my heart in your bed. wrapped in your sheets. wrapped in you. so yeah, i’ll be back soon. because i don’t feel like me when i’m not with you. i love you, az.

azzi read it once, then again, slower. the ache in her chest swelled until it pushed tears from her eyes—quiet, stubborn ones she wiped away with the cuff of paige’s sleeve.

she buried her face in the hoodie and whispered into the cotton:

“i’m not me without you either.”

she didn’t cry.

much.

after a minute she decided to reply.

you’re the worst for making me cry this early. i miss you so much it physically hurts. the bed’s too cold. the room’s too quiet. i keep rolling over expecting to find you there. you really did leave your heart here. and i’m holding onto it like it’s mine, because it is. so don’t take too long, okay? i need your laugh in this room again. i need your hands, your voice, your everything. i love you more than i’ve ever loved anything. come back to me soon. i love you, p.

paige stared at azzi’s message, she hadn’t expected a reply so fast—definitely not one that hit her this hard.

her chest tightened.

she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to fight the sting in her eyes. it didn’t work.

she read it again. and again.

then, quietly, she smiled to herself.

she pulled her hoodie tighter, still faintly smelling like azzi, and typed with thumbs that shook a little more than she’d ever admit:

i’m coming back the second i can. im yours, az. always. i don’t know how i got this lucky, but i’m not letting you go. i love you. so damn much.

she locked her phone, leaned her head against the window, and whispered, barely loud enough to hear herself:

“im gonna marry her one day.”

[namism]

one too many | sabo

➳ categories: college au, friends to lovers au, female she/her reader, best friend's brother trope, light angst

➳ warnings: lots of drinking

➳ word count: 17.4k

➳ summary: A drinking game hosted by your friends causes you to evaluate your feelings for your best friend's brother.

➳ notes: this is an exchange fic for @justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms in celebration of #infixopmarch2025 @infixop! more personal notes at the bottom :)

➳ cross-posted on ao3

ONE.

Contrary to popular belief, people love to attend Monkey D. Luffy’s college parties because his tight circle of high school friends save the night with free food, drinking games, and comedic entertainment. 

It’s no secret that the Monkey-Portgas residence has taken Foosha Village by storm because it’s buzzing with twenty-somethings every Friday night. You’re starting to think they’re pissing off the restobar owners down central street for stealing their most loyal frat boys and sorority girls, but you can’t blame Luffy for that. He’s charming, and his brothers are, too. Their energy is influential, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, contagious. Life is never dull with them around, so you find yourself, along with many others, frequenting their house often. 

On days when Luffy isn’t hosting, he likes to invite you and his friends from high school to come over. He called this one in particular a simple get-together, a meeting with friends. Not wild, just chill. Naturally, he scheduled it on the day when his older brothers were out of town for “Seniors’ Night,” a mandatory event out of school grounds supposedly spent stress-free. Even then, all efforts at keeping the small gathering simple was lost once Zoro (certified rice wine lover) showed up with Nami (certified drinker) with a bag of alcohol squished in the backseat of Usopp’s Mazda.

You arrived at Luffy’s an hour early, so you witnessed your friends storm his home under the impression that it was an alcoholic party. As time passed, sobriety slipped from your grasp as you downed a bottle of who-knows-what until words came out slurred and conduct turned disgraceful.

The events that transpired from that point onward are incomprehensible.

“Drinks, drinks, anybody? Hey, would you care for a shot?”

“Stop it, Sanji. Leave the girl alone,” Nami hissed as the man tried to offer you another beautifully concocted drink. Upon her orders, Sanji retreated into the kitchen with a waiting tray, four—five?—shots into Jägermeister because Zoro challenged him to a drinking competition thirty minutes ago.

Nami relaxed into the cushion behind her and sighed deeply, her head buzzing from the alcohol she gloriously bought.

“Sanji! Zoro! You’re in the living room in the next two minutes, or I’m kicking you out!”

The following events are blurry, but you remember several things if you try hard enough. First, Sanji came back from the kitchen with a bottle of Jose Cuervo after Nami’s angry mandate; second, Nami unveiled a brand new deck of cards from her purse, a few of which suspiciously had an 18+ label stamped on the back; third, Luffy crashed your circle by barreling down the staircase in a yellow straw hat, a sign that he was already wasted; and fourth, Usopp cried into your side as the rest of the group realized that Nami was forcing everyone to a wild game of Truth or Drink.

You remember chasing a shot with ice-cold Sprite, deciding it was better to match everyone else’s drunkenness. A few rounds passed before you were chosen through a lucky spin of an empty glass bottle, to which Nami responded by shuffling the deck expertly and letting you choose from the display.

Afraid you would do something more than you bargained for, you chose the safe cards closest to you.

“Tell us which one of your friends’ siblings you would date… or drink the number of letters they have in their name.”

You don’t remember which one of your friends dared to howl aloud, but you recall Nami displaying an awful grin on her face, like watching you suffer was fun for her. Zoro erupted in genuine laughter, Luffy laughed through a mouthful of barbecue, Usopp covered his mouth in shock, and Sanji made a face of disagreement, waving his hands frantically in the air.

“Please,” he said your name, “do not say any of my brothers.”

You shook your head. “I don’t intend to.”

“Good,” he exhaled.

“Honestly, I don’t intend on saying anything.”

The small crowd erupted in oohs and ahhs at your display of bravery, surprised that you decided to drink x number of shots just to save face. You vaguely recall what they talked about as you chugged one shot after the other, but distinct voices at the back of your brain exchange a series of concerned mumbles that you can somewhat remember.

“How much is she going to drink?” Usopp.

“Not much. If I’m being honest, I don’t think she can handle drinking six.” Nami.

“She isn’t drinking past five because she emptied my Jäger an hour ago.” Zoro.

“That crosses out Nojiko and Ichiji. She’s two shots in.” Usopp again.

As you guzzled the third, the group waited for your next move. Stopping at three meant the obvious since Luffy’s brother Ace—hot, muscular, tattooed, and a little bit older—is the only suspect with three letters in his name. It was harder to tell otherwise. When you poured yourself another shot, your friends pressed on with concern.

“A fourth. God, she’s probably taking five,” Nami remarked.

Sanji was losing his cool. “I refuse to believe this.”

“I refuse your refusal,” Luffy joked.

“Tell me it isn’t Yonji,” begged Sanji. “Not Yonji, not Yonji, not Yonji, not Yonji—”

Nami shot him a glare, but his wish was granted soon enough. Silence fell in the room as you sat back on the armchair after having downed four shots nonstop. Sanji’s ears shot blood red as he realized that you weren’t hinting at his younger brother, but his older brother.

Vinsmoke Niji.

Zoro snickered. “You’re forgetting Sabo.”

After spending some time wordless, Luffy giggled. “Yeah, my brother! Sabo is a good man!” he uttered, happy to hear his brother’s name.

Sanji was unconvinced. Usopp shared the same sentiments.

Turning toward you, he asked, “Who is it?”

A hiccup erupted from the back of your throat. With every passing second, your vision began to darken. “I’m-I’m not telling,” you slurred stubbornly. Zoro laughed at your resistance, while Sanji broke down.

A few moments later, you blacked out.

The lights are out when Ace drives his Honda Civic into the parking spot by their front yard, which he finds rather unusual for a night like this. Luffy was supposed to host a get-together today—small and exclusive, sure, but Ace knows better than to expect any celebration thrown by his brother to actually stay that way. Luffy, after all, is an energetic twit. Plus, he scheduled it on a Friday night when most people at university are free.

Currently, it’s two hours past Saturday midnight and a quiet home is more suspicious to him than not.

Ace slaps Sabo awake in the passenger seat. Sabo stirs grumpily.

“What is it?” the blond mumbles, voice hoarse and laced with sleep. He’s been in that position for over an hour, just snoozing throughout the entire car ride home. That stupid Seniors’ Night robbed him of all his energy, so he passed out in the car as soon as he entered. Ace points a thumb past his shoulder.

“House is quiet. You enter first.”

“The hell?” Sabo whispers confusedly, not realizing that they’ve arrived home.

“Check if the coast is clear because I do not want to walk in on uni kids doing stupid stuff,” Ace reasons. “And can you bring my stuff inside while you’re at it?”

Sabo whines, but he doesn’t question it anymore because his feet are taking him to the front door in a matter of seconds, his bags and Ace’s slung across his body. With shoulders relaxed and eyes half-lidded, Sabo fiddles with his keys and unlocks the big timber doors to welcome the scent of old sweet home.

He acknowledges the scent of alcohol and the evident mess on the floor, but he walks past it nonchalantly, recognizing it as a typical occurrence at home. He checks the kitchen, takes note of the soda spill on the counter and the Dorito crumbs by his feet, then groggily saunters to Ace’s bedroom in the basement.

He drops his brother’s bags by the door before realizing that Ace is right about the eerie stillness. The house is dark, too. The only light comes from the faint glow of Sabo’s phone screen as he navigates the hallway toward his bedroom upstairs. Too exhausted to second-guess anything, he nudges his door open, drops his duffel bag to the floor, and collapses onto his bed.

But the moment his body hits what should’ve been his mattress, he screams at the bone and flesh he just collided into.

“AHHH!” he yelps, his body instantly rolling over to the side of the bed. His eyes shoot open as he collects himself, standing upright then scrambling to the light switch. He flicks it on.

“Oww,” someone groans pathetically underneath his sheets at the impact. Sabo freezes. He watches their hands clutch at the ends of his comforter and toss it aside swiftly.

He exhales a breath of relief when he realizes it’s you.

“What’s happening?” you mumble, eyes falling close no matter your efforts to keep them open. “Luffy? Sanji?”

“Uh, no,” Sabo answers. Eyes still closed, you stretch your limbs and roll over the mattress, getting comfortable once again in his sheets. “Um…”

“Wake me… in the morning… please,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. Sabo lingers awkwardly by the door as you drift back to sleep within seconds, completely unaware of his dilemma.

Normally, he’d let you sleep undisturbed. He’s nice like that, and he avoids confrontation whenever he can. Plus, he has a soft spot for drunk people as the token caretaker of his friend group on a drunk night out. Luffy is probably passed out somewhere in the house, too, snoring alongside his equally rowdy friends.

But tonight, Sabo is too exhausted to be nice. He’s not in the mood to surrender his bed, even if he could just crash on the floor. For once, he wants to be selfish—either kick you off the mattress or wedge himself into the tiny sliver of space you’ve left behind.

“Hey, wake up,” he says, gently shaking your shoulder. You don’t respond. “Wake up. Please. I need to sleep.”

He pokes your nose, your side. He even tries to tickle you—still nothing. After a few more failed attempts, he sighs in defeat and sinks to the floor with a groan.

Having surrendered to exhaustion, he turns off the light, digs through his duffel bag for a fresh set of clothes, and quickly changes before finally collapsing into the space beside you. 

TWO.

Nami always insisted on cleanliness, and that involved keeping your shared apartment fragrant. It was her first complaint when she stepped foot in your flat—she thought she could brighten up the place with her aroma lamp and essential oils, something Zoro or Usopp never considered doing before she moved in with the three of you. From that moment onward, every waking morning at your four-bedroom apartment smelled of fresh bamboo or white tea, depending on the oil she chose to diffuse in her lamp earlier that week.

Apart from their clean crisp odor, Nami’s essential oils are pervasive. It wafts through every inch of the house, fighting with the aroma of grease and umami from the dishes that Sanji cooks whenever he comes over. The odor of fresh bamboo is simply something you cannot miss. Quite frankly, you love it. Even Zoro does.

That said, you find it strange when your senses come together and you smell nothing of the sort in your bedroom. It’s the morning after Luffy’s get-together—you’re aware of that, but for some reason, your senses perceive foreign textures and smells the more you stir. Your fingers, running across the soft comforter underneath you, move farther as you stretch your limbs awake. You feel the softness of the material until you brush against something warm, something soft… and flesh-like. 

You force your eyes open.

“What?!”

The morning calmness is disrupted by your cry. You sit up from the mattress, the comforter falling to your lap as you move away from the sleeping boy next to you. Sabo, the middle child of Luffy’s confusing family, is crammed into the narrow space by the edge of the bed. He sleeps soundly in a fetal position, his right arm tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow. His bangs fall softly on his face, covering the scar by his left eye.

Your heart skips a beat.

You hop off the bed and slip out of his room. How you ended up in Sabo’s bedroom after last night’s events is a mystery. It’s equally mysterious that he (and presumably Ace) are back home from their trip. Against all odds, you fell asleep beside him. The only logical response at this point is to evacuate the premises before he wakes up.

You retrieve your items from the living room, thanking yourself for keeping them clustered together on the couch. When you pass the staircase on the way to the door, Ace zombie-walks from the basement and greets you with bedhead hair.

“Why are you awake so early?” he asks, leaning against the banister. It’s 6:00 in the morning, and last he checked, not a single one of Luffy’s friends wakes up at this hour.

“Why are you awake so early?” you return the question, much to Ace’s dismay. He frowns.

“Serving me attitude at 6:00 AM? Okay,” he says through a yawn. “I’m surprised you can walk just fine after killing your liver last night. That, and not having serious bruises after sleeping next to Sabo.”

“Hey, I’m no— wait, what?” You blink.

“Sabo used to kick me in his sleep when we were children,” he continues. His face contorts into bewilderment when he notices your discomfort. “What’s with that look?”

“How did you know I slept at Sabo’s?” you question, tone firm.

“Oh, that.” He shrugs, scratching the morning itch on his elbow. He explains ordering Sabo last night when they got home. “Figured he’d gone straight to bed, but I wanted to make sure. To my surprise, you were there with him.”

Yawning, he runs his fingers through his soiled hair.

“What were you doing in his room, anyway?”

You look onward with a troubled expression. What were you doing in his room? Your latest memory of Luffy’s get-together was Sanji bickering with Zoro over shots of Jäger, which you delightfully emptied after they abandoned the bottle. You remember playing a game or two with alcohol as punishment, but you’re not exactly sure what occurred. You headed to the bathroom somewhere in between, and you don’t recall much after that.

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully, yet ashamed. It’s one thing to get drunk, but it’s another to lose memory of all that transpired. “I know it’s a hard ask, but can you promise me just this once that you won’t tell anyone?”

“About what?”

“About me winding up in your brother’s bedroom,” you deadpan.

Ace thinks you're being a little ridiculous for freaking out over this, but he gets it. Among the three of them, you know Sabo the least, so the awkwardness checks out. He’d bet good money that Sabo had a near-death infarction upon seeing you passed out on his bed.

You like to think Ace thought about it for a while before answering.

“Sabo wasn’t drunk, you know. He’ll remember what happened last night.”

You groan.

“But if you’re worried about my brother conspiring against you for stealing 80% of his bed space”—you shove your hands into your palms—“I can assure you there is nothing to worry about. He’s not the type.”

Ace decides to be a role model and gives you an aspirin tablet to kill your migraine. Not long after that, you walk home and snuggle in bed.

You don’t wake up for the next four hours, even when your subconscious hears the tinkling of Nami’s keys unlocking the front door.

THREE.

Your university is located along busy Conomi Avenue, where locals and tourists dash in and out of establishments, stores, and embellished infrastructures. Along the main road stands an authentic Japanese ramen shop, which you and your friends swing by often after school.

On this particular day, you’re with the usual pack: Nami, Usopp, and Zoro. Sanji is away preparing for a cookout hosted by his adoptive father Zeff, while Luffy is somewhere over the rainbow. Nobody really knows where he is; Usopp’s brightest guess is Sanji’s place, probably snuffling all the food he and Zeff are putting out before the big event.

That aside, your friends have made it a big deal to bring up the events that occurred one night ago. Well, “friends” being Nami and Usopp—Zoro is just there to eat.

“Care to explain what that was about?” Nami asks keenly, swirling her drink with a metallic straw. When you display ignorance to some parts of their wild recollection, Usopp runs with you the full sequence of events that you wish never happened.

“I did what?!”

“Maybe I should have lied,” he mutters.

“God, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you grumble. “I didn’t actually do any of that, did I?”

“Winding up in someone’s bed completely drunk was already embarrassing enough,” Nami says, “but what did it for me was the fact that you drank four shots of Cuervo in the name of the very guy whose bed you ended up sleeping on.”

“I was not drinking for Sabo!” you protest. Your friends are unamused. “Don’t give me that look. I could have been drinking for no reason!”

“Yeah, totally,” Usopp deadpans. There is silence before he speaks again. “So, about Vinsmoke Niji…”

“I am not interested in Vinsmoke.”

“Right, so, you’re into Sabo.”

“I—” you stammer, your brain going haywire. “Look, I don’t really know where this is coming from.”

“U-huh.”

“All I did was play a game and drink a few shots, which shouldn’t mean anything considering I wasn’t in the right headspace.” Usopp looks at Nami with a raised brow, and that’s how they communicate their thoughts. They’re calling nonsense, but you object. “It’s the truth!”

“I think her reasoning is fair,” Zoro chimes in for the first time in ten minutes. He swallows a mouthful of tuna onigiri and leans into another generous bite like the glutton he is. Nothing beats an authentic Japanese restaurant smack-dab in the middle of tourist central.

“Thank you, Zoro.”

“But their arguments are just as fair.” He sprinkles grounded pepper into his ramen bowl. Your mouth closes in shock. “There is no forgetting what we witnessed.”

A stubborn back-and-forth breaks out in the middle of your lunch date. According to Usopp—backed by Zoro’s half-grunted observations—you were carried off to Luffy’s bedroom for a proper night’s rest after getting absolutely wrecked by Nami’s stupid drinking game. But somewhere in the middle of the night, you apparently woke up, wandered off, and insisted on crashing in the next room over, which just so happened to be Sabo’s, where you proceeded to sleep like a rock until he came home. Your friends tried to get you out of there a few times, but you had clung to the door frame and refused to be lugged away.

“Maybe I just found his bed more comfy,” you guess. Really, there’s no telling what was going through your drunk brain that night. Sabo is just Luffy’s older brother to you. Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t even talk often. While he has the looks as any of his siblings would have, you don’t like him the way Nami and Usopp make your feelings out to be.

Although Nami objects regardless. “That’s a little extra, don’t you think?”

“There’s nothing else I can think of that can justify what happened. I don’t like Sabo that way,” you say firmly, but end up mumbling toward the end. Nami isn’t wrong. It does seem a little extra. All your actions align as if to indicate some hidden feelings that you haven’t been telling anyone.

Suddenly, a realization dawns on you.

“Unless I do like him. Could it be that I actually like him?”

“Everyone thought you did. It seemed real when you were insistent on not telling,” she points out.

“To my sober and fully awakened knowledge, I don’t like that boy, thank you very much.” You shake your head, collapsing on your chair. “But it’s food for thought. Maybe I do like him, and I just don’t know it.”

Truth be told, your friends make sense to some degree. You find Sabo quite interesting because he’s easy to like, but not in the same loud, chaotic way his brothers are. Liking him platonically is more subtle, quieter, and in many ways different. He has a side of him that is strangely similar to his brothers, but he stands apart with his calm demeanor and thoughtful gestures.

Although it’s a problem now that your feelings are being questioned. You never saw him romantically. You think he’s nice, but you have never thought of him in that light. Sabo is just Luffy’s brother to you, someone you can depend on in the event of an emergency, but not someone you actively think of and speak to. Before going back to his devices, Zoro spews out some words of wisdom that he ought you hear.

“You’re rarely yourself when drunk, but alcohol imparts people’s deepest desires,” he says. “On one hand, it changes people. On the other hand, it tempts you to say the truth. Think about it.”

So you do. You think about it as the conversation fades into something else. You think about it as you pay the bill and leave the store well-fed. It’s in your mind as you go to bed that night, as you hop in the shower the following morning, as you get ready for another week of university, as you do your homework at the library. Zoro’s words haunt you everywhere you go, and it doesn’t help when Nami and Usopp tease you whenever Sabo’s name is thrown around. You can’t shake off the feeling that Zoro might be right.

That, or you’re just delusional. Feelings are weird. You might just be infatuated, for all you care.

You’re back at the ramen shop with Zoro a week later. You haven’t seen Luffy, much less come over at his place, since your schedules have become increasingly different over time. But if it meant avoiding any and all interactions with his brother by steering clear of their home, it might be for the better.

“Usopp wants a mild bowl,” you tell Zoro. Having known the owner, he volunteers to order takeout, while you sit and wait for him at an empty table by the front window.

You’re on your phone when you’re approached by the very person you don’t want to see.

“Oh, hey. Nice to see you here.”

You lift your head to find Luffy’s brothers standing before you. Ace, who greeted you out of the blue, is in a black hoodie and shorts like he came straight out of the gym. Sabo, standing behind him, is more well-dressed, with a backpack strapped to his shoulders like he just got out of the lecture hall. When Sabo catches your eye, you quickly look away.

“What are you doing here?” you blurt out, unintentionally coming off as rude. “Sorry, I meant, what’s up? Here for some ramen?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a tiring day,” says Ace. You don’t point out the odd fact that he claims to be tired at 12 noon, but you remember he’s narcoleptic. “Anyway, I’ll catch up with you later. I’m getting food.” He nudges Sabo behind him. “Sabo can keep you company.”

“Wait—” Sabo is pushed aside as Ace lines up two customers behind Zoro. Your eyes fall on the man standing before you, but you avert your gaze quickly.

Sabo regains his composure and decides to sit across you, paying no mind at how undeniably awkward it’s getting.

Your sentiments aren’t any better, especially when the man in front of you has been on your mind the past week. If anything, you find it more suffocating. Sabo doesn’t know, but he’s all you ever think about because you’re confused with your feelings. Your roommates don’t make it any better, either. Your conversation with them flashes before your eyes, and momentarily, you hope Sabo is clueless about your drunken antics.

“Where’s Luffy?” you ask, a poor attempt to relieve the tension between you.

He’s a little surprised, like he doesn’t expect you to talk to him at all. Even then, he answers your question with a rather short reply. “At home.”

“Oh.” You nod. He looks down at his lap, and you figure he’s on his phone. Your shoulders sag, and shame creeps up your spine. He doesn’t want to talk.

But you’re proven otherwise a few moments later.

“Ace mentioned something about you being anxious that I was mad,” he says out of the blue. He awaits your reaction, only continuing when you look up at him with parted lips and a creased brow. “If you’re worried about the bed thing, I hope you know it’s okay. I kinda thought it was funny.”

You almost don’t believe him, but he supplies it with a light chuckle, so you do. His words become even more alluring when the corners of his lips lift upward and his front teeth show. Sabo is cute, but has he always been this cute?

“Thanks for not lashing out,” you say. “I was drunk, but I was worried it was inappropriate. Not that it wasn’t—it was, since I snuck in your room and slept there the whole night.”

“No, I should apologize for forcing myself on the bed beside you. I was tired,” he explains. You don’t think he should apologize, but it’s a habit of his. Sabo doesn’t want bad blood with anyone, it seems. “If what Luffy says is true, you blacked out first before your friends did. There’s no need to feel bad about wanting to sleep on a proper bed.”

Blood rushes to your face, and suddenly, your cheeks are hot.

“Yeah…” you mumble sheepishly, opting for such a reply instead of something else. “Just so you know, that doesn’t normally happen.”

“I understand it was a fun night.”

You shake your head. “Well, yes, but I never get that drunk. I drink moderately, and I’m not a lightweight either.” Realizing you’re getting defensive, your head falls in shame. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t judge,” says Sabo. His tone is gentle like he means it, like he promises he isn’t judging. And the crazy thing is, you believe him. Relief washes over you at his reassurance, and you feel more at ease with your rambunctious display of behavior many nights ago. “I blacked out one time after Ace gave me Everclear. I know the feeling.”

A lighthearted laugh makes it past your lips, and for the first time in more than a week, you feel like you can talk to him normally again. It’s good to have brought it up, and suddenly you realize that he’s sort of confrontational, but gentle.

Zoro comes back a few minutes later with a paper bag of Japanese takeout. You don’t see it yourself, but you know he shoots you with an amused look when you seem to happily bid Sabo farewell. Even then, he doesn’t bring it up and just follows you on the walk back home, keeping his thoughts to himself.

FOUR.

From that day onward, you see Sabo more often than you expect. You cross paths on campus, sometimes on the way to class, and more surprisingly at random food chains along Conomi Avenue. It’s strange, and while it helps to have cleared up your awkward encounter, seeing him as often as you do now doesn’t help your confusing feelings. It’s especially problematic since he’s so nice to you, and you tend to be a sucker for courteous actions.

The next time you see Sabo, you’re at his house. Luffy begged you to come over because he’s been suffering the symptoms of food poisoning, which earned him a playful slap from Nami and a well-deserved lecture from Sanji. You decided to visit him with your roommates, and by the time you arrive, Sanji is already there.

“You’re going to die an early death if you keep this up,” Nami scolds him, pressing harder on the cooling gel on Luffy’s forehead. Sitting by the foot of his bed, your friends look at him pitifully.

“I’m sorry,” is all Luffy says, which sounds rather genuine given his pitiful state.

After some time, everyone shuffles out of his bedroom for lunch, leaving you to look after Luffy yourself. He falls asleep an hour or so later, and only then does Sabo decide to appear.

He approaches his brother, sits beside him on the mattress, and tucks the blanket under his chin. “He looks better than last night thanks to Sanji’s cooking,” he says, and you hum in acknowledgement.

“That’s great,” you mumble. Luffy hardly gets sick, but when he does, it sucks the life out of him. Thankfully, this isn’t your first rodeo with a sick friend. Living with three people and no trusted adult leaves you to just figure things out on your own. “How did he get poisoned?”

Sabo sighs. He stands from the mattress and crosses his arms on his chest. He tries to stifle a chuckle, saying, “He and Ace ate at a barbecue place when I wasn’t around. Lufy ate a bunch of undercooked meat and couldn’t handle it.”

Laughter erupts from the back of your throat, but you resist the urge in fear of waking your friend. Luffy shuffles in his bed.

“You can laugh,” Sabo tells you.

“I’d rather not,” you retort. “It’s already bad enough that he’s skipping uni. You should have more sympathy for your brother.”

“Hey, hey,” he says, looking at Luffy then back at you, “let’s tone down the accusations. And for the record, Ace had been making fun of him a whole lot worse.”

Sabo decides to stay at Luffy’s bedroom with you, oftentimes asking you things about his brother and commenting on nonsense that he thinks you would find hilarious. It feels strange to talk to Sabo this way after many years of just passively acknowledging each other, but his attempt to talk to you is sweeter than not. And for some reason, it makes you feel warm inside. Zoro’s words from a couple of weeks ago find their way into your brain, and for a moment, you’re distracted.

When you seem to have short-circuited, he asks, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you respond quickly. He nods. He inches closer toward Luffy and presses the back of his hand to his brother’s forehead. “Is he?”

“Not quite,” he says. “I’ll get him another gel pack. Could you slip into the bathroom and get some paracetamol?”

Upon Sabo’s orders, you walk to the common bathroom down the hallway of Luffy’s bedroom in search of the tablets. You open the medicine cabinet by the door, but the paracetamol isn’t there.

You look around the bathroom. Open shelves with toiletries line the back wall of the sink. At the topmost shelf sits a first aid kit, collecting dust. But there’s no stool in sight.

Standing on your tiptoes, you take your chances and reach for the kit, but it’s too far up. A grumble rips from your throat. Who stows away an emergency kit out of reach? Although when you stand back on your heels, you’re reminded that Luffy's brothers are unnecessarily tall on top of being bad organizers. Clearly, Sabo didn’t think your job through.

Slowly, you hoist yourself up on the small counter space by the sink. You kneel, but the marble hurts your kneecaps. You recoil backward before trying again.

That’s when Sabo comes in.

“Hey, I got—”

In a panic, he enters the bathroom and drops the pack of cooling gel on the counter to redirect his hands on supporting you from behind. His right hand clutches your hips, the other the back of your thighs. His touches are light and delicate, done out of courtesy and fear that you might fall, but it makes you somewhat dizzy.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and slowly, you descend the counter with his help, even if you don’t need it. Sabo reaches for the kit and apologizes for its odd placement. “I’m guessing Ace put that there.”

“He probably did when he used it some weeks ago. He misplaces things often,” he explains. “You sure you’re okay?”

You appreciate his concern, but your stomach flips like you’re conflicted. Sabo doesn’t miss the way your lips purse tightly, a subtle sign that he should ignore, but instead chooses to address in an equally subtle gaze of concern.

“Seems A-okay,” he says. “We should head back.’

When you come back to Luffy’s bedroom, Usopp is already there. You throw him the first aid kit, which he catches, and pass down the duty before finding an excuse to leave, the events just a few moments before replaying in your head.

Sabo doesn’t question it. He just lets you.

A few days later, however, you see him again.

This time, you’re back at the ramen shop from a few weeks back, but you’re alone. When you enter, you notice him in the same circumstances. Ace and Luffy aren’t around.

It’s you who approaches him first, figuring there’s no point in trying to avoid him. Not that you have a proper reason to begin with—you spent some time reflecting on his actions at Luffy’s bedroom the other day, and after much contemplation, you concluded that you were just delusional. Sabo is a nice man. He likes to help people and he smiles at everyone often. He doesn't want bad blood, so he has a habit of apologizing. Most importantly, he’s just well-mannered.

Avoiding him makes you the problem, and you don’t want that.

“Hi,” you greet simply as you approach him by the counter, where he claims a bag of packaged ramen. He returns your greeting with his own, coupled with a smile that stretches on his lips. He asks where your friends are. “Half of them are in class. Zoro is taking a nap.”

“That goes the same for Ace. He won’t be waking up until evening,” he says in a joking manner. He nods toward the cashier. “Ordering something?”

“Just a quick meal before I head to the library,” you reply. “Are you a regular?”

Sabo looks down at the paper bag of food in his hands and cutely chuckles to himself. “Caught me red-handed? I come here often to buy their ramen.”

“Just like Zoro. Do you like Japanese food?”

“I think the cuisine is great, ramen most especially,” he says. It’s quiet for a moment until he realizes you’re there to dine, not to order takeout. An idea crosses his mind. “Can I sit with you?”

“Oh,” you stutter, “but I thought—”

“This? Nah, it’s for Ace,” he says before you can even finish your sentence. He’s lying, but you don’t look convinced, so he takes it up a notch. “He ordered a bowl with ghost peppers since he’s crazy like that. He said he couldn’t come since he was, uh, with friends… but he’s asleep now, so I’m in no rush to bring this to him.”

While Sabo isn’t a good liar, you decide to just nod and pretend to believe him. The takeout ramen in the paper bag is obviously his, but whatever his reasons are for lying, you shrug them off and instead appreciate his kindness.

You’re seated across him some time later, steaming hot bowls of noodles placed in front of you. Sabo offers you the first bite, and conversation flows naturally from there.

You ask how Luffy’s doing, and he laughs. “He’s somewhat in a predicament,” he tells you. Luffy’s been better since you last visited him, but as a precautionary measure, his grandfather imposed a no-meat ban for two weeks. In true Luffy fashion, he hasn’t followed it one bit, but Sabo stresses that he’s been looking after his brother’s diet to counterbalance his stubbornness.

“Your family is something else,” you remark.

“It runs in the blood,” he says, not long before he corrects himself. “Their blood. I’m kinda just there. I prevent them from doing dumb and dumber stuff, like a mediator.”

You hum over a mouthful of noodles, then you shake your head. “You’re blood-related at this point. You act like your brothers more often than you think.” But you’re more tolerable. And gentler. 

“Do I?” You nod. “Guess they’ve infected me. I would’ve turned out differently if it weren’t for them.”

“It might have been for the better,” you say after much internal debate. As far as your memory goes, Ace and Luffy are half-brothers, while Sabo is adopted. It was something along the lines of being disowned and left to fend for himself at a young age, which explains the visible scar on the left side of his face. You don’t know much beyond that, but you’re aware it was rather tragic. No child deserves to go through what he did.

“You might be right.” Sabo is surprisingly not offended or hurt that the topic shifted to his past. He figured you knew—most likely from Ace—but he trusts you with that sensitive knowledge, so it’s not a big deal. “Speaking of Luffy, he’d like to say thank you for taking care of him. He wants to host another party to show his gratitude..”

“I’m just glad he’s recovered,” you say. Food poisoning sucks. It sucks even more when you’re a massive foodie like Luffy. “When is it?”

“No clue. But if I were to guess, probably within the next three weeks.” Sabo has heard of the undergraduates’ suffering because the semester is ending in a month. He’s a senior, so his semester ended earlier than Luffy’s and his third-year friends. Sabo knows you’re a third-year yourself, so you’re in the same situation right now.

You note down the date in your head, then you joke about your wariness of Nami, her drinking game, and the presence of strong alcohol in this upcoming party. Sabo laughs with you, but he’s confused.

“Nami’s drinking game?” he asks, reaching for the chili bottle in front of you. Without a second thought, he drizzles his entire bowl with a layer of chili flakes. “What’s that about?”

“Well, if you remember Luffy’s so-called get-together a few weeks ago”—you grab a bottle of condiments and sprinkle a generous amount on your bowl—“I got totally wasted. It turns out that Nami, my dearest friend, decided it was fun to play this game, where you basically—”

You stop yourself.

Nami’s drinking game. Everybody getting themselves drunk through many rounds of Truth or Drink. You downing four shots because your subconscious just felt like it, not because you were intentionally naming one of your friends’ siblings in response to the prompt you drew.

Your friends poking fun at you for having feelings for Sabo.

Sabo doesn’t know what happened that night. The way he curiously questions you proves it. He doesn’t know about Nami’s game and the cause of your blackout. All he knows is that you drank one too many shots on a fun night with your friends, which caused you to drunkenly stumble into his bedroom and snooze there for the rest of the night until he came home.

Sabo finds your silence uneasy. Chewing on a mouthful of noodles, he asks what’s wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you reassure him, but it comes out a little shaky, like you’re hiding the fact that there is something wrong.

Sabo decides to ignore it. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Well…” you stutter, eventually becoming speechless, winding up wordless. You stuff some of the noodles in your mouth and chew on it aggressively. Sabo narrows his eyes at you, and something clicks inside his head.

“Is it a secret? Something I can’t know?” he asks.

“Pretty much,” you say truthfully.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with why you blacked out.” And why you ended up in my bed. He thinks. “Was it something that happened during the game?”

You’re sweating buckets, and it’s not because of the malfunctioning AC within the shop. You’re incredibly nervous, and Sabo notices it as you look down at your bowl and keep eating.

“You’re easy to figure out,” he teases.

“I’m not,” you defend.

He nods. “Well, does Luffy know what happened?”

“Yes?” you answer in a questioning tone. “Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he?”

As you look up from your ramen bowl, you see him holding a stupidly arrogant smirk on his face. You almost drop your chopsticks. You’ve been fooled.

“You are not going to ask Luffy what happened.”

“I’m sure it’ll reach me either way,” he teases. You whine in your seat, face falling into your hands. “Hey, if it’s just an innocent drinking game, then what’s the harm?”

You groan. You just dug your grave. You tried to run away, but you were backed into a corner at the last second. “It wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be, but there are some things that need to be kept buried. That event is Exhibit A.”

Sabo hums to himself, thinking deeply. He tries his hardest to guess what could have possibly occurred that night that makes you so uptight about keeping your mouth shut, but he ends up empty-handed. If he truly is curious, Luffy is his best source.

In the end, Sabo decides to be a good friend and respect your privacy, but his curiosity doesn’t leave as he continues to dwell on it for the next few minutes. Out of keen observation of your resistance, he asks something even he was surprised by.

“Does it have anything to do with me?”

You choke on your noodles. Your life flashes before Sabo’s eyes and in a matter of seconds, he’s up and standing, fetching you a glass of water from the self-service station. When he comes back, you’ve calmed down.

“I’m sorry!” he cries as he watches you drink the very last drop of your glass. Although his comment was nothing but a joke, it was truthfully riddled with narcissism, and you were probably taken aback by his prideful confidence. Stupid Sabo. He thinks to himself.

“It’s okay!” you tell him weakly, your airway relaxing with the subtle burn. Sabo apologizes for the nth time, and once he’s convinced that you’re okay, he shifts the conversation elsewhere.

But for some reason, his gut tells him that he was right.

The next two weeks pass by in the blink of an eye. You’ve been working yourself to the bone that you’ve forgotten how it feels to sleep on your bed. Your friends aren’t doing any better either; Nami has been working on a thesis proposal, Usopp on an architectural build, and Zoro on a paper debunking a mathematical theorem (“Nerd activities,” you once told him). As the semester comes to a close, you’ve finished the bulk of what has to be done before finals, so you’re now working on the less important matters (that are honestly quite important on their own, but less important than your other tasks).

You’re cooped up in the library to get them done, but as the clock strikes six in the evening, your body relaxes into your seat, your shoulders sagging in the process. Tiredness overwhelms your body, your energy expended after working all day. The paper you’ve been writing is nearly done, but you can’t find the brain power to finish it tonight.

“Somebody’s in a slump.”

You raise your head at the sound of Sabo’s voice. He stands before you in his usual get-up, well-dressed and presentable like he normally is. Unlike your pitiful self, his eyes are full of life, his face full of color. Clearly, he’s been stress-free. You try not to think about how tired you look, and instead acknowledge his presence.

“Up to something tonight?” he asks.

“Just trying to get this paper done.” He looks down at the mess you call your workspace, and his eyes flit to the many drafts and sticky notes you have on the table. “It’s for an elective. ECON 185. Not my strongest suit, so I’ve been fighting for my life.”

He nods. “‘Law, Economics, and Public Policy.’ It’s a tough elective if you don’t major in it.”

“It was the last open class left. Everyone else took the easier ones.” Your nose scrunches up at the bitter memory. You’re always unlucky with selecting free electives—you eventually just take what you can get when the promising classes are already full. “What have you been up to?”

“Helping Luffy with a project,” he answers. “Says he has to interview me for something. I dropped by to work on it since it needs a little bit of research. Involves local policies and all that boring stuff.”

Your eyes light up at the mention of your friend, and at that moment, your face regains color.

“Right! You major in diplomacy, don’t you?”

A few heads a couple tables away turn toward you, and you shrink into your seat. Sabo contains a chuckle and presses a finger to his lips, his teeth showing behind a grin.

“I do International Relations,” he whispers. A smile makes its way onto your face as you realize the gold mine of knowledge in front of you. Sabo can probably lend a hand or two with this godforsaken paper you’ve been working on.

You tell him this, and like the kind man he is, he agrees to take a look.

“Yeah? What’s it about?” He rounds the corner and drags an empty chair from the table across you to sit at your table. You scoot over to the side, but even with the large space the library has to offer, he decides to sit quite close. You note the proximity he’s subjected the both of you to, but you don’t dwell on the thought.

“Um, about international policies… and other stuff,” you tell him as you shuffle through your handwritten drafts. Sabo observes them from the corner of his eye. “Part of it is a case study, and the other part is somewhat subjective. It’s a final assessment, so you can imagine the extra instructions.”

You show him your working draft, a 12-page long essay formatted in Times New Roman 12 and correctly cited Chicago footnotes. Sabo is impressed by your progress, and with that, he’s convinced you don’t even need any of his help.

“It’s bound to get longer,” you say. “I’m 90% done, but it’s due in two days and I haven’t reviewed for a final. I’m not making that deadline without sacrificing many hours of sleep.”

“This calls for help then,” he says. He takes your latest working draft at the top of the pile and skims through the first couple of paragraphs. He reads them silently, his eyes scanning every word, every letter, every punctuation that you’ve inked down on the pages. You sit in silence as you await his remarks. “Looks pretty good to me. Do you have an outline?”

The next hour is spent on Sabo overlooking what you’ve written with the occasional questions on your work. You crunch a few concluding paragraphs in between his silent readings, your eyes focused on the laptop in front of you as you digitize your work. Your shoulders sag, relaxed. The load of stress disappears from your body. It feels good to be supported.

“Huh?” Sabo whispers to himself some time in between, immersed in your writing. You look up from your screen. “Oh.”

“Yeah?” you ask softly, but he doesn’t reply. He keeps his head down, eyes trained on the draft before him. He continues to read through it, unbothered.

You debate asking again, but you don’t. Sabo doesn’t seem to notice anything else, his attention all drawn to the words written before him. At that moment, your fingers rest on your keyboard, and you watch him silently.

He leans on the table, his cheek resting on the palm of his propped hand. Locks of his blond hair fall on his face, now longer than before. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this up close. He’s pretty. Gorgeous, even. You found him cute just a few months ago, but it feels different now. He feels different now. For some reason, everything is.

What changed? It’s a question that comes from a place of unknowing. You’ve grown accustomed to seeing him so often that it might just be the answer, but that doesn’t explain your newfound fondness for his looks, out of all things. Pressing your lips inward, your thoughts jumble with the feelings in your heart, and you’re distressed.

Do I like him?

It feels almost wrong to think that way. You don’t know if it’s a claim you should be making. Your feelings tell you it’s true, but your brain says otherwise. Maybe you’re infatuated with the thought of him as you lack enough reason for how you feel, but that thought is only equally troubling because it feels wrong, too.

Your laptop enters sleep mode, and you realize you’ve been pondering for far too long. Sabo is on the last page of your draft, just a few paragraphs away from your concluding section. You tune back into your work, your fingers flying once more across your keyboard to distract yourself from your inner dilemma.

“You’re a great writer,” he says after reviewing your work the second time. “I like your voice. It’s clear. You don’t have to tweak anything else other than, well, finish the essay.”

Warmth simmers at the pit of your stomach, but you hide it behind a nervous laugh. “You’re sugarcoating it.”

“Does it sound like I am?” He tilts his head toward you, and you catch his eyes—round, black, and gentle. It knocks the wind out of you, and it doesn’t help the warmness of your insides.

“It,” you stutter, “it does.”

He smiles. “Please, take it as a compliment. I meant it.”

Staring becomes too much. You avert your gaze and turn to your drafts before you, shuffling through them in a make-pretend excuse for looking away. God. You’re a mess.

And just like before, Sabo notices. Your panic is evident to him. Beyond that are other things he’s noticed the more he lingers around you—how you get flustered, how you think before acting the way you do, how you move with bursts of confidence before thinking deeply again. You don’t do too well at hiding, he thinks.

“Your observance is only limited to me and Luffy though.”

Sabo shakes his head. A chill runs down his spine. Ace haunts him at untimely places.

While you busy yourself with writing your paper, he fishes his laptop from his backpack and gets some work done himself. The next hour is spent in silence, but Sabo wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I should get you something to drink.”

Your ears lift at the voice that disrupts your quietude. Sabo speaks to your right, having changed positions half an hour ago because his laptop died on him and you were closer to the charging port than he was. You roll your head to face him, but you don’t lift it from your arms, your body slumped into the table to get some rest.

“I’m okay.”

“You seem tired.”

“Just haven’t been getting enough sleep, that’s all.” As if to prove a point, a yawn forces its way past your mouth, your eyes shutting close momentarily. You look away out of courtesy and apologize.

“Yeah, I’ll get you something. Is water fine?”

You shake your head stubbornly, but Sabo resists just the same. Grabbing his wallet, he stands from his seat, although you stop him before he could go any further.

“I’ll come with you.”

That’s how you end up in the convenience store just across campus. Walking does you a great deal as sleepiness disappears from your body, only to be replaced with fuel as you take a few sips of an energy drink Sabo insisted on paying for.

When you meet him at the far corner of the store, he’s two hands deep into the ice cream freezer. Packaged cones line the first rows with the larger tubs occupying the back wall. He grabs two cones, one of them a flavor you like, and hands it to you.

“How did you know I like this?”

“Oh,” he says, but it’s met with a couple seconds of silence as he slides the freezer close. “You talked about it once.”

“I did? When?”

“Well,” he says, “you might have been drunk when you did. It’s a distant memory. Kinda hazy from my head, to be honest.”

You find it strange. Even your roommates wouldn’t know what ice cream flavor you would pick—it’s kind of just a random background detail that you don’t speak of. Sanji, out of all people, would probably be the only person to know. Still, you don’t press on. Maybe you really did overshare once.

“Hey, check this out. It’s a card game.”

Your eyes drift to several stacked cardboard boxes on the top shelf of the miscellaneous section. Your eyes widen by surprise.

“It’s a drinking card game,” you deadpan, grabbing a box and reading the labels. The memories from many weeks ago flood your head. Your nose scrunches up irksomely. “I’m not fond of this game.”

Chuckling, Sabo grabs a box of his own and he reads through it. “Why not?” he asks, but he remembers eventually. “Ah, I see. It was that small gathering, was it?”

“I don’t even want to remember what happened then,” you say, rolling your eyes. Sabo laughs at your misery, but it’s playful and not condescending.

“You should get back at your friends for that.”

“How I wish. Revenge sounds hellish when it comes to those dorks,” you say.

“I figured— wait a sec.”

You look at him.

“You know, I never got to hear what happened during that game,” he begins. You shake your head, looking away in a muffled groan. “Wow, did you just groan?”

“You’re persistent,” you remark.

“Please, it couldn’t have been that bad!” he exclaims. You look at him, unamused. “Oh, come on.”

You shake your head, lips sealed tight. Sabo can’t know. He can’t. Not when your feelings are still jumbled, not when you still haven’t figured out if drinking to his name meant anything. You haven’t had the time to reflect on it. All you know is that you like being around him, and you enjoy seeing him. It’s complicated.

“I’m the most curious of the bunch.” He places your box back on the shelf after mentally taking note of its name. “So? Do you really not plan on telling me?”

Grinning wildly, Sabo pokes your side a couple of times to elicit a response. You almost break, you’ll give him that, but you stay true to yourself. You can’t admit something so hastily. You need more time to think.

“I’ll tell you when I’ll tell you,” is all you say.

“Alright, alright. I’m just teasing.”

“You say that only to ask again a few hours later,” you tease back. He laughs. If you can’t share the truth behind that game, then he’ll just settle for the many jokes you’ll milk from it. This is fine with him. Getting to laugh with you is enough.

“No, no, I won’t. You don't have to worry about that.”

“Sure I don’t,” you reply sarcastically. You grab the ice cream cones from his hands and skip to the counter, leaving him down the aisle. “But I know you will.”

When you disappear into the next aisle, Sabo giggles softly before reaching for the box of playing cards in his pocket, tucking it up his sleeve, and heading to the counter before you do.

FIVE.

Luffy’s party, as usual, is a fun mess.

“Why is there a flamingo floatie on the roof?” Usopp asks when they arrive at Luffy’s home for the semester-end party he and his brothers have been planning. It was initially Luffy’s “thank-you” party for taking care of him when he was sick, but word somehow got out and everybody else showed up. Nami, tonight’s designated driver, steers Usopp’s car toward the curb and parallel parks with ease.

“People are passed out yet it’s still 9 o’clock in the evening,” you point out as you check your phone screen. You and your roommates file out of the car together and walk up the front door.

“Yeah, well,” Usopp says as he spots a guy straight-up drunk, face planted in the grass of Luffy’s lawn, “that was you two months ago. Can’t really criticize now.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut it.”

Around three weeks have passed since you’ve written your essay and you have survived your finals for the most part. Many days were spent cooped up in the library to get things done, oftentimes with the help of your friends, but you’re one step closer to freedom now as the school year comes to a close. Just a few things here and there for clearance is all you need to take care of, which shouldn’t take long if you tend to them swiftly.

But for now, you want to rest. Part of that is letting yourself loose at Luffy’s party with some drinks. Nami brings up the idea of another drinking game, but you reject her invitation right away, followed by a firm announcement of your abstinence for the next two months.

As soon as you enter Luffy’s home, your eyes scan the room. You squeeze in between hot bodies on the makeshift dance floor, excusing yourself when you get too close. You search for a particular blond. Your eyes narrow at the sea of people, your irises dilating under the faint light. To your dismay, he isn’t to be found.

“Where did you go? You got lost.” Zoro gently tugs the fabric of your top as he stands close to you. The music muffles his words, so you lean forward.

“I was looking for Luffy,” you lie. He nods.

“They’re on the patio. Let’s go.”

With one hand on Zoro’s wrist, you lead the both of you out of the wild crowd, past a populated hallway, and into the outdoor space adjoining the kitchen. Nami sits beside Luffy on a poolside loveseat, while Usopp stands before Sanji, who’s manning the grill. On the other side of the patio sits Ace with his older graduate friends, his shirt off and hair damped. Zoro is confused when you approach them first, but he doesn’t question it.

When you approach Ace, he’s wasted and surprisingly energetic, a complete 180º from his usual narcoleptic self.

“Hey! You came!” he greets enthusiastically. He tries to stand up, but his legs wobble, a sight you have never seen before from Portgas D. Ace, so he sits back down on the poolside furniture.

“Wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on the party,” says Zoro.

“And I’m kinda surprised you’re already drunk,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. Ace laughs.

“Attitude!” he snaps. “A bottle a day keeps the”—he hiccups—“narcolepsy away!”

“That’s enough.” Marco, a tall blond guy with tattoos similar to that of Ace’s, snatches the bottle of alcohol from his grasp. He passes the bottle around, far from Ace’s reach. “God, you’re a problem.”

“What did you come for?” he asks anyway through a stifled hiccup, but his chest rises again and he lets out a burp. “Actually, I think I know. If you’re looking for him, he’s inside.”

“I was looking for your brother,” you say, intentionally vague. Zoro grunts behind you.

“U-huh, sure you are. He’s all you ever think of, I bet,” he teases. Your eyebrows knit in confusion. “He’s somewhere inside. Probably looking for something to drink, or looking for you—I don’t know!”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, “oh, and, you weren’t as mysterious as you thought you were. You could’ve just said his name. I’m sure you’re aware that Luffy’s behind you.”

Right behind you, Zoro snickers. Your hands clench into balls of fists, but Marco shuts Ace up with a dry towel and a bottle of water. Turning on your heel, you decide to approach your friends at the other side of the patio and plop on the couch when you hear Ace’s scornful cackling from the distance.

“What’s up with him?” Sanji asks over the grill. The scent of melted cheese on marinated steak patties wafts through the area, and for a moment, you’re calm.

“Someone is finding one of his brothers in the middle of the party,” Zoro answers.

“I want to push him in the pool,” you joke.

“You’re looking for Sabo?” Luffy pipes up at the mention of his brothers. “He was just here. He went to look for something.”

Nami smirks devilishly. “More like someone.”

“Nami,” you warn.

She giggles. “I didn’t mention any names.”

“Let’s put our anger aside and get something to eat first,” says Sanji as he plates the first few burgers on serving plates from Luffy’s kitchen. He brings you a plate and an accompanying drink, just the way you like them served.

“You put seaweed on mine,” Zoro points out the evident nori flakes on his burger. Sanji glares at him.

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t want you complaining, so I added them ahead of time. Got a problem?”

Zoro’s forehead creases. “I was showing my gratitude.”

“It’s not my fault for assuming otherwise since you always talk like—”

“Hey, you guys came!”

Suddenly, Sabo emerges from the crowded kitchen, a red cup of liquor in hand with a pack of Nerds’ Gummy Clusters in the other. Your eyes shoot upward upon seeing him, and you fix your seated position on the couch.

“We were just talking about you,” Luffy says through a wide grin, his burger long gone. Nami nudges his side in an attempt to caution his words, which seemingly works since Luffy shifts his attention to Sanji’s food. “Sanji! Do you have any more patties there?”

“No, but I could cook some more,” replies the chef.

As your friends draw their focus to Sanji’s cooking, Sabo sits himself next to you on the couch. You scoot to the side, but your legs touch given the cramped space. “Have you eaten?”

You chuckle. “Haven’t even pre-gamed yet.”

“Planning on drinking tonight?” 

“As long as I’m not roped into anyone’s crazy game, yep.”

“It’s been two months since that happened yet you’re still so cautious,” he points out.

You shrug. He’s right. Maybe you should let it go, but you can’t. Not that you’re at his house, not that he’s in the vicinity. Your feelings are still at a state of tug of war, your heart and brain telling you two different things.

But Sabo has been challenging your feelings as of late. He’s been helping you constantly with whatever you needed, be it an essay he could proofread or a last-minute grocery run to get you something to eat. He’s been too kind, too generous. And perhaps the worst part of it all is that he’s too good at doing those things, keeping you on your toes all the time, always catching your heart effortlessly.

“Just trying to be cautious this time around. Like I said, I never get that drunk. I’d rather not blackout on your bed and wake up next to you again,” you deadpan.

Laughing, he leans on the couch and extends one arm behind you. You inhale sharply. He isn’t even touching you, yet…

“Why not?” he asks. “Not that I want to see you that drunk again, but I doubt it’d be weird this time. You’re no stranger to me. Unlike before, you’re… you’re a friend.”

You look at him. That’s when you see it. His eyelids hang lower than normal, his circular eyes glowing in the dark, the colors of his irises reflecting the light of the bonfire in front of you. He’s a little tipsy, but his words are softly curated that you find the sincerity behind them nonetheless.

“I’d really rather not give you a heart attack by waking up next to you,” you whisper.

“You really won’t,” he whispers back.

“ACE!” A screech of Ace’s name sounds from the other side of the patio, where you just were. Startled, you and Sabo whip your heads behind you to find his brother running amok, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. He stops just behind you, his movements somewhat wobbly.

“Man, how much have you been drinking?” Sabo scrunches his nose at the sight of his brother, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. Marco and a bunch of his friends follow.

“Not a deal, honestly. Where’s that card game you bought a few weeks back?”

Sabo shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

“It was like a game or something. You showed it to me after you went on that date with—”

You raise an eyebrow. Sabo glances at you before looking back at his brother. “Shut up! It wasn’t—I wasn’t—”

“The card game, please,” says Ace with an extended hand.

Sabo grumbles under his breath. He places his drink on the ground, tells you that he’ll be back in a few minutes, then disappears into the buzzing crowd inside his house. Ace laughs maniacally when his brother leaves.

“What was that about?” Usopp asks.

“Just him being stubborn,” Ace says in a sing-song. He looks at you. “I see that look on your face. You’re curious, aren’t you?”

Your eyebrows knit in anger. “Wasn’t even going to ask.”

“Aw, don’t be mad!” He giggles. You pick up Sabo’s drink from the ground and lean back into the couch, drinking your own. Lowering his voice, he says, “I promise you, I was just teasing.”

You huff, but you don’t let Ace see any more of your troubled expression. “Like I said, I don’t care,” you lie through your teeth. Ace is a great older figure when he’s his normal self. When he’s drunk, he becomes annoying ten-fold.

“We’ll see about that,” he chirps. He tries to wrest Sabo’s abandoned drink from you, but Marco stops him from doing so.

When Sabo comes back, he’s rather sheepish. He slides the so-called “card game” in Ace’s hands before repositioning himself on the space next to you.

Before you can ask him any questions, he chugs the rest of his drink and apologizes.

Ten minutes later, you’re confronting Sabo as your friends unite in laughter behind you.

“You did what?!” you exclaim.

“I was curious, but I wanted to play the game, too!” Sabo defends himself. Your head falls into your hands. Sabo caresses your shoulder. “I’m sorry!”

“I have my reasons, Sabo. They’re embarrassing.”

“I understand, but it’s nothing to worry about,” he consoles you. He pats your shoulder once, then reluctantly your head. Your heart misses a beat. “Nobody knows what went down that night, okay? I do hope it wasn’t homicidal, but embarrassing or not, you’re safe.”

Sabo smiles when he evokes a response from you, a light laughter that gets drowned in the noise, but he hears it nonetheless. You lean into him closer.

“You’re not joining that game, are you?” Sabo looks at Ace and his group of friends, where your group of friends now sit after inviting you over. Nami left you under Sabo’s custody when you declined, warning him intently to keep an eye on you throughout the night—and he takes the job seriously because you’re closer to each other than before, like he’s guarding anything and anyone who dares try anything on you.

“Not tonight, no,” he says. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“A drunk man watching over me,” you goad him. “It’s funny, but I appreciate it.”

“I promised your friends,” he says. Suddenly, the crowd erupts in laughter. “They’re having a lot of fun.”

You nod. In all honesty, you didn’t expect Ace’s friends to concur with his antics. Ace is the youngest of the bunch, and Truth or Drink doesn’t seem like a party game that graduate and postdoctoral dudes play. Sabo tells you they’re all like-minded regardless of age, which makes a whole lot of sense considering their closeness.

“Ew! Marco, you’re gross! You’re gross!” Ace yells in response to Marco’s revolting story, reminisced in light of the card he chose. “You could have taken the shot instead of saying all that!”

“I’m not getting myself drunk,” the man in question says. With a flick of his hand, he tells Usopp with the empty bottle, “Spin it.”

You spend some time with Sabo at the patio until he excuses himself to the restroom, saying he drank too much prior to your arrival. You promise him you won’t go anywhere, so he walks back inside with ease.

But you’re adventurous. And most of all, curious. Without Sabo beside you for a suspiciously long amount of time—it’s been more than ten minutes and you’re worried; he must be puking his brains out over the toilet—there’s nothing to do.

After much debate, you walk over to the crowded end of the patio and peek through the crowd to see the mastermind of it all. Ace is as energetic as ever, and it doesn’t seem like he’s ending the game any time soon. Your eyes flicker across the crowd, and there, you see your friends—Nami, Usopp, Zoro, and Sanji. You can’t find Luffy anywhere, but your instincts tell you he’s somewhere there, hidden.

“Yikes, it landed on me,” Ace hisses through gritted teeth. Right beside him, Nami expertly shuffles the deck and lays it out neatly. Ace picks a card somewhere in the middle, and with bated breath, he awaits.

“Tell us which one of your friends’ siblings you would date, or drink the number of letters they have in their name.”

You freeze in place.

“The hell? Their siblings are, like, older than 35,” he says, unamused. “These people don’t do dating.”

Usopp shrugs. “Try your brothers’ friends, then?”

“Ah,” Ace gives it a thought or two, “well, you guys are little siblings to me. Sabo only has two friends outside of this circle, who I don’t really know. Let’s see…”

“Hey,” Sabo whispers beside you, and just like that, you’re distracted. He spares Ace a glance before looking back. “You alright?”

“I need a drink.” He nods. He takes your hand in his, and together, you leave the patio and squeeze through the sea of partygoers before winding up in the kitchen. Sabo snatches two bottles of Smirnoff from the counter with your express approval, then leads you back outside, past the swimming pool to the far corner of the backyard, where a big hardwood tree stands tall.

Sabo sneaks behind the tree, and with a push of a lever in a discreet junction box, the corner of the yard lights up. Lanterns hang from the branches of the oak, emitting a faint orange glow that consumes the night with warmth. Sabo points to the ladder by the base that extends upward to the branches.

You know this place. A tree house sits at the first fork of the oak, its design attributed to the large trunk that transverses the middle. The tree house is the brothers’ childhood playground, back when the adults used to live with them. You’ve been to their home enough times to know this, but none of your friends have ever stepped foot inside. You always assumed it was an off-limits area for the sake of preserving the space. It’s almost sacred.

“In here?” you ask Sabo just to make sure you aren’t entering a place you aren’t supposed to.

He nods.

“It’s too loud anywhere else. My room isn’t any better.”

He convinces you enough to climb up. He follows suit. When you make it to the top, you look around in awe.

Sabo has to crouch down because he’s too tall for the life of him, and there is only so much space before he’s smacked in the face by leaves. You laugh at him. He marches over to a small door, fiddles with the lock and keys in his hands, then pushes it open once unlocked.

You enter first. It seems almost magical. “Nostalgic” is another word to describe it. The light from the lanterns spill through the cracks and windows of the space, providing enough light to guide you around. Part of the oak’s trunk is in the middle, designed with LED lights and guarded by rails that encircle it. On the back wall are three bean bags of different colors. Sabo walks over to them, patting away the light dust that has collected on top of the blue bag, and pats the yellow one next to him.

“I’m guessing this is your color?” you ask, sitting on the bag as you’re told.

“Luffy’s. Mine’s blue. We kinda had a thing for playing pirates, and the colors assigned themselves with our costumes,” he says sheepishly. He then points to a black tapestry behind you, the word “ASL” painted on top of a crossbone. “Luffy tends to wear his straw hat when he’s drunk.”

“I’ve witnessed that,” you remark. You look around the room, scanning the many pictures and drawings hung up on the wall. Sabo cracks open the bottles and hands one of them to you, ensuring to inspect them first before letting you drink anything.

“Thanks,” you mumble. You clink your bottle with his before chugging down a generous amount. Sabo just watches you go, like taking a swig this impressive is second nature to you.

“You sure drink like you’re 30,” he comments.

“I’d argue otherwise,” you reply. “Those in their thirties usually drink some wine. That, I don't really have access to. Alcohol is much, much cheaper for uni students.”

“Can’t argue with you on that,” he mumbles, only after which he drinks some of his own. It’s your turn to watch him. “What?”

“No reason.” It’s true. You’ve just grown accustomed to watching Sabo so much that it feels a little fun to watch him just be himself, doing his own things. You drink another gulp of the liquor. Sabo tells you to slow down, but you don’t listen.

“Don’t shock your digestive system with the sudden influx of 45% ABV,” he warns. You find it incredibly nice of him, a warning out of genuine concern for you. But if you’re going to spend the rest of the night with Sabo alone at his childhood space, you might as well match his tipsy level.

When you’ve drunk one-thirds of the bottle, you rest your body on the bean bag and face the man next to you. Sabo is more exhausted than he makes himself out to be. His eyes hang lower than earlier, his blond hair tousled all over. But it’s in a handsome way most women like, making him look more vulnerable, but raw.

Sabo routinely notices this—how you’ve gone quiet, how your eyes scan his face. Bravely, he asks, “Are you checking me out?”

You sneer. “Does it look like I am?”

“Totally, yeah,” he says, but it’s hypocritical because he goes silent and he starts checking you out himself. You look different under the dim lighting, but he stares right back nonetheless.

It’s endearing, to say the least. Sabo holds so much charismatic power in his eyes that it almost drives you crazy. Then you realize it’s all he’s been doing the past weeks you’ve known him. Your heart swells.

“Thanks for sticking with me tonight,” you decide to tell him instead. He hums.

“It’s the least I could do.”

The conversation ends like that, leaving you with your silent thoughts as the muffled noise from the sound system outside passes through the walls of the tree house. You and Sabo sip from your bottles until sobriety slips from your grasp many minutes later.

Your head is buzzing when you move around the bean bag, figuring that if you move too much, the subtle ache in your head will turn into an intolerable migraine. You look down at your bottle and notice that you’ve drunk all of it. That explains it.

Your eyes flit to Sabo, who’s in the same position, but he’s tipsier than you are with his bottle equally empty. His eyes are almost closing, but he keeps them open as he gazes past the windows, eyes trained on the dark void outside.

He seems to be zoning out. He hasn’t blinked in the ten seconds you look at him, but it’s not truly what it seems.

He’s been preoccupied since that evening. His thoughts have been floating in his head the moment you arrived a couple hours ago. Frankly, he hasn’t thought about anything else but you. Sabo notices that you occupy his mind a lot, like you’re living rent-free in his small head for an unfair amount of time, but he doesn’t know whether or not he should consider it a problem.

His lips thin out into a straight line as he falls deeper in thought.

“Your observance is only limited to me and Luffy though.”

He’s been telling Ace about his interesting predicament since the start of your friendship. It hadn’t been a secret to him—or to anyone, for that matter—that you weren’t close to begin with. For some reason, you always hung around Ace, which made him ponder a few times about your fondness for his brother.

“Does she like you?” Sabo asked one day.

Ace’s features contorted into confusion. “Um, hello? Chill out. I’m basically her older brother.”

“She seems to hang around you a lot. I mean, when Luffy’s friends are over.”

“Doesn’t really mean much. I just talk a lot more than you do.”

Sabo always thought it was odd how you were closer to Ace more than you did him. Not that he was jealous of Ace—no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t anything in particular that you did either, but rather it was the bizarreness of it all that did. Sabo thought it felt strange that the both of you weren’t tight when you saw each other as often as you saw Ace. It made him wonder if he’d done anything wrong that seemed to repel your presence from him, but he always ended up clueless.

Ace shot him a look of doubt. “Are you implying that you want to impress Luffy’s friends?”

“Uh,” Sabo hesitates, “no.”

“Kinda seems like you’re worried about them not liking you, though,” his brother teased. Sabo was becoming flustered. “I guarantee you it’s my mouth. I doubt Luffy’s circle would approach me if I wasn’t loud.”

Sabo shrugged. Ace slid next to him on the kitchen island, gripping a glass of water.

“Hey, do you have a crush on someone you haven’t told me about?”

Sabo glared at him. “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m just saying, you’re asking an awful lot of questions. Some might say they lead back to one person in particular.”

The blond groaned, eyes rolling to the side before he hopped off the stool and trudged away. “Shut up, Ace.”

“If you like her, you should tell her! You heard it first from me.”

It killed Sabo thinking about it. The atmosphere always turned different every time your friends left the both of you alone, just sitting around in the living room and giving each other respectful looks before directing your attention to your phones. You’ve talked before—quite obviously—but it was always awkward, a thick layer of silence never failing to engulf the space between you after a short-lived conversation. Sabo never understood it. What was wrong?

He figured you just didn’t connect as well as you did with his two brothers. After all, Sabo was less energetic than those two. Maybe it was just a ‘him’ problem all along.

“Right, so, you’re conflicted because you’re awkward, and she’s not.”

He groaned once more. “Correction: we both are.”

“You just need to talk to her. She doesn’t hate you, you know,” said Ace.

“I don’t trust that,” replied Sabo.

“Well, Mr. Nice-Guy-Who-Wants-To-Be-Friends-With-Everyone,” Ace started, “she doesn’t. If you want to be friends with her so badly, just walk up to her. Start talking. But I personally wouldn’t do that.”

“You wouldn’t?” Sabo blinked. “What does that mean?”

“I personally would never disguise my crush on somebody as ‘wanting to be friends with them.’ I’d cut to the chase and ask them out directly.” said Ace with finger quotations in the air. Sabo frowned. “Dude, don’t give me that look. Sadness doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t like her,” he said, “I just want to be—”

“Want to be friends with her. Yeah, yeah, sure.” Ace waved his hands in the air, then took a huge gulp of water. “Maybe you do. But you only do because you’re nice to everybody. And when you want to be at peace with someone who seemingly hates you, you don’t make a fuss about it. Do you?”

Sabo was silent. Ace was victorious.

“Look, attraction is very weird. Some people get attracted to people who hate their guts. Or when they get ignored by the person they like.” Ace laughed. “You probably think of her because you know her least, so you keep thinking of her until she’s in your head every time she’s near. And suddenly, you’re attracted.”

Sabo grumbled. Screw Ace for being a natural romantic. “Even if I were, that doesn’t mean I like her enough to date her.”

Ace shrugged. He marched over to the fridge to get a bottle of Yakult. He threw one toward Sabo, who caught it just in time.

“It doesn’t. But that’s where the dating part comes. You go out to get to know them.” He downed the bottle in one go and tossed it in the bin under the island. “Dude, you’ve dated people before. Think about it. She’s your type. Don’t waste your time and just ask her out.”

Sabo was red by the end of that exchange. You are his type. He wouldn’t hide that at all, because if he tried hard enough, he could imagine dating you. But he didn’t know if he should take his chances or not. You’re one of Luffy’s best friends. He didn’t know how his brother would react if he found out that he was making moves on you. Beyond that, it also felt wrong to ask you so soon. Not when you couldn’t spare each other a glance, not when you couldn’t hold a proper conversation without ending on an awkward note. If Sabo were to make his move, he’d make sure you’re on talking terms first.

Finding you asleep on his bed two months ago was the push. Like a catalyst to speed his reactions. He hadn’t thought of approaching you so soon, but he was glad. Whatever could’ve been the reason for your drunkard antics, he was glad you ended up in his room, then because he could talk to you, then he could clear things up, then he could finally befriend you and dissolve that wall of discomfort.

He hadn’t known it back then, but you’re nice. You’re sweet. You get shy when he’s around because of the bedroom incident that happened a few weeks back, but you hold yourself accountable. You're apologetic for your actions. Even then, Sabo always reassured you that it was fine because it really was. He wouldn’t have gotten the chance to be with you the way he is now if it weren’t for it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. He’d save the explanation another time.

Although the thing with Sabo is that he gets himself in the most baffling of situations. Unlucky, if you will. But they might also be blessings-in-disguise. Regardless, it’s clear that his brain is running on alcohol and he can’t control his thoughts from pouring out the way he normally would sober. His thoughts seem like they have a mind of their own. So through his drunkenness, through the dim lights of the lanterns at his childhood tree house, he just conveniently decides that now is that time.

“I thought you were with Ace,” Sabo said. He had come upstairs to use the restroom and miraculously ran into Luffy seated by the foot of his bedroom. “Are you alright?”

“I’m hungry, but my tummy hurts,” he admitted. Sabo looked down at his brother, who had one hand on his stomach. He shook his head. “I can’t open my room.”

Like the good brother he was, Sabo unlocked Luffy’s bedroom door and rushed him inside, laying him down on his mattress. He tucked his brother in bed despite his protests.

“I don’t want to go to bed, I still want to eat!”

Sabo flicked his forehead. “Don’t even try. You’ll get sick again.”

“I want to go downstairs with Ace! He’s playing that game we played before!”

He heaves a sigh. “Yeah, because I brought it to him.”

“That game was dangerous. It got me drunk, too,” Luffy reminisced. “Everyone was barfing, and—”

“Go to sleep, idiot.” Sabo threw the blanket over his face.

“—she picked the worst card, but she didn’t want to tell us who it was, so she ended up drinking four shots like they were nothing!”

Sabo stopped moving. He removed the blanket covering Luffy’s face.

“Wait, say that again. What happened?”

Luffy began to ramble. He narrated the events that transpired that fateful night, from the moment Nami revealed the deck of playing cards to when you blacked out. Sabo tried to process the information as much as he could, but Luffy rapped through his words, only slowing down when Sabo’s name was roped into the game.

“Hey, don’t tell her this, but she drank four of them. I think she was spelling your name! Not Niji!” Luffy whispered.

So, as he sits right next to you, Sabo is conflicted. He just learned something he wasn’t supposed to, something he wasn’t allowed to hear. No wonder why you were so insistent on not telling him—everything that occurred that night had everything to do with him. He was right all along.

On one hand, it satisfies Sabo that he’s been on your mind the same way you’ve been in his. On the other hand, he feels like a traitor. He knows it isn’t his fault, but he can’t prevent the guilt that gnaws at his conscience. It will probably haunt him for the rest of his life if he hides it from you. He has to apologize. He has to.

So he wants to say it. He wants to be honest, at least. It’s the least he could do for finding out something he wasn’t supposed to, then he can apologize by the end of it. And maybe, just maybe, he can be honest about his feelings for you, too.

He opens his mouth, but he hesitates at the last second. He has his doubts, and just like that, he begins to second-guess his decisions. He probably shouldn’t say it because he’ll end up being this jerk who doesn’t know any better than to snoop around your business. He doesn’t want to be so cocky and arrogant that your eyes well up with tears, your lips form into a frown. So he decides to shut up. He decides to be a good boy and a gentleman, providing you with amazing company in comfortable silence, until you’re in the mood to chat.

But his mouth betrays him, and he says it without hesitation.

“Can I ask you something?”

You look at him. Sabo’s heart thumps in his chest. You’ve made him nervous before, back when you would sit so close at the library or at a jam-packed restaurant around Conomi Avenue. But the nerves that hit him this time around are different. They're far greater than the ones he’s experienced, like his heart is about to leap out of his chest.

You nod.

Sabo sucks in a deep breath.

“Is it,” he hesitates, “is it true that you would date me over your friends’ siblings?”

He drops the bomb. Your face instantly morphs into shock, your mouth falling ajar and your eyes becoming wide with fear. Sabo immediately regrets it. His heart falls to the pit of his stomach when you don’t reply.

You don’t seem too pleased. You stare into the night silently, like you’re giving Sabo the cold shoulder after his utterance. Little does he know, alarms blare inside your brain to signal a fight-or-flight response to his words. Adrenaline rushes through your bloodstream and you think of what to say, but your body fails to do anything productive as you simply tremble in place.

Sabo notices your internal dilemma when you don’t respond. He keeps quiet for a few moments as he waits for you to speak, but silence remains.

“You okay?” he decides to ask. A safe question, nothing to be afraid of, even though your answer is clear as day.

“Who told you?” is your first question, but you don’t sound mad. Just surprised.

Sabo leans back on the bean bag, then brings his bottle to his lips, drinking the last droplets that have pooled at the bottom.

“Luffy,” he admits soon afterward. A sigh escapes your lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I knew you didn’t want me knowing things, and believe me, I never acted on it,” he continues. “I just got too close.”

“Too close?”

“It just came out mid-convo,” he explains. “Luffy was M.I.A. earlier due to a sick stomach. I found him upstairs when I left. Everything just came out, and… I was too shocked. I had no idea how to stop him from divulging more than what he already had.”

Your head falls forward in defeat, but the liquor makes it heavier. A subtle throb aches in your right temple.

Typical Luffy. Of course he would tell him that. He probably thought it wasn’t a big deal since you and Sabo seemed to have been getting along recently.

“If there’s anyone you should be mad of, it should be me,” says Sabo.

But there’s no point. Getting mad at Sabo won’t get you anywhere. After all, his name was just dragged into your stupid drinking antics. If anything, beyond the bed issue, he should be mad at you. He should be mad that your feelings are jumbled, to the point that you can’t even properly tell him what happened in that stupid drinking game many weeks ago.

“I’m sorry.”

You suck in a deep breath. “It’s fine.”

He looks up from the ground.

“Really, it’s fine.” Turning toward him, you force out a smile. It’s the best that you can offer right now. A part of you is relieved that he doesn’t seem to be mad at you after learning what he learned, but the other part remains anxious. You don’t want your friendship to end badly. You’ve only warmed up to him recently, so the last thing you want to happen is to go back to ignoring each other.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I told you, it’s fine.” You laugh breathily. You reposition yourself on the bean bag, so you’re facing him. You call out his name. “Sabo.”

He twists his head slowly, looking at you. The warm glow of the tree lights reflect on his face, and for a second, you’re speechless.

“Hm?”

“I…” He waits patiently. “Well, I…”

Is it worth telling him the truth? What happens when you do? He’s drunk and he looks so smitten under the moonlight, so you can only imagine how deeply it would hurt to tell him the truth behind your stupid drinking spree. You gulp.

Why are you so reluctant?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say, “but that… all that didn’t mean anything.”

Sabo purses his lips. Your words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but he sucks it up.

“I see.”

“But it was short-lived,” you interject. He listens. “All of it didn’t mean anything then, but it started meaning something when you came. When you started showing up in my life often a few days later.”

Silence falls.

“I thought I was going to lose my mind,” you confess. “I drank recklessly, but that was the end of it. You weren’t on my mind until the morning after, and the many days after that.”

“Until you woke up on my bed,” he finishes. “Right next to me.”

“You just knew when and where to show up,” you joke. “You were always there. You showed up whenever I thought of you, like you knew I was thinking of you… Did you know I was thinking of you?”

Sabo’s heart flutters in his chest. He never knew it felt good to hear someone say that. In some way, he felt honored. And for some reason, finding out your feelings for himself is a million times better than learning it from someone else.

“Even if you didn’t drink for me, I can’t say I didn’t like thinking as if you did,” he confesses. Your stomach turns. “For the time I thought it meant anything, it was rather short, but it felt good to know I crossed your mind that way.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. He waves his hand, disagreeing.

“An apology isn’t needed. Knowing you thought of me eventually in that light is good enough.” Smiling to himself, he replays your confession inside his head. He feels a jolt of electricity course through his body. He’s more than thrilled right now. “To make things even, I should let you know that it’s mutual. Always has been.”

“It is?” you ask.

He gives you a look. “I was obvious, wasn’t I?”

“But I was confused,” you explain. You’re into him, and you always have been into him—for once, you’re being honest with yourself. But it scares you to a degree that your feelings are merely infatuation. “What if I only liked you because you kept appearing around me? Because I’ve been thinking about you since I stumbled into your bedroom?”

You look at Sabo, your eyes a little glossy.

“I worried too much about these things that I didn’t pick up on your intentions.”

You’re not crying, but you might as well be. Alcohol is flushed into your system and it’s wiring your brain differently. You look helpless.

“What are you saying?” he asks, but he empathizes. He thinks he understands.

“I just didn’t know what’s fair and what’s not, and I still don’t,” you tell him honestly. “I’m into you, but how do I know if I truly do? Not because I see you so often, not because you’re nice to me?”

Sabo doesn’t respond right away and instead thinks to himself. It’s a great question, immensely reminiscent of his exchange with Ace. He and Ace don’t have a lot of differences, but it seems their views on dating is one of them. Ace likes things quick, fast, and straightforward. Sabo likes things slow, sweet, and just the right amount of pining. He doesn’t go out with people easily because he has an intrinsic fear of waking up one day and realizing that it isn’t love all along. It checks out with his dating history—he might as well be speaking from experience.

The problem now is that you seem to be in the same ditch. Other than the anxiety that comes with the doubt, he guesses it’s because he’s your best friend’s brother, too. Any problem between you will make things difficult for your friends, so Sabo understands where you’re coming from. You’re not about that risky life when the future appears blurry. When you commit, you want to be sure.

Sabo is smitten just the same, though, so he wants you to be sure. He wants it for the both of you.

“It takes time to know that,” he answers. “You go out and do things. You go on dates. When your heart is free of doubt, that’s when you know.”

Sabo watches you bite your lip. You’re still troubled, but the sight of you has him spiraling. Suddenly, he has the urge to hold you.

“It makes sense, but”—you bite your lip harder—”I still fear it. I don’t want to be wrong. I want to be sure. I want to be sure that it’s you.”

And I want that, too, Sabo says to himself. A sigh passes his lips. “We’re not far off. I didn’t know if I liked you because I knew you least or because I saw you as often as I did.” Standing up, he offers you his hand. You take it and let him hoist you up. As you stand before him, you look into his eyes while he peers down at you. “I got ahead of myself by bringing this up tonight. I’m sorry for causing you confusion. I hope you can forgive me.”

You frown. That’s not what you expected him to say.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” you argue. “You don’t think this was a mistake, do you?”

“Being into you will never be a mistake,” he says, “but forcing us to have this conversation tonight might have been one. I brought it up early. I should have waited a little longer.”

Your lips form into a pout and you look so… sad. Sabo feels guilty for it. He wants to hold you closer, possibly even do the unthinkable and peck the sadness away from your lips. But it’s the alcohol talking in his system, so he prevents himself, not wanting to take advantage of you drunk.

“Thinking about it upsets me, but you’re not wrong,” you mumble. Things would’ve been different if you had this conversation at a later time. By then, you would have figured out your feelings and be more sure about Sabo than you are now. On the flip side, you’re challenged by the uncertainty of tomorrow. What happens after tonight? Will you continue your friendship as if nothing happened? There is no guarantee this will end well.

Sabo comforts you with gentle strokes of your head, patting your hair down as he surmises a reply. He’s distressed, but he’s glad you’re on the same footing.

“What do we do now, then?” He hears the brokenness in your voice, sees the genuine sadness in your eyes. He has to fix this.

“I’m still into you, you know?” He brings one hand up to your cheek, then pinches your skin softly. Blood rushes to your face at the endearing act. “That will never change. We just need time to figure things out together.”

He reaches for your hand. Sabo runs a thumb across your knuckles to soothe your nerves.

“If you want to, that is.”

You hold his hands in yours.

“I want to.”

“Then come here.”

He opens his arms, and almost automatically, you fall into them. Your arms encircle his waist as he lays an arm around your shoulder to bring you closer. You smell the liquor on him mixed with his cologne, and just like that, you’re entranced. You’re comforted. Sabo just does it so well.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not remembering a single thing tomorrow,” you warn him softly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers through a hearty laugh. “I’m no better. We’ll just see where this goes.”

SIX.

You remember every single thing.

When you and Sabo got back to the patio, it was past midnight. Ace and his friends were down by the poolside, while your friends packed themselves like sardines in Luffy’s bedroom, sleeping soundly as a 2000’s romantic comedy played in the background. The house had been less crowded then, allowing you to navigate around better without having to link hands with Sabo as tightly.

You ate some crackers to fill your stomach before heading to his room upstairs, where he offered to let you sleep on his bed. You initially refused, but he insisted, promising you that he could sleep on the floor just fine.

That’s how you find yourself in his bedroom the following morning. You wake up a few minutes before the clock strikes 7, jolting awake by the sudden unfamiliarity of your surroundings. When you realize you’re in Sabo’s room, you relax back into the mattress, your head hitting his soft pillows.

You realize that Sabo is gone when you look down to check his make-do bed on the floor. He’s woken up early, it seems.

You sling your feet off the side of the mattress when you feel the first throb of an impending migraine. You hiss in pain. Even then, you fight through the ache and make a beeline for the bathroom in search of some hangover pills, then tread to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When you get there, someone has beaten you to it.

“Good morning,” Sabo chirps from the other side of the island, tossing a pan of eggs over the stove. The side of your head throbs again, but you resist to flinch. “You’re up early.”

“I have a migraine,” you mutter. Approaching the stool just across him, you lay your head on the counter and pat your own head gently. “Got anything there for it?”

“Other than the classic pain-relievers, I can give you something good to eat,” he says. A few minutes later, he slides a plate of seasoned eggs in front of you, hot and freshly cooked. He rounds the island and sits on the stool beside you, watching you silently.

But you meet his gaze when you tilt your head to the side. Your head throbs again, and again, and again, but you stare at him, and he stares back.

You laugh.

You both laugh.

“Remember anything?” he asks, hopping off his seat and leaning on the countertop next to you. Reflex causes you to look away, but you aren’t rattled one bit. Flirt.

“Very much so.”

“That saves me the trouble of explaining things from the start. How much do you remember?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say. “Like, all of it?”

Sabo pinches your cheek. “I had a feeling. You’re a tough nut.”

“And so are you.”

“Mm-hmm, but you could give me that. I was pretty out of it for the most part,” he says. “You kept me sober. I fought the effects of the alcohol so I could remember.”

“Oh, Sabo,” you call his name. He smiles, and you’re ruined. You feel warm again, your heart beating a little faster. Your stomach swarms with a million butterflies and for a moment, your headache is gone, like Sabo was all you needed to get rid of it.

“What are you two doing, flirting in my kitchen?” as if on cue, Ace bellows from the living room, his hair untidy and his shirt gone. He looks around the space, deciding what to do first, then walks straight to the fridge where he hunts for food.

“We were having a moment,” Sabo snaps. Ace makes a face of feigned disgust, but you don’t see it from your seat.

“Gross. Let me have some breakfast first, then you can continue,” he says, drinking Luffy’s leftover can of orange juice from the fridge. “Not sure if anyone’s told you yet, but congratulations. I hope I was the first.”

Before Ace strolls out the kitchen, he bids you goodbye. “Remind your friends that they owe me some money!” After that, he’s gone.

You giggle. Annoyed, Sabo rolls his eyes. He has to confront Ace later for betting on his love life behind his back, but for now, his focus is on you and the migraine that seems to prick at your head.

“Hangover soup and a few more hours of sleep can fix this,” Sabo advises. You nod. “I’ll make you something, then we can order anything you’d like at noon.”

“Thank you,” you reply shyly.

“Anything for you.” He pats your head, ruffling your bedhead hair in the process. And there it is again—he smiles, and you melt. He’s handsome without even trying. “You have me.”

“I have you,” you echo.

-

thanks for reading! i apologize to everyone for taking so long to post this, especially to my giftee @justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms. i underestimated this semester's workload, so i barely got enough time to write on time:( my first idea was to write about the ASL brothers going on a glamping trip with reader, which i had written a substantial amount of, but i scrapped the idea because it was going nowhere. that was originally around 4k words, while this was supposed to be within 8k. it ended up stretching to 17k (i'm sorry).

some other things: i wanted to write about law, but i was afraid everyone else would write about him (and i was right), so i settled with sabo, who barely gets enough fics. i had a lot of fun writing this. sabo is very sweet and he deserves more stories written about him. following that thought, ASL modern AU's should definitely be more common. i don't understand why barely anyone writes them, it's kinda criminal.

other than being my first full-length sabo fic, this is the longest one shot i've ever written, so it's kinda special to me. i didn't have enough time to get it beta-read, but i proofread it myself so i hope it's good enough lol. that's about it. thanks for tuning in!

[lovelytsunoda]

let me go | jake seresin

summary: jake is twenty years old and about to ship off for his first assignment in the us navy. he thinks his girlfriend deserves better, but she's here to tell him just how wrong he is

pairing: jake seresin x childhood sweetheart! reader

warnings: angst, based on the song 'let me go' by christian kane, cliffhanger ending because i'm evil like that, spoiler: accidental pregnancy

author's note: i usually don't listen to country music but i caught a rerun of my favorite 'leverage' episode the other day and remembered this song existed, and the fic wrote itself from there

Jake Seresin's Ford Ranger was parked as close to the edge of the cliff that you could get without being a danger to yourself and others. The view over the grassy cliff and into the turquoise water of the bay around Stacey's Point was to die for, but neither was focused much on the water. The lighthouse stood proud behind them, occasionally swinging around the illuminate their bodies.

The pair had spent many a night at this point, perfect in the late spring and early fall, free of the tourists that flocked to the Point's picturesque shores. In mere weeks the town would be overrun, college boys tripping over each other for lifeguard jobs that would allow them to show off their muscles to any tourist girl in a ten mile radius.

They lay in the back of the truck, Jake's letterman jacket over her shoulders. She was too good for him, he thought to himself as he nuzzled into her neck, gently sucking a hickey. At her quiet moan, he felt a stabbing pain in his heart.

How could he possibly say goodbye? Walk away from the best thing that had ever happened to him? The mere thought made him sick to his stomach.

"Sugar, there's something I need to talk to you about."

She pulled away from him, pulling his ratty old football jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Talk to me, Seresin. What's going on?" She always had been good at reading him, understanding him the way that nobody else could.

Jake sighed, averting his eyes. "I got my marching orders today. They want me in Fort Worth by the end of the month."

There was silence for a long stretch, and then he felt her warm hand engulfing his. "We'll figure it out. Jake, when you first enlisted I told you I was in it for the long haul. That's not going to change."

Jake shook his head. Why couldn't she get it? "You've got another year of college to go, sweetheart. You have a future. You have parents that love you. What do I have? I have a chequing account with ninety-three dollars in it, and this old fucking truck."

YN's face fell. "That doesn't change anything. I've heard Texas is beautiful this time of year. We can go long distance until I'm finished school, and then I can meet you in Fort Worth. Jake, we can make this work."

"No we can't. Haven't you been listening? You've got it good here. Don't throw it away on me, you're just going to get hurt in the end."

Anything could happen to him while he was in the air. Injuries, dismemberment, death.

Whatever happened to him, he couldn't put her through that.

Red-faced and with his head in his hands, Jake got up from the back of the truck and started pacing along the dry grass.

"Why are you so eager to give up on me, Jake? Do you want to know what I think?" She shouted, trying to get him to look at her. "I think you're scared. You're not as strong ad you think you are, and I think you're scared to be in love. I think this is the realest relationship you've ever been in, and you're trying to sabotage it because you don't think you deserve to be happy."

She was right. She was right and they both knew it.

A lot of people had let Jake Seresin down in the long run. Teachers, friends, the adults of Stacey's Point. His own father had wasted no time in telling Jake that he wouldn't be smart enough to get to college on his own, and that he'd need a football scholarship to get there. Low and behold, Jake hadn't been good enough at football either. He'd seen the military as his only chance.

"You deserve better than me, YN. You deserve someone stable, someone who can always be there for you."

He'd thought it through, he kept telling himself. Breaking her heart now would be better for both of them in the long run.

"You're being ridiculous. I want you, Jake." She pleaded, one hand over her stomach through the thin linen of her pinstriped dress. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she could feel the heavy pressure in the back of her throat.

"God knows why." He snorted back a laugh. "I'll only break your heart down the road. You're better off without me."

"Don't fucking say that!" Her voice cracked. "Why can't you see that I love you?"

"I love you too, YN, but I'll never forgive myself if something happens to me while I'm out there, and you get left alone to pick up the pieces." Jake's voice was firm as he sank to his knees in the soggy grass, taking one of her hands in his. There was a wild desperation in his eyes, pleas in his voice. "So please, just let me let you go. It's better that way."

She shook her head, tears beginning to track down her cheeks. She couldn't do that, for more reasons than one "I can't, Jake."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm pregnant."

[holyblonded]

are there moments when azulita’s street smart made people pause? i love the way u write and i feel like azulita’s street iq has a lot of depth to it!

— the time the team was walking through a busy part of a city and a guy got too close to vicky’s backpack. azulita didn’t even blink—she yanked vicky back by her hoodie, turned and stared the guy down, then muttered, “check your zipper.” vicky opened the bag and found it halfway unzipped. no one said anything, but they all looked at azulita differently after that.

— she always sits facing the door in restaurants. always. even if she has to trade seats with someone twice. when irene asked why, she shrugged and said, “habit.” alexia realized later it wasn’t just a habit, it was a survival thing. a soft kind of paranoia, quiet and ingrained.

— on public transport, azulita instantly spots people trying to steal. she clocks body language, pockets, bags, shoes. one time in new york she watched a guy slowly edge closer to a woman’s purse and without thinking said, “yo. she don’t want that from you.” the guy bailed. the woman didn’t even realize what happened. the team was like. okay.

— when the airbnb was in a sketchier area, the girls were talking about what they’d do in an emergency. azulita pulled a folded piece of paper out of her sock with the address, emergency contacts, and a basic escape route. no one else had even thought that far ahead. syd stared at her like she’d grown another head. frido said, “jesus, you’re scary smart.” azulita replied, “nah. just used to being alone.”

— she never leaves anything valuable out. never. phone, charger, wallet, always on her, even in safe places. one time someone left a door unlocked and azulita lost it. not yelling, but this cold, clipped tone, “do you wanna get robbed? do you think that’s a joke?” and it was quiet. because they got it then, this isn’t just a quirk. it’s wiring. she grew up being her own alarm system.

— she has an instinct for people too. the kind you can’t teach. she knows when someone’s lying, scamming, or playing a game. one time the team met a guy who was being too friendly and trying to sell them something. azulita leaned close to alexia and said, “he’s not local and he’s watching salma’s pockets. cut him off.” they left. twenty minutes later, another tourist yelled about being pickpocketed.

— marta once joked, “you’re like a lil baby jason bourne,” and azulita rolled her eyes, but inside? she liked that. because yeah, she might not have a typical education, but she knows how to survive. and she always will.

—alba told her once, “you’re like a superhero. but, like, from the street.” azulita laughed, but only a little. because she had to be. that was the only way she made it.

[grimsonandclover]

Bot drop + Sneak Peaks

Thought it would be fun to share some little lines from my current drafts... sorry it's been a content desert from me— I have a tiny bit of writers block right now :( I also meant to release more for the anniversary in terms of fics, but hopefully I'll be able to finish those soon! I've got a lot to share so hopefully you enjoy these little sneak peaks that I love sharing. I'm like a kid showing you the worms in my pocket and the stickers covering my arms.

Attention Seeker sub!Patrick Zweig x dom!user

He wants your attention, he wants your rage.

Sanctuary sub!Patrick Zweig x dominatrix!user

Patrick hires a dominatrix. He knows he's pathetic, but maybe you can give him some use.

Endure - Patrick Zweig

He couldn't look at it, at those walls holding his pain in its pores. Patrick could hear them spoken back like an echo and covering his ears did nothing to stop them. The words like water seeping through the cracks in his fingers, pouring and absorbing into him until they became everything he is. His whole body the voice of his father across the table. Even now at thirty-one he's never been wrung dry.

First time blurb - Art Donaldson

Art's barely caught his breath, going back to sloppily kissing your neck as his hips start again. You don't even know what to say, moaning at the friction and force again. The overstimulaiton is making Art whine into your neck but he just can't stop.

Mixed Feelings - Tashi Duncan

If you asked Tashi Duncan how she identified, the answer would be simple: "I'm a goddamn tennis player." That's the only thing she's ever worried about, really. Rackets and practice and tennis sets and shoes and coaches and tropheys and wins. So, when she's asked how she identifies, that's what comes to mind. Not gender or political stance or, god, sexuality. That's never been something she's cared to give thought to.

Linette - Art + Tashi

She looks up, smiling politely and shaking the hand of the man she's heard about in passing. Of the two Jones siblings, Uncle Alwyn is considered the 'normal, tolerable' one. Their mother, whom Art called Granny, passed away when Art was 10. Her portrait, taken in her early twenties, hangs proudly over the mantle facing the dining table. Linette always says it feels like even now she can hear her mother criticize her cooking from there.

I'm Your Biggest Fan! - Patrick Zweig

Patrick's finger is on the dial button of his mom's contact when he reaches the nearest motel. She's the only one with a semblance of a soft spot for him, just big enough to let her son get a place to sleep. Before he presses it though, cigarette dangling between pouting lips in the motel parking lot, he spots you. He tries to push down the idea that you followed him here.

Secretary - Art + Tashi + Patrick

“So, because your broke ass couldn’t afford to take my sister on a honeymoon, I have to suffer through the Rich Dad, Poor Dad audiobook through my breakfast? God, one book isn’t going to magically cure you from your inability to not spend your entire paycheck on ugly fucking shoes for your ugly fucking collection, Gary. I’d rather down a bottle of pills than sit through this, you don’t even have the proper inflection. It’s like listening to a dyslexic preschooler learn to read.”

S.O.S. - Art Donaldson

Art rubs his eyes, vision adjusting to the light in the dark. Stretching arms and legs out in the bed, he groans. "Are you kidding me?" "Sorry..." You mutter sheepishly to the kind of grumpy blonde. You didn't think it would wake him up; you are wearing earbuds and have mastered the art of masturbating quietly (at least, you think so), but maybe it is a little too bright. Art's always been a light sleeper. A glance back at the screen says it's midnight. Like the grandpa he is, Art goes to bed way earlier than you do. Morning practice and all that.

And They Were Roommates! - Tashi Duncan

“I don’t know how to do my makeup like yours because my mom never let me do it growing up. She was kinda a bitch– not that I think women should be called bitches.” You lean back, catching yourself on the arm of the sofa you’re sitting on before you fall sideways. She has to understand you don’t think that. “I don’t. I think it’s wrong. But I do still say bitch, like heyyy bitch. But not you’re a bitch. Oh my god, I didn’t mean that you are one, that was an example–” Before you can go on, your hands wrapped around hers as you continue defending yourself from the non-issue and swaying from side to side on the couch like it’s moving, Tashi interjects. “Babe, she doesn’t think you think she’s a bitch.”

Monday - Patrick Zweig

The material peels from him differently than it used to. He’s gained a little weight since you bought it, filling it out more than he probably should, and it’s tight to his skin when his arms pull the shirt over his shoulders and head. Patrick stands shirtless in front of the mirror, shirt in hand, and tries to see the big changes. His stomach has softened a little, the lines in his arms not as harsh as they used to be. Maybe he’s been sampling too much at work. Maybe he got used to how you’d feed him.

The Book Club - Patrick Zweig

"Me? Joining the book club? I don't read." He shook his head, pursing his lips to the side before slowly sipping from his favorite mug. "Last time I read was probably, what, third grade?" By then, Patrick learned he could get the kid next to him to do the book reports.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged when any of these are released fully!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - The Paradise

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, soulmates, canon divergence, slow burn, smut (fingering, p in v sex, orgasm denial? kinda? you'll see), angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Summary/Warnings: You and Bucky go on a date. Usual Warnings, plus extra smut.

Author's Note: 2014 Avenger Tower Fics this one's for you. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.6k

Read on A03! - Chapter 4

She’d like the flowers.

Bucky didn’t care if Stark yelled at him again, for taking them from the garden. Every single flower shop was trying to charge him a goddamn fortune, the Compound’s garden was filled with a bunch of pretty roses and lilies just lying there, and Bucky wanted to pick them himself. He wanted to be able to hand them to Her and say I found them for you. Chose them for you. You’re my world, so here’s something prettier and better than me for you to have.

“Do girls still like flowers?” Steve asked, standing over Bucky as he restarted the arrangement for the fifth time. “I’ve seen some people say they don’t.”

“They’re wrong.” Bucky grunted. “And I don’t care either way. My girl likes flowers, she gets flowers.”

“Aww.” Sam grinned from across the table. “Bucky’s got a girl. And he’s makin’ her flowers.”

“I didn’t make them. I picked them.”

“See, that’s more sappy-“

“Sam.” Steve sighed. “If he attacks you, I’m not stopping him.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and Bucky smirked at his arrangement. And he’d never tell Sam, but the birdbrain was right. It was more romantic that he’d picked them. He didn’t know how to make flowers, so he would’ve had to ask Stark, then he wouldn’t have been the one who got Her flowers.

She mostly just liked things Bucky got for Her. He made Her food and brought Her souvenirs after every mission, because he was really fucking trying to be worthy of it. Her forgiveness.

If he told Her that, She’d say the same thing Steve always said. Bucky didn’t have to earn forgiveness. For everything he’d done as the Soldat, or for leaving Her for so long when She’d needed him. Bucky had left Her when She’d needed him, and just been forgiven. Like it was nothing.

He didn’t deserve Her. He didn’t deserve to have this second shot, this chance to do it right. There was a lot of blood on his hands and scars on Her body he’d taken too long to soothe, so he’d wanted to earn the second chance. To really fucking earn it, so that in twenty years when people asked how they met, he’d have a better story than the truth.

“What would a better story look like?” She’d asked when he’d told Her, and Bucky had sighed. 

“I don’t know. Somethin’ that doesn’t involve me leavin’ you for a year after I got you kidnapped.”

“You didn’t get me kidnapped-“

“Yes, I did-“

“And.” She pushed up onto Her knees, holding Bucky’s face between soft hands. “I don’t want a better story. I like the one we have. Where you did leave me, and you were a fucking idiot to do that, but then you got better. Smarter. Came back to me again. And I waited for you, and it’s stupid and romantic and a little fucked up.”

Bucky had frowned. “But…” He’d leaned into Her touch, and She’d waited. Let him find the right words, and watching him with a soft smile the whole time. “I really fuckin’ wish I didn’t leave you, doll. Would take it back, if I could. And I don’t want people to think I didn’t want you.”

“Then don’t let them think that.” She’d hummed, settling fully down in Bucky’s lap. “You did leave me. And I know you wish you could undo it, but you can’t. But, Bucky.” She tilted Her head at him, and if he hadn’t been sitting down, Bucky would’ve fallen to his knees. “I know you want me. And that’s all that matters, right?”

Right.

Of course She was right.

His girl was a genius—although he still didn’t understand exactly what Quantum Relativity Theoretical Meta-Physics meant—so of course She was right.

So instead, Bucky was going to spend the rest of his life proving that She was right. That he did care about Her, so much that she was going to feel it. 

“Who was in my-“ Stark froze in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes narrowing on Bucky and the flowers. “Barnes, I’m pretty sure I told you to stop fucking with my garden-“

“It’s not for me.” Bucky muttered Her name, slowly grabbing the ribbon to tie it all together. “I’m gettin’ her flowers.”

“Just buy them. You’re on the company card-“

“He doesn’t want to buy them.” Sam hummed. “Gotta be like this, Stark. Doesn’t count otherwise.”

Bucky just grunted, because this was the most important part. The ribbon. He needed to get this right. Keep it all together. The flowers could look perfect, but if he didn’t get them all together he just had a bunch of fucking plants-

“You and good lady Barnes got a date tonight?” Stark asked, moving around the table, and Bucky gave a short nod. 

“He’s focused, Tony. Don’t distract him-“

“I’m just asking a question, Cap. And I still don’t know why we haven’t met her-“

“You have met her.” Steve sighed. “We’ve all met her.”

“Yeah, but not as Mrs. Robot.”

“They’re not married, Tony-“

“They will be.”

Bucky paused—he was so fucking close—and frowned up at Stark. “Why are you so fuckin’ sure.”

“Just a feeling.” Stark shrugged. “Why, you getting cold feet?”

Bucky snorted. That wasn’t possible. “No.”

“They just got back together.” Steve snapped at Stark. “Stop pushing him on this-“

“It’s fine, Stevie.” Bucky looked back to the flowers, and pulled the last ribbon together. He fucking did it. “Stark’s not wrong. I will marry her.”

There was a long moment of silence—Bucky didn’t really care, he was mostly just proud of his flowers—and Sam broke it by clearing his throat. 

“You- Uh- Not worried you’re jumpin’ the gun a little, Buck?”

“No. She’s my soulmate.” 

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. “Bucky, I’m happy for you, I am, but going all in that fast might scare her away-“

“No, it won’t.”

“Soulmates aren’t real-“

“Yes, they are.” Stark cut in, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “It’s a branch of string theory. Big talk in the meta-physics field right now.”

Steve frowned. “Tony, I can’t tell if you’re making a bad joke-“

“He’s not.” Bucky glanced down at his watch. “Peter told me ‘bout it. It’s why she was able to get through to me, when I was under Hydra. Only reason I’m doing the courting thing is so we can do this properly. But I’m gonna marry her.”

“Don’t call it courting, man.” Sam snorted. “It makes you sound a million.”

“I am a million.” Bucky stood up, taking his flowers with him. “And my girl seems into it.”

He didn’t stick around longer after that. He had a date to get ready for. A real, proper date, and the one that—hopefully—Bucky was going to finally grow a fucking spine during, and tell Her about the soulmate thing.

There was a lingering, rotten fear in his heart. That She wouldn’t want him to be that for Her. Nobody sane would. 

But She’d wanted Bucky all the same before. And She wasn’t the kind to run from this thing. It could be the end of the best thing he’d ever had, or it could be the thing that sealed it all together. They were soulmates. Bucky wouldn’t leave again, and he wanted Her, and he loved Her. Nothing could tear them apart, because the universe had decided to give Bucky a second shot, and he wasn’t going to miss it for fucking anything.

Doing the whole dating thing—Sam had said to call it dating—was for that. To earn it, and prove Her right, and never lose Her again. They’d done dinner and a movie, and walked in the park, and kissed under the rain and gone to a botanical garden. Bucky had even gotten the flower idea from that date. Her hand had been in his, and Her head on his shoulder, and She’d been staring at the flowers as Bucky stared at Her.

She was better to look at anyway.

“I like flowers.” She’d hummed. “It’s cool that nature just does that. Makes things so beautiful.”

Bucky had grunted an agreement.

And he’d still been looking at Her. 

He must be the luckiest asshole alive. His girl was smart and beautiful and kind and perfect, and he got to be the one who She smiled at. Who She waited for. 

“Don’t know how you waited for me,” he’d muttered last week, frowning at Her puzzle on the table, and She’d shrugged.

“I know you, Buck. I know you wouldn’t leave on purpose.”

“But I did-“

“It’s not your fault you’re a cute dumbass. And I’ve told you, you came back.” She’d narrowed Her eyes. “Now stop trying to convince me to leave you. It won’t work.”

 “I’m not tryin’ to-“

“Yes, you are. I want you, Bucky. And I’ll punch it into you if I need to.”

He’d snorted. “I don’t think that would work in your favor, doll.”

“Then let’s not find out.” She’d given him a small smile, and that was never not going to knock all the air out of Bucky’s lungs. “And you waited longer for me, anyway. In the grand scheme of things.”

It wasn’t worth arguing with Her about. How he had waited long, but it didn’t matter, because he hadn’t even known he was waiting at all. She’d waited knowing what had been taken, and not knowing if it would ever come back. She always said She knew Bucky would come back, but he didn’t understand it. Her faith.

Of all things, She had faith. In Bucky.

He needed to tell Her about the soulmate thing, soon. To give Her one last out, just in case She realized she was being forced to want him by the universe. This was supposed to be the date. Not just for Bucky to get it together and tell Her the truth, but to touch Her. To tell Her that, even outside of the soulmate thing, Bucky loved Her, and he’d fucking worship Her if was allowed to. 

God, he hoped he’d be allowed to. 

He hadn’t been bringing Her to the compound, because that felt like too much. Just in case the worst scenario became reality—where She didn’t want Bucky as a soulmate, and he lost Her for good this time—Bucky didn’t want Her around the team until She was sure. Until he could show Her off as much as he wanted, without worrying he’d be making a fool of himself. 

This was the date, though. And if it all went well, Bucky would be taking Her wherever she wanted after, to do whatever She wanted.

They’d been holding off on that. It was part of doing this normally. 

But God, if Bucky wasn’t ready to do more.

He grabbed Her from her apartment, shifting on his feet after he knocked on the door, and staring at the bouquet. It didn’t look professional, but it looked good. Fine. Acceptable. Maybe he should’ve listened to Stark and bought the flowers-

The door swung open, and it was amazing. How every single time Bucky saw Her, she only got more beautiful.

“You got me flowers?” She whispered, Her eyes perfectly wide, and Bucky nodded.

“Chose ‘em from the compound garden.” He grunted. “I did all the arrangement stuff, so if it’s a little shit-“

“It’s perfect.” Her smile was blinding. Bucky still didn’t know how he could possibly deserve Her. “Thank you, Bucky. I love them.”

“Good.” I love you. “You ready?”

She nodded, bouncing slightly on Her feet, her gaze never leaving Bucky’s. “Born it, Sergeant. Just let me put these in a vase.”

Bucky let Her pull him inside, and tried not to whine like a dog when She paused, kissed his cheek, then bounced away to store the flowers. He didn’t know how She was always this clear. She was so fucking clear and bright and happy, and I drove him out of his goddamn mind with love. She was like a sunbeam, bursting through a long, thick fog, and Bucky couldn’t think of a better life than this. For as long as She’d have him.

Maybe forever.

“What are we doing?” She called from Her kitchen, and Bucky took a long breath.

“I was, uh-“ He cleared his throat. He could fucking do this. “I was thinking we head upstate. There’s a cafe near the compound we could do lunch at.”

“Okay.” She agreed like it was easy. Like Bucky could’ve said we’re jumping off a cliff and She would’ve still followed him. “Are we taking the bike?”

“Do you wanna take the bike?”

“Yes, please.” She practically fucking floated back into the room, Her smile still fixed entirely on Bucky. “Just promise not to let me fall.”

Bucky chuckled. “Doll, if I ever do let you fall, it’s only cause I’m dead.”

Her smile widened, and Bucky could do this. 

He could keep Her safely tucked in front of him on the drive, and kiss the top of Her head whenever her heartbeat picked up a little too fast. He could hold Her hand as they walked into the cafe, and let Her order for both of them. She knew what Bucky liked, and he loved hearing Her talk, so all he had to do was stand behind Her and glare at anyone who got too close. 

She was wearing a dress. They always made Her look like a fairy. Glowing and clear and soft. The only thing he might ever need. 

He had to tell Her.

“What’s wrong?”

Bucky blinked at Her as they settled at a table. “Nothin’-“

“Don’t lie, Bucky. You’re bad at it.”

He snorted. “I think a lot of people would disagree with that, doll.”

“Well then, they don’t know you like I do.” She shrugged, Her gaze never leaving Bucky’s. “You’re making this tight face, and you keep taking long breaths, and I know you’re thinking about something, Bucky. Please tell me.”

“I-“ He took another one of those long breaths, and shook his head. “It’s not bad. Promise.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward, and Bucky swallowed.

“There’s this thing called, uh- String theory. I don’t know how it works. Spider-Man explained it to me, and the talks real fuckin’ fast.”

She gave him an amused look. “Spider-Man explained string theory to you?”

“Yeah. He found out about you, and told me that there’s a branch of string theory. Called it-“ Deep breath. He could do this. “Soulmate theory. Said that two people can vibrate together or somethin’, and it’s like having a soulmate. And he thought it might be why you could get through the programming. Cause you and I, we’re- You know.”

She was just looking at him. Smiling, wide and happy and real, but not saying anything. Bucky really fucking needed Her to say something.

“It’s just a theory. But we never worked out how you broke through Hydra’s work, and I never forgot you. And Stark thinks it’s real.”

That got a soft laugh. 

Bucky wasn’t sure what was happening.

“I would hope Tony thinks it’s real.” She hummed, Her smile never dropping. “He’s the one who sponsored my research. Would be a bummer to find out he’s thought I was full of shit the whole time. 

It was Bucky’s turn to stare. His brain was either connecting everything wrong, or he’d finally completely lost his goddamn mind. “What.”

“I know about soulmate theory, Bucky. I invented it.”

Oh. 

Fuck.

“What.”

She let out a long breath, holding Bucky’s gaze carefully. “It’s a long story-“

“I got time, doll.” Bucky leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t lie. You’re bad at it.”

Another soft laugh, and Her hand moved to tangle with Bucky’s. She might be glowing. She was fucking perfect. “I love you, Bucky. You know that?”

His breath was too sharp, but he felt like he’d just been hit by a fucking comet. Crashing out of the stratosphere and rewriting everything, because that was what She did. Turn everything upside down, only for Bucky to look around and realize this was the right way up. 

And it was never going to get better than this.

“I do.” He muttered, squeezing Her hand in his. “And I love you too, doll. But you still need to explain.”

She nodded, Her thumb rubbing over Bucky’s as she spoke, and he might be happy turning to stone right here. 

At least he’d be touching Her forever. 

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” She started, Her voice so soft. Almost nervous. “I promise. But it’s a lot, and I didn’t want this, us, to be something you had to do. I wanted you to love me because you love me-“

“I do love you.” He grunted, and he’d never seen a smile that wide and perfect. “Stop dancin’ around it.”

“Sorry-“

“Nope.” Bucky shook his head. “Don’t apologize, either. I kept it from you, too. You trust me?”

She blinked at him. “Of course-“

“Then tell me.”

“I- Okay.” She swallowed, Her grip on Bucky’s hand a little strangling. He didn’t mind. “I knew there was something… more. With us. Always knew. You always remembered my name, and you kept coming back, and I- I could feel it. When I saw you on the road, I could feel it, and it only ever got stronger. And there was always just- there was something, telling me you were mine. That you were home. And it made me do stupid things like take a big man with a gun into my house. But I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. It was stupid, and I thought I was going insane, but I knew. The same way I knew you’d come back. And I started researching it, and then I got good at researching it, and then I changed my whole degree to research it, and… yeah. When I got freed from Rumlow, Tony said he’d read my thesis and grant proposal, to properly research my theory. Then he gave me all the money I needed. And I called it soulmate theory, because that’s- It what it felt like. With you.”

She leaned forward, and Bucky could only stare at Her. She must be an angel, or goddess, or something. There must have been a strange fate deity that owed him a favor, because She was far too good to be Bucky’s.

But She was.

And nothing was going to change that.

So he might as well make sure he earned it. 

“That’s how I knew you weren’t staying away because you didn’t want me.” She mumbled, staring at where their hands were connected. “You’re my soulmate. You’re kind of the soulmate. The theory only exists because I have you.”

Bucky swallowed, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. “That it?”

“Yeah.”

“You love me?”

She nodded, throat bobbing. “More than anything.”

“You alright if I keep loving you?”

“I- I think I’d like that. Please.”

“Good. Cause I’m not stopping for anything.” Bucky let his grin split his face. “You wanna get out of here?”

——————

You’d never been in the residential part of the compound before. 

It was strange. 

People who you’ve seen only on TV wandering around like they couldn’t level cities. You passed Thor roaring at the TV with a X-Box controller in his hand. The Scarlet Witch was baking, Black Widow was laying upside down on the couch, and Dr. Banner was reading a romance novel.  

Tony smirked at you, when passed him. And his mouth was barely opened when Bucky started walking a little faster, almost carrying you with him. 

He’d kept his hand was firmly in yours the whole walk, his body almost bended over you to shield you from his teammates, but there were a few people you couldn’t escape. The Falcon wolf-whistled, and Bucky mumbled an apology in your ear, before flipping the man off, and hauling you fully into his arms. 

“It’s fine, Buck-“

“No.” He grumble, squeezing his grip on your body. “They’re bein’ fucking rude. You’re smarter than Sam, doll. Better than him, too. He doesn’t get to whistle like you’re just arm candy.”

“What if I want to be arm candy?” You coo in Bucky’s ear, and he tenses. “Maybe I like being arm candy?”

He sigh, giving you a dry look. “No, you don’t.”

You giggle. “No, I don’t. But you are taking me to your room to fuck me, so maybe let the whistle slide.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed. “You think I’m tryin’ to fuck you, doll?”

“I- Maybe?” You swallow. “Are you?”

“You wanna be fucked?”

“Yes, please.”

Bucky grins, his mouth moving to ghost over your ear, sending a sharp shiver up your spine. “I think we can beg a little better than that, babygirl.”

Jesus Christ. “Bucky-“

“Mr. Barnes!” 

Something red drops from the ceiling, and you can’t stop your high shriek. 

“No- Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Kid.” Bucky grunted. “Stop scaring my girl.”

His girl. 

It’s never going to quell the song in your blood, when he calls you that. You’re never going to not be made of a million sparks, and entirely and completely Bucky’s. To have however he wants, because he walks among these gods and he’s been ripped to shreds, but they’re shreds that still match you. Shreds you’ll worship on your knees, if he lets you. 

You’ll take whatever Bucky gives you. And you’re his girl, and it’s pooling between your thighs, and holding off on sex was the right call, but God, you’re going to lose your mind if you don’t get fucked soon. 

“I didn’t mean to.” The red-thing was almost whining, and when you pull your face from Bucky’s neck, it’s-

“Spider-Man?”

“Hi, ma’am!” He waves, Bucky sighs, and that voice sounds oddly familiar.

“Have I…” You pause, frowning at him. “Do I know you?”

“Uh.” Spider-man swallows, then looks at Bucky. “Can I tell her?”

“I don’t care.” Bucky grumbles, his hands kneading slightly on your skin. “Just be fast. We’re on a date.”

“Oh! Is it going well-“

“Yes.”

The kid sounds really familiar. “I- I’m confused-“

“Sorry, wait-“ Spider-man reaches up for his face, and before you know what’s happening, the mask is gone.

He really is just a kid.

A really familiar kid. 

You definitely seen him before. Recently. You’re sure of it, and-

“Peter?”

“You remember!”

“Yeah, I-“ You pause, then whack Bucky’s chest. “Were you sending children to spy one me?!”

“No!” Peter squeaks, shaking his head before Bucky can answer. “I was spying on you myself! I just wanted to help, I promise-“

“I know.” Bucky sighs, cutting Peter off with a firm look. “Trust me, kid. I do. I’ll make sure she does too. And I’m glad you did. But,” his eyes narrow. “I’m on a date. And we’re busy. So we’ll find you after.”

“After….“ Peter scans over you, fully swept into Bucky’s arms, and his eyes widen. “Oh! Have- Uh, have fun! Be safe!” 

Bucky grunts, already walking away, and you wave to Peter over his shoulder, before twisting back to Bucky with a sigh.

“That was rude, Buck.”

“I don’t care.” He mutters. “I’ll make it up to him later. He’s been askin’ about the war, I’ll answer whatever he wants.”

”Bucky-“

“But right now,” his gaze locks onto yours, and you swallow. “I’m ready to fuck you stupid, doll. That good with you?”

You might be drooling. The song in your blood feels molten and high, and you’re pretty sure that if Bucky asked you to fly, you’d figure it out.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

“Yes.” You whisper. “That’s- Yes.”

Bucky grins, leaning down to kiss you.

And he’s kissed you before. Since he got back.

But this is different. 

It’s heavy. Demanding. Bucky’s tongue is pressing between your lips in seconds, and you let out a loud moan when he pushes it down your throat. It spurs a fucking growl, right from his chest, and the sound vibrates through your body until you’re aching. Your thighs pressed together, your mouth almost fused against Bucky’s and your bodies pressed right together, but it’s still not fucking enough. 

You need closer.

You need Bucky.

“Please,” you mumble against him, your fingers tugging slightly on his hair. It only earns you a groan, and you start to grin in his grip. “Bucky, please-“

“I know, sweet girl.” Bucky’s mouth trails down over your jawline, onto your neck and over your collarbone. “I’m gonna take care of you, just gotta hold on. Think you can hold on?”

You nod, letting out a loud, breathy sigh, and Bucky chuckles. It’s dark and deep, rolling right through your body again.

It’s a promise. 

He’ll take care of you.

Bucky kicks the door to his room open, his lips never once leaving your skin, and wastes no time. There’s a slight blur as he marches across his room and settles you down on to his well-made bed. Rising up only to rip off his own shirt and pants in half a second. And for a second you’re annoyed at his speed—frantic and rushed, never giving you time to take him in, all his bare and strong glory that’s yours—but then he’s diving back over, and the world is nothing but good.

He might be in a heated, almost feral state, nipping and kissing all over your face until you’re giggling, hands skimming over your hips and thighs as you hike a knee over his waist, but that’s all you’re getting. 

“Bucky,” you gasp, clawing slightly at his back. “More. Need more.”

“Gotta say what, doll.” He rolls his hips, something thick and large pressing right into your core and spurring a moan from your chest. “C’mon, smart girl. Use your words and say what you want-“

“You.” It’s a high, breathy gasp, but you know Bucky understands. He groans, his hips jerking over you, and a high whine escapes your throat. “Please, Bucky- Just want you-“

“How.”

“I don’t care, just touch me-“

Bucky cuts your of with a strong, rough kiss, melting you into mattress, and you’re too dizzy and lost in the taste of him to even notice how he’s shredding through your clothing like they’re paper. 

It only hits you that you’re fully naked when a broad finger shoves right into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed with a squeal. 

“So fucking tight, babygirl.” Bucky groans against your lip, starting to pump you slowly. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock-“

“Fuck.” You moan, and Bucky lets out a low laugh.

“You like that?” He mutters your name, running his tongue over your lips as his pace picks up. “Like the idea of me fuckin’ you, doll? Gettin’ you all wrecked and dumb on my cock as I fuck you like you deserve?”

You whimper, and Bucky’s finger crooks deep inside you, rubbing against your g-spot. “Jesus, Bucky- Please-“

“Maybe I’ll only let you cum on my cock,” he shoves a second finger into you without warning, and your mouth falls open with a silent plea. “This needy and wet and I’ve barely fuckin’ touched you? Think you could hold it together long enough for that? Think you could be good for me and cum when I’m fuckin’ you full of me?”

“Yes,” you gasp, and Bucky groans, rutting into your thigh. “God, please, Bucky, please-“

“I’ve got you, sweet girl.” He mutters, squeezing his metal hand on your hips. “Hold on.”

Your hands fly to his hair, he groans, and you can’t tell if the song is still moving, or if it’s just Bucky. 

Maybe there’s not really a difference. 

You don’t care anymore either way.

All you can feel is Bucky. Kissing down your chest and taking a nipple in his mouth, working you into a frenzy as his tongue swirls around you and his thumb finds your clit. You might be on fire. The world might start and end with Bucky’s touch, and you don’t mind that one bit.

He’s playing with you. Fingerfucking you right to the edge before stopping, letting you come back down from the edge with slow, taunting movement with one finger, kissing all over your breasts until you’re just a little less wired, and returning to his mission. Dragging your right to the edge, letting the coil in your abdomen building and build and build, then pulling back at the last second. You’re a boneless, writhing, sweaty mess below him, and he’s everywhere but it’s not enough, and you can feel his cock pressing and twitching against you—big and thick and hard—and if he doesn’t fuck you now, you might go insane.

You let out a soft whimper of his name, and Bucky laughs.

“I know. You’re bein’ so good for me, doll. Fuckin’ dripping for me.” He pinches your clit, and your eyes roll back in your head. “Think you’re ready for my cock-“

“Yes.” You gasp, squirming at just the idea. “Need it, Bucky, need it so bad-“

He slams his lips over yours, the kiss rough and consuming, and it’s a distraction. Keeping you teetering over the edge again as his finger slide out of your pussy, leaving one sharp slap before he’s lining himself up at your entrance. 

“Ready, doll?”

You nod, and Bucky’s brow drops to yours.

“Think you can hold it ‘till I say?”

“Yes-“ You moan, his cock rubbing right between your pussy lips. “I- just fuck me, Bucky-“

 He groans your name, slamming into you with one thrust, and you’ve never been more full in your life. The stretch is painful and perfect, and Bucky’s everywhere, and you’re so close, you’re so fucking close- 

Bucky start to fuck you slowly, rolling his hips back before slamming fully in, kissing all over your face and murmuring low praise.

“Takin’ my cock so well, doll. Feel like you were made for, so fuckin’ tight-“

“Bucky.” You dig your nails into his skin, your words high, desperate whines. “Please- I- I need to cum, please-“

He hums your name, pressing a sweet kiss right over your lips and driving his cock back into your cunt so hard you almost scream with pleasure.

“Please-“

Bucky groans your name, and start to fuck you so hard you might be able to see the stars. It’s all just good, built up over your nerve and begging for release, and his metal hand is snaking between your bodies, brushing feather-light touches over your clit that are going to drive you out of your mind. You’re on the verge of tears when Bucky presses your clit, his cock right back on that sensitive place deep inside of you, and the moan of his name is nothing but an incoherent whine.

“There you go. You’ve been such a good fuckin’ girl.” Bucky grunts in your ear, his pace growing sloppy and rough. “Cum for me, doll-“

It’s all you need to hear.

You cum so hard the world spins. Something leaks and squirt between your thighs, the sinful sounds of Bucky still fucking into you driving you over the edge over and over and over, and your orgasm might be enough to power a small country. Everything turns into a crashing, electric wave of pleasure, your body going slack and numb, and all you can feel is Bucky’s mouth devouring yours as he meets you with his own orgasm, his cock pumping you so full you don’t think you’ll ever feel empty again.

Bucky doesn’t bother to pull out when you’re both done, even when you’re shaking slightly below him, his cum dripping out between your thighs.

“You good with me keepin’ you here?” He mutters in your ears, rolling his hips just enough to send a second, smaller orgasm. Through your whole body. “You’re so fuckin’ warm, doll. Just don’t wanna leave you yet, but-“

“Stay.” You whisper, nodding a little stupidly. “Feels good. Full. Love you.”

“Alright.” Bucky chuckles, pressing a mockingly chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Love you too.”

You only hum, and let Bucky adjust you however he wants. With his cock still buried inside you, making the song flow happy and smooth through your body. 

This is home. The song knows this is home. You know this home.

Not just Bucky’s bed.

Him.

Just Bucky.

Time will continue to pass, and your scars will fade, and new ones will grow. There’s the mark on your back, that you’d been so sure you’d managed to avoid him seeing. But Bucky’s lips brush over it once without any more words, because there aren’t a need for them.

You know he’s sorry. He knows you forgive him. You’ve both got demons, but they don’t need to be screamed at to fade into dust.

They need a little tending to. Softer touches and gentle words, and someone to sit with them until they drift away into just a lot more love.

So Life will move around and through you as it does everyone else, but you’ll remain luckier than most.

You get Bucky. He gets to be yours.

And this time, when he stays it’s going to be forever. All the blood he’s split will remain stained on his hands, but you’ll help wash them off. Just as he’ll hold you on darker nights. No matter how the world changes, with fog or smoke or ruin, you’ll have Bucky, and he’ll have you.

Until the universe shatters entirely, your love will remain with the song.

The same. Strong. Clear.

Good. 

Home.

End Note: Bucky Barnes I'd kill and die for you. You're my soulmate in my heart.

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[theysayalltheworldsastage]

@cherrycolacowboy okay so more on my earlier headcannon. and also just to add i am normally not a modern au girly but i do really love this au a LOT. anyways. for anyone not following, this is a headcannon i have about a the A HELPING HAND AU

Soda has ADHD and Dyslexia. Does he know this? Maybe. Do most people in his life know this? Yes. But if you know the Curtis house, you know they don’t have the money for that.  It hurts though. It hurts the people who love him to see him hide behind a mask. To know what’s going on in his mind (they don’t know half of it) and not be able to do anything about it. 

Sure, Paul had heard this hurt from Darry before. But he never expected this. He didn’t except for his chest to ache so much. 

Paul has become used to Soda following him around the house, talking about everything on his mind. He’s used to the kid never sitting still, and having trouble reading. He’s used to the range of emotions he has. But also the smile always on his face. And the jokes he makes out of everything. Even the times he shouldn’t have to feel like the mood needs to be lightened. 

To an extent, Paul has learned how to deal with this. How to not outwardly express his exasperation and exhaustion because he knows it’s nothing Soda can be at fault for. Chet and Soda have a lot of differences, but also a lot of things that Paul can tell are in common. Maybe Chet’s more quiet, but he has to always be moving. Doing something. Maybe it’s fidgeting with something in his hands, or walking in a circle around the coffee table twenty times. 

Paul has also learned that when Sodapop Curtis gets quiet, it isn’t right. When Soda stops trying, and when he doesn’t even attempt wearing a smile on his face, or to focus on something other than his mind, it feels wrong. 

So one night in spring, Soda had been slowly spiraling. He was getting quieter, and he was going between staying in bed all day and walking to the park, near the tracks, around the neighborhood. He was either still or constantly stirring. 

Yes, Chet noticed this. Started holding him extra close. Darry made sure Paul was keeping an extra close eye on him. Pony realized the signs. But he was never quite sure how to comfort Soda the way he had comforted him all these past years. 

Ponyboy and Sodapop had always been like little brothers to Paul. To an extent. But lately they have been his brothers. They were a family now. The gang had been spending more time at Paul’s house too. So he didn’t miss the way that Steve was hanging around a little bit more. Or how on the days that Paul couldn’t get Soda out of bed, Ace would drag him to the park to sit and get some fresh air. He was real grateful for them. But a hopeless feeling started to claw at his chest. It felt the way that Darry had described it to him many times before. 

Eventually Ace couldn’t pull him out of bed. Steve started to get angry. Twobit looked concerned. Pony really did try, but to no avail. Darry would spend hours sitting besides Sodas bed, but couldn’t get him to say a word. Dally and Johnny had even tried what they could. Nothing. 

One night, everyone was at their own places. Most nights someone was staying over.  But not tonight. Ponyboy was sleeping in his own room. There was soft rain you could hear throughout the house. Paul was walking into the kitchen when he saw Soda. The kid was just sitting on one of the wood chairs, staring. It was hard for Paul to tell if there was a lot of something, or a lot of nothing behind those eyes. 

“Soda?” The kid turned to Paul. And he started crying. He looked at Paul with the same sadness that the older felt inside his heart. Maybe sadness wasn’t the word. Maybe it was worse. It definitely was. The younger just shook his head real slowly. And as tears were still falling down his cheeks he spoke. 

“I don’t know Paul. I’m so tired of this. My mind isn’t normal.It’s not, I’m not fucking normal. Something is messed up but I don’t know what. I can’t read and. I can’t shut up and I dont know something isn’t right, Paul. Something isn’t right. What I feel isn’t normal. And no one understands. I mean, I don’t really understand, but no one understands. I’m okay sometimes but my head? Sometimes it just snaps. I don’t. Paul something isn’t right. I can’t read and, Paul I need help.” 

Soda was now sitting on the porch outside watching the rain fall and he wasn’t really breathing right but Paul was sitting right by him with an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder and even though Paul didn’t say anything he knew he was there and that’s all he could ask for because his breathing evened out a little bit more and he started talking again because Sodapop Curtis just can’t shut the fuck up can he?

“And i’m just so messed up. I get angry. And I get angry when I’m not supposed to and I laugh when i’m not supposed to and why does hearing people chew make me fucking angry? That’s not normal, Paul. I had to drop out of school because I can’t read and I’m just so fucking stupid I can’t read or do math and all the words just go everywhere and that’s not normal, Paul. I need help I need fucking help but I don’t know something isn’t right and my heart hurts and I just. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be like this Paul. It’s not fair. It isn’t fair what did I do to be like this? It’s so stupid. I’m just so fucking. It’s not fucking fair. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking” 

And not he had his face in the older boys shoulders and he was hiccuping and he was crying because Sodapop Curtis is a real fucking mess isn’t he? 

And maybe Paul wasn’t the best with words. Not like Soda. Soda could find words and a way with those words for every thing. Paul is sure he could find a word for the feeling that he felt right now. Because he sure as hell didn’t know how to explain it. But it was horrible. And it wasn’t something good. He couldn’t imagine was Soda was feeling right now! But he knew that whatever Soda was, he wasn’t stupid. And curse whoever made the kid think that. Curse the world for giving Soda those thoughts. Because truth be told, he might be the least deserving people of a mind that feeds him those words. Sodapop Curtis is the light and joy of this world. No one would get by without him. So yeah, maybe Paul wasn’t good with words, but he was good at being there. So that’s what he did. He sat with Soda. He didn’t hush him, he just let him cry with the rain. Paul cried with the rain too. Because this was his brother. And he would die for him. Paul Holden would fucking die for Sodapop Curtis. Because they were brothers. And that’s what brothers do. 

It was a learning process. For both of them. Soda asked for help a bit more from here on out. Because letting those words out helped ease his mind just a bit. And Paul worked to get someone for Soda to talk to. Get him some medicine. (Though this is another story. Soda refused to take medicine for a long time. He was scared that it would change his mind. And he wouldn’t be him anymore.) 

But this wasn’t the end. Things didn’t only go up. Because he had more breakdowns. Some of them were slow. Some of them were filled with anger, others with sorrow. In fact, the next one after this was scary for everyone. There weren’t any signs. He just snapped. He. Just. Snapped. 

But one thing didn’t change through it all. Paul was there to protect him. And for that came a feeling that Soda wasn’t quite sure how to express in words. 

not perfectly written. am i the biggest fan of this writing? nope. but i like the concept. so this is what we’re working with rn lol. in fact, not edited at all. will i go back and rewrite later? maybe! was going to go back through and add italics to some words to emphasize some things but i’m not feeling up to that super much at the moment. but yes. it’s something

[jnw1813]

Interlude: Cecil

An interlude featuring Cecil and Donald (aka, a smidge of plot to an otherwise plotless fluff fic)

It was a week after the incident dubbed the ‘Invincible War’ that something extremely fucking important was brought to Cecil's attention– and far too late in his opinion.

Hands on his hips and a tension building in his temple, he stared at the large screens, all showing different angles of footage of what could only be another Viltrumite, and a fuckin’ scary one at that.

“Donald, please tell me how this escaped our attention for so long?”

Seven days didn't seem like long, but in this business? It might as well be an eternity with the shit they had to deal with, such as aliens with enough strength to destroy the entire fucking planet.

Donald gives him a nervous look, handing over a stack of papers. “We were overwhelmed with other things, sir. After the attacks, a lot of our attention went to rebuilding our defenses. We simply didn't notice him. He didn't exactly make an entrance, sir.”

“Flying down from space isn't an entrance?” Cecil sarcastically asks, taking the papers, reviewing the information his people had gathered from afar, occasionally glancing up at the screens.

A few days after the alternate universe variants of Invincible attacked, ‘Conquest’ (name learned through a recording after a Mx. Y/N __ called for him) flew to Earth. Satellite footage showcased him seemingly taking the scenic route, taking a moment to land outside of the city. There, he met a human and seemingly got distracted.

Eyes narrowing, Cecil glanced at a screen showcasing you and Conquest in your garden, the big as hell Viltrumite helping you pick weeds of all things.

 

“... sir?” Donald ventured after a few minutes ticked by with Cecil saying nothing. The GDA director glanced from screen to screen, then read over some of the info, the estimations of his strength, speed, age, and other things.

 

If he attacked right after he arrived, we'd be fucked. Cecil thought, mind filled with different thoughts. But something stopped him. You stopped him.

Mark wouldn't have won that fight alone, no doubt about it. Not after already being in a few fights, not with Eve out of commission; the boy hadn't left her side for even a second while she recovered. No, if Conquest hadn't gotten distracted, they'd be screwed ten times over.

“... keep an eye on them.” He finally spoke, pinching between his eyes, sighing. “If anything changes, inform me immediately. If they keep playing house, leave them. I'll figure out how to approach without starting a fight we cannot afford.”

As he walked out of the room, his eyes trailed to live footage of you and Conquest, the mean old Viltrumite following you around as you seemingly foraged in the woods near your house.

It had taken Nolan twenty years to act, Cecil reminded himself, yet he had hesitated at the last second, left when his mission was seemingly about to be completed. He knew he was missing some parts to the story, but he had a pretty good idea on why Nolan left, on why this Viltrumite hadn't attacked yet.

It was so simple he wanted to laugh. Like something out of a fairytale.

Just as Cecil began to look away, the single eye of Conquest looked up in the direction of the invisible camera, and Cecil felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

Conquest smiled, adjusted his grip around you, and–

The footage became static.

The room paused for a second, and Cecil made an extra note.

Make sure nothing happens to Y/N __ at ALL costs.

[akiragatr]

Every day there are flies in my house

[kickedin17]

There's something about blurryface (album) that's kind of like. Sticky. In the way that your skin is sticky when it's summer and it's past midnight and you have the window open to try to sleep but it's still too warm. Or, sticky, in the way that your hands are clammy when it's drop dead winter and you're driving around someone else's suburb, looking down the weird little leftover alleys between houses and wondering if something's going to be standing there looking back at you. And you are profoundly lonely. And you walk to a gas station, it's september maybe, and everything smells like spilled gasoline and stale cigarette smoke and there's brightly colored trash in all the gutters and all the neon signs glare off the asphalt, and when you go into the convenience store the single employee looks at you like maybe there's something weird about you, but you don't know what it is. Too quiet, maybe. Something wrong with your face. You don't smile enough. You don't want to be smiled at. It's dark all the time. But it's also springtime and the sky is pink and everything feels fleshy and delicate and rabbit-esque (tiny little heartbeats bursting everywhere), and you pick the first dandelion you see growing through the sidewalk cracks and it gets sticky milk all over your fingers. And you are profoundly lonely. You're pretending things would be better if you lived in a city where it rained more often and you could feel the hum of passing train tracks under your feet, but the truth is you're going to be lonely everywhere you go because there's this sticky ugly hollowness in you that you can't wash off no matter how hard you scrub. And maybe it would be better if you drove back home and closed the window and never left your house again and let all the lightbulbs die because something about the dark hurts less. You're running from something. What is it? Why can't you ever quite catch your breath? Why are you so sure this all has to end badly? You grew up but haven't yet learned how to grow out of anything. It's dark all the time here. Your face isn't the right one but there are no other faces. Your skin is sticky and you can't sleep. You are profoundly lonely.

[megumi-fm]

.

[izzy-b-hands]

Going on almost week fucking three of a lot of days not going my way and im starting to get a little frustrated*

*fucking furious

[pynkhues]

Oooh I’d absolutely love to listen if you’d ever want to share your experience with the differences in male and women writers 👀🤍

(x)

Hahaha, mm, look, I should disclaimer this with the fact that a lot of the men and women I spoke to at the writers centre weren't necessarily writers so much as they wanted to be writers?

The writers centre I worked at was a non-profit arts support service, so we were separate from the authors guild / union, but basically the organisation they'd refer people onto a lot for anything from people wanting to do creative writing workshops and masterclasses to people needing advice on preparing their novel manuscript for submission to legal advice on publishing contracts or even just connections to bookstores. It was a real mix of stuff, and our clientele ranged from absolute beginners and hobbyists to probably some of the most famous Australian authors working. I'd say most of the membership though was early career writers who had probably had a couple of short stories published, and were hoping to get a novel out.

I worked there for five and a half years and it really burnt me out. It was a pretty gruelling job, the pay was shit, and while a lot of people calling up were lovely, a lot were calling either to vent about rejection or were in a crisis mode usually because they'd just been preyed on by self-publishers and vanity presses and were now stuck in contracts that would financially ruin them.

But yes, haha, in my experience of working there and talking to writers literally all day, every day, from across the spectrum of experience:

Men will never sign up as a member (ergo pay their dues), donate or support the Centre, but WILL take advantage of the free advice line. I think we worked out at one point 92% of our paying members were women, yet I'd say over half the calls I took during the day were men.

Men consistently think they've written a hit. Quotes I've never forgotten include "This'll be bigger than Dan Brown and Robert Ludlum combined", "Now, is it you I should talk to when the bidding war starts?" and, my personal favourite: "I've written the greatest book since Federation."

They WILL send you their manuscript even though you are very clear that you do not read manuscripts at the centre. We are eight staff, we have 4k members, it is not possible.

Sometimes! Those manuscripts they send you will have capital I Images on the covers of them to 'catch your eye'. The worst one I ever saw was a woman stark naked spread eagle with a swastika photoshopped over her vagina.

Men do not think workshops will help them. They know enough and if you suggest a workshop on, say, writing fight scenes, or preparing your manuscript for publication, they will get audibly annoyed at you and usually wrap up the conversation.

Men will call to ask you why their self-published book isn't selling on Amazon like it's your fault.

Men will call to ask you why their traditionally published book isn't selling anywhere like it's your fault (I don't know, man! Probably because publishers have no marketing budgets anymore!)

Men are Never Wrong and also Always the Victim, which I guess is basically what you'd expect, haha.

[claitea]

oh yeah i'm finally finishing off detective pikachu returns rn bc i got. very bored of it when i started it months ago and was planning to trade it in. but actually, turns out i stopped right where it started getting (relatively) better, i'm enjoying myself with it again

[snekdood]

i love my gma but man I really wish she didn't take on Every Household Responsibility Ever growing up bc she did for a long time take care of my cat for me, which I think is partially why hes such a loud demanding asshole who thinks hes owed the world because she has a tendency to let people (and sub-sequentially animals) walk all over her .-.