#and now its just. my best friend that i met in my first class in high school | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

awrkive · 3 months ago

Note

Idk I must have some problems I need to talk about with my therapist, but I NEED the #3 lmao

summary: jungkook is usually a nice guy from the way he interacts with other people – but the only exception comes to you. and you can't figure out why.

w/c: 3.5k

note: aurkayyyy general consensus says write # 3 and that post got 40 likes idk so here it is ig.. unedited cos its 3am but also i tried my very best awrkive nation 😞💔 under the cut cos its long asf for a drabble crying

People always gravitate to you. You have this sort of unbreakable and contagious energy around you that just pulls people right into your orb – your classmates in middle school through college, your cousins, even the cashiers at the cafes you like visiting downtown every here and there.

And it is why Jeon Jungkook from your Environmental Science class baffles you. Because while everybody in the lecture hall – even prof Nam – likes to give you a smile or even just a nod of acknowledgement when you walk in, he does the total opposite and will just do about anything to avoid you.

It had been during the first week of the term when you realized this fact. When Jungkook seemed to have abhorred the idea of sitting next to you because somebody had “stolen” his seat.

Of course he knew the fact that you technically could not “steal” a seat in college – there are no such things as assigned seats in college, after all – so you had kindly offered the empty chair beside you, then, but he just looked at you with his knitted brows, like he couldn’t believe you had asked him that in the first place.

In the end, he chose the free seat at the back of the hall – even though as far as you know him, he’s the type to like sitting in the front rows to engage with the class better.

However, that did not deter you from trying to befriend him. In fact, it just made you want to get closer to him more.

You like Jeon Jungkook. Not romantically, of course! You just like the fact that he is extremely smart and listen, he seems nice. The girls always have something good to say about him, and he’s friends with one of your closest friends, Namjoon – whose judgment you trust most of all. He’s acquainted with most of the people you know and you’ve seen him interact with others – he’s charming and doesn’t exactly look broody and uninterested when he’s with them.

So when Prof Nam partnered you both in a presentation for your final requirement for the term, you were over the moon to have been given the opportunity.

“__,” Jungkook calls, but you’re way too busy admiring the strands of his hair that had now been dyed to gold – a contrast to his previously dark brown locks. It’s mostly hidden from the beanie he’s wearing. Something you’ve noticed he’s been wearing a lot these days even though it’s not that cold.

You think it’s because he’s not too keen on getting attention for his newly dyed hair.

Jungkook calls your name one more time, and this time it snaps you out of your trance.

“Hm?” You look up, blinking at him – only to be met with his knitted brows again. At that all too familiar look by now, you frown slightly, knowing the tell-tale signs of his annoyance.

“I’ve been asking you about biofuels for the past two minutes.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen for a bit, quickly looking at your iPad. “Uhm… it’s here…” you slide your device over to his direction and he’s quick to read over your work. With him seated beside you, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and you don’t even think it’s cologne in the first place. It just seems like his natural smell – like fresh laundry. Downy or something.

Ever since you started working on the project, you’ve been going to cafes and the library to work on it – for at least an hour – and you’re starting to get accustomed to everything Jeon Jungkook. He’s smart – and that’s a given – but he also smells really good; that’s what you noted specifically.

But most importantly, he’s dyed his mid-length hair blonde. And he looks different but somehow… really handsome. With his prescription glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, you just can’t help but to look.

“Where is your citation for this?” He says, pointing to a certain part of your work.

At that, you grow anxious. Jungkook’s really serious about his academics. And even though he looks distracting with his blonde hair right now, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous.

You’re not dumb or something! You’ve survived three years of college just fine – you’re just not the likes of him, or Namjoon, for that matter. But you do well for yourself.

But Jungkook, reading over your work with furrowed brows, you can’t help but second-guess yourself.

Especially when the next thing you can say is just, “Oh, uhm… I thought citations would only be after every four sentences?”

“Did you not read the instructions?” Jungkook says. It’s not harsh but there’s a certain lilt to it. A bit pointed that you visibly recoil. As if noticing you do that, Jungkook clears his throat and looks right back to your iPad. With a tone that considerably sounds gentler to you this time, he says, “You should put a citation every three sentences.”

“Okay…” You say. You look at Jungkook and you give him a tight-lipped smile when he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze lasts longer than necessary – he almost always doesn’t really look at you but this time he does, and just when you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he peels his eyes away from you and turns to his computer, not saying anything.

You sulk in your seat, revising your paper while Jungkook acts like a stranger beside you again.

“Kook…” you say after awhile. You watch as Jungkook visibly stills at the nickname. Nonetheless, he hums, but he doesn’t stray his eyes from his laptop. “I really like your hair.”

Nothing.

“Kookie…” This time, you poke at the material of his purple hoodie. “I said I like your hair.”

He doesn’t budge.

When you make a move to poke him again, he finally says, “I heard that.”

You turn back to your google doc with a pout.

You don’t know what you’re expecting from him. A thank you, maybe? But that would be unlikely for him to say to you. He’s just always so quiet around you. Annoyed, irritated—

“Thank you.”

At first you don’t quite catch it, but you kind of got the gist. Unbelieving, you turn to him with a confused look. “What?”

“Isaidthankyou.”

But it was spoken so fast that you just grew more puzzled.

“What…?”

“Nevermind.” He says, hacking away on his laptop again.

You pout the whole time writing your paper.

———

You’re just about to approach Jungkook to talk about your recent development for your project when somebody beats you to it first.

It’s Han Hyorin from the same class. You made friends with her from another minor you’ve had in the previous semester and she was a really nice woman – sort of similar to you. A big ball of sunshine, all smiles and cheerful and full of energy. It’s why you clicked instantly a few months ago.

But that’s also why it surprises you when you see her talking animatedly with Jungkook and him listening to her attentively – smiling and laughing.

Certainly not his vibe when you’re the one in conversation with him.

Listen, you’ve been so accustomed to his behavior to you all this time that you just don’t mind it now. But for the record, you just thought that maybe – he just can’t quite level up to your energy. You’re too bubbly and he’s too… calm. And you get that! You certainly don’t hold it against him.

But as he catches a glimpse of you his mood turns completely different, no longer smiling ear to ear. It makes Hyorin stop speaking, turning her body to look at your direction as well.

“Oh, hi __!” She greets, grinning. “I was just talking to Jungkook here.”

“Hi, Hyorin.” You wave at her, mirroring her smile. You walk towards them, hugging your iPad tight to your chest. “Hi, Jungkook.”

He just sends you a timid smile.

Weirdly enough, it makes your heart twinge.

“Anyway, are you two gonna work on your project? Sorry for keeping him up, if that’s the case. I’ll be off then.” Hyorin says as she picks up her bag. She looks at Jungkook once again, saying, “I’ll send the link to you later, Jungkook.”

Jungkook only nods before Hyorin walks out of the lecture hall.

You watch her disappearing back before you turn to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you guys were friends.”

He shrugs. “We talk sometimes.”

“Ah.” You nod.

“Anyway, you got my text, right? Hoseok said it’s too crowded at 556 right now. And my laptop’s dead so I can’t use it either. Left my charger at my place,” he says, starting to put his stuff in his backpack.

“Yeah, I got it,” you say, stepping out a bit to let him out of his row. You follow beside him when he begins to walk. “Well, where should we do the project?”

You see Jungkook wince. “I have no choice but do you mind if I just suggest my place? I have a roommate but he’s not around this time. Or we can just call it off for today and resched.”

You blink at him. “Your place?”

He arches a brow. “Yeah. Is it okay? Do you have something else in mind?”

Shaking your head, you look straight ahead. “It’s fine.”

“It’s just a three minute walk from the campus. Do you mind?”

“Nope.”

“Alright, then.”

———

Jungkook thinks you’re strange today.

You’re usually so full of stories. Never ran out of things to say. His silence never deterred you from sharing something and even though Jungkook would deny it to you and to all his friends – he actually secretly enjoys your blabbering. Finds most of them funny.

But right now, you’re all quiet on your iPad and notes, focused on doing your work. The last thing he’s heard you say something was when you commented earlier, “This is a nice place,” when you stepped inside the threshold of his and Taehyung’s apartment.

No comment about his hair. Or his hoodie. Or the stupid occasional, “You look handsome today.” that makes his heart perform backflips against his ribcage and makes him all nervous that he can’t really look straight into your eyes for the rest of your interaction.

He finds it strange that he finds you strange today. He should be… happy about this right? He always tells his friends that you’re too… loud when they ask why he doesn’t seem to like you. For the record, he does not not like you. Jungkook just thinks you’re too much.

Or that you make him feel too much it drives him insane.

“Are you alright?” He breaks the ice after a few minutes. He couldn’t help it. This isn’t like you at all. At this point, you should have already told him twenty different stories that includes your breakfast and the bird that keeps knocking on your window every 5am. By this time, you should have already asked him if he likes your outfit or some stupid shit like if he likes your nails.

For the record, he likes all of them. Your blush pink nails and your pink skirt that stops above your thigh, exposing your smooth thighs that Jungkook always berates himself not to look at. You always wear skirts. He hates them.

He hates that he doesn't really hate them. At all.

“Huh?” You turn to look at him, blinking. Meek and pouty and puzzled. You look so cute it confuses the hell out of him.

“I asked if you’re okay.” Jungkook says, leveling his voice. Lest he gives himself away. What would he give away, though? That he’s weirdly worried about your silence? That he’s starting to think maybe you’re getting fed up with his constant avoidance of you and you’re starting to realize he’s a shit person and he doesn’t deserve any of your time?

That he’s putting way too much meaning into this?

And what for?

“Oh,” you utter. A bit taken aback. You nibble on your bottom lip and Jungkook tries hard not to focus too much on the way your gloss makes them look so plump. You had pretty lips. Jungkook’s not that prideful to admit that. Just to himself, though. “Yeah. I am fine. Why do you ask?”

He clears his throat. “Nothing.”

You look at him with furrowed brows but don’t really say anything further. “Okay.”

When you go back to working in silence simultaneously again, Jungkook finds himself not being able to focus on the words of the journal article he’s reading. There’s a sentence to it he’s been going right over and over again. Everytime he reads it, it’s like the point just crosses right over his head and his efficacy in the language degrades every single time he repeats it internally.

All the while, you’re still quiet.

And Jungkook’s had enough.

Why weren't you saying anything?

“__.”

“Hm?” When you tilt your head to look at him, Jungkook nearly falls over his bed. You’re across the room on his computer desk while he’s on the mattress.

God, you are so unbelievably beautiful without trying it makes his head ache.

“Are you –uh. What’s with you today?” He finally asks. He watches as your face contorts into an expression of confusion once again, which he can’t really blame you for feeling the way.

“What’s with me today?”

“You’re just…” he tries to find the right words. “Quiet.”

You don’t say anything for a while that Jungkook was about to take his words back.

“Oh… I’m just not feeling well today, I think.”

His brows furrowed. You looked perfectly fine today. You were your usual sunshine shelf when you stepped in class – all big grins and pretty laugh Seo Jihyun as usual was trying too hard to get your attention beside you all day.

“Really?” He asks. “Do you need something?”

It takes you by surprise. But you recover fast. “No, it’s fine.”

“We don’t have to do this today if you’re feeling under the weather.”

You laugh. And Jungkook thinks that’s a win. He thought he wasn’t getting any of that for today.

“It’s fine, thank you, Jeon.”

Jeon?! Jeon, like his surname?

He chooses to ignore that. But then a few minutes passed and he spoke again. God, he couldn’t stand any of this.

“How’s the bird?”

“The bird?” You parrot back.

“The bird at your window.”

“Oh!” A flash of recognition goes through your face. “That. Well – as usual it knocked on my window again.” you giggle and it’s the first time Jungkook feels a little light ever since you entered his place.

Good. This is good.

“I didn’t know you’d remember that.” You say, giving him a small smile.

Jungkook feels his cheeks burning so he had to look away. “You tell me about it everyday.”

There’s a pout he can feel you’re sporting when you say, “But I thought you don’t care.”

Jungkook frowns at that.

But he realizes… he gets it. He doesn’t exactly show the opposite.

When he looks at you, your eyes are solemn and your downturned lips look so sad that it makes him feel like shit.

See. This is why he’s always confused when he’s with you. You make him feel so much all at once and he can’t quite put it.

“You tell me a lot of stuff everyday.” Is what he settles with.

“Fair.” You say after awhile. “But uhm…”

“Yes?” Jungkook immediately says, intrigued. You’re about to speak when his phone rings. You both look at the small device lying on his bed. When Jungkook picks it up, the caller ID says Han Hyorin. “Sorry, I’ll just pick this up.”

Pressing on the green icon, he hears Hyorin’s voice at the end of the line.

“Hey, Kook,”

“Hi, Hyorin. What is it?”

“What was your student email again? I can’t really find it on the roster.”

Jungkook recites it and then that’s the end of the conversation. He finds it strange because she could’ve just texted him but anyway, he turns to you again after the call ends.

“Who was that?” You ask curiously.

“Hyorin.”

You still in your seat. Then nod.

You don’t say anything again.

And that stretches into another few minutes that Jungkook is once again confused. When he looks right over to you, you’re all up in your device.

He stands up from the bed, leaves his laptop on the mattress, and then walks right over to your direction to stand behind the chair you’re seated on. Ducking down a bit, he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re doing.

“You’re almost done?”

When you turn back, your faces are so close to each other that his swivel chair creaks a little when you get taken aback. Jungkook steps back.

“Yeah. I think so. You?” You say, looking up at him.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair, inserting his hand on his pockets as he looks straight ahead on your screen.

“I’ll finish up later.”

You nod then turn back to your iPad.

Jungkook’s eyebrows meet once again and he sighs.

“__,”

“Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

You turn to him so quickly. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asks because he can’t take any of this anymore. You’re so… distant. And it makes him feel like he’s on edge. “You’ve been so quiet since we got here. I want to apologize if I did something wrong. But even if I didn’t, then I’m still sorry.”

Jungkook watches as your lips part, surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Jungkook’s not the one to shy away from apologies – if he’s done something wrong, then he makes sure to take accountability.

It’s different when it’s with you, though. He knows he isn’t exactly his nicest and his best to you… but it’s his complicated feelings that get in the way. He doesn’t know how to handle them. He doesn’t know how to handle you.

“N-no!” You say. “You didn’t do anything.”

He sends an arched brow your way.

You shake your head vigorously. “It’s just… uhm… I thought…”

“You thought…?”

You look away, and it’s the first time Jungkook sees you seemingly shy.

“I thought you’d like my company more if I didn’t talk much.”

Now Jungkook’s just perplexed.

You. ibble on your bottom lip before you say your next words. “I know you don’t exactly like me that much – that you’re just putting up with me because of this project and all that, but I really like you. Uhm. As a friend. I’d like to be your friend but I’m realizing now that I’m probably just annoying you with all of my blabbering and it’s unfair to you that I just keep on imposing myself on you even though you make it very clear that you’re not keen on befriend—”

“__?”

“— hm?”

“Stop that.” Jungkook says because he can’t bear to hear you say things that aren’t the least bit true at all. “It’s not true.”

“Which part?” you pout.

Jungkook would like to wipe that off your face with something. Like his lips. And that thought sends him into overdrive. He needs to get a grip of himself, seriously.

“Everything.”

What he doesn’t expect is for you to just frown.

“You’re a liar.”

“What?”

You burst. “Well, for one– you always avoid me! You don’t even greet me in the hallways. And even in the same class you don’t smile at me or anything and the only time you ever acknowledge me is when we do this stupid project and okay I get it, you only like bubbly girls when they’re Han Hyorin, but why not me?”

Jungkook, puzzled, asks, “How’d Hyorin get into this?”

Your shoulders deflate. “I don’t know.”

“Can you—” Jungkook inhales a sharp breath. He closes his eyes before opening them back again. “Can you listen to me?”

You plop back down on the chair with an indignant huff. Jungkook lets out a low chuckles but you only glare at him.

So goddarn cute, he thinks to himself.

“You’re just… you’re just too much okay?” He sees the way your face falls and he nearly punches himself for how he worded it. “Wait no– that’s not right. I meant, you’re just – you make me feel a lot of things, __.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. You confuse me.”

“Why?” You look so confused it melts Jungkook.

“I don’t know how to explain it either. Just that… you need to know I don’t not like you. I like your little blabbering. I look forward to your breakfast stories. I like your nails. I like your skirt. And I like your new apple pencil case.”

Jungkook watches as your face turns soft. And suddenly, you have that million dollar grin again on your face.

“Really?”

“Hm.”

You squeal and the next thing he knows you’re onto him, arms wrapped around his neck, locking him into a hug.

“We’re friends now?”

Jungkook takes the opportunity to encircle your waist around his arms, noting the size difference. And how easy it was for him to snuggle his nose subtly into your hair to smell your sweet shampoo and perfume in that position.

You always smell so good.

“Friends.”

Jungkook doesn’t really think he can take both of you as just being friends, though.

#p; drabbles #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

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notawraith · 11 months ago

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The situation with Nex Benedict is so sad but I also want to point out that this bigotry is not just found in the USA

I am a queer Australian who just graduated high school last year and the treatment of gay and trans kids is still atrocious.

My first year of high school I lost all of my friends once I came out of the closet

My best friend also came out at a similar time and she was relentlessly bullied by another girl who would call her satanic

A trans man in my year was referred to as “It” when that was not part of his pronouns as a way to dehumanise him.

One of my friends who is a queer woman was also bullied to the point of dropping out of high school

Also in the year above me was a trans woman who was frequently misgendered by her family (as well as mine, our families were friends as our younger siblings were friends) and I have no doubt they were also bullied by their peers

We did have a club for LGBTQ+ students that met once a week and was run by an LGBTQ+ teacher which was our safe space

Once again a trans man in the year below was ostracised by his peers and frequently misgendered by those around him

A gay boy in a much younger year than I was came to our meeting once fuming and nearly crying because some boys in his class had called him both the F slur as well as racial slurs (He was Indian)

Edit to add more once I remember more incidents

A gay boy a few years below me was kicked out of his home after coming out to his father however he was taken in by some other family members and moved away. I don’t know what he’s up to now but I hope he has found peace. He was also bullied in our school for being an effeminate black gay boy

The right wing culture in our society is bleeding into the youths and making them more prejudiced against minority groups around them and its honestly quite sickening.

Even on my school camp last year we walked past a group of younger boys who i’d say would’ve been year 7 (grade 7) where one stated that “Women were dogs” as we walked past them and they were also hyping up Andrew Tate. They were not discouraged by their teacher (who was a woman) nor any of us who were older though all of us (as soon as we were away from them) were making fun of the audacity of these kids.

Without a change in the culture that has permeated society, change for the better will not happen and we will see more Nex Benedict’s and Brianna Ghey’s and other murders not just suicides, cold blooded murders

#nex benedict #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #awareness #trans rights #trans rights are human rights #nonbinary #gay #bisexual #lesbian #gender nonconforming

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clesired · 21 days ago

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𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐓 | 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 !

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! you miss one quidditch game, and somehow sirius ends up in the hospital wing!?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fluff, fem!reader, friends to lovers, second person pov, 1.6k words!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Stupid, stupid, man! You can’t help but think to yourself as you hastily make your way through the empty corridors.

Of course, it’s the one time you miss a Quidditch game that your best friend decides to go and get himself hurt. You swear he’s gonna be the death of you.

You’d already felt terrible having to tell him you couldn’t make it to the game today because you had to finish a paper for one of your classes. The look on his face when you broke the news had almost convinced you to change your mind, his puppy dog eyes your greatest weakness—something you suspect he is well aware of and uses to his advantage as much as possible.

And now that he’s been injured? You just know he’s gonna give you hell for not being there. You’re inclined to let him though, because after this—you’re never missing a game again.

You don’t even know how severe the injury is yet—Remus’ patronus message having only given you minimum context, but it really doesn’t matter. It could be a simple scratch and that would be more than enough to get you going.

The first people you see when you enter the hospital wing are Remus and Peter. As soon as they notice your arrival, they step away from the bed they’re surrounding.

Your eyes fall to Sirius, who immediately smiles as he locks eyes with you. And just like every other time he looks at you, the butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter enthusiastically.

“Bug!” He calls out happily, his tone affectionate as he immediately attempts to get out of the bed—pouting when Remus forces him to remain seated on the edge.

“Moony! Tell Poppy I don’t need anymore of those nasty potions, my bug is here!” He makes a stink face at the thought of said potions before he looks back at you and smiles once more. “And she’s all the medicine I need.” He says sweetly, causing Remus and Peter to chuckle softly as you blush.

Remus nudges Peter gently and then calls out to you two, “We’re gonna go catch the last of the match and come back with Prongs before dinner. You good here, Pads?”

He nods quickly. “Perfect.”

As they leave, you move to stand beside his bed, your eyes scanning his form—assessing the damage.

Sirius notices what you’re doing and lifts his left arm, which you only now realize looks a little…off. “Just a broken arm, love. Nothing a little Skelegro can’t fix.” He says softly, tilting his head back to continue looking at you.

You huff softly, moving to stand between his spread legs as you frown gently. Your hand moves on its own accord, cupping his neck as you feel him swallow softly and lean further into your touch.

“You’re not allowed to get hurt again.” You grumble quietly, causing him to chuckle softly as he uses his uninjured arm to wrap around your waist and pull you closer.

He presses his face into your stomach ever so gently before looking up at you once more, smirking cheekily. “And you’re not allowed to miss one of my games again.”

You’re just about to respond when you feel a pinch at your side, causing you to yelp softly instead. You immediately glare down at Sirius as he just smiles and rubs the pinched skin soothingly.

“That’s what you get for taking my good luck charm away from me, bug.” He says unapologetically, causing you to roll your eyes playfully as you shake your head in amusement.

He’s talking about you, of course.

When you two had met in first year, he’d found you holding a bunch of ladybugs in the middle of the courtyard, completely uncaring of the odd looks the other students were giving you.

His first instinct had been to poke fun, of course. Why in Merlin’s name would you be playing with bugs!?

You hadn’t been fazed by his taunting though. Instead, you’d explained that ladybugs signified good luck and placed one in his hand, sweetly wishing him luck in all his endeavors.

You’ve been his ‘good luck charm’ ever since, hence the nickname.

“Oh, how ever shall I make it up to you, Siri? I’ll do anything!” You say dramatically, thumb gently caressing the side of his neck as you giggle.

He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face as he watches you laugh. He squeezes your waist gently with his uninjured hand and pulls you even closer.

His thumb slips beneath the hem of your shirt to caress the skin of your hip as he swallows, his eyes falling to your lips before quickly looking back up into your eyes.

“Anything?” He repeats lowly, causing your breath to hitch ever so slightly. There’s a tension now, that wasn’t here just seconds ago.

You nod slowly, your eyes mirroring his movements as you focus on his mouth, your heart racing at lightning speed. “Anything.” You whisper.

The next moment happens so fast—one second you’re looking at him and the next, he’s got you locked in a deep kiss as he pulls you to sit in his lap.

You return the embrace readily, mindful of his arm as you card your hands through his hair and tug gently. The action pulls a groan out of him and you do it again, kissing him deeper.

His uninjured hand moves to hold you by the neck as he takes charge, getting a soft moan out of you before eventually pulling back to let you catch your breath.

His eyes are dark and heady with want as he stares at you, taking in your kiss-stung lips with pure satisfaction.

Still holding your neck, he squeezes gently. “I don’t think you’ve made it up to me yet, bug.” He says quietly, tracing the tip of his nose along the side of your neck.

You let out a little shiver, your breath hitching once more as your hands move to rest at the nape of his neck. “I don’t think I have either, Siri.” You agree softly.

His eyes darken even further as he begins pressing gentle kisses all across your neck and up your jaw.

Suddenly, the sound of a loud gasp causes you two to spring apart as you attempt to get out of Sirius’ lap—a fruitless endeavor, as he holds you firmly in place.

“Mr. Black, I do recall telling you not to put strain on your body while the Skelegro mends your arm.” Madam Pomfrey chastises, staring him down as she deposits a tray of new potions at her desk.

You blush in embarrassment, successfully managing to get off of Sirius’ lap this time as you look down, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt.

“I’m so sorry, Madam Pomfrey!” You apologize quickly, not wanting to get in trouble.

The older witch looks over to you and softens, smiling gently as she waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t fret, my dear. I’m well aware of Mr. Black’s stubbornness.”

Sirius clutches at his chest dramatically as he pouts at her. “You wound me, Poppy!” He pretends to shed a tear before looking at you.

He grabs your hand, pulling you back into his arms. “I think I need another kiss to make me feel better, bug. My heart is aching!” He puckers his lips.

You and Madam Pomfrey share a look before you both roll your eyes playfully.

Looking back down at him, you peck his lips softly but quickly and then straighten up, raising a brow. “There. Happy now?” You ask teasingly.

He just shakes his head and puckers his lips once again, making you giggle as you shake your head. “We’re in the hospital wing, Siri.” You remind him gently.

Now that Madam Pomfrey is here, you’re not going to risk it—the quick peck as far as you were willing to go.

It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he huffs softly. “Fine. You’ll have to make that up to me too, then.”

You smile, nodding along. “I’ll give you all the kisses you want later, I promise.”

But he just shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. S’not gonna cut it.” He mumbles, squeezing your waist once more as he sneakily presses a soft kiss to your hip before you can stop him.

You chuckle softly, brows raising as you tilt your head. “No?”

He shakes his head again, pressing another kiss to your hip.

“How should I make it up to you then, Siri?” You question with a smile.

He swallows softly as he slowly looks up at you then, sobering up some as he studies your face intently. His expression is so open and raw, so vulnerable right now that it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

You’ve never seen him look so nervous before and you try to keep your hopes at bay—not wanting to jump to conclusions just yet.

He inhales gently before slowly grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers and resting your locked hands on his thigh.

“Be mine, bug.” He says simply, soft and quiet—his words only meant for your ears.

The smile you give him is unmatched as you nod quickly, any thoughts of propriety out the window as you pull him into another deep kiss.

It doesn’t last long though, both of you smiling too much to keep the embrace going. When you pull back, he’s smiling contentedly.

“Finally my bug.” He says quietly, humming thoughtfully as he smirks softly. “And all I had to do was break an arm to make it happen.”

You do a double take. “Wait, what?”

He planned this?

You smack his uninjured arm gently as you glare. “You didn’t have to get yourself hurt just to ask me out, Siri!” You scold your boyfriend.

Merlin, he’s your boyfriend now! The thought makes you giddy and you can’t hold your glare any longer as you smile, blushing softly.

His only response is to return your smile and shrug as he pulls you in for a tender kiss and murmurs softly.

“Worth it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! wooh, first oneshot done!!! i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

#clesired #clesiredwrites #clesiredoneshots #clesiredsiriusblack #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter marauders #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders era fanfiction #marauders era fic #sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black x reader

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shuafiles · 2 months ago

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lie to girls [l.jn] preview

SUMMARY | it was hard watching jeno struggle with his relationship, but it was even harder when he ran to you for comfort every time. especially when you, his long-time best friend, have been in love with him for the longest time. but when jeno starts lying about where he’s going and who he’s with, you realize the biggest lie might be the one you’re telling yourself—that he’ll ever choose you. or girls will cry, and girls will lie, and girls will lose their goddamn minds for you.

PAIRING | nonidol!jeno x afab!reader

CONTENT | university au, angst, best friends to ?, aespa members included, cheating, swearing, drinking, smut (not everything is included in the teaser yet but just so you know whats in store)

WORDS | 855 (just this teaser)

A/N | sneak peek of what im working on! im planning on making this a looong one but i was too excited so i decided to share without spoiling too much. let me know if you like it! total wc is still unknown and the release date will hopefully be before november ends. also its my birthday today so heres my gift to you :D

“hey.” jeno greeted you, standing at your front door, which only meant one thing. they fought again.

you pushed the door wider, letting him inside. he looked like a mess, his shoulders slumped, dark bags around his eyes, hair disheveled. even from afar, you could tell he was going through something. his phone was in his hand, checking for notifications, but he let out a huge sigh when the home screen was empty.

“do i even want to know?” you prodded, eyes watching him as he plopped down on the couch. his head tilting back on the headrest, head filled with thoughts.

“you know how she is.” jeno mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “said she needed some space.”

unfortunately, i do know how she is. jeno’s girlfriend, karina. they’ve been together since first year of college when jeno met her at some random party. they were the kind of couple on campus that, at first glance, seemed perfect, but you knew all too well what kind of chaos haunted them in private. you were too familiar with how she behaved with jeno; most of the time, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

jeno didn’t even have to say anything when you saw him at your front door. you have grown accustomed to this pattern: the same heartache, apologies, and cycle of hope and disappointment. and every time it occurred, jeno ended up here—at your door, at your couch, sulking.

you wanted nothing more than to scold jeno for letting himself get run over by her, but you kept your lips sealed. deciding that giving him comfort and support was probably what he needed right now.

“again, huh?” you sat down on the opposite side of him, tucking your legs beneath you.

“i don’t even know what that means, y/n.” jeno sighed, running his hand through his hair. he lifted his head to face you, gaze soft as he held eye contact with you. “one minute, everything’s perfect, and we’re fine, but suddenly, i’ve apparently done something wrong, and she won't even tell me.” his voice cracked, hopelessness evident in his tone. it pained you to see him like this. how many times is he going to let her do this to him?

“well, did you do something wrong?” you asked, but you knew jeno too well, he wouldn’t do anything to sabotage his relationship. sure, he has made mistakes in the past, but he was a good person, a good friend, and a good lover, you suppose.

jeno stayed silent for a moment, recalling if he had done something to make his girlfriend upset. “i–no, at least i don’t think so.” he shook his head, “i’ve just been busy with classes, but i always make time for her. and everything we’re together, i always try to make it special. you know?”

you nodded along to his words, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. you have heard this story countless times, so you could probably recite it to him. it wasn’t unusual for karina to act like this; she’d get upset over something vague, and then jeno would beat himself up for it, but he’d still bend over backward to get her back.

“maybe she’s just going through something?” you said, trying to think of what to say to ease his mind.

you and karina were acquaintances at best. it’s not like you didn’t try to be her friend, but something about her attitude just seems so off-putting to you. you weren’t entirely sure if karina was fond of you either. of course, you never told jeno any of these. you knew he wouldn’t listen, not when it comes to her. he loves her. he’d return to her every time, like a moth to a flame. and you’d be there, picking up the pieces when he got burned.

“i wish she’d just tell me what’s on her mind instead of leaving me wondering what i did wrong.” his face twisted into frustration with a mix of confusion.

“jen, you know i can’t help you if you don’t tell her what you’re feeling.” this time, you couldn’t hold back. “you’re supposed to tell her these, not me.”

jeno flinched at your words, somehow unsatisfied with your advice. “yeah… you’re right.”

you watched his expression, his eyebrows furrowed while he was deep in thought. “i’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted to hear.” you hesitated, knowing you were treading dangerous waters. “i just think… you deserve someone who actually appreciates you.”

jeno stayed silent, processing your words as if he hadn’t told himself that a million times. but for some stupid reason, he couldn’t keep it in his head. he looked down at his phone, tapping the screen once more, but to his disappointment, there was still nothing. “i know you’re just looking out for me, y/n. but… i just can’t give up on her. not yet.”

and just like that, you could feel him slipping away, back into her orbit, leaving you alone with all the things you couldn’t say, wondering when he would run back to you again.

#tell me your thoughts please <3 #lee jeno #nct #nct dream #jeno imagines #nct imagines #jeno x reader #nct x reader #jeno angst #nct angst #jeno smut #nct smut

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evie-sturns · 8 months ago

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kiss - Matt Sturniolo

summary: when your best friend matt invites you round for a late night hang out, it ends up in him confessing his feelings to you... leading to you kissing your best friend of 8 years for the first time.

contains: fluff, slight arguing, confession, making out.

---------------------┌── •✧• ──┐-----------------

i've known matt since 8th grade, we met in science class where he spilt acid on my shirt. after that we became lab partners, then friends, then best friends.

9:34pm

"matt!!" i sing, opening the door to his bedroom and walking in. his gaze lifts from his laptop screen to me, his face lights up. he's wearing a black shirt with white detailing and some grey sweatpants, he's sat up against the pile of pillows on his bed.

"i missed you!" matt smiles, patting the spot next to him.

i jump on to his bed next to him and cuddle up to his sides, resting my head on his shoulder.

"how have you been?" matt exclaims, rubbing my shoulder as i instantly start talking,

in our friendship i've always been the talker, matt's a natural listener so it's an easy dynamic for us.

"guess what happened when i was drving here, this bitch flew on to the road on a scooter! i swerved so hard to miss her, and- and she was fully grown on a scooter!?" i scoff,

matt rubs his eyes with a laugh, "jesus christ." matt scoffs.

i look to my side at him, "like if i totalled my car dodging a middle-aged woman on a children's scooter i'd be so pissed." i continue, matt's in tears now, a stupidly wide smile spread across his pink cheeks.

i sigh, "anyways, netflix?" i suggest, reach onto matts lap and yank his laptop further up his torso. "yeah!" matt replies, he scrolls through netflix and picks out some rom-com

"a rom com? you're feeling romantic today," i tease, matt jabs his fingers into my waist, earning a scream from me followed by a loud giggle.

the opening scene to the movie starts, i cuddle closer to matt's side and wrap a leg over his thigh, matt goes tense and i subtly hear his breathing pick up.

"you okay?" i whisper, matt nods.

"matt why don't you talk to me about things, i've known you since we were 12 you can tell me stuff." i sigh,

"im fine- i'm okay." matt insists, his cheeks are flushed now.

"i know but you've been distance recently, and i don't understand what i've done wrong?" i mumble, pausing the movie and pushing the screen down.

"its not you y/n." matt states,

"then what is it!" i argue back,

"oh my fucking god do you not get it?" matt says, i sit up and look down at him, my eyebrows twisted.

"you are so- so gorgeous. everything about you is perfect and i'm sorry, i'm sorry if this ruins things between us but i'm completely obsessed with you, i really really like you and i have for much longer than i'd rather admit. so i'm sorry if i'm being distant but its painful to be around you without the constant need to fucking tell you- how much i need you."

my mouth falls open, i've always thought matt was cute, i've just pushed it away.

matt looks at me, scanning over my face as he breathes deeply, his eyebrows slanted upwards out of nerves.

"you mean it-" before i can finish my sentence matt cuts me off, "yes- i fucking do." he whines, running a hand through his hair as he sits up.

his laptop slides off his lap, i crawl over and sit on his lap while he props himself up on the headboard.

i grab his chin, making him look up at me as i get comfortable straddling him.

"you should've told me baby." i whisper, the pet name makes matt's eyes widen.

"because you've always been cute matt, just my type yeah?"

"dont lie please.." matt shys

i smirk before pressing our lips together, his lips are plush and soft, i've always wondered what they would feel like against mine.

"oh my god." matt breathes against my lips, my heart thumps out of my chest as i place a hand on his shoulder, rocking my hips against the fabric of his sweatpants.

matt glides his tongue over my bottom lip, asking for permission which i quickly grant. his tongue slips inside my mouth, fighting mine for dominance.

his ringed hands lace into my brunette hair, pushing my head further towards his.

his spare hand finds its way to my ass, pushing me against his lap harder, a pathetic whine escapes my mouth, matt chuckles against my lips before pulling away.

"don't get too worked up sweetheart." matt teases, i scoff

"shut up"

i lean back slightly, his face scans over mine "was that okay..?" he asks shyly like he wasn't just pressing me down onto his clothed cock 15 seconds ago.

"that was really.. fucking good." i laugh, laying down on his body and burying my head on his shoulder, i press small kisses on his neck, marking lightly.

"what.. are we?" he asks,

"what do you want to be?" i reply,

"you don't have to say yes- this is random but, do you want to maybe.. will you be my girlfriend." matt asks quietly,

i laugh slightly "you're so stupid matt,"

he goes silent, i give him a proper reply before he starts to panic

"yes, yes matt i will be your girlfriend." i smile,

matt grabs both sides of my face and smashes his lips to mine again, smiling widely against my lips.

--------------

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @recklessmatt @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @pkfferoo @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle

#sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine

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jlheon · 8 months ago

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୨୧ — birthday twins (psh)

pairing. frenemy! park sunghoon x fem! reader genre. fe2l + fluff wc. 4444 notes. ft. 02z + jimin & yizhou of aespa library.

synopsis. you & sunghoon don't exactly get along but spend your shared birthday alone this year due to jake's scheming

park sunghoon and you share the same two best friends, jake and jay.

park sunghoon and you have shared the same neighborhood since you were six.

park sunghoon and you even share a birthday.

park sunghoon has been the bane of your existence since and you’ve been his.

in first grade when you sat down at the desk your name tag was placed on, the boy next to made one snarky comment about your drawings you have disliked him ever since.

“a flower isn’t just pink. the stem and the leaves are green.” the boy beside you said during morning break, peering over your shoulder at your drawing.

your six-year-old self was already moody from earlier in the day when your mom gave your younger brother jungwon the last chocolate chip pancake. you got stuck with a plain pancake for your bites. without any hesitation, you read his name tag to yourself and snapped back.

“my drawing is pretty,” referring to his messily drawn bird. “park sunghoon.”

“and mine isn’t?” sunghoon quirked an eyebrow at you, picking up his paper to display his ‘masterpiece’.

“i don’t know what that is,” you fired back, making a face of disgust.

“it’s a penguin,” sunghoon adjusted the glasses on his nose bridge. “yang ____.”

at least you knew he could read.

annoyed with your desk buddy you decided to spread your wings and move over to the table of two girls. grabbing your special pink crayon and paper as you approached your two giggling classmates.

“hi, i’m ____!” you carefully placed your drawing on the empty spot on the table.

“hi! i’m jimin!” the taller girl with the long black hair smiled. “this is my best friend yizhou!”

“wow i like your names!” you sat in front of them, reaching for your crayon to make another flower.

you sat with the two girls until you were sent back to your seat for math. they quickly accepted you with open arms and even invited you to sit with them at lunch.

though you had to decline as you promised jake that you would find each other during lunch.

jake was your best friend. you met him in pre-k and were in the same class even in kindergarten. unfortunately, this year he had been placed in the opposite class. with no time to hang out during class but you knew you had lunch to spend together.

little did you know jay and sunghoon had the same plan. in the other kindergarten classroom across the hall, jake had quickly befriended jay because they both played the guitar.

when your teacher announced lunch, you quickly ran up to the front of the line, pushing sunghoon out of your way, but not enough to have your teacher say anything. sunghoon tried to push you back but the line had already started on its route to the cafeteria.

“jaeyun!” you called out once spotting a familiar head of brown hair, next to him was another boy you had never seen before, probably a new friend from his class.

“____! i saved you a seat,” jake grinned, patting the chair next to him.

you skipped over to their table, setting your lunchbox on the table. once you touched the seat he leaned down to whisper that at school he was now jake, to which you replied that he should make an exception just for you.

due to the lack of attention you were paying as you were caught up in jake, you hadn’t noticed sunghoon following close behind you, sitting next to jake’s friend.

“ew why is she here,” sunghoon grumbled to the unnamed black-haired boy.

“hoon be nice,” the other boy kicked his foot under the table, causing sunghoon to wince. the boy raised his hand out to greet you, waving it slowly. “i’m jay.”

“i’m ____,”

“i know,” jay answered, offering a half smile. “jake told me his best friend would eat with us so i invited my best friend hoon! he’s cranky though,”

“i know,” you side-eyed sunghoon as you took a bite of whatever your mom packed you for lunch that day.

at recess, there were only four swings at the playground. someone had been sitting alone at the one on the end, making it three. you and sunghoon fought over the last swing, which he ultimately gave up. jay and jake took the swings on the further end while you and sunghoon reached the third empty seat at the same time. tugging on the chain back and forth until sunghoon reluctantly gave up and let you on the swing. giving you a rather aggressive push when you asked him to push your swing.

near the end of recess, you felt bad so you got off and told sunghoon to take his turn. pushing his swing a little too hard to the point he almost fell, but thankfully he didn’t.

that continued for every day up until now. your group of you, jake, sunghoon, and jay continued through all grades. jake acted like nothing was wrong, you and sunghoon constantly bickered and acted passive-aggressively towards each other. then jay was the mediator between you two when needed.

the type of relationship you had with sunghoon was solidified when on your seventh birthday. when his mother dropped him off, also carrying cupcakes to share with the class.

you shared a birthday.

from then, every year you just knew you had to go bigger than sunghoon and make everyone remember your birthday not his. from candy-filled goodie bags to funfetti cupcakes, to even begging your mom to bring your little brother jungwon to your birthday one year because toddlers are cute and you knew your classmates would agree. you always made it your mission to upstage sunghoon.

as your eighteenth birthday approached, you still had the same goal: have a more memorable birthday than sunghoon.

sure, it sounds childish and petty but as the both of you grew up you became closer to sunghoon. you still had your disputes and held a slight grudge against each other but the fact your friend group was the same forced you two to tolerate each other. though being left completely alone with each other ends in chaos than friendship nine times out of ten.

sunghoon was, for lack of better word, your frenemy.

this year however was not going to be the year you stop this ‘tradition’ of going all out on your birthday. going all out to you meant getting jake, jay, and sunghoon into your car on your birthday and driving wherever you desire. that’s your ideal birthday, and having sunghoon there allows you to semi-celebrate his birthday (and so jay wouldn’t get mad at you for not inviting him).

“so what are we doing for your guys’ birthday this year?” jay asked, setting down his tray of cafeteria food on the table and taking a seat. “should i take a day off or?”

“clear your schedules! we three are going on a road trip!” sunghoon shared excitedly.

“hoon there are four of us,” you rolled your eyes, stealing a grape from jake’s tray.

“you’re spending our birthday with jimin and yizhou this year,” he said with a mockingly sweet tone, booping you on the nose as the cherry on top. “i already told them to take my least favorite girl out.”

“why would you do that?” you harshly pushed his arm away from your face before he could retract it. “we always spend our birthdays together!”

“wow ____, just say you’re so in love with me that you felt the need to leave the womb the same day i did,”

“i don’t mean you! i mean jake and jay always spend my birthday with me, you just happen to have nothing better to do on your birthday!”

“okay, so what i’m hearing is i should call out of work?” jay interrupted your bickering, pulling his phone out to text his boss.

“yes!” sunghoon and you said in unison.

“hoon you can’t just make ____’s birthday plans for her,” jake spoke up, handing you the juice box he didn’t want to drink. he opened the carton before handing it to you, turning to ask you a question. “what did you have in mind for this year?”

“my parents are letting us go up to their cabin,” you told the table. “but if sunghoon is so set on spending this year without me then i can always bring my other friend group-”

it was jake and jay’s turn to talk in sync, they shouted at you a no.

your other friend group was, like sunghoon said earlier, jimin and yizhou. they have been your separate friend group since the day you met in first grade, which was the brighter moment of the start of your first-grade career. you went to them for every thing and vise versa, you can’t possibly have all your friend needs met by two-and-a-half teenage boys.

“i think i win again this year!” you grinned at sunghoon, snatching a french fry from his tray. “as i do every year.”

“shut up,” sunghoon rolled his eyes and shoved your shoulder.

two weeks later you found yourself in the passenger's seat of your own car while sunghoon was at the wheel. finally reaching your birthday weekend meant your two-and-a-half best friends would accompany you up to the mountains to the cabin you’ve owned since childhood. the only thing missing now was jake and jay in the back seat.

“why isn’t jake coming down?” sunghoon frustratedly sighed, tapping a bunch of places on his screen.

that morning sunghoon had walked over to your house, greeted your parents, took your bag to the car, and even offered to drive today. your parents had no trouble allowing you to bring the three boys along as they had known them for over a decade. they truly thought sunghoon was the sweetest but you could beg to differ.

you drove to jake’s house and waited outside just at the time the four of you had discussed last night. though jake failed to be there on his doorstep in his usual punctual ways.

“guys i think jay is stuck at work,” jake started when he finally answered one of sunghoon’s millions of calls. “i think i’ll wait for him to be done and drive up together, i don’t want him to do the three hours alone.”

you both let out exasperated sighs before agreeing to the sudden change of plans knowing it was the best option.

sunghoon hung up on jake and started the route his gps had shown when searching for the address of your place in the woods. the longest three hours of your life began.

the first hour was dead silent. nobody on aux, just the gps lady's voice filling the car every couple of feet, and the sound of breathing.

the second hour sunghoon had broken the tension by asking if you were hungry, which you wanted to lie about but your stomach said otherwise, grumbling every couple minutes. he drove off the nearest exit and stopped at a small diner.

once the car was parked sunghoon got out and waited for you to follow behind him inside. the waitress seated you in a booth in the corner then handed you two menus and explained she would be back shortly.

you decided on breakfast for lunch, and it seems sunghoon thought the same.

he ordered chicken and waffles while you ordered chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream. it’s your birthday after all.

it didn’t take long for your food to come out.

the waitress seemed to be around your age, maybe a year or two older. she placed your pancakes in front of you before sending sunghoon a wink while biting her lip and walking away. for some reason that made you angry.

you spaced out for a couple of seconds rethinking that interaction, when you came back into consciousness you saw sunghoon was already almost done cutting your pancakes for you.

even if you were eighteen now, growing up with jake as your best friend made you subject to immense princess treatment. sunghoon doing something you liked for you without any request made heat rush up your neck. quietly thanking him as you took your first bite.

“i know jake always cuts your food,” he broke the silence. “so i wanted to do it for you since it’s our birthday after all.”

“thanks, hoon,” you said with flushed cheeks. picking up a piece of your pancake to shove into your mouth after your next sentence. “happy birthday to you too.”

throughout your rather silent meal, your waitress kept coming up to the table. she only ever looked and talked to sunghoon. constantly flirting with him and eventually asking if he was single to which he responded that he wanted more butter.

by the time she came back with the butter you and sunghoon were ready to pay. going back and forth until sunghoon snatched your card to hide it so he could pay with his.

“i know this is weird but can i have your number?” the waitress fluttered her eyelashes at sunghoon as she handed back his card, hand grazing his for a couple of extra seconds.

“oh um,” sunghoon quickly retracted his hand and pulled you towards him. “i have a girlfriend.” he let an arm fall around your waist and held you close. feeling you freeze under his touch, he rubbed soft circles on your hip.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” she apologized, quickly picking up your plates and booking it towards the kitchen. “i assumed you were just friends.”

you and sunghoon didn’t speak at all but he kept his arm around you, guiding you toward the car. the remaining two hours were as silent as ever, maybe even more than before. just the adjustment of sunghoon giving you aux.

it was still early in the afternoon when you arrived at the cabin. knowing jay’s work schedule you knew he never stayed past 2 pm so you checked to see if he and jake were on their way. they were not. they weren’t even with each other. both of their locations were still at their homes, and the app had told you jay had been home all day.

“hoon,” you poked his shoulder, facing your phone screen towards him.

“what ____ i’m driving,” he reminded you, eyes never leaving the road.

“jay didn’t go to work and the both of them are still home,”

“what?!”

you quickly opened your contacts to facetime the two liars and get them to start driving to meet you before dinner. eating dinner for your birthday alone with sunghoon did not seem that pleasing, the car ride was the most awkward it’s ever been between you two, and more hours of that in a cabin in the middle of the forest would be even worse.

jay picked up first. his camera was off and his voice was evident of sleep.

“yes?” he managed to grumble.

“why aren’t you and jake on your way?” sunghoon spoke for the both of you

“um work,” jay painfully obviously lied. “we should be leaving as soon as jake is ready.”

right when jay said that, jake’s cheery face appeared on the screen with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “we can’t make it today,” jake continued smiling as if he didn’t just tell you the one thing you didn’t want to hear today.

“seriously guys, on my birthday?” you frowned.

“our birthday,” sunghoon corrected you.

“we will be there as soon as possible tomorrow morning!” jake tried to lighten the mood. “on the bright side we still have the rest of the weekend to hangout.”

“fine, but why can’t you make it?”

“well you see my car is currently in the shop-” jake started to explain.

“use jay’s,” sunghoon cut him off.

“my mom is using my car right now, her car is in the shop,” jay mumbled, sounding like he had been sleeping throughout this whole conversation, which he was.

“okay but if you guys aren’t here when i wake up you owe me free drinks every time i visit you at work,”

“sure whatever i’m tired,” jay groaned, leaving the call shortly after. jake left next, still suspiciously smiling at the camera. he wasn’t off the hook, once he got there you would kill him.

finally arriving at the cabin you and sunghoon unloaded the stuff from the trunk. thankfully you two were in charge of the food. so you wouldn’t starve without your two best friends.

after everything was brought inside you let sunghoon pick his room for the three nights. you already knew which one was your room, since you claimed the same room every time you came here with your family.

unloading and decompressing took around two hours. you decided to shower while sunghoon had fell asleep on his bed. the moment you walked out of your room sunghoon had emerged from his, standing across from you in the doorway parallel.

“hi,” you stared at his messy bed hair.

“hey,” he replied. “hungry?”

“i could eat,”

you followed him to the kitchen where all the food you had bought in preparation for this trip sat. though without jay here neither of you wanted to cook so you got out two ramen packets. sunghoon silently nodded at you to signal he was okay with it and you started boiling water.

soon enough you sat next to each other at the dining table silently eating your food.

it was weird being so quiet around sunghoon. normally you would be yelling at each other by now to the point you would have ran off to your room and slammed the door in his face. that was your normal. even if you didn’t like it that’s just how you and sunghoon are and you have grown to accept it.

he was annoying and flamboyant to you but you saw how fun he was to be around through other people. no, you don’t hate park sunghoon, you just don’t know how to do anything other than pester him.

but you had a pact to not piss each other off on this one day of the year.

sunghoon and you finished up your makeshift meals and moved to the living room to turn on a movie to pass the time. he silently put on your favorite movie when you were kids and you both sat next to each other with around a foot of space between you.

as the movie came to a close tiredness crept on you. bidding a short good night to sunghoon and sleepily stumbling towards your room. after crashing on the bed and wrapping yourself in the sheets you finally let your eyelids droop.

but all the tiredness left your body as soon as the videos of people's paranormal stories flooded your thoughts. even worse as you were in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with park sunghoon alone. he could not fight a ghost.

tossing and turning after what felt like forever you swore heard a creak from the balcony attached to your room. scared out of your mind you quickly got up and ran to sunghoon’s room.

thankfully you did not interrupt his slumber since when you opened the door his lamp was still on and he had a book in his hands.

“hoon can i stay in here i’m hearing things,” you begged, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“what do you mean?” sunghoon set his book down on the side table, giving you his full attention. “hearing what?”

“i know this probably sounds like i’m just paranoid- which i am! but i keep hearing creaking noises from the balcony in my room.” you explained, approaching the bed. “i spent the whole car ride going down a rabbit hole on creepy stories and now i’m… scared.” you whispered the last part, trying to preserve the little pride you had left.

“um sure, come here,” sunghoon motioned for the space on his bed. the bed was big enough for the two of you so you didn’t think it would be a problem. you let out a sigh of relief.

as you climbed under the duvet he reached over to the side table again, opening the drawer to reveal a neatly wrapped box.

“i wanted to wait for the guys, but it’s not going to be our birthday much longer,” referring to the eleven thirty-eight on the digital clock. “open it,”

you carefully unwrapped the box he handed you to find the necklace you had been eyeing the last time the four of you went shopping. you hadn’t explicitly told anyone you wanted it but stared at it the whole time.

your eyes started to burn because sunghoon’s gift had been the first and only gift you received today. your parents already giving you the cabin, your brother jungwon being a broke fifteen-year-old, yizhou and jimin’s gift was stuck in transit, then lastly jay and jake not showing up.

sunghoon’s gift was undeniably thoughtful, even more so because he would have only known if he had been paying close attention to you that day.

suddenly you felt like a horrible friend for not thinking of getting him anything, you never got each other gifts in previous years.

“hoon…” you sniffled, taking the necklace out of the box to admire it.

“are you crying?” sunghoon asked, disregarding everything you had just said. “here, let me put it on for you.” he took the necklace from your hands and unclasped it to wrap it around your neck.

“can i hug you,” you asked through sniffles, to which he shyly nodded.

moving the covers off both of your legs you practically jumped on him. letting your knees fall onto the slides of his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck, of course, while still crying.

sunghoon awkwardly hugged you back, hand coming up to lightly pat you on the back as if you were some crying newborn.

“shh,” he whispered into your hair trying to calm you down.

“i didn’t get you anything,” you pouted, staring at him with glassy eyes, he swore he could cry as well. “i feel bad taking this.” and now sunghoon started crying.

“no, please keep it,” sunghoon said with tears in his eyes as he brought his hand up to stop yours trying to remove the jewelry. he didn’t expect himself to cry but seeing you cry over something he got for you flipped something in him and tears started streaming down his face. “look you don’t have to repay me or anything this gift comes with something more important.”

you tilted your head at him confused, patting under his eyes to dry his face. how could he still have something to give you?

“____,” he raised his hands to cup your face. “i like you.”

“oh,” was all you said, causing sunghoon to panic.

“like i don’t hate you or anything!”

“i know… didn’t we establish this at the start of high school?” you questioned, confused about why he felt the need to tell you again, that you were technically one of his best friends by how much time you spent together. “i don’t know what you are trying to get at right now hoon.”

“i mean like in that type of way,” he trailed off. “like-”

“is this a pity gift?” you quickly dried your face in embarrassment. of course. he didn’t actually care. jake probably told him to get you something this year and then gave him the gift idea when he came to him for help. the tears he shed were probably just from the heat of the moment. “did jake put you up to this?”

“no wait! that’s not what i mean at all,” sunghoon grabbed your hands to keep you from removing the necklace around your neck for a second time.

“okay so what is it?” you pried your hands out of his grip, crossing your arms.

“i like you in a ‘i want to be your boyfriend’ type of way,” he nervously explained, you could feel the bed shaking from his leg bouncing.

“oh,” you said once again, trying to process what he said. “um,” you wanted to give him an answer but couldn’t find the words, you swore there was something with the air since you started tearing up again.

“are you crying tears of joy or because you hate me even more now?”

“both,” you finally spoke, trying to stop the tears from falling down your sleeve.

“is that a good thing though?”

“i mean,” you cleared your throat. “i think a boyfriend is the best present you’ve ever gotten me, and the only one you’ve ever gotten me actually.”

“great!” sunghoon scratched the back of his neck, you furrowed your eyebrows at his response.

“that’s all you’re going to say?”

“i didn’t think this far…” sunghoon apologized, pulling you into his arms. “i was only prepared to be rejected.”

in the morning jake and jay finally arrived. the cabin was dead silent and all the bedroom doors closed except for the last room on the left. jake whispered to jay and they tiptoed towards the door. as quietly as possible until jay stubbed his toe on the corner of the couch and let out a shriek.

fortunately for them, sunghoon and you were heavy sleepers and didn’t look at all disturbed when jake turned the doorknob.

you were sleeping cuddled up into sunghoon’s side while he had an arm around your waist and the other under your head.

their plan had been successful!

the two boys tried to exit the door and leave you two be but as they walked further down the hall to find their rooms jake tripped over nothing. falling on the floor with a thump, but he didn’t make any noise to try and prevent waking you guys up.

as he slowly got up sunghoon’s door burst open. revealing sunghoon clutching a book and you clinging to his arm behind him.

“oh it’s just you guys…” sunghoon slowly brought the book down.

“i thought the ghost came back!” you moved forward so sunghoon wasn’t covering you anymore.

“ghosts aren’t real ____,” sunghoon turned around to you, pushing you back into the room towards the bed. “me and my GIRLFRIEND are going back to sleep!”

“congrats,” jay muttered, closing his door to catch up on the sleep he missed since jake wouldn’t shut up in the car about how you both failed to remember jay already called out for your birthdays.

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ur-local-wizard · 1 month ago

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Ink & Ivy

When you start a seemingly regular shift at Ink & Ivy, a new bookstore, an old friend's prank backfires.

fluff, fluff, FLUFF!!!! brother's best friend (kinda? like 2 sentences), graduated au, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, i think that's it

w/c: 1k

masterlist

a/n: sorry this took so long to put out! it's just my first fic I'm putting out there so i was getting really finicky

The ding of the front door rings through the book shop. Icy wind blows at your hair, abruptly being cut off as the door shuts behind you. Relishing in the warmth of the fire burning in the corner of Ink & Ivy’s front room, your footsteps sound off the creaky wooden floors.

The place smells like parchment and coffee, and as you walk down the hall to the employee’s break room, you pause as a shelf catches your eye. It looks oddly empty. “Why didn’t Susan restock last night?” You whisper to yourself as you resume your walk to the break room. Susan Bones was a fellow Hufflepuff during your time at Hogwarts, and although you two never talked during school – your brother Theo always dragging you along to participate in some stupid prank – you two became good acquaintances after you applied for this job.

After shedding your winter attire in the break room, you clock in. The hours tick by, and that empty shelf keeps nagging at you. Shooting a glance out the window, you determine that now is a good time to journey to the stockroom. It looks like nobody is going to venture in any time soon, so you might as well do something useful.

The door to the storeroom squeaks as it opens, and you stop in your tracks. A head of curly brown hair was poking through a window. “What the fuck-”

He looks up, and you instantly recognize your brother’s best friend. It’s Mattheo, the boy who would always tease you at school. You haven’t seen him since you graduated three months ago.

“Oh- Well- I-” He stutters, clearly caught off guard.

“Mattheo, you don’t even work here. Get out of the damn window so you can explain yourself.”

You watch as he awkwardly maneuvers himself through the window, dusting himself off as he stands up to his full height. You can’t help but giggle when you see his sour expression.

“What?” He asks, his tone defensive.

“Nothing. You’re just ridiculous. But I’m not surprised; you have been since we met in first year.”

After reading a label on a box and making sure it’s the right one, you pick it up and begin to walk back to the front room of the shop. Surprised, Mattheo scurries after you.

“I wanted to play a little prank,” he explains as the two of you walk down the short hallway. You stop in front of the empty shelf from earlier and set the box down, intent on restocking it. “And I haven’t seen you all summer. Would it be weird to say that I missed you?” He asks sheepishly, making you stop in your tracks, looking over at the man next to you.

Putting the book you were holding back in its box, and you study his expression. He looks embarrassed. Maybe a little nervous, even. “Why?” You ask, ignoring the hope fluttering in your heart.

You’ve had a silly crush on him ever since he bought you an expensive quill you wanted in sixth year. And now that he’s standing in front of you after visiting out of his own free will, saying you’re flustered would be an understatement.

“Your reactions are adorable when I tease you. And that one time when we replaced your wand with a trick one, your reaction was priceless.”

You swat his arm in frustration, retorting, “That wasn’t funny! McGonagall got so upset with me. I was afraid I was going to get detention because she thought I wasn’t taking class seriously.”

He laughs, but his expression seems to soften. “Sorry, princess. Didn’t realize it got you into trouble. But what can I say? I don’t regret it.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but stay quiet. It’s in the past now, no use saying anything. The two of you restock the shelves, and before you know it, the shelf is full again. “I’ll take this box back to the storeroom. You go back to the register, ‘mkay?”

You nod and let him take the box to the back, heading for the register like he said. It’s not long before he’s standing in front of you again, his elbow in the table, hand perched in his palm.

You raise your eyebrow, “What now?”

“Just looking.” He stands back up. “I remember you used to read all the time... What have you been reading lately? Any books you’ve been eyeing?” He asks, looking at you expectantly.

You sigh and tell him what you’ve been reading, along with explaining that your TBR is endless. “I can’t decide on anything,” you complain.

“Well then send it to me. I’ll decide for you.” He pauses before speaking again. “You get commission, right?”

“Uh… yeah. Why?”

“Let me buy you a book.” He’s smiling like an idiot, and it makes you blush a bit.

“You’re kidding.”

“You think I’m kidding? Darling, I’ve had a thing for you since fifth year. I like buying you presents. Hasn’t it been obvious?” His blunt confession makes your jaw drop, cheeks burn, and butterflies break out of the cage you so painstakingly put them in. “And I would say you share the same feelings, if the blush on your cheeks is anything to go by.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you look for something to say, shocked by his bold words. “Why tell me now?” Your voice is quieter than you intended it to be, and his expression softens. He walks around the counter to stand next to you and gently puts a hand on your cheek, making you look up at him. “Theo isn’t here to pound me into a pulp for falling for you anymore,” he explains, chuckling. “And he can’t stop me from doing this." With that, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, holding your face in his hands. The kiss is chaste, nothing too crazy, as if he’s afraid of pressuring you.

As he pulls away, you look at him with wide eyes, watching as he grins at you like a school boy. “So what book do you want me to buy?”

Ty for reading! I hope you liked it <3 Let me know if there's something I need to fix, and if you wanted to be added to the tag list let me know!!

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

#ur local wizard #wizard yapps #ur-local-wizard #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #mattheo riddle #mattheo x reader #mattheo x you #mattheoriddle #mattheo #mattheoxreader #mattheoxyou #matt riddle #mattheo x y/n #harry potter #hp #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction

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starry-bi-sky · 1 year ago

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Childhood Friends Danny and Jason

(cw underage smoking / smoking as a form of bonding) (cw Jason thinking Danny killed himself but its only for a moment) (cw depictions of murderous intent? Danny wants to murder the Joker and he's a little descriptive about it)

Now on ao3 :) (and with a response and a third one)

AND ALSO A REMASTERED VERSION THAT YOU SHOULD TOTALLY GO CHECK OUT BECAUSE I WORKED VERY HARD ON IT.

This is… aha. Massive. Word count check: 9k+

this has probably been done before but hey, everyone loves a good trope and I wanted to share my take on this idea. 👏👏 So, Danny Fenton and Jason Todd being childhood friends. The Fentons lived in Crime Alley for a good long while during Danny's childhood. Nobody wanted to fund their research and Jack and Maddie struggled to keep any form of work for a multitude of reasons. Jack worked in construction due to his big build and Maddie had another job elsewhere.

Danny and Jason were friends during that time, really great friends. I'm not super solid on how they met yet but I do know it involves Danny committing petty crime and Jason deciding to jump in and help when he sees Danny struggling. Danny was distrustful (as all crime alley kids ought to be) but they eventually became thick as thieves, committing petty crime together.

While it's all too easy to make Danny the weaker one of the two with Jason protecting him, I actually really like the idea that they protected each other. Growing up (essentially) on the streets means Danny forcibly had to grow a backbone unless he wanted to get trampled all over. He is just as willing to scuffle with the bigger kids as Jason is, and he and Jason regularly fought each other whenever they needed to let off steam, or just because. They were a duo, having each other's backs in tough situations.

(Sometimes the pair of them would sneak out at night and try and get a glimpse of Batman and Robin while they soared through the air. It was like a game between the two of them to see who could spot the dynamic duo first. When they were a little older, Jason would steal his dad's cigarettes and share them with Danny while they searched for Batman and Robin)

So when Danny has to move away when they're eleven years old, it's pretty safe to say that Jason didn't speak to him for a week afterwards. Nothing Danny did could persuade him to otherwise, even when Danny insisted that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't want to move away either, but he didn't have a choice in the matter.

When the week was over, Jason climbed through Danny's window and sat in his room, dead silent and looking upset. he didn't speak until Danny fished out a stolen pack of cigarettes from his bed and handed one to Jason.

(It was a ritual they had where if one of them was upset about something but wasn't saying anything, the other one could then hand them a cigarette -- whether it be the one they were using or a new one -- and that would be an open invitation for the person to vent. The other one who handed him the cigarette wouldn't speak until the venter handed back the cigarette. Then back and forth it would go until the cigarette was gone.)

Jason ranted about how pissed he was about Danny moving, and they promised to try and stay in touch after he leaves. Neither of them had phones, but Danny was determined to send him a letters.

Danny moves to Amity Park and it's... an adjustment, that's for sure. He's angry, grumpy, upset, and every other negative feeling under the sun. He was going to a new middle school with new people he didn't know, away from all of the people he did know and away from his best friend.

(He does however keep his word about sending letters, and mails one out to Jason at the first opportunity.)

He refuses to get along with anyone, butts heads with the teachers, is combative, rude, and openly smokes in class -- which gets him plenty of detentions and a bad reputation. He speaks in a thick Gotham street accent and wears hand-me-down clothes that are too big and baggy on him. (His parents have yet to replace any of their wardrobes as they settle into their new life, and Danny is hesitant to spend the money to get new clothes.)

He only manages to befriend Sam and Tucker because one of the football kids was bullying Tucker and Danny stepped in. It was some blond jerk named Dash and when Dash threw the first punch, Danny broke his nose. Tucker found him later that day and reluctantly thanked him for his help.

Sam and Danny do not get along for the longest time. Sam questions Danny about his upbringing, his accent, his smoking. She judges him for talking back to the teachers despite doing it herself and for ruining his lungs with cigarettes. Danny tells her to fuck off, and when she tries to judge him and Tucker for not being vegetarian, he calls her a privileged brat.

Sam doesn't even look at him for two weeks after, and Danny refuses to apologize. Tucker is caught between a rock and a hard place as his old friend and new friend are feuding with each other.

They... sort it out eventually.

Danny and Jason send each other letters near religiously. Danny complains about Amity Park, and Jason complains about how Crime Alley isn't the same without him. Danny talks about the school and what he's learned, about Sam and Tucker, and how he's been getting into the astronomy books in the library. He steals Jason a book and sends it to him.

When Jason tells Danny that he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, Danny calls bullshit. There's no fucking way Bruce Wayne would even look at Crime Alley, regardless of his charity efforts towards it. But when he checks Gotham news later that week, he's hit in the face with every single news article announcing Bruce Wayne's newest ward; Jason Todd.

Cue freaking out. Jason talks all about living in Wayne Manor and what it's like there. He says that there's a monster library in a part of the house that Bruce says he has free reign over, and that Jason can have anything to eat as long as he asks Alfred to make it and it isn't a desert, and that he has his own monster-sized room that he got to pick out himself and decorate.

(When they both get phones, the first thing either of them do is add each other's numbers.)

When Sam complains about having to go to a Wayne Gala that her parents are dragging her to one weekend, the first thing Danny asks is if he can go with. It surprises Sam and Tucker; Danny was the last person they would have thought wanted to go with. HE hates the rich even more than Sam does. Danny stands firm in his decision, and refuses to elaborate.

"Besides." He says to Sam, with whom he's begun to get along with via 'the enemy of my enemy is a friend'. "Would you rather go alone or with someone you can tolerate?"

She brings him with and convinces her parents to allow Danny to come along, citing that she'll be on her best behavior if they do. They agree, and buy Danny a suit when he says that he doesn't have one of his own.

(He discovers that he hates wearing suit jackets and ties, but vests he doesn't mind. He doesn't like that he has to comb his hair back, but he does to make Sam's parents happy. They give him a crash course in etiquette that Danny's going to forget the next day, and soon enough off they go in a private jet to Gotham)

(he does not tell Jason he's coming.)

he feels mischievous and nervous as they touch down, his stomach swirling as Sam's parents usher them to a high-profile hotel that Danny's only ever dreamed about going into. He feels largely out of place as they walk through the lobby, and falls back on old habits: square shoulders, set jaw, make yourself look like the biggest person in the room.

They get ready in the hotel room, Sam's parents primp and preen for the night incoming, and Sam is dragged into it by her mother. Danny does only what's required of him, and fiddles with the sleeves of his fresh-ironed button-down that's been tailored to his body. He's itching for a cigarette, and didn't bring any with.

Sam's dad helps him with his tie, a bout of kindness that Danny doesn't think is one. Just obligation to prevent Danny from looking like a mess. Sam pesters him again about wanting to come, and his reasons for it, and Danny keeps mum.

He's stone-faced with anxiety as they get closer to the gala, and before they leave the limousine the Mansons rented Sam links arms with him. A form of solidarity that Danny needs as he squeezes their arms together and smiles weakly at her.

The paparazzi are loud, bright, and demanding, shouting questions over questions at them like overlapping tidal waves. Danny ignores them all and focuses on the front doors instead. Sam's parents whisper at the stairs that they are to greet the Waynes first, and Danny's heart leaps to his throat.

His heart is in his ears as they drift closer, Mister Wayne is preoccupied with another rich couple, smiling that charming billionaire smile that Danny saw on every billboard in Gotham, and then some in Amity Park. Getting so close to him feels unreal.

And there by his side is the one and only Jason Todd, who isn't even trying to hide the bored look on his face as he watches Bruce interact with the other adults. He's gotten taller in the year they've been away, and healthier. His hair looks like its been cut professionally and he doesn't look as street kid skinny.

Danny's arm, hooked with Sam's, tightens up, and he resists the urge to rush forward and hug Jason. He watches Jason's eyes sweep left, away from him, and then right, towards him. The air stills for a moment as their eyes lock.

Danny grins toothily at him, lopsided and playful in nature, and sees the moment Jason processes the sight before him. His arm starts slipping out of Sam's at the same time as an ecstatic smile stretches across Jason's face.

His lopsided grin fills out on the other end. "DANNY!" Jason yells, cutting off whatever Bruce Wayne and startling everyone within earshot. There's barely a moment for Bruce to look down when Jason shoves past him and runs at Danny.

Danny yanks his arm out of Sam's, "JASON!" He yells with just as much enthusiasm, and Jason nearly topples them right over when he collides with Danny. His arms wrap around Danny's shoulders, holding onto him tightly, and they're both laughing, spinning around like tops out of joy.

"You didn't tell me you were coming!" Jason cries, sounding accusing. Danny hugs him just as tightly, and laughs when Jason pulls away momentarily to punch his shoulder.

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" He defends, laughing between words as their spinning comes to a stop. They're both reluctant to pull apart, but they do and clutch the sleeves of their elbows tightly. "How could my best friend be adopted by the Bruce Wayne and have me not come confirm it with my own two eyes?"

"I sent you newspaper clippings!" Jason says, narrowing his eyes while his smile betrays his face. Danny quietly notices that his Gotham street accent is faded slightly.

"Oh that's what it was?" Danny's grin turns again, edging into a smirk. He feigns innocence, "I thought that was fire kindling." He has the newspaper clippings hung on the corkboard in his room, proud beyond words about his best friend.

Jason punches him in the shoulder again, hard enough to leave a bruise. "You jackass." He says, ignoring Danny's laughter even when he's holding back his own.

There's a soft, sharp clearing of someone's throat, breaking their attentions away from each other to the one that made the noise.

Bruce Wayne was a tall man, taller than Danny expected, and he looks exactly like his billboards. If less promiscuous than his perfume ads. Danny expects him to be upset with them both for disrupting his pretty rich gala, but instead he just looks gently amused, with an arched eyebrow. Overall though, he just looks fond.

Danny would be the first to admit that Bruce had taken in Jason as a charity case, something to fill the void after his other kid Dick Grayson finally moved out. But Danny’s a good judge of character — or he likes to assume he is — and those are not the eyes of a man who would take Jason in as a charity case. Those are the eyes of a man who actually, genuinely, cares about one Jason Todd.

The wriggly protective thing settles in his chest.

He doesn’t let go of Jason, but he does twist his smile into something a little more polite. Mister Wayne’s eyebrow arches higher, and he turns his blue-blue eyes onto Jason. “Who’s this, Jason?” He has that fancy Gotham Elite accent -- something that sounds like a mix between old transatlantic and faintly British -- that Danny's only heard in passing when he and Jason snuck up to the nicer parts of Gotham.

Jason stares at Mister Wayne, his grip on Danny tightens as his eyes flick to the other onlookers in the room. “This is Danny, B.” He says once his eyes turn back to Mister Wayne. “We grew up in Crime Alley together, he moved to Illinois last year."

Danny can see the uncomfortable expressions cross every rich person's face, murmurs sweeping across the room as soon their uncomfortable gazes turned judgmental and flinty. He's kept track of the tabloids after Jason's adoption, the ones calling him a charity case and looking down on him for being a street kid.

He inches a little closer to Jason, straightening up instinctively, as if they were back in Crime Alley and facing a pack of kids that didn't like them. He can see Sam's surprised expression from the corner of his eye -- he never told Tucker or Sam about where he grew up, although he's sure they had their suspicions.

He looks back to Mister Wayne and meets his blue-blue eyes, his smile has slowly begun to fade. Mister Wayne doesn't miss a beat however, and his smile stays plastered to his face. If anything, it gets a little softer, a little wider. "It's nice to meet you Danny -- Daniel? I'm so glad that Jason has a friend here." He holds out a hand.

Danny eyes him unsurely, and then takes his hand. "It's jus' Danny, Mister Wayne." He says, some of his old accent slipping through as he shook his hand firmly. He would have done it harder, but this was Jason's new guardian, and from Jason's letters he didn't sound too bad. "It's, uh, nice to meet you too. Jason's told me lots about you."

Mister Wayne's brows jump momentarily, he looks intrigued. He looks between Danny and Jason, and claps his hands together softly. "Well, Jay, how would you like to stay with Danny for a while, hm? I'm sure you too have a lot to catch up on."

Hope simmers in Danny's heart, and he glances to Jason to see that same hope on his face. "Really?" He asks, and Mister Wayne nods with a laugh.

"Of course! How could I keep two friends apart? Go on ahead, chum. I'll come get you when the gala ends."

And just like that, Bruce Wayne leaves Jason with Danny, diving back into a conversation with one of the rich gothamites and taking the attention with it as if he were the sun and everyone else a planet orbiting him.

Danny and Jason share grins, and throw their arms around each other with laughter. Danny is on cloud nine, pressing his nose into Jason's shoulder and breathing him in, fingers digging into the back of his suit hard enough to leave wrinkles in his jacket.

Sam demands answers when they finally, for real this time, pull apart. Why didn't he tell her that he was friends with Jason Todd!? Danny slings his arm around Jason's shoulders and keeps him close, and tells her that it was because he wanted it to be a surprise.

Sam's parents have unreadable expressions on their faces, part greed -- Danny is their in to the elusive Bruce Wayne -- and part disdain -- a Gotham street rat. Danny ignores them, they're unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

He introduces Sam to Jason, and Jason to Sam. And off they go to a corner of the room near the buffet table where they can eat and shit talk everyone else in the room in peace.

At some point in the night Sam is called back to her parents to meet some other fancy rich kids her parents want her to get along with, and Danny and Jason go off to the west end balcony to avoid anyone who may try and approach the new Gotham ward.

Danny hops up onto the balcony railing, kicking his feet as Jason pulls a cigarette pack out of his inner jacket pocket, and grins. "Don't tell Bruce," he says, handing the box to Danny first. "He's been trying to get me to quit."

"Hah!" Danny takes one just as Jason slips out a lighter. "That sounds like Jazz. She's been trying to get me to stop since we moved to Amity." Granted, she's been trying ever since she found out before they moved, but now she was even more insistent. "She hasn't found my stash yet."

At the end of the night when the Mansons are leaving and Danny has to leave with them, he walks back to Mister Wayne with Jason to tell him that he's leaving. Mister Wayne mourns his going, and tells him that he's always able to come visit.

"Any friend of Jason's is always welcome to the manor." He says with a blinding grin, pulling Jason close to his side and squeezing him tight. Jason's nose scrunches up, but he doesn't push away.

It becomes a new routine for them. The Mansons are all too happy to bring him with to the Wayne Galas (of which they start receiving more invites to due to their connection with Danny) and Danny is all too happy to spend the evening with Jason again. No matter what, they always end up on the balcony at some point in the night.

And, eventually, Danny is invited to stay at Wayne Manor either for a weekend or for a break. He jumps at the chance when winter break rolls around and his parents start their debate over Santa Claus again.

Danny and Jason stay up late into the night talking or playing video games during their sleepovers, and in the warmer nights they climb out and onto the roof to stargaze. Danny points out constellations - - things he can find in neither Gotham or Amity -- and rambles on and on about space.

There are plenty of times during the Wayne Galas that the event gets attacked by a rogue. More often than he'd like he loses Jason in the crowd, and has later stopped Robin or Batman in his panic to find him.

The first time it happened, he was in tears with terror. He grabbed onto Batman's cape, stopping the man from going back in as he babbled that his Jason Todd was still inside, that he disappeared during the chaos and he couldn't find him. Batman took his hands and calmly told him that he'd find Jason for him, and that he was sure he was okay, but he needed to calm down.

He found Jason later once everything had calmed down, and he screamed at him for disappearing during a rogue attack, if he ever did it again he'll kill him. Then he cried.

The second time it happened, Danny didn't even realize that Jason was gone until everything was already over. They'd been separated before the attack happened. He stopped Robin and Batman before they could leave, trying to keep his breathing under control as he asked again, if they had seen Jason Todd.

"That- that asshole keeps fucking ditching me when these things happen." His voice has an embarrassing wobble in it. "Please-- please tell me you've seen him, that he's alright."

Robin this time steps up to reassure him, that Jason Todd was out of the building. He got him out. "He's probably looking for you too, uhhh..."

"Danny" Danny says, and eyes him up and down. "You're the new Robin right?"

Robin stilled up, and Danny could understand it a little. He'd seen the thoughts on the new Robin online. He wasn't very popular at first. Robin nods curtly, and Batman was shuffled a little closer to him, almost protectively.

Danny grins at him. "Cool." He says, "Me and Jay used to sneak out onto the rooftops sometimes to try and spot Batman and the first Robin, we made it a game." He holds out a fistbump, "Thanks for doing what you do, man. I might not live in Gotham anymore, but I mean it. You're a living legend."

Robin looks like there's something stuck in his throat, and after a beat he returns the fistbump tentatively. "Th- uh, thanks." He stumbles out awkwardly, and then turns away, "Me and B- uh, better go."

Before Danny could even respond, Robin already had his grapple in hand and was grappling away. "You too, Batman." Danny says before Batman can follow.

When Danny sees Jason after that, and weight lifts off his chest and he hits him in the arm again. And then complains that he should have gotten Batman and Robin's autograph, it would have been epic.

By the fifth time it happens, Danny is cussing up a storm when Robin saves him, cursing out Jason and claiming that he needs to put that boy on a fucking leash. "We're a duo!" He scowls when Robin gets him outside, "I got his back, he has mine! I can't have his back when he's got no back to fucking have."

The eighth time it happens, Danny gets held hostage by one of the henchmen. He's become a recognizable friend of the Waynes, and when the Waynes are nowhere to be found, then the next best thing was up to offer. Danny isn't even mad this time around -- just relieved that Jason was fucking off somewhere where he couldn't get hurt.

Robin, however, seemed furious when he arrived, and broke the hostager's jaw with a single flying kick to the face. Jason found him rapidly quick soon after the situation had settled, and apologized over and over again.

Danny slings an arm around his shoulder and laughs that it was fine, Robin saved the day! His legs were shaking with the worn off adrenaline, something he tried to hide from Jason. "I'm just glad it was me instead of you, Jay." He grins. Jason looks like he swallowed a toad.

Jason stops disappearing as often after that, sticking close to Danny's side until the attack was over.

When Danny is fourteen, Jason dies, and his world unravels.

He calls the manor on a late night in April after Jason had stopped responding to his texts. Danny knew that Jason was just recently in a fight with Bruce, but he knows that Bruce loves Jason. He would know where he is, right?

When he calls, Bruce answers with a hoarse "hello?" as if he'd been crying all day, and Danny's blood turns to ice. The anxiety he'd been feeling beforehand doubles in size, and he feels himself stammering.

"Mister- uh- Mister Wayne? Um, I'm calling because Jason--" he hears Bruce inhale sharply on the other line, and his anxiety skyrockets into fear. "--hasn't been answering any of my texts and- and I'm gettin' real worried."

There's silence on the other end, and Danny feels a rock forming in his throat, gross and heavy like he was on the verge of throwing up. "Mister- Bruce? Mister B?"

There's a shaky breath, and then Bruce's voice crackles through the phone. "Um-- Jason, he, he's--" there's a sound like rustling, "he's been killed."

Danny's vision whites out with skyrocketing terror, his mind skidding to a stop. His body rapidly grows hot, and then chills, like a blacksmith striking a heated weapon. "What?"

When the phone call ends, Danny screams himself hoarse. Jazz and his parents come running into his room, his parents equipped with ghost weapons. Instead, they find Danny curled up in his bed, sobbing hoarsely.

Danny almost -- almost -- refuses to attend the funeral, nearly paralyzed with grief. Jazz coaxes him to go, to find closure if anything else, and he drags himself out of bed to go.

He feels numb the entire time. It's closed casket, so he can't even see him for one last time before Jason is buried in the ground. He's silent, and if he think he looks bad, then Bruce looks even worse, like he hadn't slept since Jason died and worse.

Danny grabs his sleeve before he leaves, and when Bruce turns to him with a dull look in his once vibrant eyes, he clings to him tightly. And cries. Bruce clings back just as tight, Danny feels tears drip into his hair.

"Who did it." Danny whispers, voice too hurt to speak any louder, when he pulls back. His fingers curl around Bruce's jacket tightly, desperately. His eyes hurt with tears. "You said he was murdered, B. Please, who did it."

Bruce looks down at him, and for the first time it really does feel like he's looking down at him. His face is blank, and his eyes close in grief. There is no answer, a silent no.

Danny's face twists up all ugly like, and he shakes Bruce's jacket. "Bruce, please. Tell me who did it."

Bruce refuses, his face full of grief.

Danny never returns to Gotham.

Prior to Jason's death and post their reunion, Danny had slowly begun to improve in school. He started caring more, he was putting in more effort, he was doing his homework and was actually enjoying class. There was the bullying from Dash and the A-Listers, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he was ignoring them for the most part.

Come Monday after the funeral, and Danny breaks Dash's nose when he starts up with his shit. He withdrew into himself, and it was like he was back to square one again, except this time it was much worse.

Everyone knew Danny was close friends with Jason Todd. So when news of his death finally reached the ears of Amity Park, the students of Casper High School kept their distance.

That following Friday, Danny dies in the portal and comes back. A month later he becomes Phantom, the ghost-fighting ghost. the ghost Phantom wears his hazmat suit partially undone, showing a tanktop he didn't wear in death under the initial suit while the sleeves are tied around his waist. Vicious, glowing lichtenburg scars travel up his arm and neck and torso, covering half of his face while a pair of scientist-like goggles covers his eyes. He's bitter and angry, showing off his death.

Look at me, Phantom's form says, I am a dead child. Look at me look at me look at me. Mourn me. I am a dead child. LOOK AT ME. MOURN ME.

A few weeks later he enters the ghost zone and realizes that he could find Jason. And he spends a weekend scouring the ghost zone for him. He finds Gotham in the zone, and rather than finding Jason, he finds Robin.

Danny didn't know he'd died. And he flies towards him, asks him if he's seen Jason, reveals that it's him, Danny Fenton. Robin stares at him, mouth agape, and peels off his mask to reveal Jason Todd.

They both cry, and when Danny tells him how he died, Jason looks pale in the face. "You didn't- you didn't kill yourself because of me, did you?"

Danny fervently denies it. No, no. He didn't, he didn't. It was an accident. Totally unrelated. But enough about that, what the hell happened? Bruce wouldn't tell him anything at the funeral.

Jason clams up, his ghostly face losing its color, and Danny curses himself. He tells Jason that he doesn't have to tell him, he doesn't have to say anything. They sit in silence.

"It was the Joker." Jason says.

That's all Danny needs to know. He nods quietly. 'I'll kill him.' He thinks to himself, a stubborn set in his jaw. "Okay."

It had always been a plan; a thought wriggling in the back of Danny's mind ever since Bruce told him that Jason had been killed.

Not died. Killed.

Danny wanted the fucker dead the moment he realized it. He just needed to know who did it. He thinks Bruce knew it too, could probably see it in his eyes the moment Danny asked him who did it. He isn't sure if he should hate Bruce more for keeping it from him now.

They spend hours together, just soaking in each other's presence. Danny tries to take him through the ghost portal, to bring him back to the land of the living. But much like Kitty, Jason's form is tied to the zone. Danny promises to visit every day.

And he does. Or he tries to. The grief doesn't go away, but with the comfort of knowing that Jason was on the other side, Danny feels a little better. He tells Jason about being Phantom, and Jason helps train him. It feels like they're kids again and are fighting just because they want to. Its a bout of familiarity in a place that feels unfamiliar. All they need are cigarettes.

And then six months later he loses him again. Danny scours the ghost zone for him for the second time, and this time he doesn't find him.

His haunt is still in the zone though. He didn't move on. He's still here, somewhere.

Danny is convinced that Jason was in the Elsewhereness, and looks for him in between ghost fights and his social life. He visits Jason's haunt every day, knowing that Jason should be able to feel when another ghost enters his home. He does not show up.

(He never thinks that Jason came back to life, and Jason doesn't remember his time in the ghost zone)

When Danny is nineteen, Vlad Masters blackmails him into going to another Wayne Gala. Begrudgingly, Danny goes. He's taller than he used to be, having inherited his dad's monstrous height and his mom's leanness. He has piercings, some of them he got after a lost bet from Sam and Tucker, and he's given himself an undercut.

He still prefers vests over suit jackets, and he still smokes. A little less than before, he sneaks a pack into his pocket before he leaves, along with a lighter. Vlad gives him a dirty look the whole time - he knows.

"Don't give me that look." "That stuff kills, you know" "I'm already dead."

It's like deja vu when he arrives; an awful bout of deja vu, that is. The paparazzi is still as bright and loud and annoying as it always was, and they don't recognize him at all. Something he thinks of as a soft mercy up until one of the reporters asks Vlad who he is.

Vlad smiles and tugs Danny into the camera frame, "Why, this is my godson!" He crows, and shoots Danny a look that is downright smug I'm sure many of you may know him as Daniel Fenton?"

If looks could kill, Vlad would be ash. Danny isn't quite sure why he still agreed to this -- blackmail or no. He felt itchy being in Gotham; jumpy. He's never forgotten his vow to kill the Joker, in fact it was something he still desperately wants.

But the threat of Rath, the name he chose for his evil future self, haunts him just as much as his murderous intent. If he kills the Joker, would he stop?

Danny's almost afraid of what he'll do if he ever lays eyes on the Joker in person. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from wrapping his hands around that stupid clown's neck and watching the light leave his eyes.

He pushes the thoughts to the side, and smiles lopsidedly as cameras and microphones flood his face, reporters yelling over themselves as they clamor to get a shot of the old Wayne family friend.

Danny turns and walks inside without answering a single question, flexing his fingers in and out of fists. Vlad gracefully hurries after him, and Danny can hear his glare burning into his back.

"You told me to come," Danny hisses to him once he's beside him, meeting Vlad's gaze piercingly, "not that I should play nice."

"Don't embarrass me, Daniel." Vlad hisses back, trying to look the upmost calm as eyes turn onto them. "I'll make you regret it."

"You embarrass yourself, fruitloop." Danny shoots back, walking away before Vlad could get a retort in. He sees Bruce Wayne on the other side of the room.

His heart seizes with nostalgia. He hasn't seen Bruce since Jason's funeral, hasn't spoken to him either. He doesn't know how to feel about him, but he'd been keeping tabs on Bruce both as himself and as Batman.

Danny's feet carry him forwards before he can think about it, silently weaving between the throng of rich people vying for his attention. It's only when he gets closer does he see the little shadow clinging to his side: Damian Wayne.

The newest little bird, Danny realizes, and stifles a smile at the surly expression on Damian's face as two older women coo over him. He reminded him of Sam, who had long since stopped coming to these things the moment she was able to.

The feeling of eyes on him turns Danny's attention away from Damian, and instead finds them back on Bruce's, who stares at him with a little furrow between his brows. As if he recognized him, but he wasn't sure from there.

Danny grins crookedly the moment he's within earshot. "Mister B!" He exclaims, slipping into what remained of his Gotham street accent. Recognition flashed in Bruce's eyes, and the man smiled widely. "Long time no see, old man."

"Danny," Bruce says, his name breathing out like relief. He slips between the crowd surrounding him -- who are now watching Danny -- and pulls Danny into a close hug. "It's good to see you again."

Danny hesitates for a moment -- he wasn't expecting Bruce to hug him -- and returns the gesture. "It's good to see you too, Bruce." He admits. Bruce was still using the same cologne that he did when Danny was a kid. He blinks heavily.

He pulls away quickly, clapping Bruce lightly on the shoulder as Damian quickly latches onto his father's side again. Damian glares daggers at him, fingers digging into Bruce's pantlegs like a possessive little kid.

He made Danny's ghost sense tingle in the back of his throat, creeping up slowly like a spider before stopping suddenly before it reached his mouth. It hummed, and then disappeared.

Danny smothered a frown. Since when did Batman work with ectoplasm? “This must be Damian." He says to Bruce, and holds out a hand to Damian -- he doesn't crouch, he had a feeling that Damian would be less than appreciative if he did that. "You've really expanded the nest since the last time I saw you."

Damian's eyes narrow at him. Bruce laughs lightly, "Ah yes, Tim is around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll see him soon."

"Father," Damian says, his voice layered with an accent. He glares up at Danny with piercing green eyes. "How do you know this man?" He sounds distrustful, Danny respects that and drops his hand.

"This is Danny Fenton." Bruce says, and Danny lets him introduce him. "He was Jason's friend."

An expression similar to bewilderment flashes briefly over Damian's face, and he eyes Danny in disbelief. "Todd had friends?"

Oh. So that's how he wanted to be. Bruce had a little elitist on his hands. Danny's smile drops like a deadweight, and any lingering endearment he had hardens like ice in his chest, fury slowly taking its place like a flickering candlelight. "It's not polite to speak ill of the dead, Mister Wayne." He says coldly, his voice made of chips of ice.

Damian blinks, the disbelief disappearing from his face. The closest thing to a recoil Danny thinks he's going to get. He doesn't care. No one speaks about his best friend that way.

"I grew up with Jason, actually." He continues, breathing in slow and deep, trying to keep the ghostly possessive-protective-rage under control. "I was his best friend."

He turns, almost robotically, towards Bruce, and tries not to look so angry. "I'm going to go find Tim, Mister B." He says, and tries to offer up a weak smile for the man. It comes out as a grimace instead.

"And..." he pauses, flicks his eyes towards Damian, and then looks at Bruce. "I'll... try and keep in contact, B. Tell Dick I said hi, alright? I'll see you in a little bit."

Bruce nods, looking vaguely disappointed and sighing slow through his nose. Danny walks away as Bruce turns to address his youngest, and doesn't bother listening in on what he has to say.

He does, eventually, find Tim Drake. He spots him in a crowd instantly - it's hard not to, and he makes his way over to him. He's not sure Tim Drake would recognize him, Bruce didn't at first and Danny had been around him constantly.

Except Tim Drake does recognize him, much to Danny's surprise. They lock eyes and Tim immediately makes his way over to him. "Danny Fenton!" He says and stops in front of him, "What a surprise, we weren't expecting you tonight."

"Tim Drake," Danny replies, smiling a little as his earlier hurt begins to fade away. "I'm surprised you know me."

"There are pictures of you in the manor with Jason." Tim explains, stuffing his hands into his pockets with an easy-going smile. "It's hard not to know you."

"It’s hard not to know you too,” Danny retorts, a sly smile slowly spreading across his face. “Although you’re a lot taller than you used to be, when you were lurking around Bruce and Jason and I.”

Ohhh Danny recognizes him alright. One part due to all the news articles and tabloids on him after he was adopted by Bruce, and the other part because he remembers the little shadow lurking near plants pots and table legs that used to follow him and Jason around at galas just like these.

Knowing that Jason was Robin, he wonders if Jason knew he was there too.

The effect is immediate: Tim’s eyes grow comically large, and a red tint glows at the tip of his ears as he shrinks back like a turtle trying to hide into its shell. “You— you noticed that!?” He hisses.

“I did!” Danny grins, large and wide, stifling a laugh as the red tint spreads over Tim’s cheeks and nose. He looks mortified. Danny coos. “Aww, I thought it was adorable that Jason had a little shadow. I’m sure he would have loved you if you had just come over and said hi. He had a big soft spot for kids.”

Tim snorts and it— it almost sounds derisive? “Sure he would.” He looks sad, and the mirth in Danny’s chest shrivels up like a flower without light. The smile fades from his face, and all that’s left is a strange, staunch reminder that Danny and Bruce weren’t the only ones that probably mourned.

He touches Tim’s shoulder lightly, “Hey, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to look as apologetic as he feels. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m sorry, I miss him too.” Like a fucking limb he missed him.

There’s something that flickers in Tim’s eyes, passing through too fast for Danny to realize what it is. He assumes its gratefulness, because Tim relaxes a little and offers him a weak little smile. “I wish I had talked to him.”

Danny sees an out and takes it, he forces out a short laugh, grinning widely. “I can tell you all about him if you’d like,” he offers, “I told Mister B I’d keep in touch anyways. I’ve missed him and Alfred quite a lot in the last few years.”

“Not Dick?”

“That dipstick wasn’t around often enough for me to form any sort of emotional attachment to him.” Danny says in a half-complaining tone, placing his hands on his hips. “Although I did like his puns.”

Tim snickers, “I’ll tell him you said that then. Nobody likes his puns.”

“Go on ahead,” Danny grins, laughter swirling in his chest and making his core thrum with warmth. Damn, he’s missed this family. “I stand by my decision. Puns are funny.”

“Let’s get a photo then.” Tim says with a hand already fishing in his pocket for his phone. “He’ll be devastated to know that you were here and he didn’t get to see you.”

“Sure.” And Danny sidles on next to Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders — and making a noise of surprise when his arm was able to fit comfortably — as if he was just resting it on a counter.

He totally forgot how tall he was compared to Tim. Forgot that he’d been looking down the entire time they’d been talking. “Why’d I get my dad’s height.” He complains, and bends his knees as Tim raises the phone with the front-facing camera on.

Tim snickers under his breath, and takes the picture while they’re both smiling wide. Danny immediately stands up, and peers over Tim’s shoulders to look at the picture.

It’s a good one, with the fringe of Danny’s curls falling slightly over his left eye and making the dimple on his right cheek more prominent. He could see the barely-there smattering of freckles he had across his nose, the ones that became more prominent when the sun was out. His smile was lopsided, Danny’s favorite kind of smile.

He whistles lowly, “That’s a good one,” he says aloud, and smiles impishly at Tim when he looks at him. “You should send that one, I look hot in it.”

Tim snorts, his ears reddening as he looks down at his phone. “Yeah sure, no problem.” He says quickly, and Danny looks away when he pulls up the messenger app. He’s never felt comfortable looking over people’s shoulders when they were on their phone.

“I’m gonna go take a smoke break.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and curls his fingers around the box and lighter inside. “I’ll—“

“Be on the west-end balcony.” Tim finishes, the red in his ears darkening as he glances up from his phone to smile embarrassedly. “I know.”

Danny snorts, “Okay.” His voice is thick with amusement. “Let me know how Dipstick reacts, alright?” He backs up slowly, awaiting Tim’s response. Tim merely waves a hand at him, a weak gesture of “yeah yeah” that makes Danny grin before he flips around and marches towards his favorite smoking balcony.

———————

(Tim pulls up the family group chat and loads the selfie into the text bar. His face feels warm with embarrassment even as his thumbs fly across the screen.

Tim: look who i found at the latest charity gala :) [image]

Hee awaits eagerly a response, and finds he doesn’t have to wait long. Dick’s thought bubble appears on screen, then Cass’s — of which it only exists for a moment before disappearing.

Dick: holy shit, is that who i think it is?

Tim responds quickly, and his message sends.

Tim: yep. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks your jokes are funny.

Dick: they are funny

Tim rolls his eyes and thinks for a moment, really thinks. He weighs his pros and cons. And then his fingers fly across the screen again.

Tim: hey Jason are you not gonna say anything?

There’s no response for all of thirty seconds — of which it stretches on to an uncomfortably long minute — and then Jason’s thought bubble appears.

Jason: what do i have to say to a bunch of idiots blowing up my phone in the middle of patrol?

Tim: harsh. do you recognize the guy in the photo?

Jason’s response is instant. Too fast for him to have actually looked at the photo itself. He’s just trying to spite Tim then. Tim doesn’t care, he has the upper hand here

Jason: no and I don’t care, i have patrol

Tim knows he didn’t look at the photo, and yet he can’t help stifle a shit-eating smile and feign innocence

Tim: really? You and Danny used to be so close, color me surprised

His teeth dig into his lower lip, he doesn’t need to in order to hide a smile. But it gives him something to do. Jason is worryingly silent for a long, long time, and Tim can almost imagine him staring long and hard at the selfie. Tim knows he will be later.

Finally, Jason’s text bubble shows up. It exists for a long time, before finally Tim’s phone buzzes with his message alert.

Jason: that’s danny?

Tim feels all too gleeful. Smugness swirling in his chest like kicked up sand as he types his response: yep! Apparently he showed up today, although I’m not sure with who since I don’t see Miss Manson around here.

Damian: Father says to get off your phone, Drake. We are at a Gala and your behavior is most unbecoming

Tim: can it demon spawn, I was just telling Jason that his friend Danny is here

Damian: He can’t be too important if he doesn’t even know Todd is alive

Tim: how would you know that?

Damian: When Father introduced him as Todd’s friend, I expressed my surprise that Todd even had friends, considering how unpleasant he can be. Fenton became quite cross with me after that and quickly excused himself thereafter

Dick: you said what!? Damian that’s not okay

Damian: Father made that quite clear after Fenton left in a huff. My mistake for thinking that Todd had told his ‘supposed best friend’ that he was alive.

Dick: he didn’t even tell us we were alive at first

Damian: He did eventually, didn’t he? Clearly Todd doesn’t seem to care too much about Fenton if he hasn’t even informed him of his being alive at this point.

Jason’s thought bubble quickly pops up, and then dissipates, then pops up again. Tim quickly pockets his phone before he can see Jason’s response. He doesn’t feel smug anymore, just uncomfortable.)

———————

Stepping out onto the west-end balcony feels like a blast from the past. A painful one at that. Danny’s fingers dig into his cigarette pack, and he pulls it out with a sense of bittersweet familiarity.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he once stood here with Jason. The package clunks dully as his fingers scrape against the side, and he fishes a cigarette out of the box before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Quite the night isn’t it.” He says to nothing, to ghosts of the past, to himself. He turns and sits on the railing, sticking his legs out like a tripping hazard while Gotham’s hot city wind blows through the air.

He looks up and only sees the ugly pollution yellow sky looking down at him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to him. He loves the stars and yet when faced with a smog that covers it, he feels more at home.

Danny’s fingers find the lighter, and with a few clicks a small open flame appears in existence. There’s a poem here, he can feel it. But he feels too tired to find it.

The cigarette lights, and the lighter dies in response. Returning back to his coffin-like pocket until he needs to use it again. He pulls a leg up, resting his chin on his knee with a heavy, tired sigh.

He soaks in the sounds around him. The ugly city warmth nips at his jaw. The music inside is muffled by the force of two glass doors and walls on all four sides, and Danny can hear late night traffic coming by on the road nearby. It’s a special kind of ambience you can only find on the west end balcony.

Half a decade ago, Danny had played a part with that ambience with Jason. Now it was just him, and Jason was nowhere to be found. It left a hopeless kind of feeling in his chest. An all-suffocating kind of fear that filled him head to toe with an intensity only ghosts could have.

His body winds up like a spring, and Danny holds his breath. When he exhales two minutes later, the spring stutters and jolts, and his body relaxes with a tremble.

He misses Jason. He misses Jason.

Ghosts are emotional creatures. They feel it from their crown to their soles. And emotional wounds never really heal. They scab over and fester, waiting to be picked at again and again so it can bleed as fresh as it did when it first opened.

Danny’s grief is never going to go away, he thinks. It’s clung to him like a parasite; shaped him and molded him. The wound was too close to him when he died, and now it will stay with him forever.

He opens his eyes when his ghost sense tingles, a heavy feeling in his throat that is neither nicotine nor grief. It’s just like Damian’s, but stronger. Potent. Older. It reaches the top of Danny’s throat and sits at the base of his tongue, like a hand about to suffocate him.

He looks up, cigarette hanging off his lips, and the Red Hood drops down beside him. He stands in the same spot Jason once did, and that alone makes the ghostly core in Danny seize possessively.

Don’t you dare stand where he stood, it hisses, coiling around his lungs like smog. Danny grits his teeth and feels his ghost sense evaporate. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, and nicotine smoke pours out like a cheap version of his ghost sense.

“Red Hood.” He says plainly, his free hand coiling and uncoiling like cat’s claws against the railing. “A surprise to see you here.”

Danny knows through process of elimination who most of the Gotham vigilantes are: Dick is Nightwing, Bruce is Batman, Tim is Red Robin, Damian is Robin, and Cass is Orphan. There are a few who he doesn’t know, however. Like Batgirl and Red Hood.

It’s fine, he doesn’t need to know. Danny of all people understands the importance of a secret identity.

Red Hood doesn’t say anything, just stares at him as if he’s a deer in headlights. His body all tensed up like he isn’t sure what to do now that he’s here in front of Danny. Like he wasn’t expecting Danny to be here at all.

Danny’s brows furrow. “Sorry, am I in your spot?” He asks, and begins to push off the railing. “I didn’t think vigilantes used the Wayne Hall west-end balcony, I can leave if you want.”

He’s already begun to move towards the door.

The Red Hood lurches in his spot, “No!” He yells, and Danny stops in place with raising eyebrows. Red Hood’s fingers cringe, and he straightens up.

He’s shorter than Danny, he notes. Which isn’t much of revelation. Everyone is shorter than Danny.

“No,” Red Hood repeats, sounding sturdier than before, “No. You’re fine. I’m just stopping here for a quick rest before resuming patrol.”

…Danny doesn’t question it. It’s none of his business about other vigilantes and their practices. He shrugs and breathes out more smoke, “Alright.” He says, and walks back over to the railing to sit on it. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

The Red Hood nods, and a silence falls over them. Danny doesn’t care enough to make it feel uncomfortable, but the Red Hood seems unsettled by something. Lost in thought. He leans his back against the railing similar to Danny, and then switches a few seconds later to a new pose.

He does it again, and again, and again. Until finally he flips over and leans his stomach against the railing, arms resting against it. It is starkly like what Jason used to do, and Danny stares at him long and hard.

He frowns. And says nothing.

When Danny’s cigarette is nothing more than a butt of nicotine, he crushes it in his hand and watches the ash flutter down to the ground. The heat stings his hand, but its nothing his ghostly healing can’t fix.

The Red Hood is already holding out another one when Danny’s hand drifts to his pocket for the box.

Danny stares at him, sudden wariness opening up like floodgates that sit at the bottom of his stomach.

His frown deepens, his eyes flicker up and down at Red Hood. His hands hover over his pocket. “I have my own.” He says, and watches subtly as the Red Hood hides a wilt. As if he’d been expecting Danny to take it.

“Alright.” The Red Hood says, trying to sound unbothered. He retracts the cigarette away from Danny, quiet all the way. He’s looking away.

Danny plucks the cigarette out of his hand, startling the Hood enough that Red snaps back to look at him. Danny yanks his lighter from his pocket. “I won’t say no to a free cigarette.” He says, slightly muffled with the stick between his teeth. It lights.

Silence falls over them again, and when one minute stretches into five, whatever hope that had been digging into the shoulders of Red Hood finally pulls away and leaves him slumping subtly.

‘A ciggie for your thoughts?’ Nine year old Jason Todd whispers one night with an impish grin, holding up a cigarette pinched between his two fingers. ‘I stole it from my old man. He won’t even notice its gone.’

Danny is halfway through it when he speaks. “The Joker killed my best friend.” He says, and watches from the corner of his eye as the Red Hood flinches. Is he startled by Danny speaking, or startled by the bluntness of him starting?

“He beat him to death.” Danny continues, staring stone-faced away from Red Hood. His grief claws up his lungs and burrows into his heart again. His fingers dig into the railing. “He beat my best friend to death.”

The Red Hood is silent, his body as still as the grave. Silence stretches out between them both, and like he’d been thinking, the Hood finally speaks: “How do you know?”

He’s not holding the cigarette, he broke his and Jason’s rule. Danny bounces the stick between his fingers. “His ghost told me.” He says, taking a trembling breath. “His ghost told me so, before he disappeared.”

The Red Hood says nothing, and Danny gathers his thoughts. The ones that had been buried deep next to his core, shoved down ever since Danny learned of Rath and a terrible future where a world is destroyed by one ghost’s hands.

Danny has never said it out loud before. His face scrunches up briefly, and then smooths out when his eyes squeeze shut. “I’m going to kill him, Red Hood.” He murmurs when he opens his eyes, turning his face toward the vigilante. The sound is sucked out of the air.

The Red Hood stares at him, but he doesn’t say a word. Danny pushes on, teeth grinding into teeth as he flips his silvery scarred hand back and forth. Palm up, palm down. “It’s why I haven’t been back to Gotham in a while.” He admits, voice still quiet. “If I see the Joker I will kill him, and I won’t feel bad for it.”

“Not today though,” he says, and closes his hand, “today I’m here on a favor to Vlad Masters. Then after this I’ll go visit my friend. I need to apologize for not seeing his grave in a while. I’ll have to stop by a florist to see if they have any zinnias. Jay likes those.”

He takes out the cigarette in his mouth and breathes out one last cloud of smoke. And then he crushes the cigarette stick under his foot and walks back inside.

#….AND THATS ALL I HAVE FOR THIS AU #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dp crossover #dpdc #dp dc crossover #childhood friends au #whats the jasonxdanny ship name again??#Undead ship?#no no wait its dead on main #dead on main #cw cigarettes #cw smoking #smoking tw #oh fuck this got long (story of my life) but onfg i didnt wanna make #more than one part #anyways Danny and Jason are buddies uwu #thank god that tumblr has a seemingly endless word count #one sided timxdanny #tim’s crush on danny is basically the same thing #as a little sibling developing a crush on their older brother’s friend #he’ll get over it in a few months #its a small infatuation not to worry #danny is completely oblivious to it #thanks dc writers for making Tim imortally sixteen #it makes everyone else’s ages a little easier to remember #you can see me running out of steam at the last stretch of this monster thing

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svndaysaweek · 10 months ago

Text

Overture (Prequel to Enlightenment) — {Feat. Karina}

8.7k words

A/N: You don’t know how old this draft is… I still remember that anon who sent a few asks about this series, and I really hope that they read this! This one is the longest I’ve ever written. Might not be the best piece, but I’m so proud of myself that I did my best. Thank you @dnd-writes for editing and giving me awesome advices. Enjoy!

*Prequel to “Enlightenment”

******

“Doesn’t matter how the two met. It’s about how they’re together ‘til now.”

******

It’s the first day in your new high school. It’s already March but the breeze is yet to blow winter away, strongly acclaiming its presence with the icy wind you face as soon as you come out of the main building of your school to go to the cafeteria. You haven’t made any friends to have lunch with yet, so you change your mind to just head to the smoking spot–behind the auditorium which is already an alien building itself–and kill some time smoking. You turn your way to the smoking spot inside the huge tide of students heading to the cafeteria. Freezing air makes you pace up to the spot.

After passing a few corners where even the wind has been disturbed to travel through, you find a drum can with fire in it making a peaceful crackling sound.

And a girl standing right by it as if wanting to get burnt. “Are you the new one?” Her voice is sharp enough to make it sound wary, yet quite chirpy to end up hitting you as rather coquettish.

“I don’t… I don't really know you,” Your steps towards her contradict your words. “Me neither.” At the fire you light your own cigarette. Your eyes scan her body from the ground to meet hers doing the same to you. The yellow name tag catches your eyes. Her name is Yu Jimin, third grade. And where the name tag is what makes your attention gather up too–perfect size, matches her wavy figure and sassy face, calmly heaves when she’s inhaling in the smoke.

“My name’s not that hard to read,” That’s when you realize that Yu Jimin, this unusual girl, will be an attraction with challenges. It’s all in her grin, in her turbid eyes that never leave yours–to be honest, it’s yours that never leaves hers; they won’t let the leash on your eyes loosen, until she wants to.

You suck it in, and breathe out a mouthful of smoke in the cold air. You look at her again and she's been watching you thoroughly, from head to toe, examining your body, shape, façade and all things she finds nice to look at, regardless of you mirroring her like once isn’t really enough.

She’s got such a nice, sculpted body, hidden under the school uniform but even more premo like that; concave and convex, it just hugs her curves impeccably. Narrow waist and wide, tight hips causing the skirt to struggle not to be torn apart. What’s more is her face, at the height of your chest, looking almost unrealistic, inhumanly beautiful, especially with a shallow grin like right now.

You are automatically making steps toward Jimin and she’s not backing up. You turn your head right to let out the smoke and then return to the ongoing gaze between you two.

“Don’t I look cold?” Jimin steps backwards, from the fire and from you. It makes you just automatically look at her legs, so slick and teem with femininity. You keep following what she tells you to do, what the hormones tell you to do.

“What do you want me to say?” It should be delivered as a counterattack to the dominance Jimin has shown you, but it, unfortunately, ends up sounding as if you were really confused. And Jimin almost bursts into laughter which she manages to hold in.

“So, third grade? What class are you in?”

“Two. You?” You drop the used cigarette and step on it to put it out. “Four. I’ll drop by sometime, handsome.”

Then she leaves the spot just like that. You are so interested in the girl Yoo Jimin. Given that she’s pretty like that, smokes around, she’s nothing like the normal students, obviously. And you can tell Jimin also found you special. Yeah, you know people don’t get to see a man like you quite often. You also know you don’t get to see a girl so appetizing like her often. It’s third year in highschool. You’re no amateur to let a girl play you around, rather, you’ve learned to control those feisty, hungry girls, but ugh, to be honest you don’t know what’s going on.

******

She never comes to see you until the end of school. Nor do you, because you thought you could wait–precisely, you thought you had to wait. You definitely want to take the upper hand in this new relationship so you just head home, yet with a bit of disappointment. But you don’t let anyone know. Maybe she’s just playing you out. That’s unacceptable for you. You calmly wait for the bus deep in thought. Maybe find someone else tomorrow. I don’t know.

“Hey, going somewhere?”

Fuck. It’s her. Jimin.

You think of complaining, but swallow it back and answer. “Home. You?” Jimin shrugs with nonchalance. “I don’t know. Your place, maybe? Do you live alone?” She lunges in suddenly, and you could just let her be as spunky as she can be. “I do. Why do you want to know that?” You throw a question, feigning calmness, and Jimin just smirks back.

“Don’t ask me.”

You’re on the bus. You let Jimin take the window side and sit next to her. You stuff your ears with some random songs and lock your eyes to the screen in your palm to leave the absorbing girl next to you out of your world even for a second.

“What made you move to my school?” Suddenly one of your earphones is between her fingers, your arm in hers to squish her breast slightly which feels so intentional. This bold little chick keeps surprising you in unforeseeable ways. Besides, you can read that she’s definitely testing you. Seems a little bit like an upside-down situation, for you to be the object, and oh, don’t you say you don’t find this rather fun.

“Well, there was an accident. You don’t need to know any further.” Her questions don’t seem to end, however. An eye roll might silence her—

“You can tell me. It’s alri-“

“You’d better shut the fuck up, Jimin.” Your fingers hold her chin up, facing you, merely a breath away as your noses tickle each other. And what gets you a moment later is her eyes, round and glowy, that could easily see through your brain, trying to suffocate you in the vivid yet gooey gaze. And there she plants her words straight into your brain; I’m a little impressed, but try harder.

A sudden squeak of the brake informs you to get off. You step out of the bus and Jimin quietly follows. Then you start walking at a rather slow pace. The sound of another pair of footsteps is the only clue of her existence for you.

“You made me wait.” You break the silence as you near your house. You don’t bother turning back to be an audience for her commanding attitude, but her cockiness nonetheless makes it to your ears.

“Well, I might have just forgotten. My bad.” You unlock the door, let Jimin in and close it. Right after the thud you pin her arms over her head with one hand, eliciting a sharp yelp from her.

“You made me fucking wait, Jimin. You’ll have to pay for it.” Your face is just a few inches from hers again. Your straining voice is mixed with her breath, hot, and your burning gaze never leaves hers, to return the blow that she had on your mind; you don’t know me yet.

“You should feel lucky.”

“Why?”

“I’m interested in you.” Jimin’s words, however, don’t sound tense or weak despite your visible dominance. Rather, it’s an impudent confidence that defies the dynamic knotted between your eyes. Jimin herself visualizes it with an even wider smile, dense with deliberate harm to your ego.

“Mmm…!” You dive into Jimin’s lips while your other hand suddenly wraps around her neck hard. Keeping the chokehold still, your hand once holding her wrists tears her school shirt open, letting the buttons randomly fly to the floor. With her hands free, they dangle on your arms. Her demure hand tries to push you back from her neck, but her tongue is flapping inside your mouth, already allured by the intenseness. Your other hand hesitates about before swiftly undoing her bra and Jimin drops it on the floor. You squeeze the godly pair of flesh and soon pull back from the kiss.

“Shit, you like it rough, huh?” Jimin giggles, with a killing lip bite, and discards her buttonless shirt. There you feel something kick your heart, to see a girl enjoying your selfishness and harshness for the first time. A thought that this girl might be the one for you passes through your mind like a hit-and-run truck.

You turn yourselves around and make Jimin walk backwards to your bedroom with your guide. Jimin doesn't wait to unbutton your shirt on your way, and the corners of her lips soon get pulled down by the lust exponentially charging up. You try to look calm but you’re no different–can’t help it in front of this amazing figure of Jimin, skin-to-skin just for you.

Entering the bedroom you push Jimin onto the bed. Her under lip experiences another intense bite as you lay her down and climb over her body, face to face just like a few minutes ago. With one hand supporting your weight, you take the other to her irresistible breasts and fondle them. Jimin hooks her arms and magnetizes your lips to hers for a delirious lip lock once again. Your hand slides down her torso to the button of her uniform skirt and undoes it then takes it off of her fatal legs and throws it to the floor.

“Next time you won’t wear these, okay?” It’s a demand but also a command, with your fingers on the wet spot on her panties. Her hands find themselves wandering on your toned chest, much in admiration. She nods quickly and unbuckles your pants.

“Needy,” Her hastiness makes you grin, and your words only make Jimin’s excitement grow.

“Yes. I am.” This is what makes you wanna accept the challenge; she’s talking things like that all too fresh, like you have to feel thankful for it. You take your pants off with your underwear to be fully naked. You help Jimin get rid of the annoying cloth being dampened by her pussy off her legs and throw it to the pile of clothes on the floor. With the anticipation for the next step Jimin’s breath paces up, running thin like her patience.

“You’re fucking big…” Jimin marvels at the way your cock tickles her belly button and her tummy. You slap her bare stomach a few times with your cock, spit on it and spread the slickness across with slow strokes.

“I said you’ll have to pay for it, Jimin,” You rub your cock on her wetness, gaining more lubrication, and slap your cock on her folds to see her reaction.

“Ah, please make me…Make me-OH FUCK…!” You push into the hilt with a swift thrust. The tightness draws a groan straight from your throat, and your right hand rises to her neck and chokes her hard again.

“You tell me who’s lucky. You think it’s still me?” Straight to the point that has been bothering you ever since it was spoken. You love to make things clear—dirty—who’s the one to stand and who’s the one to kneel. And if she ever intended to get under your skin, well, she pushed the wrong button.

Jimin’s eyes slam shut, unlike her agape mouth through which you can see her tongue has lost its way, dragged here and there by the hand of her senses, overthrown by what you’re doing. You keep thrusting in and out at such a pace, every time making sure your balls hit her ass, filling her tight hole up ecstatically with no vacancy.

“Hah, god…! It’s me, I’m the lucky one! I’m so fucking lucky to have your big cock inside me!”

“Good. See, your act doesn’t last a day.”

Her lips tremble, as if about to cry, as if all the fucking around was just a pretense and she actually has to be under you. She bites the lower one but can’t hold the shiver down.

You move your hand from Jimin’s neck to her face, grabbing her cheeks in one grip. You bring her face close to yours, both shaking to the orgasmic rhythm but never losing eye contact. Then you slap her cheeks, out of nowhere, just enough for the sound to be pleasurable but not too painful. Jimin starts to drool when you do that several times more, with loud, long moans gradually turning into screams.

“Oh, fuck, yes…! FUCK YES…!” Done with the hitting, you push in your fingers to Jimin’s unsilent mouth to get a better hold of her body. A teardrop leaves her glossy eyes and rolls down to where her ear is. A perfect mixture of pain and pleasure, both of which makes you two forget about tomorrow.

“I’m cumming, Jesus! I-I… Fucking cummi-“ Jimin’s back viciously arches so upward that you almost slip out. Her arms don’t seem to settle for a while before they dig into your back to work as anchors, her body vulnerable in the midst of a destructive swirl of pleasure. But that’s none of your concern as you make the haze in her head threaten her consciousness.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” You wait for Jimin to come down but that’s so silly of you to do so; your ravageous ramming cock never lets her. All of a sudden you pull out, causing Jimin to shake immensely, and flip her on all fours. Her sex is glistening and the other hole is too, both of them slick with her juices and constricting irregularly.

When Jimin feels your cock rub on her pussy she collapses onto the mattress, only her ass up and her face down, exhausted on the bed, faced to the right. But whenever your cock teases her other hole Jimin shudders, toes curl and her fists try to tear your sheets at the sensation of her asshole getting stimulated.

“Agh, fuck…” You don’t warn Jimin when you insert the head of your cock inside her tight ass. This time even you can’t handle the pleasure of its tremendous tightness as you shut your eyes and groan loudly.

“Holy fuck, Jimin, this is so tight,” You tell her when you’re halfway in. Her body stays still, but her hands ball up and her toes curl until they all become pale. Every inch deeper inside her ass is the moment for you to admire the transcendental tightness you’ve never experienced from those other girls you have been through. Maybe you’re lucky too, to have found this perfect body with nothing to lament on.

“Oh, please, that’s deep! Fuck my ass deep just like-oh my fucking god!” Your reaction is quick—it’s more of a reflection though—doing more than what Jimin asked even before she finishes her words, beginning the mindless assfuck with such a carefree pace. You bring her powerless head up with your hand wrapped around her neck, tight, choking her again. The tighter you grip, the tighter her ass gets. You catch a glimpse of the crooked corner of her lips, which only fuels your inner engines to work even harder.

It’s just your thing; when you see a smile, you have to break it. You destroy it, and you sincerely cherish it when it’s gone.

As you reach your maximum speed Jimin’s distorted smile subsides and an even more euphoric look spreads. Mouth open wide, drooling down her chin and onto your hand on her throat, eyes open but white. As if she muted herself, Jimin doesn’t even breathe—not only because of your grip, but also the orgasm building up as fast as how you ram her ass. You grin at the sight of Jimin drowning in the sensations her own nerves convey; you create. It kills you how small her body is, when you can witness a simple—yet ruthless—piston to her crotch can dye her whole skin red, travel electrically to everywhere in no time, shrinking every minimal muscle. You release her, she falls down limp on the bed and screams at the anal orgasm hitting her, threatening her consciousness.

“Ahh! Fuck, fuck…!” You’re nowhere far from your own end, either. Your breath shallows down at the crazy tightness of Jimin’s orgasming ass.

“Jimin, I’m cumming…!” You do. You reach as deep inside her anal cavern as you can and unload your cum, mind blowing pleasure coursing through every corner of your body. You shoot, and shoot, and shoot. Jimin clenches her hole for your cum to be deposited inside her with a lazy hum, in harmony with your groan seeping out of your gritted teeth.

It takes a few minutes for your breaths to find the normal speed. “No one’s fucked my ass this amazing,”

It surely was enough to bring amazement, undoubtedly the best you’ve had so far. You sit up and rearrange her hair for her.

“Did I pay for it?“ Jimin’s already got that bright smile back, and after such an extreme sex your barriers collapse in front of her, as you smile back at her.

“Very much.”

“Can you get my phone? It’s in my skirt.” You head to the pile of discarded clothes and do it for Jimin, who’s sitting on the bed with her head resting on the headboard. You toss it on the bed.

Jimin looks into her phone right away, scrolls down mindlessly and looks at you, who’s naked and standing next to the bed.

“Take a shower first, baby.”

Baby, she said.

Your eyes dart to hers immediately. Your face stays placid but you know Jimin knows you’re not at all used to it. You never really allow any strings attached with the ones you fuck; it’s a rather body-to-body entanglement than something emotional. But you’re surprised at how that word fits comfortably between you two. There’s something different. You look back at Jimin but her attention is taken by her phone already, again like a hit-and-run truck, but not completely as you can see her smirk the way you love. So you just enter the bathroom.

In the shower you review the past 30 minutes—you had sex with the girl Yoo Jimin: nothing special. But not just that; Jimin has by far the best body of all the other girls you’ve experienced. You can tell you really enjoyed it today. You can tell she’s worthy of continuing the relationship. You like the way Jimin turns from a bubbly, sassy girl in school to a begging, screaming mess in bed under you. And the way she calls you baby—it dulls all your edges like a cup of boiling water would do to an ice cube. Just like the hot water pouring on your head.

You come out of the shower and see Jimin smoking on your bed, sitting on the edge with her legs crossed, elbow on her thigh, still aesthetically naked. She looks gorgeous like that. You walk to her, take the cigarette from her hand to your mouth. Then push her down on the bed, breathe the smoke in deep and throw the shortened cigarette away to the bin next to bed, breathe out, and share a smoky kiss.

A few moments later your rod pokes at her belly and Jimin parts away with a giggle.

“Fuck, I really have to clean my body.” You bring her off the bed with you. “Shut up and get down here,” With a smirk she does, and as soon as she adjusts her legs and position you shove your cock in her mouth. A gag earned.

But after that Jimin takes your big cock pretty well, without gagging or looking uncomfortable, even when her nose crashes on your crotch; you’ve found yourself a perfect girl, indeed.

“Nice.” Her teary eyes never leave yours throughout the session as you pace up for a brief finish. Adjusting to the speed of your cock moving entirely in and out, Jimin’s hands go up to the back of your thighs for firmer grip.

Jimin’s drool tickles down your balls and forms a small puddle on the floor. With the filthiest slurping sound Jimin bobs her head at the beat of your cock sliding through. Whenever her delicate tongue presses onto the underside of your cock you throb inside her mouth, making her head slightly move simultaneously.

Jimin’s tears meet the drool on her chin, and with a sound of her voice from her throat Jimin taps your thighs for you to pull out. You take your cock out of her mouth and slap it on her fucked face a few times, painting her face with her own saliva, to her liking.

“Finish it.”

Put the shower aside, and you shower Jimin with your lust deep into her throat. You feel your legs not far from giving in, but thankfully your cock is just the same, due to what Jimin is doing under you.

“Jimin, I’m-I’m close.”

Jimin starts to fondle your balls and that certainly helps you cross the line. In no time you fill her throat up white, and the room with your satisfied groan.

You look straight into Jimin’s eyes when you cum, and it’s astonishingly reciprocated when she gulps down your load quickly, professionally. As soon as you are done pouring into Jimin she stands up, showing you her clean tongue with a tilt of her head, and heads to the bathroom. You, left alone, giggle quietly and sprawl on the bed after putting on underwear.

******

“Text me at lunch break. You know where to meet me.” You just nod at Jimin, who’s in one of your T-shirts that is just a little bit big for her; loss of all the buttons on her uniform comes at a cost. An inner beam blooms under your face when you find her just too perfect in that outfit of school skirt with your T-shirt tucked under it. Those unhidden bra lines count as one of many reasons for you to stare at her, take her in your arms right now and-

“Not now, perv.” Her smirk lets yours surface up to reciprocate hers. You stand up from the bed, approach her and walk her backwards to the wall. Jimin has been playful and relaxed with you and you like it. But when you—just like right now—detect submission in her eyes: you love it. You don’t stop your hand from rising up for her neck and have a good grip around it. You don’t stop the other from being pulled away to her gracious tits and squeezing them.

“Not now?” And there are those big eyes begging for you to go further, that bitten lower lip asking for any contact, as if the one who just quipped ‘not now’ choked out. Always hits you differently when she just switches from a brat to a subby mess out of control.

Contradiction is the most normal of things when you have a tight grip over Jimin. Her reddening face gradually forms a thin smirk when your lips close in to hers. Her eyes close, lips part for a mind-numbing kiss—

“Not now.” You make a sudden pull back and release Jimin from your grip. She stumbles and almost collapses on the floor so you hold her in your arms. For the same purpose and then some, her arms rest on your shoulders and pull you in, only to be denied by your hand pushing her chest off of you, leaving Jimin just keeping a hungry gaze at your lips and whimpering “Please.”

You finish tying the necktie, bring your thumb up to her lips. As it sweeps over them Jimin lets her tongue coat your thumb with her saliva which could’ve blended perfectly with yours.

“To the spot at lunch break, Jimin. And ah,” You stand down and pull her panties down in one sway and she helps herself out of them by lifting her legs respectively. You toss it on the bed and rise up again, for your collarbone to match her height, for her to look up at you again.

“You don’t wear the same panties for two days straight, do you?” Jimin just nods quickly and tries to crush her lips on yours yet again. Seems like she wouldn’t care even if you made her go to school all nude, if she could just mix her tongue with yours right now. Her efforts to make you kiss her is visible to you; eyes so seductive yet not able to take themselves off of their foremost target, lips slightly open for her tongue to peek outside. Seeing that you just step back and prepare to leave for school with an unseen smirk.

“Let’s go.”

******

As anticipated, needy and untidy Yoo Jimin sends you a dozen pictures of her bare crotch under her skirt, saying ‘Want your fingers inside’, ‘Can’t wait for the lunch break.’ Those are to be left on read.

Morning classes fly by as the bell rings to announce the lunch break. The class rushes out for lunch, has a race among them with some of them even running like they have something to win. And amongst that crowd you head to the spot, to Yoo Jimin.

She’s there already waiting for you when you turn the last corner. Legs crossed, back on the brick wall and a half-spent cigarette between her lips, looking so delinquent there with that insanely short skirt and in the shirt you gave. She notices you, has a reet smile on her and throws the cigarette on the ground, and watches you approach her standing still. No immaterial words or acts are needed when you can just kiss those lips like they’re yours. The remnant of the cigarette a fume that makes you dive deeper into this trance her tongue and yours are building, you spontaneously get rid of her skirt and are met with the wet skin under it.

Your fingers taste her crotch, slowly rubbing around and poised for any further indulgence. Her hands are, on the other hand, hectic with your buttons and when they’re done they swiftly go down to your belt. Your pants drop to your ankles in no time with your underwear, and with your erect cock emancipated, Jimin detaches from the kiss and spits on your cock and spreads it.

It all happens so fast that you are still enraptured by the kiss and her tits in your palms, leaving so many treats unfelt to your body. The next second you are inside her, making it even headier for you to follow up.

“Fuck, I needed this.” Jimin grits. With no clue of downshifting she takes the shirt off, her bra to follow suit, and hooks her arms around your neck to stand the frantic sex she wants from you. And that happens right away, as your instinct drops the hammer for you to automatically thrust into her even before you find yourself moaning at the sensation of her inside.

You keep your eyes closed while wrecking her pussy despite the eye candy that is Yoo Jimin during sex, and suddenly you notice her teeth on your shoulder. It’s a pain that can make you grin, that can make you savor the feeling, even it gets even stronger, because now you know that when she bites, she cums. Her legs give in, and you know it by the weight of her arms around your neck. Her walls clench harshly and there’s a stream of her juice down your legs when she cums. Yoo Jimin is so tactile, and when she cums her whole body does, for yours to recognize, you don’t even have to hearken to know it. The auditory input hits your brain the last, the pearly, shaky yelp of the orgasming needy girl adds up to all the stimuli you are taking.

When she comes down you slow down, lazily reaching her cervix as she hums at it every time.

“Kiss me, baby.” You do. It’s saccharine to your tongue. Her tongue distraughtly moves around inside your mouth, some of the drool leaking onto her tits to make it even more impeccable. The gustation mesmerizes you into a rabid sex, this time for yourself to get off. No subduing, only upshifts lead the way as you turn her around, put it back in and lavish thrusts into her sex.

“Shit. Jimin, you’re so fucking perfect.” You’re not saying this again because she might not have heard it; you are repeating it like a low-functioning machine because you’re afraid you haven’t said it enough. And she can condone it—of course she can, it’s a compliment anyway—because she knows it already, because the feeling’s mutual. You say it several more times on the back of her neck, almost making it a tattoo, carving it in intaglio. Still deranged, Jimin is just screaming with her back arching to the sky and carotically facing the brick wall with her left cheek. The right side of her face is rosed up, and her eye has a glimpse of you, your wry face and the sweat-coated torso and shuts and she cums just like that.

Her breaths are shallow, irregular, a gusty fluid squelches out of her pussy and the scene of her orgasm is intimidating your endurance, easily sending you to an orgasmic stupor and making you spurt out inside her with a gritted groan.

“Jimin, I… God, fuck…!” To your overstimulated cock Jimin has her shrewd tongue on it, sealed with her lips. Makes your legs wobble, unmercifully agitating your mind with frenzy, but just until she clears your shaft up clean from the tabloid juices all over it.

“I loved it. Maybe we should make it daily.” Jimin rises up, with her skirt and your shirt in her hands and still breathing somewhat heavily. And the desecrated smile on her face is the coercion for you to wear one too, a copacetic one. Shirt on, a smoking cigarette between your fingers, you insinuate to her.

“Your panties are still on my bed, you know.” And she’s shrewd with it—has been from the very beginning—and purrs. “Mhmm, I’m going to go fetch it after school with you.”

Of course, is what your nods that follows says, and there’s my girl, says your zest-filled grin, looking at her back that walks out of the corner. It’s always that intrinsic sass you could simply, so simply kill for. Maybe a challenge for you, maybe a finesse for you to be benumbly trapped into. It’s your choice, and from some point on the latter looks dazzling to you; maybe you’re a person who just dyes so well, to a derogated girl who seemed to have taken everything you’ve given but turns out she just put you in the phantasma of her own stardust without you realizing it—you’ve lost it in her, somehow. And that’s bizarre: and you love it.

******

You’re standing at the bus stop, hands in your pocket and looking around to find your girl. When you do, you’re so surprised at how Jimin so stands out among all the crowd while doing nothing but just walk. Even from miles out you’re sure you’ll spot her in a second. The belle of the crowd, wherever she is. She’s not the tallest but still piques herself on her to-die-for aura like she blurs everyone out. As if she sensed the scrutiny, Jimin looks up from her phone, looks around and soon finds you looking at her. You hate to be seen so infatuated like this but you can’t help it, as your eyes meet hers and your face brightens up, half from seeing her and half at yourself caught like that.

“That happy to see me?” You don’t answer, just bring your hands to her crotch and check there’s no underwear blocking your way. A flick over her uncovered pussy earns you a shocked look.

“This is not your bedroom!” Jimin shouts in whisper, but not with caution, but an intrigued grin with eyes darting around the crowd waiting for the bus.

“Are you telling me to stop?” You take your fingers to her mouth, her tongue welcoming the taste of horniness coated all over your fingers. “I’m telling you not to stop.”

So your hand returns to her pussy. You’re rubbing, tapping on and hooking your fingers in, Jimin bites on her own fingers not to relinquish her scream. You hold her trembling body as steady as possible but you know that it’ll be absolutely normal if the people around you realize that you two are having a little fun explicitly in public. Everyone’s looking at you and Jimin in front of you, facing the same way as you and receiving that dirty fingering amongst so many audiences.

In a few minutes the bus is here, to show you only one vacant seat left. You take the seat and Jimin sits on your lap, facing backwards and hugging your neck. You resume the unholy yet entertaining fingering to the pretty moaning girl on your lap.

And you return to who you really are: you’re a gentleman yourself, with etiquette, with common decency, to pull Jimin’s head down on your shoulder to muffle her nasty sound on it. You know even the driver is looking at you through the mirror, but that’s because of her, not you; again, you’re making no noise, and Jimin in your embrace is the culprit of all the squeaky, watery, moaning noise, not you.

“Quiet, Jimin.” Now her teeth dig into your skin, synchronizing with your fingers indulging into her wet, tight hole. You know what you’re doing won’t shut her up. You’re just saying it, a formality. Inside your mind you want her to moan loudly, at the same time want to see her struggle keeping it quiet. So you yank her hair back to watch her distorted face, observe every tiny wriggle of her expression.

“Ah…!” Look into her eyes as if wanting to pierce through them. Jimin looks at you too, flooding with lust, drowning in her own sensations of sex and embarrassment of being exposed in such a public situation. “I’m almost there.” It’s a plain text but she’s begging there. She says she’s almost there but she’s already there, as it seems.

“Yeah, we’re almost there.” A bump on the road makes your fingers hit her spot, makes her back arc, makes her almost, almost lose it right there. You pull out your fingers from her hot cavern to the relatively cool air of the bus. Her liquid feels fresh out in the air but that feeling is soon lost, by her tongue wrapping them up and sucking it clean—suckling it dirty.

The bus stops right then for only you and Jimin to get off. It’s much quieter than inside the bus, partially due to you not fingerfucking her anymore. In no time you’re at the door of your house, unlock it, swing open and it slams shut. Simultaneously Jimin hops on you and dive into your mouth with hers. You stumble through to your bedroom, toss her on the bed, swiftly undo your belt and pants with your boxers, let your already hard dick spring out but don't let it feel the air as it vanishes into Jimin’s waiting pussy right away.

No one speaks a word. No one can, to be fair. You two are merely inches away from dying, too impatient to wait another second. And there you let Jimin approach death a bit closer by holding her neck around, a perfect necklace for her, and straining your hand. Jimin’s mouth is open, difficulty in breathing so visible, face reddening but there’s still her hunger in it; she grins. Her smile is so cruel, violent, so evil yet joyful, as if she’s the victimizer and you’re the victim.

“Please, baby… Kill me. Fucking choke me to death, please, choke me and kill me-fuck!” You make her scream when you slap her tits, as if you were angry at her, but you’re the opposite—you love her so much that you just want to abuse her, to her liking, just like right now. All her sensations seem to evaporate as her eyes roll back and her hands drop to her sides spiritlessly: or, airlessly. You let her go, not wanting to actually kill her.

With a giant inhale Jimin returns from the border of unconsciousness. Her hands travel from her own tits, your hands, and soon back to the sheets, still wandering in need for anything to release the tension. So you pin down her wrists and pace up your thrusts.

“Fuck, Jimin. Don’t tempt me. You make me really want to fuck you dead.” You’re saying it right on her face, which enables her to feel that you mean it. There she tries to kiss your lips, but you pull back with agility, instead covering her mouth and nose with your palm, again suffocating her to your liking, to your loving, to your abnormal, psychopathic obsession.

“I want to see you struggle for life. I want to see you beg for life. You’ll look so perfect like that.” Jimin screams into your hand, covers it with her saliva and tears. You close in with your other hand groping her tit and your cock hitting everywhere inside her squeezing cunt. Jimin’s eyes widen as her orgasm fades in, muffling “I’m cumming!” Several times on your palm before peaking like never before. Her orgasm never gives her the time to even shut her eyes as they roll into her head. Her scream penetrates your hand over her mouth as it departs on your ears so deliciously.

That’s what psychopaths do, isn’t it? To experience the catharsis washing over your spine and get off with how a person screams, all helpless, with tears, shallow breaths as if soon going to die, or at least pass out. Maybe it’s that she’s making it clear about who you are. Would be a pleasure to embrace it.

And it’s your turn now. You pull out, escaping Jimin’s spent pussy with quite an amount of her squirt, leaving her all trembling and arching. There’s a layer of sweat all over her body and it makes it look like a scene from any pornography. Jimin doesn’t move a bit-only her chest is heavily healing up and down, even after you flip her upside down.

You tease her asshole with your middle finger and when she senses it enter she helps you by spreading her cheeks for deeper insertion. No resistance in and out of her ass. Every curl inside her ass makes Jimin squeeze her own cheeks as a response with a powerless moan. “Mmm, fuck me please… I’m not done yet.” Of course. You grin and prepare your cock for the second entrance as you pull Jimin up on all fours. Her arms give up when you rub your glistening cock on her pussy lips. And her reason gives up when you penetrate her rear hole.

“Ahh-fuck yes!”

“Holy fuck. This is so tight.” Her tightness erases your patience to savor it slowly. You start ruining her ass with the intention of actually destroying it. Jimin frowns, loud moan seeping through the bitten lip, hands curling into fists but arms all powerless on her sides.

“It’s so good, it’s so fucking good…! Don’t stop it baby. Make me cum like a fucking whore…!” Her voice can’t even get louder when her words just melt on the mattress just like her. Her words turn to nothings, eyes squeeze shut, concentrating all her senses to where she’s getting fucked. You feel your eyelids become heavier every single thrust, but the visual pleasure is just too good to give up watching it-her ass up for you to fuck it senseless, narrow waist contrasting her wide hips so aesthetically. The cherry on top is the expressions on her gorgeous face which you can’t quite read. Just like when all colors mixed makes pitch-black, her facial wrinkles and twitches are the perfect mixture of all pleasure, ecstasy that you can’t tell what she’s feeling at this moment.

“Nngh!” Actually, you can. Jimin is orgasming so hard, clear—dirty—liquid pumping out of her empty pussy to flood the mattress. Her ass squeezes your cock too hard for you to move in and out as fast as before without blasting every drop in her climaxing ass hole.

So you park it deep in her contracting hole, stay there, and shut Jimin’s moaning mouth with yours. She doesn’t care—or she doesn't acknowledge—and keeps screaming for her life even after her peak has washed over. A few dozen seconds pass, she calms down to at least breathe regularly when you stand your torso up to resume the session.

“You… You have to cum…” As if she even cares for you instead of her own pleasure. You know she just wants more overwhelming orgasm only you can deliver, and you are no different. There’s something about this body, these tits, the voice, this face, this pussy, this ass; there really is something about Yoo Jimin. Without your knowledge you are humping her like a villain, mad, but with a grin that’s so dangerous that Jimin mirrors. Your hand already made itself home around her neck, a red mark of it pressing hard inevitable, tears rolling down along her side face.

“I’m going to fill you up, Jimin.” And with a sharp inhale you begin wrecking her inside. A gut-rearranging pounding is what her perfect ass deserves and she can’t even open her eyes properly-either one stays closed against her will, rolling up to see that there’s nothing inside her head.

“Fuck! Please, please, please, please… Gah, I’m- Again…!” How impatient. There’s not even a point for you to call a flaw. Immoral, impatient, vulgar, dirty… She’s all too perfect. And you’re sure that’s why you cum so hard, like never before.

A nasty pair of voices fill each other’s brain as you two cum. You lower your body, forehead on hers and eyes on hers, looking through those teary orbs as you feel yourself bursting out gregariously. No words but loud pants bridge your sensations to each other, and until the last spurt you don’t even blink in order to see Jimin go through her own orgasm.

That’s it; it’s been your undesirable sadistic desire that kept you on fire, and when you have saturated it it flips out of your head, making it empty—there hasn’t been anything other than that. When you’re done completely you let Jimin go from your glare, sit on the edge next to her gasping body. Your urge is swept off so cleanly, and you can see how dirty it was by the mess on your bed.

“Are you alright?” You ask, but looking up at the ceiling, not Jimin. You don’t turn your head but can already sense her looking at you. “You’re just so perfect.” Selfishly she doesn’t answer. And you hear the smirk in her words. You make one on your face too, hearing that, stand up, face her and find Jimin overloading your vision with how she gorgeously lies down there, making even all the nasty things complement her perfection.

“I’ll shower. Just don’t fall asleep on the bed. It’s dirty.” You tell Jimin, all helpless and powerless on the bed and panting like she just had the best sex in her life. The lustful girl who was begging for you to kill her is nowhere to be found; instead there’s a weak, short of breath, vulnerable and lithe angelic devil with your cum gushing out of her ass. As if a few more touches and she’d actually evaporate.

In the shower you barely feel the water on your body, so distracted by your own thoughts—your own thoughts but in the grabs of Yu Jimin. The exact same as yesterday, you are showering yourself with your shocked, strange feelings in the shower after sex that simply blew your mind.

It's just that she's too good. Too good to call it a hook-up, too good to make it only an occasional sex. The way she craves your cock, the way she begs for your violence, the way she’s so desperate for extreme orgasms under your hold. It’s the first time for you to smile just by thinking of a girl, especially when you’re such a harsh and rough type of a person even you’d admit. She’d let you hit her. She’d let you choke her, let you fuck her, destroy her—let you love her.

Then the door opens, a small, pale figure of female comes in, walks slowly through the mist of the hot water. Jimin stops in front of you, legs barely holding there, face buried on your chest and her arms locked around your neck to support her lithe body but they barely do. You move a little backward to let her more of the hot water.

As if all the water got into your veins, you feel your heart burn. Just look at her—legs all wobbly, barely standing, too exhausted to even look up at you, her hands at the back of your neck irregularly stroking the back of your head as if signaling she’s at least perceiving things properly. You put a hand on her back and spread the water on it, and that’s when she lifts her head and meets your eyes.

Weak and lethargic like a candlelight in front of a tsunami, Jimin is barely standing there with low moans whenever her legs wobble and give up. Her arms tighten around your neck as one of yours hug her back so that she doesn’t collapse. Her face is right beneath yours, tilted up to face yours. Those eyes can’t avoid looking at your lips, which is just what you’re doing to her unashamedly.

Your hand climbs up to the back of her head. Regardless of that you and Jimin are exchanging such a strong yet soft, intense yet loving eyelock. It is an atypically genial moment and if you look back at this moment you might throttle yourself. She should know it by now, from the visible, audible changes on you.

(Maybe you were afraid. Or beyond that. Love was what your fears were afraid of. Doesn’t quite make sense to say that you have fears, but anyways, you didn’t want, nor expect a couple nights to escalate to an actual romance.)

Minutes pass, and pass, and—and pause, when you pull her a bit into your arms and make a soundless, yet seismic kiss. Lips lock. Two pairs of lips open and a pair of tongues make contact, hug each other just like you two. Her hands snake into your hair, your head in her hands and deeper into the kiss. You two have even forgotten to breathe as the liplock continues for what feels like a lifetime, to complete the kiss of your life. When you try to pull back Jimin lunges a bit forward not to break the kiss, and you let your system suffocate a few dozen seconds more.

“You’re so beautiful, Yu Jimin.” You finally tell her this. Not the literal confession of love but she gets it with the bewitching smile she always wears like nothing. Never been in love, you feel like you’re sent back to childhood, pure and intact, but that feeling is shattered into pieces when her hand finds your hardened cock poking at her belly.“Is that why you’re so hard, baby?” This time, the word ‘baby’ sounds so right with a lip bite of your lover and with a lust-filled grin on you. Her thumb slides on the underside of the tip, almost making you stumble back.

“Yes. Just like you’re always horny because of me.” With a smirk you turn her around, bend her over so that her hands are on the wall, and put your cock in in one stroke. Jimin helplessly loses all the strength in her legs and falls but you're prudential enough not to let her. It's to the point where she's just hanging from your arms when you kindle the movement. Her skin looks even more satin with the water so you collar her and go on. You can't stop when the biggest impetus is jonesing for it. No choice but to harden the grip on her throat.

Jimin is flaccid on the wall, fingers fumbling on and desperately digging themselves on it with her head facing down. You are never going to unbind her until she falls into a stupor. “Baby I… I fucking love it so deep…! Use me just like that…” She can't let it out loud and soon loses all voice, raises her head, brings yours right beside hers and kisses you. And a feeling that this is the requital for your disclosure makes it compulsory to reciprocate it poignantly. Her hand guides one of yours to her tits, pushes it hard on it to make you squeeze them and soon the convulsions agitate through her body. Her orgasmic screams reverberate through your throat, which is also moaning out of the pleasure congesting your mind.

When the kiss breaks her yelps stifle the smacking and squelching. You have no idea if it’s your heartiness or just overstimulation from before the shower, but her voice sounds so giddy she might just hit the floor all limp. The burgeoning pleasure conglomerates into a derogated vertigo, the unbearable sensations stack up in your spines and Jimin’s wringing walls really doesn’t help you push it down. Her eyes tell you—because her mouth can’t right now—she’s only a couple thrusts away from coming undone, tantamount to what’s threatening to blow your mind, break down your nerves.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking coming…!” A tautology that is so understandable. You help her, add to the pleasure by choking her. Her moans permeate to your hand through her throat and the foul secretion of her orgasm flows down her legs with the water pelting down on your bodies. Jimin fumbles on the wall with her fingers, too herring-gutted to digest the deray.

“Jimin. Yu Jimin. I’m coming too-fuck…!” When Jimin hears her name she hums, and when she feels the warmth coat her walls she buckles, arches her back to beckon your lips and jockeys her tongue between them. In less than a minute however she pulls back, due to lack of air, because of your chokehold, and pants in your face, with a pejorative smile, but no sign of mannerism—you all know, that smile that follows after an exquisite sex—her sheer feelings carved in it, and you willingly mirror it as a beck of mutuality.

******

A rather huge thing is settled. Sitting on the edge of the bed together, with a cigarette between your fingers for each, you recount your history: the reason you moved, your personality, your sex life being like this. All of them, however, converge to her, Yu Jimin, weirdly enough for you who just can’t concede any feelings involved, which sounds like a monolithic psychopath which actually might be who you are.

Well, a little bit of romance couldn’t kill, could it? You think, lying next to Jimin and slowly closing your eyes to fall-

“You haven’t said it yet.”

“Say what?”

“You only said I’m beautiful.”

“And?”

“I know there’s something more. You know there’s something more.”

There you fail to hold out the chuckle.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to be shy about it,”

Jimin mischievously giggles. You know you can’t just laugh it off, and you won’t. That intricate feeling that tickles, but is not transient.

With a somnolent voice, you placidly say, like a tagline of a tragedy—or a comedy.

“Love you, Jimin.”

Her grin infiltrates her words hearing it.

“That’s it, my boy. Love you too.”

******

#kpop x male reader #kpop male reader #karina smut #aespa smut

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wasitforrevenge · 5 months ago

Text

new romantics

pairing: MODERN AU!college azriel x female reader

warnings: may be some triggering content including tampon is a douchbag at a party, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of sexual activity but nothing major, smut books mentioned (hehehe) a fight occurs but can you blame him? he’s just defending your honor ugh, two idiots in love who want nothing but each other and can’t admit it, no use of y/n, imagine her as you, because it is YOU! half editted… ill get to it later i promise

word count: 4.5k

summary: your new study partner is better than you first realize… and now you can’t stop thinking about him, but he can’t stop thinking of you either.

authors note: hi first time writing for acotor! been a fan of these books for a while and my baby azriel does something to me!!! so here’s something i spent the night writing it was 10 different things before it was this lol! pls like, reblog and comment! thank you everyone for reading! photo credit to pinterest, and please i strive to do better so any thoughts pls free feel to let me know! thank you for the support! this is the first time i’ve had the energy to write in months so pls dont go too hard

you met azriel in a greek mythology lecture that you both ended up in during the second semester of your sophomore year. getting partnered with an incredibly built and handsome man for a history report your teacher assigned was the least of your problems when you realized how fucking kind and beautiful azriel is on the inside and out.

the real problem came when you realized how hard you were falling for this man when you started hanging out casually, hitting the coffee stand before class or getting food after a long day. you learned so much about him in a matter of months and couldn’t get him out of your head.

you never spoke existence to your feelings for him, mainly because you didn’t want to ruin a very good potential friendship but partly because you didn’t think you were good enough for someone like him. you’ve heard little whispers about his other… activities and you couldn’t help the way it made you feel.

at the start of your junior year, you and azriel were practically best friends and it just felt so natural. the way you two were together. the way your conversations flowed and the way the silence was never deafening when you were together. you spent time cuddling on the couch in your living room watching movies and rating tv shows and going to visit parks around town and getting high as fuck. once time you had even gone crazy and took some acid and spent hours at the aquarium watching all the fish. you studied for classes together, the one you shared and the ones you both took on your own.

you and azriel were always testing out new recipes in his large kitchen. its wonderful that he lives alone. alone as in by himself but you cannot glance over the fact that the rhysand and feyre along with cassian and nesta live on the same floor of this apartment building close to campus. you luckly only live 2 floors down, a thing you realized when you managed to see him in the elevator about a week or two after you first started studying together.

you were debating all summer about confessing your feelings to him but could not gather the courage to bring yourself to admit it to him and face rejection. you couldn’t mess up the relationship between you already. he was your best friend and you really didn’t have too many besides him. you’ve met his family and have spend a lot of time with them, they’re all practically adopted you at the point, they welcomed you with smiles and open arms (besides amren but they told you she’s always like that.)

but a couple weeks into the semester, you and nesta were standing in a kitchen of a person you don’t know debating on what shitty cheap alcohol you’ll be indulging in tonight. it was the first big back to school party and it was still hot as hell out so you were dressed in dark denim shorts and nice tank top along with your black converse.

you and nesta instantly clicked when you met. bonding over smutty books and all the tv shows you managed to watch. she’s felt like your first real girl-friend ever, you guys got some comfortable together and every time you guys hung out, it felt like no time had passed. it was refreshing to have someone to talk to. she also happens to be the only one who knows about the feelings you harbor for your other best friend.

as you’re about to pour the tequila into your red solo cup, you hear someone call nesta’s name and she tells you she’ll be right back before scurrying off to whichever of her friends was calling her. leaving you there alone not knowing anyone at the party, nesta told you the rest of the group was going to meet you there but you have yet to see any of them as you turn your head around the room.

as you fill your cup and turn to put the bottle back down on the counter, you feel a hand glide around your waist and are suddenly aware of a man extremely too close your liking. “hey baby” he said as he slurred his words, clearly intoxicated, by the way he looked and smelled. it sent more warnings through your head even after he grabbed you like that. you had to leave, this couldn’t happen. thoughts are rushing through your head. you move your hand to push his arm off you as you turn around to be face to face with a tall blonde with long hair.

“what was that for?” he drags out as he tried to put his hand back on you. you instantly tried to move towards the way nesta went and told him, “please get off!” but he was too fast and held your upper arm in a death grip before he tugged you closer to his chest, his other hand back on your waist like the first time he did it. your eyes close in fear as he leans down to whisper something in your ear, but he’s gone in an instant.

it all happened so fast. all you see is a large, muscular, tattooed arm flying in front of you, hitting the man who was on you just seconds ago. you watched shocked as you finally lock in to the situation before you.

azriel beating the shit out of the man who had just laid his hands on you.

azriel swung his fist again towards him, hitting him square in the jaw, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he screamed at him, having another punch already landing with his other fist.

the man doesn’t respond before he swings back at azriel and managed to get a decent swing in, the hit landed to his lip but azriel doesn’t move at all. he’s standing still in the spot, continuing to tower over him.

azriel shoved the man back into the counter and landed a powerful hook right to his nose simultaneously. he cried out as it made contact, “fuck dude c’mon,” he reached up to grab it, blood pouring from his broken nose and busted lip. he steps closer as he removes his hand looking at the red liquid that has held onto his skin, ready to defend himself against the beautiful man that your eyes cannot stray from.

but azriel is faster and before he could even blink, managed to grab a hold of his shirt and pull him up to where his toes barely touched the floor. his hands fall at his sides and his eyes widen in fear as azriel gets closer to his face, leaning down to whisper something in his ear that you can’t hear over the loud music, people partying and the screaming and crying in your heart as you watched this all unfold.

suddenly azriel is tossing the man back into the counter and he barely managed to grab it and hold on, azriel suddenly grows larger, as if he could get any bigger, and leans to spit out the blood that had collected in his mouth behind him. and suddenly your attention is focused on the warmth now englufing your wrist. your eyes immediately register the sight of him standing in front of you, this was warm and right, his hands on you. it just felt so right.

his other hand reached out and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. the way the sense of safety coursed through you with his simple touch just confirmed, yet again, that this was going to be so hard for you to tell him.

“hey baby…” he spoke softly, his eyes darted between both yours. his attention solely on you. he let his finger rub against your cheek as he finished, “are you okay?” you can’t help the feeling the shoots through you at the use of the pet name and the look of shock that painted your face. not knowing if it came from, whether it was from what unfolded in front of you at this party or the fact he still holding your face and talking to you like this, so sweetly.

you blinked a couple times and the realization hit you that you’ve just been standing there, staring into his beautiful eyes. not paying attention to the group of people that crowded around as the fight was happening or the looks you guys are getting from other party goers that still surrounded you. the only thing you can stand to focus on his gaze.

azriel.

“i don’t know,” you almost whisper towards him, feeling his warmth covering you both. before you can talk again, he moves his scarred hand from your wrist, you feel almost… empty at the loss of contact but that doesn’t last long as he slipped his hand into yours and intertwined his fingers with yours as he guided you towards the front door.

you passed by so many people, you tried not to pay attention to all the looks you were getting. girls stared as they realized it wasn’t themselves in azriel’s grasp, but you. it was your hand he was holding. your heart beat at just the thought of it, your nerves were already shot as the events unfolded not even 10 minutes ago and this did not help one bit.

your eyes manage to catch nesta’s in the crowd, her eyes widen as she takes in the sight before her, azriel holding your hand and leading you out of the party. oblivious to what actually happened to cause this, she gave you a huge smile and two thumbs up. you cant help but silently chuckle at your friend despite the other overwhelming feelings you have. you’ll explain the situation later when you text her but you were sure eventually she’d hear what happened.

he leads you out the front door and looks back at you with a small smile as you trail behind him. he walked you over, without a word and hands still intertwined and you finally notice your next to his old beat up mustang on the side of the street, the one that smells like him and the faint smell of weed that always lingers regardless of the last time he smoked in there.

he opened the car door for you and you released your hand from his and got into the passengers seat. once you were in, he reached over and buckled your seatbelt for you, giving it a tug to make sure it was connected before smiling down at you from outside the car. he shut the door satisfied and walked around the back of the car to open his own door and sat inside.

the silence is comfortable. it always has been, you pray that sometimes it’s awkward or uncomfortable but it never is. you sit in your seat, eyes staring down towards the hand he had been holding, almost in disbelief, that he defended you like that. you’ve never seen azriel angry like that either. he turns to face you, wanting you to meet his eyes.

azriel walked in the front door of the party, after having a pretty day. the customers at the restaurant he works truly sucked today. small tips and even shittier people. all he wanted to do was smoke off some steam and get drunk with cassian and rhys. he knew you were going to be here. cassian mentioned it in passing while talking about nesta so he was also on the look out for you. the girl who managed to catch his heart after having been partnered together. azriel couldn’t help the way he felt about you even though it almost felt wrong to him.

he didn’t want to take advantage of you, he knew you were shy and never really been in a relationship. he found that out when he walked into the kitchen of cassian and nesta’s apartment, and overheard nesta telling cass all about you after her and you hung out for the first time outside the group. so he just tried to ignore his feelings but regardless of that fact you were his bestfriend. he just couldn’t escape you.

and when he walked into that kitchen to see tamlin standing over you, your arm tight in his grip, the way your eyes were slammed shut trying to back away from him. he didn’t even think. he was there pulling him off you before he could even recognize what he was doing. throwing punches left and right towards the man who dared touched you. he barely even registered the hit he managed on no one but him can put his hands on you. he’s had that thought before but never brought life to it, but here? now?

all thoughts of guilt for feeling that way vanished. there was no way he was letting anyone touch you. but him. that’s all he wanted. he wanted you in a way he didn’t think was reciprocated. love was a funny thing to him, something he was never accustomed to until after he met rhysand and cassian.

his family never showed it, he lives with the constant knowledge of that every time he looks down at his hands. he thought about the way you never judged him of them, like it was nothing at all to you but that was everything to him.

the one sided crush he harbored on mor for a couple years was nothing in comparison to the way he felt about you. his few flings he had over the past couple years (after he realized it was pointless liking mor, also… because she slept with cassian) were mildly of convince and of urge but once he met you, he knew he was a goner.

he stopped the girls. the stopped the meaningless flirting and hooks up and took to just pleasuring himself to the thought as you, as shitty as it made him felt after. sometimes he just couldn’t look you in the eye the next time he saw you but you never said anything. you never commented on it and he silently thanked you in his head.

but right now, after he pulled you out of the party, scarred hand in yours, he needed you to look him in the eyes. but you still hadn’t and he couldn’t just keep staring at the face of the beautiful woman in front of him while it was coated with anxiety and exhaustion.

azriel lifted his distorted hand to your face meeting the soft warm skin that was your own. he gently brought your face to meet his gaze and as you locked eyes, the spark hit you yet again.

gods he was breathtaking. dark hair that covered to above his ears, the eyes that seemed to stare into yours every single time they met, the tattoos that covered him and his golden brown skin that you swore shined outright during different points in the day. your heart cannot handle this man.

“please,” he practically whispered you barely even registered that he said it before he continued, “are you okay, what can i do?” the sound in his voice felt desperate as his eyes bore into yours, the feel of his hand on her face, you couldn’t help but lean into his grasp and close your eyes, taking in the feel of him. you responded a moment later after letting out a sigh and looking at him again.

“can we just go home? i just want to sleep” you asked him with a pleading tone as you feel his thumb rub against your cheek for the second time that night. ugh the things this man does to you. all you wanted was for him to hold you, to feel the press of his body against yours. anything to get the feeling of someone else off you. “yeah baby, we can.” he said gently before he moved his hand down to yours and gave you a light squeeze before he turned the car on and shifted into gear, pulling off in the direction of home.

once you arrived back to the apartment building, he parked in the lot next to the front door and moved around the car to open your door, he gave you his hand as you stepped out. he went to put his hand at your lower back as he opened the door for you but decided against just in case that was a lot for you right now. he did not want to make it worse. he could see the fear in your eyes back there, no way would he subject you to that if you weren’t comfortable with it. so instead he just followed behind you, hitting the button to the elevator to take you up to your floor.

the elevator luckily isn’t taking forever today so when it opens, you and azriel step in and he goes to hit the floor for your apartment but your hand reaches out and stops him. “can we go to yours please?” your head moves up to meet his gaze but his eyes are focused on where your hand is on his wrist. a second later his eyes meet yours and he gives you a small nod and hits the button for the fifth floor. you remove your hand and lean against the wall right next to him, his hand reaches out and entangles his bumpy fingers with yours.

“is this okay?” he asks you. you can barely hold it in after that, the tears finally fall. he feels the sudden change in your body as he moves closer to you but removing his hand from yours in fear that you didn’t want to touch him. but in reality that’s all you want. you want him to touch you. you want him to love you. you want everything with him. its all just so overwhelming, everything that has happened.

he goes to speak but before he can get a word out, your body is on his engulfing him in a hug around his long torso, he instantly wraps his arms around your smaller frame. he can feel your body shake with tears and all he wants to do is make sure that no one ever makes you feel like this again. you deserve so much better, he only wishes he could be better for you too. you squeeze him tighter and he just holds you until the elevator door opens and you pull away from him. mascara and tears running down your face, you can see it on his shirt. he smiles at you before he pulls his hands to your face and wipes your cheeks off with his rough yet soft hands.

you cant help the laugh that escapes you as he wipes his hands on the t-shirt staining it even more with the leftover residue on your face. he gives you a chuckle before connected your hands yet again, walking with you out of the elevator to his one bedroom apartment. he fishes in his pocket with his other hand and pulls out his keys. he unlocked the door and held it open for you to walk in.

your senses are taken over by the smell of him. the smell of his candle lingered from the coffee table covered with textbooks in the large living room, he has a basket of blankets he keeps in the corner because he knows you get cold watching tv. he has a big L shaped couch which had a 60 inch tv across the room, with a boatload of dvds underneath. something you both agreed was a dying art. you and azriel swear physical media will make a comeback one day but you guys will never forget how they ruined it!

his space was a lot bigger since you have a two bedroom apartment. but it was perfect for him. azriel had loved the way he made his space his own, his bass guitars set up in the corner next to his collection of vinyl records and a record player that rhys and cassian got him when he turned 21… as well as a shit ton of booze. he had a bookshelf that held his favorites, as well as your own.

he bought a copy of almost every book you talked about so that he was in the loop with what you were reading. even the ones you didn’t talk about that he caught on your nightstand or in your reading nook. when he bought one of those and read it, his jaw dropped. he immediately thought of nesta and her smutty books but this sent something else though his body. he couldn’t help but keep reading… he wondered if you thought about him while reading these scenes of them ravishing each other, in every way imaginable. he sure did! his right hand hates him!

and you definitely did to… thought about him in ways that you shouldn’t. thinking about him doing all those things to you. the way you knew he would take care of you. the way you knew you could take care of him, despite how inexperienced you are. the thoughts drove you crazy. it was practically all day and every day at this point. thinking about the way his hands would feel running up your thighs or the way his lips would feel on yours.

now here you are, standing in his living room, just wanting all that and little did you know… he did too.

“hey az…” you uttered towards him. he was already next to you as you spoke, “can we lay down please?” your voice was barely a whisper.

he didn’t even need to speak, he just brought you to his room. he lead you to sit on the corner of the bed as he turned and riffled through his dresser, pulling out a large dark green shirt and handing it to you with a smile, “change into this, i’ll be right back.”

“can i take a shower?” you asked azriel shyly. “yes of course, one sec.” you watched as he walked out the room and shut the door behind him. you took your shoes off and placed them by the bedroom door next to azriel’s shoes. he came back in a second later with a fresh towel and a water bottle.

“here you go, you already know where the shower is,” he says with a small chuckle. you give him a grateful smile and a thank you as you took the items from his hands and gave him one last look before heading into his connecting bathroom.

you turned on the hot water and you stripped out of your clothes and threw them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the bathroom. you got in the shower and felt instantly better. the way the water followed hot you could feel the touch of the man from the party washing away, only to be replaced with thoughts of azriel touching you instead. you reviled in it.

you washed your hair and body with his shampoo, conditioner and body wash. silently thanking him for not using 3-in-1 (nesta found out that’s what cassian used and flipped shit) you finished your shower and dried off with the towel he gave you.

you put on his t-shirt that made its way down to your mid thigh when it was on completely. you loved when you were covered in him. you walked back out into the room and didn’t see azriel so you took your seat at the edge of the bed and waiting for him to come back. you sat there and picked at your nails, feeling so wore out you didn’t even want to cry anymore.

azriel came in two minutes later, dressed him long flannel pajama pants and you can see the band of his underwear peeking out as he gets closer to you. he changed after you went into the bathroom, and then went to the kitchen to make sure he was stocked up on the tea you liked and the snacks you guys enjoy together, just in case you got hungry.

he ran around his living room and cleaned random odds and ends. putting dishes in the sink, folding the blankets thrown on the couch and organizing his cd collection. anything to busy himself instead of thinking of you in his shower. anything to get his mind off the amazing woman just in the other room. he hears the shower turn off and waited a few more moments before heading back into the room.

he moved the covers down to make room for you as he said, “after you princess,” with a smile on his face. you returned it and stood up to make your way to the bed but not before turning to hug him again. his arms wrapped around you as you mumbled “thank you azriel,” into his chest. you hold on for a few moments before releasing him. he looks at you before motioning to the bed, “i would do anything for you, you know that.” you felt your cheeks grow red at the thought, at the knowledge that he would.

you climb into the bed and laid your head on the pillow, turning to look at azriel, you wondered why he was still standing. “az are you coming?” you said bashfully. he blinked and bent down to the bed to be eye level with you. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight.” you could feel the way your face dropped in disappointment as you registered what he said. he saw it too and felt it deep in his chest.

he stood up and was about to say goodnight but you beat him to it, “azriel please i need you.”

you could feel how desperate you sounded but you didn’t care. you just needed him. next to you right now. he said nothing else as he moved the blankets again, but this time he was under them. he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his chest, your hand found it’s way over his fast beating heart and his tattooed arm wrapping around you. the warmth and scent of him took over everything in your body. you finally felt safe. your legs tangled together as you eventually fell asleep to the rise and fall of his chest.

“i need you too.” he said to a room with no one awake but him to hear.

part 2??? i would love to write one! let me know what you think! i’d love to keep writing for acotor so yay! pls enjoy :) i’m on the edge of my seat writing this hehe

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel series #azriel supremacy #batboys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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writersblockiskillingme · 1 year ago

Note

Coriolanus snow x fem!reader

She is sejanus’s twin sister and is just as anti hunger games as he is and Coriolanus always has a crush on her but since she is his best friends sister…😏

The Plinth Prize | Coriolanus Snow

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x fem!Plinth!reader, Sejanus Plinth x twin sister!reader

Summary: You were everything he detested, perhaps that's what made him fall.

Warning/s: fluff, Coriolanus having some possessive thoughts, him actually liking Sejanus in this, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: This one is really short, but I do believe that it's sweet enough. This for sure is not my best work, but I tried.

The Plinth family.

Truly everything had changed once Strabo, Sejanus, his twin sister (Y/N) and Mrs. Plinth who called "Ma" known as the Plinth family arrived in the Capitol. Well, more like bought your way to the Capitol.

Coriolanus Snow knew that anybody in their right mind would know that they bought their way in the Capitol because he knew that you really have to have a lot, and I mean A LOT, of money to come and live from the District 2 in the Capitol and give your two children an opportunity to attend to the Capitol's Academy of all places.

So Coriolanus must admit to himself, at first he was sceptic as hell. They were from District after all. They had no place here.

But he should've known better than to judge a book by its cover.

The Plinth twins were really something else.

The moment he met Sejanus he thought that he was annoying as hell. However, he soon realized that Sejanus kind of grew on him.

He was a kid with a kind heart, there was no denying that. He was stubborn, too. But most of all, he was so against the government's decision to hold the Hunger Games and that would annoy the hell out of Coriolanus because Sejanus had a bad tendency to speak of it out loud, with no filter, and that would often get him in a bit trouble.

The trouble that Coriolanus would often have to help him get out of. Coriolanus didn't really mind it, Sejanus was like his brother after all, but he just wished that he would stop being so reckless.

Coriolanus truly felt like he could have a heart attack, cold sweat consumed him, every single time Sejanus spoke. It honestly left him feeling anxious.

He just wished for that to stop, and once he met you it was anything but.

The moment you two shook hands after Sejanus introduced Coriolanus to his twin sister, you, he felt like the last breath was knocked out of his lungs. His chest tightened as he looked at you.

You were radiant. He thought that your beauty was unmatched. The way you carried yourself, your hair, your piercing eyes that were the exact copy of your brother, your smile, your everything, it was just perfect for him.

You were perfect for him.

From that day on he couldn't stop thinking about you and one day in class was an opportunity for him to see even more of you.

As Dr. Gaul talked about the genius of the Hunger Games, Sejanus and you snapped.

In a way he was surprised (but than again, not really) as he watched your interaction and realized that you were as much anti-games as Sejanus was.

Great.

Just great.

Now he had to look out after one more wild Plinth child. Not that he minded. He knew it shouldn't be that way, but this personality trait made you even more attractive than he thought it was possible.

As he watched you talk, his piercing blue eyes locked onto your figure watching you talk passionately, he realized that even though you're from District, that you were anti-games, and even though you were a Plinth of all people, he fell in love with you.

There was no denying that.

Perhaps, if he somehow couldn't win the Plinth Prize you would be good enough to keep, maybe even better. His, better, version of the Plinth Prize.

God, the Plinth twins are really going to ruin him.

TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @caroline-books @runningfrom2am @10ava01 @thecrowdedstreetin1944

#imagine #fic #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the hunger games #thg #coryo snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #sejanus plinth #fem!reader #sejanus plinth x reader #coriolanus x sejanus #coriolanus x you #fluff

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marysfics · 28 days ago

Text

Alone Isn't So Alone When It's With You

You’ve always been alone. But will she be the one to change that?

Word count: 7.2k

Angst, Fluff

This fic has a happy ending.

The dim buzz of fluorescent lights hummed overhead as the school library settled into its usual after-school quiet. You sat at one of the long oak tables, nervously tapping your pen against your notebook. College had been lonely so far. Seventeen was supposed to be exciting, filled with memories and friends. Instead, you had spent most of your time wandering the halls, watching everyone else settle into their cliques.

That was until Alexia.

She had appeared like a lightning bolt in a storm—unexpected but electrifying. You had met only two weeks ago, partnered up for a last-minute group project in history class. While others had rolled their eyes at the assignment, Alexia had offered you an easygoing grin, her golden-brown hair tied back in a messy bun. Something about her presence—calm but undeniably confident—made you feel at ease in a way no one else had.

And now, there she was, walking into the library like she owned the place. Her backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a hoodie that looked a size too big, Alexia spotted you immediately and strode over with the kind of effortless swagger that made heads turn.

“Hola,” she greeted, sliding into the seat across from you. “Finished your part of the project?”

You nodded, holding up your notes as evidence. “Barely,” you admitted. “You?”

Alexia smirked, pulling out her own stack of neatly written notes. “Always,” she teased. Her accent was warm and melodic, making even her jokes feel like honey dripping off her tongue.

But today, there was something different about her. The light in her hazel eyes flickered with a strange mix of excitement and something you couldn’t quite place—maybe sadness?

“You okay?” you asked cautiously.

Alexia hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” She glanced around the quiet library, as though checking to make sure no one else was listening. Then, leaning closer, she said, “It’s my last week here.”

Your heart sank. “What? Why?”

“I got accepted into La Masia,” she explained softly. “The football academy.”

You blinked at her, stunned. Of course you knew she played football—she was always kicking a ball around during breaks, her movements precise and graceful. But you hadn’t realized it was serious enough to whisk her away.

“That’s amazing,” you said, forcing a smile. “Really, Alexia. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she said, her grin small but genuine. “It’s a dream come true. But…” She trailed off, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t expect it to be so hard to leave. Especially now.”

The weight of her words settled heavily between you. Especially now. Was she talking about…you?

You swallowed hard, unsure what to say. You had spent so long wishing for a friend, and now that you’d finally found one, she was leaving.

“I’m glad I met you,” Alexia said suddenly, her voice softer now. “Even if it was only for a little while. You’re…special, you know? You make people feel like they belong.”

Your cheeks warmed at her words, and you ducked your head to hide your blush. “I—I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” Alexia insisted. Her eyes met yours, steady and sure. “I mean it.”

For a moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you, sitting in that quiet library. You didn’t know what to say, but maybe words weren’t necessary. Maybe this connection—brief and bittersweet—was enough.

“Can we still keep in touch?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia’s grin returned, brighter now. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed her.

The weeks after Alexia’s announcement were a blur of conflicting emotions. You tried your best to focus on school, to savor the limited time you had left with her. But as her departure loomed closer, every moment felt like sand slipping through your fingers. You wanted more time, more memories, more of her.

So, you started inviting her over whenever you could, hoping for a few extra hours to solidify the fragile bond you had built. But Alexia was busier than ever—training, packing, preparing for the move. Most of your invitations were met with apologetic texts that always ended in Lo siento, next time, okay?

Until one afternoon, when she finally said yes.

It was a rare quiet day at your house. Your parents were out of town for a business trip, leaving you with the freedom to have Alexia over without prying eyes or the usual awkward explanations. You had cleaned the living room three times and made sure to hide any embarrassing childhood photos before she arrived.

When the doorbell rang, your heart jumped into your throat. You practically sprinted to the door, flinging it open to see Alexia standing there with her trademark smile, her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, stepping inside. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for actually coming,” you teased, closing the door behind her.

She laughed, and it was the kind of sound that made your chest feel warm. “I told you I’d make time eventually.”

You led her to the living room, where you’d set up a couple of snacks and some board games you weren’t sure she’d even like. Alexia looked around, her eyes taking in the space with a casual curiosity.

“This is nice,” she said, sitting down on the couch. “Way better than my house. My sister is always so messy with her stuff across the house.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more relaxed. “Well, make yourself at home. Want something to drink? Water? Juice?”

“Water’s good,” she said, leaning back against the cushions.

You nodded and made your way to the kitchen, determined to keep things simple and normal. But as you opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water, your stomach sank. The shelves were stocked with your parents’ collection of wine bottles, beer cans, and liquor. They always kept the fridge stocked when they traveled, as if daring you to throw a party in their absence. You weren’t about to take the bait, but now you had a new problem: Alexia.

You tried to quickly grab the water and close the door, but her voice stopped you.

“Wow,” she said, peering over your shoulder. “Your parents stock up, huh?”

You froze, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. They like to…keep options. For guests.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but amused. “Uh-huh. Guests.”

She leaned casually against the counter, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “So…is this where the wild parties happen?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Hardly. I think the wildest thing I’ve done is drink two sodas in one night.”

Alexia chuckled, her laughter filling the room. “I believe that.”

You handed her the water bottle, avoiding her gaze. “Sorry. It’s not like I asked them to stock the bar before leaving.”

She unscrewed the cap and took a sip, her smirk softening into a grin. “Relax, it’s not a big deal. Honestly, it’s kind of funny. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Her tone was so casual and warm that you couldn’t help but feel your shoulders relax. “Okay,” you said, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The days blurred together after that afternoon with Alexia. You told yourself it was fine—she was busy, after all. Training at La Masia was no small thing, and you knew it meant everything to her. Still, the days felt quieter without her texts or her easy laughter filling the gaps in your life.

At first, you tried to keep the connection alive. You’d send messages when you had something funny or interesting to share, or just to check in. Sometimes, she’d reply quickly, her responses filled with exclamation points and emojis that reminded you of how easy things had been. Other times, hours—or even days—would pass before you got a short, almost obligatory reply.

The excuses started piling up: Sorry, training was crazy today. Exams are killing me. Coach has us on a new schedule—barely have time to sleep. You believed her, but with every message, the space between you seemed to stretch farther and farther.

Eventually, you stopped trying so hard.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, really. One day, you realized you couldn’t remember the last time Alexia had reached out first. The texts you hadn’t sent piled up in your drafts—half-written messages that felt too heavy or too trivial to send.

And then there was home. Your parents’ constant bickering, the weight of their expectations, and the unspoken tension that seemed to fill every corner of the house. You had enough on your plate without worrying about someone who clearly didn’t have the same space for you in their life anymore.

But letting go wasn’t as clean or easy as you hoped. You couldn’t help but wonder if you had done something wrong, if you had misread the connection you thought you shared. There was an ache deep in your chest every time you saw her Instagram stories—photos of her on the field, laughing with her new teammates, the world moving forward without you in it.

She didn’t seem to notice the growing silence. Or maybe she noticed and didn’t care. That thought hurt most of all.

You wanted to be happy for her. You really did. But a small, selfish part of you wished she’d reached out, asked if you were okay, told you she missed you. Instead, she seemed to have slipped effortlessly into her new life, while you were left behind, stuck in the same old routines, carrying the weight of something you couldn’t even name.

One night, as you stared at the ceiling in your room, the realization hit you like a tidal wave: you were holding on to something you couldn’t hold on to anymore. Alexia had moved on, and you needed to do the same.

So, you let the messages go unsent. You stopped refreshing her social media, stopped waiting for replies that never came. You poured yourself into school, into surviving the chaos at home, into anything that didn’t remind you of her.

It hurt, but slowly, the pain dulled. The memories of her became like faded photographs—still there, still cherished, but no longer sharp enough to cut.

Alexia never reached out again. And maybe that was the clearest answer of all.

The years that followed college were unremarkable, a quiet blur of routines and responsibilities. You graduated on your own, without the fanfare of parties or friends to share the moment with. The job you landed afterward was decent—enough to keep you afloat, enough to keep you busy.

Your days became a predictable rhythm: work, home, occasional trips to the grocery store, repeat. You rented a small but comfortable place, carefully decorating it to reflect the calm you craved. You made one rule for yourself: no alcohol in the house. The memories of your parents’ fridge, always brimming with booze, still lingered too vividly. The smell, the clink of bottles—it was enough to pull you back to a time and place you’d rather leave behind.

You didn’t mind the solitude most days. Loneliness had become a familiar companion, one you’d learned to coexist with. But sometimes, in the quiet of the evening, as you sat alone on your couch with the TV playing softly in the background, you’d wonder if this was all life had to offer.

It was on one of those evenings—a random Tuesday, nothing special—when your phone buzzed. You almost ignored it, assuming it was just another notification from work or a spam message. But something about the name on the screen made your heart stop.

Alexia.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the screen, the message previewing beneath her name.

Hey... It's been a while, huh?

You sat frozen for a moment, the past rushing back in a flood of memories. Her laugh, her smile, the afternoons you spent together, and the slow unraveling of your connection. You hadn’t heard from her in years—not since she had left for La Masia and, eventually, the world of professional football. You had done your best to forget, to move on, but here she was again, as if no time had passed at all.

With trembling fingers, you opened the message.

Hey... It's been a while, huh? I know this is out of the blue, but I was thinking about you. I don’t know if this is still your number, but if it is… I’d really love to catch up.

Your heart pounded as you read the words over and over, trying to make sense of them. Why now? What did she want? And did you even want to respond?

You glanced around your apartment, your safe, solitary space. The idea of opening that door—of letting Alexia back in after so long—was both thrilling and terrifying. But as you stared at her message, a small part of you, the part that had never truly let her go, whispered: What if?

You took a deep breath and started typing.

It is still my number. I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. What’s up?

You hit send before you could overthink it, your heart hammering in your chest as you waited for her reply. It came almost instantly.

Wow, I’m so glad you responded. I’m back in town for a while, and I’d love to see you if you’re up for it.

The years of distance, of silence, felt impossibly heavy. You didn’t know what seeing her would bring—closure, pain, or something else entirely. But as you stared at her message, you realized you wanted to find out.

Okay, you replied, the word small but full of meaning. When and where?

The day you were supposed to meet Alexia, your nerves were shot. She had picked a neutral spot—a quiet café in the city center, somewhere close enough to be familiar but far enough to avoid the ghosts of old memories. You didn’t know what to expect. Would she be the same Alexia you once knew, or someone entirely different? Would she even recognize the person you’d become?

You arrived ten minutes early, partly out of habit and partly because you didn’t want her to be the one waiting. The café was cozy, with soft lighting and the faint hum of chatter filling the air. You chose a table near the window, giving you a clear view of the street outside.

Your coffee sat untouched in front of you as you fidgeted with the edges of your sleeve. You wondered if you were making a mistake, if meeting her after all these years would only stir up feelings you’d worked so hard to bury. But before you could talk yourself out of it, the door swung open.

And there she was.

Alexia stepped inside, her presence as magnetic as ever. She looked different—older, more polished, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. But the warmth in her eyes, the way her gaze lit up when she spotted you—that was the same.

You stood awkwardly as she made her way over, her grin widening with every step. “Hola,” she said, her voice carrying that same familiar lilt that once felt like home.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice smaller than you intended.

She hugged you without hesitation, and for a moment, you froze, unsure how to react. But then you relaxed into it, the scent of her perfume and the strength of her embrace pulling you back to a time when things felt simpler.

When she pulled away, she smiled again, softer this time. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

She gestured to the table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you said, sitting back down as she took the chair across from you.

The first few moments were tentative, filled with polite small talk—how was work, how was the city treating you, the usual questions people ask when trying to bridge years of silence. But soon, the barriers began to crumble, and the conversation turned deeper.

She told you about her life, about the whirlwind of her career—the highs, the pressures, the moments of doubt. “It’s amazing,” she said, stirring her coffee absently. “But sometimes it feels…lonely, you know?”

You nodded, surprised by her candor. “I get that,” you said. “Life’s…quiet for me. Different kind of lonely, I guess.”

She looked at you then, her eyes searching. “I always wondered about you,” she said softly. “How you were doing. If you were okay.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. “I managed,” you said, avoiding her gaze. “It wasn’t easy, but…yeah. I’m okay.”

She hesitated, then reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with regret. “For losing touch. For not being there.”

You stared at her hand, your emotions a tangled mess of anger, sadness, and something else you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t blame you,” you said after a moment. “You were chasing your dream. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

Alexia shook her head. “But I could’ve tried harder. I should’ve.” Her grip on your hand tightened, as if afraid you might slip away again. “I missed you. More than I realized until recently.”

Your heart ached at her words, the sincerity in her voice pulling at old wounds you thought had healed. “Why now?” you asked quietly. “Why reach out after all this time?”

She looked down, her thumb tracing circles on the table. “Because I’ve been thinking about what really matters. And you…you were always someone who mattered to me. I didn’t want to let more time slip away.”

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything, the weight of her words settling between you. You had spent so long convincing yourself that she didn’t care, that you were just a forgotten chapter in her story. But now, sitting across from her, feeling the warmth of her hand in yours, you weren’t so sure anymore.

“I don’t know if we can just pick up where we left off,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

Alexia nodded, her gaze steady. “I’m not asking for that. I just…want a chance to try. To be in your life again, however you’ll let me.”

You looked at her then, really looked at her. The determination in her eyes, the vulnerability in her posture—it was enough to make you believe she meant it.

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “We can try.”

Her smile lit up the room, and for the first time in years, you felt something stir in your chest.

Hope.

It wasn’t easy, letting Alexia back into your life. She had built something beautiful—a world filled with friends, teammates who felt like family, and stories about ex-girlfriends that she shared with casual ease. It wasn’t that she flaunted it; it was just her life, a life that felt so much bigger than yours.

Meanwhile, you still lived alone in your small apartment, your days consumed by work and routines. The contrast between her vibrant world and your quiet existence made your insecurities bubble to the surface. But you didn’t want her to know. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you were content with what you had.

But sometimes, like tonight, it was hard to keep that mask in place.

Alexia was coming over for dinner—a small step in rekindling whatever it was you two had once shared. You had spent the entire day cleaning your apartment, making sure everything looked just right. The table was set simply but neatly, the air filled with the aroma of the pasta dish you’d spent way too long perfecting for her.

When she arrived, she greeted you with a smile that made your chest ache, a bottle of olive oil tucked under one arm and a small loaf of bread in the other. “For the chef,” she said with a grin, handing them to you as she stepped inside.

Dinner started out light and easy. You talked about work, about her training schedule, about funny little things that had happened in your day. But as the evening wore on, the gap between your lives felt harder to ignore. She shared stories about her teammates, their wild nights out, and a recent trip to Ibiza with friends. You laughed in all the right places, but a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, What do I have to share?

After dinner, you cleared the table and asked, “What do you want to drink? I have water, juice, maybe some soda?”

Alexia leaned back in her chair, her expression playful. “It’s my cheat day,” she said. “Got any wine?”

Your stomach dropped. Of course she’d want wine. It was normal. Expected. But you didn’t have any—not even a stray beer tucked away in the back of the fridge.

You shook your head, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t keep alcohol at home.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, her teasing grin still in place. “What, afraid you’ll get too wild? One glass of wine and start dancing on the table?”

Her joke was harmless, but something in your face must have changed, because her smile faded. “Hey,” she said softly. “I was just kidding. What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, gripping the edge of the counter. The words felt heavy, but there was no use hiding now. “I just…I don’t want to end up like my parents,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “The fridge was always full of booze when I was a kid. It was like…it was more important than anything else. I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen to me.”

Alexia’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then she stood and crossed the small kitchen, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “I mean, I can go grab some wine from the store if you want. It’s not like I have a problem being around it or anything. I just don’t keep it here.”

She shook her head. “No, no way. I’m not going to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you insisted, but Alexia gave you a look that stopped you in your tracks.

“It is a big deal,” she said firmly. “You’re setting boundaries for yourself, and that’s something I respect. I don’t need wine to have a good time. I came here to spend time with you, not to drink.”

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was nod.

She smiled then, a small, reassuring curve of her lips. “You’re doing great,” she said, her voice warm. “And I’m glad you told me. Really.”

The tension in your chest eased slightly, replaced by a tentative sense of relief. “Thanks,” you said softly.

For the rest of the evening, Alexia didn’t mention wine—or anything else that might stir up the ghosts of your past. Instead, she made you laugh with stories about her teammates and praised your cooking so earnestly it almost felt like she was trying to make up for the awkward moment earlier.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to be alone forever.

The weeks that followed were a slow but steady unraveling of the walls you had built around yourself. Alexia kept showing up—texting you almost every day, inviting you to lunch, even dropping by your place with fresh bread from a bakery she claimed was the best in the city. It felt strange at first, letting someone occupy so much space in your life again, but with Alexia, it also felt natural.

She started pushing you gently out of your comfort zone, introducing you to parts of her world. One weekend, she invited you to a casual gathering with some of her teammates and friends at a local tapas bar. You were hesitant, your stomach twisting with nerves, but Alexia’s smile and her soft “It’ll be fun, I promise” were enough to convince you.

Walking into the bar, you felt like a fish out of water. The group was lively and close-knit, their energy so different from the quiet, solitary existence you were used to. But Alexia stayed by your side, introducing you to everyone with a warmth that made you feel, if not comfortable, then at least welcome.

Her friends were kind, but they asked questions—harmless ones, like what you did for work, what hobbies you enjoyed. You answered politely, though part of you felt exposed under their curious gazes. And then there were the jokes about Alexia, the teasing about her bringing “a mystery guest” as if this were some kind of date. She laughed it off, but you couldn’t help the blush that crept up your neck.

Later that night, as you both walked back to your place, she glanced at you, her eyes twinkling. “So? What did you think?”

“They’re nice,” you said, trying to sound casual. “A little overwhelming, but nice.”

She grinned. “That’s just how they are. Loud, chaotic, but good people.”

You nodded, not entirely sure how to put into words the swirl of emotions you felt—gratitude for being included, insecurity about whether you belonged, and something else you didn’t quite understand.

A few days later, over coffee at a cozy café, Alexia surprised you with a question that nearly made you choke on your latte.

“So,” she said, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “What’s your love life like these days?”

You sputtered, your cheeks heating instantly. “What?”

She shrugged, grinning. “Come on, you’ve got to tell me. Anyone special? Someone I should be jealous of?”

Your heart thudded painfully at the teasing edge in her voice. “There’s…no one,” you admitted, staring at the rim of your cup. “There hasn’t been for a while.”

Alexia tilted her head, studying you with a curious expression. “Why not? You’re amazing—anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Her words made your stomach flip, but they also brought an uncomfortable knot of self-consciousness to your chest. “I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I guess I’m just not great at…putting myself out there. It’s easier to be alone.”

Alexia frowned, her brows knitting together. “Easier, maybe. But is it what you want?”

You didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one you were ready to share. Instead, you shrugged, hoping she’d let the subject drop. She didn’t press further, but the look in her eyes lingered��thoughtful, almost sad.

Over the next few weeks, Alexia continued to nudge you out of your shell. She’d drag you along to brunches with her teammates, send you photos of stray dogs she thought you might like, and even insisted on going to a karaoke night where she convinced you—much to your horror—to sing a duet with her.

But despite the awkwardness, despite the moments when you felt like an outsider in her bright, bustling world, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed being part of it. And more than that, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed being with her.

The vulnerability was terrifying, but with Alexia, it also felt like a chance to start something new. Something real.

The more time you spent with Alexia, the more you found yourself wanting to do things for her—not out of obligation, but out of a quiet, growing need to make her happy. It started with small gestures. When she came over after a long day of training, you’d make her favorite pasta, carefully remembering how she liked extra Parmesan. When she mentioned offhand that her coffee machine was acting up, you bought her a sleek French press and left it on her doorstep with a note: Every footballer deserves good coffee.

Her reaction made the effort worth it every time. She’d text you immediately, her messages brimming with emojis and gratitude that made your heart ache in the best way. Sometimes, she’d call, her voice warm with something that sounded like fondness.

“You’re spoiling me,” she’d say, half-teasing, half-serious.

And maybe you were, but you didn’t mind. You wanted to. For the first time in years, it felt like you had something to give, and giving to Alexia felt…right.

One evening, she invited you over to her place for a movie night. Her apartment was cozy, filled with personal touches that made you smile—photos of her family, trophies tucked casually on shelves, and a pile of throw blankets that she insisted were for “cold nights, not decoration.” You brought along her favorite snacks, remembering a passing comment she’d made weeks ago about a certain brand of chips she loved as a kid.

When she saw the bag in your hand, her eyes lit up like you’d handed her the World Cup trophy. “No way,” she said, laughing as she took the bag. “You remembered this?”

“Of course,” you said, trying to sound casual, even as her excitement made your chest tighten with something unfamiliar. “Figured you deserved a treat.”

Later, as the two of you sat side by side on her couch, your shoulders brushing, you couldn’t focus on the movie. You were too aware of her—how her laugh filled the room, how she leaned closer during particularly intense scenes, how her arm rested lightly against yours.

You glanced at her, taking in the way the screen’s glow softened her features, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. And that feeling stirred again in your chest—warm, insistent, impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t until a few days later that it finally hit you.

You were sitting alone in your apartment, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone when her name popped up—a simple message asking if you wanted to grab lunch. The sight of her name, the thought of seeing her, sent a wave of warmth through you that left you breathless.

You set your phone down, staring at it as if it held the answer to a question you hadn’t realized you were asking. And then, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, the realization settled over you.

You were in love with her.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. It explained the flutter in your chest every time she smiled, the way you’d replay her laughter in your mind long after she was gone. It explained why you wanted to give her everything, why her happiness felt more important than your own.

But it also scared you. Because loving Alexia—someone so bright, so extraordinary—felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if you were about to fly or fall.

It wasn’t long before the unspoken connection between you and Alexia became impossible to ignore. You spent more and more time together—long conversations into the night, quiet afternoons with coffee in hand, sharing small moments that made you feel like you were slowly falling deeper and deeper into her world. You both knew something had changed, but neither of you spoke of it.

And then, one evening, while sitting on her couch after a long day of running errands, she turned to you with a look in her eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

You had just finished sharing a laugh about something silly, but when the laughter faded, the quiet stretched on longer than usual. Alexia’s gaze softened, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket she had draped across her lap.

“Hey,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something.”

You felt a sudden knot form in your stomach, a mix of excitement and nervousness. What if she felt it too? What if this was the moment?

“Yeah?” you managed, though your voice came out a little shakier than you intended.

She hesitated, biting her lip, as though carefully choosing her words. Then, she looked at you, her eyes steady, her expression vulnerable. “I think…I think I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the room felt suspended in time. Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed her confession. It wasn’t what you had expected to hear, but it was exactly what you had hoped for—more than you had even dared to admit to yourself.

You stared at her, your breath caught in your throat. You had never known love like this, this certainty that swirled in your chest. This feeling, something raw and pure, that had been quietly building between the two of you since the day you met. You had known for weeks, maybe longer, that something was different about the way she made you feel. But hearing her say it, hearing those words come from her, made everything click into place.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling, unsure of what to say, but the words wouldn’t come out right. Everything felt too big. Too real. Your mind raced, and for a brief moment, you felt overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Alexia reached over and gently placed her hand on top of yours, her touch grounding you, her warmth spreading through you like fire. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same yet,” she said softly, as if reading your thoughts. “I just wanted you to know. Because I care about you, and I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

You met her gaze then, the vulnerability in her eyes mirroring your own. She’s not afraid, you realized. She had said it, openly, honestly. And maybe it was time for you to do the same.

“I’m…” You swallowed, your heart racing. You had never felt this way before. You had never known what it meant to feel so fully connected to someone, so certain of them, even in the quiet moments, even in the unspoken parts of your life. “I’m in love with you, too,” you whispered, and the weight of those words, the truth in them, made your chest feel lighter than it ever had before.

A soft, relieved smile curved her lips, and before you knew it, she was leaning in, her forehead resting against yours. The contact, simple but intimate, sent a wave of warmth through your body.

“I’m so glad,” she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment as if to savor the feeling. “I didn’t want to say it first. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky and nervous but genuine. “I didn’t know how to say it either.”

Alexia pulled back slightly, her fingers tracing the back of your hand. “It’s okay. I’m just happy it’s out there now.”

Everything inside of you felt like it was shifting. The world, once so full of uncertainty, now felt more certain. Every glance, every touch, every small gesture between you and Alexia was now wrapped in a tenderness you hadn’t known you craved so deeply.

For you, it was all new—the feeling of love, of letting someone in, of trusting that you could be vulnerable and still be accepted. Every moment with Alexia felt like a first: the first time someone saw all of you and still chose to stay, the first time you felt so completely seen and understood.

And it was terrifying, yes. But it was also beautiful, and thrilling, and everything you had ever needed.

Alexia’s lips brushed lightly against your forehead, a kiss that felt like a promise. “I want to be with you,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. “I’m so glad we found each other, even if it took a while.”

You smiled, the corners of your lips curving in a way that felt more natural than anything you had felt before. “I want that too,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

And as she pulled you closer, your hands intertwined and hearts aligned, you realized that love, for the first time in your life, didn’t feel like a risk anymore. It felt like home.

The years that followed were nothing short of transformative. Every moment with Alexia felt like an adventure, an unfolding journey where each “first” felt monumental, but also incredibly intimate, as if the two of you were exploring a world that was just beginning to make sense.

It started with the first time you spent the night together, a night that felt surreal, as if you were stepping into a new chapter of your relationship. It wasn’t just about the physical closeness, though that was part of it—it was the way Alexia held you, the way she let you into her world with an openness that you had never experienced before. That night, you felt safe, loved, and utterly accepted, a feeling that had once seemed so far away.

You woke up the next morning, tangled in the soft sheets, your heart still racing from the night before. Alexia was still asleep beside you, her chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. You couldn’t help but smile, tracing the outline of her features as she slept, marveling at how everything about her made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And then, there was the first time you saw her play live. You had watched her practice before, but there was something entirely different about seeing her in front of a crowd, in her element, doing what she loved. The energy in the stadium was electric, the fans chanting her name, and when she scored her first goal that day, your heart soared along with the roar of the crowd. But it wasn’t just the goal, it was the way she looked afterward—confident, powerful, yet still soft in the moments when she’d glance up at you in the stands, her eyes locking with yours, and you’d both share a smile that spoke louder than any words.

Later that night, when the two of you celebrated her win, she couldn’t stop talking about how happy she was to see you there, supporting her. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop talking about how proud you were of her—not just for the goal, but for everything she had accomplished, and for the person she was.

The months went by, and the first anniversary of your relationship came around. It was a quiet celebration, the two of you sharing a candlelit dinner at home, reminiscing about all the moments that had brought you together. You remembered the uncertainty you had felt in the beginning, wondering if you were ready for something this big, but as you looked at Alexia across the table, it was clear that you had made the right choice. You were here, together, and everything was exactly how it was meant to be.

The next step came when the two of you decided to move in together. It felt like a natural progression, like everything in your relationship had led to this moment. Packing up your things and merging your lives into a shared space felt like the beginning of a new chapter. Your apartment became a reflection of both of you—yours and hers—blending seamlessly together. The little touches, like the way Alexia’s football jerseys hung proudly on the walls and the way you had curated a collection of books and art, made the space feel like home.

You settled into the rhythm of daily life—morning coffees together, late-night talks, lazy weekends with nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company. And then came the moment when you hosted your first gathering, an open house to welcome Alexia’s friends and teammates into your home. It was the first time you’d truly felt like you were part of her world, and her friends—who had become your friends, too—were warm and welcoming, just like she had been.

As the evening unfolded, the conversation flowed easily, laughter filling the rooms, and the energy was infectious. People came and went, talking, eating, and enjoying the night. You felt at ease with Alexia by your side, her hand often finding yours as you moved through the crowd.

At one point, a couple of her teammates turned to Alexia with playful glints in their eyes. “So, where’s the wine?” one of them asked, already scanning the kitchen. “I’m sure you have something tucked away.”

Alexia’s eyes twinkled, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Nope,” she replied, her tone firm but light. “We don’t have any. Never have, never will.”

You looked at her, surprised by her confidence. She shrugged, looking around at her teammates. “We don’t drink here. My girl doesn’t keep alcohol in the house. It’s a thing, and I’m proud of it.”

The teammates shared surprised looks, but no one pressed further. Instead, they found something else to drink—sparkling water, lemonade, iced tea—and the night carried on without missing a beat. But as the evening wore on, Alexia found you in the kitchen, her smile wide.

“See?” she said, wrapping her arms around your waist. “I told you they’d understand.”

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. Alexia had never been ashamed of your choices, never backed down from the things you held dear—even when it was something as small as not having alcohol in the house. She supported you, in every way possible, and that made everything you had with her feel more solid, more real.

As the months and then years passed, you continued to share these firsts—each one more meaningful than the last. You learned to navigate life together, building a partnership founded on love, respect, and the quiet understanding that you were each other’s safe space.

Through every milestone—every celebration, every challenge—you stood by one another, stronger for it. And with Alexia, there was a calm certainty that filled your heart, a knowing that no matter where life took you both, this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

The journey wasn’t always easy, but with Alexia by your side, you knew that you would always have a home to return to, a place where you were cherished, loved, and understood. It was a love that didn’t need grand gestures or bold declarations. It was in the quiet moments, in the shared smiles, in the simple acts of care and kindness.

And as you stood there, in your home—together, with Alexia’s teammates, now your friends—life felt perfect. Perfect in a way you’d never thought possible, and yet here you were, living it. And as Alexia leaned in to kiss you softly, whispering how much she loved you, you knew that you had everything you could ever need.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #Spotify

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 9 months ago

Text

Impressions

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Notes: Idk y'all my brain spit this out. I haven’t written Will in, like…..100 years?

Rating: Mature - mostly for language

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, angst, fluff. Not beta-read.

Length: 7.5K

Summary: Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

GIF by charllehunnam

Your first impression of Will Miller is technically...Good.

It's from Benny, is the thing.

You hear the sweet and the sour, the grumbling when Benny is training at the gym alone in the mornings—"He's a hard ass, but he means well."

It's said with a little smile, with sibling love and familiarity that tells you that Ben and Will have told each other to go fuck themselves just as much as they've said that they're proud of one another.

Your second impression of Will comes from Terry.

Terrence Owen McLowery is your best friend, your informal trainee, and is currently ranked in the Middleweight division, just a few spots behind Ben Miller (but gaining, and fast). He's one of the few openly gay boxers in your area and in his division, something that he might get more hate for if he couldn't kick the shit out of anyone slagging his name off behind his back.

Terry gets to as many matches as he possibly can, even when he's not fighting in them. You try to join him as often as you can, but there are times when you just can't swing it. He likes to scope out the competition.

"I'm gonna be in there, kickin' their ass one day," He tells you, "I should clock their weaknesses now, not then."

He spends more time ringside than he does in the ring for the sake of observation. And he's seen the Miller brothers at fight after fight.

"You oughta see 'im," Terry says, a dreamy look in his eyes—and you don't know if he's talking about Ben or Will, but you kinda figure it's both. Look, you've met Ben, you wouldn't be surprised if good genes ran in the family.

"He's real level-headed, ringside, even when Ben’s in a jam," Terry adds, and you realize that he's talking about Will, "Kinda like you, but without the taunting."

You roll your eyes a little bit, "You told me the taunting makes you try harder."

"Hmph."

"And I told you a real coach wouldn't do that,” You tack on.

Terry doesn't hmph at that one. He doesn't like it when you point out that you're not a professional coach. You taught him the basics a long time ago, back when the two of you needed to have one another's backs on the playground—and you keep him honest when he's training up now. But Terry needs a coach that'll actually help him in the ring, not do what you do. And sure, you don't do the worst job, but Terry could go further with a professional.

Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

You’re at the gym early. Terry is supposed to be there, too, but he took a late shift at work and couldn’t drag himself out of bed. You don’t blame him—a body needs rest if you’re going to put it through its paces. You’re striding past the ring at the center of the gym when you spot Ben sparring with another contender in the middleweight division. You spot an error, one that Terry makes frequently himself, and call out,

“Pick up your right shoulder, Miller!”

The advice incurs a nod from Ben—and a glare from a golden-headed man standing ringside. Something in his cool gaze chastens you, and you hurry on toward the class you signed up for.

“What was with that guy?” You ask Ben later as you’re stretching.

“What guy?”

“Blonde, bearded…Glaring?” You remind him. Ben’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You mean Will?”

“That was Will?” You ask in a hushed whisper.

“Yeah. Glaring?”

“He looked like he was trying to melt me with his laser vision.”

It makes Benny’s laugh boom in the gym, and you glance around to see if you’ve attracted any attention. Sure enough, Will’s not too far off, his arms folded across his chest as he speaks to someone. His gaze darts between Ben and you, and his eyes narrow.

“Aaaand there it is again,” You mutter, drawing your legs back from the stretch.

“Hey,” You hear. You frown, turning back to the source, and find Will striding toward you. You’re about to offer your hand, to introduce yourself—in relation to Ben, or Terry, something—but he speaks again before you can get a word out:

“Ben’s got a fight coming up. He doesn’t need any glove bunnies distracting him.”

Your mouth was opened to speak, but now your jaw drops, a scoff of indignation flying out.

“Glove bunnies?” You repeat, stunned. Will waves you off.

“Whatever Ben does in his own time is none of my business, but when he’s here, and when he’s in the ring, he needs to be focused.”

Will doesn’t let you get in another word before he’s turning and walking away. You watch him go, stunned. Asshole. Asshole. As you turn to head into the locker room, you remember Ben telling you that he’s a hard ass, but he means well.

Well-meaning or not, Will Miller is a dick.

“There’s a man outside who’s looking for you,” You hear.

You glance up from your laptop, brows raised at your coworker. It couldn’t be Terry; he’d call or text you, not ask for you. And it can’t be…Actually, you can’t think of any other guy that would come looking for you at work.

“Did you tell him I was in here?”

“I said I wasn’t sure anyone by that name worked here and that I’d check,” Molly relays. You nod a little bit, muttering, “Solid,” before adding, “He say who he is?”

“Will Miller?”

You freeze, then, hands hovering over your keyboard. What the hell is Miller doing there? And how does he know where you work?

“Okay,” You nod, “Okay, tell him I’ll be out in a...A minute.”

“Sure.” Molly starts to drift away from you before she turns, half-jogging back to your desk.

“He is so hot,” She hisses. You can't help your grudging smile.

“Yes, he is.”

Asshole or not, you can agree that Will Miller is annoyingly, startlingly attractive.

The man that meets you outside is a far cry from the one who accosted you at the gym just a week ago. In a well-fitting polo and a pair of khakis, he looks more like a suburban dad than a hardened drillmaster. You stop just a few feet from the door to your office, arms folded tightly over your chest. He clears his throat, approaching you slowly and stopping just a couple of steps from you.

“Ben had a fight this weekend,” He says. Him starting that way makes your stomach swoop with fear. You immediately worry that something’s gone wrong, that Ben is badly hurt. But Will goes on:

“He kept his right shoulder up. That little tip saved his ass a few times.”

Your brows raise. You didn’t expect him to admit it, even if it did help.

“I saw Terry, too,” Will adds, “And realized precisely how and where I fucked up when he showed me a picture of you.”

Will doesn't look like he's trying to melt you with his heat vision anymore. In fact, he looks...Genuinely remorseful.

“I see,” You nod a little.

Will pushes a sigh out through his nose.

“I’m sorry for approaching the situation the way I did. And for calling you a, uh—”

“Glove bunny?”

He winces with the reminder. “Yeah. I didn’t have all of the facts. Even if I had, it was still the wrong way to approach the situation, and I apologize.”

You take a moment to drink in his face again, as if you’re seeing it for the first time. His blue eyes are soft where they were icy, and the once-harsh press of his lips is replaced with a regretful, almost contemplative pout. And then you nod a touch.

“I appreciate and accept your apology.”

Something akin to relief seems to wash over him, and he holds his hand out.

“I’m Will, by the way.”

“Will?” You repeat, screwing your face up in mock confusion, “Will...Will...That certainly sounds familiar.”

A smile tugs his lips up just a touch as he pumps your hand up and down.

“I train Ben Miller. I'm his brother,” He adds.

“Oh, that Will. Right, of course.”

You let his hand drop and folded your arms across your chest.

“Blank slate,” You add softly.

Will’s brows jump.

“Completely?”

“Well, Ben says you’re a hard ass and Terry thinks you’re dreamy, but I’ll try not to let their impressions color mine.”

“Pretty mixed reviews.”

“Mhm.”

The two of you exchange curious smiles before you nod over your shoulder.

“I’ve gotta get back to work."

“Of course.”

“See you around, Miller.”

“Seriously, Terrence!” You call out as Terry spars with one of the other gym members, “Is this prep or are you trying to waltz him into tapping out?”

Terry groans, reeling away from his sparring partner.

“God, you’re a bitch,” He grunts as he walks toward you, bending over for his water.

“And you’re a dumbass, Billy Elliot. Get back in there.”

“He’s holding his breath,” You hear. You turn back to see Will Miller coming closer.

“When he punches,” He clarifies.

“You can tell him,” You offer before you whistle sharply, stopping Terry from stepping more deeply into the ring. You nod toward Will and listen as he offers his tip. Terry takes his time listening, nodding, leaning against the ropes.

“...Think you got it?” You ask.

“Loud and clear,” Terry agrees before turning back to his sparring partner.

You glance over at Will, nodding your chin up. “Thanks."

“Sure,” Will smiles before walking away. Ben’s not too far away, working at a punching bag. You watch Will for a long moment before turning back to Terry in the ring. Terry ducks out of the way of an oncoming jab, and finds time to shoot you a wink before he turns back to his sparring partner.

“Terry—”

“Come on—”

“I can’t tonight, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow!”

“Just a few rounds! Come with me, see Ben in action—and see what I mean about Will ring-side.”

“You just want me to go because you think you’ll be much less conspicuous drooling over them if I’m there.”

“Maybe.”

“And for the record, you’d be just as conspicuous.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do.”

“Come with meeee," He whines. "If you’re not there, I’ll curse out a redneck bigot and I’ll get in trouble for beating him up in the parking lot.”

“Well then you and the Millers can tag team.”

Terry groans loudly, tipping his head back. “Don’t. Don’t even think about putting ‘Miller’ and ‘tag team’ in the same sentence. My mind just went to about eight filthy places.”

“Just eight?”

“Alright, nine.”

“Terry. Sweetheart. Angel. Not tonight.”

“Four rounds.”

“No.”

“Two rounds.”

“Terry—”

“Ben’ll probably take ‘em down in one.”

“I’m sure he’d love that you have so much faith in his skill, but we’ll have to get through the matches before his, and that’ll already be way late.”

“I won’t make you come to the gym with me tomorrow.”

“Probably because you won’t make it to the gym tomorrow.”

“That’s not the point.”

You didn’t always love the atmosphere around the fight. You used to hate the screaming, the overpriced beer, the rednecks. It used to make you wary, going with Terry. People knew him. It's not secret that he's gay. He used to catch more shit for it before he bulked up and started fighting. Even after he had, the slurs hadn’t stopped. It used to raise your hackles—but Terry’s got more of a handle on how he approaches those incidents, and he’s made a lot of friends that frequent the ring, both as spectators, and in the Middleweight division.

You wouldn’t say that you like going to fights now, but you don’t find it as daunting as you used to. Now, the atmosphere is exciting—it zips through you like lightning; it makes your fingers tingle, and your heart pound.

“Here,” Terry calls out, pressing a beer into your hand.

“I told you I’ve got work tomorrow!”

“I got two for myself, you’re just holding that one for me.”

“Bullshit,” You laugh, looking up at the ring as the bell sounds.

By the time the first two fights are down, you know you should leave. It’s late, and it’s only going to get later—you’ve had three beers, and Terry’s coming back with another one.

“Terry, I really shouldn’t—”

“Ben’s coming down the hall,” He half-yells into your ear, and you have to stop yourself from muttering, ‘Fucking finally,’ when it bubbles up in you. You push it down with a gulp of beer, glancing back and trying to catch sight of the Millers. You see Benny’s chestnut hair; Will’s bright head bobs into view just moments later. You and Terry begin to cheer almost on instinct as they come more fully into view—as Benny heads into the ring, and Will rounds the corner. Will looks around, and his eyes catch on you and Terry. He raises his hand to give Terry a pat on the shoulder, and meets your eyes dead-on.

It’s a half-second, that’s all, but it seems to last for far longer. If anyone asked you what happened in that half-second, you’d tell them that you nodded to him—you know that for sure, because he nods, too. You’re not sure if it’s the beer, or the crackling of the air around you, but your skin feels hot. You don’t even know if you’re smiling. But Will’s gaze holds on yours for a long time, even as he walks on. When he finally looks away, you can feel your heart thudding in the vicinity of your throat.

Terry leans over, his shoulder nudging yours as he speaks into your ear:

“Distracted much?”

“...What?” You manage, tipping your head back toward him as you watch Benny climb into the ring.

“Uh-huh.”

When you glance up at Terry, you find him grinning smugly, and you reach out, shoving his shoulder as you grumble, “Shut up.” As the bell sounds, you yell out, “Let’s go!” and vaguely register Will’s yell of, “It’s time to work!”

Ben is a hunter in the ring.

You can’t help but compare the way he fights with the way Terry fights. Terry prefers to hold back, to let his opponent dance around and tire themselves out. Terry is a slow-burn; Benny is a wildfire. Will is as much wind to guide his brother as he throws gasoline on Benny’s flame, honing his path and stoking his focus on the rare occasions that Benny takes a hard hit or seems to flounder.

You plan to only stay for a couple of rounds, but before you know it, you’re cheering Benny as his opponent is knocked down, and stays down. The ref takes hold of Benny’s wrist, holding it up as he proclaims him the winner, and you and Terry crow with excitement. As the crowd begins to flow—as Benny is led out to be checked over by the ring doctor—you turn to Terry, ready to insist again that you have to leave. But you feel a hand land on your shoulder, and turn your head to see Will leaning in. He gets close between you and Terry, and asks over the hum of the crowd, “What are you guys doing now?”

You should be more concerned about the fact that tomorrow morning (well, later this morning) is going to be absolute hell for you. You should be concerned about the fact that when you get home, whenever you get home, you’re probably going to need to have a couple of pieces of toast and a few glasses of water. Your head is buzzing with the beers you had at the fight, and now with the two that you’ve had at the bar. But the zipwire-tense feeling that had ripped through you is ebbing as you watch Benny return from the bar with a massive basket of fries and a fresh round of beers.

Oh, man. You’re really gonna regret this tomorrow.

You push the thought away as you reach out, taking up a precariously full beer and leaning back in your seat.

“Surprised you’ve got such a sedate after party,” Terry comments as he takes one of the beers.

“Fewer glove bunnies than I expected,” You add, eyes sliding to Will’s, where he sits across from you. He appears to bite back a smile, eyes dipping to the table. Benny’s eyes dart between the two of you, brow furrowing, and you give a small, reassuring shake of your head.

“I have a question,” Benny declares, leaning against the table.

“Has it got anything to do with that swelling cheek?” Terry asks, waving a finger toward Benny’s face.

“No,” Benny huffs, “I know how all about that. How’d you two meet?” He asks. You glance at Terry, arching a brow as he turns to you with a grin.

“School,” Is your short answer.

“I moved in around, like…Fifth grade-ish?” Terry’s brow furrows.

“It wasn’t fifth-grade-ish, it was fifth grade,” You correct.

“I wasn’t the most social kid, and that caught me a lot of shit. I got picked on, and this one,” Terry pushes his shoulder against yours, and you sway with it, bobbing back and forth, “Taught me how to keep from getting my ass kicked on the way home.”

“Seriously?” Ben asks. You shrug a little.

“It started with short-cuts to get him home, but when other kids caught on, things got a bit more…Physical.”

“Did you already know how to fight?” Will asks.

“I wouldn’t say that. I knew how to swing a fist, I didn’t really know how to fight. We both learned to, though, because we…Had to.”

“She’s been stuck with me ever since,” Terry sighs dramatically. You roll your eyes, turning a fond smile up at him.

“He’s like my taller, irritating younger brother,” You add.

“I know all about that,” Will pipes up, and you can’t help but turn a laugh at him.

“So what about you two, how did you two meet?” You tease, waving your finger between them.

“Oh, man,” Ben mutters.

“Well I came home one day and my mom said, ‘We have a surprise for you’,” Will says, “And then six months later, this dick shows up.”

“And he’s been stuck with me ever since,” Ben smiles, glancing at Will. You reach out, plucking up a couple of the fries and dipping them in ketchup.

“Did you guys get along growing up?”

“We don’t even get along now,” Ben teases. Will chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not always. We butt heads as kids, and we do sometimes now, but…We get our shit done.”

“He’s a hardass,” Ben cuts in.

“And he’s a dumbass.”

You grin. “So you complement each other is what I’m hearing.”

“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

You’re taking a long pull from your water bottle, fighting the dryness in your throat when you hear Will.

“What can I say,” You manage as you lower it. “I only just recovered from going out with y’all the other night.”

Will chuckles, leaning against the pillar beside you as you wipe down your treadmill.

“Didn’t mean to tire you out.”

“I’m out of practice. Terry hasn’t had a fight in a couple of months, so I don’t stay up that late anymore.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m in bed at 9:30 and I like it.”

You take up your water bottle, and the two of you start drifting away from the treadmills.

“Why hasn’t Terry been in the ring?” Will plies.

“His rotator cuff’s kinda fucked up. He’s been taking it easy—Well. As easy as he's willing to take it. He has a check-in with his doctor in a couple of weeks.”

“That must be driving him nuts.”

“Oh, he’s losing it. He’s trying to go to as many fights as he can, though.”

“I’ve seen him at a few lately—Besides, Benny’s, you know. I was wondering why you didn’t go with him.”

You stop at the door to the women’s locker room and turn around to face him.

“Bed. 9:30,” You reiterate.

“Well I know that now.” Will tucks his hands into his pockets, smiling. “I wanted to ask: Do you think you could see it in yourself to duck your bedtime again?”

“Depends on what for.”

“There’s a fight down in Fernsworth this weekend. There’s a new kid on the bill, he’s apparently pretty vicious.”

“Oh yeah? When this weekend?”

“Friday.”

You consider, lips pursing, and Will chuckles at your expression.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Terry’s got work that night.”

“So’s Ben.”

Your gut swoops in surprise, a brow lifting and falling quickly, but Will’s face remains as calm as ever.

“So?” Will presses. If you were reading into it, you’d think he was batting his pretty eyelashes. Before you can overthink it, you hold your hand out and order: “Phone.”

Will rifles into his pocket and pulls it out, passing it over. You add yourself as a contact, your heart thudding in your chest, ears going hot as you double-check that it’s right. You pass it back to Will, meeting his eyes again. “You can send me all the details.”

“Don’t feel like talking to me anymore?”

“I have to go to work, Miller,” You laugh, taking a couple of steps back. “Text me—And keep an eye out for those glove bunnies.”

“Always.”

You get one last look at Will, at his sweet, amused smile, and you turn, heading in to take a shower (and maybe to silently scream into your hands, a little).

You don’t dress up, and you do not tell Terry where you’re going, or with whom. It’s been bad enough that he clocked your swell of interest when you’d gone out with all of them, and worse still that he’s encouraged it. You’d been pressing your hands down onto the tops of his shoes, ensuring that his feet stayed flat as he worked on his core.

“At least—fuck him,” Terry had insisted as he’d come up from reps of crunches. “Do you—have any idea—what’d I’d do tuh—Phew—Have those pretty—blue eyes pointed at me—like that?”

You’d raised your brow, casting a wary eye about to ensure that neither of the Miller brothers were anywhere nearby before you’d insisted, “Nothing is going to happen between me and Will.”

“Why—the hell—not?” Terry gasped, finishing out his reps. He groaned, sweeping his hand across his sweating brow before planting both hands on the mat behind himself. “He’s leaps and bounds better than the other assholes you used to fuck with.”

Like it or not, you knew Terry was right.

For your rough and real first impression, Will is actually kinda sweet. You still don’t know him all that well, and maybe tonight could change that. But you insist to yourself that you’re not going out to flirt with Will, you’re going to see this new fighter (Charlie “Shredder” Klein: 5’9, 194 pounds, rookie, southpaw) and gather some info for when, inevitably, Terry winds up fighting the guy. You dress…Comfortably, in one of your nicer pairs of jeans and one of your favorite tops. You feel cute, and you feel cute for you. If Will thinks that you’re cute in the outfit, well…That’s just a bonus.

You don’t think he would tell you, though. Will Miller seems like the type to keep his cards close to his chest.

The ride down to the venue is filled with polite small talk. The feeling in the cab of his truck is almost like the same nervous air of a first date. Your stomach is twisting like a nest of garter snakes; your skin is hot with nerves; you rub your sweaty palms nervously against your jeans. The two of you stick close together at the fight—though you don't exactly have an alternative; the venue is packed. Now and again, if you get nudged too roughly by someone else, or pushed one way or another, Will cuts a sharp, warning look at them over your head at the perpetrator. The third or so time it happens, you reach out, resting a hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry about them,” You say into his ear, cutting over the noise, “The fight’s in the ring, not with these dickheads.”

Will’s lips twitch with a smile as he leans in to speak into your ear in turn. He says, “It’ll be here if they’re not careful,” But you almost don’t catch it. You’re too focused on everything else—on the press of his warm and firm body against your side; on the way his hand rests on your lower back; on the whisper of his beard against your cheek; on the brush of his lips and breath against the shell of your ear, and the way his voice seems to drown out the clamor of the spectators around you. It makes your heart tick up in your chest, a shiver tripping down your spine and stopping right where his hand sits.

When your mind catches up with what he’s said, you laugh, nudging his hip with yours.

“Eyes on the prize, Miller,” You urge.

“They are,” He answers without missing a beat. It makes your stomach flip, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look away. You finally force yourself to, and to clap as the announcer brings in the first contender, looking around to try and catch a glimpse of them—and not to overthink the way that Will’s hand is still resting on your back.

“Weak spots?” Will asks. You consider for a moment, running your finger along the side of your beer bottle. The buzz from the fight is wearing off, and the bar that you've gone to is far more quiet compared to the venue.

“He doesn’t go in…With a plan,” You say after a moment.

“His coach was calling plays.”

“Yeah, but Klein wasn’t listening. I mean when you tell Ben to back the fuck off or get away from the ropes, he backs the fuck off or gets away from the ropes, because in that moment, you see things in a way that he doesn’t. He trusts you to steer him. Klein’s coach can yell whatever he wants, but it’s not heard. Klein’s in the fight, he’s on the inside, he thinks he knows best, and that…That got him fucked up tonight. Might not always get him fucked up, but today’s outcome, you know. Not so much.”

“Strong indictment.”

“You asked me what I thought.”

“And I got it. I appreciate that.”

You raise your brows at Will’s calm, honest expression.

“What about you?” You ask, nodding to him, “What do you think his weak spots are?”

“He’s a brawler, not a fighter. He likes to go in for little…squirrely swiping matches. He wants excitement, not wins.”

You shake your head at the assessment. “That just spells trouble for our boys.”

“Less trouble if we go in with a plan.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The two of you lightly clink your beers together, sharing a smile before you take sips.

“I’m surprised you came tonight,” Will admits as he sets his bottle down.

“Really?"

“Little bit.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t exactly have the nicest start.”

“No, we didn’t, but…I don’t know, I thought we were on a more level field now.”

“I think we are.”

The two of you watch one another for a long moment, considering, and before you can say anything, Will adds: “I’m glad you came with me.”

“Yeah? Didn’t wanna brave the hillbilly circus alone?”

“I have before and it’s never fun.”

“It wasn’t so bad tonight.”

“I had good company.”

You smile a little bit, eyes sweeping Will’s face as flattery wells in your stomach.

“...You knew Terry had work tonight, didn’t you,” You accuse softly. Will shrugs a shoulder, raising his bottle to his lips again. You can’t help your flattered smile, and you force yourself to keep your eyes on him.

“Ben might’ve mentioned it,” Will finally concedes.

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

“I'm still sitting here, aren’t I?”

Will’s smile widens, and your stomach flutters. “You could’ve just asked me out,” You add in a mutter.

“Well, now I know that for next time.”

Next time. Your face goes hot; the beer in your stomach feels like it’s bubbling.

“Yes you do,” You agree, nodding a little.

“When I do,” Will adds, leaning against the table, sending another burst through your chest at his use of ‘when’ where you'd expected 'if', “You alright with it being this sort of thing?”

“What, a fight and a beer? Hell yeah—Long as it’s before 9:30.”

Will laughs, tugging his sleeve back and glancing at his watch.

“You have any idea what time it is?”

“No, and I do not wanna know.”

You fold your across your chest, eyeing Terry’s form as he pounds the punching bag in front of himself.

“How are you feeling?” You ask as he leans away from the bag, swiping at the sweat dripping down his face.

“‘Bout what?” He asks a little blandly between pants.

“The fight.”

“You asking me because I got a fight, or does it have to do with who I’m going up against?”

You purse your lips, eyes sweeping the gym for any sign of either of the Miller brothers. Finding neither, you answer, “Both?”

Terry chuckles, turning back to the bag.

“I’m not gonna go easy on Benny just ‘cause he’s a friend, and he ain’t gonna take it easy on me, either—”

“I know—”

“I mean, we always knew this was gonna happen—”

“I know! I know, oh my god, I get it.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Terry mutters, punching viciously at the bag again.

“I’d be a bad coach not to ask, you know half of the fight’s in your head. And speaking of bad coach,” You add, “You found anyone else yet?”

Terry casts you an irritated look out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you really talkin’ about this right now?”

“...Okay, letting it go,” You sigh before tacking on, “And you’re holding your breath again.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” You hear from behind you. You turn to see Will just a few steps away. You smile almost involuntarily. You haven’t seen Will since your not-quite date, but you’ve thought about him and texted with him plenty.

“Shouldn’t you be mindin’ your own fighter, Miller?” Terry asks, straightening up and raising his hands to stop the swinging bag.

“Don’t worry, McLowery. The second he needs minding, I’ll be on it.” Will takes a few steps back from you both, shooting you a wink before he turns away. Your stomach twists, and you carefully smooth your smile away before turning to face Terry again.

“Alright, c’mon,” You wave him toward the bag again, “Let’s go, we got half an hour and then we gotta get going. I can’t be late for work again.”

It’s odd, finding yourself on the opposite side of the ring as Will. As nervous as you are—for the way your body feels like it’s buzzing, a tingle in your fingertips—you know that the boys’ll take this seriously. It was going to happen sooner or later; you just didn’t think it would be so soon. You hope that they come out of the ring with their friendships (and their bones) intact.

You shift from foot to foot, drawing a shaky breath in through your nose as Ben and Terry begin to circle up. Your eye catches on Will’s for just a moment. You trade nods, then turn your eyes back to your respective fighters. It’s a heady moment. The room seems to quiet around you for a moment as Ben and Terry approach one another, each with one fist out and one by their cheeks. You hardly blink as they get closer and closer—

“I almost had you.”

It’s a gravely mutter, the first thing that Terry’s said since leaving the ring. He’s got a fat lip, and his right cheek is going to make it look like he’s part chipmunk in the morning. It’s a moment before Ben offers a grumbled, “...Almost.” Then, “Didn’t, though.”

Terry takes a swipe at his head. Ben ducks it, raising his arm to push at Terry’s shoulder. You shake your head, leaning against the bar and watching them teasingly grapple.

“You think they’d be too tired to do that by now,” You comment, shaking your head.

“Adrenaline’s probably still pushin’ em. They’ll crash later.”

The both of you are speaking a little more softly than usual; you had yelled your heads off at the match, and you're not sure about Will, but your throat feels so fricking raw. You nod, smile widening as the guys scrap a little more.

“Hey—Alright, alright,” You finally raise your voice as they knock back into a stool. “If your sorry asses get us thrown out, you're paying.”

“Drinks are on me, anyway,” Benny turns to give you a grin, teeth bright beneath the shiner developing on his right eye. Still, it’s a relief to see the boys settle. You shift on your stool and lean back against the bar, twisting your seat back and forth.

“How are you feelin’?”

You glance over at Will, brow furrowing in confusion at the question.

“I didn’t just go five rounds with those numbskulls,” You point out, nodding toward them.

“I know. You seemed…Tense.”

“I was worried about ‘em.”

“Terry?”

“Both of them.”

Will nods, eyes sweeping across your face before he glances around to the guys.

“They’re doing alright.”

“I know. I’m—I’m calming down, I just…” You trail off, shaking your head. “So many of Terry’s other friends in the ring are in different divisions. This is the first friend he’s, like, fought-fought.”

“He did alright.”

“No, I know. Nothing too broken. And Ben’s fine, too, so. Like I said,” You raise your hands in a slight pushing motion. “Calming down.”

Will smiles, taking a step closer and sliding his arm around your middle, bracketing you against the bar. Your stomach flips at the closeness, at the weight and warmth of his arm.

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’ve just been completely chill the whole time?”

Will shrugs. “I trusted the guys to handle it. They handled it.”

“Alright…Knowitall,” You mutter. You smile as Will takes a step closer. He seems to glance toward the guys again before he lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Your stomach bursts with butterflies, and you gently lower your head, resting it against his. You turn your head as you hear the bartender’s, “Here you go,” behind you. The two of you straighten up, turning to the bar fully and reaching for your beers.

“So,” Will clears his throat, “You busy this Friday?”

You smile, trailing your finger along the side of your glass.

“Is there another southpaw you wanna get a look at?”

“Nope, just dinner. I thought maybe I could cook at your place—that way I won’t interfere with your bedtime.”

You can’t help your grin, or the slight tip of your head as he crowds close again.

“That is so considerate of you, Miller.”

“I do what I can.”

You try to chip in for the groceries, but Will won’t hear of it. He won’t even tell you what he’s making.

“You know that I can probably mentally tally up whatever it is you bring and, like, Venmo you that amount, right?” You ask. It’s a little huffed as it leaves you, your gaze and focus on the swinging punching bag in front of you. When Will doesn’t answer, you glance over, and do a double take at the sight of him.

He’s watching you with a warm, sweet look, his hands tucked in his pocket as he slouches against the wall beside you. You raise your hands to steady the bag and keep it from swinging and hitting you in the face, stomach fluttering at the way this man is looking at you—like you’re dolled up and wearing a goddamn ballgown, and not sweating in the middle of a gym.

“Besides, what if I have an allergy or something?” You add.

“I’ve already run the ingredients by someone.”

You frown. “Who?”

Will doesn’t answer, just shrugs and holds his gaze steadily on yours. You narrow your eyes slightly, turning to look around the gym. Terry’s not too far off—and he’s pointedly keeping his focus on anything but you.

“...Terrence,” You call out.

“Busy!” He yells back, plucking his water bottle and phone and hurrying to another machine. You roll your eyes, turning back to Will with a mutter of, “Spy.”

His smile widens.

“I can be there by six, that alright?” He asks, pushes off of the wall.

“Uh-huh.”

“If I see any kind of calculator when I’m cooking…”

“Oh, you won’t. I’m like a phone ninja.”

Will chuckles, leaning in and murmuring, “See you tonight.”

The closeness of his murmur and his breath brushing against your sweat-slicked skin sends goosebumps skittering down your arms.

Your plan to stealthily tally everything up disappears as Will unpacks the groceries. You blink, stunned, before you pick up a jar of sauce, turning it around in your hands.

“Are you fricking kidding me?”

Will doesn’t answer. He just backs off, an amused smile on his lips and his hand on his hip as you reach into the grocery bag and rifle through it before reeling back, screeching, “You took off all of the labels?!”

“You thought I was just gonna let you look through everything and tally up how much this cost me?” He turns and reaches into the bag again, continuing to unpack. “Amateur hour.”

You bite your lip, watching in silence for a few moments as you think. What sort of 3-D dating chess is this man playing?

“You are…Frighteningly tactful, Miller.”

His smile widens, and he seems to duck his head to unearth something from the bulging grocery bag, but you can see the creeping flush of flattering rising up in his cheeks.

“I can still guestimate, you know,” You warn.

He stops then, bracing his hands on the counter.

“Would you just let me do something nice for you?” His brows raise, his lips on the edge of pursing in disappointment. You’re stunned into silence as he adds, “Nothing has to be owed. I just…I just wanna make you dinner.”

You pause before you nod a little. Will’s brows raise further, and you nod again, watching as he turns back toward the bag. You hesitate before nervously sidling up beside him, pressing yourself against his side and eyeing his steady hands.

“Can I at least help?” You ask. Glancing at him, you find Will’s annoyance smoothed away, replaced with a somewhat serene consideration. He nods, concedes: “A little.”

Will designates you two things to chop (red and green peppers), and one thing to stir (vegetable stir fry). He keeps his back to you as he adds seasonings to your chicken (“It’s a secret recipe,” He insists before he shoos you away from the counter. All you get a glimpse of is the garlic salt).

You don’t know exactly what he puts on it, but when you take your first bite, it’s perfectly moist, and damn delicious. You don’t even bother to hide your groan, or the way you close your eyes to just savor—and try to work out one or two of the spices. You get hits of chili. Chili and…Cumin? Little pops of cumin—

“I’m not telling you,” Will’s mirthful warning floats across the table to you. Your smile widens, shaking your head and opening your eyes.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Miller.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is this your secret recipe?”

“My mom’s.”

“Did she make it a lot growing up?"

“In the summer, mostly, for barbecues and stuff.”

“Tastes pretty good from the oven.”

He grunts, nodding. “Better on the grill,” He admits, “With a little char on it.”

“Mm, noted. Are you and your mom close?”

Will quirks a brow as he reaches for his drink, and you realize that you’ve been bombarding him with questions. Before you can apologize, he offers:

“Pretty close. I try to see her at least once a week. It used to be more, but she said I was smothering her.”

You smile, chuckling.

“That’s kinda precious.”

Will shrugs a touch, pushing his veggies around his plate.

“My dad passed a couple’a years ago and I think coming around as much as I used to might’ve helped, but mom’s got her own life, you know. She’s got a book club…She’s apparently a bingo assassin.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Some people think she’s cheating.”

“...Is she?” You tease.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. What she lacks in subtlety, she makes up for in sneakiness.”

“Is that where you and Ben get it?”

He chuckles, ducking his head and poking at the food on his plate.

“Some of it, maybe.”

“And the rest?”

“Training.”

“Do you think Ben would agree?"

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You lean back, poking at your food in turn and fighting the embarrassed churning in your stomach.

“Not always,” You mumble. You hear Will huff a soft laugh, and smile as he reaches across the table to take hold of your hand.

"I don't mind," He insists, thumb sweeping along the side of your hand. "Long as I get to ask a few, too."

"This was nice," You offer, almost woefully trailing Will to the front door. You've wanted to make a move since he put you to work in your kitchen—you've been thinking about it as the two of you were at your sink, doing the dishes; since you were sitting on your couch, talking about work, and the gym, and who Ben and Terry are facing next. You've been so close so consistently—arm to arm, hip to hip, knee to knee. The tiny touches have made you crave more, and Will's sweet smiles have made you do whatever you can think of to seek them out.

When he'd told you that he ought to get going, that he was meeting Ben in the gym at five the next morning, you were pretty sure that he was telling the truth—but you were already mourning the loss of the moment, and his warmth in your apartment.

"It was...Once you stopped pestering me about paying," He teases as he pulled on his jacket. You rolled your eyes.

"Well, how about I bring a bunch of labeless groceries over to your place, make you dinner, and see how you like it."

"I think I'd like it a lot," He insists, straightening his collar. "How's next week?"

And it's so swift and so smooth that you're certain you look more than a little gobsmacked. But you nod.

"Yeah. I can do next week."

"Friday?"

"Sure."

"Okay." He opens your door. "It's a date."

Just like that—so easy and open, and such a far cry to the first time he spoke to you at the gym.

"Good," You agree, leaning against the wall by your front door. "Let me know when you get home."

"I will." He leans in, and your breath catches in your throat as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You bite your lip at the gentle prickle of his beard against your skin, eyelids fluttering as Will stays close. He raises his hand, gently sweeping his thumb against your lower lip and tugging it from your teeth.

"Don't do that," He shakes his head. "Don't bite your lip."

"Why?" You mumble, leaning into the flirty urge that's rising in you. "There someone else that's supposed to do it for me?"

Will breathes out a groan, resting his temple gently against yours.

"I'm trying to be good," He warns. You sweep your tongue across your lower lip, letting the tip graze his thumb, and grinning as he swallows thickly.

"This feels good to me." You reach up, cupping his cheek.

"You realize if we do this, you'll be up past 9:30?"

"I'm willing to risk it."

You think for a moment that he'll draw away, that he'll call it—

Your stomach drops as he pulls away and you hear the door shut, but grin as he crowds up against you, lips pressing warmly to yours. You sigh, looping your arm around your shoulders and keeping you close. His hands slide over your hips, drawing you into his chest. You slide your hand up, gently teasing your nails against the nape of his neck.

"Remind me to apologize to Ben the next time I see him," You mumble.

"Why's that?"

"You're going to be very late tomorrow morning."

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#Will Miller x Reader #Will Miller x You #Will Miller/Reader #Will Miller/You #Will Miller fic #Will Miller imagine #Impressions #sorry this took 800 years

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