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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago

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Just a friend || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: based off season 4 ep 2 with the scene between Rafe x Hollis x Sofia

Warnings: nothing rlly

Word count: 1,308

A/n: I know I said I was on a break but just did my final exam for my law course for the year 😝 thank fuck! ALSO send thru any requests u have for the new season 🤗🤗 writing a bunch to post for when i do come back fully 💗

MASTERLIST

The evening air was warm and humid, typical of a late summer night in the Outer Banks. The Kooks had gathered at one of the island’s most luxurious estates for a party that oozed exclusivity. You were dressed in a new cheetah print set, the fabric of it hugging your body just right, making you feel confident as you walked through the crowd with your drink in hand.

Across the yard, you noticed him leaning casually against a table, his broad shoulders and clean-cut look commanding attention. But what caught your eye more was the woman standing next to him. She was older, probably in her late thirties or early forties, with a certain allure that radiated confidence.

Her blonde hair stopped below her ears, and she was smiling at Rafe in a way that made your stomach twist a little. You slowed your steps, eyes narrowing as you observed their conversation. Her hand rested on his arm, just for a moment too long. He was smiling at something she said, that charming smile that you knew all too well lighting up his face.

Jealousy began to bubble up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you made your way over to them. The closer you got, the more clearly you could hear their conversation, though their words were light—nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the way she was looking at him didn’t sit right with you. “Hey, Rafe,” you interrupted, stepping between them, your tone casual but laced with something more.

You gave the woman a polite smile, but your focus was entirely on Rafe, waiting for him to introduce you. He glanced down at you, his eyes flickering with amusement before turning back to the woman. “Oh, this is my friend, Y/n. Y/n this is Mrs. uh... Miss Robinson. Hollis” Rafe said, barely sparing you a second glance as he introduced you with that casual tone, like your presence was nothing out of the ordinary.

Your friend. The word stung, and you fought to keep the irritation off your face, offering the woman a tight-lipped smile. She didn’t seem to notice the tension in your posture, only giving you a polite nod before turning back to Rafe. “Nice to meet you,” You say, being polite as you push down the feelings. "Pleasure is mine, Y/n," she said in a silky voice, her eyes still lingering on him.

“I hope we can stay in touch?” The woman says. “Yeah, sure” Rafe replied with a smile, his voice low and smooth. You stood there, feeling like an outsider as the two exchanged one last glance before she turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the stone patio. Once she was gone, you turned to Rafe, eyebrows raised, not even trying to hide the edge in your voice.

“Who was that?” you asked, your finger tapping on the table as you looked up at him. Rafe took a sip of his drink, leaning back against the table with a relaxed smirk playing on his lips. “Uh Hollis Robinson. Biggest realtor on the island,” he said nonchalantly. “And, you know, the biggest cougar too.” You blinked, letting that sink in.

“Oh,” you said, your tone flat, but you couldn’t ignore the prickling feeling of jealousy creeping up your spine. You knew Rafe was teasing—he always did—but something about the way she’d looked at him, and the fact that he introduced you as just a friend, was digging under your skin. He noticed the shift in your expression immediately and that smirk only widened.

“What?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement, “you jealous?” You let out a soft scoff, rolling your eyes at him. “Should I be, friend?” you shot back, your voice mocking as you threw his words back at him. You crossed your arms tighter, trying to hide the heat rising in your chest. Rafe chuckled, that lazy grin of his not faltering for a second. “I mean…” he started, glancing in the direction Hollis had gone, his tone teasing before he glances down at your body.

“Depends on what she’s offering.” Your eyes widened slightly in disbelief, and you instinctively reached out to shove his chest, a playful but annoyed push. He barely budged, still grinning like he found the whole situation entertaining. “You’re such an ass,” you muttered, rolling your eyes again, though this time a small smile tugged at your lips.

“I’m joking, babe, I’m joking,” Rafe laughed, grabbing your wrist gently before you could turn away from him. “Come on, you know that.” You tried to maintain your annoyed expression, but when his arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into him, the warmth of his body melting the last of your resistance, you let out a sigh.

“I hate you,” you mumbled against his chest, your voice muffled as you pressed your cheek to his shirt. He chuckled softly, resting his chin on top of your head as his arms held you close. “No, you don’t,” he said with that infuriating confidence, his voice soft but teasing as always. “You just hate that I get under your skin.”

You couldn’t argue with that. There was something about Rafe that always managed to push your buttons, and as much as you wanted to stay mad at him, moments like this made it impossible. His arms around you, his teasing words… It was almost like he knew exactly what you needed to hear.

You rolled your eyes one last time, but your voice was softer now. “You really are the worst, you know that?” Rafe just laughed again, his arms tightening slightly around you. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” You didn’t respond, but the way you let yourself relax against him said enough.

Rafe’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you, and for a second, you thought about pushing him away again. But the warmth of his embrace and that stupid grin on his face kept you rooted where you stood. "Hollis Robinson, huh? a cougar?" you muttered, looking up at him.

Rafe shrugged, clearly unfazed. "Yep. She’s been around forever. Works her charm with all the guys." You look away, biting your lip lightly, "Well, did she?" You lock eyes with him as he furrows his eyebrows lightly. "Did what?" He questions with a hint of confusion in his tone.

You trail your hands up his chest, stopping at his neck, Rafe's eyes followed. "Y'know... Work her charm on you." Rafe smirked, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't turned on right now. "Dunno, guess so," He teased, his voice low and playful. You scoffed, shoving his chest harder this time, though he barely flinched.

"Jerk," you snapped, the annoyance now mixing with a hint of amusement you couldn’t fully suppress. Rafe laughed, catching your wrist in his hand again, but this time he held on tighter, pulling you closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, baby. She's like the same age as Rose and that's fucking weird."

The sincerity in his voice, however playful, made your frustration melt away just a little. His arms snaked around your waist once more, pulling you back into the warmth of his chest. "I’m not that easy to replace," you muttered, still annoyed but leaning into him slightly. "No one’s saying you are," Rafe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Now, come on, admit it—you hate it when I mess with you, but you love me." You let out a sigh, a small smile creeping back onto your face despite your best efforts. "You’re impossible," you mumbled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. He squeezed you a little tighter, his breath warm against your hair. "Yeah, but you wouldn’t want me any other way."

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theoldsports · 7 months ago

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SPONTANEOUS.

Art Donaldson x Reader

oops. it’s gonna be a series. i’m developing Lore. let me know what you think and where to go next.

warnings: 18+ please, drug use mention, drinking (underage), kinda sexual content.

LINK TO SORRY SERIES

Fancy parties were loathsome. [Y/N] thought so, at least. She hated being told to stop calling them fancy parties and shindigs and to call them by their proper names: galas, benefits, balls, whatever. It was exhausting. Her feet weren’t meant to be elegantly jammed into spike heels. [Y/N] liked the height she was, thank you very much.

Did supporting charitable causes have to feel so degrading?

Capitalism at its finest.

[Y/N] had been attending these things since she was a little girl. Seven or eight years old. So young, in fact, that she now can’t remember what demographic or ailment-research, or political party this goddamn yearly spring shindig was for. Mr. and Mrs. Zweig were always nice to her when she was a child. She wasn’t just a family-friend, she (and her parents) felt like friends that were family.

What made the lavish Zweig parties tolerable was Patrick Zweig. She had known Patrick as long as there had been parties to get dressed up for. He had scraped her off a marbled staircase step as a little girl when her polished pleather mary janes didn’t have the traction to keep her upright. She had cried when she fell. He had said: “you’re really loud, you know that?” And she had laughed. So they were doomed to spend eternity hiding in coat rooms and getting tipsy together at these things.

Patrick was never one of those boys that felt the need to turn his back on [Y/N] during the cooties years, or the so-she’s-your-girlfriend? years. The pair of them always managed to be simply themselves and that was enough. He was merciless and unapologetic, but he made a hell of a best friend.

[Y/N] was two months older than Patrick, and had been taller for their first two years of friendship. When his shift in stature occurred, it happened fast.

Patrick went away to boarding school and came back a gangly beast. [Y/N], though they hadn’t spent every waking moment (weekends and school days) together since he had left her for a racket and a tennis ball, was always pleased to see Patrick was still himself every time he came home. Louder and stupider each time, but still Patrick.

Though, one spring break was different. Eleventh grade, if [Y/N] recalled correctly. Patrick came home, tall and stupid as ever, toting a boy named Art Donaldson.

Art Donaldson was considerably smaller, and debatably less stupid than Patrick Zweig. [Y/N] understood that day why all the girls in her grade giggled about boys. [Y/N] could never tell Patrick that. He would have been insufferable about it.

Actually, [Y/N] felt jealous. That was also a secret. Because Art, unlike she and Patrick, was nice. Everybody liked him. Nobody ever talked shit about him. Adults loved him and his small-town boy manners. He actually was a rambunctious little jerk, but nobody else saw that. Everyone else got yes sir, yes ma’am, I’m well, how are you? He could turn that charm on and off like a faucet. Infuriating, right?

[Y/N] was also jealous because it was clear she had been replaced.

Patrick lit up like a Christmas tree when he was with Art. He never looked at her like that. Art must have been a better friend to him then she was. Patrick called her once a week to talk for years, but Art slept, like, six feet away from him. It simply wasn’t fair.

Because of that, [Y/N] remembers spring break was really hard. [Y/N] was acutely aware she had lost something she didn’t know she could lose to the human version of a fucking beagle.

[Y/N] couldn’t remember the grade they were in exactly, but she did remember the dress she wore to the Zweigs’ party that year. It was light green and had spaghetti straps. It was longer and more form-fitting than what she was used. Most of the girls her age had settled for lots of tulle and cheetah-print so [Y/N] looked more mature by comparison. It was the first time [Y/N] remembered feeling grown up at all.

To think she thought that all her excitement and contentment was wasted. [Y/N] sat in a plastic pool chair in the backyard curled up with her cork wedge platforms resting dangerously close to the water. She nursed a bottle of vodka she had swiped two months ago from her parents liquor cabinet to surprise Patrick. Meticulously, she had waited for them to be out of town and found the key to the liquor cabinet. A whole bottle just for [Y/N] and her best friend. [Y/N] had barely managed to keep it a secret that she had taken it. She had been so proud of herself and thought Patrick would be too.

Now, she was the only one around to drink it.

Patrick had put his warm, familiar hands on her shoulders and told [Y/N] to wait right there and that he and Art would be back in a sec. The two boys had vanished upstairs presumably to Patrick’s room with laughter spilling from their mouths. [Y/N] sat at the base of the stairs alone for twenty minutes.

According to the garish clock on the wall, at twenty-one minutes, [Y/N] disappeared to the pool. She officially hated Patrick too. He had left her alone at parties plenty of times, and she him. They’d dance with others, or sneak off for a makeout session with a pretty stranger. It had never been a big deal either way. This felt like deliberate abandonment for no good reason. That was a first.

“Whoa, save some for the rest of us.” A reedy voice called out. Art Donaldson. [Y/N]’s head glanced over her shoulder so fast at the sound that she almost made herself dizzy. It took little time to realize there was no Patrick with him.

[Y/N] pulled the bottle closer. “That was a really long one sec,” She replied. She planned to say that eventually in the wasted minutes she waited, but it sounded less cool now than it did in her head. [Y/N] sounded plain mopey and that was a shame. “What’d you guys do anyway? Where’s Patrick?”

Art shrugged and walked further into view. He looked a bit sheepish. “Being Patrick,” He didn’t answer the first question she asked. There was a half-smile tugging at his lips. Art looked nice. Brown dress shoes, navy jacket, white shirt. No tie. She could have sworn that had been a tie at some point earlier. His shaggy blonde hair was mussed, but she had yet to observe it being neat. It was fustrating how effortlessly nice he looked. [Y/N] thought that everyday from day one. “It’s getting kinda cold. You wanna head back inside? I was looking for you—“

“I’m alright here, but thanks,” she slurred slightly. “You head in. I’m not here to ruin your fun.” It had sounded bitter. She hadn’t meant for it to.

Art sighed and glanced away from her. He paused a moment and sighed. “I’m not here to ruin yours either, y’know.”

“You don’t have to make this into a thing. It’s fine.”

“Well, too late. Patrick’s being an ass. I don’t want you out here feeling like I’m some homewrecker. I’ve been on the receiving end of shit like this from him, too. He’s not trying to be nasty to you, ‘promise. Come on, I’m not gonna let you freeze out here.” Art said, stepping in a bit. The glow from the pool left green and white wiggly lines across his cheeks.

“It’s spring, It’ll warm up. Get back up to that party, man. Patrick’s waiting for you.”

“You’re being impossible.”

[Y/N] set the half-empty bottle down beneath her chair. “Nuh-uh.”

“Jesus… if you’re gonna be a jerk about it, at least take this.” Art frowned, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seemed disappointed.

“Oh, Art, please—“

“No, no! You made your choice. Don’t let me spoil your fun with you and the… the vodka,” Art said, making a show of taking the jacket off and throwing it over to [Y/N]. The balled up lump of fabric landed in her lap with a soft thud. Her stomach churned. “All hunky dory now,” He said, holding his hands out to show he was no threat. Art’s brows were lowered protectively close to his eyes in what [Y/N] thought was an effort to mask slight hurt or rejection. He turned to walk away as [Y/N] clutched the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. Art turned back to to look at her for a moment. [Y/N] didn’t know what that expression was meant to mean. “Be careful, okay? For what it’s worth, you—you look lovely tonight. It would be a shame for such a, uh, such a pretty girl in a pretty dress to end up face down, stuck in the pool drain. ‘Night [Y/N].”

[Y/N] was glad for the dark because she felt her face heat up and dopey smile start to form at the compliment. Maybe she was drunk, but that had to be flirting. In the most fucked up way possible, but still. Why? Art Donaldson didn’t even like her.

Art had only managed to take a few steps into the dewy grass when [Y/N] begrudgingly called out: “Art, wait!”

She hated that she liked the smirk on his face when he turned around. He could tell what she wanted by her tone. What kind of fucker takes no for answer happily and still sets himself up for a yes in the end. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to smile.

“Listen, you’re right—“ [Y/N] stood up confidently, sliding Art’s jacket around her shoulders. And she stood up too fast and knocked her sandals into the pool. “Shit!” She cursed. She was still an age where cursing felt cool and unfamiliar. [Y/N] stood on her unsteady feet and watched her sandals bob out to the middle of the pool, propelled by her kick. She was embarrassed now as well. The stakes of everything felt so much higher than sandals in the pool of her best friend’s backyard. Booze will do that to the sanest of folks. [Y/N] dropped her face heavily into her hands. Great.

Quickly, Art cut his eyes between her and the shoes and back again. “Where do they keep the pool net?” Art asked calmly, without missing a beat.

“The shed.” [Y/N] said miserably and pointed a few feet away. Art bounded across the pavement around the pool to the shed. He tugged once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “It’s locked,” He reported to [Y/N] from practically halfway in the pruned hedges. Art started the walk back to her. Once he was beside her, Art placed a hand gently at her elbow. “Come back inside with me. Please. Patrick may be able to get us a key and we can…”

But [Y/N] looked so sad from behind her hands. Even though all of this was so childish. She was also wearing Art’s jacket now and that did things to his brain. Her dress wasn’t not low cut and he froze for a second. All he could do was stare.

“Just do what I would do,” Patrick said. “It’ll be fine, man. She’s already into you, I can tell.”

“Well, if she’s into me, why would I do what you would do? That’s an awful suggestion, Patrick.” Art protested.

Patrick spun around in his desk chair to face Art as he rolled a joint. “I’ve known her since before I knew you. Just, like, be spontaneous. That’s what I mean. Spontaneous. She’s into that because she’s like that too. And she’s… wicked mean, so don’t start shit. She’ll surprise you, but like, in a good way. What I said before makes me sound like a jackass,” Patrick paused to laugh. “Be in the moment. Don’t get in your head about it. Which you’re doing right now— I can tell, Arthur…” Patrick drew out Art’s full name (which he hated) to get under his skin.

Art stood up from the floor in frustration. He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. The window was metaphorically closing. Hastily, Art dashed to the door. “I’m going down there. Poor girl’s been waiting all this time because you, my friend, are a shitty advice-giver.”

“Spontaneous!” Patrick called after him with a grin.

Art stared at [Y/N]. Then he blinked. Then tilted his head to the side. Spontaneous. Before he knew it, he was tugging his shoes and socks off and diving into the pool. Art had been right, it was getting decisively cold and the pool water reflected that. Art swam out to where the wedges had floated too, which had actually been fairly far. He wasn’t sure if the net would have gotten them that easily. Art nicked the shoes by the ankle straps and shook his wet hair out of his face. As he paddled back, he glanced at [Y/N]’s expression. She smiled wide with joy and surprise at Art’s sacrifice.

“Art! Thank you so much!” She said when he flopped the waterlogged shoes onto the concrete. Art looked up at her from the water and he only looked up her skirt a little bit.

“It’s no trouble. Repayment’s in order, though.”

“Repayment…? What do you—“

Art wrapped his wet, callused hands around both of [Y/N] ankles and flipped her into the pool. She screamed as she splashed into the pool. Then laughed hard. Art wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

“Wait, fuck, you can swim, right?”

Fortunately, [Y/N] could, and that’s the move that won Art Donaldson his wife.

—

“Honey, you have to get up so you can get ready…” Art’s mouth moved against the shell of [Y/N]’s left ear. His arm was tossed over her middle. Normally, it was Art that dreaded getting out of bed, but clearly they enjoyed switching roles once in a while.

A nap had turned into two-and-a-half hours of [Y/N]’s soft snores while Art held her. He couldn’t sleep much, but luckily he had something beautiful to look at. She ripped into him about his staring problem all the time. Art couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. “No.” She mumbled.

“Please…” Art’s hand trailed under her shirt and climbed up, up, up.

“No,” she sighed. Art’s hands groped her left breast and [Y/N] didn’t particularly mind. She shivered at the contact. Art had known every inch of her body over years. Neither was bored yet, though.

“It’s one night. One party. We don’t have to stay all night… He’s not going to be there, Lenora told me when I RSVP’d.”

They had an unspoken rule. They did not name Patrick in conversation when sober. The wound was too fresh still.

“Don’t talk about him, or his fucking mom when you’re touching me like that,” [Y/N] all but moaned as Art’s left thumb circled her nipple. “‘Thought we had to get up…”

Art smirked. “We do. At least you’re awake now.” He teasingly withdrew his hand entirely from out of her shirt and scampered out of bed in one agile zip of a motion.

“Art!”

She groaned. Rolling on her back to look at the ceiling, she glanced over at Art walking through the master bathroom doorway in his briefs. What an incredible ass that man has. “Motivation to leave the party early.” Art said and popped off into the shower.

Maybe it was selfish. Patrick and [Y/N] and Art hadn’t spoken in almost a year. It was no surprise to the Donaldsons that Patrick was an addict. He had been addicted to almost everything and everyone that crossed his path. What they hadn’t expected was him becoming so out of control that he missed the wedding of his two best friends and was sent into rehab once he was declared medically stable. The one person that both Donaldsons had fought to have in their own personal half of the wedding party. And he wasn’t there. And the wedding was expensive enough to go through with it amid all the bad feelings over Patrick.

Still, they were invited to the Zweig family’s charity or whatever gala. They would go like they always had, too. But it would be their first time alone, so to speak.

[Y/N] regretfully got out of bed while Art showered. She moved to the closet and unzipped her paper thin dress bag. The gown itself was beautiful, but not all too expensive. The year had been tight in terms of money. The wedding and the honeymoon were pricey enough before you added in rackets and competition entry fees and coaching. Art was an expensive husband to have. He made up for it. He was playing at his best too, so [Y/N] hardly cared. Who could put a price on seeing Art smile like that?

[Y/N] cringed if she had to pay more than two-hundred dollars for shoes or a dress anyway.

The dress was green. She’d worn a lot of green since she met Art. [Y/N] dreaded wiggling into shapewear and spending too long on her hair. Art had it easy. A tie, a jacket and trading his nasty watch for his nicer one. It wasn’t fair. It never was with Art.

She got ready all the same. The straps rested on her shoulders, thicker than the early 2000s straps she had been dumped into the pool in. It was longer than that dress. Almost floor length instead of mid calf. It was elegant for its price tag.

Once the dress was on, [Y/N] tumbled into the bathroom to do her makeup. The shared counter was way too small for both of their shit to sit nicely on. She would complain about that when there was more money in the bank account to do something about it. Art was taking longer than normal in the shower. Boner, [Y/N] thought.

As she started to put her face on, she could see Art’s face in the foggy mirror behind her. The sound of the water stopping and the shower curtain being tossed back had gone unnoticed. He was smiling slightly. “You look nice.” He said softly. Art toweled off his shaggy hair harshly behind her. He kept looking at her.

This is how Art was. He made these remarkable heart eyes at her every time he saw her. [Y/N] could be wearing a potato sack and she would feel beautiful. That look, that staring problem, was worse a hundredfold when she was dressed up. He kept glancing at her. She could see him in the mirror. He wanted [Y/N] to see. The blue and brown of his eyes cast further and further down her body.

“Staring.” [Y/N] said simply. She didn’t even look away from her own face in the mirror.

“Yeah. And?” Art smiled cheekily. His face was bright red not from the warm shower water. He wrapped his towel around his slim waist. [Y/N] applied too much concealer and less blush. “I, of all people, am allowed.”

“Idiot.” [Y/N] said. Art dried his hands profusely on his towel, knowing she would squawk at him if he left wet handprints behind on her dress.

Art’s hands wrapped around her waist. Great pains were taken to prevent other wet spots from splopping up her dress. So, so gently, he kissed the left side of her neck from behind. “I was thinking—” Art was always gentle in his own way.

“Ooh, dangerous.”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is the first Zweig party where your placecard is going to say Donaldson on it…”

[Y/N] nodded softly. “Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” She said, smiling a bit.

“I’m really, really excited about that. On the seating chart, we’re the Donaldsons. Isn’t that so crazy…?” Art whispered into her plush skin. “Plural. Two of us.”

Teasingly, she nudged him back with her elbow. The smile was still wide on her lips. “You’re being such a girl about it.”

Art didn’t let go or relent. He pressed feather-light kisses between [Y/N]’s ear and collarbone. “Am I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re going to be late to this thing you want to go to so bad, Mr. Donaldson, if you don’t stop.” [Y/N] whispered, incapable of doing more. She did set down her makeup sponge and pot of foundation with a clack.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Only a couple minutes, right? We could-we could cut out some of the boring small talk and…” Art said, daring boldly to drag his tongue up her throat as the steamed up mirror cleared some. He never finished his sentence verbally.

[Y/N] gasped at the feeling. That was a brave move for Art. “You drag me out of bed early so we can be late anyway. You don’t make any s-sense, babe.”

He huffed impishly. Art spun [Y/N] around to face him. His face and shoulders were damp from the water collected in his hair, which desperately needed a trim. Carefully, Art brushed [Y/N]’s hair away from her face. “You’re right… I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

Then, Art’s mouth quirked into that crooked smile she loved so much.

“Please.” Art said in a hushed voice and boosted [Y/N] smoothly onto their rickety counter. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can do better than ten.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Clock’s ticking.” When she said it, she heard Art’s knees hit the tile in front of her.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

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chososcamgirl · 2 months ago

Text

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER SIX: she’s my collar

masterlist

i made a playlist for this specific chapter! check it out

cw - very suggestive, mentions of alcohol/club scene, mature themes !

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Nobara muttered as she emerged from the sleek black Mercedes, the sharp click of her heels echoing on the pavement. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to fend off the biting chill that cut through the night air.

You pulled your faux cheetah-print coat tightly around herself, desperately seeking any warmth to stave off the biting cold. The regret of wearing a mini skirt settled heavily in your chest as the chill seeped through the fabric.

A biting breeze swept through the group as they piled out of the car, their breath visible in the crisp air. They made their way toward the building illuminated in vibrant LED lights, the name "Aphrodite" glowing in an elegant script above the entrance.

Your gaze fell on the line, a serpentine stretch of eager faces winding around the block and bending around a corner. “The line is so fucking long, bro,” you groaned, frustration lacing your voice.

“Don’t worry,” Panda replied absently, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, fingers tapping away with a rapid rhythm.

Maki arched an eyebrow, her attention shifting to Panda. “Yuta is here too,” she said, a teasing note in her tone.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if that meant anything significant, but your question was abruptly cut off by a loud, boisterous shout.

“BRO!” a familiar voice rang out, echoing through the night. A white-haired boy emerged from the shadows, his vibrant presence lighting up the crowd.

He approached Panda, effortlessly slipping into a familiar handshake that you had witnessed countless times before. Next, he turned to Maki and Nobara, greeting them with warm, polite hugs, each one filled with camaraderie.

Then, his gaze settled on you, his eyes assessing you from head to toe. He stepped closer, wrapping you in a longer embrace, leaning in to whisper, “You look good.” The words lingered in the air as he pulled away, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Turning back to the bouncer, he declared confidently, “They’re with me.” With a gentle tug, he took your hand, guiding you and the group inside, where the warmth and energy of the club settled, wavered to meet them.

As they stepped inside, a wave of warmth and pulsating music flooded over them, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your gaze was immediately drawn to a figure dressed entirely in black, standing near the entrance, seemingly lost in concentration as he studied something written on a piece of paper.

You noticed two beauty spots nestled just above his eyebrows, creating an intriguing contrast against his sharp features. “Huh,” you thought to yourself, curiosity piqued.

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. A subtle smile curved his lips as he offered them a nod, granting approval for them to venture further into the vibrant atmosphere of the venue.

“Yuji’s been so excited to see you again, Yn,” Toge slurred, his words slightly fuzzy, hinting at the drinks he had already indulged in.

They navigated through the bustling crowd to the VIP booth, where three silhouettes lounged comfortably in deep, luxurious velvet seats, their relaxed postures radiating a carefree vibe.

“Yn!” the pink-haired figure shouted, bounding over with infectious energy. He enveloped you in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne mingling with the rich aroma of the venue. Behind you, the others dispersed, finding their place among the group with casual ease.

“God, it’s been so long! You look incredible!” he exclaimed, stepping back to admire her. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at the compliment. But as you turned to respond, your gaze inadvertently drifted over his shoulder. There, a familiar figure leaned casually against the wall, his eyes fixated on you. He drank you in, the intensity of his stare making her heart race, even as he casually swigged from his beer, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.

“Come on, we need to take our traditional six shots!” Yuji said with infectious enthusiasm, grasping your hand and leading you through the thrumming crowd toward the bar. He slid onto a barstool, gesturing for you to join him with an inviting smile.

As he chatted cheerfully with the bartender, his energy radiated around you. He ordered the customary six shots for both of you, but your thoughts drifted back to Megumi and the way he had been staring earlier. Was it just the atmosphere, or did he really look that good? Hold on—were you actually finding him attractive? The guy who seemed like he spent too much time watching stepcest?

“...up.” You snapped back to reality at Yuji’s voice. Looking up, you were met with his bright, doe-like light brown eyes, sparkling with excitement. In front of you stood an array of colorful shots—twelve, to be exact each one a different hue, glinting invitingly in the bar’s dim light.

“BOTTOMS UP!” he shouted, already downing his first shot. A playful smirk spread across your face; there was no way you were going to let him finish first. You swiftly tossed back the first shot, the bitter liquid searing the back of your throat, but it was a thrill that sent warmth coursing through you. This was light work.

With each shot, the world around you faded into a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. You quickly moved through the shots, feeling the exhilarating buzz rise within you. Soon, you found yourself on your last one, placing the empty glass down and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You glanced at Yuji, who was just finishing his own final shot.

“Still can’t outdo you yet, huh?” he said, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of admiration and playful challenge.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, a hand pressed firmly against your back, sending a jolt of surprise through you. The warmth of the touch felt intimate, and you turned slightly to find a figure looming behind you. A husky voice cut through the air, rich and smooth, as it said, “Can I borrow her for a second?” The tone was both commanding and playful, drawing your attention away from Yuji and into the mystery of the newcomer.

The air around you was instantly infused with the intoxicating scent of the mystery man’s cologne—a deep, sophisticated aroma that reminded you of Maison Margiela. You turned to get a better look, your heart racing as you were met with his piercing green eyes, which seemed to draw you in.

Meanwhile, Yuji sat there, momentarily confused as he processed the situation, glancing between you and the newcomer. But with a shrug and a grin, he waved goodbye, calling out, “Find me later!” before making his way to the dance floor, his energy lighting up the room.

As Yuji disappeared into the crowd, Megumi smoothly slid into the spot where he had just been sitting. You rested your chin on your hand, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

“I hope you’re here to apologise,” you said playfully, flicking away an invisible speck from the counter. He met your gaze with a smirk that seemed to reveal a mix of amusement and confidence. Was that his go-to expression? Because right now, it was definitely starting to look punchable.

“Apologise for what? The truth?” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence as he raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, eager for a shot.

“Slut-shaming isn’t a good look for your reputation,” you countered, letting out a frustrated sigh. He was undeniably attractive, but the way he spoke was quickly drying up your pussy and killing your mood.

“Intrigue me, Yn,” he said, his sultry tone wrapping around you like a warm breeze. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“If I fuck you tonight, what number will that make me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you silently pray he doesn’t notice. Just then, the bartender sets the shot down between you, and you seize the opportunity to reclaim the upper hand.

You grip his jaw, guiding his face closer until your lips are mere centimeters apart. You glance between his lips and his eyes, feeling the tension crackle in the air.

“Oh, baby, don’t you know? I don’t fuck virgins,” you whisper, releasing your grip on his face as you down his shot and head toward the dance floor.

You weave your way toward the dance floor, each step a little unsteady as the pulsating music and vibrant lights overwhelm your senses. The crowd swells around you, a sea of bodies moving in sync, but the energy feels like too much to handle. Frustration and anger churn inside you. Fuck that was your seventh shot. You were no longer thinking with your head but with your vagina instead.

You weave through the pulsating crowd, your gaze searching for the perfect target. When did you become so needy? Finally, you spot the familiar salmon-haired boy from earlier, and a smile flickers across your lips. “At least it’s not a stranger this time,” you think, navigating through the bodies that sway and jostle around you.

As you approach, an unexpected wave of self-doubt washes over you. Was he always this tall? His shoulders seem broader, more defined, and the tattoos that snake down his arms catch your eye—when did he get those? You dismiss the thoughts, blaming the alcohol for your hazy perception.

Raising yourself onto your toes, you gently tap him on the shoulder, but the moment he turns around, a rush of regret floods in. His imposing figure towers over you, and a sense of horror grips your chest as you realise this is definitely not Yuji.

“Doll?” his deep voice resonates, cutting through the din of the club, leaving you momentarily speechless as you look up, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. You freeze. You can’t move. Why can’t you move?

The all-too-familiar pet name washes over you, and a torrent of memories floods your mind, each one more vivid than the last. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Suddenly, you feel hands grip your shoulders, pulling you away from the man, away from the chaotic atmosphere of the club, and guiding you outside into the cool night air.

As you slip into the car, the reality hits you: Nobara, Maki, and Panda are all there, their concerned faces surrounding you. In an instant, the dam breaks, and you begin to bawl, the emotions you’ve kept buried for so long surging to the surface like a tidal wave. You lean your head into Maki’s lap, feeling the comforting weight of her presence as she gently brushes your hair back from your face.

Nobara’s soothing touch caresses your skin, her fingers rubbing your back in gentle circles. “Shhh, let it out,” she murmurs softly. “You’re safe with us now.” Their unwavering support wrapping around you like a warm blanket, allowing you to release the pent-up feelings that had been longing for freedom. And then, just like that, darkness fills your vision.

extras!

• the aphrodite nightclub was a reeference dedicated to my beloved ree and her hq series ‘poker face’ you should definitely check it out here! @aozui thank u once again <3

• omi sneak in there if you squint

• i imagine aphrodite having the same vibe as the percy jackson casino scene highkey

• hm what does spotify have planned out with tridant i wonder…

• madagascar 3 is my shit guys i would watch it RELIGIOUSLY (maybe i am yn guys idk)

• why does the whole band want us idk we’re just hot like that

• it’s all platonic though guys trust LMFAO

• solstice is a reference to my upcoming spiderman kuroo au btw shhhh #shamlesspromoter

• i threw in the toge and panda texts just for fun LMFAO

• a lot of tridant’s gc texts were actually me and abi’s twitter texts LMFAO (ily abi)

• toge is never crowd surfing again after tonight.

• their set was a total of 1 hour and 49 minutes long (yn secretly enjoyed it and was lowkey fangirling)

• guys i had a field day with the written portion SPECIFICALLY THAT ONE QUOYE

• i hope u all listened to the playlist <3 (pls it’s important)

• yn’s ex is…. SUKUNA?

• to beepboplorpz’s ask that’s still in my inbox currently abt when sukuna would debut HERE HE IS😭

• sukuna’s backstory will be mentioned in the next following chapters..

• panda saw yn going to sukuna and INSTANTLY went to intervene #truefriendeventhohesfat

• yn blacked out in the car if it wasn’t obvious

• megumi was lowkey searching for her on the floor because he thought he was too harsh on her (he cared)

a/n: sorry the chapter is a bit behind schedule but it’s so worth it😭 this was fan service for the thirsty megumi asks so i hope you all eat this up because it took me so long to perfect !! anyways it’s still sunday so it does count… see yall next weekend!! <3 (apologies to my beta readers i was in a rush and wanted this one out but trust im returning back to schedule next week!!)

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