#because she never had to flirt with someone

[lostfracturess]

HOW TO FAKE DATE A DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO

pairing — doctor!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.

word count — 9 k

genre/tags — coffee shop AU, holiday romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, idiots in love, reader is a med student and barista, gojo is a cardiologist, age difference (reader is 25/gojo early 30s)

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, non-graphic medical talk

author's note — hey lovelies, welcome to my first attempt at a holiday romance. this was meant to be a short drabble but somehow turned into this 9 k words of pure fluff and pining. it's my little christmas gift to you all hehe. whether you're celebrating with family, working holiday shifts, or just enjoying a quiet day, hope this makes you smile. thank you for reading, and merry christmas !! <3 (fanart in the header)

masterlist

You first noticed him six months ago.

It wasn't just because he was strikingly handsome, with hair the color of fresh snow and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, though that certainly didn't hurt. It wasn't even because of his white coat and the stethoscope casually draped around his neck, marking him as one of the doctors from the nearby hospital.

No, what caught your attention was the way he looked at you.

Every morning, like clockwork, the bell above the door would chime at precisely 7:15 AM, and Dr. Satoru Gojo would walk into your café. He'd order the sweetest drink on your menu (always with extra whipped cream), and while you prepared it, his eyes would follow your every movement.

It wasn't creepy or uncomfortable. And it definitely wasn't flirting — at least, you didn't think it was. Perhaps he saw something, a suspicious mole you'd never noticed, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell the coffee girl she’s dying without ruining her morning rush. 

That had to be it.

You’d catch his gaze lingering when he thought you weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd tilt his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It made you wonder what he was thinking. Was he judging your latte art? Probably. You were still working on that.

But when you turned around to give him his iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream and three shots of caramel (it never varied, not once in six months), he'd break his smile to you, his gaze softening for a second, and then his fingers would brush against yours as you handed him the paper cup.

He always thanked you with “Much appreciated”. It made your heart skip a beat, if you'd be honest. Not that you read all too much into it of course. And so for six months, this had been your routine. 

5:30 AM: Arrive at the café.

6:00 AM: Open up, prep for the day. 

7:13 AM: Start making his drink because you knew he'd walk in exactly two minutes later. 

7:15 AM: Heart fluttering slightly as your hand brushed his as you gave him his order.

10:00 AM: Shift end. 

10:30 AM: Rush to classes.

Some mornings, he’d arrive in wrinkled scrubs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. Other days, it was a tailored dress shirt, sometimes with a matching tie. But the routine never changed.

Same order, same time, the same easy smile that would soften slightly when you remembered his order without him having to say it. Not that it was hard to begin with. 

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Maki would say, nudging you with her elbow as Dr. Gojo left. You’d roll your eyes, but a faint blush crept up your neck anyway.

Between customers, you'd try to squeeze in some studying. The early morning shift wasn't exactly ideal, but it paid better, and you needed every cent you could get for your pre-med textbooks. Those things cost more than your rent, it felt like.

Your anatomy textbook usually lay open behind the counter, hidden from customers' view but accessible during slower moments. Sometimes, when the morning rush died down, you'd catch Dr. Gojo's eyes flickering to the pages as you made his latte. His expression would shift slightly, but he never commented on it.

You wondered sometimes if he was judging your highlighting technique (chaotic at best) or your margin notes (mostly question marks). He must have gone through all this years ago, probably with much more grace than your current fumbling through medical terminology.

The café job barely covered your expenses — between tuition, rent, and those damn textbooks — but at least it was flexible with your class schedule. Your manager understood when you needed to switch shifts for exams, and the free coffee helped during all-nighters.

Your coworkers thought you were crazy for taking such early shifts. "No one should be awake at 5:30 AM," they'd say. But they didn't understand the quiet peace of morning prep, the satisfaction of perfect latte art, or the way certain blue eyes would crinkle at the corners when you got his order just right.

It was a small thing, a fleeting smile, a brush of fingertips, but it was enough to make the early mornings, the aching feet, the constant struggle, almost worth it.

Not that you stuck to this schedule just for him. Obviously not. The extra dollar per hour for opening shift was the real motivator. The fact that it coincided with Dr. Gojo's apparent coffee schedule was just... coincidence.

Sometimes, during chaotic study sessions between customers, you'd catch him watching you mouth medical terms to yourself as you steamed milk. His eyes would linger on your textbook, then flick back to your face with that same intense look that made you wonder if he was counting your remaining days or something—or still trying to figure out if that one mole on your cheek was turning malignant.

The morning you had your anatomy midterm, your textbook sat next to the register, full of sticky notes and frantic annotations. You saw him notice it, saw something shift in his expression as he took in the obvious signs of exam stress. That day, he left an extra large tip with a small note that just said "Good luck."

It was probably just pity. He'd been through med school. He knew the hell you were going through. That had to be it. Absolutely. No other explanation.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you added the note into your wallet, shoving it down next to a crumpled grocery list and a faded movie ticket stub, as if burying it under a pile of mundane objects could somehow bury the flutter in your chest.

For six months, this had been your life. Balancing early mornings, late classes, endless studying, and the mystery of a doctor who looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

So when he finally broke pattern that random rainy monday morning, it wasn't with some dramatic revelation about your health you’d imagined. Instead, he tilted his head slightly while waiting for his usual and said, "You changed your hair."

You nearly dropped the caramel syrup. After six months of intense stares and loaded silences, after convincing yourself he was cataloging your symptoms or contemplating your mortality, he was commenting on your hair?

"Oh." Your hand instinctively went to the ends you'd trimmed over the weekend. "Yeah, just a few inches."

"It suits you." He said it so casually, like he hadn't just shattered half a year of mysterious doctor mystique with three words. Then, with that same matter-of-fact tone, "The pathophysiology textbook you were reading last week—Robbins, right? It’s really good. Especially the part about metaplasia. Interesting stuff."

And just like that, the spell was broken. No terminal diagnosis. No earth-shattering revelations. Just a doctor who apparently noticed haircuts and had opinions about medical textbooks. 

The sudden normalcy of it all was almost jarring. For months, you’d been half-convinced he was silently cataloging your every freckle, every mole, every perceived imperfection, convinced he was about to deliver some devastating news. Now? He was talking about metaplasia. It was almot—anticlimactic. 

And, if you were being honest, a little embarrassing. All those covert checks in the reflection of the espresso machine, all those frantic Google searches for “atypical nevi”—for this?

You almost wanted to laugh.

After that day, your morning routine shifted slightly. He still came in at exactly 7:15, still ordered the same diabetis-inducing latte, still watched you work with those intense blue eyes the color of glacial ice. But now he'd occasionally comment on your study materials, or mention an interesting case that related to whatever chapter you were currently highlighting.

"Cardiac arrhythmias today?" he'd ask, spotting your textbook. "Had a case of atrial fibrillation yesterday. The patient presented with…" He’d then launch into a quick explanation, sketching a diagram on a napkin that somehow made more sense than three hours of lecture on the same topic.

Your coworkers were almost disappointed by this development. "That's it?" Maki had said when you told her. "Six months of smoldering looks and he just... helps you study?"

But somehow, it felt right. The mysterious doctor with pretty eyes turned out to be just a man who noticed details and perhaps had a soft spot for struggling med students. 

He still made your heart do that stupid flutter thing when his fingers brushed yours during the handoff, but now you had a perfectly logical explanation for that of course—the vagus nerve or some other equally fascinating cardiovascular phenomenon he'd just explained.

That had to be it.

Some mornings, when the café was quiet and you were stumped by a concept, he'd even linger a few minutes after getting his order. He’d lean against the counter, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, gesturing with his cup while breaking down complex medical theories into digestible pieces, somehow making autoimmune disorders sound as simple as iced latte recipes. 

"You'll make a good doctor," he said one morning, completely out of nowhere and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

Your relationship—if you could even call it that—settled into something comfortably in-between. More than customer and barista, less than friends, but with a rhythm all its own. He'd quiz you while you made his usual, turning morning coffee runs into study sessions.

"Name three complications of chronic hypertension," he'd say while you pumped caramel into his cup.

"Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease," you'd reply, adding the extra shot of espresso he never actually ordered but always appreciated.

"Good. Now tell me about secondary causes."

One random Tuesday morning, however, the bell didn't chime at 7:15. You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. 

7:16. 

7:17. 

A knot of unease tightened in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really. Why did you even care? He was just a customer. A regular customer, yes, but still just a customer. It wasn't like you were waiting for him or anything. You were just—used to the routine. That was all. 

But despite your attempts at rationalization, a small, nagging worry began to gnaw at you. Had something happened? Was he okay? You found yourself staring at the door, your hand hovering over the espresso machine, your usual movements faltering slightly. You even messed up a latte, the foam swirling into a sad, lopsided blob instead of the usual pretty rosetta. 

At 7:20, just as you were about to convince yourself he’d just overslept and that you were being completely ridiculous, the bell finally rang. He rushed in, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a little rushed. "Crazy morning at the hospital."

He looked like he’d run all the way, which was odd. Why would he run? It’s not like his coffee was that important. Right? And yet, your stupid heart did a little flip at the sight of him, a traitorous swell of warmth blooming in your chest. He made it. He was here.

He stayed extra long that morning. After the rush died down, he listened to you recite your flashcards, correcting your pronunciation of medical terms with a patience that made you wonder if he moonlighted as a professor. It was a strange sort of intimacy, this shared moment of slow study amidst the busy morning rush and the soft hum of the refrigerators. 

And you never wanted that morning to end.

Your coworkers had stopped teasing you about him—mostly—and started asking if he could explain their own health questions instead. Then came the random stormy Wednesday that changed everything.

The morning had started normally enough—he arriving at 7:15 sharp, you already having his sugar latte ready. But the sky had opened up while he was waiting, rain drumming against the café windows. It wasn’t a gentle shower. It was a deluge, the kind that turned streets into rivers in minutes.

"Did you bring an umbrella?" he asked, watching you glance at the downpour.

"No," you sighed, already dreading the soggy walk to campus. "I checked the forecast last night—it said sunny all day." You internally cursed the weather app.

"When does your shift end?"

"Huh? Oh, uhm 10 AM. I have microbiology at 10:30."

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he left without another word. You tried not to feel disappointed—what had you expected? It's not like he could control the weather.

But at 10 AM sharp, as you were pulling your jacket tighter and preparing to make a run for it, you spotted him through the rain-streaked windows. He was standing outside the café in his white coat, holding a large dark blue umbrella. 

Your heart definitely did more than flutter this time.

"Ready?" he asked when you emerged, as if waiting in the pouring rain for some barista was perfectly normal doctor behavior.

"You didn't have to—"

"Can't have my favorite barista catching pneumonia," he said. "Besides, I'm heading that direction anyway." You knew for a fact the hospital was in the opposite direction.

The walk to campus was suddenly—intimate. It was strange being this close to him. You’d seen him every morning for months, but always across the counter, a safe distance separating you. Now, you were walking side-by-side, the scent of his cologne so close it made it hard to focus on anything but his proximity, to say the least.

"So, what are you studying in Microbiology?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"We're covering bacterial pathogenesis this week," you replied, and the conversation drifted naturally to a discussion of how different pathogens could affect various organ systems like it was normal small talk.

As other pedestrians passed, their own umbrellas bobbing and weaving, he’d subtly pull you closer. Each time he did, your breath would catch in your throat, and a fresh wave of warmth would wash over you. You were grateful for his height, because you were certain your cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red.

It was absurd, how flustered you were by such a simple act, but the feeling of his arm occasionally brushing against yours, the shared intimacy of the small space beneath the umbrella, was enough to send your heart racing.

Desperate to focus on something else, you blurted out, "What kind of doctor are you, anyway? I never actually asked."

"Cardiology," he replied simply.

“Cardiology,” you repeated, the word lingering on your tongue. A doctor of the heart. When you reached the medical sciences building, he paused, lowering the umbrella slightly. The rain had begun to ease, but the air still smelled wet and clean.

"Thanks," you said, meeting his gaze. "For the umbrella escort."

"Anytime." That soft smile again, the one that made your heart do a stupid little skip again.

As you watched him walk away, umbrella tilted against the rain, you realized something had shifted. Maybe you weren't quite friends, maybe you weren't quite anything definable, but whatever this was—it felt like the beginning of something. Something more than just sharing an umbrella on rainy days.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Winter arrived on a random thursday morning, transforming rain into snow and turning your early morning walks to work into arctic expeditions.

It was during one of these frigid mornings, while you were preparing Dr. Gojo's usual order and the steam from the espresso machines fogging up the frost-covered windows, that your phone rang. Your mother's contact photo flashed on the screen.

You answered with your phone pressed between ear and shoulder, still working the machines. "Hi, Mom."

"Sweetheart! I was just planning Christmas dinner. You're bringing someone this year, right? That nice boy from your anatomy class you mentioned?"

You winced, catching Dr. Gojo's raised eyebrow from where he stood at the counter. "Mom—"

"Because Aunt Marie's daughter just got engaged, and you know how she gets—"

"My boyfriend's actually busy with hospital rotations," you blurted out, immediately wanting to punch yourself. "He's, uh, very dedicated to his work."

"Boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me? What's his name? What does he—"

"Sorry, Mom, huge line forming, gotta go!" You hung up, letting your forehead thump against the coffee machine with a groan.

"That sounded stressful," Dr. Gojo commented, amusement clear in his voice.

You looked up to find him watching you with that slight smile that always made you shiver. "Just my mom being... my mom." You resumed making his latte. "She's convinced that at twenty-five, I'm practically a spinster."

"Ah." He tilted his head. "And this fictional boyfriend with hospital rotations?"

Your cheeks heated. "Seemed easier than explaining why I'm still single. Between work, classes, and studying, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date." You handed him his usual. "Plus, now she'll stop trying to set me up with every eligible male she meets through her book club."

"A creative solution," he said, taking a sip. "Though hospital rotations over Christmas? Sounds like a terrible boyfriend." A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, imaginary men are often disappointing." You started wiping down the counter, needing something to do with your hands. "At least this way I'll have a few weeks of peace before I have to tell her we broke up."

"Sounds like you've done this before," he observed, watching you attack an imaginary coffee stain with perhaps too much force.

"Is it that obvious?" You sighed, abandoning your fake cleaning. "Last year he was studying abroad. The year before that, he was sick. I'm running out of excuses, honestly. Pretty sure my mom's stopped believing me, but she plays along because it's less awkward than admitting we both know I'm lying."

He made a thoughtful sound, then pulled out his prescription pad (why did doctors always carry those around anyway?). You watched, confused, as he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.

"Here," he said. "My number. Call me during Christmas dinner."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your imaginary boyfriend should at least make an effort, don't you think?" His eyes held that familiar amusement. "I'll tell your mom all about my very important hospital rounds, maybe throw in some medical words. Make it convincing."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Was he… offering to pretend to be your boyfriend? You couldn't quite process what was happening. 

"You know," he said, after you'd probably been quiet for too long, "some of us actually do work hospital rotations over Christmas."

"I know, I just—" You stopped, realizing how her words might have sounded. "Oh god, I didn't mean to imply… I know you probably have to work during the holidays too, I wasn't trying to—"

"Someone has to make sure all those Christmas dinner caused heart attacks are properly treated," he interrupted, that familiar, almost-smirk back on his face, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Though I do get Christmas morning off this year."

You couldn't tell if he was trying to make you feel better about your lie, your accidental insult, or just sharing information. With Dr. Gojo, it was often hard to tell. After a moment of stunned silence, you managed, "Are you… sure?"

"Perfectly.”

"Thank you," you said, finally finding your voice as you picked up the slip of paper. "Really, thank you."

"Anytime," he said, that familiar, soft smile gracing his lips. "Consider it a Christmas gift. From your very dedicated, albeit fictional, boyfriend."

As you watched him leave, coffee in hand and snowflakes catching in his white hair. Even if he was probably going to tease you endlessly about your fictional, workaholic boyfriend for weeks to come, a small, stupid part of you was already looking forward to it.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The Christmas dinner was a random Friday night.

The table, laden with enough food to feed a small army, was surrounded by the usual suspects and the dinner turned out to be exactly as excruciating as you'd expected. You'd barely made it through the appetizers before the interrogation began.

"So, this boyfriend of yours," Aunt Marie started. "What did you say he does again?"

"He's a doctor," you said into your mashed potatoes.

"A doctor!" your mother brightened. "You never mentioned that part."

Your cousin Sarah leaned forward. "What kind of doctor? Where did he study? How did you meet?"

You were considering faking a sudden illness when your phone buzzed. Dr. Gojo's name lit up your screen with a video call request. You hadn't even suggested a video call—he was truly committing to this.

"Oh, that's him now!" Your mother said, clapping her hands together. "Put him on speaker!"

Before you could protest, you were surrounded by a sea of curious relatives as you answered the call. The screen filled with Dr. Gojo's face, and—oh god—he was actually in scrubs, in what looked like a real operating room.

"Hey, my love," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and the casual nickname hit you like a train, making you forget your own name. You felt your cheeks flush and it didn’t help that he somehow managed to look unfairly handsome even under the surgical lights. "Sorry I couldn't make it. We had an emergency valve replacement come in."

"Are you... actually in surgery right now?" you asked.

"Just finished!" He tilted the phone slightly to show a glimpse of a team of medical staff behind him, all of whom waved. One even gave a thumbs up. "Thought I'd catch you before dessert. Is that your family I see?"

Your entire extended family crammed themselves into frame, cooing and waving at your "doctor boyfriend" who was dedicated enough to call from work.

"Oh my god, he's gorgeous," your cousin said.

"Dr. Gojo," your mother pushed forward, "we're so disappointed you couldn't join us. Though of course, saving lives comes first!"

"Please, call me Satoru," he said, flashing that unfairly attractive smile of his. "And I'm more disappointed than anyone. I was really looking forward to trying your famous apple pie that your daughter keeps telling me about."

Your mother clutched her chest, delighted. You had never once mentioned her apple pie to him. 

"Are those Christmas decorations I see in the OR?" your aunt squinted at the screen.

And indeed, there were actual Christmas lights strung up in the background. Either this hospital was very festive, or he'd gone to ridiculous lengths for this act.

"We try to keep the holiday spirit alive, even here," he said, then suddenly looked off-screen. "Oh, looks like we have another emergency coming in." Dramatic beeping noises increased in the background. "I'm so sorry, but duty calls. It was lovely meeting you all!"

"Such a dedicated young man," your mother sighed after you ended the call.

"So handsome too," Aunt Marie added. "Those eyes!"

You slumped in your chair, caught between mortification and amusement. He really didn't have to go that far—the Christmas lights in the OR? The perfectly timed “emergency”? The entire surgical team playing along? It was almost impressive.

Your phone buzzed with a text: 'How'd I do? The lights were my colleague's idea. They says Merry Christmas, by the way. Your family seems nice.'

Another buzz, a separate message: 'Also, I expect a slice of that famous apple pie at the café tomorrow. After that performance, I think I've earned it.'

You typed back: 'You are absolutely insufferable. That was completely over the top.'

His response came almost instantly: 'Is that any way to talk to your dedicated doctor boyfriend who just saved a life AND charmed your entire family? I'm hurt.'

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Your phone buzzed one more time: 'By the way, your cousin already found my hospital's public contact info and sent a friend request. Should I accept? I feel like a committed boyfriend would.'

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was absolutely loving this. 

Way too much.

The next morning, you weren't surprised when he showed up at his usual 7:15, despite it being his day off. What did surprise you was that he was still wearing scrubs. They were rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for a while.

"Please tell me you didn't actually work all night just to make that video call more convincing," you said as he approached the counter.

"You know, I am a doctor in real life, right? This isn't just a cover for your mom." He smirked. "But anyway, just finished an actual emergency shift." He glanced at the paper bag you had waiting next to his usual sugary coffee. "Is that… what I think it is?"

"Your well-earned reward for yesterday's Oscar-worthy performance." You handed him both coffee and pie. "Though I still can't believe you got your entire surgical team to play along."

"Bold of you to assume I had to ask." He took a bite of the pie and his eyes widened slightly. "Okay, your mom's reputation is deserved. This is actually amazing."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts, because—" You hesitated, took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandage off. "She invited you to dinner. Tomorrow."

He paused mid-bite. "Oh?"

"I told her you're probably busy—"

"What time?"

You stared at him. "What?"

"What time is dinner?" He took another bite of pie, looking perfectly casual about the whole thing. "I actually have Sunday evening off, and this pie has convinced me your mom's cooking is worth experiencing in person."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've already met them virtually. Might as well complete the experience. Unless you're worried I'll embarrass you?"

"I'm worried you'll be too convincing again," you said. "My mom's already planning our wedding, by the way. She told me this morning that your 'dedication to work' proves you'd be a good husband."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a future mother-in-law."

"This isn't funny!"

"It's a little funny." He leaned against the counter, grinning. "Come on, one dinner. I promise to be slightly less charming this time."

"Somehow I doubt that's possible," you said before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened. "Was that a compliment?"

"That was a complaint about your inability to do anything halfway." You busied yourself with wiping down the already clean counter. "But fine. Sunday at seven. Try not to bring Christmas lights this time."

"No promises." He pushed off from the counter, taking his coffee and pie. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Hmm?"

"I accepted your cousin's friend request. She's already invited me to your family's New Year's party."

He was halfway to the door when he paused, turning back with an expression that was softer than his usual teasing smile. "You look pretty today, by the way. The new sweater suits you." 

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn't even realized he'd noticed you'd changed from your usual work shirt into a cozy sweater for your afternoon classes.

He was out the door before you could stammer out a response, leaving you to wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into. And why one simple, genuine compliment made your heart race more than all his dramatic boyfriend performances combined.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Sunday evening found you pacing a worn path in the carpet by your parents' front door, checking your phone every two minutes. 7:15 came and went—apparently his almost unnervingly precise timing only applied to coffee runs. 

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that doctors had unpredictable schedules, but a nervous flutter had taken up residence in your stomach.

At 7:20, your mom’s worried, "Maybe he got called into surgery?" was interrupted by the doorbell. You took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, and opened the door.

Standing there was Dr. Gojo—Satoru, you supposed you should call him now—looking slightly disheveled in a way that somehow only emphasized his unfairly attractive features. His white dress shirt, though slightly untucked at the waist, bore the clear signs of a hurried ironing, and he was carrying what looked like an expensive bottle of wine—definitely not the kind you’d find at the corner store.

"I'm so sorry," he said, running a hand through his already slightly tousled white hair. "Emergency consultation ran late, and then traffic was—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, a wave of relief washing over you. He’d actually come. "Really. You didn't have to—"

But the rest of your sentence disappeared into a surprised squeak as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, his free hand settling naturally on your waist, just above your hip, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

"Hi," he whispered against your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today at the café."

You stood frozen, brain short-circuiting from the casual intimacy of it all. This wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't discussed... this. The way his hand felt warm through your dress, how his cologne made you slightly dizzy, how natural it felt to have him this close. It was as if your body already knew this was right, even if your mind was still scrambling to catch up.

"I... you..." Words. You needed words. "You're late."

He pulled back just enough to give you that familiar amused look. "And you're blushing."

Before you could even process that observation—or the fact that your heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of your chest—your mother appeared behind you. "Satoru! We're so glad you could make it!"

He smoothly stepped past you to greet your parents, all charm and apologies for his lateness, seamlessly weaving a plausible story about a last-minute emergency consult and unexpected traffic. He shook your father’s hand with just the right amount of respectful firmness and charmed your mother with a compliment about her festive decorations. All while he left you standing in the doorway, slightly dazed, trying to remember how to perform basic human functions like breathing and blinking.

The slight smirk he threw over his shoulder as he joined the others in the living room told you he knew exactly what he'd done.

Insufferable man.

The dinner was simultaneously the longest and shortest evening of your life. Satoru slipped into the role of doting boyfriend with an unsettling ease, weaving medical anecdotes (carefully tailored for a non-medical audience) and charming compliments into the conversation like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. He even managed to compliment Aunt Marie’s notoriously sweet cheesecake without visibly wincing.

He sat close enough that your legs brushed under the table, his hand finding its way to your knee during your mother's third attempt to bring up wedding venues (she was already browsing bridal magazines online, you’d noticed). The casual touch, which should have made you incredibly nervous, instead felt strangely good, like a shared secret between the two of you in the midst of the family chaos.

"And how did you two actually meet?" your aunt asked over dessert.

"She makes the best coffee in the city," Satoru answered smoothly, his thumb drawing absent circles on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. "Though it took me months to work up the courage to say more than my order."

You nearly choked on your wine. He was mixing truth and fiction so seamlessly you almost believed it yourself. 

Every story he told had just enough reality to make you question your own memory. He mentioned how you study between customers, but added details about imaginary conversations. He even talked about your first "date" with such specificity that you found yourself half-believing it had happened.

His hand never left your leg for long, occasionally squeezing gently when your relatives’ questions became too invasive. Somehow, he’d effortlessly positioned himself as both the charming guest and the attentive boyfriend, deflecting awkward questions with a disarming smile. And you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life as you were for him breaking the pattern on that random, rainy Monday morning.

"He even helped me with pathophysiology," you found yourself saying, leaning into him slightly, enjoying it. Two could play at this game.

"She didn't need much help," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that sounded genuinely proud. It made your heart flutter. "Just someone to hold her flashcards while she made my ridiculously sweet coffee."

Your father, who hadn't said much all evening, finally smiled. "She works too hard sometimes."

"She does," Satoru agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction higher on your thigh under the table. "Though that's one of the things I admire most about her." A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, focusing on a particularly uninteresting spot on the tablecloth. This is getting out of hand.

As the conversation shifted to some other topic—something about your uncle's questionable golf swing—you leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, "You're awfully charming."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower so that only you could hear. "Funny, you don't seem to hate it." You felt your cheeks burn even hotter now.

By the time dinner ended, your mother was completely smitten, your aunts were bickering over who would host the next family gathering (with Satoru as the guest of honor, of course), and your cousin had somehow convinced him to follow her Instagram—and had already tagged him in three separate stories.

It was all too smooth, too perfect, too real. 

The way he helped you clear the table, his hand brushing the small of your back in a casual, yet intimate touch as he passed. How he effortlessly recalled every detail you’d ever mentioned about your family, from your grandmother’s obsession with crossword puzzles to your father’s love of bad puns. The soft, lingering looks he gave you when he thought no one was watching, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

"You're very good at this," you said as you stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.

"At what?"

"Playing pretend."

His hands paused for just a moment. "Who says I'm pretending?"

The wine glass you were drying slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You managed to catch it before it shattered on the tile floor, but not before making enough noise to draw his attention.

"Hey." His hand was immediately at your waist, steadying you. "You okay?"

"Fine! I'm fine, just—" You set the glass down carefully, very aware of how close he was standing.  When you turned to face him, you found yourself effectively trapped between his broad frame and the hard edge of the kitchen counter. "Slippery hands. From the... soap."

"Hmm." His eyes searched your face, and for a fleeting moment, you thought—you could have sworn—his gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "You know, for someone who spends all day handling hot liquids, you've seemed very clumsy tonight."

"Maybe I'm just… distracted.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his eyes fixed on yours. One hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips grazing your skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "By what?" 

"You're doing it again," you whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Being too convincing."

A slow, almost hesitant smile spread across his face. It was a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that felt utterly real, utterly intimate, making your heart stutter in your chest. "Perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin, "maybe I'm not trying to convince anyone anymore."

You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, the slight tremor in his hand where it rested on your waist, the way the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small, too—

"Who wants coffee?" your mother's voice carried from the dining room, making you both jump apart. Satoru cleared his throat, taking a hasty step back, his hand dropping from your waist. 

The rest of dinner passed in a surreal haze, neither of you quite able to forget the charged moment in the kitchen. What was that? You kept replaying the scene in your mind. His hand on your waist, his breath on your lips, the sudden shift in his eyes. It had felt… different. More real than any of the playacting. 

It wasn't until your aunt, after a drawn out round of goodbyes and air kisses, finally got up to leave that anyone noticed the shift in the weather. "Oh my goodness," your mother gasped, pulling back the curtains. "When did it start snowing?"

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland that would've been charming under different circumstances. At least a foot of snow covered everything, still falling heavily in thick, white sheets.

"The weather alert says it's going to continue all night," your father reported, checking his phone. "They're advising against any travel. Roads are already getting bad."

Your mother immediately switched into hostess mode. "You absolutely can't drive in this, Satoru. These roads won't be plowed until morning, at the earliest."

"I'm sure I can—" he started.

"Absolutely not," she interrupted. "You'll stay here tonight. Both of you."

You nearly choked on air. "Mom—"

"Don't be silly, dear," she said, already bustling towards the hallway. "You can take your old room, of course. It's all made up. Satoru," she called over her shoulder, "I'll go find some spare cloths for you." Then, turning back to you, she added, "And honey, you still have some things in your old room, so it'll be just like old times!"

Old times? What old times? Your childhood bedroom with those old embarrassing school photos and faded posters of your first boyband crush that you’d somehow never gotten around to taking down? This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not part of the plan.

He wasn't supposed to see that side of you.

As you counted down the seconds until you completely died from embarrassment your parents bustled off to prepare the rooms, leaving you and Satoru alone again. He leaned against the window, watching the snow fall, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Convenient weather we're having," you said suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I somehow arranged a snowstorm?"

"At this point, I wouldn't put it past you."

His laugh was soft and warm. "As flattered as I am by your faith in my abilities, even I can't control the weather." He glanced at you. "Though I have to admit, this is working out better than my original plan of pretending my car wouldn't start."

"You're impossible," you groaned.

"So I've been told." He pushed off from the window, moving closer. He stopped just inches away, until you could feel the heat from his body. His gaze dropped—or you thought it did, your pulse quickening at the mere possibility—to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. You blinked, trying to clear your head. No, it couldn't be. "Though I notice you're not exactly complaining about the situation."

Before you could formulate a witty retort (or even a coherent thought, for that matter), your mother’s voice rang out from upstairs, effectively putting an end to whatever was about to happen. "I found some spare clothes, Satoru! And honey," she called down, "your old band t-shirts are still in your dresser!"

You covered your face with your hands. "Please forget everything she's about to show you."

"Now how could I possibly pass up the chance to see teenage you's fashion choices?" 

You peaked through your fingers to find him smirking, looking far too delighted by this turn of events. This was going to be a very long night.

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"I really can sleep on the floor," Satoru offered for the third time, shifting his weight awkwardly in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. He looked around, taking in your teenage decorating choices, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Don't be ridiculous." You tried to sound casual as you smoothed down the NASA bedsheets you'd had since high school on your small bed, that suddenly looked barely big enough for one, let alone two adults. "We're both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."

He was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, you found him studying your teenage self's wall decorations with poorly hidden amusement. It was a chaotic mixture of faded movie posters (mostly featuring heartthrobs from your early teens), band posters (an ambarrasing One Direction poster taking center stage), and a poorly crafted periodic table, complete with hand-drawn elements and color-coded categories.

"Nice periodic table," he finally said.

"Shut up," you muttered, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it easily, because of course he did. "Some of us were nerds before med school."

You turned to your old closet, pulling out one of those oversized band t-shirts you'd lived in during high school. You gripped the hem of your sweater, suddenly very aware of his presence in the small room.

You could feel his eyes on you, a weight on your back, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You paused, your fingers frozen on the soft knit. "Um… could you…?" you trailed off, not wanting to meet his gaze.

He didn't say anything, didn't move. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back. Finally, you turned, holding your band t-shirt protectively in front of you. "Seriously. Turn around."

He blinked. "You know, I am a doctor. I've seen it all."

"Still," you insisted, your cheeks flushing. "Turn. Around."

He sighed, but finally turned his back, though the lingering amusement in his eyes told you he was still enjoying the situation immensely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, pulling the t-shirt over your head. You smoothed it down, then took a deep breath. 

"I would never," he said.

"You can turn around now."

He turned, his face carefully composed, though a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes traveled from the hem of the shirt to your face, making your heart stutter. "You look… cute."

"You're a terrible liar.”

You both settled into bed with careful movements, lying rigid as boards, backs facing each other in a vain attempt at maintaining some sort of personal space. The mattress, however, had other plans. It dipped under his weight, creating a subtle slope that kept trying to draw you toward the center—toward him. 

Your childhood bed, which had seemed perfectly adequate when you were sixteen, now felt absurdly small. You pressed against the edge, but it was no use, there couldn't have been more than a few inches between your back and his. You could feel the heat of his body, warming the small space between you, his every breath, the subtle shift of the sheets when he moved.

The silence stretched, filled only with the sound of falling snow outside your window and your own heartbeat. It felt so loud, you were certain he could hear it.

"Thank you," you finally whispered into the darkness. "For tonight. For all of it. You didn't have to do any of this."

The bed shifted as he turned over. After a moment's hesitation, you did too, finding yourself face to face with him in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through your old curtains. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it.

"It was fun," he said simply, his breath warm against your cheek.

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Fun? My mom interrogated you about your entire medical history, my dad made you look at his coin collection for an hour, and my cousin tried to show you every embarrassing photo of me from middle school."

"The braces years were particularly charming."

You kicked his shin lightly under the covers. "Shut up."

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes visible even in the dim light. "I mean it, though. Your family is… lively."

"That's a polite way of saying chaotic."

"They care about you. It's nice."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. "Why did you really come tonight? You could have easily found an excuse to avoid this disaster of a family dinner."

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?"

"No," you said. "Nobody wants to spend their evening being questioned by my parents and subjected to my aunt's weird baking."

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "Maybe I wanted to understand you better. See where you came from. Meet the people who made you... you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Why would you care about any of that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

You stared at him, suddenly very aware of how close you were, how little space there was between you in this too-small bed. "No," you whispered. "It's not obvious at all."

"Then I must be doing a terrible job of showing you."

Your heart was racing now, your voice barely audible. "Showing me what?"

Before you could respond, he shifted, until he was hovering above you. Your breath caught at the change, at how his white hair fell forward framing his face, at how his eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies in them.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was nothing like the casual touch of lips from before. It was soft, sweet, and achingly tender at first. He moved against you slowly, his lips parting slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You met his silent invitation, your own lips parting in response. One hand cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, while the other braced against the mattress, supporting his weight. 

Then, with a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that made your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t known you carried. He pulled you closer, just a fraction, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding, yet still laced with a surprising tenderness. 

You could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your own chest but then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. He didn't move far, though, remaining close enough that you could still feel his breath on your face, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Still think I'm just playing pretend?"

This time, you didn't hesitate. You were the one who moved forward, your hand sliding into his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers, pulling him back down to you. His surprised intake of breath was quickly lost as your lips met again.

This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, six months of watching and waiting poured into a single moment. He made a low sound in his throat as your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. 

His own hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently into the sensitive skin there. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.

"I've wanted to do that since the first time you rolled your eyes at my coffee order," he said against your lips, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"That long?" You tried to sound teasing, but it came out breathless instead.

He smiled against your lips. "Longer, probably." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jawline. "Though watching you try to diagnose yourself with every terrible disease I mentioned was pretty entertaining, too."

You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, quieter, more intimate, "But I've got plenty of time to make it up to you."

His lips trailed down your neck, each gentle press sending shivers through your body. When he reached the collar of your t-shirt, he paused, his fingers toying with the hem. "Can I?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he slowly, teasingly, pushed the fabric up, revealing your stomach inch by inch. The first brush of his lips against your bare skin made you gasp, your fingers tightening reflexively in his silky hair.

He took his time, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Your back arched, subtly at first, but with increasing urgency as his lips and hands explored your skin.

His fingers, still toying with the hem of your shirt, finally slipped beneath the fabric. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips. "More," you whispered, the word barely audible, but he heard it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Your heart raced, your skin flushed, every nerve ending racing with the promise of what was to come.

He dragged the fabric down your legs, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his kisses trailing down your inner thigh. And then his mouth was on you, and the world fell away. 

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The next morning felt like stepping into a dream—a world where Dr. Satoru Gojo, the man you’d spent six months convinced was silently diagnosing you with rare diseases, was actually just a man utterly smitten with you.

It was as if a blurry lens had finally snapped into focus, revealing a picture so obvious you almost laughed. All those intense stares, the carefully timed coffee shop visits, the way he’d linger at your counter, even helping you study—it had never been about mysterious illnesses or professional concern. 

He’d simply been trying to be near you, and you’d been too busy inventing medical mysteries to notice.

And the most embarrassing part? How obvious it had been to everyone else. Your coworkers’ knowing looks finally made sense, as did your mother’s immediate acceptance of him as your “boyfriend.” Even his colleagues had been in on it, helping stage that ridiculous Christmas video call just to make you smile. 

When you later confessed your obliviousness to your coworkers, their reactions ranged from “Finally!” to a bewildered “Wait, you mean he wasn’t actually your boyfriend this whole time?”

Over breakfast, as he effortlessly charmed your mother into accepting a third helping of pancakes he casually dropped the bomb to your mom, “I actually rearranged my entire consultation schedule to match her shifts. I don't even like coffee."

Your mind went blank for a moment. He… what? Then, the implications crashed down on you. He’d rearranged his entire work schedule just to see you. And he hated coffee. He’d only ever ordered those sugary lattes because… because of you.

A blush crept up your neck, and you couldn't believe how adorably dense you’d been.

He met your gaze then, his blue eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. Only now you understood what that look truly meant. He hadn’t been studying you. He’d been cherishing you with his gaze. He’d wanted to see you, to be near you, to simply be with you. And the realization made you ridiculously, undeniably happy.

Satoru walked over to you from where he stood next to your mom and leaned down, his breath warm against your temple, and pressed a soft kiss there. You closed your eyes, savoring the simple touch. God, you wanted more. You wanted him closer, his arms around you, his lips on yours again, just like last night.

You'll probably never get enough of that.

He pulled back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. His gaze held yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. Then he whispered three words that made your world stand still, "I love you."

Three little words.

But those three words little changed everything.

It felt as though time itself had stopped. He loves me, the thought echoed in your mind, a fragile, beautiful sound you couldn't quite believe was real. You’d imagined this moment countless times in secret, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart, but you'd never truly believed it could happen.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hand, the sweet scent of pancakes, and the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window, you knew you’d never been happier in your entire life. 

And most importantly, you didn't have to pretend anymore. He wasn't just someone you were pretending to date for your family's sake. He was actually your boyfriend. Really, truly your boyfriend. And what had once felt like a performance suddenly felt very much like coming home.

But the best part? At exactly 7:15 the next morning, he still walked in, ordered his usual diabetes in a cup, and watched you work with those intense blue eyes. Only now, when you handed him his drink, he'd pull you close for a kiss that tasted of caramel and cinnamon.

"You know," he said one morning, watching you make his order, "for someone smart enough to get into med school, you were remarkably dense about this whole thing."

"Says the man who spent six months staring instead of just asking me out."

"I was building suspense."

"You were being creepy."

"Maybe," he said, then smilled. "But it worked, didn't it?"

And really, you couldn't argue with that. Though you did make his next latte extra sweet, just to watch him pretend to enjoy it.

After all, some things were worth suffering through overly sugary coffee for.

masterlist

author's note — if you're familiar with a certain story on my blog, then no you didn't see this story, and this is definitely not a healthier version of another couple, and i absolutely do not have a thing for medical AUs, okay thank you.

anway, this was supposed to get spicier, but time got away from me because i really wanted to share it with you all for christmas so this is only suggestive, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. & thank you so much for reading this far !! your support means everything to me.

wishing you all a very merry christmas !! hope your holidays are filled with sweet coffee, warm embraces, and maybe even a handsome doctor of your own <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[sidneywasfound]

WHY NOT BOTH...? | Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader 🎁

Pairings: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader, Lando Norris x Fem!Reader,

Warnings; Lando being jelous because of Oscar and Reader,Reader being a brat,Smutt,Hair pulling/grabbing,threesome,Unprotected sex,Dirty talk,Oral (f recieving),Handjob,A scene inspired by the movie 'Challengers' hehe.

AUTHORS NOTE; MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS, I know it's Christmas Eve,but I'm gonna give you the christmas present now ♡

English is not My first lenguage this may have some mistakes hehe

⋅°₊ • ୨୧ ‧₊° ⋅

You and Oscar don't have any kind of Shyness when it comes to Public displays of...love?...You used to get Comfortable in his lap while he was sitting on the couch,both watching tiktoks in his phone. All this kind of affection really Made Lando upset about the situation between You and him,At first you were flirting with him, and now you're sitting on Oscar's lap?. It is the last year christmas party that Max organized, everyone was chatting,eating something from the snacks,dancing...but lando was watching you both,laughing together,talking...He knew that Oscar did it secretly, but every time he laughed he hid his face in your neck to pretend he was trying to hide his laugh, but he is clever and Lando knew it,he just wanted to find a stupid excuse to feel your neck and Vanilla scent on his face and lips.

Later,People started to celebrate, dancing and doing parties stuff. Almost all the lights in the huge house were off except for some party lights. Lando lost sight of them, since Yuki had invited him to the karaoke that was in the other room. After a while he saw them,Sitting on the big couch, She was on Oscar's lap kissing him Passionately,With one hand resting on Oscar's cheek and the other grabbing the hair from the back of his head,pulling him wildly towards her while their tongues moved in each other's mouths, Oscar stared to move his hand towards your inner thigh making you lower your kisses to his neck and play with the hem of his sweatshirt. Lando was freezing,watching You and Oscar like some kind of fetish, Fascinated with the movements of your tongue, wishing to be the one who is kissing you aka Oscar Fucking Piastri.

Lando decided that this was enough teasing for the night,and when You went to the kitchen for a beverage he approached You ."Hey,are you busy?" Lando said leaning on the kitchen countertop,You looked at him in surprise as you poured yourself some coke."Are you that desperate...?" You said,and god he was dying,It was a pretty common thing of you,You were never with someone just to be with someone, You emanated superiority and power making yourself seem unreachable,and that made Oscar and Lando die to be with you,looking like two chihuahas humping to your leg for attention. "i'm not desperate." Lando said trying to be tough. "And why were you spying on me while i'm kissing Oscar? Or maybe you were spying on Oscar ? Don't worry, I'm not judging!" She said mockingly,a thing that also put the two of them in a shy and submissive mood. "Of course not!,but i'm done of being with him one day and me the next, is this a joke to You?" Lando said grabbing your arm and making eye contact with you ."maybe...If You guys stop being such bitches to me, we could make an arrangement between us..." Lando looked at you confused, "just...Okay Lando, I'll wait for you in the room upstairs... let's finish this quickly..." She went up the stairs and lando stood in the middle of the kitchen surprised.

Lando decided to wait a little before going upstairs,He had to mentally prepare himself to fuck her so good that she would have to stay with him for the next few days. He sat on the couch,beside Oscar and Charles. Oscar looked at him sideways in confusion and started using his phone. Instead Charles decided to talk to him "are You okay mate? You look kinda weird and nervous" Charles said with sympathy and his thick accent. " Yeah mate,just a tough night,isn't?" Lando says joking "Yeah,sure" Oscar says unexpectedly with pride without taking his eyes off the phone. Now Lando really wanted to hit him, "sure,Yuki beat us all at karaoke, it seems that he has a hidden talent!" Charles says innocently "You two should compete sometime,To see who is the Best and toughest of you haha!" Charles said naively,while Oscar and Lando look at each other smirking with pride in their imaginary competition.

Finally Lando decided it was time to enter the room,She was lying on the bed with her clothes disheveled,She was barefoot, a strap of her top fell revealing a part of her bra,Her skirt was a little raised, revealing her panties between her legs,Her hair was messy,Her breathing was Messy,making her chest rise with each breath, and making her tits press against her tight top. "Fuck,You are going to kill me..." Lando said feeling the bulge in his pants grow. He approached her kissing her desperately "Wait Lando...stop..." She said as he kissed her neck "what's...wrong?...?" He said in between Kisses,"We have to wait for Oscar...",She said making lando stop abruptly,moving away from your neck to look at you. "W-wha-?",he was interrumped by the sound of the Wooden door opening."My God, You gorgeous...teasing me all the night wha-..." Oscar came through the door, paralyzed with the view of your legs wide Open and Lando between them."What is Lando doing here?!" He said upset. She pulled Lando off her and sat on the edge of the bed. The two, Dazed, without asking quickly went to sit beside her, leaving her in the middle.

"it's just...i love You guys so much!..and...I can't resist having just one of You..." She said with a fake pout."Well,You have to decide...You can't keep teasing us like this..." Oscar said,putting a hand on your thigh. She remained silent,She raised her head looking at Oscar and approached his face,Their breaths touched, she caressed his cheek lightly,He put a hand on her waist. She brought her lips closer and made them touch Oscar's,With their mouths half open,Slowly and slightly she began to put the tip of her tongue in his mouth,making him grab the back of her head to kiss her Passionately,Her tongue played his tongue, while he devoured her lips making obscene noises. Lando was dumbfounded,Looking at Oscar with jealousy while she lightly touched his inner thigh. She slowly separated from him while he looked at her enamorated with his mouth half open, leaving a thread of saliva between their lips.

Lando was silent ,thinking that he had already lost his chance until she turned to him. She came closer and started kissing him desperately, in a completely different way than how she kissed Oscar. Lando brought her closer to him, putting his tongue in her mouth and kissing her lips that let out soft moans. She started to put a hand under his shirt but stopped and separated from him, staying back in the middle. The two looked at each other waiting for her to decide, but she remained silent without saying anything.She looked at them flirtatiously smiling,"Why not both?".She began to take off her top, revealing her bra that they were wanting to see so bad. Without hesitating any longer, the two coordinated at the same time to kiss her neck on both sides,She moaned and grabbed both of their heads, lifting her head to give them space.

She started kissing desperately Oscar while unbuckling Lando's pants. From one moment to the next, Oscar appear between your legs lifting your skirt to kiss the Slim fabric of your underwear. You let out a moan that echoed on Lando's lips making him harder,You put your hand in his pants to take out his member stroking it. Oscar pulled down your underwear to give a lick to your cunt. You moaned lightly after this, moving your hand faster making Lando whimper too. Oscar started to move his tongue between your folds,Licking your clit and sticking his tongue as deep as he could. Lando lowered his hand to your cunt to start rubbing your clit,Leaving Oscar with less things to lick. You moaned as you kissed Lando with your hand squeezing and moving up and down his length. "I-im ah..." Lando couldn't finish his sentence when he felt his orgasm coming, leaving only a very pornographic moan. Staining his abdomen and a little of your hand. You grabbed Oscar's hair and pulled it, moaning as you felt your orgasm coming "ah Oscar!..." Luckily you didn't finish so you pushed him towards you, leaving him on top of you, making his member touch your crotch.

"Come on Lando...if you position yourself correctly I can suck you off..." You said while kissing Oscar but Lando was defeated on the side of the bed "Calm down guys, I already fucked her yesterday...I'm exhausted" Oscar laughed and you blushed when you heard that. "H-hey!,I just wanted to include you know..." Lando looked at her "Well next time we do this I'll fuck you." Oscar lined up and slowly entered you, letting out a moan from both of you. "Wait...again?,You're okay with that?" Lando looked at you pretending to stop and think,While Oscar began to thrust into You making You moan, And cling to his back "As long as I can enjoy watching you get fucked this good then I don't care." Lando said watching as Oscar rammed into you wildly,You just rolled your eyes."looks like The little slut's game went wrong" Lando said mocking You."She was trying to make us jealous and now she's like the obedient whore",Oscar said thrusting you faster.

You felt the wave of pleasure pass over you and you moaned as you felt Oscar finish inside you.The three of You lay on the bed face up, both of them lying on her tits, The music of the party was loud but isolated."Do you think this relationship will work?" She said, Lando and Oscar looked at each other. "If we continue like this, I hope it lasts forever" Oscar said laughing,You and Lando smiled, you were about to talk when you heard a familiar voice outside the door.

"Yes and I hope You guys clean the room and the sheets after this!"no other one but Max Verstappen shouted at them from outside his room.

"shit" The three of them said seeing all the clothes thrown all over the room.

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Tags: @that-one-little-soybean

[barnabusthebarmyballetschool]

As someone who was a 13 yr old Brit in 2005 I had a visceral reaction to seeing each and every one of these tracks.

My friend at school was obsessed with X Factor at the time and had a massive crush on this guy. I never got the appeal and I wonder if that's why our friendship died.

Look, we all did it. Played around with our Nokia 1110 ringtones and jokingly set this up. I don't know why we have to be all defensive about it. Whilst I miss the custom ringtone era, I'm glad this villain died off with his annoying "Baa aramba baa bom baa barooumba..."

I'm not saying we were, but as a tween listening to PCD you felt so grown up and dare I say 'sexy' as you showed off you bedroom choreography at the local SNAP disco. We weren't of course. We were children. But that didn't stop us performing mildly risqué moves in our New Look party outfits.

I voted for this one because even 20 years later, I can still bop along to this without feeling like I've gone back in time. It's timeless. And one of the best charity singles to come out of the noughties.

Nope. Can't stand that fucking chipmunk singing. Hate this with a firey passion and I'm annoyed to be reminded this exists.

I'm not proud to admit this, but before this song came out I had no idea who Madonna was. So all I knew about the supposed queen of pop was she was a ~50 something prancing around in a skimpy leotard. I've since learnt the error of my ways and come to appreciate her contribution to music, but this song will forever be 'meh'.

So I had to check Wikipedia on this because apparently this was Westlife's 1st single without my beloved Brian. I remember the tragic heartbreak only a tween girl can experience when their favourite in a boy band decides to leave, so although this song is remarkable I probably wasn't vibing it as much as I might have 2 years prior.

Another 'let me try and be sexy' song that was probably inappropriate for someone not even in puberty yet. I never did get why they each wore such a ridiculous outfit to presumably their office?! You can still flirt over the fax machine without needing to be in just your pants Mutya!

This was a viral music video before going viral was really a thing. I must have watched this silly billboard graffiti a hundred times. The song itself was alright, more akin to Ironic Alanis in vibes, but I know I watched this on repeat for the 'will they, won't they' story.

"I'm Luke, I'm 5 and my dad's Bruce Lee". I nearly picked this in the poll, but let's be honest I haven't got it on any Spotify playlist (unlike McFly). The cartoon music video was so cute and the song itself is really sweet. Haven't listened to it in ages but I might sing it to myself if I ever come across a yellow digger blocking traffic.

I had to look this one up tbh. I like the Gorillaz, I do, but their songs aren't exactly recognisable from name alone. Once I hit play though, it all came flooding back and I'm not mad the Americans have made this sweep the poll, despite it being quite niche for a British audience.

Will Smith was still doing music in 2005? Really?! Wow, did not remeber that at all! Having said that, I do know this song, I just assumed it was older. But nope, that music video is straight outta 2005 fo' shizzle!

i desperately want to do one of those “pick a song that’s turning 20 in 2025” polls but instead of all the songs being chosen to appeal directly to american tumblr users who had an emo phase i will take them, with bare minimum selectivity or curation, from the uk official year end charts so that everybody has to choose between shayne ward and the crazy frog song

[soft-beams]

i had a vision of pit fighter vi going to a bar and hooking up with the hot bartenders after she lost one of her matches 🙈

omg yes, absolutely.

this may have gone in a slightly different direction, oops 🫢

i feel like vi would turn to two things when she loses a match: alcohol and sex. usually at the same time. so she has her routine set, and loris lets her do what she needs to do to unwind.

she often tries to look for women who look like caitlyn. if they have the bluish-black hair or blue eyes, then vi's instantly taking them back to her small, unkempt apartment. if they have an accent too? even better because it allows vi to fully immerse herself in the fantasy she plays. where it's caitlyn who's with her and not some stranger she's going to kick out in the morning.

but there's something different this night; it doesn't start different, though. vi drowns her wounded pride and shame in bottles after bottles of booze. loris is a forever presence beside her, not getting in her way but ensuring she doesn't hurt herself too much. she's already pent-up, rearing to find herself a victim to sink her teeth into tonight when she sees you.

you're new at the bar, just started your shift, and you're mixing drinks like a pro. your smile is pretty; wide and shining as you speak with patrons and roll your eyes at sleazy flirting attempts. you seem too radiant for this place, sticking out like a sore thumb and that intrigues vi through her drunken haze. she's curious and, frankly, horny so she waves you over.

"what can i getcha?" you ask once you've made it to her side of the bar. your smile is even prettier up close, highlighting your already stunning features. vi feels herself go tongue-tied, but she recovers and aims what she knows a charmingly sloppy grin your way.

"would it be weird if i said you?" vi asks, peering up through her lashes in an attempt to be coy. "or am i overshooting here?"

"definitely overshooting," you snort, but you don't walk away. instead, you refill her drink and add, "but i wouldn't want to hit a drunk loser when she's already down."

usually, something like that would strike a nerve. and while it still does, vi doesn't feel as offended by those words as she should be. maybe it's because you're pretty. but a pretty face's never stopped her from cussing someone out before.

"i don't need your pity," vi attempts to spit out, to sound mean and intimidating. but it falls flat; sounds soft and a little slurred. "so if that's all you're offering then fuck off."

vi doesn't want you to fuck off, though.

she wants you to stay, and it's like you sense that because you don't move. in fact, you're staring at her, amused with a raised brow, that radiance of yours blinding.

"okay," you say easily. "but then you can't tell me what you actually want me here for."

vi's eyes widen, a slight jolt of shock sobering her up a bit.

"...what?"

"i know you, violet." her name rolls of your tongue perfectly. she wants to hear you say her name again. "whenever you lose a match, you drown yourself in booze and find someone to fuck." you reach for a glass behind the bar and set it on the counter. then you pour yourself a drink, smooth and elegant. "and i can only imagine that you're so interested in me because you want to fuck me, correct?"

vi swallows, feeling a bit too hot in her jacket. she doesn't answer immediately and that has you tilting your head to the side, a sly smirk gracing your pretty lips.

"do you want to fuck me, violet?"

god, yes.

"i want to fuck you," vi rasps out, flushed and pulsing between her thighs.

"good girl," you purr before tossing your drink back, showcasing the tempting curve of your throat and vi curses a little too loudly.

fuck.

[luvs4matt]

I’m not trying to rush u, but when is soaked part 5 gonna happen 😭 I dying to what happened next

𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 , 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟓 ✿ 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

“oh baby.. is daddy makin’ your mind all fuzzy? huh?”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - dilf!matt x subby!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - in which, when matt witnesses reader letting someone flirt with her, he has no choice but to remind her who she belongs to.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - SMUT 18+, daddy kink, sir kink, begging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cow girl, praise, breeding, size kink, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, princess, good girls, sweet girl, angel, babe, bunny)

𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐂𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 vulnerable, all by yourself. you find your way to your feet, running out of the bedroom. thank god lilly wasn’t home, because if she was, if she walked out of her bedroom, she would see you completely naked running around.

you finally found matt in the kitchen; you ran up to him and dug your face into his shoulder “matty.. m’sorry” tears start to well in your eyes, why would he leave you there like that? “yeah? y’gonna stop bein’ bad an’ lying, sayin’ that i’m mean when i have been so much nicer than i should’ve been after how you acted”

you nod “yes sir, i promise” he chuckles “you promise, huh?” you hummed as you nodded “well, then we should get my sweet girl out of the handcuffs, yeah?” you nodded again “please.. they are starting to hurt..” before he left the bedroom, he had put on a pair of sweatpants, and brought the key with him.

he turned you around as he grabbed the key from his pocket “there you go baby”

“thank you” he grabbed your waist “you wanna take your plug out too princess?”

“yes” he nodded “okay, just bend over the counter, alright?” you did just as he said, bending over the counter. you winced as he pulled it out “i know it hurts baby, m’sorry” he hugged you from behind before leaving kisses down your neck “need you matty..” he smirks “yeah?”

“mhm” you grind yourself back onto him “you think i teased you enough already tonight? hm?”

“yes sir” he turns you back around, placing his lips on yours. you were desperate, you tried to deepen the kiss but he pulled away “no baby, be patient. try it again and i’ll put you back in your cuffs”

“m’sorry” he kissed you again, this time, you moved at his pace. he lifted you onto the counter, never separating your lips. you gasp as you feel his fingers slowly trace up your thigh, he smiled “mm.. so sensitive” you let out a quiet whine, desperate for more attention.

“don’t worry princess, daddy’ll touch you soon, okay?” you nodded “okay.. just please don’t make it too long” he chuckles at your neediness “i won’t baby.. i won’t” he smiles as he kisses you.

he lifts you from the counter, bringing you to the couch. he sits you on top of him, allowing you to be on his lap “gon’ ride me honey?” you hummed “c’mon.. we’ve been working so hard on using our words, use ‘em” you rolled your hips against his bulge “yes sir, m’gonna ride you”

“good girl” you whimpered as you continued grinding on him “take my pants off sweet girl” you did as he said before getting back on top of him “can i now daddy?”

“go ahead angel” you line up your hole with his tip, he holds your waist as you sink down onto him. you struggled, his dick already so deep inside. it feels deeper with you being on top “need help babe?”

“yes.. please help me.. so deep..” he pushes you down until you have taken him all “see, you can do it” you sat there for a minute, in his arms, letting yourself get used to his size. no matter how many times you have sex, you’ve never got used to his size.

matt uses the grip on your waist to roll your hips, the sudden movements making you whimper “f- feels good..” he removes one hand from your waist, using it to hold your face “yeah?” you start to move yourself, bouncing on his cock.

you forgot all pain you were experiencing when he brought your face to his, your lips colliding together “just the prettiest little lips” he mumbled against you. you whined as he deepened the kiss.

you gasp as he suddenly starts thrusting up into you, you moan as he hits all of your spots “my good girl.. taking it so well” he bites his lip as he watches your face twist in pleasure “always- fuck- always take my dick like a fuckin’ champ, don’t you princess?”

you can’t comprehend what he is saying, you just know that you feel so good “oh baby..” his voice was laced with faux sympathy “is daddy makin’ your mind all fuzzy? huh?” your eyes rolled back. matt was right, your mind is all fuzzy, but you didn’t know he was right, you had no idea what he just said.

he brought you back into reality with a few taps on your cheek “i- huh?” he smiled “you’re so adorable.. you can’t even think straight” you couldn’t form a sentence, the pleasure was just so overwhelming “cum?” he wasn’t going to make you work for it this time “cum baby”

a loud moan erupted from your throat as you came around his cock hard “daddy’s close honey, it’s almost over” you whined in overstimulation “squeezin’ me so tight” he groaned.

as he was building his orgasm, he was also building your second one. “gonna cum with me sweetheart?” you frantically nodded.

he thrusted a few more times before he shot his load into you, triggering your orgasm “daddy!” he rides out your highs before you cradle yourself into him, allowing him to hold you, running his hands up and down your back “good bunny.. good bunny”

© luvs4matt

a/n - a little christmas present for you guys 💋💋

[nikethestatue]

Azriel has always been the one looking at life from the outside.

From the time of his birth, he was placed in a cupboard, separated from him mother, forced to look at life as an outsider.

Everything's been just within his reach, but it always eluded him.

There was a family that he was supposed to have been part of--his father, his mother, his step mother and step brothers. It was right there, just beyond the walls, a complete family that should've loved him. But the family didn't love him, and his mother wasn't allowed to be with him, so until he was 11 years old, he was looking at something that he couldn't have.

Then, he was discarded by his father, dumped in a camp, unable to fly, overly powerful, yet completely powerless as an Illyrian. There was a family there--Rhys and his mother, and his 'brother' Cassian, who's been there for 5-6 years already. So again, Azriel was taken on, but the family wasn't quite his. He was a Shadowsinger. He had use. The High Lord took him on and tolerated him because of Azriel's abilities and not because he needed another stray in the family.

And then there was Mor, who was within reach,. But he could never make her love him. And he looked on when she chose Cassian as a lover.

He looked on for 500 years, while Mor flirted, pushed and pulled, and kept him at an arm's length, while draping herself over his brother.

And now, both of his brothers are mates to the women that they love, and who love them back. And yet again, he looked from the outside in. Happy families, happy couples. Even Amren found someone to love her! And then the one that he finds most pleasing and desirable, the one he can actually talk to, the one who understands him, the one who cares for him--she was given to another. He is the odd man out. AGAIN. He is looking at the possibility of the one he loves ending up with another man and building a life and a family with him.

So imagine the grief that he felt when he received an offer and permission from her--he was actually accepted and wanted for once in his life--and then his own brother, his High Lord told him 'no. You cannot have what your heart desires.' He is to remain the odd man out. He was told that he 'doesn't deserve her'.

Now imagine what will happen when he actually does get to have her. When she reciprocates. And when he no longer needs to look from the outside in. When he has his own love and his own family.

His wish list would be blank. Because he'd have everything he ever wanted.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Stares at you and very politely requests for some transfem soda headcanons

Oh hell yeah I’d love to

(tw for mentions of period-typical transphobia)

Transfem Soda h/cs

-She keeps the name Sodapop.

-She worries sometimes that Mom and Dad would be disappointed in her, to which Pony or Darry will remind her that “Mom and Dad always said they wanted a girl, they’d be proud.”

-She loves to dress all feminine and whatever, but on a day to day basis she dresses more or less like she always has.

-Tulsa is big enough that outside of their neighborhood/school, most people don’t know her as she was before. So on dates, Steve likes to take her to the other side of town, away from all the people who know her as “Soda the boy”. She loves it, it’s so freeing to have folks see her as herself. 

-Speaking of Steve- he’d just finally accepted that he was gay when Soda started experimenting w/ gender stuff. (Turns out he wasn’t gay, he was bi and so in love with Soda that he couldn’t like anyone else, girl or guy.) But it definitely sends him spiraling into another crisis for a bit- he’s supposed to be gay, why’s the thought of Soda as a chick so hot?!

-Steve’s real supportive tho. Back when Soda was just calling it “crossdressing” he’d buy her things to experiment with- yk, like dresses, heels, makeup, etc. Part of that was selfish since Steve was sorta (very) into it, but it mainly stemmed from an earnest hope that Soda would feel more like herself

-That “crossdressing” phase lasted a few months, so when she eventually did come out to him as a girl, he wasn’t completely surprised. He’s who she came out to first, and it means a lot to him that she trusts him so much.

-Coming out to Darry and Pony tho is…harder. She knows they’ll always love her, but she feels like they’ll see her differently. 

-She tells Darry on accident. She’d just come home from work, feeling shitty because someone called her “such a nice young man”. She was tearing up about it, which made her feel worse, and then Darry showed up, home from work early. He got her to explain what happened, and the interaction went like this:

“Wait…so you don’t want folks to call you nice??”

“...I don’t want them to call me a man…”

Darry hugged her and said “Soda…you got somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

And it was all over from there. She just spilled.

-When Ponyboy gets home, he’s surprised, a little weirded out, but mostly glad Soda’s happy. Neither him or Darry really get it at first, but they know she’s happy so they’re happy. Over time though, they understand more and more, till they understand her as well as she understands herself.

-Coming out to the gang is straightforward enough. Two-Bit started to make an iffy comment as a joke, but Steve threatened him till he shut up. Two-Bit’s supportive though- the way he sees it, the world always needs more hot chicks. Johnny goes to her for advice about girls, which he knows makes her feel validated. And Dally pretty much immediately starts flirting with her, partially out of his instinctual need to harass women and partially because it riles Steve up and Dally likes riling Steve up. Two-Bit flirts with her too- she’s hot, blond, and it pisses Steve off, so yeah, win-win.

-Darry worries about her sometimes. He does the protective older brother bit only half-jokingly, and it sort of annoys Soda because Darry was never this worried about her before she came out. She also sort of likes it, because yk, it feels affirming. So she’s got mixed feelings about that.

-Darry threatens to kill Steve if he hurts her. And sure, Darry did that back when stevepop first got together too, but now it feels even more pointed. Steve is a little scared of Darry in a way that he wasn’t before.

-Ponyboy straight up gaslights Curly Shepard, Mark Jennings, and half the kids at school into thinking Soda was always a girl, just a tomboy. “Jesus, you thought I had two brothers? Hell no, I’ve always had a brother and a sister. Soda just looked like a boy as a kid ‘cos she had to wear Darry’s hand-me-downs you fuckin’ idiots.”

-After seeing Ponyboy’s success at that, Two-Bit, Johnny, Dally, and Steve try to do the same with the other hoods. Tim Shepard doesn’t fall for it, but when Dally begrudgingly explains the situation, Tim supports it too. Not because he particularly likes Soda or trans people as a whole- he actually thinks she’s kind of a freak tbh- but because she’s a Curtis. Darry’s his friend, and she’s Darry’s kid sister. Besides, it’s what he’d do if Angela was trans. (this ain’t a great pov to have obviously! But yk, I’m aiming for realism.)

-Steve is saving up money to get Soda HRT. He hasn’t told her, but everytime he gets five bucks from his dad, it goes to the secret estrogen fund. He tells Darry about it, and Darry starts adding a small portion to it monthly too.

-She looks even more like her mom now. Sometimes, Pony will wake up from a nightmare and in his sleepy haze, he’ll momentarily think she is Mrs. Curtis. He’s never told Soda this before and never will. It’d make her feel guilty, and he doesn’t want that,

-It feels lousy living in Tulsa sometimes, where folks often misgender her and bring her down. So when she and Steve get older, they move to a nearby city where everyone who meets her meets her as Sodapop- Steve’s girlfriend, the Curtis sister, a young woman who’s fantastic with cars and even better with horses.

[na0koz]

hiii i was wondering if you could write about toxic vi from arcane? <3

cw: mention of sex, ghosting, alcohol, arguing, wall punching, gaslighting, vi is just mean

hell yeah

i don’t think vi would be toxic in the way that i write jinx, like she wouldn’t be completely psychotic and obsessed, like she just wouldn’t be the best girlfriend, y’know.

she’d be veryyyy possessive but still refuses to put a label on your relationship. i don’t think she likes committing like that. but if she catches wind of someone else flirting with you, or you flirting with someone else then she will be having words. beats up the other person and maybe yells at you too.

she is so so mean. uses personal stuff you’ve told her against you all the time, purposefully to hurt you. she knows how to get under your skin and make you cry and she uses that skill to her advantage.

if you argue then she’ll storm off and come back a couple days later, sweet talking you trying to get you back while you stare at her with your arms folded over your chest. “please princess, you’re the only person i wanna be with, i need you.” kinda shit.

she does ghost you a lot though. she’s not reallyyyy sure how to do relationships ‘properly’ so she thinks it’s fine to disappear for a days or weeks and come back like nothing happened just because she ‘wasn’t feeling like a relationship’.

really fucks with your head a lot. acts like she didn’t say stuff when she definitely did. called you a slut once for pretty much no reason and then when you brought it up in a later argument, where she said you were “being stupid, baby” and she’d never say that about you because she loves you.

like i said earlier, she’s different to jinx in how they’re toxic. i guess the way to describe it would be that vi is actively toxic, because she argues and ghosts you and all that bs, while jinx is like secretly obsessed and crazy about you.

she never tells you anything. you probably started seeing each other as a result of a one night stand, so there wasn’t any like talking stage beforehand. she picked you up from a club and thought she wouldn’t mind seeing you again after she’d fucked you. but you guys barely talk properly, if you do then it’s you talking and her half-listening. you don’t know anything about her family or anything like that, nothing about her past.

she’s not that physical when she’s angry, but she has been and will be if she gets worked up enough. punches walls for sure. her apartment is so messy from her punching shit and throwing stuff. in a particularly messy argument you said something that just really rubbed her the wrong way. she punched the wall by your head as a result and made you cry. cue the sickly sweet, yet empty, comforts and apologies.

once ran into someone she knew while you were on a ‘date’ (going to a bar, making out in an alleyway, then fucking at her apartment), and introduced you as her girlfriend. you asked her about it, a smile on your face as you thought she had finally decided she wanted to seal the deal with you. she then burst your bubble saying that she “kind of had to” call you her girlfriend because you’re definitely more than friends, but you are not her girlfriend. she makes that very clear.

she did try to do something for your birthday, (doesn’t give a fuck about anniversaries) not very well though. she missed it by a couple of days and probably only knew about it from hearing it from a friend of yours. showed up to your door with some kind of ugly wilted flowers and a bottle of whiskey. she may have already popped the cork of the bottle and had some on her way.

her answer to everything is just sex, unfortunately. her idea of making up after an argument is just fucking you to make to forget how horrible she is, rather than actually apologising and talking with you.

basically, she fucks with you so bad, your friends hate her, you hate her (sometimes), she acts like she hates you but truthfully she is just terrified but the feeling that you give her. she is evil.

[spiderb00]

Qual dos casais é considerado o mais possessivo? Tipo, qual é o casal que é mais obcecado uma pela outra?

Lara, for sure. You know, kind of the "crazy girls" story is the beginning of it all, so it's pretty self-explanatory. Lara is simply the most jealous of all the Kats, she is lucky that Yn is a music producer, because she wouldn't survive a day in Megan's shoes.

But anyway, the girl has your location, the password phone, she simply has everything. She doesn't check them, she just wants to be sure that you have nothing to hide.

Manon is fighting for her life. She has to constantly deal with girls throwing things at your drums when you're at a show. One time a girl threw a bra in your lap, and it had to stay there until you finished the song and could take it off. Man, Manon was searching the audience for the girl like a hawk.

But despite everything, she trusts you a lot. You never went to after-show parties without her, and when she wasn't around you just didn't go. Not that you didn't have self-control, or would betray Manon if you were alone, you just wanted her not to create a thousand theories in her head.

Next up is definitely Daniela. The girl is very confident, but everything has its limits, and she knows that occasionally someone will find a way to flirt with you. One day, she discovered that one of the women you rescued from a burning house simply gave you her number. like wtf shouldn't she be coughing up smoke???

But at the end of the day, if you tell her you love her, she just melts and forgets whatever was bothering her.

Sophia is not that jealous, she trusts you and you have been together for so long, that she has complete trust in you. But your problem is slowness, it takes you a while to notice things, so you have no idea when someone hits on you.

So sometimes Sophia goes into scary mode just to scare the girl who is trying to steal your attention from her.

Megan was very jealous at the beginning of your relationship, but when she learned that you weren't going anywhere, she started to relax.

Now, if some girl hits on you, all she does is hug you while you talk to the person, or if it's like the TikTok case in "nonsense" she'll probably just post a picture or video of the two of you with a caption that makes it clear that you are hers.

OUTRO BRAZUCA???

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Finale!

summary: the Christmas Party is finally here! … and you and Negan are not on good terms

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Flirting, Kissing

word count: 7.1k

A/N: this is the final chapter! thank you to everyone who's read this and left comments!! For some reason, I always hesitated doing multi-chapter fics because I didn't think my writing was good enough to keep people captivated for more than one chapter but this has given me a serious confidence boost! and that's thank to all of you!

Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy!!!

Negan doesn’t know if you can be pussy whipped when you’re not getting any pussy, but damn that’s exactly how he feels with you.

He’s always been a fan of temporary pleasures, quick fixes for the emptiness that gnawed at him. He wasn’t interested in long term or relationship—at least, not in the way most people understood it. Love was something people with hope clung to. 

And Negan? He had lost hope a long time ago.

He’s had women, plenty of them, but none of them have ever meant more to him than a night of fleeting connection. Negan never made a fool of himself ice skating for some pussy, nor has he ever wined and dined them.

And he would say he still hasn’t, mainly because that would mean referring to you as just another piece of pussy. And no matter how hypocritical it may be, he doesn’t like that.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you can penetrate the walls he’s spent years putting up. You’ve never been impressed by his bravado or his flirting. 

No, instead you’re the sweet type. You like the little moments, the playfulness, the cheeky texts neither of you should be sending during work hours.

Negan’s known it for a while now. He doesn’t want you like the others. He doesn’t want a night away or a quick fix. He wants the ice skating, the banter throughout the work day, the hot chocolates and dinner dates. 

Fuck, all you’ve given him is a kiss and Negan’s smitten. 

Waking up the morning after your sweet kiss, you’re the first thing that pops into Negan’s head. More specifically, it’s you in his truck, his leather jacket over your shoulders and eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh at some dumbass joke he made. 

He woke up alone, having gone home the night before and spent an hour on the phone to Mark Smith. 

Negan couldn’t believe he actually sat on his couch and willingly listened to his colleague talk about some upcoming market by where he’s staying in Jamaica. Negan even asked Mark how his wife and kids were doing– voluntarily!!

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. The pain, while still there, isn’t as strong. Negan can’t find the strength to harness that resentment he had at the world and himself. 

Because how could he hate himself when he’s had your sweet lips on his not even 24 hours earlier?

But his Thursday goes downhill from the get go. Negan has a pep in his step as he leaves his house, quickly locking the door behind him before heading for his truck. A part of him hopes the smell of your perfume will still be lingering in there.

Aaaand that’s the start of a very bad day. Negan never gets to his truck, instead stopping a few feet away when he sees someone else parked behind him. 

His lips twist downward in a slight sneer. It’s the kind of look that says, “I don’t like you, and I’m not hiding it” without needing to say it aloud.

Sherry has her car parked directly behind Negan, purposefully blocking him in. She stands outside, her arms crossed as she tries to keep warm. 

“Hi…” she says plainly, trying to ease into this. 

When he speaks, it’s deliberate. His voice is dry, almost bored, but the weight of his words hangs heavy. "This is private property, ya can’t park there" Negan’s tone is laced with the kind of casual authority he’s so used to. 

It’s not a request. It’s not even a command. It’s a fact, something he’s not even sure needs to be said, but he does anyway because she’s standing there like this is some kind of game. 

Starting for his truck again, he only stops when she says his name.

Sherry huffs, rolling her eyes. Of course he won’t make this easy. “Negan,” her tone is firmer now “I want to cash in that I-owe-you. Now”.

His hand rests on the truck door but he doesn’t make a move to open it yet. Instead, he turns his body slightly, pivoting so he’s facing her fully now. Negan’s posture tightens, shoulders squared. 

“And you think that means you show up to my home at…” he makes a point of bringing his wrist up to read his watch “seven forty five in the damn morning?”.

“I said whenever and wherever,” she shrugs “and I remembered where you lived, so…”. 

Now it’s Negan who rolls his eyes. Because, yes, out of everything, he needs a reminder that he brought her home once upon a time ago. 

Seeing his little cooperation is shrinking, Sherry cuts to the chase “You have a motorbike, right?”.

“Used to” he corrects her vaguely. Medical bills are a hell of a hit to the balls… and bank account.

“Ok, good,” opening the passenger door to her car, Sherry begins to walk back over to the driver's side “well, get in”.

Negan doesn’t move. “This is kidnapping” he states.

Sherry tries not to lose her patience, nibbling on her bottom lip so she doesn’t let out a string of curses. “No, it’s the favor you owe me,” she corrects “and it’s for Christmas, so c’mon”.

Despite every fiber in his being telling him not to, Negan takes a step closer. “Unless you’re gonna drop me off at the school, we’re gonna be late” be points out.

With the wave of her hand, Sherry dismisses him and gets in. “It’ll be fast” is all she says to assure him.

Glancing back to his truck one last time, Negan sighs before reluctantly getting into Sherry’s car.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

By the time Negan gets to work, he’s pissed off, late and hungry. You’d think as the head cook of the cafeteria, Sherry would’ve had some snacks hidden away in her car but nope, Negan had to starve.

Negan tries to stay positive. He reminds himself that once he knocked out a few more classes, he would have time to do something he’d been looking forward to—setting up the Christmas tree with you. 

But as the day drags on and the hours tick by, his phone remains suspiciously quiet. He sent you a few texts, nothing crazy, just simple check-ins asking when you’d be free to hang out later. 

A casual message, nothing too pushy. But now, after getting through some classes, it has been hours and there still isn’t a reply.

At first, he figures you’d just busy, maybe caught up in teaching or managing your unruly students. He knows you have a lot on your plate and he didn’t want to be that guy who expecta instant responses. 

It’s fine. He’s patient. You’d get back to him when you have the chance.

But as lunch rolls around and there’s still nothing, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t right. It’s subtle at first, just a flicker of unease, but it grows with every passing minute. 

He finds himself glancing at his phone more often, tapping his fingers against the desk, trying to focus on his work but getting distracted.

Something is off.

Negan gives the little pumpkin statue on his desk a quick rub, as if the small gesture might bring him some kind of luck. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up. It’s not like he’s a clingy guy. But the silence between you two today? It’s not like you and it’s starting to eat at him.

First stop is the teacher’s lounge. Empty. He checks your classroom next— locked. No sign of you. Then, he heads to the sports hall, hoping you might be there, finishing something up. No luck.

Hell, he even hangs around the women’s toilets for a minute. It’s stupid, he knows, but he figures if you’re dealing with that time of the month, you might need a minute. 

He leans against the wall, trying not to look too out of place, but when Sasha passes by with a raised brow, he realizes how ridiculous he looks.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing away from the wall.

He’s not the clingy type. He knows that. But by the time lunch comes to an end, he’s sent you a decent amount of texts. 

Negan: you ready for the tree?

Negan: it’s in the hall

Negan: u ok?

Negan: is this hide and seek? Where are you?

Negan: hellllllllooooooooooo? My messages are going through so I know you don’t have me blocked

More classes pass and Negan’s patience wears thinner with every passing minute. He yells at a group of rowdy students, his voice echoing through the sports hall as he orders them to watch out for the cheerfully decorated tables as they do their jumping jacks. 

He checks his watch, the second hand ticking a little too loudly for his liking. It’s almost the end of the school day and Negan can feel the weight of his frustration pressing down on him. 

He hasn’t heard a damn thing from you, not a single text, not even a “Hey, I’m busy.” Nothing.

And the silence? It’s driving him nuts.

By the time he’s checking the teacher’s lounge again, he’s about ready to give up… but then it happens. Just as he’s walking by Ms. Peletier’s classroom, the door clicks open.

You step out.

It’s like a moment of clarity hits him and for a second, all his frustration melts away. There you are— looking like you’re trying to escape something. 

You’re not your usual self. There’s something different about you today, something… timid. You’re not holding eye contact, your shoulders are a little hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“Holy fucking shit,” Negan says, his voice full of relief “I was about to send out a search party, where the fuck have you been, doll?”

He expects a smile, some kind of warmth in your eyes. But instead, you tense. For a heartbeat, your body locks up, like you didn’t expect to see him. 

He watches, confused, as you quickly gather yourself. For a second, he thinks you might be walking toward him, like you’re about to talk, to explain yourself.

But then, just before he can take a step forward, you say it.

“Fuck off”.

Negan’s a man that likes to curse. He likes to throw in a few fucks, pricks, shit balls, whatever he feels in the moment. 

But this is different. 

The curse slices through the air, harsh and bitter. The venom in each syllable sticks in his chest like a jagged piece of glass. 

Negan’s stomach drops. He watches you walk past him, not even sparing him a glance and strut down the corridor without breaking stride.

For a moment, he’s frozen. The anger, the confusion— it all hits him at once. He isn’t the kind of man who gets easily thrown off, but right now? Damn right he feels uneasy.

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s that for?” Negan calls after you, confusion and hurt twisting his words. 

He takes a step forward, instinctively wanting to follow you but before he can move another inch, a voice calls his name.

“Negan.”

He turns, annoyed, ready to snap at whoever’s interrupting him but when he sees Carol standing in the doorway of her classroom, he stops dead.

“Let her go,” she says, her tone calm, but firm.

His brow furrows. What the hell is this?

“What?” He takes a few strides toward her, his voice rising. 

Carol raises a hand, palm out, silencing him before he can continue. “Let her go,” she repeats, her expression unreadable “She’s not interested”.

Negan’s chest tightens. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut but it’s the way she says them so matter-of-fact that makes him freeze in place. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. 

He looks at her, searching her face for some hint, some sign that this is a misunderstanding. But Carol doesn’t flinch. Instead, she just watches him, her eyes steady. 

“She’s not interested,” she repeats, softer this time, but still unyielding.

The truth stings. It settles over him like a weight, heavy and suffocating. The realization that everything he thought he knew about what was happening between you two—what he thought was real—might have only been a quick flash in the pan.

Negan stands there for a moment. The hallway around him feels too quiet, too empty. His chest tightens again and he can’t tell if it’s from anger or hurt or pure disbelief.

He looks back down the hall,  where you disappeared, then back at Carol. With a sharp exhale, Negan turns away, heading in the opposite direction without saying another word. 

What else is there to say?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Friday feels like damnation, and not just because of the party. You purposely come in earlier than usual, not wanting to run into Negan as you set up the last remaining decorations for the gym. Even Joey isn’t in yet.

You can still feel the rush of anger, the way it surged through you when you saw them together, Negan and Sherry. You wouldn’t say you’re a jealous person but to see them arriving together, after everything?!

After Sherry warned you away from him, the dates that weren’t dates you went on with Negan… the kiss. You wonder if you didn’t move fast enough for him and if he went straight to Sherry’s after dropping you home that night. 

You’re pissed—so fucking pissed—but more than that, you’re hurt. The way he acted around you was like you were something special. It was as if maybe, there was something more between you two, more than banter and attraction. 

But now? Now it feels like a fucking joke. He’s out there, probably flirting with whoever is next on his hit list while you’re here, stewing in your own mess of feelings and sticking wreaths on to tables.

You want to punch something just to feel like you’re doing something to get rid of this ache in your chest. 

Your mind races—did they sleep together? Was it just another one-night thing for him? Did it mean nothing? 

The thought of it gnaws at you, each question digging deeper. The betrayal, the feeling of being tossed aside, his voice when he called after you yesterday, the knowing look on Carol’s face when you told her what you had seen… It's too much. 

You wish you could cry but you’re too damn mad. So you keep working, head down, fighting the sting of tears that are just waiting to break through. 

The good news is the sports hall is finally done, besides the Christmas tree that was never put up. 

The high, vaulted ceilings are draped with thick strands of sparkling tinsel in gold and silver, catching the light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs and making the whole room shimmer.

Long rows of tables are now covered in bright red and green cloths, each one bordered with tinsel and a wreath hanging off the front. Paper snowflakes some of the students made dangle from the walls, swirling like an indoor blizzard.

Around the room, there are signs that read things like “Merry Christmas!” and “Season’s Greetings!” in big, bold letters and decorated with holly.

Even the basketball hoops are dressed up, with thick, red ribbons tied in bows around the rims, and a few oversized ornaments dangling from the netting. 

Everywhere you look, there’s something to bring a smile to your face— and yet that’s the one thing you can’t do. 

“Well, hello there,” you don’t tense when you hear the masculine voice. 

It doesn’t have that deep drawl Negan’s does. Nor does it make you want to shiver and purr at the same time.

“Hi, Joey” You don’t even glance at him as you say it, your eyes fixed on the twinkling lights that are tangled up in tinsel, casting a soft glow across the sports hall. 

“The place looks great!” he says, his voice a little too bright as he walks deeper into the room, clearly trying to make conversation.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, your voice flat and distracted “It’s basically done now. Just have to run home after school to grab the drinks, and it’ll be ready”.

You don’t want to engage much more than that. The last thing you need right now is small talk or having to deal with anyone else. 

“And the food?” Joey presses, his tone a little too chipper.

You force a tight-lipped smile, your jaw set as you turn toward him briefly. “Can you let Negan know that’s his shit to sort?” you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral, though it comes out cold.

“Uh—sure! Yeah!” Joey nods quickly, probably sensing the shift in your mood but not wanting to push it. 

Without waiting for another word, you head toward the door, not bothering to look back. The last thing you want is to stick around the hall in case Negan shows up unexpectedly. 

You can feel the tension already creeping up your spine at the mere thought of seeing him, of dealing with whatever’s going on between you two.

So, you leave, eager to put some distance between yourself and the mess you’re caught up in.

The school day drags, yet somehow, it feels like it’s slipping away too fast. The hours blur together— teaching feels more like a flurry of words and half-attention from your students as they count down the minutes to the end of the day.

You try to keep them engaged but it’s obvious they’re all just as eager for the holidays as you are. 

The morning feels slow, like every minute stretches just a little too long. You try to get through your classes but every time the clock ticks, your mind drifts back to the party— back to everything that’s been weighing on you. 

By the time you hit the afternoon, you’re caught in this weird mix of excitement and dread. Each class passes, each bell that rings to signal the end of a period feels like a countdown to something you’d rather not face.

The students, for their part, are bouncing off the walls. They’re eager to get out, to be free from school and homework and whatever else hangs over them. 

You watch them, their chatter almost deafening and you can’t help but feel a sense of urgency in the air. It’s almost like the whole school is vibrating with the countdown and the seconds feel like they’re slipping through your fingers.

The lessons go by in a haze—you’re teaching, but you’re not fully there. You’re running through the motions, reciting your notes and trying to keep your class on track but you know that the closer you get to the end of the day, the closer you get to the party, to seeing Negan again, to dealing with whatever awkwardness looms between you two.

Finally, the last bell rings, the sound cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You breathe out a little too heavily, a mix of relief and frustration swirling inside you. 

It’s over.

The school day’s done. 

The holiday break is here and the party is just around the corner. You grab your things quickly, eager to get out of the classroom but the thought of facing the party, of facing him, slows your steps.

You want a moment of quiet before everything kicks off but you can only have such a luxury when you get home to quickly dress into something a little nicer and bring all the alcohol back here to the sports hall. 

The noise in the hallways is deafening, students filing out, chatting excitedly about the break. Your thoughts, though, are already on the evening ahead. 

You rush home, the quiet of your place a welcome relief after the chaos of the day. You head straight to your room, pulling off your teaching clothes and slipping into something nicer for the party—nothing too fancy, but enough to feel put-together. 

A soft sweater and dark jeans, something comfortable but still festive. You grab the bottles you’ve set aside for the party, having to make multiple trips to your car before they're all loaded.

A quick glance in the mirror tells you that you’re ready but the knot in your stomach tells you the opposite. You grab your keys and head out the door, locking it behind you before making your way back to the school. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s almost half six when the first few people trickle in and you’re glad to see their faces. 

For the past forty minutes, it’s just been you, Joey and Negan in the hall, stealing plates and cups from the home ec room and putting all the drink on display. And in that forty… long… minutes, you and Negan exchanged a total of seven words.

“Where’s the tequila?” he basically huffed at you.

“Still in my car” you retorted, giving him the same energy.

You got a grunt in response and he yelled at Joey to go out and grab it as Negan left to get more plates.

But now the sports hall is buzzing with that awkward in-between energy—everyone’s showing up but the party hasn’t fully kicked off yet. There’s a nice hum of conversation, teachers hesitantly reaching for liquor and some commenting on the decorations.

Every time you cross paths with Negan, you veer the other way. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you two, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. 

You’re doing your best to keep yourself busy— lining up glasses, making sure the food table’s stocked thanks to the newest light in Negan’s life, Sherry (you swear you’re not jealous)—but it’s hard to ignore the tension, the way Negan moves around you, not quite looking at you but not completely avoiding you either.

In one corner of the hall, you see Aaron head towards the large speaker that sits silently waiting.

After a few seconds of fumbling with the speaker, the opening chords of ‘Last Christmas’ filled the room, too loud at first, making everyone glance at each other nervously, unsure if they were meant to sing along, dance, or just pretend it wasn’t happening.

Some teachers head over to the food. Thankfully, you haven’t run into Sherry yet, nor is that something you wish to do. But to give credit where credit is due, the food smells delicious and it’s not as plain as the food usually served at the cafeteria. 

Fingers quickly grab skewers of chicken satay or tiny puff pastries as the music loops on, providing a kind of strange comfort. 

"I swear," Morgan says as he fills his plate, laughing awkwardly as he nudges a colleague "I only came for the pigs in blankets".

Everyone chuckles the first real laugh of the evening and suddenly the awkwardness seems to melt away, if only a little. Yet it’s enough to kick off the night.

As the evening stretches on, the awkwardness begins to fade into something more familiar, a sort of communal ease that only happens when you’ve spent enough time around people you mostly like, but don’t quite know how to relax with. 

You stand back and watch, nursing your drink. 

A few teachers have found their rhythm, wandering between the buffet table and the cozy clusters of conversation, laughing a little too loudly and talking shop just enough to remind themselves they’re not too far from the classroom.

Jesus walks up to you and a few others, gesturing towards one of the empty corners. “Where’s the tree I gave you guys?” he asks curiously, no annoyance in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, you struggle for an answer “We uh, ran out of time to put it up”. 

Jesus gives a quick laugh and a nod, taking your answer for what it is. “And you still have the extra baubles I donated too?” he clarifies, taking a sip of his drink.

You nod and hesitantly explain “Yeah, the tree and baubles are uh… they’re under the bleachers. We didn’t have the space in the storage room”.

Looking around at the other teachers listening, Jesus smiles “Well then, who’s game for putting up a tree?”. 

Before you have time to process that, there’s a burst of energy. 

Jesus and Morgan help bring out the tree. Tara takes the box of baubles, standing with her hands on her hips as she looks down at the box. 

Aaron, ever the optimist, picked up a string of lights and began untangling them with the patience of a saint.

You stand there with a surprised look plastered on your face. Even the people who aren’t helping, stand by and watch. Michonne snaps a few pictures before typing on her phone, no doubt sending it to her husband or Carl. 

Jesus, who has already taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, grabs the tree stand. 

“The tree’s the easy part,” he tells the crowd “the real challenge is making it look intentional when you know it’s probably just going to be… well, a mess”.

Eugene, who has been quietly inspecting the box of ornaments with Tara, looks up at the group. 

“I must admit, I find the idea of a decorated tree somewhat... quaint. But I’ll go along with the sentiment if it makes the rest of you happy,” Eugene says, picking up a candy cane ornament “Plus, I believe we can all agree—Christmas lights are critical”.

Aaron chuckles “Of course you’d have a whole theory about the importance of lights”.

With Eugene’s help, the tree is quickly set up and anchored in its stand, though it wobbles slightly, as if unsure of its purpose. 

“No, no, no, it’s leaning to the left!” Gregory tries to direct them. As you all listen to Gregory and Sasha bicker whether the tilt gives the tree character, you notice a figure lurk closer to you.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Negan. His every movement seems charged, as if he’s on the edge of saying something but never does. And you? You’re not sure what to say either. 

So instead, you both continue this dance, each of you pretending that the other isn’t right there, just a few feet away, caught in the kind of silence that screams everything without a single word being spoken.

“And where’s the tinsel?” Rosita rummages through the box of ornaments. 

“I think there’s some old tinsel in the storage room,” you call out, wanting an excuse to get away from him “I’ll go get it!”.

Negan lowers his head, watching through his lashes as you hurry off to the storage room. He suppresses a sigh, wondering if it’s really that hard for you to be around him.

Do you seriously prefer the cramped, shitty old storage room compared to him? 

This should have been fun. You two should be celebrating! Fuckin’ finally! You’ve made it and now the others are having the time of their life by willingly doing a team building exercise! 

Right now, you should both be teaming up to haggle Michonne for a raise, not barely looking at one another.

And yet Negan can’t do it. He can’t find the words to say this to you. And so he stays in his spot and listens to the others make the task of decorating a Christmas tree seem impossible.

Ten minutes pass. 

Still nothing. No you. No shitty tinsel. Just a whole lot of avoiding. 

Negan can’t believe this. You’d rather hang out in the storage room? Or quietly slip out early? All that hurt and tip toeing around each other starts to bubble in Negan, slowly reaching it’s boiling point.

With a sharp turn, he makes his way through the crowd and towards the storage room. He figures he’ll check in there first and then check the parking lot to see if your car is still here. 

His hand comes straight out as he opens the door with enough vigor to make it fly open. Not that he’s thinking about the door when he sees you, just standing there.

“Are you really gonna hide on me?” He starts, boots slamming against the messy floor as he leaves the doorway and walks deeper into the room, closer to you.

For a split second, you freeze. But as you see your opportunity for escape closing, you rush forward. 

You don’t pay any attention to his question, trying to get past him as you blurt “Wait! Stop! Don’t let the door—”.

But before either of you can reach it, the door slams shut with a resounding thud, cementing back into its frame. Negan’s anger falters when he realizes what just happened.

He doesn’t know how many times he warned you about the old storage room door being hard to open from the inside, yet here you are— and now him, victim to the heavy door.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” His voice drops to a low, venomous growl as he steps back to the door. He tries to yank it open once, twice, thrice! And yet it stays in place.

With the click of his tongue, Negan looks to you “You seriously got yourself locked in here?”.

You don’t appreciate the mocking tone and so you bite back “Yeah and now you have too!”.

With a sigh, Negan leans up against some of the boxes. His anger is gone and now he’s just unsure what to say to you

You step up and try the door again. You yank the handle again, twisting it violently but the door stays still. 

“Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, before you get a new idea and begin banging on the door. 

“Hey! Hello? We’re in here! Help!” you shout, your voice rising with each strike. 

Unfortunately it’s still not enough compared to the loud thumping of bass and jingle bells from the Christmas music blaring in the adjoining room.

Negan watches you with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance. He chuckles lowly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, that’s one hell of a performance,” he comments with a grin, the sarcasm dripping off his words. Stopping for a moment, you throw him a glare before continuing again.

“You’re bangin’ on beat with that Christmas nonsense. Hell, they won’t hear you over the jingle bells and whatever crap is playing” he points out, taking no notice of your glare.

You stop, staring at him with an annoyed look “I don’t need your commentary right now, Negan”.

He shrugs, uncaring “Just callin’ it like I see it. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Again”.

Ignoring his comments, you listen to the party outside. Laughter. Chatter too loud that it drowns out your shouts for help. The occasional cheering as they continue to decorate the tree. 

“Sounds like they’re having fun” you grumble.

Negan waits a moment before replying, his tone losing his sarcasm “So should we”.

There’s a tightness when he says that— but not the good kind. You’ve always been one to blurt things out, Negan should know that better than anyone. 

Although hearing you quietly mutter “Yeah, I’m sure you and Sherry should be having the time of your lives”, throws Negan’s head in a tailspin. 

“What? Sherry?” The edge is back in his voice as he asks, making you go quiet again. 

You shrug in response.

He narrows his eyes as you stay silent. When you don’t say a word, Negan shakes his head “Fuck, I thought we were gettin’ somewhere, and now? Now this shit?”.

Negan takes a breath before deciding to start small. “Why’re you bringing up Sherry?” he lets the question hang in the air.

Eyes flickering to the ground, your voice feels tight as you reply “I… I saw you with Sherry, arriving to work with her, and—”. You stop yourself, biting back the words. 

It doesn’t matter that you stopped anyways as Negan interjects with a slightly sarcastic laugh “You thought I’d what? Sleep with her?”.

He steps closer, trying to get you to look at him.

“Doll, she just wanted to cash in that I-owe-you,” he says before deciding you’ll need more of an explanation “she wanted to buy her boyfriend a motorbike for Christmas but she knows fuck all about bikes… I, however, have had my fair share so I went with her to get give her my expert opinion. Nothing more. I just spent the morning looking at shitty second hand bikes”.

You nod, eyes still down as you process his answer. But now it’s Negan’s turn to get some answers.

“You really think I’d kiss you, then go and sleep with someone else right after?” his voice is firm but tinged with hurt “Is that how little you think of me?”.

That makes you look up, eyes wide before they soften with regret “No! I don’t— It’s just, you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t tell me anything about her or what you were doing”.

You hesitate, realizing how much you’ve misinterpreted “I should’ve talked to you first. I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t want to make a fool of myself”.

A few hollers can be heard in the sports hall as Negan pauses, letting out a slow exhale.

“You don’t have to apologize for giving a damn. I get it, though, how that would’ve looked,” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself “I mean, Sherry and I, that was a one time thing that neither of us want a round two of”.

You nibble on your bottom lip, unsure whether you’ll like the answer to your next question but needing to ask nonetheless. “So… what did happen? Back then, between you and Sherry?”.

His posture shifts slight as if he’s physically as well as mentally letting down his guard. 

“Sherry and her man were on a break, she wanted a distraction…” he trails off, letting you fill in the details “and then when they got back together, she had to really prove to the guy that she wasn’t interested in me anymore so she went from thinking I was good enough to fuck, to straight out hating me”.

“Huh… I kinda presumed you just cut contact with a lot of them after the deed is done” you reply, not expecting to hear that Sherry hated Negan anyways, whether or not he ghosted her.

“Oh I do sometimes, other times it just fizzles or it’s decided beforehand that it’s just a one night kinda thing” he explains “We both get something out of it”.

“A two way system” You call it.

Negan tilts his head as he thinks, “‘I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s just… mutual benefits.

A faint smirk ghosts his face “A two way system is you arguing with me, me arguing with you, you taking me on a date, me taking you on a date, me flirting with you, you flirting with me”.

You can’t help the smile at that, rolling your eyes teasingly, any annoyance you had for Negan melting away.

He continues, poking his tongue out of his mouth “Me kissing you.. you shoving your tongue down my throat”.

“I did not do it like that!!” You exclaim with a laugh.

He chuckles, his own annoyance gone now too. “You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes before thinking up a better way of saying it “you… oh so subtly slipping that dainty tongue of yours into my mouth all sexy like”.

“I didn’t use tongue!” You declare, throwing your hands up before the playfulness fades into a somber silence.

“I am sorry,” you reiterate ”I guess I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve asked, instead of assuming.”

He gives you a look you can only describe as tender. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the talking-about-feelings kinda guy and I kinda thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he tells you, his voice a gentle hum “But if you’re asking— I want this. I want you. No more games, no more misunderstandings. Just… us. Alright?”.

A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of your lips, tension easing. “I think that would be nice” you agree, trying to drown out the loud Christmas music during your intimate moment.

There’s a quiet between you both, no more words needing to be exchanged. Negan begins to move again but instead of heading towards the door, he briefly disappears to the back of the storage room.

“Negan?” You call out.

He strolls over to one of the old boxes and starts to look through it. The musty smell of forgotten storage fills the air as he pulls out a dusty, crinkled piece of tinsel, its once-silver strands now dulled and faded with time.

“If we’re all good now…” he says as he stops and reaches down into the box “y’know what we gotta seal it with, right?”.

His mouth twitches with a hint of amusement and as he steps back toward you, dangling that goddamn piece of old mistletoe in front of you. 

His expression is half-mocking, half-playful, as if he’s trying to make light of getting stuck in here. 

You look at the mistletoe and then back up at him. “Well, it is tradition…” you tilt your head up, expecting to see that cocky expression of his but instead it gives way to something more sincere.

Before you can say anything, he’s lifting the mistletoe above your heads, positioning it just right. 

Not being one to waste time, Negan presses his lips to yours, the kiss soft at first, just a light brush but as if giving into the moment, you deepen it. 

His lips are warm and steady against yours. The taste of him lingers as it becomes more heated. Negan drops the mistletoe, both of you each other instinctively pulling closer.

His lips press more urgently against yours, like he's unable to hold back anymore. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you into him with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

That gasp seems to push him further, the heat between you intensifying. His tongue sweeps against yours in a coaxing manner. Backing away, you pull him with you until your back is flush against another stack of boxes. 

There's nothing tentative about this anymore; it's a powerful, consuming kiss, raw with hunger and desire.

Negan’s hands slide under your festive sweater, skin on skin. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, heightening every sensation. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, needing more of him, more of this. 

His body presses against you, hips aligning with yours, and the pressure builds as you feel the weight of him against you. His breathing becomes heavier, his chest rising and falling in sync with the erratic make out session.

The words around you fall on deaf ears, neither you or Negan paying attention to the Christmas music or the mumbling of Gregory outside saying “It’s in here, you say? Oh Christ!”.

Suddenly the music is clearer and another light source shines across your face. “Mm?” You question, although it’s hard to get the words out with Negan’s lips still on yours.

Pulling away, you see a look of shock and disgust on Gregory’s face.

He clears his throat, trying and failing to regain some semblance of control. “This… this is—uh—what is happening here?” his words came out in a disjointed jumble, bringing the other’s attention to the storage room.

“They’re together?!” you hear Rosita’s voice.

“You didn’t know about them?” the voice of Michonne reaches your ears “Carl told me they were a couple ages ago!”.

Suddenly you realize you’re like a deer in headlights, just frozen and watching. That is until Negan takes you hand in his and yanks you out of the storage room while the door is still open.

You follow his lead, letting him bring you out to the middle of the sports hall until he turns to face you again. His hands find their home on your back and he begins to sway to the slow Christmas song.

“Are we… dancing right now?” You question, clasping your hands around the back of his neck. 

The others stare for a few moments before carrying on with whatever it is they were doing beforehand. Some drink, some stuff their faces and chat, while others grab a partner and dance too.

Negan doesn’t answer with words, instead giving you a little spin before finding you back in his arms.

“So… you still spending Christmas alone?” Negan says it casually, though there’s a subtle trace of concern in his tone.

You inhale before replying, shifting slightly in his arms “Yeah”.

“You sure about that?” He leans in a little closer, his face now just inches from yours, as though trying to read between the lines. 

There’s a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head, showing you’ve already made peace with the decision as you sigh “I think it’s for the best I don’t change plans now and go spend it with my family”.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I was kinda trying to crash your plans, not suggest you skedaddle out of town” Negan’s grin widens, and he gives you a playful nudge

“What?”.

His smile deepens as he watches your reaction, fully aware of how bold he’s being. “Well, you’re spending Christmas alone, I’m spending Christmas alone,” he explains “we get on like a house on fire, you’re hot, I’m hot”.

“Negan!” you exclaim, a mix of embarrassment and amusement flooding your chest.

“I’ll bring the mistletoe” the offer hangs in the air, and you can feel the moment shifting, building toward something neither of you is fully ready to name, but both are undeniably feeling.

“… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were there too” you slowly admit “but you have to bring me a present!”. 

Negan chuckles, keeping his hands on the small of your back as he looks up and pretends to think. “Hm… I might be able to do that” he says. 

He tries to act as though he’s debating the condition, as if he hasn’t already bought you things.

A cinnamon candle.

A pumpkin statue to match his own.

A winter coat that will actually keep you warm (that may have some leather accents so you’ll match his own jacket).

Some snacks he’s been picking up whenever he’s out.

And a list he’s made himself of the corniness Christmas movies he could find on the many streaming services that are around.

“Maybe I could do with that mistletoe now,” you tease, showing off your actual flirting skills.

Negan smirks down at you, one of his hands trailing up your back as you both sway to the music.

“Darlin’ I think we are way past mistletoe now,” he quips back before he leans down.

Despite being in the sports hall that made you and Negan go at each other’s throats. Despite being surrounded by your colleagues …

You kiss him.

[leclerc-s]

track seven - i don't regret it one bit, 'cause he had it coming

series masterlist

WINTER BREAK 2023

ines_alonso, oscarpiastri, and charles_leclerc posted new stories

last night's gingerbread houses, 3 guesses which one's mine babysitting duties today 😁 watching bluey because according to the kiddos it's the show that reminds them of danielricciardo, for the record he does give off bandit energy, so i agree petite fraise is very happy at the alonso-leclerc-piastri home gotham's greatest protector is so cute, villains tremble before him

liked by lilymhe, francesca.cgomes, kellypiquet and others

ines_alonso first year hosting in the alonso-leclerc-piastri home this year in spain next year its monaco, trust me. p.s. charles is officially banned from stepping foot in our kitchen.

tagged: charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, fernandoalo_oficial

view all comments

maxverstappen1 oh my god, what the hell did he do this time?

oscarpiastri the firefighters were involved this time max, that's all you need to know charles_leclerc okay, you people are being dramatic and i am not being dramatic ines_alonso THE OVEN WAS ON FIRE! THERE WERE FLAMES CHARLES! charles_leclerc you're being dramatic, there was no fire oscarpiastri the firemen laughed at you charles, there was a fire.

user1 two cats and charles leclerc? how the hell do they manage?

oscarpiastri i ask myself that same question every day charles_leclerc fuck you, i'm a delight ines_alonso except when we have to call the firemen because someone lit the oven on fire BAKING COOKIES!

user2 the matching pjs and slippers?? oh i'm in love with this trio

user3 inés, how did you convince them to get matching pjs and slippers?? i need tips on how to convince my partner

ines_alonso threaten to withhold sex, it does wonders user3 why didn't i think of that? fernandoalo_oficial i can read this... charles_leclerc what's sex? never heard that word in my life 😅 oscarpiastri what is this sex she speaks of?? fernandoalo_oficial watch your backs going into turn 1 in bahrain user4 peepaw, stop causing controversies, this is why they call you a war criminal

francesca.cgomes marry me and make me delicious treats??

ines_alonso meet me at the courthouse tomorrow?? pierregasly absolutely not! oscarpiastri now i'm thinking we should've had you and kika get fake married instead of charles and max charles_leclerc why are you always feeding into this shit? oscarpiastri why not?

user5 she has style and yet her partners always dress in the same skinny jeans and shorts

user6 oscar needs to step up his fashion style user7 charles needs to wear something that isn't those fuckass tiedye jeans user5 those jeans are a horror to humanity

alex_albon there is not a single thought behind those eyes, just like oscar

oscarpiastri stop slandering my name alex_albon tell your girlfriend to stop flirting with mine and i'll stop oscarpiastri carry on, there's no use in me telling her, she'll never stop

user5 nano living up to the chaos of fernando alonso

user6 i bet he knocked down the tree ines_alonso he did and the charles scolded him, it was quite hilarious to see

georgerussell63 why does honey always look like that?

ines_alonso like what? georgerussell63 lost charles_leclerc she gets it from her father oscarpiastri fuck you, she gets it from you georgerussell63 this was not about either one of you but i fear i may have just started a war

jensonbutton the wife is demanding to know where you got those slippers from

ines_alonso i'll send her the link in exchange for pictures of you in them! brittnybutton deal! ines_alonso pleasure doing business with you mrs.button

ximena.gomez nice holiday?

ines_alonso i'm still mad at you but they're at each other's throats ximena, help me. pierregasly at each other's throats or in each other's throats? ines_alonso blocked and reported.

user8 wait, so they did get a place in spain?

user9 it looks like they did but it could be a rental for the holiday season? user10 honestly, i would love it they got a place in spain because that would mean the s*inz mafia can't get away from them even in spain use8 they can't get away from them even in sp

user11 honestly can't tell who i'm supposed to be more jealous of, inés for having two hot boyfriends or charles and oscar for dating inés

user12 charles and oscar because they have inés. i mean who gets jealous over the men? user13 all three?? user11 i think all three is the only right choice

FEBRUARY 1ST, 2024 AKA DIVORCEGATE

FEBRUARY 7TH, 2024 AKA GASLIGHT, GATEKEEP, GIRLBOSS

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, fernandoalo_oficial and others

ines_alonso i've always looked good in navy 💙

tagged: redbullracing

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charles_leclerc words cannot describe how proud we are of you mon soleil. looking forward to racing against you next year! ❤ by ines_alonso

oscarpiastri so excited to be racing against you again sunshine. i can't believe we finally get to share the same tracks again, looking forward to it! ❤ by ines_alonso

patriciooward felicitaciones hermana! this is what you deserve and so much more, i can't wait to see what you do on the track! ❤ by ines_alonso

alex_albon INÉS JESSICA ALONSO, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US?!

ines_alonso my middle name is not jessica alex_albon I DON'T CARE! HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME, YOUR BEST FRIEND?? AND I FUCKING BET MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN KNEW! maxverstappen1 I HAVE AN NDA YOU DIMWIT?! alex_albon I DON'T CARE?! THIS IS THE SHIT WE TELL EACH OTHER!!

fernandoalo_oficial no hay suficientes palabras para describir lo orgulloso que estoy de ti. te mereces esto y todo lo bueno que hay en tu vida. [translation: there are not enough words to describe how proud i am of you. you deserve this and everything else that is good in your life] ❤ by ines_alonso

ines_alonso papa, voy a llorar fernandoalo_oficial it's okay, i'm crying too

jensonbutton going to miss one of my favorite co-hosts, who else will help me terrorize the evil woman?? but congratulations baby alonso, glad your dream finally came true. ❤ by ines_alonso

ines_alonso it's okay jenson, we can terrorize her post race together, i promise. and thank you, it means a lot 🥹

isahernaez felicitaciones pequeña!! te lo mereces, no dejes que nadie te diga algo diferente! [translation: congrats little one!! you deserve it, don't let anyone tell you anything different] ❤ by ines_alonso

ines_alonso gracias isa! espero verte en una carrera pronto! [translation: thank you isa! i hope to see you at a race soon] isahernaez obvio! nadamas dime cuando y ahí estoy, tengo que apoyar a mi pilota favorita [obviously! tell when and i'll be there, i have to support my favorite driver] userxx i love the survived carlos sainz jr club ❤ by ines_alonso and isahernaez

sabrinacarpenter CONGRATULATIONS!!!

ines_alonso THANK YOU!!!

user14 wait, so who's the wag now?

oscarpiastri we're both her wags charles_leclerc we're just ken and she's everything user14 down bad, both of you

louieee BITCH?! HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?!

ines_alonso I'M SORRY BABY!! I COULDN'T TELL YOU!! louieee I'M SO PROUD OF YOU BABY!! YOU DESERVE THIS AND EVERYTHING GOOD IN LIFE!!

carlossainz55 wow, what a way to stab your own brother in the back

ines_alonso womp womp oscarpiastri womp womp charles_leclerc womp womp maxverstappen1 womp womp louieee womp womp patriciooward womp womp fernandoalo_oficial womp womp alex_albon womp womp jensonbutton womp womp logansargeant womp womp aussiegrit womp womp pierregasly womp womp sebastianvettel womp womp lewishamilton womp womp kimimatiasraikkonen womp womp user15 KIMI? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

redbullracing looking forward to working with you in 2025! ❤ by ines_alonso

user16 SHUT THE FUCK UP?! RED BULL RACING JUST EARNED A NEW FAN!!

user17 carlos sainz jr found screaming and throwing up in a ditch somewhere

schecoperez felicitaciones baby alonso!!

ines_alonso gracias checo!

taylorswift congrats little alonso 💙 ❤ by ines_alonso

ines_alonso I'M RACING WITH THE NUMBER 13 MOTHER!! patriciooward i'm begging you, be normal for once taylorswift that's a great number to pick 😉

user18 i bet oscar and charles are glad to have red bull in the house without seeming like traitors for going out and buying it

user19 bestie, what the fuck does that mean? user18 oscar once said he doesn't like monster but he does drink another energy drink (red bull i'm guessing) and charles just seems like he's hopped up on red bull 80% of the time. user20 those bitches love to drink red bull and you can't convince me otherwise

tkelce congrats inés and good luck next year!

ines_alonso i might be freaking out a little bit right about now but thank you! danielricciardo no inés, you must stand strong, go bills! ines_alonso i'm so sorry mr. kelce but my loyalties align with the honey badger tkelce okay? user21 nothing is better than someone like travis kelce getting involved in the world of formula 1 because these people are insane and he's not ready for their chaos.

kellypiquet congratulations, looking forward to spending time with you in the garage next year 🩷

ines_alonso thank you kelly, looking forward to terrorizing max with p 🩷 maxverstappen1 p does not terrorize me, you and alex on the other hand... alex_albon okay, so find other friends bitch. oh that's right, you can't!

pedri felicitaciones!!

ines_alonso gracias pedri!!

user22 all these people congratulating inés because it's what she deserves is making me tear up a little bit.

aussiegrit congratulations inés, there's no doubt you'll do amazing.

ines_alonso be honest, is oscar holding you at gun point? aussiegrit they're going to think i hate you ines_alonso jury's still out to be honest

lewishamilton it'll be an honor to share the track with you inés

ines_alonso thank you lewis, that means a lot coming from you

nicorosberg make sure you terrorize max for me

ines_alonso will do britney 🫡 maxverstappen1 i will wipe the floor with her nicorosberg i will destroy you on sky sports and will tell fernando exaggerating lies that you said about inés ines_alonso i just sit back and giggle at this chaos

danielricciardo make me proud baby alonso!

ines_alonso always honey badger user23 and this one goes to all the haters who were saying what about daniel? clearly he was aware of this and is fine with it. y'all are just misogynistic.

eliasowens congratulations kid, i might give you a lot of shit for stealing my kids but you deserve this, don't let lord voldemort ruin this for you

ines_alonso elias, i love your kids, jury's still out on you but thanks. eliasowens you suck sometimes inés

¡taglist!

@minmira95 // @lesliiieeeee // @vroomvroommuppett // @prongsvault // @justtprachisblog // @scuderiadevils // @cataf // @chezmardybum // @formulaal // @lilsiz // @norstappenvibes // @ironspdy // @nikfigueiredo @hinamesgigantica // @niniluvsainz // @matchaverse // @fakeikeastore // @theseus-jpg // @six-call // @81folklore // @emppusofi // @luvsforme // @nichmeddar // @loloekie // @luvpedro // @donttouchthegnote // @nothaqks // @inferiusreggie // @mochimommy2002 // @rach3164 // @clove08 // @clove0 // @lillysbigwilly // @jenxjar // @blupblupfish // @thereadinggremlin05 // @meowiarty // @magical-spit // @camdensreg // @laneyspaulding19 // @ocyeanicc // @yelenasloverrrrr // @percervall // @blushmimi // @spilled-coffee-cup // @greantii // @ietss // @yeanoskrrt // @brakingboundaries

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¡leclerc-s speaks!

𝜗𝜚 i hope all of you that celebrate christmas had a great one, this was originally supposed to go up yesterday but i forgot to post it.

𝜗𝜚 and yes, this is 100% what the poll i posted ages ago was about, so writing this part, that deals with 2024 preseason is insane to me because the 2024 season was just so chaotic and heartbreaking. i am so not ready to write out logan and daniel's departures, even writing this part knowing what i know about daniel and red bull breaks my heart. plus even though it's a fanfic i don't feel good about this plot point and me just blatantly putting yuki to the side this way. i know why he didn't get the red bull seat but i have every right to be upset about it either way and i will be for a while.

¡disclaimer! 𝜗𝜚 this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[trashpocket]

nancy’s type is being into dorks 🥺💖

[born-to-lose]

I love being the always single person in my family, mad respect to my sister for constantly dating guys for the last 8 years, I would have shot myself

[neoyuno]

I have written a little bit for the prev idea I posted! ♥︎ so I should post soon, I hope

[pastelbluebutch]

Literally just venting

[arolesbianism]

Shakes the bars of my cage I need to draw soooo bad I need to draw I need to draw let me draw I have to draw I need to draw I must draw (<- has been too sick to be on electronics much and doesn't like doing traditional art)