#because those lattes are one of the only things he feels he can do for the doctor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leviathanleva · 5 months ago

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Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

Excitement for your morning coffee turns to panic when you bump into a mountainous stranger in a grey hoodie, sporting a skull mask. Sputtered apologies become a conversation in a corner of the café. And he’s so beat up, battered and bruised and scarred that you can’t help the words that leave your lips:

“Do you want to come home with me?”

[5k words ]

Chapter 1 "Caffeine Rush"

Airpods in your ears, music vibrating through your soul, you were ready for the world outside.

Sweet Saturday morning, after a week of work and barely any time for yourself, you’d decided on a treat to start off the weekend. You’d slept in late, phone alarm turned off and sleeping mask tugged on, new sheets prepared the night before because it was so comforting to wake up to the subtle smell of detergent. And once you were finally up, you’d decided fuck it, go out and get a nice steaming hot coffee in a cute paper cup from the local café, listen to Lofi or Lana Del Rey or whatever Spotify had prepared for your daily suggestions on the way, cozy up in a warm winter jacket and a thick scarf. Bless the crisp December air, it nipped at your cheeks and filled your lungs with sharp frosty air. It numbed your nose too and made your eyes water, but those weren’t as positive as the previous two affixes.

The streets were buzzing, a rare sight of the sun peeking through a blanket of grey clouds was shining down on you.

All in all, it was going to be a good day.

You waited impatiently for the light to turn green before crossing the street with a horde of nameless individuals, keeping in tandem with them.

Snow was still a no-show, you could only hope for its appearance at least on Christmas. The holidays without a fluffy coat of white powdering over everything from trees to rooftops just didn’t sit well with you, but at the end of the day, it was up to Mother Nature, not you. Anything but the ice rain you’d had the week prior; you weren’t ready to skate to the store again.

The bell above the café door shakes to life, signaling your entrance. You tuck one airpod in your pocket to listen in on the chatter in the comfy, coffee bean scented establishment, and also because you didn’t want to miss anything the cashier said. You were the anxious type after all, didn’t wanna miss a thing ever.

The heating system is blasting, cranked to the max, steam comes in large waves from behind the oak counter, be it from warm beverages or baked goods fresh from the oven, it lingers long enough for you to get a whiff before being diligently sucked away by the range hood. You unzip the top part of your jacket before getting too stuffy, loosen your scarf and take off your gloves. The staff, donned in their creamy yellow aprons, zip back and forth between tables like worker ants and you step into the line of waiting customers to keep out of their way.

The hardwood floor is licked spotless, looking down, you can almost see your reflection staring back at you. The hum of the large coffee grinder fills your exposed ear and you decide to turn off Spotify for the moment and bask in the café’s ambience instead.

The line moves, it’s almost your turn and you glance up at the display monitors listing off all the choices on the menu for today. Lattes, milkshakes, espressos, you decide on a large cappuccino, leave experimenting with unfamiliar drinks for another day when you’re feeling more courageous.

“Large cappuccino, please.” You say with a polite smile and fish out your wallet from your pocket.

Coffee is cheap here, cheaper than in most cafés and that’s one of the things that keeps you coming back to this place. It’s not easy to afford treats when you live on your own and have to pay the bills and groceries alone. However, you manage, and being able to afford a coffee or takeout once in a while is all the sweeter when knowing you owe nothing to nobody.

You take your cup and nudge your chin for the barista to keep the change before stepping away to the sidebar littered with plastic lids, sugar packets, and cheap wooden teaspoons for stirring your drink. After a brief consideration, you decide not to sweeten your coffee and only take a large lid, pop it over your cup and after zipping your jacket back up, you’re about to turn and walk out.

A walk through the park where you can sit down and enjoy your drink suggestively passes by your mind. Deciding that’s exactly what you will do, you palm through your pocket for your discarded airpods while nursing your paper cup to your chest.

And maybe it was your fault for not paying enough attention because you were buzzed to have a nice relaxing weekend. Or that you’d already achieved your first goal of the day and you were about to have a nice vibey stroll while hurrying to stuff your ears with music before you left the café. Maybe you’d jinxed your Saturday by confidently thinking it would be a swell time and nothing wrong would happen for once.

You should have known better. You should have suspected something would go wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You whirl around with the intent of being on your way, expecting the glass doors to be in view, but they aren’t. A mountain of flesh and muscle stands before you. And your reaction time is too slow to save yourself or your coffee.

You jump, your hand flinches and the paper cup goes flying, a gasp upon your lips so loud it turns heads. You can only watch in horror as it makes contact with a wide chest clad in a grey hoodie, the lid pops off from the force of the impact and the hot contents inside go in every direction.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God.”

One hand goes up to cover your agape mouth while the other clutches at the zipper of your jacket as panic crawls up your neck and prickles your scalp.

The worst part is that your coffee wasn’t the only casualty. The poor guy had dropped his beverage to pull his hoodie off his chest the moment your scalding beverage had soaked it.

There was steam coming off it. It was boiling and you’d spilled it on him.

You wanted to die.

And he’s fucking terrifying too. Easily two heads over you and built like a truck. The intricate skull mask obscures the lower half of his face and you can’t discern if he’s absolutely pissed or just mildly uncomfortable with the large stain plastered on his top.

His eyes are sharp, trained on his ruined hoodie, crow’s feet crinkled, and you’re grateful they’re not directed at you because you were a step away from breaking down on the spot.

A stone lodged itself in your throat.

If he didn’t curse you to oblivion, he’d either break you in half, or worse, sue you.

You can’t get fucking sued. You don’t have the money to get sued.

So much for having a good day…

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” You sputter out and grab a handful of paper towels from the counter. You’re glancing up at him every now and again for fear of his patience running out. “I’m so so sorry.”

Shaky hands are tapping away at his top, soaking in the liquid as best you can while trying to keep from breaking down. Your tongue is arrested between your teeth, bitten down on hard in a self-soothing attempt. Your fingertips are stained with coffee because there‘s so much of it that it’s turning the paper towels to mush. You couldn’t care less about that or that you were practically sweating bullets under your jacket.

All you hoped for was that you hadn’t caused the poor guy a burn.

“ ‘s okay.” He murmurs in a thick British accent while watching you fuss over him with growing anxiety. The jitter in your movements would be almost comical if not for you practically hyperventilating on him.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

“No.” You whine, before you can stifle your voice to normalcy, and turn to the cashier peeking from behind the counter with watery eyes and a deeply carved frown. “No. I’m so sorry, we spilled our drinks. I mean, I spilled - ” You take in a breath to compose yourself and brush a hand over your forehead, shoulders slumping. You’re giving your best apologetic expression, practically mourning over the mess you’d made at your feet and of the man looming next to you.“ – I’m sorry. I can clean it up if you have a mop.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, miss. We’ll mop it up.” The cashier replies, bless her, and signals for one of the waiters to fetch the cleaning supplies. The friendly smile never wavers from her balmed lips; neither does the caffeinated twinkle in her eyes.

She’s most likely seen this sort of thing plenty of times, but for you, it’s a first and it’s your fault to top it off. It’s not an easy pill to swallow and despite the atmosphere being anything but hostile, you can’t help but still feel guilty.

Of course, this had to happen to you of all people. You weren’t allowed a single day of peace and tranquility.

With the main cause of disturbance taken care of, you turn back to your victim, who’s joined you in trying to dry off his hoodie. Your stomach churns at the sight, and you’re afraid to look around in case all eyes are on you two. You can’t bear the scrutiny, even though most people have probably resumed their dwellings by now.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, sir.” You ask and reach for more paper towels, pressing them against his chest more so to show you’re very apologetic and trying to fix the situation rather than actually fixing it because most of the coffee has already come out.

You glance up at him after mustering up the courage, curious as to what awaited you next. He returns your gaze with one of indifference or calmness, you can’t tell, blinks at you slowly, as if he’s just now taking your flustered form for the first time, then he speaks, more clearly this time.

“It’s fine.”

A server arrives with a mop in hand and you both step away from the mess to let them clean it up. You take the lead unintentionally and guide the stranger towards one of the vacant tables in the corner of the café, away from prying stares.

You pick the chair next to the wall that has a large ficus partially looming over the seat. Maybe with enough luck, you can disappear inside it.

Finally, unzipping your jacket because you’re about to faint from the stuffiness, you lay it on the cushioned backrest of the chair and pat it down to make sure you’d not accidentally dropped any of your belongings during the accident. You tug at your sweater to air out the thin sheen of nervous sweat that’s formed over your skin, brush off the strands of hair that have come to stick to your face and take off your scarf.

The stranger sits on the opposite chair, paper towel still to his chest and sucking out any leftover residue. The stain won’t leave your vision no matter how hard you try to rip the two separate. It’s the worry gnawing at your gut that keeps you rooted to your spot, wanting to approach but too afraid to do so.

But so far he’s been a nice guy, hasn’t said one single bad word to you.

Your mind reels with how red and irritated his skin must be, praying it hadn’t blistered up already. You have half a mind to ask him to take off his hoodie so you can take a look.

A fresh wave of panic wraps its dainty fingers around your neck in squeezes, sends needles to prick over random places on your body.

And all this time, you’ve been sputtering out apologies like a broken record, his dismissal of your regret not even reaching your ears let alone registering.

“Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, I’ve never had to call an ambulance in my life…” You ask, mumbling the last part to yourself as the realization hits you square in the face. For a brief moment, you forget how to dial the emergency line because you’ve never had to use that number before. “I’m sorry, sir – I – I didn’t mean – ”

You continue to blabber while searching your jacket pocket for your phone. The guy might have said nothing at your suggestion, but you wanted to be safe and have your phone at the ready anyway. And you’re too preoccupied going ballistic with panic in your own little world to hear him repeatedly tell you that everything is fine and you’ve done no big deal, he doesn’t need an ambulance and that he’s fine.

“Hey!” He grabs the crux of your elbow and pulls you before him, a large knee on either side of your thighs. A startled noise crawls up your throat but you make no move to step away. You’re staring at him as your hands disappear inside his and he jerks them slightly, his voice lowering now that he’s caught your attention finally. “Relax. It’s alright. Happens.” His comfort is rough. His voice gruff and sounding more like a scold than anything. He shakes you a bit too hard, not used to handling something as delicate as you, and pulls you down enough to make solid eye contact. “Alright?”

You nod and avert your gaze away, soggy paper towels left in a pile on the table making your fingers twitch with the need to do more. Apologies simply aren’t enough, not when he’d probably need to apply ointment on his chest for a few days after your little fiasco.

Why did have to be such a hot mess all the time?

“At least…Let me buy you another drink. On me? It’ll make me feel better.” The frown is still tugging on your lips as you speak, shyly looking at him from under your lashes. “Please?”

He sighs softly at your relentlessness and shrugs before letting your hands slip from him, having kept them in his grasp for longer than he should.

“Sure.”

He leans back in his chair and readjusts both his hood and the cap poking beneath it before resting his elbows on the table.

“What did you order?” You question while fetching your wallet.

The innocent look you toss him has him forcing himself to stop staring at you like a creep. He clears his throat and rubs over his tired eyes tenderly before answering.

“Black tea with milk.”

And so you reorder your cappuccino, get him his tea and decide that a simple butter croissant as an apology is enough for the moment. Every time you turn around to glance at him, nervous that he’d simply slip away from your overbearing presence, he catches your stare without fail. Heat gathers around your ears and your lips purse unintentionally every single time and you quickly turn back to the cashier, pretending you hadn’t just been discovered ogling him.

The chair looks too small to encompass his hulking frame comfortably, the table is no different, but you guess he’s used to it by now. A man of his stature isn’t a common occurrence here. Poor thing probably has to bow to enter through most doorways and have his shirts custom-made with how wide his shoulders were. If he wore shirts at all that is.

He looks like he’s brooding when you return with the order, fingers linked together and thumbs dancing around each other.

You set the tea by his side, note the callouses and scarring around his knuckles, the roughness of his skin. Your first thought is that he’s a construction worker, it would explain his size, the biceps that are as big as your head and straining against the stitches of his hoodie, the casual clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes that make it easy for anyone to guess that he doesn’t rest enough. But then he pulls his mask down and lets it rest under his chin as he takes a prolonged sip from his drink. You note the crookedly mended nose after a trauma so potent it made your eyes water at the thought of what pain he’d endured. There’s a gash running along his thin lips, multiple ones that stand out from the light stubble peppering the lower part of his face, deep ones, ones that you guessed had needed stitches and took forever to properly heal.

Now you’re not so sure he’s a construction worker.

“So what do you do for a living?” It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You laugh nervously and raise a hand in a soothing motion before he even has a chance to answer. “You don’t have to tell if you’re not comfortable. I’m just curious.”

The mug of tea pauses before his lips and he gives you a skeptical look.

“Military.”

“Oh.” You blurt out and awkwardly take a sip from your coffee, nearly choking at how hot it is.

And that’s precisely the answer Ghost expected. It was a big turnoff for many people when they learned his career path, mostly because the news only displayed the bad outcomes of his work and never the good. He might have saved this entire city a week ago from a bombing and nobody would know.

It came with the territory and he half expected you to think up some lousy explanation as to why you suddenly had to go.

But you aren’t like that at all because of course, you aren’t. Why would it be made easy for him to forget you and move on with his day when you could be sweet and open and give him more reason to burn you into the crevices of his conscience instead? Why would you make an excuse and leave when you could stay and kindle the embers of his humanity and make yourself space to be a permanent memory?

That’s just his typical luck.

“Must be tough.” You muse, absentmindedly taking a napkin and wiping off the milk and tea mustache staining his upper lip, as if tending to a messy toddler. It comes instinctively and you don’t fight it until your fingers are already being poked by his stubble. “But thanks for keeping us normal folk safe.” You give his wide-eyed stare a warm smile, and tilt your head slightly to one side.

You notice the subtle way in which he moves his chin towards your hand, apprehensive of you pulling away. As if he’s fighting his demons to lean into your touch, to rest his cheek against your palm and close his eyes because he hasn’t been offered softness in so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like anymore.

You don’t mind that his large hand reaches to try and still your wrist, aching for more delicate touches, but stops before coming in contact with your flesh, pulled back by self-deprecating restrain. You almost want to encourage him, he looks visibly altered by your simple gesture, like a dog who’d been beaten all his life and was given a treat for the first time.

“What happened to you, old soldier?” You want to ask gently, pry a little while you cup his face and let him rest on the softness of your palm, close his eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Your heart aches for him.

But then you remember he’s a stranger and the moment shatters.

The smile vanishes from your face, the warmth dissipates and you flinch back.

“Sorry.” You rush to say and crumble up the napkin in your hand before tossing it on the table and trying to brush off the suffocating awkwardness. “You had something there.” You motion to your upper lip before drowning in more coffee, hoping it will ease the discomfort.

Just what the hell had you been thinking?

And he’s not far behind you on that note. The flicker of softness dies in his chocolate browns and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth stills and dips into neutrality. The exhaustion returns to his features and his gaze flits away from you as he gathers himself back together.

“You should eat tha’ ‘fore it gets cold.”

Your eyes trail to where he’d nudged his chin and you see the butter croissant you’d purchased along with your drinks. You giggle, it turns into a light laugh when his head cocks to the side in confusion because he’s yet to realize you’d gotten it for him.

Because why would he? He’s a soldier, he gets bullets and grenades, not tea and croissants.

Poor creature, sweet scarred sufferer, with so much weight on his shoulders you couldn’t imagine bearing.

“It’s for you.” You push the small plate closer to him and flick your hand for him to dig in, treat himself on your behalf if he won’t do it on his own accord.

“What?” He reels back in his seat slightly at your words, sets down his drink and tenses up. There’s so much disbelief there that it’s almost comical.

It’s like he’d never been treated before.

Maybe he hadn’t been.

Jesus Christ, what if he actually hadn’t been?

“I mean it’s the least I can do after drenching you in coffee.” You say and press the lid of your cup to your lips, hiding the sympathetic smile from view lest he takes it as pity.

You didn’t pity the man, not in the slightest, but from the tired eyes to the worn clothes, sunk-in shoulders and need for anonymity, you guessed he’d not seen much kindness.

It was easily discernable that he wasn’t used to taking care of himself. Coming to a café to get a drink was probably the maximum self-indulgence he’d permit himself.

“Didn’t ‘ave to.” He grumbles out, voice hoarse and cutting off at the end.

“I wanted to.” You say and wave off his meager comment.

Gods, you wanted to bathe him in sugar and softness.

He tugs the plate before him hesitantly, looking over the croissant as if not trusting it or you, then he picks it up. A small bite at first, one of apprehension before the treat melts on his tongue and awakens his taste buds. He finishes it in two mouthfuls, barely chews and you’re inclined to ask if he wants another, you’re ready to feed him the whole bakery stand if he so wishes. But he declines, whether from embarrassment or mistrust, you didn’t know.

You just know he’s hungry.

You give him your name while he’s washing down the croissant with his leftover tea, just throw it out there in the hopes that he’ll give you his. And he does after heaving a sigh.

“Simon.”

“Pretty name.” You note, toss him a friendly smile that’s a silent invitation for him to say more. “Nice to meet you then, Simon.”

But your friendliness doesn’t breach his defenses a second time. He eyes you with an unreadable expression, watches you slurp your coffee while you’re left to wonder if your compliment had been a mistake.

You might have been coming off as too friendly, trying to suck up to him after ruining his top and that was the reason why you were so nice. Or maybe he thought that there was a hidden agenda behind your acts, that you’d want something in return for your kindness and that’s why he kept his guard up.

Action without a need for reciprocation didn’t exist in his world. Nobody was stupidly selfless enough to just give and not want anything in return. But you were right there, proving him wrong and he wasn’t sure that fact was a fact anymore.

Throughout his internal debate, you’re doing your best to remain casual but it’s difficult with those dark orbs boring into your soul. It’s even more difficult when the silence settles, so you decide to ramble and keep the spirits up until he feels comfortable enough to join.

It might come off as annoying, but you’re sure he’ll stop you if you’re becoming too much to handle.

You tell him about your job, a brief summary of how rough your week had been that that was the reason why you’d come here this morning to treat yourself. You tell him you’re clumsier than you’d like to admit, that you can’t imagine drinking tea first thing in the morning. You tell him that you’d love to have a pet one day, but your landlord doesn’t permit any, ask him if he has pets or would want any. Then you ask if he’s more a cat or a dog person.

And throughout the entire time, he’s staring at you with this undigestible look and you have no idea what to make of it.

The caffeine pumping in your veins helps keep your monologue going until finally he speaks up.

“Bothering you?”

“What?” You spit out, cease your rambling and scrunch your brows at him in confusion.

“The face.” He says, motioning towards his partly obscured face like it’s so obvious. “Ain’t a pretty mug to look at.”

You blink at him silently, at a loss for words at his not-so-kind statement. Your mouth parts, struggling to form a coherent reply because you’re absolutely thunderstruck that he thinks so lowly of you as to believe you’d be affected by such a thing.

Then again, he doesn’t know you, and neither do you him.

But the fact that he’s polite enough to ask while already anticipating the answer tells you that he might have had this conversation one too many times already. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the mean comments and ugly remarks were all in his head and he hid his face to stifle those rather than hide from other people.

You don’t know which alternative is sadder.

“No! Not at all.” You say slowly, accenting every word that comes out of your mouth, with eyes trained on his and refusing to blink in case you missed anything. “You’re handsome, really.” You dare to reach out for him and rest your hand atop his, gentle and ready to pull back in case his features portrayed any hint of discomfort with your actions. “Plus your scars mean you put yourself before me to keep me safe, right? Can’t judge you for that.”

Now he’s the one left speechless.

Wordlessly, he twists his wrist, rolls his hand around and slowly unclenches his fingers to let yours through. And your hand is so soft and warm when it slips over his mauled palm, even the skin is a stark contrast because yours is so smooth, spotless, perfect, compared to his.

He runs his large thumb over your knuckles, relishes the tingly feeling it gives him, watches intently because he’s sure that as soon as his eyes move to somewhere else, you’ll vanish and it’ll all be over. Your fingers fall against his wrist where his pulse leisurely beats, only quickening when you shift in your seat because he thinks you’ll pull away.

Manicured nails trace over the scars poking from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie and he shivers, the hairs on his arms rising. He lets you tug the sleeve back, wanting to know how far the violent marks go. Soon enough black and grey ink peeks from under the fabric and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips at how delighted you seem.

“Oh, I love tattoos…” You hum while tracing the tips of your fingers over it.

“Got any?” He asks absentmindedly, almost mechanically as all his attention is focused on the little hand exploring his own.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You giggle, eyes closing briefly in delight as you bask in the fuzzy atmosphere.

He bites his tongue at that, decides now isn’t the time for flirty remarks, bids you too esteemed to fall for a sleazy comeback that might result in him naked in your bed. No, you were made to be courted, won over with effort and flowers and all the things he hasn’t bothered with in the past.

You were the type of woman that he avoided for fear of messing things up, someone who deserved better than him and he wasn’t ashamed of admitting that. Yet here you were, practically thrust in his arms by chance.

“Do you want another tea?” You ask because his drink is gone and what’s left at the bottom of your cup is two sips at most. And you don’t end this to end, you don’t want him to leave just yet.

“I’m good.” He answers and retracts his arm before standing. “Gonna ‘ave a smoke outside. Cheers for the tea.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it still makes your heart ache and your mind switches to turbo mode to try and think of something.

Your next question doesn’t come from a place of desire or lust. You’ve no intent of trying to get the battered soldier into your bed and use him for selfish pleasure. You’d never let yourself be so cruel.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

You ask because to you, he’s a stray in need of a home, someone to take care of him a little and nurse him back into a better shape before his next big military mission. It’s naïve, stupid really, to think a grown man such as himself can’t take care of himself.

But the way he looks tells you a sad story and you’d spoken before thinking. Now you’re left with a hot face and a fluttering stomach as he stares at you over his shoulder with something akin to surprise.

“I mean…for lunch, sometime. My treat of course.” You say next, trying to salvage the moment before it got too awkward and you were forced to go to the toilets and hyperventilate while beating yourself up internally. “You don’t have to – ”

“ – Yeah.”

And you swear you saw his eyes squint with a smile hidden somewhere behind the bulk of his shoulder.

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

#x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2

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obsessedwithceleste · 3 months ago

Text

S is for Espresso (and also soulmates)

Mattheo Riddle x reader

Summary: modern! coffee shop au 🤝🏽 soulmate au

word count: 2k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

"Matt I swear to god, if you keep slaughtering the spellings of customer's names when you write on the cups, I'm taking you off register!" Theo shouts from the hand-out counter. "How did you manage to find a way to fit a 'U' into 'Madison'?"

"Don't threaten me with a good time! And you can fit a ‘U’ into any word if you spell it wrong enough," Mattheo shouts back, before plastering a smile across his face and gesturing for the next customer to approach the counter. "What can I get for you today?"

The only reason Mattheo even found himself behind the counter of the campus coffee shop was because he had succumbed to the peer pressure of Theodore and Enzo, who had already been working there for months before they were able to drag Mattheo down with them. Sure the extra cash was a nice bonus, but this definitely was not Mattheo’s idea of a good time.

On a completely separate and unrelated note, maybe Mattheo was also hoping to possibly meet his soulmate at this blasted shop, but he would never admit that.

If Mattheo were to roll up the sleeves of his very intentional, long sleeve shirt, the eloquent phrase “I’ll have a vanilla latte with as much espresso as you’re legally allowed to give me” would be seen scrawled elegantly across his forearm.

Everyone had it. Not that exact line of course, but everyone had the first sentence their soulmate would say to them tattooed somewhere on their body. Mattheo was no rocket scientist, but he figured the odds were high enough that with a line like his, he would probably be meeting his soulmate in a coffee shop. So here he found himself.

As the days went on however, he was beginning to lose hope. Mattheo was no stranger to those awkward interactions where he would welcome a customer into the shop and see their face light up. “Is it you?” They’d ask. And he’d awkwardly laugh and try to explain that no, he was waiting for someone to order a vanilla latte. Or sometimes he’d just sigh and throw Enz onto register instead.

“Chipper up Matty, you haven’t seen the real fun yet. Next week is finals week, and you do not want to be the one to stand between a student and their daily caffeine hit. The morning crowd’ll keep you entertained just you wait,” Enzo says, breaking Mattheo from his thoughts.

“Don’t remind me. I haven’t been to class in days. Don’t even know when ole Snape’s final is.” Mattheo groans, turning to face his friends.

“Thursday you dolt. Maybe if you actually came to class once in awhile you’d know a thing or two,” Theo replies, resigned to the fact that he would most likely be studying for the both of them next week.

“Aw c’mon Theo, that’s no fun is it? Sides, we all know the only reason you show up to that class anyway is cause Daphne’s in it.” Mattheo responds cheekily.

Daphne Greengrass was Theo’s soulmate. Their first interaction had been the perfect little meet-cute really. The kind you’d see in one of those cheesy romance movies. Mattheo would know, he was there when they met. He and Theodore had been running late to class (not his fault of course) and Theo had stumbled right into the girl, knocking her books to the ground. It was disgustingly cliche in his opinion, the way the words had tumbled from their mouths, and the way they were both so stunned it was as if time had stopped. But his friend couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the girl.

Just as Theo was about to retort with some self redeeming nonsense, the little bell above the door lets out a ring, announcing the presence of yet another customer. Turning, Mattheo’s eyes snap to the door and the pretty figure entering the shop, feeling a pounding start in his chest.

“I got it,” Enzo says, turning to face the register. “You wanna take over the machine Matt?”

Wordlessly (for once), as if in a haze, Mattheo finds himself standing in front of the espresso machine, pouring out the drink like a man possessed. By the time he realizes what he’s doing, the vanilla latte is already in Theo’s hands and being passed over the counter.

It was going to be a long two weeks. Finals week and the week leading up to it had a special way of sucking the soul out of students, and you unfortunately were one of those victims.

You weren't even really much of a coffee drinker, the bitter taste always got to you and you weren't exactly in the financial position to be blowing money on a daily cup of coffee. But these late nights were not doing you any favors, and Daphne had been raving about the campus coffee shop. Her soulmate worked there, so she was a bit biased you supposed, but hey, caffeine was caffeine and you were in no position to be picky.

Of course there was the other reason you tended to be a bit weary of coffee shops in general; the curly script running along your collarbone. "Oh great, more of this espresso shit." Not exactly the most romantic words to hear from your soulmate. It's not even like you were avoiding meeting them or anything, look at Daphne, she seemed perfectly in love. You just didn't feel the need to rush it was all.

A little bell rings out above the door as you enter the shop and you’re immediately hit with the strong scent of ground coffee and the eyes of three boys turning to stare at you from behind the counter.

“I got it,” you hear one of the boys sigh as you make your way up to the counter, eyes scanning the extensive menu hanging on the wall behind them.

“Uh, can I just get a vanilla latte? Medium. With like 3 extra shots of espresso?” You ask.

“For sure,” the boy replies, punching numbers into the register idly.

You hand over some crumpled bills before wandering off to wait for your drink. As you glance around the place, your eyes fall on the handsome boy running the espresso machine. You desperately wanted to rake your fingers through those wild curls.

Freezing, you shake the thought from your head. What on earth? Before you can chastise yourself, Theo appears with your drink in hand.

“Oh, hey y/n,” He greets, placing your drink on the counter in front of you.

“Hey! Thanks a bunch,” you reply before scurrying off.

You had no idea where that thought had come from, but you decide to head back to the coffee shop the next day, and the day after that. You couldn’t place why, it just felt like a magnet kept pulling you back to that place. Maybe they were putting crack in their coffee or something. It was growing on you.

Almost a week into your daily coffee shop visits, you were beginning to grow a bit frustrated, though you couldn't exactly pin point why. Or maybe you could. It had been almost a week and you still hadn't spoken a word to the boy who had grabbed your attention that first day you had stopped in. He was particularly elusive it seemed. Not that you didn't like Theo of course, or the other boy, Lorenzo, but there was something almost captivating about Mattheo. At least you assumed that was his name after hearing Theo shout it at him on numerous occasions. He seemed funny though, if his constant bickering with Theo was anything to go by, and his warm eyes were always gleaming with mischief.

You let out a sigh as once again, you collect your drink without uttering a word to the boy. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to be.

Mattheo was actually going insane. The rather attractive stranger that he had now fully convinced himself was in fact his soulmate had been in the shop every day now for the past week. They were his soulmate. He was certain of it. Or at least he would be if he were able to get a word in edgewise. But it was always something. He was either slammed at the drink making counter, stuck in the drive-thru window, or cleaning up the spilled drink some asshole had left at their table.

And now here he was. Six in the morning and silently stewing about yet another missed opportunity from the day before while Enzo is yapping on about some finals assignment that was due tonight. Mattheo lets out a loud yawn from the register.

"Sorry am I boring you?" Enzo asks dryly, giving Mattheo a light knock on the head.

"No, no, please, keep talking, I only yawn when I'm particularly fascinated," Matt replies, trying to stifle another yawn. It escapes anyway. He wasn't trying very hard.

Thankfully, a wave of customers walks in just then, saving him from Enzo's whining. It's almost methodic the way he works his way through the line of customers, charming them, taking orders, and scribbling names on cups. He'd gotten quite good at it if he did say so himself. And he did.

"God dammit Matt! What is this even supposed to say?" Theo shouts from the espresso machine, thrusting a cup in Mattheo's direction and breaking him from his rhythm.

With a sigh, he turns, squints his eyes, and leans forward.

"It says extra espresso. Obviously."

"In what world?" Theo asks. "This clearly starts with an S."

"I don't know man, squint and read the letters you think you see and quit your complaining," Mattheo retorts.

"Unbelievable. Illiterate arse," he hears Theo mutter as he goes back to aggressively making drinks.

He decides to leave it for now, opting to just turn and greet the next customer. Instead he's met with warm eyes and a poor attempt to hide a smile.

“I’ll have a vanilla latte with as much espresso as you’re legally allowed to give me” you say, a small laugh escaping you.

"Oh great, more of this espresso shit," Mattheo groans before he even has the chance to think. "wait-" He blinks once. Then again. It's you. And you said the thing. And then he said. Shit.

"Well you do work at a coffee shop," you say with a smile, trying not to laugh too much as you watch the boy in front of you visibly malfunction.

"And that's tattooed on you. Permanently," Mattheo states, still shell shocked.

"Yes it is," you reply, still smiling.

"Hey Matt, what's the hold up?" Enzo shouts from the pass out counter.

You see Theo lean back from the espresso machine to see what all the commotion is about.

"Oh hey y/n! Usual vanilla latte, shit ton of espresso with an E?" he asks, looking pointedly at Mattheo.

"Yup! That's what they ordered. That is the drink my soulmate ordered," Mattheo blurts out rather loudly.

Theo drops the carton of milk he was holding and you flinch as it hits the floor with a splat.

"So, see you after your shift?" You ask, feeling it was probably best to move this along, especially as there was a line growing behind you.

"You can have him now, he's annoying," Theo calls out.

"No they can't, we're busy," Enzo interjects.

"I'm off at noon," Mattheo says, finally snapping out of it.

"Perfect, see you at noon then," you say with a smile before heading over to the pick-up counter where Enzo already has your drink waiting.

"Wait, don't you want my-"

"It's already on their cup," Enzo says, interrupting his friend. "Now get to it, that line isn't gonna clear itself."

"Bye y/n," Theo calls as you wave to the three of them on your way out.

It’s still a bit chilly out and the cool morning air hits you as soon as the shop door swings shut behind you, but you can’t help the warm feeling growing inside you.

You really did love coffee you think to yourself, grinning as you turn your cup to see a series of numbers scribbled on the back.

#slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fluff #coffee shop au #soulmate au #slytherin #theodore nott #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle x reader

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cevansbrat0007 · 6 months ago

Note

I saw this and thought of Ari and his Bird right away 😂 Now how would he react? 😌

Dinner is Served...

Summary: You surprise Ari with his favorite meal: You.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Smut, An Appearance from Bucky Barnes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, High Heels, Naked Fun in the Kitchen, Manhandling, Clothed Male Nude Female (CMNF), Pussy Eating, Very Mild Chase Kink, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I think someone actually asked me this a while ago. Maybe. I vaguely remember my answer. However, instead of rehashing that, this is how I think that would go - with a twist! Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I sent you the files this morning, Buck.” Ari winces as he shoulders his way into your house from the garage. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to open ‘em.”

“Just resend them in a different format.” His friend and business partner responds, sounding frustrated.

“Why don’t you just give-in and ask Pixie to help you already?”

“Because she’s been giving me the silent treatment since Tuesday. Why would I want to risk breaking the streak?”

Rolling his eyes, he drops his bag by the door – only to be surprised when he spots a pair of your panties laying innocently on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that it’s actually one of his favorites. It was part of a set he’d bought you just last month.

“What’d you do, Barnes?”

“Uh…” A heavy sigh can be heard coming from the other side of the phone. “I accidentally broke her fancy little coffee maker.”

“Wow.” He responds, disapproval evident in his tone.

“Hey! I just said it was an accident. She said she had a bad night and so I tried to make her one of those latte…macchiato…things she likes. And then I broke it.”

“Make it right, Buck.” After toeing off his boots Ari begins making his way towards the kitchen, following the sound of music in the air. He frowns when he spies your blouse in the middle of the hallway. Closely followed by a pair of black leggings.

“How?” God, his buddy could be so goddamned obtuse sometimes.

“Fucking apologize. And then buy her another one – a better one.”

“Ugh!” The former soldier whines. “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for a replacement. How about I–?”

Wait. WAIT. Was that your bra? Just what the fuck was up with this strange trail of clothes?

“Buck, you’re a grown man. And google is your friend.” Ari snaps as he picks up your fallen undergarment, his confusion growing with each passing second. “Restore peace to the land before that woman feels compelled to drop a nuke.” With that he ends the call, now ready to solve whatever mystery he’s just stumbled upon.

But what it’s he sees when he rounds the corner that has him stopping dead in his tracks.

“Well, shit.” His mouth goes dry as he watches your hips sway to the music pumping out of the speaker.

A low whistle of appreciation has you glancing over your shoulder.

If you were being honest, you’d known he was home the moment you’d heard your garage door open. Which was also why your bathrobe was now hastily balled up in your pantry.

“Welcome home!” You chirp, not missing the way your man’s eyes darken as they drink you in. “Did you have a good day?”

“What’s all this?” Ari’s already deep voice dips an octave as he holds up your previously abandoned bra, dangling it from his finger. But you know he’s not mad. This question is coming from a man who clearly likes what he sees.

Which just so happens to be you. Happily cooking in your kitchen. Wearing nothing but a little makeup and a pair of red heels. Oh, and oven mitts. Can’t forget those.

You’d come across this scenario while aimlessly scrolling on Instagram. And since you were growing more comfortable with the body you saw in the mirror these days, you figured that it might be worth trying your luck. If only to see your man’s reaction.

“Oops!” You gasp, trying your best to look apologetic. “I just haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. I’m sorry.”

“Baby…” Ari drags a stunned hand over his jaw. “That’s not even – ah fuck. Cleanin’ up is the absolute last thing on my mind right now.” Dropping the undergarment on a nearby table, he begins making his way to you – only to come up short once again when he catches sight of your heels.

“What? I’m just tryin’ to break ‘em in. That’s all.”

“Fuck meee.” He groans under his breath, his eyes going wide at the sight of your latest surprise.

“Hold that thought, sugar.” With a wink, you turn back towards the stove before bending over to retrieve tonight’s dessert from the oven. You’re forced to bite the inside of your cheek when you hear your bounty hunter’s sudden intake of breath at the sight of your bare ass.

“There we go.” You hum, playfully fanning yourself with a checkered mitt. “Hope you like homemade cinnamon rolls with whipped cream cheese frosting." Tendrils of feminine pride unfurls in your belly when you notice Ari’s impressive hard-on tenting his jeans. "They’re the perfect after-dinner treat.”

“That’s–I’m not…” He cuts himself off, surprising you both with his inability to speak. “We–that ain’t the kinda treat I’m hungry for, little Bird.”

“Hm.” You nod as you stretch your arms above your head. Giving into temptation, you rise up on your toes before giving a little shimmy, calling attention to your breasts. “No problem. What’s the point of talkin’ about dessert when we haven’t even discussed the main course?”

“Huh?” Ari clears his throat, his rapt gaze now focused on your pouting nipples.

“Tonight we’re having roasted potatoes –”

“I don’t give a good-damn about no roasted potatoes, woman!” The bounty hunter rumbles, cutting you off before you can finish telling him your menu. “You don’t need to cook nothin’ else. I already know what I’m hungry for.” He takes a decisive step in your direction. “It’s just a matter of where I’m eatin’.”

“But you don’t even know what we’re havin’ yet!” Comes your incredulous laugh as you bat away his eager hands.

“This right here.” He growls, broadly gesturing at your naked body. “All of this. That’s what I want.” Without warning, he grabs the edge of his t-shirt with both hands before yanking it over his head, revealing his muscled chest. “I'm fuckin' starvin'.”

“But I’m not on the menu!” You shriek, throwing a dish towel at him the next time he gets too close. The next thing you know, this man is now chasing you around your own kitchen, his long legs quickly eating up the space between you.

Fuck it was hard to run in heels!

“Now I don’t mind where I dine, darlin’.” Your man purrs, his already sexy voice pitched to arouse. “We can take it to the bedroom. The living room…”

“Beast!” You burst into a fit of giggles as you attempt to fend him off with the help of a chair. “Need I remind you that we are in the kitchen?”

Now that makes him pause. But only for a second.

“It ain’t the first time I’ve had you in here.” The chair you’ve been holding is gently ripped from your grasp. “Pretty sure I’ve devoured that pussy in every room of this house.” You watch in defeat as he sends your last little bit of protection skidding across the floor. “Did you forget how wet you got the last time I splayed you out on this-here table? Because I haven’t.”

One rough, slightly calloused hand grips the back of your neck – drawing you closer.

“Remember how I made you hold yourself open for me?” His lips ghost over yours – the sharp nip of his teeth causing your heart to beat erratically in your chest. “Remember the way your thighs shook every time you gushed around me?” He moans softly, the erotic sound going straight to your dripping cunt.

“I–If you don’t want the potatoes, we’re also having…um…” You can’t help but whimper when he abandons your throat in favor of grabbing a hearty handful of your ass. “Herb roasted chicken…”

“I get so hard whenever I think about the way you drenched my fuckin’ beard, baby.” Ari gives you a playful squeeze before lifting you by your hips and depositing you on the table as if you weigh nothing. “My good girl always makes such a mess for me. Don’t you?”

“Could I perhaps interest you in some honey glazed carrots?” However, your weak attempt at redirection is completely ignored.

A heady thrum of excitement courses through you when you feel your back connect with the cool, wooden surface. And then Ari’s hands come to rest on your knees, gently prying them apart, baring your most intimate flesh.

“Look at you.” He rasps, tenderly stroking your slick folds. “Fuckin’ soaked already. And here we are just gettin’ started.” He parts you with thick fingers before leaning down to press a kiss to your puffy clit, making your hips buck.

“Yeah,” he continues. “This is the only honey I give a fuck about tonight.” Gripping your ankle, he drapes your leg over one broad shoulder, opening you up to him even more. And then he reaches for the remote to your speaker, turning up the volume of the music that had since become little better than background noise.

“Don’t want any interruptions while I enjoy my meal. Especially since you spent so much time preparin’ it.” Ari drags your body towards the edge of the table before taking a seat in a chair and placing a napkin across his lap. “And don’t worry about me needing any silverware, sweet Bird…” He murmurs as his mouth descends upon your vulnerable, quivering pussy.

“I don't mind gettin' my hands dirty.”

END

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sweetbrier2908 · 6 months ago

Text

sometimes you look at satan and think of lucifer. of course you keep it for yourself, you're wise enough to know that even when he's not mad at you but it definitely makes him uncomfortable. but sometimes, you mean it, only a few times in the span of many years you've known him, you look at him and his face, his expression, even his nose and his smile, his action, his attitude surprise you how similar he is to his father (can you say that? you always feel like this word is such a sensitive topic). you start noticing the similarity between those two and also the difference.

like how satan chuckles often than only smile when he reads and he's usually too excited to show you whatever intrigues him from the book.

like how satan's eyes are not that sharp, unlike lucifer's. satan's eyes are always smiling. if you remember correctly. he may say that is because he's a demon and he need to deceive others but maybe he's just a kind soul.

like how satan doesn't have wrinkles on the corner of his eyes and he doesn't frown that much. always keep his best composure. always acts polite. he can't afford to let people think he's rude since he need to surpass lucifer in everything.

like how satan's expression is always more gentle...more soft...and you look at him and you know that he was raised in love. in love. in love. the way he looks at little animal, the way he looks at his brothers while they're doing something silly. the way he focuses on the books, on the lessons,...the way he treats everything with such sincerity like they all have souls. you wonder if levi's the one who taught him how to take care for little animals, if mammon's the one who taught him you need to treat everyone equally, if asmo taught him to appreciate the beauty in even the smallest thing, if beel and belphie taught him to create a special bond with people is nice.

satan and lucifer, they shares some habits too. the first thing they do when they walk through the door is organize all the jackets and coats on the hanger, then they go to the kitchen and make something for themselves (but satan likes to make a cup of latte and lucifer likes hell coffee or tea which he was gifted by his beloved)- and for beel who's already there. they're gonna complain about something, then go to the library to take a look. arrage the misplaced books, sweep a little bit then take a sit and wait for their brothers to come home and complain again about the noise (everyone knows that they love being around their family and to proud to admit that they enjoy all the problem they cause). they don't do all of that together. never. satan takes after lucifer, you're kind of sure of it after spending years and years watching them, many things. you never tell him.

sometimes you look at satan and wonder how many things he takes after his brothers, his family. how many things he takes after love.

#obey me #satan being his father's son #obey me nightbringer #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me headcanon #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me writing #satan obey me #obey me leviathan #swd obey me #obey me aámodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request a fic about that theory that pure vanilla cookie is the avatar of destiny where during episode 7 & 8 where instead of awakening pure vanilla becomes the avatar of destiny and he is already in a relationship with both reader and shadow milk cookie? Fluffy with a bit of angst please

At first I was like "wait that's a theory???" and then I started looking it up and now I'm like "omg that's actually cool"

In the context of episode 8-30 beast yeast idk how to incorporate PV already being in a relationship with SMC so I decided to leave that ambiguous

...........

"GRAAHH!! GIVE BACK MY SOUL JAM!!!"

In a blinding fury, Shadow Milk Cookie rushed at the Truthless Recluse.

He was fully prepared to kill him at this point, for being "betrayed" after realizing the soul jam's power wasn't in his total control anymore. It couldn't end this way, he thought. He wanted..needed to have it.

But unfortunately for him, his attack struck far too late as Truthless Recluse drove his own staff through the soul jam.

Through the cracks that formed, blinding beams of light consumed the Beast's vision, forcing him to halt mid-flight. With a grunt, he shielded his eyes. Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie had no choice but to do the same, but after the light faded, they all finally had a chance to see what became of their latest pawn...

But he was not a pawn anymore.

Instead, something incredible--something divine--had taken his place, and was now looming over them.

The Truth--no, Pure Vanilla Cookie had returned, and he was an angel. A literal angel, with four fluffy wings, dressed in white robes, and a crown atop his head. Chocolate syrup dripped down from underneath his ruffled neck, and a ring made of waffle cones hovered behind his back, rotating idly.

Although his eyes initially remained closed, they suddenly opened to reveal those familiar shades of blue and yellow.

Indeed, this was unmistakably Pure Vanilla, with a now fully intact soul jam resting in the very center of his chest.

"Yes...it's all coming back to me now." His voice boomed throughout the spire, yet there was a certain gentleness to it. "There is something new..a boundless conviction, warming me from within. I recognize this feeling..."

The more he kept musing to himself and over his new form, the more enraged Shadow Milk was becoming.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing in the cards came even remotely close to predicting this would happen.

All along, he thought he had finally won. That his other half would finally see things his way and become the other Cookie of Deceit. One who was a mirror of himself. An ally who would help him reshape this world.

But now, not only did he--the master of lies and trickery--get tricked by him, but he used the soul jam--their soul jam--to transform into this divine entity, using the Light against him and his other realm.

How was that possible?

Why couldn't he turn into something similar?

"You...You TRAITOR! LIAR!!"

His outrage snapped Pure Vanilla out of his thoughts, and he looked down on him, almost amusingly. "Hahaha. Should there be Deceit, I shall embrace it. Should there be doubt, I shall accept it." He extended a hand out. "Come now, Shadow Milk Cookie..let us end this."

With gnashed teeth, the jester leapt into the air, meeting him at eye-level with his staff grasped tightly between his claws. "You think I'm scared because you're bigger than me?!!" He snarled. "I'LL DESTROY YOU!!"

"A lie shall vanquish a lie."

In one swift motion of his hand, Pure Vanilla cast a powerful beam of light that illuminated the entire sky, further empowering the other realm to bend to his will.

What was his will?

To dispel the lies, rumors, and gossip that have devastated Crispia, saving Parfait Cookie, Princess Cookie, and Latte Cookie from being ostracized from the public and convicted of any wrongdoings. Their reputations were restored, and the cookies who once condemned them had come to apologize.

And just like that, there was peace once more throughout the lands.

At first, Shadow Milk was perturbed, but when he suddenly began to snicker, Pure Vanilla looked at him in confusion. "What's so funny?"

"You may have won this battle. You may have undone my work...but your friends and your beloved cookie are still gone forever!" He cackled. "All that power won't bring them back! They've crumbled to dust! Nothing more than helpless souls that will roam my Spire for eons-!"

"We're actually fine! Thank you, though."

Bewildered, he whirled around just in time to see you, Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie rush into the room, weapons drawn. Not a scratch nor crack was left on any of your dough.

It's like he never pushed you all off that tower to begin with.

Not only that, but Fortune Teller Cookie was also present, silently following you four to confront the Beast once and for all.

However, upon realizing who he was currently facing, your jaw dropped. "No way.."

"Woah! What on earthbread is that?!" Wizard Cookie exclaimed, almost frightened. "Another one of his monsters?"

"No. That can't be Shadow Milk Cookie's minion!" Gingerbrave huffed. "It looks too much like-"

"Pure Vanilla Cookie..?" Strawberry Cookie uttered, only to gasp as the giant angel nodded.

"Is...i-is that really you?"

He looked to you, tilting his head, before shifting form---this time shrinking down to his normal cookie height, resembling the Ancient Hero you've always known and loved. His wings, crown, and waffle ring remained, but he gazed at you with that familiar smile. "It always has been me, [Y/n] Cookie."

Tears brimmed your eyes as you rushed over to hug him. "I never thought I'd see you again! Did you ever plan on telling me that you were..?"

"To be honest, I wasn't sure when or where. But I suppose there's no time like the present." He chuckled, holding you tightly. "I'm happy you're safe."

"We owe it all to Fortune Teller Cookie. But I'm confused.." You let him go, eyes shifting between the two. "You guys are the same person, so...how did you pull that off?"

"Haha, don't you remember? "In this tower, space and time intertwine in a myriad of reflections." Here, the past and present coexist. The cards showed me a glimpse of a possible future. A future that had yet come to pass...fortunately, I was able to prevent it."

"I see. I'm glad Fort--err, you were there to help us." You turned to the hooded cookie with a smile. "Thank you, my dear."

Fortune Teller Cookie nodded his head, a smile coming to his own lips as he returned to his present-self, where they merged as one. It was such a beautiful and mesmerizing display that had the younger cookies beside you in awe.

But it did not last, as the Spire's violent rumbling reminded you all that your job wasn't done yet.

"Excuse me? I'm so sorry to disturb you..but I'M STILL THE MAIN CHARACTER HERE!!" Shadow Milk snapped, tired of being ignored as he raised his weapon. "You got lucky. So what?! I have other ways to kill you all!!"

Several small portals spawned in the room, and the monsters that you've faced during your ascent began to appear on all sides: Haetaes of Lies, Slithering Scrolls of Lies, Winding Totems of Lies, and Shadow Wolves in Sheep Clothing gnashed their teeth--each and every one ready to attack on his command.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Wizard Cookie groaned, charging his staff with lightning magic. "How many of these things have we beaten?! Just give up already!"

"He can keep summoning them forever.." You sighed, although you stood firm and glared at the nearby wolf. "But if he's not gonna surrender, we won't either. For the good of the Cookie World, we have to win-"

"Hold on." Pure Vanilla raised a hand, abruptly silencing you as he looked to his counterpart. "Shadow Milk Cookie, wait."

"What now? Afraid to lose them again, little birdie?" He taunted.

"You are right. For me, nothing is more important than protecting my friends. But they are much stronger than you realize." The Ancient Hero huffed. "They've helped me find my path again."

"...hah, seriously? You're gonna lecture me now?"

"Well, I've been wondering...instead of taking my soul jam by force, you decided to try me and see if I could truly fall. Why?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, and you weren't sure what his motivations were for asking that now instead of fighting back--but you stayed quiet.

"Oh, what does that matter? Can't I have a little fun? Seeing the seeker of Truth tremble, consumed by self-doubt? So scared to be devoured by Deceit?!" He flicked his weapon to you. "Afraid of what your sweetheart might think? They see a different side of you now. Something you've kept hidden from them for oh-so-long~! Amazing how they didn't feel betrayed by-"

"You say that, and yet..I saw your records. I saw how happy you were to see my soul jam touched by Deceit."

".....what?" He blinked.

"And I could feel how lonely you truly are." With a slight frown, Pure Vanilla put a hand to his chest. "[Y/n] Cookie could sense it, too."

Silent, Shadow Milk Cookie's gaze shifted to yours, noticing how you loosened your grip on your weapon, as well as the subtle nod of your head. "At first I didn't, but now...I think I have a better understanding of you-"

You were cut off by a howl of laughter that echoed throughout the room.

"AHAHAHA! NOW WHO IS THE CLOWN HERE?! Him or you?? Oh, I'm tearing up!! Look at my Spire! Bask in its splendor! Here, I have anything I want! Fools eager to fall to their knees in exchange for one little lie!" He gestured to everything, sneering at you. "You...You must've lost your minds! How could you possibly understand me?!"

"You say you can have anything you want here, but..it's really him that you want. And you realized I was in the way." You pointed out. "You could've gotten rid of me. Torn me up in a card. Shattered me as a chess piece. But...you let me be a spectator. You hesitated to push me off this tower. You did everything you could to test our bond. To see if we would break, or if I'd shun him for turning into a liar. All of that couldn't have been out of simple "enjoyment"."

"SILENCE!!" He barked. "You dare act like you know me?!! You lowly cookies know NOTHING!!"

Pure Vanilla stepped forward despite the snarling monsters still surrounding you all. "That's where you're mistaken, I'm afraid. When you and I became one briefly-"

Without warning, Shadow Milk slammed his weapon down, now redirecting his anger to the Ancient Hero. "One more word out of you, and I will wipe your pathetic dough off the face of the world!!"

Yet he wasn't intimidated by the threat. Nobody was.

"--I felt it. A minute droplet of longing, hiding in the dark."

"........."

"I know it, for I've felt the same. Many times. Until [Y/n] Cookie brought me out of that darkness." He looked to you with the warmest smile, prompting you to come forward as well and take his hand. "They've saved me. And maybe..that's who you needed all along, too."

"I...I don't need any cookie to "save" me." Shadow Milk tried protesting, although his resolve was weakening. "How could you-?"

"We share the same soul jam. So yes..I am the only one who truly understands you, Shadow Milk Cookie."

"....but..that's.."

"And..if you'd let me, I'd like to understand you, too." You added with a tiny smile of your own. "You laugh in the face of loneliness, but you still haven't denied it, have you?"

"....."

"This doesn't have to end in violence." Pure Vanilla let go of your hand, instead offering it to the Beast. "You don't have to be lonely anymore. We are here. Please..let us walk the path of truth and deceit together."

The monsters of lies were still awaiting their orders to attack, but much to their confusion...their master abruptly fell to his knees, staff clattering to the ground.

And just like that, all of them had vanished into thin air.

"Together..?" He asked in the smallest of voices, although when he realized how vulnerable that sounded, he growled and scowled deeply at you all. "No...why did you have to make this so difficult?!! I HATE you all! I hate YOU and your soul jam and your stupid bird form and lovely-dovey relationship-!"

"Okay that's enough."

In an impulsive act that was either very stupid or very brave, you kneeled down to sweep him into a hug--but in your gut, you trusted that he had no tricks left up his sleeves. "That's no way to talk to the Avatar of Destiny now, is it?"

"...wh-wha...what are you doing?" He struggled a little. "Didn't you hear me?! I said I hate you!"

"Come on, Shadow Milk Cookie. Give a rest already. Aren't you tired?"

"...I...I'm not..." Yet despite his attempts, he could not get the words out.

Because even he knew they would were lies you and Pure Vanilla could easily see through.

You felt him struggle less and less in your hold, until he stopped moving entirely. His expression became unreadable, and for once...he didn't say anything at all.

"Uh..[Y/n] Cookie? Maybe it's time to let him go..." Wizard Cookie warned.

"It's okay, my friend. This is how I'm gonna embrace Deceit, by literally embracing him." You chuckled softly, only to fall silent as you felt the Beast's head fall onto your shoulder, his body going slack. "Huh? Oh..."

"H-How can you do this? After all I did to him..to you and your friends?!" He asked, his tone utterly defeated as he trembled a little, blue claws clutching at your armor. "Is this...what you truly desire?"

Before you could answer, Pure Vanilla's wings came into view as he knelt down on the other side of him, embracing him from behind. "This is what we both desire, Shadow Milk Cookie. Thank you for accepting us."

The only response he got was a tiny sniffle, but given how the blue cookie practically melted into your arms, you knew that he was beyond exhausted and had no room left in him to fight.

While Black Sapphire and Candy Apple were bewildered that their master had fallen like this, Gingerbrave and his friends couldn't help but smile, relieved that the mind-bending games and illusions were finally over.

The Avatar of Destiny was certainly a shocking reveal,....but so was the truth that Shadow Milk just wanted somebody who understood him and was willing to reach out and dig up that loneliness he so desperately tried to keep buried.

And it ends up being two cookies, not one, who succeeded.

#clanask #anonymous #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #crk x reader #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #sorta at the end lol

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elenauaurs · 2 months ago

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TWISTED WONDERLAND OC

Diaval bio again hehehhee

Name: Diaval Corvo

Grade: Junior

Age: 180

Height: 1,73

Homeland: Briar Valley

Club: Board game

Best subject: Mathematics/History of magic

Hobbie: Studies on ancient writings

Pet Peeves: DOGS.

Favorite Food: Soup

Least Favorite Food: N/A

Birthday: November 3rd

Talent: Mapping (Before Book 7) - Drawing (after Book 7)

Personality

By his peers, Diaval is often considered a reserved and mysterious person, especially because of the circumstance of being one of the closest people to the Housewarden of Diasomnia. Despite this reputation, Diaval proves himself to be a caring individual and a good person to talk to, should the subject interest him.

In his own way, he has a habit of guiding people when necessary and, lately, he has been gaining a better reputation and maintaining a good relationship with his classmates. However, despite maintaining a calm and helpful demeanor towards others, Diaval can be quite proud if mocked or challenged, as well as having confidence in his own abilities.

Diaval is a good strategist, preferring to analyze a situation behind the scenes first before taking action. With this in mind, it's not too surprising that he often prefers to analyze the people around him before deciding whether or not an interaction would be beneficial for him, as well as he can also be considered a great resource to find 🫣gossip🫣 about NRC.

He can be quite vengeful, as well as quick to return a just favor. Very remorseful with people he doesn't like or who have done him wrong, but also do everything for those he holds dear. In fact, despite appearing to be logical most of the time, Diaval can be really emotional, especially with people he loves or when he feels vulnerable…

and REALLY restless when something he does goes wrong

Overall, Diaval is observant, introvert and sometimes reserved. However, he also has an ease in communicating with the people around him and is being seen interacting much more with his colleagues lately. Diaval also has difficulty talking about things that affect him, but he can show himself to be a good person to talk to and a great friend, even assuming a responsible attitude for those who need.

And he's also a big worrier for his friends.

Trivia

• He's twisted from Diablo and Diaval (Sleeping beauty and Maleficent)

• Diaval is a personal servant of Malleus, acquiring the title of The Princes’ wings in Briar Valley.

• What's the story behind his eyepatch? Ask him all you want, but the only guarantee you'll get is that he'll make up a new story every time.

• He’s a crow/raven fae

• Diaval's eyes are very sharp, being the sense he most rely on. As they say, nothing escapes his gaze.

• He’s always very well informed about what’s happening around Campus, definitely a great investigator who loves gossip.

• He doesn't like participating in swimming lessons. According to him, his wings are too heavy to swim properly.

• When it comes to food, Diaval eats absolutely everything. Lilia's food included.

• Diaval LOVES shiny things, and also enjoys giving gifts to make up for favors he has received.

• He doesn't lacks self-control, but depending on the situation, Diaval can be REALLY quite competitive.

@cyanide-latte @oya-oya-okay @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @boopshoops @br3adtoasty @casp1an-sea @heyhellohihowareyou @tixdixl @sillyslipperybananapeel @cheerleaderman @revolllutionary @nyx-of-night @lumdays @skriblee-ksk @nemisisnemi @althea-and-alcestris @miyanaranagikenmal-intp @the-necromancer-wife @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

#I didn't change much from his old bio #I just wanted to make a new one bc i changed a bit of his lore and felt uncomfortable leaving the old one here #fun fact it's been exactly one year and four days since i first posted him on Tumblr #so happy unbirthday my son Diaval #yayy #diaval corvo #malleus draconia #diasomnia #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #disney twst

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aglionbyacademia · 3 months ago

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(some of) the trojans doing the hear me out cake challenge and who/what I think they’d put on there

Jeremy: Jack Frost (Rise of the Guardians), Santa (Rise of the Guardians), the Easter bunny (Rise of the Guardians)(Jeremy just really likes this movie okay), the moon, cherry flavor vape, djungelskog, Mothman, Diego (Ice Age), Lightning McQueen (Cars), Bill Cipher (Gravity Falls), a crisp canned Diet Pepsi, Scar (the Lion King), salted butter popcorn, Appa (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Abracadabra by Lady Gaga, a yo-yo, Kevin Day

Cat: Sally (A Nightmare before Christmas), some high quality Espresso machine, Royal Enfield Classic 350, barkbark (she only puts him on to mess with Jeremy), Sudoku, McFlurry, Satisfyer Pro+ G-Spot (enthusiastic nodding from all the girls present), sour patch kids (Jeremy says “jeez those are children, cat”), Aloe Vera plant, Kevin Day (yes she’s a lesbian yes she would make an exception for him)

Laila: boba, the Billy bookshelf from IKEA, Philomena Cunk, a yankee candle, the tooth fairy (Rise of the Guardians), Sally (Cars), the dragon (Shrek), fuzzy socks, sour apple flavored lollipops, human skeleton prop, a clear quartz crystal, Wanda (Fairly Oddparents), Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan, the moon, Kevin Day (same as Cat, they’d do him together)

Cody: the dude on the pringles can, Gerard Way, Timmy Turner’s dad (Fairly Oddparents), a $100 bill, blåhaj, Pennywise, Bigfoot, any Banshee or ghoul, the number 3 (Jean gives him a side eye), Helena Bonham Carter as Red Queen specifically, Trixie Mattel, Vanessa Doofenschmirtz (Phineas & Ferb), Azula (Avatar: The Last Airbender), any Curry dish, 1973 Chevrolet Camaro, this:

and Kevin Day

Ananya: Mr Crocker (Fairly Oddparents), Cosmo (Fairly Oddparents), Scar (The Lion King), Espresso Martini, Pumpkin Spice scented candles, Fenty Gloss Bomb in the shade Fenty Glow, Monstera plant, Cody Winter (Pat high-fives her, Cody blushes), Tendō Satori (Haikyuu), Phineas and Ferb’s mom, Coach Wymack, Katya Zamolodchikova, the stardust period tracker app, Ghostface, succulents, Kevin Day

Patrick: Matty Healy, Sevika (Arcane)(yelling ensues because she’s just hot and doesn’t qualify as a hear me out), Heimerdinger (Arcane), Cody Winter (now Cody asks why he qualifies as a hear me out, Pat and Anyana just giggle), Matt Boyd, Spirit the horse, Gill (Finding Nemo), an Octopus, tea with milk,Thea Muldani, Colonel Sanders, sunscreen, coffee flavored chocolate, strawberry milk, Ghostface, Kevin Day

Xavier: one of those frog hats, Instax mini polaroid camera, iced hazelnut latte with oat milk from Dunkin’ Donuts, a fidget spinner, birch trees, Spirit the horse, Jafar (Aladdin), Ursula (The little Mermaid), Allison Reynolds, the first fall of snow, Berry B. Benson (Bee Movie), Squidward, Lin Manuel Miranda as Alexander Hamilton, Nicholas Cage, Kevin Day

Jean: a salted caramel flavored Protein Bar, Jeremy Knox, a Stanley cup, the sun, Neil Josten, Cappuccino, heart shaped sunglasses, Bambi by Clairo (I just feel like Jean would love Clairo ok), pastel colors, ivy plants, oat milk, watermelons, brownies made out of sweet potato, the smell of freshly mowed grass, Renee Walker, the feeling of direct sunlight on his skin, oversized sweaters, this emoji 🙂‍↕️, Kayleigh Day, a green smoothie, Kevin Day

(I want to add that I think the Trojans would have had to explain this game to Jean multiple times and that Jean was struggling big time to find things, especially things he’d share with the group. I feel like he doesn’t know many pop culture references or childhood shows and movies that the others mentioned so he went a more abstract way. He had lots of help from Cat while compiling his list)

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elryuse · 4 months ago

Note

jang wonyoung-------- where oc is three years older than wony and have been dating before ive debut but its a secret in the public eye,but then thing happened wony kind of cheated oc finds out about it but he just can't let her goo so he endure at first but then it become worse and then they kind of parted ways even though wony doesnt seem to want to let go of oc.They really cant stay away from each other even though wony and oc parted ways they are still intertwined.Lets say oc is in the palm of wony hands kind of pretty toxic but sweet yeah...

Toxic Till The End

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Disclaimer : Don't Be Toxic Kiddo, :D

You glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you wait for the next customer. It's early afternoon, a little after lunch, and the regular crowd has started to trickle in. Your café, tucked away in a quiet alley just a short walk from the busy corporate district, has always had a steady stream of customers. But lately, you’ve noticed a particular customer who has caught your attention.

It’s Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. You’ve known her face for a while, even before she began frequenting your café. As a popular idol, her posters and commercials are everywhere, but the first time she came into your café, it felt different. You weren’t just seeing her through a screen. She was right there, in front of you, asking for a latte with the softest voice.

At first, it was nothing special. Just a polite exchange, like with any customer. You kept your cool, even though you were a little starstruck. But the more she visited, the more those polite exchanges became something more. A smile here, a small compliment there. You found yourself looking forward to the days when she’d step through the door, her eyes scanning the room before they settled on you with a glimmer of recognition.

The bell above the door jingles, and like clockwork, Wonyoung steps inside. She’s wearing a simple, oversized coat and a cap pulled low over her face, but you’d recognize her anywhere. Today, though, something is different. She looks tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her usually bright expression is dimmer.

“Hey,” you greet her, offering a warm smile. “The usual?”

She nods, pulling her cap a little lower as she approaches the counter. “Yeah, please. One vanilla latte.”

As you start preparing her drink, you decide to strike up a conversation like you’ve done before. “Rough day?”

She chuckles softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You have no idea. It's been non-stop meetings and rehearsals. I just needed a break.”

You hand her the drink, watching her fingers brush against yours as she takes the cup. The small contact makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly focus back on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you came here to take that break. The world can wait a little, right?”

She looks up at you through her lashes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. This place has kind of become my escape.”

Her words stir something in you. An idol like her, with the entire world watching her every move, finding a sense of peace in your small café? It’s flattering. You lean against the counter, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. It’s an invitation you’ve given before, but somehow it feels more meaningful now.

Wonyoung sips her latte, the steam rising between you two as she lets out a content sigh. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. But then, as you’re about to ask her something, a group of fans passing by outside catches your eye. They don’t seem to have noticed her yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Wonyoung must sense your unease because she follows your gaze and tenses slightly.

“Do you need to go?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

She hesitates, glancing toward the door. “I probably should…”

You don’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not when it feels like you’re finally getting closer. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime? Outside of here, I mean.”

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by your sudden boldness. You can feel your palms getting sweaty, and you mentally curse yourself for being too forward. But then, to your surprise, she smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up her face.

“Are you asking me out?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze intense.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For a moment, you think she’s going to turn you down, but then she looks up again, her smile still there.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “But… we’d have to keep it a secret. My company has strict rules about… well, you know.”

You nod, understanding immediately. Dating an idol? You’ve heard the horror stories of how fans react. But the thrill of the secrecy only adds to your excitement. “I can keep a secret if you can.”

She giggles, the sound like music to your ears. “I guess we’ll see.”

As she stands to leave, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You just asked out Jang Wonyoung—and she said yes.

“When should we—” you begin, but she interrupts with a sly smile.

“I’ll text you. We’ll figure it out.”

She waves goodbye, leaving you standing behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch her disappear down the street, the bell on the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind her.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like something big is about to happen. Something that could change everything.

The days that followed felt like a blur of anticipation. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart would leap, hoping it was her. And then, one night, just as you were closing up the café, her name flashed across your screen.

“Tomorrow. 8 PM. I know a quiet place.”

You read the text over and over, a smile creeping across your face. It was happening. You were actually going on a date with Wonyoung, and no one else knew.

The next day, you close the café a little earlier than usual, making sure everything is perfect before you head out. The nerves hit you the moment you step outside. What would it be like? What would you talk about? But there’s also an excitement bubbling beneath the surface—a thrill you haven’t felt in years.

When you arrive at the spot she mentioned, you’re surprised to find it’s a small, dimly lit park, tucked away from the busy streets. It’s quiet, serene, and the perfect place for two people who didn’t want to be seen.

Wonyoung is already there, sitting on a bench, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat. But when she looks up and sees you, her face breaks into a smile.

“You came,” she says softly, standing to greet you.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You try to play it cool, but your heart is racing.

You sit beside her on the bench, the cool evening air wrapping around the two of you. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just enjoying the rare moment of privacy.

“So,” she begins, breaking the silence. “You really weren’t scared to ask me out? Most people wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckle nervously. “Well, I guess I’m not like most people.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “No, you’re not. That’s why I said yes.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that’s both intoxicating and terrifying. The fact that you’re sitting here, in the dark, in secret, makes everything feel a little more dangerous. But you like it. You like her.

As the conversation flows, it becomes clear that there’s more to Wonyoung than what the world sees. She tells you about the pressures of being an idol, the constant scrutiny, the expectations that weigh on her shoulders. You listen intently, feeling protective over her in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You must get lonely,” you say, your voice soft.

She nods, looking down at her hands. “I do. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives—one for the public and one for myself. But the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which one is real anymore.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over hers. “This is real,” you say firmly. “Whatever this is between us—it’s real.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away, but then she squeezes your hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“I hope so,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The warmth of your bond with Wonyoung had grown over the years, weaving itself into every corner of your life. From stolen evenings in the quiet corners of the city to shared laughter over cups of coffee in the dim glow of your café, your relationship had become something sacred. She trusted you, and you loved her with every fiber of your being.

But things started to shift when Wonyoung sat across from you one evening, her face pale and serious.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

You set down your cup, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s… good news, really. But…” Her words faltered, and the worry in her eyes twisted your gut.

“Wonyoung, just tell me,” you urged gently.

“I’m debuting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Wonyoung had always talked about her dreams of becoming a star, of standing on the biggest stages and sharing her talent with the world. You should have been happy for her, proud even. But all you could feel was the growing pit in your stomach.

“That’s… amazing,” you said, forcing a smile.

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is. It’s everything I’ve worked for. But… you know what this means, right?”

Your heart sank. “What are you saying?”

She looked down, her hands gripping her mug tightly. “The company’s rules are even stricter now. I’ll be busier than ever. Training, schedules, promotions… I won’t have time for…” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back her emotions.

“For us,” you finished for her, your voice hollow.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t have a choice. If they find out about us, it could ruin everything—for both of us.”

You sat back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. This was it. The moment you’d feared since the day you started dating her. You knew the risks of being with an idol, but you’d always hoped you could make it work. Now, it felt like that hope was slipping away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your throat tight. “Your dream has always come first. I don’t want to hold you back.”

She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my anchor, my safe place. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Even if we can’t be together the way we want, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Her tears spilled over, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried. You wanted to believe your own words, but deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end.

The days that followed were the hardest of your life. Wonyoung’s visits became less frequent, her texts and calls more sporadic. You understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. You poured yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself from the emptiness she left behind.

Then, one day, the messages stopped altogether.

At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Her debut was approaching, after all. But as weeks turned into months, the silence became deafening. You stared at your phone every night, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But nothing came.

You threw yourself into your café, hoping the familiar routine would keep you grounded. But even there, reminders of her were everywhere. The table by the window where she always sat, the scent of vanilla lattes that lingered in the air—it all made your heart ache.

Your only solace was watching her from afar. You followed her career, watching every performance, every interview, every commercial. She was incredible, just as you always knew she would be. But the bright lights and the adoring fans only reminded you of how far away she was now.

Still, you held onto hope. You told yourself that one day, when the world wasn’t watching so closely, she’d come back to you.

Years passed, and your life settled into a routine. The café grew busier, and you built a reputation for being the cozy little spot that people loved. But no matter how much time passed, Wonyoung was always in the back of your mind.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, your heart leapt, hoping it was her. Every time you saw someone with long, dark hair or heard a soft laugh, you thought of her.

One evening, after closing up, you sat alone in the café, a cup of coffee growing cold in your hands. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the walls, and the quietness of the night only amplified the loneliness in your heart.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through old messages from Wonyoung. You hadn’t deleted them, even though it hurt to read them. They were all you had left of her.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice breaking.

You didn’t know if she’d ever come back. You didn’t know if she even thought about you anymore. But you couldn’t let go. She was your first love, and a part of you would always belong to her.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you continued to wait. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure: if Wonyoung ever walked through that door again, you’d welcome her with open arms.

For now, all you could do was hope. Hope that somewhere, in the midst of her glittering, chaotic life, she still remembered the little café where it all began.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as another customer walked in, but your mind was elsewhere. The days had blended into a monotonous cycle—serving coffee, cleaning tables, and quietly hoping. Hoping that one day, Wonyoung would return, her familiar presence lighting up the small café once more.

You told yourself every day that it was foolish. That she had likely moved on, swept away by the tidal wave of her career. But a small part of you clung to the memories, refusing to let go.

Then, one fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you saw her.

It was a glimpse at first—a flash of her unmistakable silhouette passing by the large window of your café. Your heart leaped, the familiar rush of emotions flooding your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the cloth in your hand and hurried to the door, your pulse racing.

“Wonyoung!” you called out, stepping onto the quiet street.

She didn’t turn around.

You froze, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto her. She was walking down the street, her delicate figure wrapped in a soft beige coat. But she wasn’t alone.

There was a man beside her, tall and well-dressed, with an air of casual confidence. Wonyoung clung to his arm, her smile bright and carefree. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as she tugged his arm playfully, her laughter floating through the crisp evening air. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that used to be yours. And that smile—the same radiant smile she’d given you on your first date—was now meant for someone else.

Your heart clenched painfully, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was it just a colleague? A friend? Or… something more?

The rational part of you tried to dismiss it. She’s an idol. She must have many colleagues, right? But deep down, a gnawing doubt began to take hold, and with it came a wave of desperation.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The image of Wonyoung with that man replayed in your mind like a cruel, endless loop. You tried to push it aside, to reason with yourself, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen.

You kept telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. That there had to be an explanation. But the doubt lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

“She’ll come back,” you whispered to yourself as you cleaned the counter the next morning. “She’ll explain everything.”

But she didn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and Wonyoung never walked through your door. You scrolled through her social media, searching for clues, but found nothing. Her life seemed to be as glamorous and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, you felt yourself spiraling.

Your thoughts became consumed with her. You replayed every moment, every smile, every touch. You clung to the memories like a lifeline, even as they began to feel like a weight pulling you under.

Every night, you prayed silently, your hands clutching your phone as you stared at her name. You prayed that she’d text, that she’d call, that she’d walk through the door with that familiar shy smile.

But she never did.

One evening, as you closed up the café, you found yourself back at the place where you’d seen her with the man. You didn’t even know why you were there, only that you couldn’t stop yourself.

You sat on a bench nearby, staring at the street as if willing her to appear. The desperation in your chest had grown into a hollow ache, one that refused to go away.

“She wouldn’t do this to me,” you muttered under your breath, your hands gripping your knees. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”

But the memory of her smile—the one she gave that man—gnawed at your resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of her. Your friends began to notice the change in you. They asked if you were okay, if something was wrong. But you brushed them off, retreating further into yourself.

Your café became your only refuge, the one place where you could pretend everything was still normal. But even there, the memories of her lingered like ghosts.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, you looked up, hoping it was her. Every time someone ordered a vanilla latte, your chest tightened with longing.

But Wonyoung never came.

The toxic cycle began to take its toll. You stopped sleeping, your nights spent staring at your phone, waiting for a message that never came. You stopped eating, your appetite replaced by a gnawing emptiness that nothing could fill.

Your friends tried to pull you out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. How could they understand? They didn’t know what it was like to love someone like Wonyoung. To love her so deeply that it consumed you.

“She’ll come back,” you told yourself again and again, your voice growing weaker each time. “She has to.”

But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. You’d seen it with your own eyes. Wonyoung had moved on. She had someone else now.

And yet, you couldn’t let go.

You kept praying, day after day, for her to come back. You told yourself that if you just held on a little longer, she’d walk through the door and everything would be okay again.

But as the weeks turned into months, the hope that had once sustained you began to wither away.

You were losing yourself in the waiting, in the longing, in the toxic spiral of loving someone who no longer cared.

And still, you couldn’t stop. Because as much as it hurt, the thought of letting go hurt even more.

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of the café as the sky wept its sorrow. You stood behind the counter, absentmindedly drying a mug as you stared out into the gray, dismal street. The café was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rattle of thunder in the distance.

Then, through the streaks of rain on the glass, you saw her.

Your breath caught in your throat as Wonyoung’s familiar figure emerged from the downpour, standing just outside the café. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain, and her shoulders trembled as she hugged herself tightly. She looked… broken.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. This was the moment you’d prayed for countless nights. Yet now that it was here, something inside you felt different.

With a deep breath, you walked to the door and gently pushed it open.

The bell jingled softly, but Wonyoung didn’t move. She stood in the rain, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice trembling.

You stood there, watching her cry, her words cutting through the sound of the rain. In the past, you would have rushed to her, held her close, and whispered soothing words until her tears stopped. But tonight, something in you had changed.

You stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “You’ll catch a cold out there,” you said quietly, your tone calm but distant.

She looked up at you, her eyes red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

Wonyoung sat at her usual spot by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you’d prepared without a word. The warm light of the café cast soft shadows across her face, accentuating the sadness in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You sat across from her, your expression unreadable. “What exactly are you sorry for, Wonyoung?”

She flinched at the coldness in your tone, her fingers tightening around the cup. “For… disappearing. For not calling. For—” Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “For hurting you.”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You couldn’t fall into the same cycle again. Not this time.

“Why are you here, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice firm but not unkind.

She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face for some sign of warmth, of forgiveness. “I missed you,” she said softly.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Missed me?” you echoed, your voice tinged with skepticism. “Or are you just bored?”

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she was speechless. “How could you say that?”

“Because, Wonyoung,” you said, your voice steady, “you walked away. You left me here, waiting for you, while you moved on with your life. And now, after all this time, you show up out of nowhere, crying and saying you’re sorry. What am I supposed to think?”

She stared at you, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” you asked, leaning forward. “That I wasn’t worth even a text? That you could just show up whenever it suited you and expect me to be here, waiting with open arms?”

Her tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I understand fear, Wonyoung. But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to treat me like I don’t matter.”

Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. “You’ve never talked to me like this before,” she said softly.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied. “Maybe if I’d been more honest with you from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. For the first time, Wonyoung seemed at a loss for words.

“You’ve always been there for me,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to lose you.”

You sighed, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “Wonyoung, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s fair—for both of us. I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping for something that might never happen. And it’s taken me this long to realize that I deserve more than that.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached across the table, her hand trembling. “Please… don’t give up on me.”

You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Every part of you wanted to take it, to pull her into your arms and pretend everything was okay. But you knew that would only lead to more pain.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this. If you want me in your life, you need to show me that I matter. Not just when it’s convenient, but always.”

Her hand faltered, and she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending this can work.”

She stared at you, her face a mixture of shock and devastation. “Are you saying it’s over?”

You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “I’m saying that I can’t keep holding onto something that’s tearing me apart.”

Her tears fell freely now, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The rain continued to fall outside as you sat there, the weight of your decision settling over you like a heavy blanket. For the first time in years, you felt a strange sense of clarity.

This wasn’t the ending you’d hoped for, but maybe it was the one you needed.

The days that followed Wonyoung’s tearful return were bittersweet. She seemed genuinely sorry, her apologies heartfelt and tear-streaked. For a while, it felt like things might finally be different. She softened around you, her laughter returning, her gentle touches and warm smiles reminding you of the Wonyoung you had first fallen for.

But as time passed, the cracks began to show again.

It started small—missed calls, vague excuses about her schedule, and moments where she seemed distracted even when she was with you. You told yourself it was fine. That she was busy. That you could be patient.

But then came the nights when she wouldn’t respond to your texts at all. The whispers online about her being spotted with someone else. The photos of her arm linked with another man’s, her smile radiant and carefree, just like it had been the first time you saw her with someone else.

You confronted her one evening when she finally came back to the café, her expression tense but defensive.

“Who is he, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice quiet but trembling with restrained emotion.

She froze, her eyes wide, then quickly looked away. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her tone evasive.

“Then tell me what it is,” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “Because this keeps happening, Wonyoung. You disappear, you’re seen with other guys, and then you come back here, apologizing like it’ll make everything okay.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”

You pulled back, avoiding her touch. “That’s what you always say. But you keep doing it.”

She began to cry, her hands trembling. “I love you. I just… I don’t know how to handle everything. The pressure, the expectations. You’re the only thing that feels real, but sometimes it’s too much.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto the idea that she loved you, even if her actions said otherwise.

But the truth was undeniable. This wasn’t love. It was something toxic, something that was slowly destroying you both.

The cycle continued. Wonyoung would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, only to return with teary apologies and promises to do better. And every time, you forgave her.

You hated yourself for it. Hated how weak you felt, how easily you crumbled under the weight of her tears and her soft words. But no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t let her go.

Until one night, when everything came crashing down.

You’d seen her again, smiling and laughing with someone else. The sight was like a knife twisting in your chest, and for the first time, something inside you snapped.

You went home that night and stared at your phone, the screen glowing with her name. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sadness, and despair.

Finally, you began to type.

“Wonyoung, I can’t do this anymore. You’ve hurt me too many times, and I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I love you, but I need to love myself more. Goodbye.”

Your thumb hovered over the send button, your chest tightening. You knew this was the right thing to do, but it felt like tearing a piece of your soul away.

With a deep breath, you pressed send.

The message delivered instantly, the small checkmark mocking you as you stared at it. And then, you turned off your phone, the weight of your decision crashing down on you.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness. You tried to focus on the café, on the simple routines that had once brought you comfort. But everything reminded you of her—the scent of vanilla lattes, the sound of the bell above the door, the corner seat where she used to sit.

And then, one evening, your phone buzzed.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. It was her.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

You closed your eyes, the familiar ache in your chest returning. You knew you shouldn’t reply. You knew this was just another loop, another step in the endless cycle of pain and forgiveness.

But even as you told yourself to ignore it, your fingers betrayed you, typing a response before you could stop them.

“I’m here.”

You hated yourself for it. Hated how easily she pulled you back in, how much power she had over you. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You and Wonyoung were toxic. You hurt each other, over and over, and yet you couldn’t let go.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken it made you feel, you still loved her.

And some part of you always would.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #toxic #toxic relationship #wonyoung ive #ive wonyoung #jang wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x male reader #ive x reader #ive x male reader #ive moodboard #ive icons #wonyoung

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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 3 months ago

Text

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 2/End)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Switch!Jayce, Rough Sex, Biting, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Female receiving), Eating Out, Angst, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Size Kink, Jayce Has A Big Dick, Self-Hate, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Crying

Notes: A LITTLE LATE BUT AS PROMISED, I’m publishing the ending to this fic before the end of January (and the beginning of my surprise Valentine’s Day event 👀). This one is gonna be quite the emotional ride, so better strap in, fellas (PS: I SWEAR I love Jayce with all my heart I just love toying with his heart because I’m a monster)

(Chapter 1)

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed.”

‘Fuck you’, you wish you could spit back at Jayce. ‘What would you even know about what anyone wants in bed, you pathetic two-pump loser?’

It's extremely tempting, if only to see his face go crimson in frustration and embarrassment again, but you know his fragile little ego might not survive it. And no matter how much you'd like to deny it, he's right: you do want to know about what Viktor likes.

You want to know every single thing about Viktor so badly, it hurts.

You've fallen for him in the same way a forest fire burns: slowly, and then all at once, overwhelming, relentless, all-consuming. It's gotten almost painful to be near him in the last few months, your stomach contorting angrily whenever he gives you a witty smile or laughs at your idiotic banter. The desire for him to look at you, and only you, is searing your skin a little more each passing day; so much so that you wonder if there will be anything left of you but ashes by the time you muster the courage to confess.

And God, do you want to: the need to tell him how you feel has become a constant itch that's as painful as it’s unending. All it would take to quench these all-consuming flames are three little words, three measly syllables, a laughable eight letters.

Yet you just can’t say them.

Because underneath all the bravado you're always putting on, you're nothing more than a hypocrite, who is absolutely terrified of hearing his answer. Of seeing nothing but compassionate pity in those soothing golden eyes of his, a gentle ‘I'm sorry’ forming on his lips, and burning you alive once and for all.

So, you wait for a sign from Viktor: a word, a touch, anything that would make the risk of confessing more bearable. As a born engineer, you've always been pragmatic and logical to a fault; you simply won’t jeopardize your relationship with him based on insignificant data and hopeful speculations. Maybe it's nothing more than a spineless justification to let yourself wither away, but it's the best you, and your burning little heart, can do.

After all, something is comforting about staying in the unknown— in that state of limbo where there's no real acknowledgment of the nature of your feelings, or his. But the fire that is Viktor is relentless, ever burning, and it consumes you inch by inch, growing every minute you spend with him working side by side at the Academy.

It worsens more each time he remembers insignificant details about you: how you like a touch of extra cinnamon in your morning latte, how much you hate seeing your middle name used in the lab's paperwork, how you always fidget with your jewelry when you're stressed— little habits and quirks he somehow never misses or fails to offer a helping hand with.

You've been in love before, but never like this; and you doubt you ever will again. Viktor is the type of person you can only meet once in your life, a shooting star that graces the human eye every thousand years, just to disappear the second you look away, before you ever get the chance to tell it it's beautiful.

And then, there's Jayce.

Jayce, who looks nothing like Viktor, with his muscular frame, perfectly symmetrical smile, and sun-kissed skin.

Jayce, who is nothing like Viktor, with his annoyingly booming voice, total lack of social awareness, and oversized ego. Whose very presence signifies, at best, an incoming headache, and at worst, endless screaming matches and arguments over the most minor details.

Things hadn't always been that way with him. There had been admiration, at first, back when you had been accepted as dean Cecil B. Heimmerdinger’s newest pupil, and the fourth member of his elite team of post-graduates. He had more than his fair share of accolades for a man in his mid-twenties: many of his papers were cited in the highest calibre of academic journals, and he had a list of awards and scholarships almost as long as your arm. You had truly believed you would learn a lot from him.

It barely took a week with him for all your naive and bright-eyed delusions to come crashing down. Behind the pretty face and the accomplishments was nothing but arrogance and disregard for all the discipline you valued. It all came so maddeningly easy to him— school, work, looks—like effort was beneath him, or even worse, completely foreign to him.

He hadn’t been shy with his interest in you for a second, either. Between the corny pickup lines and the obvious stares at the meat of your thighs, Jayce hadn’t been quite subtle; but you had no endearment for men like him. A pretty boy whose grandiose romantic gestures were clearly an attempt to quickly get into your pants, only to leave you behind the moment your novelty had worn off. The type to take everything for granted, including women’s affection, and to never have heard a single ‘no’ in their life.

There was no way you were going to fall for it.

Yet the more drily you rejected his advances, the more Jayce seemed interested in you. It had to simply be the novelty of someone finally rejecting him and seeing his true nature that fascinated him. But it wasn’t love that he felt for you; it couldn't be.

People like him could love no one but themselves.

He would glance at you with desperate puppy eyes whenever he thought you weren’t looking, a shiny toy out of his reach. Every now and then, on one of his trashed design drafts, you’d find tiny pencilled sketches of your face with a surprising level of accuracy. He clearly took some pleasure in arguing with you over everything and nothing, and you'd lie if you said that you never got some enjoyment out of that dynamic.

You had let his resolve weaken you once, and only once, early into your arrival at the lab, and long before you had developed any feelings for the then much more reserved Viktor.

And it had been a mistake.

—

Those first few months had been gruelling for you: as the newest recruit, you did much more dull and tedious paperwork than any practical or creative assignments in the lab. It was hard, and the long hours of staring at nothing but the bright blue light of your computer screen made you dizzy; but you wouldn't have exchanged it for the world.

You had earned your place here by never being complacent, by refusing to see any task as below you or too difficult to accomplish. You had been a diligent student under the harshest of conditions throughout your life, and you would continue reaching higher and higher by working hard, and always proving your worth.

One day soon, you’d be standing at the very top of it all, with your wildest dreams accomplished; and it would be with the knowledge that you had made it there entirely of your own merit.

You had been surprised and apprehensive to see an email from Professor Heimerdinger that morning, requesting that you pass by his office. Heimerdinger was very much not the type to plan out discussions, preferring to randomly pop in and out of the lab to hold impromptu, casual meetings, so the atypically formal message had made you feel uneasy.

You were under the impression you had integrated into the program quite well, and that you had begun nicely bonding with your two lab partners. Although you had had strong reservations about Jayce and his attitude, and were still extremely on the fence about your opinion of him, his puppy-like charm had started to wear you out, and you had agreed to go get coffee with him during that weekend.

You had made it very clear it wasn't a romantic encounter, but a team-bonding exercise: an occasion for him to prove some of your unfavourable impressions of him wrong. Then, maybe, and only maybe, you'd consider the idea of a date with him; but he didn't need to know that yet, lest he’d let it go to his head.

For now, your focus was only on your appointment with Heimerdinger, and the anxious knot in the pit of your stomach.

You knocked on his door gently before coming in, finding the short, older man perched on top of a small ladder, nose-deep in one of the many books that lined every inch of the walls. The countless volumes adorned his office like multicoloured bricks, giving a cozy, yet slightly claustrophobic feel to the small room.

“You asked to see me, professor ?” you cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice to appear more composed.

Heimerdinger raised his head in surprise, likely so entranced in the huge textbook that dwarfed his small frame that he hadn’t heard you come into his literary fortress—or even remembered he had scheduled a meeting with you.

“Ah, yes, dear girl, come on in and take a seat!” he exclaimed, closing the book with a loud ‘thwack’. He struggled a bit to place it back on one of the shelves as you sat to face his desk, eyeing his precarious position wearily. He, thankfully, managed to make his way down the creaking ladder without incident, landing on his feet with a slight wobble.

“The great, dangerous heights one has to reach to gain knowledge,” he mumbled pensively, a chubby hand running through his wild tuft of dusty blonde hair. “One would think that with twenty years of service here, the finance department could afford to invest in a less perilous stepping stool.”

He made his way to the other side of the desk, settling comfortably in his pillowy chair. He adjusted his thick, round glasses, his expression indecipherable behind the imposing white mustache that covered most of his lower face.

You immediately let yourself fear the worst, your firm conviction that you had been doing well since your arrival crumbling like a house of cards.

“Have I been performing… below your expectations, sir?” you asked abruptly, the anxious ball in your stomach tightening on itself.

Heimerdinger cocked his head to the side in confusion, frowning, his thick eyebrows shifting down like two fuzzy caterpillars.

“Now why would you say such a silly thing? You’ve been going above and beyond, from everything I’ve seen and heard,” he complimented with a reassuring smile. He gave you a sly wink, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension leaving your body like a puff of smoke. “I have an eye for exceptionally talented people. I wouldn't have recruited you if I hadn’t been wholeheartedly convinced of your capacities.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhaled, releasing a sharp breath you hadn't realized you were holding. So it was all a misunderstanding then. Everything was alright. “May I ask why you’ve requested to see me this morning, then?”

Heimerdinger only hummed as an answer, opening one of his desk's drawers and digging through a visibly messy pile of documents. “Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling out a single sheet of paper with a flourish, and handing it to you with no further explanation.

You grabbed it carefully, quickly looking it over with growing confusion: the bold title only stated your name, next to the words PROJECT TRANSFER.

“Here you go, all signed and completed,” Heimerdinger added with a casual wave of the hand. “I would have simply sent it to you by email, but protocol requires you to sign it in front of me. You know how bureaucrats get,” he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

The more snippets you caught of the document, the less you understood. ‘Personal request made by the student to be discharged from desk work duty for the Wyatt Project — Approved by team supervisor — Reason for request: Lack of affinity with the project and given tasks — Signatures of department head, team supervisor, and concerned student below’.

“I’m sorry, what… is this?” you asked slowly in hesitation.

The Wyatt project had been the most tiresome and dull assignment you had been given as of yet at the Academy, and although you often complained about it in your off time, you had never made any sort of official demand to be transferred from it.

“The discharge paper for the Wyatt project,” the older man explained, seemingly surprised by your lack of enthusiasm or recognition. “I was told you didn’t enjoy the busy work much and would prefer a change of pace. I’ll be putting you on the assignment corrections for the undergrads, which should be much simpler and less time-consuming.”

Your mind began racing chaotically, attempting to puzzle how a few unserious, nitpicky rants could have possibly made their way as an official demand to the dean himself. You barely registered the empathic nod he gave you as he cleared his voice, a sparkle of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

“Perhaps I was requesting a lot of you for your very first semester here, with an assignment as advanced as this. My apologies, dear girl. But do know this transfer is a rare exception, and I will require more receptiveness from you for future tasks.”

The slight pitying look he gave you made you feel like throwing up.

You'd disappointed him.

You had failed the expectations of the man who took a chance on you as his youngest pupil, and you weren't even aware of how you had done it.

“I—I mean yes, the Wyatt project is a lot of busy work, but I never—who told you I asked to be taken out?” you managed to stutter.

Who? Who could have possibly gone so out of their way to ruin the reliable and efficient reputation you were working so hard to build here? Your mind came up blank, reviewing the few people you might have said anything to, and not finding a single one who would so blatantly jeopardize your fragile new position.

“Why, Jayce,” Heimerdinger said as if it was entirely obvious. “As your team leader, he gives me monthly reports of the status of each project you're involved with. He was quite adamant about putting you off the Wyatt and onto an easier project.”

A flash of understanding crossed his face at the sight of your decomposing expression.

“Has… Jayce not discussed this with you?”

No. No, he hadn’t.

You barely remembered the walk out of Heimerdinger's office after that, fuelled only by a mixture of incomprehension and betrayal. With each step, it shifted into something much stronger, a fury burning from your core directed not only at him, but at yourself.

You slammed the door of the lab open, the plexiglass banging against the frame with a dull thud:

“How fucking dare you?!”

Jayce was thankfully alone in the lab, but even if Viktor had been here, you weren't sure you would have managed to control the outpour of anger. The man looked up from his notes in surprise:

“Woah—wait—excuse me?” Jayce stammered, visibly more confused than insulted.

“Who do you think you are to decide what I can do or not?!” you seethed, barreling rapidly towards him. “How dare you go around asking things in my name to our supervisor?”

He got up from his chair hurridly, eyes wide, raising his hands in a placating gesture as if you were a wild animal ready to attack.

"Relax, I really have no idea—" he started hastily, only to stop mid-sentence as realization dawned on him. His brows knit together in confusion. "Wait... is this about the Wyatt project?”

"What else could it possibly be about?!" you yelled, your voice slicing through the silence of the empty lab. Under different circumstances—if this wasn't about your entire career here—you might have remembered that your outburst could easily carry into the corridor, reaching the ears of other students, and even possibly teachers. But blind frustration consumed you, eclipsed only by the raw, aching sense of betrayal you felt towards him.

“But you’ve been telling me and Viktor for weeks how much you hate it,” Jayce argued, frowning, his lips reducing into a thin line. He was genuinely perplexed, like the very concept that he hadn’t done you a service wasn't registering in his mind. “You’re the one who said you wished you could do more work in the lab with us!”

“So you went over my head and told the fucking head of the department I was too lazy to complete the work he gave me?” you retorted without missing a beat. You hadn't realized how close you had gotten to him, your balled fists barely a foot away from his increasingly punchable face. You could smell the artificial scent of body spray off him, and you wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Do you have any idea how unreliable and ungrateful that makes me look as the new girl?! I haven’t even had this position for six months!”

Understanding slowly dawned across his face, and his expression softened, regret pooling in his chartreuse eyes.

"I was just trying to help, I didn't—" he began, his voice gentle and remorseful, but you weren't even close to being done with him.

“Help?” you spat, the word dripping with venom. “Help how? By making me look like I don’t want to work hard? Like I'm a spoiled brat who goes on dates with her team supervisor to get easy jobs? What, do you think I slept my way up here?”

“I’d never—I thought you felt too shy to talk to Heimerdinger, I just wanted to give you a hand as my junior! How is that a bad thing?!” he protested, frustration creeping into his voice.

“It's a bad thing because it means you don't fucking believe in me!” you shot back.

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, willing them gone and clinging to what little pride you had left.

“It means you think I'm too weak or too stupid to do the same work you and Viktor did when you started. That I'm not even enough of an adult to handle my own shit—that I need some random guy at work to baby me!”

He flinched at the harshness of your words, the hurt on his face unmistakable. His mouth opened as if to speak up again, eyes carrying the wounded look of a kicked puppy, but you didn’t let him, refusing to let his charm ever fool you again.

“I don't care if it's because I'm younger than you, or because I'm a woman, or because you think I'm attractive,” you snapped. “I'm staying on the Wyatt project until it's completed, like I signed up to. I won't let you mess up everything I've worked so hard for.”

You took a step back, your feelings too overwhelming to stand staring at him a minute longer. Your instinct about Jayce—that he was as spoiled as he was self-righteous— had been correct from the start, yet you felt no pride in that knowledge; there was only the bitter taste of disappointment.

Your voice was sharp and unforgiving when you spoke up again:

“Do me a favour. Next time you want to help, don’t.

—

And yet, here you are now, in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere, butt naked in a cramped shower with him, the feeling of his tepid cum still lingering on your thigh.

Jayce Talis wants to help again, and you’d be an absolute fool to accept, or to give him more ground than you already have.

But things are different, this time.

You want his help. You need his help.

You know better now than to believe he feels anything resembling real affection for you. His obsession isn’t love: it’s a fixation born from entitlement, from the relentless need to possess what he’s been denied. You’re nothing more than a challenge, the one girl who refuses to fall for the Academy’s golden boy, and that only makes him want you more. But once he’s had his victory, once this game is over, the thrill will fade, and he’ll lose all interest in pretending he ever cared.

So what’s the harm in saying yes, then? It’s not like either of you will come out of this with any hurt feelings. It’s the same as back then, with him taking you for the easy fool he can be a knight in shining armour for, solving your issues like the great man he is. But at least, this time, he’s had the decency to ask you, first.

"Fine, whatever," you finally grumble, your gaze snapping back to his. A flicker of something unreadable passes through his expression, but you ignore it. It doesn't matter to you, just as you won’t matter to him. "What’s next, Talis?”

—

The issue is that Jayce really hasn't thought that far ahead.

His first and main goal was to distract you from how he had been so stupidly eager, he came without your hands ever even touching his cock. But now, he needs to come up with a next step—fast—before you see right through his bluff and realize he knows far less about Viktor’s sex life than he has so confidently let on.

To his credit, Viktor has always been intensely private about his personal life, even with his closest friends. In all their years of partnership, he had never once introduced Jayce to a girlfriend or boyfriend; never even hinted at a crush, or a stranger who might be something more. No matter how many times Jayce had prodded and teased him in their younger years, Viktor had never let anything slip.

But there is one thing, a small, passing remark, that Jayce does remember.

Back in their very first year together at the Academy, unravelling the enigma that was Viktor had been one of Jayce’s greatest challenges. The man revealed very little about himself and it seemed like science and logic were the sole foundations of his world, an unwavering structure built on nothing but reason and precision.

But every now and then, Viktor would do or say something so entirely unexpected, it shattered any understanding Jayce thought he had of him.

One of those moments had been Viktor’s quiet but undeniable fascination with the arts.

Jayce remembers a particular night, one that has somehow stayed in the back of his mind since. Sitting beside Viktor in the dim glow of the Academy’s theater, watching a play neither of them had particularly planned to see, he had expected boredom, maybe even a few sarcastic quips. Instead, Viktor had been captivated. His sharp eyes, usually so calculating while they worked in the lab, were alight with something softer, something close to wonder, as if he were seeing an entirely new world unfold before him.

"Do you not think it's nice? The music of someone's voice," Viktor had hummed afterward, his tone distant, contemplative, like he was still half-lost in the echoes of the performance.

Jayce had shrugged, stretching his legs out lazily in the cramped theatre seat. Art had never really been his thing—too abstract, too confusing. "I don’t know," he replied casually, "AI is getting pretty good at mimicking it."

Viktor had turned his head slightly, casting Jayce a look that was equal parts amused and disappointed, as if he couldn’t decide whether the comment was genuinely naive or just tragically shortsighted.

Viktor had merely tutted in disapproval, shaking his head. "The human soul, Jayce. The emotions, the passion, the sorrow—that is what a voice carries. We may build a thousand algorithms that reproduce it, down to the subtlest change in tone or pitch… but it will always be missing that.”

Jayce had gone quiet after that, letting the conversation die in the soft hum of the crowd leaving the theater. He didn’t get it then; maybe he does now.

“Voices,” Jayce blurts out, the thought snapping into place like a last-minute save. “Viktor likes hearing people’s voices. I think it’s because of how personal they are to everyone? Something about that just… makes him happy.”

He’s grasping at straws now, but it’s something, and that’s already better than staying silent with his mouth agape like an idiot.

“Maybe, um—maybe you could practice what you’d say to him? The kind of sounds you’d make?” His pulse stutters, but before he can stop himself. “I-I think he’d probably want to eat you out.”

It’s a blatant, bold-faced lie. A shot in the dark dressed up as certainty.

Because that’s not what Viktor said. That’s not even remotely what Viktor said.

It’s what Jayce wants to do.

But he’s already in too deep, tangled in his own bullshit with no way to back out. If he’s going to lie, he might as well be a little selfish about it.

You glare at him with that sharp, dissecting stare, the kind that strips away pretense and weighs his words like they’re under the lens of a microscope. Even though you’re shorter than him, there’s no mistaking who’s in control here; the balance of power tilts undeniably in your favour, and you have him fully, wholly under your thumb.

And he knows it, knows it from the tension in his own shoulders, from the way his lips uncontrollably twitch, from the slight tremor in his voice. He would do anything for this, for you, and he’s not foolish enough to think it doesn’t show. But this moment isn’t about him—not about how much he wants you, or how much he’d give to close the remaining space between your bodies.

It’s about you, and how much you want Viktor.

Jayce already knows your answer before it even leaves your lips.

“Alright. Just…”

You hesitate for just a second, as if there's something else you want to say; a glimpse of uncharacteristic doubt flashes across your face. But it vanishes just as quickly as it came, swallowed by that effortless, burning confidence. Whatever words you might have had for him go up in smoke.

"Forget it. Get on your knees."

Jayce certainly doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast he drops, the wet tile beneath him offering no grace. He nearly slips twice as he contorts his broad frame awkwardly, trying to find a stable position. The cramped width of the glass panels press against his shoulders, making his movements all the more difficult.

You tsk at him, unimpressed and visibly growing impatient. The glare you send down his way is all the incentive he needs to stop fumbling and settle as best he can, even as the mosaic tiles dig uncomfortably into his knees.

One of your hands settles on his head, slightly brushing the damp strands of dark hair, and he leans into the touch; it's probably the closest thing to praise he's ever gotten from you.

"Don’t make me regret this," you warn him.

He grins, throwing you a wink with far more cockiness than he actually feels. "Regret is my middle name, baby."

Before you can shoot back a biting remark, his hands are on your hips, firm and certain, pulling you flush against his face. The heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

If this had been different, if it had been real, he would have taken his time. He would have traced every detail of your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, committing every inch to memory like something sacred. He would have worshipped you slowly, methodically, with the kind of reverence you deserve.

But that's not the case.

Instead, he opts for savagely peppering your inner thighs with warm, rough kisses, just barely letting his teeth graze your skin. You hum in approval, the hand on his scalp petting him like a puppy. The rush of confidence that goes through his body is indescribable, and he makes the bites more insistent, leaving burn-like marks on your skin.

You tug at his hair, just enough to be insistent, but not enough to hurt. For once, he understands you immediately, without you uttering a single word. It’s a little strange —almost ironic— that conversations with you always spiral into arguments, yet here, without speaking at all, you're both in perfect sync.

He obeys the silent command and moves his mouth where you’re guiding him, never pausing the messy, open-mouth kisses against your lower body. It's no surprise that your pussy is as pretty and warm as the rest of you. The hair has been recently trimmed but has grown just enough to tickle against his face as he buries his face comfortably between your legs.

You twitch in his grip the second his tongue touches your folds, but you don't let out a sound. He’s not about to be beaten so easily, though: he gives a strong, assured lick against your clit, and this time you can't suppress a small moan:

“Ah…”

Oh, and God, it's an addictive sound, one that he yearns to hear again, immediately. He copies his movement once, twice, thrice, dizzy off the little vulnerable pants you make under your breath. He's like a starved man, lapping at the fresh water from the shower on your skin just to catch a hint of your juices.

“Hngh-” you inhale sharply when his tongue probes your hole. Your grip on his hair tightens, fingers tangling deeper as you pull him closer. It’s probably just instinct, a mechanical reaction to the rush of pleasure sparking through you; but for a split second, the pressure of your touch feels intentional. Like you want him. And that foolish, aching thought makes his poor little heart clench when you speak again:

“V-Viktor!”

A single word from you, just one name, and reality crashes back down on him like a tidal wave.

He freezes, his tongue flat against your clit, and the warmth of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by something sharp and unforgiving. The water hitting his exposed skin from the showerhead suddenly feels ice-cold, seeping into his bones.

This isn’t right. He knows it. And he’s certain you do, too.

But you’ve both chosen this.

You’re as guilty as he is, using him just as much as he’s using you. It’s a pathetic, hollow imitation of the intimacy he truly craves, the kind where your fingers intertwine with his without hesitation, where your voice murmurs words of love meant only for him, where your eyes remain wide open and locked into his.

But there’s no coming back from having tasted you. A single bite of the forbidden fruit, and he’s undone: his sense of judgment shattered, his pride discarded, his dignity crumbling beneath your touch. If this is all you’re willing to give him, if he’s nothing more than a placeholder for someone else—so be it.

He’ll take whatever scraps of affection you’ll offer, no matter how empty. No matter who it’s really meant for.

You let out another wonton moan when he shifts again, his teeth lightly scrapping your clit, and he lets himself wonder what you're imagining behind those closed eyes.

Granted, the who isn’t much of a mystery; that part is painfully obvious. But how?

How does it play out in your head? Is it tender and slow, filled with whispered confessions and gentle touches? Or is it something desperate, something raw, something that strips you down to nothing but need? Against his better judgment and all common sense, he can’t help speculating.

Viktor would probably not enjoy staying on his knees for very long; maybe you're picturing yourself laying in bed with him, his face nestled snuggly between the meat of your thighs. You’d have a smile on your lips, your sparkling eyes wide open, eager to take in every second of the moment. Viktor would probably chuckle at your eagerness, amused by the contrast of how firm and unyielding you are with everyone else, yet how effortlessly you melt in his presence.

“Viktor, please… please…!” you almost beg as he fucks you on his tongue, your hips rhythmically moving along to his pace, moans raw and unfiltered, forgetting about the thin walls and your likely disgruntled neighbours with how lost you are in your fantasy.

Jealousy begins to rear its ugly head in the pit of his stomach, a dangerous thing to start feeling during something that’s supposed to be pure make-believe. But no matter how hard he tries to swallow it down, it lingers, festering beneath the surface.

He can’t help it, spoiled brat that he is. He always wants more. Nothing is ever enough.

His childish ego whispers that he’s the one making you squirm under his touch, that for all your longing, for all the thoughts clouding your mind, he’s the one here. He’s the one touching you, drawing those needy sounds from your lips.

It's his name you should be saying.

He's gotten hard again, the touch of your skin blending with the smell of your body, the sharp taste of your wetness making his head spin. He's humping the air like a dog in heat, aching for any sort of relief. He wants to stay between your legs for as long as humanly possible, let you use him, but he's not sure how much longer he can handle hearing someone else’s name over, and over again.

He manages to pull away from the vice-like grip of your thighs, mouth coated with your juices. He looks up at you, standing above him like a goddess, surrounded by a halo of water from the showerhead.

"I really, really need you right now, baby," he breathes out, voice raw with desperation. He knows he should have some dignity left, some shred of self-respect; but it's all long gone. At this point, he doesn't care what you think of him anymore, not when he’s fallen this low. “Can I please fuck you right here?”

Your eyes flutter open, slow and reluctant, like it physically pains you to be pulled from whatever reverie you were lost in. For a moment, you just look at him, considering his expression, the firm grip on his head easing slightly.

“I…” you start hesitantly. There it is again, just like earlier: something uncertain in your gaze, lost, vulnerable. It’s jarring, unsettling in a way he can’t quite name. It doesn’t belong there, not in your eyes—eyes that are usually so bright, so sure and unwavering.

"Bed. Viktor wouldn't be comfortable here," you mumble under your breath, refusing to meet his eyes. "And don’t call me baby."

Jayce exhales a shaky sigh of relief. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t tease—just moves.

He scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly slips again, catching himself just in time. With a sharp nudge of his elbow, he shuts off the faucet before effortlessly scooping you up from the wet tiles. You yelp in protest, but he ignores it, already carrying you out of the bathroom, his grip firm yet careful.

The second your back hits the mattress, he’s gone, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes to his backpack; balance has never been his forte, but you’ve rendered him so unsteady his legs feel like jello. His hands fumble through the numerous pockets, almost frantic.

Socks, phone, extra boxers, sunglasses, toothbrush, toothpaste—

There!

He raises the lone condom triumphantly into the air, presenting it like a grand prize, his grin wide with victory.

You don’t look half as impressed.

"Do you seriously bring that with you everywhere you go?" you remark drily, one brow arching in clear contempt.

Ah, right. For a moment, in the heat of it all, he had almost forgotten that you really hate him.

“Can we keep the insults for after I'm done fucking you?” he groans, his arm falling in defeat. Yet, despite the frustration laced in his voice, there’s something oddly familiar about this, something comforting. The push and pull, the sharp edges of your words clashing against his: it’s a unique rhythm, a dynamic that belongs to the two of you alone; one that Viktor will never experience.

The idea makes him happier than it should.

You let out a dramatic sigh in response, waving a dismissive hand as if to say ‘whatever’.

He climbs over you, his body still sopping wet, water trailing down his skin and seeping into the sheets beneath you both. Droplets fall from his hair onto yours, cool against the lingering heat of your skin. The bed is going to be disgustingly damp later, and you will certainly complain and blame him for it, but he can’t bring himself to care about it right now.

The sight of his fully hard cock resting on your inner thigh makes his throat dry almost instantly. Jayce is more than aware he’s well endowed, and he hasn’t shied away from using it as a selling argument for flirting before; but this is so very different. His size dwarfs your cunt, like a little toy underneath him; the realization that he's going to get so deep inside of you that you'll never be able to fully get rid of him is enough to break whatever hesitation he might have still had.

He glances up at you with a cocky grin, expecting you to eye his arguably imposing member with some anticipation, only to find that you're looking away, gaze lost somewhere in the printed forest of the peeling wallpaper.

He clears his throat, and you turn back towards him, expression distant, maybe even cold.

“Want me to, um… prep you a bit?” he asks. He knows you’re soaking wet, he's made quite sure of that, but the thickness of his cock has usually required him to use a few fingers with his previous partners.

You seem disinterested, barely sparing him a look:

“I don't care. Just do it, Talis.”

The absurdity of the fact that you’re still using his last name after he’s eaten you out—and right before he screws you—would be comical if it wasn’t so deeply sad. He tears the plastic wrapper open, rolling the condom on himself without another word. He aligns his member with your entrance, just barely spreading your folds with his dick, before you interrupt him with a firm hand on his bicep.

The look you give him is full of something unspoken, heavy with meaning he can’t quite grasp—or maybe just refuses to.

"Just… be gentle,” you ask stiffly, like you doubt he’s even capable of it. “Like Viktor would."

That last part splinters something inside him, shatters a piece of his heart he thought had accepted he would never be the one you’d want.

For a second, everything blurs. The floodgate cracks open, and with it, the jealousy he thought he had under control surges forward, unrestrained and bitter.

Because Viktor. Always Viktor.

And never him.

He pushes in without replying, groaning at the resistance his tip is already facing. It takes a bit more force, but the head of his cock finally passes through the ring of muscle, and he's able to slowly and fully sheathe himself in, your wetness making the slide easier.

“Fuck- fuck, you're tight,” he sputters, the words falling out of him without his control. “You're so fucking tight, princess.”

Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t gotten laid in too long, but he doesn’t think he's ever been inside someone who feels this snug around him, like you were made for him. You’re walls are fluttering around him, squeezing him so firmly it’s as if your pussy is forbidding him from leaving. It's heavenly, and he stays still for a moment, just to carve in his memory the exact way you’re clenching around his cock.

A quick glance at your face tells him everything he needs to know: your eyes are squeezed shut, your brows furrowed deeply, likely lost in a world where he isn’t the one above you. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’re picturing him instead, rewriting reality with Viktor’s touch, Viktor’s voice, Viktor’s presence.

That’s fine. Perfectly fine.

Because by the time he’s done, by the time he gives it to you just right—hard enough, deep enough, good enough—he’ll make sure the only name you’re screaming is Jayce.

He starts pulling out before sharply shoving himself back in, and you let out an absolutely broken cry. There. As a sound that's for no one else but him.

He repeats the motion, again and again, the sharp feeling of your nails digging into his back making all thought incoherent. Your cries are driving him insane, raw and oversensitive, and he pounds into you harder with the knowledge Jayce Talis is the one tearing them out from your throat.

He looks down where your bodies meet, drunk off the idea of seeing his fat cock plunging into you, but he freezes.

There's blood.

It's not much, just a little red that has tinted some of your combined juices, but it's there, a stark contrast against your skin.

He opens and closes his mouth in incomprehension; he had been harsh, and hungry, yes, but you should have been wet enough to take him with only a slight burn, a nice feeling of fullness. How?

He looks at you in panic: your eyes are still sealed shut, but unshed tears have pooled in their corners, your lips stuck in a thin line.

You’re crying.

It’s so silent, so light, that he hadn't even heard it despite your proximity, despite him being quite literally inside of you. He’s staring at you, dumbfounded—the tightness, the blood, the tears—as the math begins to add up very unpleasantly in his head.

"Wait, are you—" he starts, voice laced with panicked disbelief.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you turn your face away, hiding it behind the crook of your arm, ever the prideful one. But he sees it anyway, the telltale tremble of your bottom lip.

And just like that, every ounce of his frustration, every drop of jealousy, vanishes in an instant. What’s left is something colder, heavier—realization.

You're a virgin.

His stomach twists. "I'm sorry, I—I had no idea—" he stammers, his mind racing to catch up. "Did I hurt you? Oh my god, yeah, I did. Do you want to stop? I’m so sorry—"

The words tumble out in a frantic rush, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where they should be—whether to comfort, to retreat, or to hold you close.

He moves to pull out, but you make a pained hissing sound, grabbing his arm to keep him in place.

You stay silent, breathing haggard, clinging to him like a buoy in a storm. Your fingers dig into his skin painfully, but you still refuse to meet his gaze.

Jayce swallows thickly, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Carefully, he slides a hand beneath your head, lifting it just enough to keep you from sinking further into yourself. With the other, he brushes away a few damp strands of hair stuck to your clammy forehead. You don’t speak, and neither does he.

There’s nothing he can say right now that wouldn’t feel meaningless.

Your eyes eventually open, and the few tears you had been holding back finally spill down your cheeks. He catches them with the pad of his finger, wiping them away as gently as he can.

You’re so still in his arms it scares him. Fragile in a way he’s never seen before. Like a doll he’s played too rough with, beautiful, limp, and oh so breakable. Not meant for the big, clumsy, uncalculated hands of someone like him, but rather, for a gentle and precise touch.

Meant for hands like Viktor’s.

The thought cuts deep, a jagged wound of self-loathing splitting open inside him. Jayce has never hated himself more than in this moment.

"I'm fine," you murmur at last, your voice steadier than he expected. "It’s not like I haven’t done anything before, I'm not a prude, just… not this."

You pause, exhaling slowly before finally admitting the words you’ve been trying to say all along. "I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to look like a clueless idiot if Viktor ever… wants me."

Jayce’s chest aches at how small your voice sounds, at the quiet vulnerability you’re letting slip through the cracks after being so closed off to him for almost three years.

Why do you always say you’re fine when you aren’t? Why won’t you ever let me help? Why can’t you admit you’re scared?

"Viktor would never think you're an idiot," he breathes. "He’d think you’re the smartest girl in the entire world."

You hesitate: “…Yeah?”

"Yeah," he confirms without missing a beat. Then, with a faint smile, he can’t help but add, teasing, "Maybe just a little too thick-headed for your own good."

A weak but genuine laugh escapes your lips, lightening the weight between you, the tension slowly washing away, the tide receding just enough to let you both breathe.

"Big words from someone who compliments himself in the mirror, Jayce," you shoot back with a smirk, eyes glinting with a flicker of mischief. “And it’s not like you’re that big, anyway.”

He huffs out a laugh in disbelief: “Are you seriously pulling that card right now?”

You snort in reply, unable to hold your smile back.

It’s all so absurd, so fucked, tangled in emotions he doesn’t fully understand. But here you are, smiling at him—teasing, but genuine. A fragile thread of connection woven between sarcasm and chaos.

And then it hits him.

You’ve finally said his name.

Not in anger. Not in passing. Not as part of some joke.

Just his name, wrapped in laughter, soft around the edges.

It’s not exactly in the way he’s craved, not in the way that would make this his; but still, his name has left your lips with a real smile, with your eyes looking at nothing but him. Despite everything, it settles something deep inside him, filling the hollow space that’s been eating him alive.

It makes him feel whole.

"I’ll be fine," you tell him again, voice back to the one he knows and adores. "Just… a little slower, alright?"

Jayce exhales, nodding, his grip on you instinctively firming— not possessive, not demanding. Just there. An anchor for you, as much as it is for himself. He’s going to make sure you’re actually fine for once.

“Yeah. Of course,” he promises, but more than that, it carries the weight of a vow, something unspoken yet deeply solemn, something true.

If he’s water, then you are fire, never defeated, blazing brightly with something that could consume him whole. Maybe that’s why he lets himself drown in you—because it’s the only way he can hold onto something that he was never meant to touch.

You will always burn him, and he will always yield to the sound of his name on your lips.

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bunny-jpeg · 8 months ago

Note

hiii bunny ! could i ask for a pastry braid and a sponge toffee with frozen latter and a vodka shot served by franco colapinto?

bakery menu

want to submit to the bakery? then hit up the menu! i'd love to hear from you. there are all kinds of things up on there to choose from! as for the lovely anon who sent this, thank you! i have yet to really get anything for franco! (and yes this does still mean that i'm writing for logan sargeant too!) thank you for the submission and enjoy!! <3

pastry braid ("your job is to make me cum. now get to work.") + sponge toffee ("aw, is someone mad that they can only cum because of me?") + frozen latte (dumbification) + vodka shot (rough sex) served by franco colapinto (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, established relationship, dirty talk/ degrading language, dom/sub, dom!reader, collars/bondage, messy oral sex (reader receives), cumming untouched

franco was riding a feeling higher than a kite. he was on top of the world, it was his second race and he earned points! that was awesome, it wasn't a trophy, but it was a start. he was given a chance and he was finally coming to fruition. he would be on that podium in no time!

but, even if gained nothing in baku. he could still come back to you, he could always come back to you. and play the sweet games you always played. franco loved when his long-time girlfriend was in charge in the bedroom. it excited him in ways that he couldn't describe. so after baku in the williams hotel room. he was met with his two favourite things.

a collar and dark blue rope. paired with it was a note.

"collar on, frankie. i'll be back soon. - your love."

franco felt a shudder through his body as he started to get undressed. he took a deep breath before he picked up the collar and placed it around his throat. this was all part of your little game, for the cameras you were childhood sweethearts with him finally rising to the top of the racing world.

and you were the sweet girlfriend who went to school and kept him tethered to reality. if only the press saw what you two got up to in the evenings, behind closed doors with the blinds closed. this was only something that came about when you both became adults, and franco savoured every last moment of it like honey on his fingers.

he sat on the couch in nothing but his briefs as he waited for you to come back to the hotel room. when the door opened he perked up and saw you come in. with purse in tow and a small paper bag.

you noticed him and smiled, "oh, frankie." then quickly got your sneakers off before you went over to him. your bag was placed to the side and you sat beside him on the couch. you kissed at his face lovingly and he melted into your kiss.

these kisses were different from the ones that you gave him on the track. those were sweet kisses for the camera, the kisses you gave him in the hotel room were heated.

"you look so good." you said softly, "you left the rope?"

he nodded, "of course." then kissed you gently in return. he felt a shudder run through him. he loved this. he knew from the moment it got introduced into his life, he loved it. to put all his trust into you and you'd care for him.

"good boy. i guess a good boy deserves a little treat then." you pulled away and took the paper bag, "but first, you'll need to be tied up. do you remember our safe word?"

"pilar."

"and our gesture?"

"four taps. then three nods." he replied.

you took him by the face again and pulled him into another heated kiss. which he melted into. when you pulled away soon after, he tried to get another taste of your lips, only to whine when he couldn't. you went to the table where the rope was, only to bring it back. then slowly tie up your boyfriend.

you had been lucky enough to know him for so long. you've seen him achieve greatness and now he was only going to go higher. and you would love him every day until the sun exploded.

"excellent." you said with a smile as you ran your hand across his jaw when you got close enough. then you started to tie his arms behind his beck, framing his chest nicely with the dark blue rope.

he squirmed a little and you 'shushed' him with kisses. which he was eager to accept. you finished tying him up. you heard him whimper a little and you chuckled. he sounded like a dream, he was handsome even when bound so pretty.

you started to undress, both of you were soon naked. franco eyed your body as you helped him onto his knees in front of the couch. his cock twitched, painfully hard from the immense feelings plus the rush of today's race. you combed your fingers through his hair and smiled, "your job is to make me cum. now get to work."

and franco looked at you with those big beautiful eyes and got to work. his tongue up against your cunt and you held onto tightly. you shuddered. franco was perfect.

he squirmed a little against the ropes while he ate you out. he looked perfect in his collar and binds. the perfect lover for you, the perfect man for you. he was a rising star and you were there are every turn. you adored him, loved him, he was the beating heart in your chest.

so who were you to deny him on his knees with his tongue against your slick cunt. you held onto him tightly and tried to guide his head against your sex.

you moaned heavily and could see that his cock was painfully hard. you knew the adrenaline from the day plus the activities now were only driving him crazy. you felt flustered while naked on the couch.

"my pretty boy." you said, you watched him try to figure out how to get friction across his cock as he shifted on his knees. you yanked his hair a little tighter as you added, "aw, is someone mad that they can only cum because of me?"

he whined and only gorged himself deeper into you cunt. his movements got quicker and with less of a pace as he found himself deeper in a hot lust. the pleasure was coursing through his body despite not even having any friction to get himself off with. you held onto him and felt his tongue against your pussy. you panted heavily between heavy moans as you felt the pleasure course through you on the couch.

"such a pretty boy. so good for me. you know exactly how to make me cum. you've always been the best for me. i love you."

he looked up at you, that look in his eye said it all. he loved you too. he adored you more than anything. even bound and collared, he loved you. he adored you, you were everything.

you whimpered a little bit and held onto his hair a little tighter. the pleasure was feeling overwhelming.

"shit. frankie." you whimpered.

he came without anyone or anything touching his cock. and his eyes rolled back a little at the feeling. he shuddered but continued to eat you out with a fever in his soul. even with his cum all over his cock and thighs.

"oh, honey." you exhaled and he shuddered. he continued to eat you out and made you hot all over. you could feel yourself closer to orgasm. the heat washed through you.

you came on his tongue and he felt a thrum of heat run through him. you tensed up then relaxed, then relaxed your grip on him and relaxed against the couch.

franco rubbed his cheek up against your thigh and smiled a little. it felt very good in his head as he rested his chin on your thigh and looked up at you.

you smiled, "pretty boy." and touched his face. his chin gleamed with wetness. he looked like he had a good time.

he was not only pretty, he was perfect.

when you took the ropes off, you grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and wiped his lips and face between you kissed him. he melted into your touch with his cock slick with his own cum.

you said, "such a good boy, usually i make you ask to cum, but tonight i'll let it slide." you then softly cleaned the cum off of him and watched him squirm a little.

he nodded dumbly, "yes, thank you! thank you!" and only got settled against you when you dragged the him against you on the couch with the throw blanket over the both his brain was in another place so you gently held him. then you grabbed the paper bag off the table with some effort.

"i got something sweet for you." you said.

he replied with a goofy smile, "is it more kisses?"

you kissed his forehead, "no. they're called shirin-gogal i think. it had nuts and sugar in them."

he shifted a little as you softly fed him. you smiled a little, the collar still was around his throat. he was your future champion, the love of your life. and on top of that your sweet submissive. <3

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

Text

Never letting you go (Max Verstappen)

There was nothing stopping you and Max now

Note: english is not my first language. This is the first Max big piece to sort of introduce their arc, let me know what you think! ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions Jos forbidding Max and reader of dating, curse words

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"What do you mean you're going to the Grand Prix?", you quirked your brow as your friend Cara sipped her coffee, "I thought you said you'd never be caught dead one of those", you chuckled.

"Matthew's company got a bunch of passes because they got a deal with one of the sponsors - I think? - I don't know much about it, all I know is that he brought three home because he thought you'd like to join us", she offered.

You never hid how much you enjoyed watching Formula One, even if watching it, especially in the last couple of years, often brought emotionally heavy memories back.

"That's nice, count me in! What type of passes are they?", you questioned, taking a bite from the cake on your plate.

"I don't know, he was talking all about them and I must admit I zoned out", she admitted, "but he said they were really good! He was very surprised at what the passes had, but his boss is very cheap so I don't know how great they actually are considering the possible comparison", she smiled as you nodded, "count me in, though. It's been a while since I stepped foot on one of them", you recalled.

The last race you attended was when Max was in Formula Three still. The paddock was so big and crowded with so many people, you doubted you'd bump into him. It wouldn't do you any good, would it?

"How did you get hospitality passes?", you gasped as Matthew handed you the lanyard, "they've invested a lot of money so I guess the sponsors didn't mind loosening the belt", he shrugged, putting his own around his neck after scanning it.

"Thank you for this, by the way", you flashed him a smile, "no worries, Y/N, the only way I could convince her to come was if you joined us, and I don't mind actually spending the weekend with someone who also knows a little about the sport", he chuckled as Cara laced her arms with her fiancé, "I'm glad he has you to talk to as well, there's only so much feigned interest I can muster up", she rolled her eyes.

Scuderia Alpha Tauri had been Toro Rosso, but despite the name change, as soon as you walked in, some faces were still familiar from the pictures you got sent from Max on gia first season with them.

"Why did you get interested in Formula One anyway?", Matthew asked you while you sipped on a latte, "I always loved the idea of the cars going very very fast, and then when I actually had the knowledge to understand how they worked, they really intrigued me", you offered, "I also had a friend who was very into it, so he also escalated my interest in it".

"He didn't pull you enough to work on motor sport though?", Matt wondered.

"I didn't enjoy the competitiveness of all of it", you admitted, "it's very strict, and if you want to be successful, it takes the good things away - your family, your friends", you opened your heart to him, thankfully noticing it and sorting the heartfelt confession seemingly about a job, "they travel a lot and they're really competitive that is, I'd never be able to do that for a job", you smiled, hoping you saved yourself from further questions.

"That's why you did mechanical engineering, then?", he asked, "for the most part, yes", you replied, "Oh, they're starting free practice", you smiled, looking over to the track from the balcony seats.

Sophie walked into the RedBull hospitality, looking for her family. Because it was Monaco, they felt safe enough to bring the Lio and Luka to the paddock, knowing they would be close to home in case things didn't go well as planned.

"Grandma!", the oldest boy called her from his spot on his father's lap, his brother sleeping on his mother's chest.

"Hey, my dears", she greeted, "You won't believe who I found on my way here", Sophie began, "I'm surprised Max didn't tell me he invited Y/N. It's a shame she isn't here with us, though", she commented.

The first indicator of surprise should be the way the blond woman looked at her mother, "what do you mean Y/N is here?", she whisper-yelled.

"I just saw her in the Alpha Tauri hospitality, I was walking with Helmut and he was headed there, that's when I noticed her. Max didn't tell you?", she quirked an eyebrow just as her son sat down next to them.

"What didn't I tell who?", Max spoke, setting his plate of food down on the table.

"Why didn't you tell us you invited Y/N for this weekend?", Victoria was the first to scold him, hitting his arm in a sisterly manner, "and in Alpha Tauri of all places? I'm sure they would've bent the rules a little and give you a pass so she could be a RedBull guest!".

Max thought he heard incorrectly. Y/N, his Y/N was in the paddock, in the sister team of the one he now drove for.

"I, I didn't offer her anything", Max said, his brother in-law looking at him weirdly as well, "I don't know how or why she is here, but I had nothing to do with it. We haven't spoken in a while", he mumbled. A while, three years, same thing, he supposes.

"Well, I just saw her. You should go say hi, I'm sure she would love to but she can't exactly find you where she is, it has to be the other way around", Sophie offered.

"What makes you believe she would?", Max questioned, both himself and his mother and sister.

"Because the way you never forgot her, she never forgot you", Victoria sterned, "don't you think she deserves your attention? She was in it for the long run, Max, and maybe she has moved on, maybe even has someone", the thought alone made Max loose his cool, "but she was your friend, the person you trusted most in the world and you let her slip".

"Don't sugar coat it, please", Max sarcastically replied.

"It's true, Max, and you know it", Sophie said, sensing her son didn't want to talk about the topic, but not allowing him to leave the table without a piece of her mind as well.

Max needed to put on his suit again, ready for qualifying, walking along the corridor until he found his door.

"Hey, before you go", Victoria called her brother as he was about to go into his driver's room, "Lio is really fussy, so we're just going back to your place, I'm sorry", she said.

"It's fine, whatever you feel the most comfortable with", he said, waving at his nephews and brother in-law.

"We will be supporting you from home, then", she said, kissing his cheek, "And Max? I know you're not used to it, but follow your heart", she smiled.

"Can I do that now?", he softly bit back, smiling and blushing at his words.

"What's stopping you?", Victoria said as she walked back to her family.

"Who is that?", Jos asked as Max asked him if he could invite you over for dinner before the season began.

The conversations with Toro Rosso were getting serious and the opportunity for a seat in Formula One was right there, up for him to grab if he worked enough.

"She's my friend, you know Y/N", Max tried to reason with his father.

"For this to work, Max, I think you need to distance yourself from home", Jos advised, ignoring his mention of you and carrying on with his lecture, "I'm talking no parties, no trips to come and see friends and family - I really think those are just getting in the way between you and the career you deserve".

The statement was clear, and Max knew better than to question it.

"I've spoken to your mother - she wasn't the biggest fan -, but you really need to focus on this", Jos reiterated, "no friends, much less girlfriends", he chuckled.

The dinner ended up being just Jos, Max and Victoria, the thought of having you there quickly erased in his head.

When Max met up with you before he left for the season, he was antsy. Just a week before, you had stolen innocent kisses from eachother's lips and revelled in the feeling of being in eachother's embrace without a care in the world. And it felt good, so good, like the piece that was missing in Max's life finally completed the puzzle.

"Hey", you greeted, kissing the corner of his lips and allowing him to pull you down to sit on the sofa.

"I spoke to my dad, I'm leaving in a few days", Max said, "there's some testing they want me to do still", he mumbled, lacing your fingers in his.

"And where do we end up?", you asked the million euro question. Truthfully, you entertained the thought. Even though being away from Max for most of the year would be a challenge, the love you felt for him was too big, too great for you to forgo that challenge. You were his and he would be yours.

"It's not going to work, Y/N. I need to focus on racing", he stated blankly despite how much it hurt him to utter those words out to you as the conversation with his father resonated with him.

"Max your focus is getting a Formula One seat", his father sterned, "do you know how hard it is? How much effort and work you have to put in? There can't be any distractions!"

"But Y/N isn't a distraction!", Max reasoned. If anything, you were the one keeping him humble and with both feet on the ground at all times. You cared for him, not because of his racing, who he was or who he could become, but because you loved eachother.

You'd never do anything to ruin his career, Max thought as he worked up the courage to tell you all of it. He couldn't get distracted, not now. He couldn't afford making mistakes because he had a girlfriend back at home waiting on him.

Your understanding, however, wasn't aligned with his expectations. He hoped you'd fight, at least, but you swalled your tears and nodded, "okay, Max. I hope you get your seat, you deserve it so much, I know it will happen".

Max put in on pole, leaving you to smile and snap a picture of the moment, wondering if you'd have the courage to send it to him.

"So, does this mean it's over?", Cara asked, "Because I could do with going home, actually", she nudged.

"Let's go, then!", you smiled, putting your phone in your bag and looking for the way out, ending up following the other guests into the paddock.

"Y/N, dear!", you heard someone call your name, and on cue, you looked for the voice despite the fact that it wad unlikely someone recognised you there.

Sophie didn't age, you thought, as you looked at the source of the voice that called you.

"I'm not going to hold you up, guys, you can go!", you smiled, waving at Matthew and Cara once you assured them you would be fine.

"I'm sorry, Sophie - they're my friends, and he was the one who got the passes from his office", you apologised for leaving her to wait a little for you.

"It's alright, dear. It's been so long since I've seen you", she nudged, "I'm sure Max would love to see you, too!", she jumped straight in.

"Would he, though?", you squinted your eyes.

"He would, Y/N", Sophie said earnestly, "I saw you this morning - at Alpha Tauri -, and he knows you're here", she smiled, "I'm assuming you're watching the race, too. Pay him a visit, okay?", she rubbed your shoulder and left a kiss on your cheek, "He's also my ride home, so I need to go look for him! Bye, Y/N!".

Race day meant rush everywhere, so you got to the paddock just in time before everyone rushed inside, finding the perfect spot to watch the race.

"I need to take this call, one second", you said to Cara, recognising Max's contact on your phone.

"Y/N, hi! I didn't think you'd pick up actually", you could hear the nervousness on his voice, "thanks for the picture, by the way, it was very... nice".

"It's no problem really, I thought it would be a good memory to keep", you smiled, "are you ready for the race? Or do you want me to give you a pep talk?", you chuckled. Back in the day, whenever he didn't feel too confident about a race, you had the power to help him out his head in the right place and bring his winning mentality to light.

"I'm fine, actually", he smiled, "I- I was wondering if you'd like to meet up later", he gulped, "I'd like to talk to you, but it's difficult until the race finishes, and then debriefs and media and all that".

"Sure, text me when you're done then", you stated boldly, "have a good race Max, you know I'm supporting you".

"Even if you're with Alpha Tauri?", he joked.

"I never stopped supporting you, it's not going to be a guest pass that's going to change it", you said as he bid you goodbye, ending the call and finding your friends.

When Max won, you clapped unashamedly as everyone else seemed to join you in your excitement, and after the race celebrations were done with, you waited patiently for the text to get to your phone.

"So you're staying back?", Cara asked, "I am, I'm meeting a friend", you explained. At her curious stare, you furthered, "do you remember the guy I told you about when you tried to set up that double date?", she nodded, "yes, the guy you were friends with, and when you both wanted to take a step forward, he had this big shot as his dream career and his father wouldn't allow him to date anyone", she said as she realized, "my goodness, he's here? Y/N, go for it!", she encouraged, "I know you still have feelings for him, who knows? Maybe this is your chance to reconnect", she rubbed your shoulder.

After you bid goodbye to Cara and Matthew, a text go through to your phone.

From: Max

Mum is waiting for you at the door :)

Approaching the hospitality, you quickly spotted Sophie, "c'mon in, dear! Max wanted me to get you myself, he was afraid no one would ler you in", she chuckled, guiding you through until you were in their dining area.

"Y/N!", Max beamed, setting down the crayons he was drawing with at the table with Luka and walking up to you.

"Hey everyone!", you waved at Victoria, putting a pin the two little boys' curious stares as they looked at you so you could hug Max.

"Congratulations, Max, I knew you could do it", you whispered into his skin, his arms hugging you so tightly against him.

"Thank you, Y/N", he spoke, "I missed you so much, I missed this so much", he squeezed you one more time before allowing you to greet the rest of his family.

"This is Tom, and that's Lio and Luka", Victoria said after she hugged you tighlty, "say hi, guys!", she encouraged as the two little copies of Max waved back at you.

"We're going to head home, it was great seeing you, Y/N!", Sophie announced, "I'm sure we'll see eachother a lot more from now on", Victoria complimented, helping her husband pack up the kids' belongings and toys so they could retire to Max's apartment.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner sometime this week", he jumped straight forward, "I'm having dinner with the team today and then the rest of the grid want to go to the club, so I wouldn't be able to spend that much time with you, and I want to be able to just focus on you", he smiled.

"That's fine by me, I appreciate the thought", you smiled as he led you to one of the tables, asking one of the caffé staff for something to drink for the two of you.

“Listen, I think, I think we found each again for a reason", he began boldly, not sure if this was the way to go after not having spoken to you in a couple of years. Still, it wasn't a lie.

"Define found, considering we've been iving in the same city for nearly a year", you smiled, "although you don't spend much time here anyway, so I guess that's a nice enough excuse", you teased, your foot tapping his shin playfully under the table.

"So, Monaco, hm?", Max started, "I didn't expect you to live here out of all places", he nudged, wanting to know more about your move but afraid he was stepping in vulnerable territory.

"I did it because of my earnings for sure. I've got to save as much as I can on tax on the fortune I make as a female engineer", you sternly said as he looked the most surprised you'd ever seen him, "I'm joking - not all of us move to Monaco so our million euro salaries have better taxes", you teased.

"Why did you do it, then?", he asked, smiling at how familiar it all seemed. Just like old times, he thought.

"The company I work for was the one that needed the tax benefits", you clicked your tongue, "and they wanted people to move here. Only one of my colleagues moved here with her whole family, as they expected, so they ended up calling the ones that weren't attached to anything or anyone in particular, and I was one of them", you shrugged your shoulders, "I moved to a new country with a different language, the only people I knew were my work colleagues, so I had no one to complain about them to, but I make it work - at least I like to think I do", you smiled.

Not attached to anyone, he recalled, humming at your response, "it's not such a bad place to live, right? Granted I don't spend much time year, but still enough to appreciate it", Max spoke.

"How about you, Mr World Champion", you nudged, "how does it feel?".

"Obviously it's great, and everything that I worked for", he added, knowing the underlying topic in the conversation, "I get to drive fast cars and I travel the world, there's not much left for it to be the complete dream", he said, gingerly touching your fingers over the table and accepting your hold when you laced them together.

Conversation was flowing easily until one of the employees told Max that he would have to go and get ready for the dinner, meaning you would have to part ways.

"Does Tuesday work for you? I'm not sure how well I'll be tomorrow", he chuckled, "yes, that's fine by me, just text me the address and the time", you smiled, getting up and kissing his cheek, "have a good time, Max, but be careful with the alcohol, I'd hate to have to pick you up again", you reminded him of the time he got way too drunk and he insisted he would only go home if you came to pick him up.

Dinner was great and Max invited you back to his place, hoping you'd be able to talk properly about the elephant in the room in a more private and comfortable place.

"You're struggling there, aren't you? Even with your itty bitty small hands?", Max teased as your pinky just about stretched enough for you to not lose everything by dumping the contents of your bag on the sidewalk.

As you and Max left the restaurant, you fiddled with your wallet in your bag, hoping to keep the card the waiter gave you safe for the next time you wanted to visit the place.

"I do not have itty bitty small hands!", you argued, shaking your bag a little to make sure everything was safely in place.

"We need to have the same starting line - like", you rearranged them so your wrists would be touching. Still, it didn't make much of a difference on your end. It looked like it even highlighted a few more differences, "yours is much bigger, I give up", you giggled.

"See?", Max said as he held your hand out against his, "these are the size of fairy hands! Tinkerbell probably has bigger hands than yours!", he exclaimed as you noticed how much bigger his hand was compared to yours. His fingers were a little bit thicker than yours and his palm covered all of your hand almost completely.

Now or never, Max thought as he laced your fingers in his once you let your arms drop and rest by your side. His thumb rubbed your skin and warmed you up, "was this your plan all along?", you wondered, feeling the bravery around you two and choosing to act on it.

"Lacing my hand in yours or proving to you that my biggest mistake was letting you go all of those years ago?", Max stated as he looked deeply into your eyes.

"We should talk about this inside", you bit your lip, allowing him to guide you through the apartment complex he lived in.

His living room was decorated in classy tones, probably with the help of him mother and sister, as you sat down on the sofa and face eachother.

"I know I apologised at the time, but I'm still sorry, Y/N", Max said, "at the time it was the dream and I didn't have much room for my own decisions. Still, I should've fought", he concluded.

"You didn't blatantly acknowledge it and decided we couldn't be together, Max", you conforted despite the hurt you felt at the time, "it hurt, - like a bitch actually -, but not because you were following your dream. I never wanted to pull you back and get in the way of your achievements", you gulped, "but I would be lying if I said I wouldn't like to give this a go, to give us a chance", you smiled.

"I know I have crazy schedules - I am barely here during the season -, but you were always the one I thought about. When I first raced in F1, when I got my first podium, my first win, my bad races - I wanted you there", he admitted, blue eyes looking into yours, "I can't promise that it will be easy, but I'll never risk you or our relationship, that's non negotiable", he stated.

Moving closer to him, you cupped his cheek with your palm, the slight stubble tickling your skin, "I'm in, Max", you smiled, taking the plunge and kissing his mouth, lips moving in sync as his hands pulled you into his lap.

The blissful moment was interrupted by a meow, Jimmy and Sassy walking into the living room, "Oh, guys", Max held you close to him as the cats sniffled you, "this is Jimmy and Sassy, my cats, took then long enough to leave the guest bedroom", he smiled as you tried to pet them, "cute, they seem nice enough - for cats anyway".

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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honeekyuu · 10 months ago

Text

love affair. [tsukishima kei x f!reader] chapter two.

>>The unsavory reputation that Tsukishima Kei has built for himself as the Sendai Frogs' rudest rookie puts his upcoming contract renewal at risk

Tsukki really needs a girlfriend, and you really need everyone to stop calling you his pathetic, pining best friend<<

series status: [complete]

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: kyoutani/kiyoko was not the side pair i expected to fall in love with but here you go

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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

The two months that follow the start of the relationship between you and Tsukishima Kei can only be characterized as ‘ change ’.

You find your flow easily after that first week, the unspoken agreement made on the couch that night at the forefront of every interaction together. In order to make the relationship convincing, you both learn to play the part to the best of your abilities. You learn to lean into the expectations of the people watching you closely, playing into them and even surpassing them — because you can rely on your understanding of each other, the kind of familiarity that comes with 15 years of history.

You already know his regimented morning routine, because you were tortured into keeping the same hours as him in high school. You know that the muscle patches he prefers for his back are different than the ones he prefers for his shoulders, because it’s always been you who applies those patches to the places he can’t reach.

In the same way, Tsukki knows how you take your coffee — hot almond milk vanilla latte in the morning, always, followed by an iced oat milk mocha with two extra shots of espresso in the afternoon. He’d accidentally gotten you a hot mocha once and watched you wilt a little but drink it, anyway, and then he’d never done it again. He knows you prefer to study not in the library or at your department, but on the quad outside of some random administrative building, because you’d once called it the ‘perfect ratio of quiet, focus space and people-watching from afar’.

So, when people swoon and scream online about how someone had seen you tearing down the aisles of the nearest convenience store at 5am after Tsukki had pulled a muscle while out for a run — your hands picking out his patches without needing to think about it — you’re awarded the ‘ Great Girlfriend ’ points without really having earned them. And when Tsukki’s spotted ordering your complicated afternoon mocha without struggling — even asking them to remake it, because he’d tasted it and could tell it was regular milk — before wandering knowingly off to some random patch of grass by the Student Records Building, your Twitter DMs nearly break with the amount of people asking how you ‘ trained him so well ’.

What so few people realize, even though your long-time friendship is brought up so often in the media, is that you and Tsukki don’t do these things because you’re madly in love and have made the effort to learn the small, seemingly unimportant details about each other. You do them because they’re ingrained in your understanding of each other. You do them because there’s no alternative; Tsukki will only use Salonpas on his back, and you won’t drink anything with regular milk because it makes your stomach hurt. These are just the facts, but, for some reason, they seem to convince people that your relationship is real more than being seen on a date ever has.

In fact, the things you are learning about each other and teaching each other about are the larger, romantic details that people always assume come first. You learn that Tsukki’s default pet name for you is ‘ princess ’, but that, when he’s being intentionally antagonistic, he has a habit of bending down to your height and plastering a mocking smile on his face while calling you ‘ sweetheart ’. He learns that you show affection by feeding him, his arms always full of tupperware when he leaves your apartment and two – two, not one – lunches shoved haphazardly in his gym bag when you know he’s going to have a long training day.

And, of course, there is a lot to learn about each other physically. You have to learn how to walk with his hand in your back pocket or on your waist, because that’s how he likes to walk you to class. And he has to learn that, unless it’s a peck hello or goodbye, you tend to start with a kiss to his cheek — because you get too shy to flat-out kiss him without some kind of warm-up.

You learn that you like his hands very much, but that you like when he keeps eye contact with you more than anything. It’s in the way he beckons you to him after a game or in the way he watches you walk from the door of a cafe all the way to the seat he’s reserved for you. That, coupled with the contrast of him being rough with his blocks at practice but careful about moving your hair out of your face, guarantees that you need several long minutes to recover after a moment with him.

He learns that when you look up at him with those doe eyes he didn’t even know you had — he’s most familiar with your eyes when they’re mid-eye-roll — that it takes an absurd amount of self-control not to give you everything you want. And when you tie your hair up, especially on the hot afternoons sprinkled through the start of Fall, he has to tear his eyes away from the curve of your neck and physically sit on his hands to stop himself from touching the sliver of tummy that peeks out when your shirt lifts a little.

In private, of course, these things are never issues. In private, you are, for the most part, the same as you’ve always been: two friends who fight and laugh and keep an appropriate amount of distance between each other. Friends who get together on Friday nights to drink and watch bad TV. Friends who never need to think around each other, because that’s the best part about being friends.

It’s just that sometimes friends do need to keep things from each other – which is something you’re both still learning to deal with.

When you try on new outfits and ask for his opinion, his scan of your body is cursory because he knows not to let himself linger on how this dress sits on your hips or how that shirt makes your boobs look. He’s careful not to let you catch him staring at your thighs, on display when you wear those cursed little pajama shorts. And he’s quick to always take the corner of the couch instead of sitting beside you, even though he itches to snake an arm around your waist and pull your side flush to his.

When he sits at his dining table, telling you about practice while you cook dinner in his and Yamaguchi’s kitchen, your biggest challenge is keeping your eyes off of his bare chest and wet hair, his skin still dewy and warm after his shower. When you write papers while sitting on your tiny, Twin XL bed and he comes over from the couch to bother you, you’re tasked with keeping your breathing even and your eyes firmly on your laptop, because there’s never enough space between you and you worry what you might do if you look at him. And when he checks the time and mumbles that he can stay for one more episode of your show – even though it’s almost always past midnight when he does it – you know to hide your smile behind your hand, because it’s expected that you’ll sigh and say ‘ just one more ’ like a normal friend.

In private, friends don’t unknowingly seek out reasons to brush against each other, and they don’t subconsciously wear less clothes around each other, only to chalk it up to being comfortable around each other.

But you don’t need to know that. And he doesn’t need to know that. Because as long as you both know the rules for being in private – “hands to yourself” – then everything else can be kept hidden.

In public, however, things are quite a bit different.

In public, you find yourself in a no-holds-barred relationship where nothing – nothing – is off limits.

In public, the boy who used to bring his collection of dinosaur figurines over to your house on the weekends is the same boy who now picks you up from class with a kiss and the promise of free ‘ girlfriend-discount’ coffee. The boy who wouldn’t share his crayons with you unless you promised your snacks to him – that’s the boy who shamelessly buys you a small wardrobe’s worth of Frogs merch with his name on it, tying your hair back with a neon green TK scrunchie and unironically presenting a set of green pajama shorts to you, his face printed on the left ass cheek.

The boy who’d sling mud into the hair of mean little girls who would put their hands on you.

That’s the boy who puts his hands on you now.

On the small of your back – a self-assured touch that guides you through a sea of flashing lights and reporters waiting at the entrance to the Frogs’ home gym. Slung around your waist – fingers hooked loosely into the belt loop on your hip while he stands with you at your favorite cafe’s self-order kiosk, his card already out. Tickling the inside of your thigh – the pad of his thumb drawing circles in your skin while he drives, his other hand reaching to cup your face so he can press his lips gently to yours at red lights.

Hidden under your shirt – fingertips kneading at all the plushest parts of your skin while he kisses you stupid at the front of an empty lecture hall, the door cracked open just slightly. Because – while it’s an obvious conclusion that any form of physical intimacy at home should be strictly off limits – the corner classroom on the top floor of your department that you know is unused at 2pm every day just so happens to walk a very fine line between public and private.

Public enough that you might be caught – as long as he’s not getting into fights , as Management is fond of reminding the two of you – and public enough that you sincerely see no issue with letting your best friend shove his tongue down your throat. Private enough, however, that you’re able to speak candidly to each other, even with your legs wrapped around Tsukki’s waist and his fingertips brushing across the underwire of your lacy bra.

That’s where you find yourself now, on a chilly Tuesday afternoon in the last week of October, after weeks of meeting up here. Your weight is supported by the table at the front of the lecture hall, skirt hiked up a little too high and hands curled into his hair. He’s bent over you, lips burning a path of bruises along the column of your throat while his hips, slotted between yours, keep your legs open and your skirt pushed up.

“You look good today,” He murmurs against your skin, your quiet panting the only other sound in the room. One of his hands is pressed firmly against your back, keeping you close to him, and the other is gripping your thigh, much higher than he really should be. But you can’t seem to mind, even when you feel the blunt edge of his nails scratch briefly along the line of your panties.

That’s the change you still haven’t gotten totally used to – the shiver of anticipation that’s started to run down your spine when he gets too close, the flip of excitement just under your navel when your body presses against his.

After years of not caring even a little bit about who he would take home from a party – about the rumors that would float around campus, whispered by girls who’ve gotten into bed with him – you’re facing the reality that is being attracted to Tsukishima Kei.

“Which part?” You mumble back absentmindedly, tightening your hold in his hair when he bites down on the crook of your neck, his tongue soothing the pain right away.

“Dunno,” He says, gripping your thighs and dragging your hips minimally closer to his. “I just really like this.” He thumbs at your skirt in explanation. Your body responds when he chuckles low, goosebumps breaking out all over your skin. “Giving me something to think about tonight.”

“You’re doing it again, Tsukki,” You joke, laughily breathily. He’d started doing that in the last couple weeks – making little comments like that. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it. “I didn’t know celibacy would hit you this hard.”

He sighs against your skin, shaking his head. “There you go again, not believing me.”

There’s an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to. But you know well enough that you’re not his type, so you’re not sure what could possibly going on with him if not an extreme case of blue-balls after two months without sex. Somehow, even after everything you’ve done together the last few weeks, it seems silly to think he might genuinely want you. Surely not.

“Well, you’re a flirt, so I can never tell with you,” You say, entirely honest but playing it off like a joke. He stops kissing your throat and leaves his lips against your pulse, breathing hard.

“Name one time I’ve lied to you.”

You scratch your nails against his scalp. “It’s not that serious, Tsukki. I can take the joke.”

“Y/n-”

You laugh nervously into his shoulder, feeling him shift in annoyance. “What’s going on with you lately, huh?” Your insecurities peek through, and you’re stupid enough to act on them. “Should I let you off the leash for one night? To get it out of your system?”

It’s the wrong thing to say – even you know that.

His mouth leaves your skin before you realize what’s going on, one of his hands coming up to grip your face. You gasp, seeing that he’s glaring at you with those sharp, golden eyes.

“You really don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?”

You blink up at him, your chest heaving. You want to look away, because, while you’ve seen that scowl before, it’s never been like this. And you know he won’t let you look away. His fingertips only tighten on your cheeks when you try, and he uses his grip to force you to shake your head.

“No, you don’t,” He whispers mockingly. “You don’t know. You just love to say shit that’ll piss me off.”

You have no idea what’s going on right now. You don’t know that you’ve ever seen this side of him. His condescending tone is nothing new – mocking jokes and rude comments are not new. But the way he’s treating you now is not that, and the way you’re reacting to it is not that. There’s something else, and you want so badly to blame it on anything that isn’t this newfound physical attraction to Tsukishima Kei.

Because there is absolutely no reason that the way he’s speaking to you should turn you on. No reason at all.

“Apologize,” He whispers, eyes steady on yours.

You blink stupidly, too distracted by the wave of heat that crashes over you. He lifts your chin toward him, eyes narrowing.

“Apologize, Y/n. For insulting me.”

“Did I insult you?” You bite weakly, your voice shaky and your heart pounding in your ears. You’re still his best friend. You’re still the girl who’s never backed down from a challenge. “Then you apologize too, for joking about being attracted to me.”

His eyebrow twitches with irritation. “What?” He hisses, clearly holding back.

“‘s not nice to mess with me like that, Tsukishima,” You say, your confidence shrinking by the second. You can’t handle much more of this – the way he’s grabbing you, the way he’s glaring at you.

His eyes flicker with something you can’t place when you say his name. You’ve noticed that, too. That he reacts when you use his full name. You don’t know why, or if it’s even conscious.

He scowl twists into a sneer. “You know, you’ve been really fucking annoying recently.” His eyes light up when you gasp, and he leans down, releasing your face in favor of planting both hands on the desk behind you, caging you in. “Making all these little jokes. Downplaying the shit I say to you.”

“Well, you’ve been particularly horny recently,” You say, some of your sense coming back now that he doesn’t have a literal hold on you. “Gotta keep reminding you that it’s me you’re dealing with.” You brush some of his hair out of his face, your touch gentle. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

“I thought I told you to get over that,” is all he says, his voice nothing more than a whisper. There’s still heat behind it, but he mostly just looks frustrated.

“It’s not that easy,” You whisper back, your nose brushing his. “Especially not with the whole world reminding me that I’m nothing like the girls before me.”

So maybe you’re still a little sensitive about the 16-tweet thread someone had made last week, comparing photos of you and photos of all of Tsukki’s exes and one-night stands. He’d gotten the account banned before you’d even looked through all of the tweets, but there are still 13 side-by-sides haunting you when you close your eyes.

“Of course you’re not like them,” He says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t remember half of their names.”

You give him a deadpan stare. “Charming.”

“What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I don’t have a type?” He still hovers over you, close enough that you see the honesty sitting in his eyes. “Yeah, I have a type. All those other girls look the same to me.”

And then he grabs at your thighs, fingers familiar on your skin. You squirm, but he holds tight. “But that doesn’t mean I’m forcing myself to put my hands on you.” He squeezes you, tugs at your skirt and threads his fingers through your hair. “Doesn’t mean I’m putting myself through hell to do this to you.” He tightens his grip and tilts your head to the side, and you realize he’s talking about the fresh hickies on your neck.

He lets you go, standing tall and towering over you. You crane your neck back to look up at him, and his eyes flick down to the hollow of your throat. Your heart jumps when he lifts a hand and rests it there, fingers flexing loosely around the front of your neck.

That’s new.

“You think I would drag you in here and lay you back on this desk every week if I thought you were ugly?” He whispers, eyes a little clouded as he looks you over. You, with your legs still spread and wrapped around his waist. With your chest heaving and your eyes blown wide, surprise written all over your face. With your throat in his hand and no indication that you wouldn’t want it there.

“God,” He laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re so stupid, Y/n. Two months and you still think like this.” When you only sigh shakily, unsure what to do with this conversation, he tightens his hold on your throat. His eyes are lit up like sunlight, warm but quick to burn if you make the wrong move. “Looks like I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

What?

“Tsukki-” “Y/n.”

You both jump, turning to the door. Nariko is rushing into the room, but, when she sees the precarious position the two of you are in, she respectfully averts her eyes.

“Nariko,” You gasp, sitting up. Tsukki’s quick to pull your skirt down over your thighs and help you down.

“Time for our daily dose of Sendai Sports ,” He sighs, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry-I-” Nariko’s got her hand over her eyes, her camera hanging uselessly at her side. She very well could have snapped a photo of you two in that moment, but she’d chosen not to.

You’re infinitely glad it’s her that had walked in.

“The other reporters figured out that you didn’t stay at the cafe after your class. They’re on their way back here now.”

You’d walked across the street after class to get your iced coffee and study at a corner table, but you’d snuck out the back when Tsukki had texted you to meet him here. Your coffee sits, untouched and lukewarm, on a nearby desk.

Nariko’s the only one who’d seen you re-enter the building, and that’s because she’d snuck out the back of the cafe with you, the woman a frequent companion over the months. She hadn’t asked any of the questions she’s probably paid to ask when you’d gone in the side door of your department, and she’d conveniently stopped to tie her shoes you’d said you needed to take care of something on the top floor and gotten on the elevator.

You collect your bag from the floor quickly, tossing the coffee away as you fix your appearance.

“Damn it.” You look to Tsukki, who seems less annoyed with Nariko now that she’s made it clear she’s here to help. “We have to go out the back.” And then you look at Nariko, having accepted long ago that this woman feels like an older sister. “Is my makeup okay?”

She looks you over, starting to nod, but then she spots the bruises on your neck. “Uhm…”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’m not happy about it, either.”

“ You were at the time ,” Tsukki mutters under his breath. You elbow him hard, and Nariko sniffs in order to cover her laugh. She still knows better than to get comfortable with him.

“You’re fine,” She says, glancing out the door. “But you should go now. They were coming in through the front just as I was getting to the elevator, and it’ll be obvious what you were doing if they find you. It’s better to be caught running and have the reason be implied – photos of your smeared makeup and wrinkled shirt will always look bad.”

“You said I looked fine!” You laugh, grabbing Tsukki’s hand and dragging him out the door. You’re both halfway down the hall to the far door, jogging hand in hand, when you hear the shutter of her camera. You turn back, finding her smiling playfully.

“I still have a job to do, you know!”

Your laughter echoes through the hall, and even Tsukki’s smothering a grin as you take the stairs to the fire exit. You rush with him across the quad, a few people spotting you and taking blurry pictures. You make it to his car in record time, your shared laughter growing when he drives by a group of reporters looking around the quad in confusion.

He drives you back to your apartment, the tension between you eased significantly. But it’s still there, lingering in your mind.

What had he meant when he said he would prove you wrong?

“Tsukki,” You say when he’s stopped at the red light near your apartment. “Earlier, when you said you would prove me wrong… What did you…” You trail off, wondering if you’re really ready to hear his answer.

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, and you think that maybe he’s not going to speak at all.

“There’s a party on Saturday night – after the game,” He says abruptly, and you have no clue what this has to do with anything.

“Okay?”

“Wanna go?”

“Oh.” You blink. “Isn’t Saturday Halloween?”

“Conveniently enough.”

“Sure. Should-” You clear your throat, suddenly feeling a bit out of place. You’re not sure if things are the same with him after what had happened in the lecture hall, and you’re definitely not sure why he won’t answer your question. “Should we dress up?”

He breathes out a laugh. “Am I allowed to go as a player for the Sendai Frogs?”

“Oh, God,” You groan, rolling your eyes. “Way to be cliche.”

“Fine. You pick the costumes, and I’ll buy them.” He pulls into your lot, right up to the permanent group of reporters that just sit outside your apartment all day. The flashing lights start almost immediately, and he leans over the middle console, stopping you from getting out of the car.

He tucks your hair behind your ear, and you already know that the photos being taken are capturing the line of hickies on your throat. He smirks when you give him a knowing look, only leaning in and pushing his lips against yours.

When he leans away, his gaze falls to your throat. He takes in the skin there, his thumb brushing over the already-purple marks. And then he meets your eyes, that dominant look from earlier peeking through again. Your breath catches when you see it, but he only narrows his eyes when he sees you searching his face. His thumb taps twice against your throat.

“Don’t cover these up.”

You swallow, brows furrowed. “Why?”

He leans in, planting another quick kiss on your mouth. “How about you go look in a mirror? Might help.”

You suppose that’s as close to an answer as you’re going to get tonight.

–

You start to realize that maybe Tsukki hadn’t been fucking with you.

When you stare into your bathroom mirror every morning for the rest of the week, fixing your hair and clothes and makeup but leaving the skin on your throat untouched, you start to enjoy seeing the bruises there. These little reminders that it had been him that had put them there, that he had done this to you of his own free will. It makes you wonder if maybe he feels the same way when he sees them on you.

You get the feeling he does. His eyes flick to the purple bruises when he picks you up on Wednesday and every day after – the corner of his lips tug up, like he’s smug that the evidence is still there. Like he’s glad to show you off, those marks on your skin more of a claim on you than most forms of PDA.

The photos of you go a little viral for a few hours that first day, with the accompanying mix of supportive and hateful comments.

[2:33 PM] tsukkiyn4life : LOOK AT HER!!! I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE !!!!!!

[3:04 PM] keisolostan : god shes such an attention whore lmao, concealer exists girlie

[3:25 PM] sendaiynfan : no bc him marking his girl up like that is so tsukki-coded. bbygirls so lucky

[4:17 PM] tsukkisgirl : the way i would just pretend she doesnt exist if i saw that fine ass man in the wild

[4:29 PM] frogsfan101 : she cant even make hickies look good, jesus. so trashy

You’ve learned that you’re not strong enough yet to ignore how those tweets make you feel, so you keep your notifications off for the week. Unfortunately, Tsukki handles haters a little differently – he’s using his new media presence to retweet hateful comments with even worse responses, things along the lines of ‘ you seem like one of those girls who jumpscares guys when she takes her makeup off’ and ‘ is one of your parents absent, by chance? just wondering’ .

Management’s not in love with him using his platform like this – because he’s been doing it from the very beginning – but it turns out that Tsukishima Kei fans are eating this particular incident up, his popularity skyrocketing with every new instance of brutally defending his girlfriend online. Fan accounts create Twitter threads of every heinous thing he’s ever said, and you even see that one of his responses is trending by Thursday afternoon–

‘ maybe put down the thirst account dedicated to my hands and go touch grass – my hands are a little busy with yn anyway :))’

He’d attached a photo that he’d taken on Tuesday morning in his car. Your bare legs are in the frame, the hem of your skirt barely visible. His hand is wrapped around your thigh, fingers kneading at your skin. Your manicured hand – seen in other photos this week – rests on his wrist, making it clear that it is indeed you.

Tsukki had made it his wallpaper, the time stamped across your knee in that photo he’d attached to the tweet.

You sit at the edge of your bed your face in your hands. You can’t tell if you want to kiss him or kill him. Your phone buzzes with an incoming call, and you lift it to your ear without looking.

“If you’re not Shimizu Kiyoko, please hang up.”

“ You cheating on me? ”

Your eyes fly open. “You stupid fucker.”

Tsukki laughs on the other end. “ So, you’ve seen my tweet, then .”

“Are you kidding me? Why did you make that your wallpaper? Why did you post it?” You groan, throwing yourself back on your bed. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“ Which part? Because I’m personally a fan. ”

“Yeah, of course you are. It’s not your thighs all over the internet right now.”

“ Well… ”

You roll your eyes. You’d forgotten about all the thirst accounts – his hands, his thighs, his shoulders, his eyes. There’s even an account solely dedicated to every time his shirt rises a little bit during a game.

“Yeah, okay. Fine. You win. What do you want?”

His laugh sends a little shiver down your spine. “ Have you decided what we’re wearing on Saturday? ”

“Shit,” You breathe. “I forgot.”

“ Let’s decide now, then. I’ll order overnight shipping .”

You roll over, the embarrassment of Tsukki’s tweet still heating your cheeks but otherwise pushed aside. You pull up different costume websites, searching through their options and describing them to him.

“We could be ketchup and mustard bottles.”

“ Was that a serious suggestion? ”

“How about Beauty and the Beast ?”

“ I want you to turn on Facetime and say that again with a straight face. ”

It goes on for the better half of an hour, Tsukki shooting down every choice. In his defense, though, you are suggesting absurd couples’ costumes.

“ For fuck’s sake, Y/n, pick something normal! ” He finally snaps, amusement lacing in his voice.

You laugh loudly into your pillow. “I can’t find anything! The only normal couples’ costumes are all super sexy.”

“ Okay, good! Finally, fuck. That’s normal! ” He sighs loudly through the receiver. “ What do they have? ”

You scroll carefully through the images of sexy pairings, trying to find the least humiliating thing.

“Wow, this is terrible.”

“ Use your words, sweetheart, ” He taunts, and you’re glad he can’t see how your face warms.

“Sexy nurse and doctor,” You start, hearing him hum in contemplation. “Cat and dog-”

“ Christ ,” He mutters. “ That one’s bad. ”

“Butler and maid,” You continue. “Teacher and schoolgirl– Ew -”

“ Wait, wait, go back ,” He interrupts. “ Butler and maid’s not bad .”

“Tsukki,” You laugh. “This skirt is so short that I can see the model’s ass cheeks.”

“ Send it to me. It can’t be that bad. ”

You text him the link, scrolling through other options while he opens the website.

“ Whoops, ” He says after a few minutes. Your heart stops, because you know that tone.

“What did you do?” You ask, groaning when he just laughs.

“ I accidentally bought it- ”

“Accident, my ass!”

“ Yes, definitely, ” He agrees. “ Definitely your ass – that much is true. ”

“Tsukki!” You complain. “You don’t even know my size!”

“ Yes, I do. ” He sounds mildly affronted. “ I pay attention. ” When you just bury your face in your pillow and sigh, he mutters a comment to himself. “ And I will certainly be paying attention to you in this outfit. ”

“I’m going to kill you.”

–

“I’m going to kill him.” You stare at yourself in the mirror on Friday night, wondering how much of a chance you have of getting out of this party.

The maid costume is as short as you’d predicted. To his credit, Tsukki had, in fact, known your size. But the skirt is so short that you can feel the cold air against your ass, even in the tiny shorts that had come with the outfit. It’s also snug around your tummy, the corset tight and pushing your breasts up until they start to spill out of the top a little bit.

You snatch your phone off the couch, Facetiming Tsukki with annoyance rising in your chest.

He’s at the Frogs’ gym when he answers, the screech of tennis shoes on the gym floor loud and the sound of Kyoutani and Koganegawa bickering even louder.

“ Hey-Woah- ” Tsukki’s eyes go wide when he sees the little maid’s bonnet on your head. “ Outfits came in, huh? ”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” You say resolutely. You haven’t shown him the full dress, keeping the camera on your face. But you see his eyes drop to the lacy choker that peeks into the frame, interest lighting up his eyes.

“ Am I gonna need to be alone to see this? ” He asks, his gaze still on your throat.

“No fucking point in that, Tsukishima,” You snap, catching the flick of his eyes to yours before he drops them again. “The whole school’s gonna see my tits and ass tomorrow night, anyway.”

“ I’m sure you’re exaggerating, ” He says, but you can see him moving off to the side anyway, his back against the wall so no one can see what he’s looking at. “ Lemme see, princess .”

“Don’t you dare sweet-talk me, Kei. I’m upset with you.”

“ Yeah, I know. It’s kind of hot .”

“Tsukki!” You stomp your foot, knowing he’s heard it when he laughs.

“ Show me, damn it! I only have two more minutes of break! ”

You sigh in irritation, swallowing the nerves that have been building up and flipping the camera to show the mirror.

“See? It’s too short, Tsukki.” You turn side to side slowly for a minute, wondering why he’s not responding. He just stares, eyes wide and flitting all around the screen. “Please say something,” You whisper, frowning at the mirror.

“ Don’t- ” He finally says, swallowing. “- pout at me like that .”

You frown harder. “Can we get something else?”

“ No, absolutely not, ” He laughs weakly. “ And I will pay you any amount of money to wear that on a regular basis. ”

“God, I want to kill you so much right now,” You sigh, turning to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look!” You point at where the skirt ends in the back, the little shorts peeking out. “Look at that! My whole ass is out!”

“ Oh, I’m looking ,” He says, nodding. “ Face forward again for me, princess. There’s something I wanna see there, too .”

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s talking about how your breasts sit in the dress. “Celibacy is not a good look on you, Tsukki-”

“ Don’t make me come over there, Y/n ,” He says, his voice distracted but clearly annoyed. You just laugh, hoping he can’t see the flush in your cheeks.

“What’re you gonna do, Tsukki? Come over and just look ?”

“ Why? Will you let me? ”

Your stomach flips, and you accidentally let out a high-pitched laugh, laced with nerves. “You’re stupid.”

He’s already smirking, seeing right through you. “ I wouldn’t mind taking a few pictures… ”

You shake your head furiously. “No way. Uh-uh. I don’t need this ending up on Twitter, too.”

“ You’re funny, thinking I’d ever let anyone see you like this. ”

“Hello?” You wave your arm in the mirror. “Party tomorrow? Whole school? Remember?”

“ It’ll be dark, and everyone will be drunk ,” He says, still staring at your chest. “ And you’ll be with me. No problem. ”

“I hate you.”

“ Yo, Tsukki- ” Kyoutani’s voice appears way too close to the phone, and you gasp, turning the camera away from the mirror. “ We gotta get back. ”

“ What? ” Tsukki presses the phone quickly to his chest, the screen only showing his white t-shirt. “ Okay. ”

There’s a silence, followed by Kyoutani’s suspicion. “... What’re you looking at? ”

“ Nothing. ”

“ Is that Y/n? ”

“No. Yes. Go away.”

“Holy shit, were those her nudes?”

You curl up on the couch, waiting for death to take you away.

“ No, you fucking idiot-”

“Tsukki’s looking at nudes! ” Kyoutani calls, his voice echoing throughout the gym. You groan, hearing their teammates start to clap and cheer, varied versions of ‘ let’s go, Tsukki! ’ audible through the phone.

“I’m gonna burn this dress,” You mutter, Tsukki’s face finally coming back into view.

“ Don’t even think about it. I’ll be there in an hour. ” He’s moving across the room, and the last thing you see before he hangs up is his hand coming down on the back of Kyoutani’s head.

–

By the time he gets to your apartment, you’ve already changed back into normal clothes, the dress laid out on your bed. He eyes it when you let him in, clearly interested.

“No chance of seeing it again tonight?”

“Not even a little one,” You say, unpacking the Chinese food he’d picked up. “And you better put that thought away, because I invited Kiyoko and Yamaguchi over.”

He groans dramatically, despite knowing fully well that this is always the plan on Friday nights. “How am I supposed to seduce you with them here?”

You shove a few cans of beer into his hands, waving him back to the living room. “You don’t. That’s why I invited them.”

Just on time, there’s a knock at your door. Tsukki lets them in with a loud sigh.

“You guys are interrupting my maid time.”

Kiyoko stands in the doorway, eyes on yours and disgust curling her lip. “Should we come back later?”

You laugh, beckoning them to the couch. “He’s mad about my costume for tomorrow.”

“God damn , Y/n!” Yamaguchi exclaims, seeing the outfit on your bed. “That might as well be lingerie.”

“Hey,” Tsukki says, snapping his fingers. “Only I get to look at the lingerie, you sick fuck.” He stands, shoving the dress away in your closet. Yamaguchi meets your eye with a grin as he takes the armchair.

“You two are nice and flirty tonight.”

Kiyoko takes the end of the couch, leaving you in the middle. “He’s in rare form,” She agrees, smirking knowingly. You just roll your eyes.

“I think he’s in heat or something. He needs to see a doctor.”

Tsukki throws himself down beside you, sighing. “Let’s talk about something else before I throw you two out so I can see it on her.”

Yamaguchi’s quick to choose a movie, and you spend the first ten minutes elbowing Kiyoko because she won’t stop snickering under her breath.

The night passes normally, the movie bad and the food good. The normal amount of laughter is shared, and the normal amount of drinking happens. There are no deviations from every other Friday night.

No deviations, that is, except for the hand that Tsukki slides between your blanket-hidden thighs sometime after his second beer. Your breath catches, and you have to feign a cough when Kiyoko glances at you in confusion.

You look up at Tsukki in alarm – his eyes are lidded and he’s staring at the TV like nothing’s out of place. But you know he knows exactly what he’s doing, because his fingers knead at the plush skin of your inner thigh, and his thumb traces delicate circles into your leg.

You wait until there’s a loud explosion on the screen to whisper up to him. “ What are you doing? ”

“ Nothing ,” He breathes. “ Just watch the movie. ”

You are unable to do anything of the sort, alcohol thrumming in your veins and your attention wholly captured by the drag of his fingertips against your skin. You shiver when his nails scratch gently at the underside of your thigh, and you hear him breathe out a quiet laugh. Your hand curls around his wrist when you feel his fingertips accidentally brush a little too high, a little too close to the hem of your shorts.

“ I think you need to drink water ,” You mutter to him. He doesn’t respond, only finding the hem again. Your stomach fills with butterflies, because there’s no way to call that an accident, especially when he shifts his hand up and slips his fingers past the edge of your shorts. Your skin bursts out in goosebumps, and your other hand flies to his knee, his sweatpants curled up in your fist.

“ Tsukki, ” You hiss, spotting the smirk that pulls at the edge of his lips.

He squeezes your thigh one last time before drawing his hand away, and then he stands from the couch, mumbling to the group. “Gonna get water.”

Your heart races in your chest the entire time he’s gone, but you just scoot close to Kiyoko and lean your head on her shoulder. She glances down at you briefly, attention still on the terrible acting on the screen.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, swallowing hard. “All good.”

Your phone buzzes on the couch, and you glance at it subtly.

[10:52 PM]

Tsukki: come here.

Those butterflies in your navel explode, and your legs shake when you stand from the couch. “ Water ,” You mumble pathetically, all but stumbling around the corner.

He’s leaning against the counter, a cup of water in his hand and another sitting beside him on the granite. He says nothing while you reach for it, only keeping his eyes on yours. You swallow, the eye contact clouding your thoughts a little.

“Tsukki,” You whisper, pleading silently for him to explain what’s just happened. He just puts the cup down and turns, leaning in and trapping you against the corner of the counter. You stare up at him with wide eyes, clutching the cup to your chest.

“What, Y/n?” He sighs, refusing to look away. “What are you confused about?”

“Why you touched me-”

“No, sweetheart,” He laughs quietly. You can smell the alcohol on his breath. “I haven’t touched you yet. Not at all.”

Your face flushes, in full view for him to see, and you watch a smile form on his lips. You swallow hard, fighting to keep your wits about you. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

He levels you with a look of disbelief. “Two beers is hardly too much.”

“I-” Your eyes flick between his, trying to find something – anything – that will tell you what’s going on.

But Tsukki just lets his gaze drop to your lips. You genuinely consider letting him kiss you.

Yamaguchi’s voice rings out from around the corner, full of amusement.

“ You two better not be fucking in there! ”

You jump, sloshing water on your shirt. Tsukki just takes a step back, watching you as you fumble to dry it, your face an unflattering crimson red. You leave the room when you’re done, not strong enough to meet his eyes.

You stumble back to the couch, nearly landing in Kiyoko’s lap when you throw yourself down. You can feel her looking at you, but you just hug her arm to your chest and hide your face in her shoulder, your water left unattended on the table. She says nothing, and Tsukki returns a moment later.

He sits a safe distance away for the rest of the night.

–

You sit in bed for hours the next morning, staring at the ceiling until it’s getting a little too close to the time that Yamaguchi said he’d pick you and Kiyoko up.

What are you supposed to do about Tsukki? Is he going to do that again? Is all the work you’ve put in to hide your attraction to him just going to crumble away? What’s going to happen if he figures out that he affects you the way he does? Is he going to laugh in your face, or will he reject you nicely?

A quiet ding rings out next to your head. You jump, worried that it’s Yamaguchi saying he’s here already, and reach for your phone.

[11:09 AM]

Tsukki : stop thinking so hard about this

Your heart clenches, and you’re overwhelmed with a need to hear his voice. To figure this out now, before you go insane.

You press call before you can think about it. He answers on the second ring.

“ Y/n? ”

“I don’t know how to stop thinking so hard,” You say, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and sitting there. “I’m not good at that.”

“ I know. You never have been. ”

“I just…” You chew on your bottom lip. “We had rules that I could follow. And now I don’t know what the rules are.”

“ No rules, Y/n. We don’t need rules. ”

“We do!” You cry, pulling your knees up to your chest. “We do, or else I’m going to get confused.”

“ What’s so confusing? ” He sounds frustrated. “ That I think you’re hot and want to put my hands on you? Or that you like when I do? Which part is confusing? ”

Your breath hitches. He…

There’s no way he means what you think he means.

“Tsukki-”

“ Don’t fucking brush off what I just said ,” He snaps. “ Don’t do it. ”

You swallow. “I just… It’s just hard to believe.”

“ Look. ” He sighs roughly. “ You trust me, right? ”

“Yes. Obviously,” You rub at your brow, your head starting to hurt a little. “But I’m not your-”

“ Fuck who my type is, Y/n! It doesn’t matter! ”

“It does matter!” You say, growing overwhelmed. “It matters , Tsukki! What if I…” You sigh, giving up.

“ What if you what? Say it.” When you don’t, he finishes your sentence for you. “ What if you what , Y/n? What if you fall for me? ”

“Yes.” You curl your fingers into your sheets, nerves flooding your system. “What if I fall for you, Tsukki? That’s a real possibility, and it’s stressing me out, because I don’t want to lose you.”

He’s silent for a moment, a moment where your whole world crashes down on you. You’ve said too much, then. You’ve said too much, and he’s trying to figure out how to let you down.

You whisper into the phone, trying to find some way to fix this. “Tsukki-”

“ Don’t, ” He snaps. “ Give me a second. I’m trying very hard not to pick a fight with you right now. ”

Your jaw drops. “What?”

“ Y/n, you’re so fucking- ” He sighs angrily. “ What is with you and thinking that it is just completely impossible that this could be reciprocated? ”

You stare down at nothing, speechless. His voice is sharp when he speaks.

“ I know you have body image issues, and that there are assholes everywhere making it worse. But you fucking suck at listening to me. I’m sitting here telling you I’m attracted to you, and you can’t be fucking bothered to hear me. ” He lets out a breath, and you wonder why it sounds kind of nervous. “ It is a real fucking possibility that I fall for you, too. I’m telling you to just trust me , Y/n. We will deal with whatever happens – whenever it happens – but I can’t keep doing this with you. You ignore the shit I say and act like I’m doing you a fucking service every time I breathe in your direction. Cut it the fuck out. ”

Your lip trembles, your eyes prickling with tears. “You’re kind of mean, you know that?”

“ Yes, I know that. And you’re kind of annoying. ”

“I know.”

He sighs on the other end. “ We don’t need rules, Y/n. If we keep going back and forth like this, we’re not gonna convince anyone we’re together. Stop fucking thinking so hard and just do what you want. ”

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it’s terrifying.

You don’t respond, just wiping your eyes pitifully.

“ Listen, ” He pauses, letting out a breath. There’s less heat in his voice now. “ I have to go. ”

“Oh,” You say, sitting up and peering into the kitchen for the time. “Shit, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“ It’s fine. It was important. ” There’s a creak of a door on the other end, and then noise fills the receiver as he enters the next room, likely filled with his teammates. “ But… You’ll still be here, right? ”

“Of course,” You say weakly, standing. “But I gotta get ready in the next two minutes, or Yamaguchi will leave my ass behind.”

His laugh is quiet, and it eases your heart more than it should. “ Alright. Just… think about it.”

You stare down at your phone for a moment after he hangs up, still processing what’s just been done. What he’s just admitted to you.

And then Yamaguchi does text, and you forget all about these complicated feelings in your rush to get dressed. But, once you’re safely in the back seat and idly listening to Yamaguchi and Kiyoko ramble about nothing in particular, you get lost in your thoughts, coming to terms with everything he’d said.

You text him. Because he deserves an answer.

[11:42 AM]

You : meet me outside in ten?

He doesn’t respond, but he is standing outside when you and your friends arrive. He’s past the barricade, still being photographed but out of earshot and safe from the reporters’ questions. You rush up to him, seeing that Kiyoko is tugging Yamaguchi in the other direction, the freckled boy clearly confused about why he can’t say hi to his roommate. He seems to understand after a moment, his quiet ‘ Oh! ’ fading in the distance as Kiyoko pulls him inside.

You shake your head, turning back to Tsukki. He’s already looking at you expectantly, so you sigh and plant your hand on his chest, ignoring the camera flashes behind you.

“I thought about it,” You say, your voice quiet. He visibly perks up, shifting his weight and watching you carefully. “And… it’s going to take a lot of convincing, Tsukki.” When he furrows a brow, you swallow. “I just- There’s a lot that I won’t be able to believe right away. I’ve got my own shit, and all the negative attention doesn’t help. But I’m going to try, because I do trust you.”

He seems to realize where this is going – his eyes search your face, but you cut him off as he’s opening his mouth to speak.

“I’m going to try,” You repeat. “I’m going to try this without rules.” You watch as his face changes, not quite a smile but definitely pleased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because I know you’re right. And it’s not okay for me to keep doing this to you.” Your fingers curl into his shirt, and you sigh. “But, Tsukki, for fuck’s sake, if I fall for you and you don’t let me down nicely, I will fucking kill you.”

“God, I can’t wait to prove you wrong,” He laughs. “You’re fucking insane.”

You roll your eyes, using your grip to pull him down to you. His gaze drops to your lips, and you lean forward, closing the distance.

“ Good luck today ,” You whisper against his mouth. Both his hands cup your face, and you’re forced up onto your tiptoes as he rises to full height. The air is filled with the sound of camera shutters, but you just cling to the front of his uniform. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, and you whisper one last comment.

“And you better not be expecting me to put out tonight just because my costume’s skimpy.”

He lets out a surprised laugh, shaking his head as he kisses you again.

“Damn. Now I’m too distracted to play.”

–

“Does this look okay?” You ask, stepping out of the bathroom. Kiyoko’s touching up her hair in the mirror by the door, her nurse’s outfit and your maid’s outfit equally short. She eyes you in the reflection, and then her pigtails swing as she spins in place to face you.

“Wow. You look so slutty.”

You give her an exasperated look. “Do I? Are my tits out?”

“Incredibly out,” She says, staring at how they spill out of the corset. She gestures for you to turn in place, whistling low when she spots how short the skirt is. “Oh, yeah. Tsukki’s gonna love you in this.”

Your face heats. “ Yeah, I know, ” You mumble to yourself, but you know she’s heard it when you meet her eyes.

“Pardon?”

“I, uh-” You scratch at your nose. “-showed it to him already.” When she only lifts her brows in disbelief, you look away. “Yesterday. I tried it on and called him.”

“Jesus, Y/n,” She says, laughing. “You might as well just fuck him already.”

“No!” You cry, hiding your face in your hands. “Things are still the same! They’re just-” You smile lamely. “-a little blurry now.”

“Holy shit,” She says, stepping up to you. Her face is lit up with surprise. “You actually want to fuck him.”

“Hey! You can’t just put it like that!”

“Does he want to fuck you?”

“Kiyoko!”

“Oh, my God, he does!”

There’s a knock at the door, and you have to cover Kiyoko’s mouth with your hand so that Tsukki and Yamaguchi don’t hear her yell ‘ You guys are totally gonna fuck tonight! ’.

When you yank the door open, Yamaguchi’s jaw drops.

“Holy-” He glances over your shoulder, seeing Kiyoko, too. “ Holy- ” He sputters. “You two look so fucking good!” He gestures down at himself, his zombie outfit not slutty in the least. “I look so bland now!”

Kiyoko reaches for the side table in the living room, withdrawing a pair of scissors. She snaps them twice, staring down at Tadashi’s ripped, fake-blood-covered pants. “We can change that, if you want.”

The freckled boy eyes her with suspicion, but it grows quickly into excitement. “Is it bad that I wanna say yes?”

You laugh, pulling him into your apartment. “Go, Yamaguchi. Release your inner slut.”

He giggles, following Kiyoko to the bathroom, and you’re left with Tsukki. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound sending a shock of electricity down your spine. You turn in the foyer, finding him hovering over you. The tux for the butler’s outfit fits him perfectly, down to the tie and white silk gloves. His blond hair is gelled in a side-part, a single piece of hair falling between his eyes.

“Hi. You look nice,” You croak, still recovering from the conversation this morning.

All throughout the game, you’d been struck, in waves, by the reality of what he’d said to you. That he’s attracted to you, that it’s okay for you to be attracted to him, too. You’d watched him move on the court – his brow furrowed, his eyes sharp, his blocks strong – and you’d been overwhelmed by just how attractive he is. Like there’d been some kind of wall there before, keeping you from experiencing the full extent of him, because you weren’t allowed to want him.

There, at the game, and even now, your body had been overrun by butterflies, their wings all beating in time and lingering deep in your skin. And there was an electric hum in your veins when he’d found your eyes at the game – the same hum that makes your skin feel alive right now, with him standing so close to you.

“Hi,” He says, stepping toward you and letting his eyes trail freely down the length of your body. From your little bonnet all the way down to the black, open-toe pumps on your feet, his gaze eats you up, those golden eyes hot on your skin.

“Do I look okay?” You whisper, hearing Yamaguchi and Kiyoko’s laughter in the bathroom as she yells at him to stay still. The sound echoes in your apartment, but the air between you and Tsukki is so quiet.

He meets your eyes, his brows tenting in amusement. “What?”

“Do you…” Your eyes flick between his, open and vulnerable. “...think I look okay?”

He takes another step, forcing you back. Another, and then another, until your back’s pressed against the wall in your foyer. And then he leans down, flattening his hand against the wall by your head. You watch, barely breathing, as his eyes drop to your choker.

“I think,” He says, barely above a whisper. “You should ask me again at the party.”

You swallow, frowning slightly. “Why?”

When his eyes meet yours, that humming grows in your veins.

“Because,” He says, his smile teasing. “Our friends are in the next room.” His other hand reaches out, brushing your hair off of your bare shoulder. “And I don’t think they’d like what I have to say about you in this dress.”

Your breath is shallow and your eyes flutter shut, the heat of his body melting away your resolve. You nod, keeping your eyes closed for your own good.

The bathroom door opens, and you draw in a breath of relief, prying your eyes open. Tsukki’s leaning against the opposite wall calmly, tilting his head to watch Yamaguchi come out of the bathroom behind you.

“Look!” Tadashi giggles, strutting out to the living room. You turn, meeting Tsukki’s eyes shakily for a moment before redirecting your attention to the boy posing behind your couch. Kiyoko’s cut his pants into extremely short shorts, and his shirt’s been turned into a crop-top, some of the makeup from his pants smeared on his newly exposed skin.

You whistle appreciatively, applauding a proud Kiyoko. “Appropriately slutty. Ten out of ten.”

“Careful,” Tsukki mumbles while your friends collect their things to leave. “I’m feeling a little left out over here.”

You turn, taking his face in one of your hands and smiling mischievously. “You’re not allowed to join the Slut Party – I don’t want to have to rip anyone’s hair out tonight.”

He just smirks down at you, following the three of you out.

The frat house where the party’s happening is only a few blocks from your apartment, so you decide to walk. The guys at the door claim to let you all in for free because of Tsukki, but you can feel their eyes on your ass as you pass by. When Tsukki looks decently annoyed by it, you just shrug up at him.

“No one told you to buy this for me-”

“ Tsukki! ”

You turn to the sound, finding Kyoutani and Koganegawa leaving the pop-up bar in the corner of the main room. Kyoutani’s dressed as a doctor, and Koganegawa – predictably – is wearing his Frogs uniform. You shoot Tsukki a meaningful look, grinning when he mutters ‘ Yeah, alright. It’s cliche’ in your ear.

The four of you meet Tsukki’s teammates at the edge of the dance floor, Tsukki disappearing to get you both drinks. Kyoutani looks you over with appreciation.

“Damn, Y/n!” He yells over the music. “You really know what you’re doing with all that!” He gestures vaguely to your body, shrugging when Yamaguchi blatantly glares at him. “It’s a compliment!”

You laugh, always a bit fond of Kyoutani’s blunt personality. “It’s good to see you, too, Ken,” You say, pointing at Kiyoko. “And you two match!”

It seems this is the first time he’s seeing the girl standing at your shoulder. You watch his eyes go wide as they trail down her body.

“Oh-” He says, coughing slightly. “Hi. Wow.”

Kiyoko gives him a side-glance, always one for a little Cat-and-Mouse. “Hi.”

He recovers quickly, sidling up to her. “I’m Kentarou,” He says, smiling handsomely. But Kiyoko just lifts an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I know. We’ve met, like, eight times.”

He blinks, looking her over. And then his jaw drops. “Holy shit – Kiyoko?! ” He sputters, flushing when Yamaguchi laughs at him. “It’s just- You’re always- Holy shit.”

Kiyoko rolls her eyes and turns her back to him with a flick of her ponytail. But you can see the blush starting to dust over her cheeks, and her disinterested half-smile is starting to look a little too satisfied. You meet her eyes knowingly, and she nudges you.

“ Shut up ,” She mumbles. “ You’re the one that wants to sleep with your best friend .”

You bark out a laugh of disbelief, nudging her back. Yamaguchi throws his arms around both of you.

“Can one of you please dance with me?” He yells over the music, already bouncing in place. “I want to be trashed and making out with a stranger by the end of the night!”

Kiyoko takes his hand and leads him to the middle of the dance floor, leaving you with a dumbstruck Kyoutani, and Koganegawa, who’s suspiciously quiet.

Probably because he’s staring right at your chest, his lips parted in awe.

“Kanji,” You say, a little reprimanding.

He swallows, meeting your eyes. “Hi. Sorry. Uh-” His eyes drop to the tops of your breasts again, watching how they swell over the top of your corset. “You-Hi.” He lifts his eyes to yours, realizing he’d been caught again. “Sorry-” And then he looks over your shoulder, his eyes going wide. “Uh-”

An arm slips around your waist, pulling you back against a chest. You look down, seeing the gloved hand that holds a red Solo cup full of liquid.

“Oh-” You look up at Tsukki, finding him staring at Koganegawa with thinly veiled irritation. “You got us drinks!”

He doesn’t respond, only handing you the drink in his other hand. His eyes narrow on his teammate’s, and Koganegawa blinks rapidly.

“I-Oh-Are you two…” He lowers his voice. “I thought you weren’t-”

You put two fingers on his mouth, shutting him up. “Kanji!” You say, frowning at him.

He blushes, looking around to see who’s around. “Sorry… I’ll just-” He gestures vaguely behind him and wanders off. Kyoutani stares down at the arm Tsukki has around you and then flicks his gaze up over your head. His lips stretch in a knowing smirk.

“Interesting…” He says, looking between the two of you. And then he shoots you a downward smile, shrugging as he turns away. “Very interesting.”

You turn, Tsukki’s arm still tight around your waist. “You scared your friend off!”

He shrugs. “He was looking a little too hard.”

You pull him out to where your friends are, trying not to let him see you blush. But the butterflies in your stomach are already fluttering nervously, because you have no way to know how this night’s going to go.

–

“You should probably know,” You hiccup, giggling into Tsukki’s shoulder. “That it definitely looks like you’re keeping me in this corner whispering horny shit in my ear.”

Tsukki laughs, low and against your skin, his hand only pulling you closer to him.

You stand in a dark hallway on the edge of the main room, your hands curled into the front of his tux and his hands anchored on your waist. You can see the dance floor, but the lights are off and you’re more than a little bit drunk, so the room is a haze of bodies and loud, thumping bass. You can see some people glancing with interest at the two of you, but it’s easy to ignore.

Your attention is more drawn to Yamaguchi whispering suggestively in the ear of Lev Haiba , of all people. You spy on your friend, ignoring the gentle brush of Tsukki’s lips against your throat.

“Well, I could start saying horny shit, if you’d like,” He mumbles, but you just pat him on the shoulder and point over to Yamaguchi.

“Is Tadashi about to bag a model? Look, look-”

Tsukki glances over his shoulder, quickly returning to the task of nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Is it possible to check in about that in the morning, maybe? I’m a little distrac-”

You gasp loudly, smacking Tsukki’s shoulder hard. “ Look , Tsukki!”

He turns with a sigh, following your finger to where Kiyoko is being pressed up against the far wall by Kyoutani, his tongue halfway down her throat.

“Oh-” Tsukki mumbles, blinking to clear his drunken vision. “Damn, that’s kind of crazy.”

You giggle to yourself. “Oh, that bitch is gonna be hearing from me tomo- mm- ”

Tsukki squeezes your cheeks between his fingers. “Hey. You’re not paying enough attention to me.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, and start to laugh. It’s difficult with the way he’s holding you. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you getting jealous?” You smile as wide as you can when he glares down at you. “What would make you feel better?”

He releases your face, wrapping his arms back around your waist and drawing you close to him again. “Ask me what I think of your outfit. I never answered you.”

You breathe in the alcohol on his tongue, your head swimming. “I think I know what you think of it.” You gesture down to where he’s playing with the edge of the skirt, his knuckles skimming against your thigh.

His lips brush against yours when he mumbles, “ Ask me .”

You card your fingers through his hair, tilting your head up to kiss him. “ Okay ,” You whisper. “ What do you think of the dress, Tsukki? ”

He dips his head, pushing his lips against yours and nipping softly at your bottom lip. “I think…” He glances down the hall, and you spot an open door a few feet away, hidden in the dark. “I think I wanna take you in there and show you.”

Your skin hums with that electricity he’s so damn good at spilling into your veins.

“ So do it .”

His eyes sharpen at your words, and you’re hoisted up in an instant. You laugh loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist and burying your face in his neck while he carries you down the hall. The door shuts behind him when he brings you into the room, and the loud, pounding music is muffled significantly.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” Tsukki sighs. You glance up, finding a bed against the wall and a small couch in the corner. He walks you over to the couch, and you’re not sure if you’re more glad or disappointed that he isn’t taking this too fast.

He takes a seat, forcing you to straddle his thighs as you look down at him. His grin is smug. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Thought I was gonna take you to bed?”

You smack him hard on the chest. “You look stupid when you’re arrogant.”

“Yeah, well, you’re here, aren’t you?” He cups the back of your neck, dragging you in. You kiss him eagerly, the alcohol giving you the courage to drop all your pretenses. He seems to be in a similar situation, because his hands are latching onto your hips and pulling you down onto his lap. You sigh at the feeling of his thighs under yours, the difference between his sculpted ones and your soft ones almost heavenly.

“‘m not too heavy, right?” You mumble, unable to help yourself. He just shakes his head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

“Not heavy enough, in my opinion,” He breathes. His mouth drops to your throat as he mutters distractedly. “Sit down properly, princess.”

You let your thighs slide open, Tsukki’s mouth curling in a grin against your skin when he feels you get comfortable in your new seat.

“See?” He sucks hard on the junction of your neck. “Maybe if you’d just listen to me sometimes, we could be doing this more often.”

“Shut up, Tsukishima,” You murmur, distracted by the drag of his tongue over that burning spot on your throat.

“Fuck-” Tsukki nibbles another bruise into your skin. “Love when you do that.” His free hand digs into your hip, fingers fanning out.

“Love when I do what?” You sigh, letting your head falling to the side a little to give him more access. When his hand slides down over your ass, his hips rocking up gently as he kneads at your skin, you breathe out a quiet moan.

He shifts his hips again. “When you say my name like that. Like you’re scolding me.” He uses the hand he has on your ass to roll your hips in, his own meeting you halfway. A groan falls past his lips when you moan, your name murmured into the column of your throat.

“You like when I scold you?” You laugh weakly, your whole body humming and the electricity flowing straight to the place where your core bumps against the growing bulge in his slacks. “Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, Tsukki.”

He laughs, and it sends a jolt of desire to the spot below your navel. You roll your hips on your own, heart stopping when he whispers ‘ fuck’ against your ear.

“Just think it’s cute,” He says, breathless. “Always sounds like you think you’re in charge.”

So that’s what that’s about.

“I usually am,” You argue, carding your fingers through his hair and messing it up. You smile when your nails scratch against his scalp, because he shivers and tightens his grip on your hips. “I usually am in charge,” You say again when he meets your eyes, his own half-lidded.

He just grins, his other hand coming down to your waist. “Yeah?”

You feel his fingers dig into your skin, and then he’s dragging your hips against his, once and then twice. You drop your hands to his shoulders, gasping when he rocks his own hips up. He’s hard now, the slide of his hips against your core pure torture.

“How ‘bout now, sweetheart?” He teases, even though his breath catches in his throat when he rocks up against you a third time. “Still think you’re in charge?”

You press your forehead against his, your muscles weak. “This isn’t fair. This doesn’t count-”

“God, look at your pretty little doe eyes,” He says, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “Makes me wanna give you anything you ask for.”

Trembling, you struggle to keep eye contact. “Like it when you look at me,” You whisper, watching his eyes light up. “Makes it hard to focus.”

“Yeah?” His smile is smug, satisfied. “‘s unfortunate, baby – I really like looking at you.”

Your breath is sharp in your chest, your head drowning in vodka and the feeling of Tsukishima Kei.

“ Tsukki ,” You whine, begging – for what, you have no clue. But he groans, hearing exactly what you’re asking for.

“Don’t say my name like that, Y/n,” He warns. “Or I’ll take you to that bed and make you say it again.”

You whimper, your arms shaking when he slides against you in a way that sets your core on fire. “ Fuck- ” You whine when he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you in. His mouth is searing hot on yours, his tongue pushing past your lips. You moan into his mouth, your heart beating in places you’ve never felt with him before.

Before you can tell him that you’re thinking of letting him take you to bed, the door slams open and a giggling couple stumbles into the room.

You gasp, jumping off of Tsukki and landing in the spot next to him on the couch.

The girl that had been pulled into the room is the first to realize there are other people here.

“Oh, fuck-” She pulls away from the guy, squinting. “Oh, holy shit. Tsukishima Kei?”

Tsukki sighs, unheard as the guy spins on his heel and exclaims loudly.

“Woah! Holy shit, it’s you!”

“Unfortunately,” Tsukki mumbles, but the guy just narrows his eyes at you, taking you in properly. And then he laughs, chortling as he gestures to you.

“Wow, nice outfit.” It’s clearly not a compliment. “You look just like you do in the photos.”

“That’s usually the point,” You say weakly. You can feel Tsukki tense next to you.

The guy approaches you, squinting in the dark. His eyes scan your bare legs and the length of your skirt. Tsukki flattens his hand over where your thighs meet, because your shorts have ridden up significantly and there’s too much showing now.

“Do you mind backing the fuck away from my girlfriend?” He says, his tone clearer than it’s been all night.

“Tsukki,” You reprimand quietly, trying to fix your dress. The girl tries pulling the guy away, but he’s got his eyes on your chest.

“Damn, you got quite the rack on you.” He laughs when your face morphs into a scowl. “Too bad it’s attached to the rest of you.”

He’s just far enough that when Tsukki stands, he’s able to scamper back toward the door.

“Say it again,” Tsukki says, his presence towering over everyone in the room. “Say it again, and see what I do to you.”

“Tsukki!” You stand, reaching for him. “Cut it out. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, Tsukki ,” The guy mocks, laughing as he steps out into the hall. “Learn to take a joke. Other than your girlfriend, that is-” He cackles, dodging Tsukki’s advances and hurrying out to the crowded main room.

Tsukki follows, likely with every intent to cause harm, but you’re quick to latch onto his arm.

“ Stop it, ” You hiss, pulling him back to you. You barely manage to get him to look at you, and you just gesture around the room when he does. “Look where he brought you. Pay attention, you idiot.”

Tsukki flicks his eyes around, seeing that the guy is causing a ruckus and drawing attention to the two of you.

“What’s wrong, Tsukki ?” He asks, giggling drunkenly. “Gonna let your bitch decide what you do?”

Tsukki tenses, turning toward him, but you pull him back.

“Look at me,” You say sharply. He meets your eyes, and you shake your head. “Don’t fucking do it.”

“Aw, come on, Tsukki,” The guy says, dancing around the edge of the dance floor and pulling more eyes to the scene. “Give us a show, since you and your girl love the attention so much!” He sneers at you. “Show us how you got those hickies, darling.”

“Please let me punch him,” Tsukki mumbles to you, but you just shake your head. “Just one little punch. It would be so quick, no one would be able to film it.”

“Let’s go home,” You say. When he makes no move to leave, only shifting his eyes to the guy that’s clearly trying to get him to pick a fight, you tug on his sleeve. “Please?”

“Look at the happy couple, everyone! Our star rookie and his whale of a girlfriend, dressed like a whore-”

Tsukki sighs heatedly, and you wonder for a moment if he’s going to go through with it, but he just snatches up your hand, dragging you in the opposite direction.

“Thank you,” You whisper, nearly jogging behind him as he takes full strides to the door. There’s a yank on the skirt of your dress, and you yelp, stumbling back. When you turn, the guy’s grinning down at you, his fingers tugging on the fabric.

“Since you wanna wear something so small, let’s show everyone what’s underneath-”

He’s shoved to the side, his body slamming into the wall on your right and slumping to the floor. You gasp, thinking for a moment that the blond head flying past your face is Tsukki, but you realize that it’s Kyoutani when you see the streaks of dyed hair on his temple.

“Since you wanna put your hands on women, you won’t mind me putting mine on you, right?” He says, grinning cruelly. He’s about to reach out for him again, but Kiyoko’s pushing past him, her nurse’s cap falling off her head when she kicks the guy on the floor with all her might.

“Touch her again and see if I don’t kick your fucking teeth in-” She hisses, drawing her foot back. You gape at her, much like Kyoutani is, but his expression’s a little more lovestruck. It’s Yamaguchi that breaks through the group next, his arms belting around Kiyoko’s middle.

“Alright, you fucking menace, let’s not go to jail tonight!” He giggles, dragging her thrashing body back a few feet. He looks at Kyoutani in the struggle. “You gotta go, too. Doesn’t look good,” He says brightly, and the blond nods dumbly, still watching Kiyoko with hearts in his eyes.

You start to move to them, hating that your friends have gotten caught up in this, but Tsukki slides his arm around your waist and lifts you clean off your feet, hauling you through the door and out to the street.

“Wh-Tsukki!” You protest. “We have to go get them!”

“No, we don’t. Kiyoko’s got it covered,” He says with finality, setting you down and pulling you through the sea of reporters. They start to follow, but he turns sharply, side-stepping to put you behind him.

“Look,” He says to them. “I know you want to follow us, but could you maybe not tonight? I kinda just want to walk my girlfriend home, okay?”

The group of paparazzi just stand there, unused to Tsukishima Kei handling his annoyances with such diplomacy. He lets out a sigh and spins on his heel, taking your hand and pulling you quickly down to the street.

You stumble after him, glancing back periodically. “You think they’re actually gonna leave us alone?”

“Probably for, like, three more minutes. Walk faster.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

The walk home is silent, and you can feel his anger in the way he hunches his shoulders close to his ears and sighs at every crosswalk.

“Tsukki,” You say after a few blocks, knowing he’s holding it in. “Talk to me-”

He whirls around, forcing you to skid to a stop. “Why didn’t you let me hit him, Y/n?”

Your jaw drops, and you let out a breath of disbelief. “Tsukki, he was baiting you-”

“I don’t care. ” He steps close to you. “Do you realize how much it killed me to listen to the shit he said to you? He never would have touched you if I’d had my way.”

“Yeah, he was clearly looking for that reaction,” You reason. “With the reputation you have, he was obviously trying to rile you up so that he could get a look at the real Tsukishima Kei-” You scoff, gesturing to him. “People want to see you lose it, Tsukki.”

“Well, I almost did!” He snaps, and you set your hands on his chest to calm him down. It doesn’t work very well. “He put his fucking hands on you-”

“Tsukki, I’m fine . Look at me.” You gesture down at yourself, even grabbing his hands and setting them on your waist. “See? Look. I’m okay. Nothing’s wrong.”

He stares down at you. This seems to get his attention more, having his hands on you. You smile up at him.

“I’m okay. I promise.”

He just blinks, and you know he’s not ready to accept it. Sighing, you point down the street, only two blocks away from your apartment.

“Can we go home, please? I think those reporters are probably catching up to us.”

He holds your hand tight the whole way there.

–

“You can’t let people get to you like that, Tsukki,” You say, sighing.

You’ve just finished taking off all your makeup and changing into clothes that actually cover your body. Tsukki’s on the couch in sweats and a t-shirt, his tux crumpled on the floor and his hair mussed up and falling into his eyes. The air between you had been silent the rest of the way home and while you were getting changed. You can tell he’s calmed down a little, but he still sighs when you speak.

“I feel like it would have been warranted,” He says, shooting you a joking smirk over the back of the couch. You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, a hand on your hip.

“The whole reason we’re doing this is so that I can fix you,” You say, moving into the kitchen to get you both water. “You gonna let me fix you or not?”

“The shit he said to you was not okay, Y/n.” He shakes his head, scrolling through Twitter. You take a seat next to him, seeing that he’s looking through footage from the party.

“I know. It wasn’t fun. But you still can’t pick fights like that,” You say, running your fingers through his hair and leaning into his side. “You have too much on the line right now.”

He doesn’t say anything, just scrolling through the tweets. There’s a video of him taking a few steps toward the guy that’s laughing, but the camera catches the way you pull on his arm and bring him back to you. Tsukki’s eyes meet yours, and you can see his shoulders slump with defeat, his eyes searching your face. What you say to him is inaudible in the video, but it’s clear that his body language shifts when he looks at you.

The next video is the one of him carrying you out of the frat house. The camera catches the way you gape at Kiyoko’s anger, the way your brow furrows with concern as you start to move to her. It also catches the moment that Tsukki reaches for you, his frown deep and his arms sliding tight around your middle. You’re lifted off your feet, and you look up at him with surprise, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

The video after is the one of him facing the reporters, essentially asking in his nicest voice that they fuck off for once. His eyes are hard, swimming with anger, and his jaw is clenched, but his words are polite and his body shields you purposely.

It’s weird, seeing the moments that you’ve experienced from someone else’s point of view. But, for once, you’re glad people are seeing your life with him play out – even those who were so against you from the beginning.

[10:57 PM] tsukkiyn4life : dude was WAY out of line. yn looks smoking hot and tsukkis fighting literal demons not to put bro in the hospital but HE LISTENS TO HIS GIRL!!! GREEN FLAG!!!

[10:59 PM] numberonekei : okay even ill admit yn was on it with this one. he woulda been fucked if he’d gotten into another fight

[11:05 PM] TsukkiYnShipper : the CHOKEHOLD she must have on that man to get him to back down…. tsukishima kei is down horrendously bad

[11:07 PM] keisolostan : bro the way he talked to those reporters? who are you and what have you done with tsukishima kei

You give Tsukki a meaningful look. “Got anything to say?”

He feigns innocence. “Hospital bills are expensive, anyway?”

“Tsukki-”

“Okay, fine-” He laughs, throwing his phone down. “You were right – there. You were right. You are singlehandedly fixing the Sendai Frogs’ problem child.”

You shrug, your smile satisfied. “All in a day’s work, really. Next thing you know, you’ll be smiling at babies and petting dogs and shit.”

“You’re so stupid,” He snorts, shaking his head. And then he sighs, exhausted. “That was an extreme exercise is self-control.”

“But you did so well,” You say, cupping his face and planting a messy kiss on his cheek. “‘m proud of you.”

“Sorry, princess – I’m not much a praise kink guy,” He jokes, but you can see the flush spread across his cheeks and ears. “I’m more into punishment.”

You give a nervous laugh. “Oh, so that’s what you meant when you said cute girls can’t handle you.”

“Oh?” He says, meeting your eyes with interest. “You remember that, huh? Been thinking about it?” His lips pull into a wide, satisfied smile when you purse your lips in embarrassment. But he doesn’t push it, only sighing quietly and looking away. “I suppose I should go.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want him to leave, and it’s not the part you’re expecting. Even after what the two of you had done tonight, and even after the things you’d said to each other on that couch in that room, that’s not what comes to mind when you think about him staying.

You just don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep looking at him and touching his face and listening to his stupid laugh. And, although that’s terrifying to realize, it’s what you what.

And he’d told you to do what you want.

“You don’t… have to…” You whisper finally, just as he’s starting to sit up.

His eyes find yours, and there’s a painful silence that follows. He blinks, and you blink back.

“I don’t have to… what?” He asks, although it’s clear by the way his eyes search your face with surprise that he knows exactly what you’re saying.

“Go.” You let out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to go.”

Tsukishima Kei has never stayed the night before – not alone and certainly not in the way you’re implying.

He glances over the back of the couch in the general direction of your tiny bed before looking back to you, a blush dusting over his cheeks. He goes for the safest assumption, swallowing hard. “Uh… Your couch isn’t exactly the most comfortable… thing…”

“Yeah,” You say, laughing as you stare down at your lap. “My bed’s probably not that comfortable either… for… more than just me…” You don’t dare to meet his eyes again, just tugging at a stray piece of string sticking out of your pajama shorts. When he doesn’t respond, you start to sweat. “You don’t have to stay. You can just-”

He stands abruptly, and your head flies up to watch him. He crosses the distance to your bed and throws himself under the covers, his feet sticking out at the bottom.

“Turn the lights off on your way,” He mumbles, tossing his glasses and phone on the nightstand. And then he rolls over, facing the wall.

You stare for a moment, only managing a shocked laugh as you stand and kill the lights in the living room and kitchen. You make your way to him in the dark, your heartbeat thrumming in your throat and your legs a little shaky. When you slide under the blanket, Tsukki scoots further, pressing himself against the wall to give you room. You struggle to fit on the bed with your back turned to him, half of your body hanging off the edge, but you refuse to move, just praying that you’ll fall asleep soon.

Tsukki’s head shifts a little after a moment. “Are you comfortable?” He whispers in the dark.

“Mhm,” You say. “I’m good.”

He only snickers, turning in place. “Liar.” There’s an arm sliding around your waist, and then you’re dragged across the mattress until your back presses to his chest. Your eyes go wide, staring at nothing as you feel him mold his body against yours, his face burying into the back of your neck.

“Better?” He murmurs, breath fanning out over your skin. He sounds nervous.

“I think this is worse,” You joke weakly, but you do your best to relax back into him.

You feel his smile against your neck. “‘s not so bad…” And then he presses his forehead to your shoulder, and you feel heat radiating off of his face. “Not bad,” He repeats with a sigh.

“No,” You whisper. “Not bad.”

His hand finds yours in the dark, just before you drift off to sleep.

–

You wake the next morning to a mouth full of blond hair.

Sputtering quietly, you brush it away from you, realizing in the process that the weight on your chest is Tsukki’s head. He’s splayed out on his stomach, one of his knees tucked between yours and an arm draped over your hips, his hand dangling over the edge of the bed.

You stare down at him, running your fingers through his hair very carefully. You scratch your nails against his scalp, smiling when he sighs and shifts closer. His face looks so peaceful like this, you realize – his brows aren’t furrowed and his shoulders aren’t tense.

You haven’t seen him like this in years.

Before you can read into it too much, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it, careful not to jostle him.

[9:04 AM]

Kiyoko : i feel like i just got hit by a truck

Kiyoko : that dragged me 7 blocks before realizing i was there

You snort, typing a response with one hand.

You : are you home/alone

Kiyoko : doors unlocked

You do your best to slide out from under Tsukki, going so far as pressing your lips to the crest of his eyebrows when he starts to frown. He relaxes, rolling over and going back to sleep instantly. Quietly, you tiptoe to the kitchen and retrieve two cans of iced coffee from the fridge before slipping out the door.

Kiyoko’s in bed when you sneak into her apartment. She sits up when you take your shoes off, grinning guiltily as you stop short.

“You slutty little nurse,” You say, staring at her. Her hair’s tangled and her pajamas are only half-on, but the real clue that she’d had an overnight guest is the mass of hickies decorating her throat and chest.

She rolls her eyes, beckoning you to bed. You eye it suspiciously.

“Are the sheets clean…?”

She laughs. “Yes, you ass. I changed them before I texted you.”

You shrug, hopping into bed with her and handing her a coffee. “So? What happened after I left?”

“Kentarou walked me to my door like a respectable gentleman,” She says, sipping loudly and looking away. You just stare, waiting her out. She finally meets your eyes again, giggling.

“And then ?” You ask impatiently.

“And then…” She shrugs one marked-up shoulder. “He fucked me like an animal.”

You squeal, smacking her arm over and over again while she laughs.

“Oh, my God, Kiyoko,” You wheeze, beaming at her. “I’ve never been more proud to be your friend. Wait-” You point at the door. “Did you just make that man do the walk of shame?”

“No, of course not!” She says, leaning her back against the headboard. “Obviously, I… thanked him for his services.” She endures another round of your smacking before saying, “He’s taking me out for dinner tomorrow. Said he’d pick me up from campus and everything.”

You nudge her, grinning wide. “Look at you! Dating a pro volleyball player.”

“Maybe you can give me some tips,” She jokes, finishing off her coffee.

“He’s not pro yet,” You say, rolling your eyes. “Hopefully, he’ll make it to the end of the year without starting shit.”

Her hand pauses halfway from her mouth, the empty can hanging in her hold while she examines you. You furrow a brow.

“What?”

“I was…” She squints now. “...kidding.” You blanche, staring at her while her eyes narrow further. “You know… because you’re not actually dating?”

“Right,” You say, smiling. “I know. I was just…”

“Y/n,” She says, lowering her finished drink and gaping at you. “Are you two actually dating ?”

“No!” You say, putting your coffee down on her nightstand so you can face her. “No, we’re not. It’s like I said – we’re just not really labeling anything.”

“Not labeling-” She shakes her head. “That’s a terrible idea. That’s such a slippery slope-”

“I know! We just… We know. We’re just taking it one day at a time.” You shrug. “That’s all I’ve got, honestly. Nothing else has happened.”

As if summoned by some demonic force, your phone buzzes on the bed between you.

[9:28 AM]

Tsukki : you know

Tsukki : usually it’s ME that sneaks out the morning after

Tsukki : im the sneaker

Tsukki : not the sneak-ee

Kiyoko snatches your phone up before you can, blinking hard to make sure she’s reading that right.

“You fucked him !” She yells, smacking your arm when you take your phone back.

“No! I didn’t! We just slept!”

“Do you think I was born yesterday, young lady-”

“I swear!” You laugh, bracing for her second smack. “All we did was sleep, I swear!”

She stares, clearly disturbed. “You’ve never done that before. Sleepovers.”

You shake your head with a tight smile. “Nope. First time.”

“And all you did was sleep.”

“All we did was sleep.”

She scans you a moment longer before leaning in, as though you’re not the only people in the room. “Did you catch feelings?”

“No!” You reel back, pushing her away lightly.

“Y/n, that’s not good-”

“I didn’t !” You swallow hard, trying to push down the memory of wanting him to stay the night. Of waking up this morning with him in your arms. “I didn’t catch feelings. It was just late, and we were just tired.”

She looks like she certainly has more to say, but she thankfully drops it, only pointing at your phone. “Answer him, before he starts calling.”

His name pops up on your screen with an incoming call the second she says it.

You only hesitate a moment, meeting her eyes with an uneasy smile before pressing it to your ear. “Hello?”

You don’t fight when Kiyoko drags your arm away from your face and aggressively jabs at the button to activate the speakerphone.

“ You left, ” Tsukki says groggily, his voice echoing in Kiyoko’s apartment. “ That’s fucked up. ”

“I didn’t leave. I’m at Kiyoko’s.”

“ Oh. I guess that’s fine. Can you steal some coffee? ”

Kiyoko just rolls her eyes but keeps quiet.

“I’ll see what I can do,” You say. And then you clear your throat. “What’s the plan today?”

“ Dunno. Wanna get breakfast? ”

You push Kiyoko away when she stares at you meaningfully. “Don’t you have practice today?”

“ Mm, ” He groans, stretching and yawning loudly. “ ‘s later. I feel pretty good today. ”

“Oh-” You stare down at your phone, your brows furrowing. “Really? My bed’s not really built for two.”

“ I know, I’m surprised, too. But that’s the best I’ve slept in ages. ”

Your heart jumps, and you don’t have it in you to push Kiyoko away again when she stares right into your soul.

“Oh. I-That’s good. You should get a shitty Twin XL bed, too, then.”

He laughs low, the sound deep and satisfied. You blush when Kiyoko curls her lip in disgust – she’s never heard that laugh before, then.

“ I could do that, yeah, ” He says, shifting in bed. “ Or I could just keep sleeping in yours.”

You’re really not getting out of this one. Kiyoko’s deadpan stare burns a hole through your face. Your cheeks warm to the point of discomfort, and you pick at a piece of lint on her blanket.

“Yeah… I suppose you could.”

He’s quiet on the other end for a moment. “ Okay, ” He says, his voice a little uncertain. “ That’s that, then. ”

“That’s that.”

“ Bring coffee? ”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“ See ya. ”

The apartment is dead silent after he hangs up. You nervously search Kiyoko’s blanket for more lint, feeling her eyes on your face.

“Do you like him, Y/n?” She says after a moment.

You just stare at your hands. “Dunno.”

“Do you realize that it sounds like he likes you?”

“I don’t know about that.”

She sighs, pulling you into her arms and planting a kiss on your temple. “So beautiful, yet so stupid. And blind. Stupid, blind, beautiful-”

“Okay, you made your point.”

–

By the time you return to your apartment, Tsukki’s washed up and sitting expectantly in bed, his back against the headboard as he taps away on his phone. He scans you when you come in.

“No coffee?”

You snort, joining him in bed. He shifts, eyeing you nervously for a moment before leaving one hand flat on the mattress and angling his body toward you. It’s clearly an invitation.

You just meet his eyes, your heartbeat suddenly strong in your chest.

And then you scoot toward him, curling up beside him and letting your knees fall over his thigh. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you comfortably against him.

“Are you sure you slept okay?” You ask, your voice cracking when you feel his thumb drawing circles in your skin.

He nods, eyes dropping to your mouth. “Wasn’t too uncomfortable for you?”

“No,” You laugh. “It was, uhm…” You trail off, feeling when he leans in. His lips are warm against yours, and you feel abnormally at ease, wrapped up in his arms like this. You card your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and shivering when his other hand slides along the outside of your thigh, kneading gently.

“ You fucking liar ,” He whispers against your mouth. “ You taste like coffee. ”

You throw your head back, laughing. “I’m sorry! I grabbed some from the fridge before I went up.” And then you kiss him again before you lose your courage. “I’ll buy you coffee while we’re out.”

“My girl’s such a provider,” He says, grinning when you smack him on the shoulder. You try not to let the words ‘ my girl ’ affect you too much.

“Do you want coffee or not?”

He nods, pulling you in for one more kiss before murmuring ‘ Sounds good ’ against your mouth.

You have to peel yourself out of his arms, the danger of staying in bed all day with him too high.

The two of you walk to breakfast, hand in hand, and then you see him off when it’s time for practice. He comes back after, dinner in hand, and you both work on assignments with trashy TV playing in the background.

He stays the night again. And again. And again.

He stays until Christmas.

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #tsukishima kei #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader

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lillaydee · 3 months ago

Text

Shhh!!! Part 3

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 2

You’re just gonna say it.

You fucking hate celebrities.

Particularly ones who barked at you thinking you wanted a selfie when all you tried to do was be nice to them.

And those who your ex went crazy for and dumped you over the phone for simply because she was a celebrity, and showed interest in him.

Fuck celebrities. Fuck them all.

Okay, maybe that was a bit much. They’re not all bad.

Growing up in Hollywood, spending time at a popular café all your life, you were used to seeing them around. You’d met all sorts. Sure, there were snobby ones, but then again non celebrities could be snobby too. Part and parcel of being in the service industry. There were also celebrities who were the friendly, kind, sweet ones, nonchalant ones, blend-in-the-crowd ones – all patrons of your late Dad’s. Some even knew him by name, some even went to his funeral.

BUT.

The ones that stood out to you were the ones who cemented your idea of celebrity. The rude and entitled ones. It was a one-two combo that made you want to shove your fist down their throats. These were the ones who were basically that one drop of vinegar in a communal bucket of milk. Just spoiled everything for everyone.

And no, you were not the only one annoyed by them either. You could still see the faces of the long line of people in the café when some assistant pushed their way to the front of the line, telling everyone they were ordering for so and so from that show, and if met with resistance, the celebrity themselves made an appearance, ignoring the insults and proceeding to hold the line, unable to make up their minds as to what to order.

Not to mention the restrictions to their coffee. You could understand being careful with what was put in their coffees for health and dietary reasons - after all, everyone deserves to enjoy their cuppa, but sometimes, the demands can be just ridiculous.

One seemingly clueless songstress demanded a latte without milk, adamant she was served some in Italy, no less. Are you sure you know coffee, hon? They have them in Milan, surely you would have them in LA?

What the fuck was latte without milk? Latte literally means milk. You didn’t even want to imagine what the Italians served her that made her think a latte without milk was possible.

And don’t even get you started about the super particular ones, the ones who insisted you go to a certain organic store for some organic sugar that cost you a few fingers, only to use exactly one teaspoon and not even finish the damn cup. Oh, and there was that one supposed teen star that wanted exactly 100 drips of espresso in her cappuccino. Like… what??? Who had the freakin time to count? Certainly not you, that’s who.

Oh, and the worst ones of all, the ones who you had literally never heard of before in your life, who thought they were such a big deal that they got annoyed at you for not knowing who they were. Those were the ones who would snap their fingers at you like you were their personal butler. No amount of money in the world would get you to respond to someone’s finger snaps. No sirree.

And lately, it’s the freakin influencers. I have 20,000 followers. If you comp my bill, I will post about your cute little café and you’ll get loads of new customers.

First of all, cute little café?

Honey.

This one was one of 30 branches. And second of all… you didn’t even have enough time to serve the currently long line of customers you had because you were standing right there telling her she had to pay seven dollars for her girly ice blended. It’s okay. You’ll risk not having more customers. Of course, she went online and complained about you being a boomer who didn’t know who she was.

If you could shake her, she would be a cocktail right now.

Oh, and did you mention you went to high school with a famous actress who decided that since you two ‘went way back’ - she talked to you one time, called you Layla instead of Lily, yeah… sure… you ‘went way back’ alright - she didn’t need to pay for the coffee and pastries her entourage ordered, much less left a tip? She’s worth millions, and she wouldn’t pay for coffee.

Dave knew this irk you had with celebrities. And he found it cute – he thought living in LA was awesome, celebrities around every corner. He grew up in the sticks and was awestruck by the glamour of it all. Got all tongue-tied when one walked into his vicinity. He got told to ‘move out of my way, boy’ once by an elderly action star, and it was the highlight of his life – literally the first story he told you when the two of you met all those years ago, extremely proud of the encounter despite admitting that the man stared at him as if he was nothing more than gum at the bottom of his shoe. You had rolled your eyes and ignored him then, but he sort of pursued you, and before long, you couldn’t help but find him rather endearing.

The two of you dated for 12 years, but didn’t live together. He told you he was not into that, that living together was only for married people. And you didn’t see what the rush was, so you just went along with it. You thought you were happy, just living your lives in separate togetherness.

The two of you loved each other, of course, but you were very different people. He was a party guy, you were a homebody. Your idea of an ideal evening was a quiet night in, a good book, some nice, soft music, or a movie or two. His was hanging out with his much younger co-workers, coming home with a buzz at the very least, waking up with a hangover the next day, one that lingered longer and longer as he got older.

It was during one of those parties that he met Cleo. God knows what she said to him, because he called you at three in the morning, leaving a voicemail saying that he was head over heels in love and that your time together had come to an end. He sent his buddy over to your place to drop off your box of belongings from his place, and to collect his from yours. According to the guy, Cleo approached him, talked to him for a bit, and the two proceeded to make out for hours.

That must’ve been heaven for him. She was young and very much the ‘it’ girl back then. She was everywhere, on TV, the movies, the adverts, the whole shebang. He simply couldn’t resist her charms, his buddy told you. And despite his scepticism in cohabitating while unmarried, he moved in with her right away.

The sad thing was you didn’t even feel upset at first. You accepted that your relationship had plateaued some time ago. You had gotten to a point where you only saw each other on a weekly basis, and that, only for a couple of hours, and didn’t miss each other much in between. Gone were the days of endless texting and hours-long phone calls, the mushy dialogues and the inability to get your hands off each other. In fact, by the time he broke it off, the two of you hadn’t had sex in months. So perhaps the make-out session shorted his brain? You had no idea, and you didn’t even care. You got used to seeing him on the red carpet with her – well, not as her date, more like part of her entourage. She was always paired with some hot young star of the moment for the cameras, part of the publicity to keep her in the spotlight, he had told you.

When your Dad died, a year after the break up, he came to the funeral, stood next to you and Jenny, head hung in respect. After, he walked you to your car and gave you a long hug as you sobbed into his shoulder. He was a familiar in your life, you had known him for 13 years at that point. It was an intimate, vulnerable moment for the both of you. Even he was crying – his own father passed when he was just a toddler, and your Dad was kind to him. Your teary moment came to a screeching halt, quite literally, as Cleo screamed at you after pulling him off you, telling you to keep your grubby, coffee stained hands off him. She spewed post after post on her social media, snidely remarking on how some women couldn’t let go, warning others to beware of opportunists who would use the loss of a life as a manipulation tactic to steal other women’s men.

You hadn’t heard from Dave since, and you were not in the mood to contact him either, especially since he stood there like a chump as she made a scene at your Dad’s funeral. She, however, made it her mission to stalk your whereabouts for about a year, going to wherever your truck was parked, making a scene, buying coffee only to then leave a bad review, only stopping once your Uncle Bill threatened a lawsuit against her.

So, yeah, you hated celebrities.

As for your love life, you were beyond your mid-30s when you started dating again. You did go on a few first dates, only to come home after each one feeling like you would be so much better off alone. Going on first dates when you were pushing 40 was… interesting. It was astounding how much less crap you were willing to settle for, and how obvious the red flags were. One guy took you to an Indian restaurant and had to leave early because of… erm… indigestion. One completely ignored you and spent the entirety of the date trying to coax his wailing ex-wife on the phone - she had gone completely mental upon finding out he finally went out on a date. One guy kept receiving text messages from his mother, only to admit he still lived with her – she was just excited he was out on a date, you know? Just giving him tips on how to behave.

The last guy seemed completely normal and interesting, all the way until the end of the date, when he took your offer to split the bill, which was completely fine, you did prefer to pay your own way after all. Except, the bill that arrived was for eight people, not two. He had ordered take out for his six teenage children, who he had conveniently forgotten to tell you about.

So, you decided no more dates. You’re just gonna stay single. It wasn’t exactly abnormal to be single these days. You have your own business, a cute little apartment, you’ll be alright. Sure, you might die alone and not be found until someone complained about the smell, but that was neither here nor there. It’s not like your cause of death would be ‘death by singledom’. To your knowledge, at least, no one had ever died from being single. So you put your head down and focused on work, doing what you loved the most. Overcharge people for legal addictive substances.

You loved this new setup you had. Small business, you had a handful of regulars, you had something to do with your time, made enough to pay your bills. Less headache. Less stress. Less worries. You liked that you were busy for a couple of hours in the morning, and then had some time chilling and eating food from the trucks next door for lunch after the lunch rush. You liked that the kids from the rec centre came to hang out with you, despite the fact that they made you feel so fucking old.

And best of all, you liked that no celebrities came to buy coffee here from you, the lot usually only visited by the people working in the surrounding areas and the rec centre. You could use a life away from all that. But now, you discovered that a celebrity had just gotten a free coffee from you – a free coffee made of six shots of espresso that you gave him out of spite, just because he was rude to you.

Great. Just great.

“Hey Lil?” Ellie finally piped up, having served the final customer for the afternoon. You were wiping the tables outside, waiting for the lunch you ordered from the truck next door to arrive. “Can we talk?” She looked nervous.

You sat down after throwing the rug in the sink, washing your hands. She sat opposite you, fiddling with her shirt.

“I’m sorry about my old man. He’s a bit… well… he’s… you see… my old man’s kind of…”

“Famous,” you finished the sentence for her. Her eyes snapped at you in shock. “Frank told me. He didn’t know your Dad was famous either. Not that it matters, but how come you’ve never told us?”

“Well, he doesn’t like it if we do. And to be honest, we don’t like it either. Telling people about it, I mean. As soon as people know who he is, we all get treated differently. I get away with it a lot more than Sarah does. She has his last name. And she was seen with him a lot since he got famous. But Lil, Joel is not like that. He’s not that kind of celebrity. He doesn’t even see himself as one.”

You scoffed. Sure. Someone who didn’t see himself as a celebrity would snap at people supposedly wanting selfies. Ellie immediately went on his defence.

“It’s what usually happens. People would walk up to us as we were eating at a restaurant for selfies. Follow him into the bathroom, that sort of thing. Sarah told me people would come up all the time and just shove a camera in front of his face. And if he said no or get annoyed, it would be all over social media. Joel Miller was rude, all that. He didn’t choose this life you know. When he started this he was just thinking about Sarah, he wanted to give her everything he could. He never thought everyone would have a camera in their hands at one point, or that he would get this well known.”

“If he hates it so much, why doesn’t he just quit?”

She looked contemplative for a while. “Lil, it’s not that I don’t want to share, but having been in his life all this while, I just want to protect his privacy, you know? You have no idea how many times people in his life said something – something they didn’t even consider something, and the media just blew up as soon as they found out. When Sarah was little, Uncle Tommy got her one of those baby dolls that you could feed and change their diapers for Christmas, you know the ones? Well, she told her friends at pre-school that Uncle Tommy was giving her a baby for Christmas. Their parents heard and went to the news – apparently you get paid a lot of money for information like that back then, and suddenly the gossip columns were filled with the news that Uncle Tommy supposedly got someone pregnant and was giving his baby away. It was ridiculous. So I’d rather not say anything, you know?”

Tony from the next truck came over with the lunch you ordered for the both of you. As you unwrapped your sandwich, Ellie pleaded with you to forgive her old man again.

“Please Lil, he didn’t mean it. I think he was just worried I’d gone missing or something. I was usually waiting for him up front. It’s one of the reasons why I wanted to get a car. I hate seeing him worry like that. He’s busy, but he wanted to be there for me and Sarah, you know? Please Lil? He’s a good guy. I promise. He didn’t have to take me in, but he did. I have a good life now, because of him. I... I don’t know what would have happened to me if he didn’t step up.”

She was fiddling with the sandwich in front of her, looking so forlorn and hopeful at the same time, begging you to forgive her Dad.

Damn it. Now you felt bad.

Uh oh.

“Erm… I might have done something bad…” you told her, your eyes wide, your teeth showing in an attempt to cringe and show regret at the same time.

“What? What did you do?”

“He… uh… he came by this morning for a cuppa and I might have… erm… served him a lot of espresso instead of the usual americano…”

She spat her sandwich out, “He came in for fancy coffee?” She looked disbelieving for a second, "Which size? How many shots?”

You cringed, told her the largest cup you had, and held up six fingers.

"I did top off the six shots with water, though..." you added, still looking guilty.

She snorted and began howling with laughter. She finally waved her hand at you, “Man’s used to deadly potent burnt coffee. He’ll be fine.”

“How do you burn coffee?”

“He has this ancient coffee machine that’s only a year younger than Sarah. Refused to throw it out. That thing is beyond broken. That’s how you burn coffee. And short the house.”

You snorted. “Why doesn’t he just get a new one?”

She shrugged, but you could tell she was holding something back.

“So… he came in for coffee… did he apologize?”

“Nah… I was busy. I didn’t really give him the chance.”

“But you will let him if he comes again tomorrow?”

You couldn’t even pretend. You were touched by her pleas. Fine, you’ll give him another chance.

The next morning, Joel waited in the truck after dropping Ellie off for attempt number two to apologize to you. He had the script locked in his head now, determined to at least get the words out to you. Tell you how sorry he was for snapping at you. Thank you for giving his daughter a job. That he would never bother you again, just please, forgive him.

And while he was at it, he could get another cup of that extra strong coffee you gave him yesterday. He may have left feeling down and flustered that he couldn’t get the apology out of his mouth when facing you, but he did feel energized after that cup. He needed one, since his machine was still broken. Not because he liked the coffee or anything. He was still staunchly against overpriced, fancy coffee. He was just an average American who needed his morning cup of Joe. Which was why he was still in his truck instead of going out when Ellie did. Ellie and Sarah must never know he bought coffee here. The idea that they would tease him for deliberately getting fancy coffee was beyond a nightmare. Nope. So he was going to wait until Ellie walked in to class before going for another try. At an apology, not the coffee. He could do without that cup, obviously. But since he was here and all. Might as well.

He was about to leave the truck when Tommy called. They had another meeting with Angela that morning, to pick up their discussion from two days before. The current contract was for another year. He was already reluctant about this coming year. The show basically consisted of one main, large project a year, where the progress of the massive project was portrayed in every episode, along with remodels for other houses or office spaces which would be completed weekly. Smaller DIY slots were interspersed with the main two projects. All of which required shooting, him being away from home much of the day. Taking time away from the ability to take genuine contracts away from the cameras, honest work that gave him joy. Time away from his daughters.

The plan for the next year was locked. The main project was to basically remodel an entire mansion. He was sceptical about the timeline. This mansion had 20 rooms and 11 bathrooms. They usually build and shoot for nine months out of the year. This large project, along with the smaller, but still considerable projects and the DIY slots to boot, all to be filmed within nine months. He just didn’t see it happening. He knew for a fact that they will run long. He was getting tired of it all. Sarah would be home in the coming year. He wanted to spend time with her and Ellie.

“Tommy.”

“Joel, where are you?”

“Just dropped Ellie off. I thought I had another hour and a half?”

“You do. I just wanted to talk to you before. Come on Joel, just five more years. Think of the money we could make. We could demand more if we renew. I need the money to pay for everything Joel. You can’t just think about yourself here.”

“What do you mean you need money to pay for everything? You have money.”

“I’m not like you Joel. My house, my staff, my cars, I need to maintain them all. Not all of us live the way you do, Joel. Not all of us do our own chores and just have weekly cleaning ladies. And not all of us drive beat up pickups Joel. Some of us have standards.”

Joel was beginning to lose his patience again. He had had enough of Tommy’s whining. It was his choice to buy a mansion with more rooms than he needed. It was his own choice to have a fleet of cars, some of which he never even drove. It was his choice to buy thousand dollar wallets and a wardrobe that could rival the men’s department at any malls. It was his choice to buy a collection of watches, the price of some of them could feed a small country. And now he was complaining that he didn’t have enough, despite the millions he had earned. He was earning much more than Joel, in fact, never shying away from the modelling contracts and endorsements. And yet, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. It would never be enough.

“I’m not stopping you from going on, Tommy. You go ahead. But me, I’m done. I want to spend my time with my girls. I want to rest, enjoy my hard work. Be away from the spotlight for once.”

“Come on, you think people would still want to watch if you’re no longer involved? It’s called ‘Build with the Millers’, Joel. We both need to sign on. Where are you even gonna go, Joel?”

“I don’t want to talk about this Tommy. My mind is made up. I have more important things to think about than money. Maybe you should grow up and find other things to focus on. Some things are forever. But looks and fame go away, Tommy.”

“That’s exactly why we need to get it while we can, brother. Think about it. Please.”

“Maybe no one’s told you this, Tommy, but money isn’t everything. It doesn’t buy you happiness. Tell me you’re happier now than you were when we were scrounging for contracts back when Mama was still around.”

“Think about the girls. Don’t you want them to be taken care of if anything happens to you? You want to leave them with nothing?”

“My girls will have plenty left to them, and even if they didn’t, they were raised to live without extravagance, Tommy.”

“So was I!”

“And yet, here you are, a greedy little boy, crying about how his millions are not enough!”

Tommy hung up.

Great. He knew what he was going to face later this morning, now. He looked at the old, cheap watch Sarah got him on his birthday when she turned 14. He smiled thinking about that year. It was 80 dollars, a lot of money for someone her age. She had stolen 20 dollars from him to be able to pay for the watch – she couldn’t save enough from her babysitting jobs by the time his birthday came around. No amount of gold plated Rolexes could rival the price of that watch.

The watch that was telling him he had a little over an hour to get to his meeting. Damn Tommy, he didn’t realize how much time he spent talking to him on the phone. He rushed out of the truck and walked around the building to get to your lot. There were two people in line. Good. He didn’t exactly have much time. Traffic could be really bad at this hour.

A young couple ran past him and stood behind the second person in line. Great. Joel ran a little to get behind them. The older lady at the front of the line was taking a little time to decide what she wanted. You were so patient with her, he thought, his foot tapping slightly from the urgency he was feeling. The couple in front of him were starting to make out a little, Joel taking a step back to give them some privacy, though he was cringing a little bit at such PDA. You finished serving the lady. The man after asked for some complicated drink he had never heard of, and you went about making his drink, surprisingly quickly considering he couldn’t even pronounce the drink without scrambling his brain. The couple was starting to moan, the girl practically climbing the boy, right there in front of your coffee truck. Joel looked away, his foot tap-tapping a bit louder, arms crossed on his chest.

You finished serving the second man. But the couple wasn’t stopping. You called out to them, asking them what they could get for them. They didn’t stop. The making out got a bit more aggressive, in fact. Joel had had enough.

“Excuse me,” he said, nudging the boy’s foot with his boot. The couple finally separated, a look of annoyance on their faces. “You might want to order now, some of us have places to be,” Joel said, pointing at you.

The girl’s face morphed from annoyance to excitement. “Oh my God, you’re Joel Miller! I love you! Can I get a picture?”

“I’m in a hurry, please order,” he pleaded, trying hard not to lose his composure. The last thing he needed was for you to see him lose his cool again.

“Oh, come on, just one picture. I’ll be really quick,” she said, as she raised her phone and leaned into him, snapping a quick photo, his grumpy face just in the frame. She didn’t like it. She leaned in again, asking him to smile. He looked at you pleadingly, as she snapped yet another picture.

“What can I get you sir, miss?” you asked, a little louder, still with a smile on your face. You could see how annoying this would be for him. You could also see he was trying hard not to snap.

The boy ordered his drink. You keyed it in, looking at the girl for her order. She hummed and oohed for a while, unable to decide, so you started his coffee while you waited. She still couldn’t decide. Three more people joined the line behind Joel as she contemplated what she wanted, taking her own sweet time, all the while wrapping herself around her partner.

Joel found himself taking deep, deep breaths, willing himself not to lose it. He was so tempted to just scream at this young thing, so self-absorbed she had no problem invading his personal space, twice, and then taking her own sweet time inconveniencing those behind her. Two more people joined the line, making a total of six people she was holding up with her indecisiveness. After what felt like forever, she finally ordered an iced lemon tea. Joel swore he could see you almost roll your eyes behind your sweet, dimply smile, turning around to get it for her, while this girl, completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil she had caused, turned round and asked Joel for another selfie, since he wasn’t smiling in the first two.

You gave her the tea, and the boy paid, but the girl kept pestering Joel for another selfie. He ignored her, simply asking you to please make him the coffee you made him the day before, he didn’t know the name. The girl now asked you what he ordered. You ignored her, too, making his coffee for him. The boy finally had enough and pulled his girlfriend away from the truck, angry whispering at her for causing such a scene, as she sulked away, still unable to grasp how childish she was being.

When she finally left, you, along with Joel and all the customers in line heaved a sigh of relief. You quickly made his drink. He decided he would talk to you that evening instead, seeing as two more people had now joined the line, including a man who looked even grumpier than he was. You placed his drink on the sill, so he reached inside his pocket to get his wallet, only to realize it wasn’t there. He panicked, and asked you to serve the next customer first, running off to his truck before you could say anything.

When he came back, he went to the front of the line to get his drink and pay. The grumpy man drew an exaggerated breath and shouted at him.

“Hey Miller, get back here. Just because you are who you are doesn’t mean you could just cut the line!”

“I was just going to pay, I left my wallet in my truck,” Joel defended himself, his impatience and anger beginning to surface.

“I don’t fucking care. You left, you don’t get to just cut the line. We all have places to be.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you gently said, “It’s on the…”

“I can pay for my own fucking coffee!” he snapped at you.

Oh… hell no.

“Fine,” you said, just as the realization that he had snapped at you, yet again, surfaced for Joel, his eyes closing, frustrated with himself. “One americano with six shots of espresso. That’ll be 40 dollars.”

His head snapped from taking his card out to looking at you. “What?”

“The espresso is five dollars a shot.”

“Six shots make 30 dollars, which is still robbing me way blind, by the way,” he seethed.

“That’s right. Ten dollars is a ‘fuck you, I don’t like you’ tax,” you raged right back, keyed in the price and shoved the card reader to his face.

(Shout out to @hiddenbabynyc for giving me this awesome tax line)

He tapped his card, a little too aggressively, took his coffee and huffed away from your truck as the grumpy man shouted profanities at him, congratulating you for getting back at an entitled celebrity.

Joel slammed the door to his truck closed, still seething. 40 dollars for a cup of coffee? You are nuts. A blind-robbing, coffee-riddled, hoity-toity nutcase. He was gonna have to talk Ellie into finding another job. No way was he going to let her work for someone as snobbish as you.

But… he did pay for that coffee, and his Mama taught him never to waste food. So he took a sip.

And just like that, his eyes involuntarily closed, and your dimply smile filled his head.

He could never go back there. But at least he now knew what coffee that was. He could get it elsewhere.

Or maybe, he could try and fix that damn coffee machine of his.

Part 4

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #Celebrity!Joel Miller

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