#even tho there’s nothing in my stomach anyways

[kavehayati]

You know? Life is so exceptionally unfair.

[agreeewrites]

hiii <33

first i want to say that i absolutely ADORE your page on here, your writing is just wow, perfection!! i really liked your sirius story (even tho i strayed off a bit and started liking rabastan too ahahahah-) it's amazing omg

and i was wondering would you be up for writing for barty? anything with him honestly lol, but if you don't have any ideas feel free to ignore this!

SAY LESSSSSSS (I've been dying for someone to request Barty or rosekiller pls send all the requests). Also! so glad you enjoyed that fic! (I played myself and kinda fell for Rab too 😬)

I Wanna Be Yours | BCJ

feat. Barty Crouch Jr. x blackcat!reader

SUMMARY: Barty is determined to win your affection, but due to his larger-than-life personality and your aloof nature, you find it difficult to trust his intentions.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, pov switches once, a little angst and a little fluff, blackcat!reader, artist!Barty, only soft for each other, mentions of drinking and drug use, strong language, sort of insecure!reader, Barty is a giant simp

AN: i'm having my scene music renaissance, and something about that era is so Barty-coded. I have a few other songs that suit him in my mind, but I'd love to hear any ideas you guys might have!

masterlist | more blackcat!reader

“Honestly, I don't know what Slughorn’s problem is. If I want to make a love potion that makes Xeno hard for four days, I can—”

“Four days and I would die of deprivation,” Xenophilius chuckled, his arm draped over Pandora's shoulders.

“Sure, but what a way to go.”

You walked beside them, half-listening to their sugar-dipped conversation, equal parts disgusted and deeply jealous. You'd never admit it, but you so badly wanted what your best friend had. Devotion, affection, complete and total acceptance. But you walked through life like a spring-loaded trap, biting the fingers off anyone that dared come close.

“Should we grab dinner before heading to the library? I'm starved,” Pandora said, turning her attention to you.

“Sure, it's probably quiet this early anyways—”

“Going to dinner, are we?” Evan bound up between Xeno and Pandora, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “I'm fucking ravenous.”

Two arms looped around your waist, hauling you back into a solid chest. The familiar scent of clove cigarettes and paint enveloped you, as if you needed any clues to know exactly who had the audacity to handle you so boldy.

“As am I,” Barty purred against the shell of your ear.

You wriggled in his hold, slapping at his forearms until he released you. “Not in the mood, Junior,” you warned, ignoring the way your stomach flipped when you met his dark eyes, eyeliner smudged along his lashes.

“Aw, don't be cross, gorgeous. You looked like you needed a hug,” he teased, falling into step between you and Pandora, slowing his natural gait considerably. He snatched your books from your arms, ignoring your protest and cradling them against his chest. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and a Slytherin vest, his tie loose and sleeves pushed up, hand-poked tattoos sprawling and dark against his forearms.

“I'm fairly certain she needs a hug as much as she needs your dumbass in her space,” Pandora said, rolling her eyes. “Which is not at all.”

“Oh, she needs me.” Barty grinned. “She just doesn't know it yet.”

“Give it a rest, Crouch,” Xeno cut in. “Keep pushing her and you'll end up on the bottom of the Black Lake.”

“Oh, how exciting! How will you do it, treasure? Stabbing? Maiming? Choking? Oh Merlin’s fuck, please say choking—”

“Maiming sounds about right,” you bit, attempting to get your books back, but he was far too tall, holding them way above your head. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of jumping for it, and crossed your arms over your chest with a huff.

“You can maim me whenever you like,” he said, a cheeky smirk on his stupid, handsome face. “Will you do it now if I ask nicely?”

You ignored him, looking forward again.

Barty Crouch Jr. loved nothing more than fucking with you, finding the gaps in your armor and trying to pry them open. But no matter how attractive you found him, because saints was he attractive, or how endearing he could be in the in-between moments, you refused to play his game.

You would not be made a fool of, not like every other person he set his sights on and got bored with a week later.

“So are we eating or what?” Evan asked, walking backwards at the front of the group. Any student unfortunate enough to be in his path quickly scurried out of it, cowed by the Slytherin's reputation for retaliation.

You watched them shrink away from Barty too, who clearly got some sick sense of pleasure from it. He even bared his teeth at a Gryffindor that veered to close to you, flipping your bodies around so he was on the outside and you were next to Pandora again.

“I'm actually going to head back to the dorm,” you said, slowing so you fell out of line with them. “See you later?” You said to Pandora, who gave you a tight frown.

“Are you sure?” She asked, tilting her head like an avian.

“Yeah, you guys enjoy,” you said, pretending you didn't see the disappointment flash across Barty’s face as you turned on your heel, letting the opposite flow of students sweep you up and away from your friends.

The truth was, Barty scared the shit out of you. He was everything you weren't: outgoing, bold, rebellious, and just charming enough to get himself out of whatever mess he and Evan made. And for whatever reason, he was obsessed with pushing your buttons. And he did, with infuriating efficiency.

Pandora insisted it was all in good fun, that he was harmless, but you knew better. You saw the way he manipulated others to get what he wanted, the way he masked his calculation with charisma.

Barty Crouch Jr. was far from harmless, and even if he had his friends fooled, he would not fool you.

Barty's POV

Barty watched your head bob away through the crowded corridor, your books still heavy in his arms and guilt gnawing a hole in his chest.

Why couldn't he just fucking control himself? He felt like a noxious ball of energy, filling whatever available space he could, unable to contain his own impulses, a slave to his own existence.

He just wanted you so badly. You occupied every part of his mind, owned every thump of his wretched, ruined heart. He was irrevocably, intrinsically yours, but you couldn't stand him, and it was largely his own damn fault.

Because he was broken. Couldn't hold a normal conversation. Couldn't flirt in a way that wasn't deeply vulnerable, or obscene and intense. For Merlin’s sake, he'd begged you to choke him just now.

You were a fix he couldn't get, so he was suffering withdrawals from a drug he never had. He was going mad with it, the desperation for your attention. He would do anything to hear you say his name, to occupy an ounce of space in that beautiful brain, even if meant looking like an idiot. Like a psycho.

It was worth it just to have you look.

After dinner, the four of them returned to the Slytherin common room, Barty still carrying your books with a wrapped bundle on top. Every step towards your shared dorm with Pandora made his heart beat faster, a nervous sweat collecting along his spine.

Nothing made him nervous like you did.

Barty walked into the room last, his eyes immediately drifting towards your bed even though he tried to resist. You were curled up against a pile of pillows, surrounded by parchment and open books, your quill scribbling furiously across the page in your lap.

You glanced up when they entered, meeting his eyes for a split second, low-lidded and disinterested, per usual, and turned your attention back to your work.

The dismissal itched like a bug under his skin, his blood going hot and tingly. He needed you to look at him again.

He set your books on your desk and kicked off his shoes, flopping onto your bed before he really thought about it. It was softer than his, covered with quilts and pillows, and he noticed a little stuffed cat tucked away under your covers. He could smell you all around him, so sweet and warm, and whatever rationality he had left dissolved into goo.

“Who invited you?” You snapped, shoving at his shoulder with little success. A swell of affection at your pitiful attempt made his heart beat quicken, you were just so fucking cute.

He set the paper bundle on your chest. “Thought you might be hungry, sweetness,” he said, hugging one of your pillows to his chest.

Merlin, you were so beautiful when you glared at him like that. He filed the image away for later, mentally sifting through his paint collection for the perfect shade to match your pout.

You looked a bit perplexed at the package, almost angry, and his anxiety returned, fighting through the haze caused by your proximity. “You brought me food?”

He nodded, biting back ‘and dessert too’. He wanted you to actually eat the food, not throw it at his head.

Hesitantly, you unfolded the bundle, as if he'd given you something rotten, or was pulling a prank. It made his lungs squeeze with guilt. He was shitty to a lot of people, most people. But not to you, never you.

Your brow softened with relief when you realized it was just a sandwich, before quickly furrowing again. He wanted to smooth it with his lips, kiss you until it never creased with worry again.

“I'm not hungry,” you said, setting the bag on the side table. A twinge of hurt stabbed between his ribs, but didn't let his smile falter. He knew that's what you would say. And he also knew you would eat it later, when no one was around to see you accept a small gesture of kindness.

That was good enough for him.

You slid out of your bed, leaving his side cold, and he stretched out against your sheets, wallowing in your residual warmth like a niffler in a pile of gold.

The others chatted around you, Xeno lighting up a joint by the cracked window, but you sat down at your desk, turning back to your work and tuning them out.

Barty sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed so he could pretend he was wrapped in you body instead of your sheets, his nose buried into your hair instead of your pillow.

Reader's POV

You and Pandora walked arm in arm into the library, chatting about the idiots in your Transfiguration class. You were headed to your usual spot at the back of library, a collection of over stuffed chairs by a stained glass window overlooking the Forbidden Forest, and stopped short when you saw Regulus, Evan, and Barty already there.

Barty was reclined in the window, his long legs propped up against the other side, a sketchbook in his lap, quill between his teeth.

“Excuse the hell out of me,” Pandora said, startling them all from their abnormal quiet.

Barty's head snapped up, his eyes immediately landing on you, and he about fell out of the window.

“What? Like you own this table?” Evan drawled, not looking up from his book,his expensive loafers propped up on the table.

“Yes,” Pandora shot back, dropping down beside him and pulling out her books with clear agitation. "So if you're staying, keep your mouth shut."

Evan mimed zipping his lips and crossed his heart. Barty just turned back to his sketchbook instead of sauntering over to you with some cheeky quip on his tongue.

A prickle of uncertainty climbed your neck. Perhaps you really had upset him about that sandwich. You wish you hadn't said you were hungry as soon as it came out of your mouth, but you were too proud to apologize. You were so stunned by the gesture, so overwhelmed by his body pressed against you, his warmth mixing with yours, that you clammed up. Shut him down.

But even now, you couldn't bring yourself to approach him and apologize. Thank him. So, you sat down beside Regulus, the only other member of the group you found tolerable most of the time, and he greeted you with a dip of his chin.

You pulled out your work, determined to pretend Barty wasn't there at all.

Of course, you failed. Your eye kept wandering back to him, his sharp jaw silhouetted by the light, his pierced brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved across the page, silver rings adorning ink stained fingers. He was dressed down today, jeans and Slytherin sweater, the collar of his shirt underneath it crooked.

After an hour or so of quiet, he dozed off, his head lolled against the window, quill dangling loosely in his fingers. Barty did that a lot, slept in unusual places at unusual times when the quiet dragged on a little too long. Evan mentioned once that Barty struggled to sleep at night, insomnia or something, and even the draughts Madam Pomfry made him only worked sometimes.

Unable to quell your curiosity, you got up to retrieve another book, brushing past him and sparing a glance down at his sketchbook. Your own face stared back at you, framed with rough sketches of your hands, your eyes, the bow of your lips.

Your heart gave a painful lurch, a burst of affection making your bones soften, and you nearly stumbled over the carpet, catching yourself on the bookshelf at the last second.

You hurried down another row, praying none of your friends saw you, and braced yourself against the shelf.

Did Barty like you? Like, actually like you? You couldn't fathom it. It didn't make sense. You weren't kind to him, or outgoing, or special. He was all of those things and more, the most fascinating, maddening, all-consuming person you'd ever met in your life.

Surely, he didn't see all of those things in you? But why would he draw you if he didn't see something of interest? Something he liked?

Fuck, you couldn't breathe in this stuffy library. You needed air.

You steeled yourself and walked back to the table, collecting your things.

“Something wrong, y/n?” Regulus asked, always too perceptive, and Barty stirred, picking his head up from the wall to peer at you through drowsy eyes.

“Nothing, I—”

Barty slid off the window and you lost your train of thought, heat scorching your cheeks. “Rushing off to hang out with your more interesting friends?” Barty asked, his voice a little gruff from his brief nap.

“More interesting friends? Not at Hogwarts,” Evan chuckled. “We're as interesting as it gets.”

“If you're bored, babygirl, all you had to was say so,” Barty hummed, striding up to you.

You placed a hand on his sternum to stop him from coming any closer, ignoring the flare of heat that accompanied the contact. “You were asleep five seconds ago,” you argued.

“Asleep and dreaming of all the ways I could keep you entertained.” He grinned, wicked and sharp, and the simmering heat spread to your lower belly, your heart beating fast.

“What are you, a fucking court jester?” You bit, unable to stop your arm bending as he pushed closer, the smell of ink and his cologne making your mouth water.

“I'm whatever you want me to be,” he flirted, and Regulus and Pandora groaned in unison.

“Will you leave her the fuck alone?” Regulus snapped, tugging Barty back by a belt loop. “She's not interested in your act, Junior.”

“Act?” Barty quirked a brow. “I’m dead serious.”

“Don't talk about his brother that way!” Evan shouted, far too excited to make the over-used joke once again, and you rolled your eyes. Apparently, the rare quiet time had come to an end.

“I don't give a fuck about his brother!”

“I don't give a fuck about you!”

“Oh, so you're a bitch and a liar?”

“I'm not a bitch, you cunt!”

“I'll see you guys at the party later,” you said, using their bickering as your window of escape. You all but fled the library, desperate for some fresh air and clarity.

If Barty sincerely liked you…did that change anything? Was there a way to know for sure how he felt? You didn't even know how you felt, not really. You'd never let yourself really consider it for fear of inevitable disappointment.

Sure, you found him attractive, everyone did. And yes, despite yourself you thought he was funny and sweet, in his own, odd way. And he was especially sweet to you. He never brought your other friends food, or waited for them after class, or snuggled in their beds. Well, besides Evan.

He didn't really touch anyone else either. But if you were close enough, as he often ensured you were, he was touching you whenever he could. Knocked together knees in the Great Hall, leaning on you during class no matter how many times you shoved him off, throwing his arms over your shoulder when it was cold, wrapping his pinky around yours in a particularly crowded hall.

Yes, his words were often obnoxious and bordering on insane, but his actions…his actions were sincere, thoughtful, almost tender.

Was that the real Barty?

Maybe you had been fooled just like everyone else into thinking he was nothing more than a joker, a rowdy troublemaker, when the reality was so much deeper.

Had you been all wrong about him?

By the time you and Pandora left your dorm room to join the party, the common room was a madhouse. Green lights flashed in time with the thumping bass, bodies dancing and mingling in every available spot on the dancefloor, a haze of smoke and glitter over their heads.

You were wearing a black mini dress and heels, held together by string and a prayer. Your hair hung in loose waves down your back, your eyeliner sharp and lips painted. You knew you looked good, lethal in the best way, but all you could think about was Barty's reaction.

Would he like it? Hate it? Or even worse, not even notice?

Together, you and Pandora moved through the crowd towards your friends usual place at the far side of the common room.

Of course, you spotted Barty first. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in all black, tailored trousers and a sleeveless undershirt. Apparently he ditched his actual shirt before you arrived in favor of displaying his countless tattoos, most of them done by his own hand. His hair was dark with pomade and pushed off of his face, glitter clinging to the sweat along his lean chest and shoulders.

He looked like a wet fucking dream.

Xeno let out a low whistle when you and Pandora stepped out from the crowd, drawing Barty's attention from Evan and Dorcas.

His jaw dropped instantly and with a dramatic flourish, he pretended to faint into Evan's arms, clutching at his heart. Despite yourself, you giggled, and Pandora shot you a surprised look through a gap in her boyfriends embrace.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Barty gasped, sliding out of Evan's arms and onto his knees. “Look at—baby, look at you!”

You flushed under the attention, your blood heating as it raced through your veins, but you just rolled your eyes at him, a new confidence blooming in your chest. He loved it.

You strode over to the bar, closing his mouth with a finger, and leaned against the counter. “Firewhisky?” You asked the student bartending, and they stared back at you, dumbstruck, before rushing to collect your drink.

Barty leaned against your legs, his cheek against your thigh. “What are you doing to me?” He whined up at you, feeding into your surge of confidence.

You pushed his head away, tugging at the roots of his hair before releasing him, and he groaned, a low, panty-melting sound. “I'm not doing anything. You're just insufferable,” you chastised, accepting your drink.

“And you're beautiful,” he said, sounding almost reverent, and you nearly choked on your drink.

“Fuck off and drool on someone else, yeah?” You snapped, overwhelmed by his candor, even though it was exactly what you thought you wanted.

Fuck, you didn't know what you wanted. And even when you did, it seemed your subconscious wasn't always in agreement. You had wanted him to drool over you. He was literally on his knees, but some broken part of your brain couldn’t accept it. So you pushed him away.

“C’mon, you simpering mutt,” Evan said, hauling Barty up. “I think I saw a kegger over there.”

Barty started to protest, but Evan and Regulus dragged him away.

“You should have some mercy,” Xeno said, leaning on the bar beside you.

“Oh?” You raised a brow at him, taking a sip of whisky.

“Poor prick is besotted,” Dorcas supplied.

“He's full of shit,” you bit, that panicky feeling crawling up your spine.

Pandora shook her head, and your eyes widened. “It's true, I’ve never seen him so fucked up over someone before.”

“He's not the obsessive type. Not when it comes to dating, at least. He loses interest as often as he changes his underwear. But he's been stuck on you for months,” Dorcas said.

“Yeah, he usually obsesses over like quill tips, and arson—”

“You guys are serious?” You asked, cutting off Xeno. “You think he actually likes me?”

They all stare at you, dumbfounded.

“You can't tell?” Pandora asked, grabbing your face and shaking you. “Babe, he's absolutely gone for you.”

“Like, gone gone,” Dorcas added.

“But it's Barty, I mean—he’s never serious—”

“Exactly, that's what makes it so obvious!” Pandora cried, exasperated. “I thought you knew!”

“Why would you think that!” You shouted back.

“Because he says it constantly!” Your friends yell in unison.

“He was on his knees, y/n. Like literally on his knees,” Xeno said, shaking his head. “It doesn't get much more devoted than that.”

Devoted. It clicked then, the signs you'd been brushing off, refusing to see clearly because of your own veil of distrust. Because you didn’t allow yourself to accept the truth out of fear. Barty had been showing you for months how he felt, and not just in his words, in his actions. Bringing you food when you were hungry, walking you from class to class, meeting your barbs and verbal lashes with a smile.

He’d been wearing his heart on his sleeve this entire time, and all you’d done is punish him for it.

Oh, fuck. How could you be so blind?

You set your drink on the bar and pushed through your friends, ignoring their calls as you forced your way through the crowd, searching for Barty in the sea of green. You found him standing with Evan and few other members of the Quidditch team, cheering while a fifth year shotgunned a dandelion draught.

“Barty!” You shouted over the roar, grabbing his wrist.

He turned, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/n? Are you alr—where are we going?”

You dragged him into a shadowed alcove, slightly hidden from the party. Your heart was pounding in your ears, tears already burning behind your eyes. “Be honest with me,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

“Always,” he said automatically, brow heavy with uncertainty.

“How do you feel about me?” You asked.

Understanding dawned, and Barty's expression melted into something painfully soft, painfully sincere. “I just wanna be yours.”

The admission stole the air from your lungs, made your heart freeze in place. "M-mine?"

“Yours,” he breathed, his hands finding your waist, grip tight as desperation filled his eyes. “Please, let me be yours.” He lowered to his knees again, his head by your navel. “I promise—I promise I’ll be good, if you’ll just give me a chance too—”

You leaned down and grabbed the silver chain around his throat like a collar, dragging his mouth to yours in a fervid, frantic kiss. He surged upwards, lifting you into the air and crushing you between his body and the wall, forcing air out of your lungs. You wrapped your legs around his narrow hips as his tongue pried open your mouth, desperate to taste you. Desire pumped through you, scalding hot and more potent than the whisky, making your head spin, your skin tingle.

You tugged at his hair, drawing him closer, and he whimpered low in his throat. Your cunt clenched at the sound, your thoughts turning singular: make him beg. Your tongue traced his lips, tasting beer and cigarette smoke, and you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, biting hard before soothing it with your tongue.

His hips canted up into your core, his hands moving down to squeeze your ass beneath your dress and grind your core against him. You gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment, and he seized the opportunity to pillage your mouth again, licking at your teeth and the roof of your mouth.

“Your dorm,” you panted, yanking his head back by the roots of his hair.

He didn’t hesitate, throwing you up and over his shoulder in a startling feat of strength.

“Barty!” you squealed, giggling and slapping at his back while he carried you to the stairs, his hand keeping your dress in place so you didn’t flash anyone. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious what was happening, and you found that you didn’t care. If you were going to be with Barty, you were going to have to get used to being loved out loud.

“Look at her ass again, see what happens!” You heard him bark, his voice a rumble through his ribcage, and you rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as he carried you up the stairs.

A moment later, you were being tossed roughly onto his bed, the door slamming shut with a muttered alohomora. Barty crawled up your body, his dark eyes flashing with a feral hunger that made your pussy purr, and he dove into your neck with his teeth and tongue, making you gasp and arch into his body, your whole body alight with pleasure.

“Easy, baby,” you cooed, petting his hair to try and settle his frantic affection. Poor thing couldn’t seem to control himself, so worked up he was rutting against your thigh. “I’m not going anywhere, darling, relax.”

He whined into your neck, clutching at the fat of your lovehandles. “Need you so bad,” he groaned. “M’sorry, can’t help myself.”

You rolled over him, straddling his hips with yours. “I know, love. Just sit still and be good for me, yeah?”

He nodded vigorously, watching you kiss down his body with heavy-lidded eyes. You pushed up the hem of his undershirt, licking a stripe between the valley of his abdomen muscles, admiring the tattoos you’d only gotten glimpses of.

“So pretty, Bat,” you purred, and felt his cock twitch against your chest, his head falling back against the pillows. “Been wanting me this whole time?”

“Yes, so badly—fuck, treasure, please—” he moaned when you grazed your teeth along his hipbone, sucking the skin into your mouth to leave a mark. His hand tangled in your hair, rings cool against your scalp, and you released his skin with a pop, admiring the plum-colored bruise left behind. “I’m getting that tattooed,” he panted, dragging a thumb over your spit slick lips. “Swear to Salazar.”

You giggled, shifting further down to undo his trousers and finding that he apparently skipped boxers. His cock sprung out to slap against this stomach, rigid and flushed, a bead of pearly precum dripping down to his navel. Gently, you traced a finger over the protruding veins along his shaft, admiring him.

Barty hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing to keep still.

“Good boy,” you praised, wrapping your hand loosely around him, pumping once, twice without any real pressure. He was long and slightly curved, gorgeous, and you couldn’t resist dragging your tongue up the root of him, feeling the velvety texture against your lips.

“Fucking shit, you’re going to kill me.” His fingers tightened in your hair as you lapped at the head, savoring the salty taste of him.

You looked up at him through your lashes, his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, every muscle flexed tight. Fighting for his life to hold still.

“Baby,” he whined when you stopped, picking up his head to look down at you.

“Say your mine,” you ordered, hovering just over his cock, holding his wild-eyed gaze.

“I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”

You smiled and wrapped your lips around him, swallowing down as much of him as you could manage and he cried out, rough and breathless with relief. You bobbed up and down on his length, tongue pressing against the root of his cock and using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t reach, and you watched his soul leave his body.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, using your hair to lift and lower you a little faster, his control starting to falter as you pulled him apart. “Bloody hell, you’re way too good at this. What the fuck—oh saints. Your mouth feels like fucking heaven.”

You hummed in response, letting him push you further down, gagging on his length before he released you and you pulled off of him to catch your breath, a trail of drool connecting your lips and his head.

Barty groaned. “Never mind, I’m getting that tattooed. Right on my fucking forehead so every time I look in the mirror—”

You climbed back up his body and draped yourself over him, silencing him with a sloppy kiss, his tongue laving across your lips to taste himself. “Do you ever stop talking?” you teased, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his temple.

In a quick movement, he flipped you beneath him. “There’s one sure-fire way to shut me up,” he purred against your ear before kissing and licking down your neck and chest. Every pass of his lips was electric, a bolt of pleasure straight your weeping pussy, swollen against your panties and desperate for attention. “This dress,” he murmured, tracing the swell of your breast with his tongue. “Wear it for anyone in particular?”

“I wanted to see your reaction,” you admitted, gasping when his big hand came up to knead your tit, fingertips still a little stained from sketching. His rings were harsh against your skin, and you arched into him, relishing in his greedy touch.

“Sent me to my knees, sweetheart. Damn near killed me.” He pulled the top of you dress down, your tits spilling free, and he took one pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue while he teased the other with his hand.

You keened, hands flying into his shaggy hair. Every pull of his mouth went straight to your cunt, making your hips buck against his thigh. He shifted to press his leg harder against you, letting you chase your pleasure, and hummed in approval against your chest.

The friction was amazing, buzzy heat spilling under your skin and making you moan and cling tighter to him, trembling with unspent energy. “Fuck, Barty—please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but he seemed to understand you perfectly.

“Say your mine, treasure,” he said, biting at the side of your breast, and you yelped.

“Yes, Barty! All yours! Just please—”

He pushed two fingers into your mouth, silencing you while he shifted down your body. Without warning, he buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your pussy through your panties with an eagerness that made your eyes cross, your teeth sink down on his digits.

“So fucking sweet, baby. Melting like sugar f’me.” He yanked your panties down your legs and returned to his feasting, laving his long tongue through you before sucking hard at you clit. He slipped his fingers from your mouth, needing both hands to spread you open for his consumption.

Your mind was wiped clean, erased completely by all-consuming bliss as he practically mauled your pussy, vicious in his pursuit of your pleasure. His tongue fucked into you, the slurping loud and lewd, while he massaged your clit with his thumb. You dug your nails into his sheets, trying to stifle your screams into his pillow.

"So responsive, baby. Ready for more?" He asked, easing his middle finger inside of your clenching channel, curling against the gooey spot behind your pelvic bone that made you melt into the mattress. Adding a second finger, he started nursing your clit again, letting his dexterous artist’s fingers coax you open.

Once you were moaning, loose and languid against the mattress, he ramped back up, working your g-spot like it stole something from him he was hellbent on getting back. He dragged his teeth against your clit, soothing the flare of pain with his tongue, and you felt yourself draw tight, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Barty—oh God, I’m going to come—oh fuck, oh fuck!” You lifted almost completely off the bed as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through sinnew and bone to consume your heart, devour you entirely.

Barty slowed his ministrations, dragging his tongue through your spasming pussy with long, lush licks, his hold tight on your thighs when you started to inch away from him, your body twitching and shaking as you came down from your high.

“That’s my treasure, so fucking gorgeous when you come for me,” he hummed, smiling against your skin, and nuzzled his nose against your clit while he withdrew his fingers, making you jump and whine. “Not so mean now, are you, sweetness?”

You shook your head, trembling and weak, completely boneless beneath him.

"So soft for me, hm?" He dragged you down the bed, throwing one of your calves over his shoulder while he swiped the head of his cock through your messy slit. “Better hold onto something, darling. You've got me at the end of my leash.”

You wrapped your hands around the bars of his headboard and he grinned, a wicked slash across his handsome face.

“Fuck, I knew you were perfect for me.” He notched his cock at your entrance and with a smooth roll of his hips, buried himself to the hilt. You both cried out, the fullness, the stretch more intense than anything you’d felt before. “I was fucking made for you, baby,” he groaned, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, your pussy fluttering around him.

“Fuck, B, feels so good,” you mewled, rocking your hips to meet his thrust for thrust, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.

He used his hold on your elevated leg to lift your hips off the bed, ratcheting up to a punishing pace, making you scream and thrash on the bed while he fucked you with every ounce of desperation and determination he’d harbored over the last few months. His teeth sunk into your calf, hard enough to send a bolt of pain down your leg and make you cry out, heightening the pleasure radiating from your core until you were teetering on the edge again, every graze of his cockhead against your cervix winding you tighter, higher—

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna come soon,” he grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy, erratic and rough, and you could only nod. “Can feel it, tres. C’mon, babygirl, come with me. Please, need to feel you come around me, m’dying for it, please, please—”

You came with a scream, your vision whiting out as sunlight blazed through you, eviscerating every ounce of tension, trepidation, fear, and leaving you a beacon of light, nothing but giddy, delirious stardust.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it—fuck!” Barty came a heartbeat after you, the swelling and throbbing of his cock as he painted your inside white prolonging your release, wringing every drop of pleasure from you until you both collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving and sticky with sweat, the glitter from his skin decorating yours.

You reached for him, trembling and raw, and he gathered you into his chest, kissing your cheeks and forehead with a dizzying gentleness. “Barty,” you breathed, hands curling against his chest, too overwhelmed with feeling to say anything else.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, cradling your face to bring your gaze to his. “I’m yours.”

You nodded, leaning forward to kiss him, taste him again, letting the warmth of his body, the heavy beat of his heart, ground you in the reality of this moment. Barty was yours, and you were his. And you were safe. He wanted you despite your attitude, your armor, your callousness. He wanted you exactly as you were, more than happy to lay in the shadows with you, or draw you out into his light to dance.

“And I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips, and he smiled.

“I'll be right back,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your head before flying out of bed and wrenching open the door, his cock barely stuffed back into his pants. “SHE’S FUCKING MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!” He screamed down the stairs to the party.

A chorus of cheers rang out, reaching you from the common room. You buried your face into his pillow, laughter bubbling up despite the embarrassment scorching your cheeks.

Barty whirled around, a maniac’s grin on his face, and he dove back into bed, determined to stake his claim as many times as possible before sunrise.

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[strangerexee]

(6) ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ɢɪᴀɴᴛꜱ | ᴇʟɪᴊᴀʜ “ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ” ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ

𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽!𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙶!𝙰𝚄

pairings: Elijah "smoke" Moore x black!fem!reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 | 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐/𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 | 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎/𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 | 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜 | 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 (𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜), 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝-𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚢 | 𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 | 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

It had been a few weeks since smoke let you back in his bed. You had a lil life to get back to. Ya lil apartment to get back to. Your job…that you kept calling out of…

Not just back in tho — back in good.

Now? You was up in there every night like rent-free real estate.

You done made yourself real comfortable.

Damn near lived there. Clothes in his drawer. Lipgloss on the nightstand. Breakfast every other day. You were living the dream.

He was gentle when he wanted to be. But clingy as hell in his own quiet way — always touching something. Your hand. Your leg. That lil crease in your waist.

He’d kiss on you randomly, like he just remembered he could.

Pull your bonnet down before bed like it was a crown.

Sleep hard as hell behind you with a thigh between yours like a seatbelt.

Anyway.

You had just got your hair done.

Knotless. Butt-length. Parts crispy. Baby hairs laid by God himself.

You posted one lil pic, and he was already texting like:

“Where you at? I’m tryna see somethin.”

So when he pulled up? You really didn’t know what he was doing there...

He came in smelling like Dior and weed.

Looked you up and down, reaching over to twirl a braid around his finger. Then nodded all calm like it wasn’t nothing.

“You wanna come with me?”

“Come where?” You tilted your head.

He just smirked.

Threw his arm around your waist. Kissed the side of your neck.

“Miami.”

You blinked.

He said it so casual. Like he was askin’ if you wanted to go get wings.

“We got a lil shit to handle, me and Stack,” he added, “but…figured I’d bring my girl with me. Have some fun.”

Damn near shed a tear…he called you his girl…

Your heart jumped so ugly. You played it cool, though.

Bit your glossed-up lip, leaned into his hoodie.

“Aight then. Lemme pack.”

next day.

Private jet.

No TSA. No crying babies. No coach seats. No stress.

You stepped up the lil steps in a skims set, black hoodie tied round your waist. Sunglasses on. Edges still immaculate. And he let you go first, his hand under your ass like a lift.

Stack was already on the plane, lounged out with a PS5 controller and a pair of Louis slides like they wasn’t headed to commit light crime.

“Daaaamn, look who came wit’chu,” Stack grinned. “Don’t start fuckin’ on the seats, damn.”

You rolled your eyes.

Smoke just smirked, wide and lazy.

Yall sat down and he had you in his lap like luggage. Hand on your inner thigh, thumb rubbin’ slow back and forth like he was markin’ territory.

You was takin’ pictures, snappin’ vids, postin’ lil sneaky ones on your close friends story like

“He don’t like pics, but look at himmm.”

He’d lean into your neck while you posed, kissin’ behind your ear.

Real quiet and low under his breath.

“Keep postin’ me like I ain’t gon’ fuck you when we land.”

“Nigga —” he cut you off.

“Keep postin’. Watch.”

You were gigglin’ so much he had to press a hand to your stomach just to stop you from movin’.

He kissed you.

Hard and slow. With tongue. With pressure. Pullin’ you closer by your jaw.

Not even tryna be discreet.

You straddled him sideways for a lil minute. Y’all was talkin’ low, touchin’ lips, whisperin’ stupid shit back and forth like —

“You miss me already?” You bit your lip.

He gave you a look. “I’m lookin’ at you.”

“Still.”

The jet hit the clouds, and all you could feel was his hand between your thighs and his hoodie strings looped around your fingers.

And his mouth?

Every couple minutes?

Back on your skin.

Just because he could.

The house was stupid nice.

Like MTV Cribs meets Cartel safehouse nice.

Marble counters, all white everything, a pool out back that looked like it came with a breathtaking view.

You walked through barefoot like a dream, silk robe flutterin’ behind you, braids tied up in a high bun like a crown. Took you a minute to do it.

Everything smelled like money, weed, and cologne. Like a music video before the chaos hit.

You had packed many bikinis.

The one you’re wearing right now. Just a simple one. Strings tied at the side of your hips and back of your neck and the trust you put into it was…let’s not talk about it.

It was cute tho.

When you put it on, you looked like a problem. Like his problem. His prettiest problem.

Like somebody who deserved to be on a boat right now, not chillin’ while her man got dressed to leave.

You threw on your anklet. Stepped out into the main room and leaned in the doorway.

“You leavin’?”

Smoke glanced up from where he was putting his chain on.

Black tee. Cargo pants. Diamond in his ear. Beard lookin’ sharp. Skin glowin’ like sun-drenched honey. Too fine.

“Yeah. Stack need me for a sec. Be right back.”

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“I thought the whole point of me comin’ was to have fun with you.”

That man had the audacity to smirk.

“You is havin’ fun with me. I flew you out, didn’t I?”

He said it all calm. Like he didn’t see the way you were standing — thighs out, bikini on, glistening like a goddess in the Miami light.

You sucked your teeth.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here lookin’ cute while you go do…whatever the hell?”

Smoke walked over slow. Hands in his pockets. Laughed low under his breath.

“That’s what you wanted to do. When I first met you, anyway.”

Not true.

“Yeah, well.” You looked away, arms crossed, lips pouted. “Now I wanna do it with you.”

He was in front of you now.

Close enough to smell his neck. Close enough to feel the warmth off his body.

One of his hands slid up under your robe — just a little. Found your waist. His thumb brushed along the side of your swimsuit.

“You gon’ be alright for a couple hours, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Ain’t like I’m leavin’ for good.”

You leaned back against the door frame. Looked up at him from under your lashes.

“You always say that like I don’t be countin’ the minutes…”

His hand flexed just a little on your hip.

“Don’t start.”

You tilted your head. Let your lips brush his jaw real soft.

“I miss you.”

“I’m standin’ right here.” He chuckled.

“Still.”

He kissed you.

Once. Deep. Slow.

Then again. Tongue soft. Pullin’ a sound from your lips.

His fingers slid up to your neck and pulled you closer, pressed your bodies together. Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip before finally letting go.

“You gon’ make me stay,” he whispered. “For real.”

You smiled, real slow. Pressed your lips to his again like you didn’t care. Like that was the goal.

“Then stay.”

“Girl —”

“You gon’ leave me here like this? Hair done, skin out? That’s disrespectful.”

You could feel him biting back a grin. His hands were already low again. Gripping. Palming. Getting lost.

“Damn, baby…”

“Mhm.”

He pulled back finally. Swallowed hard. Adjusted his chain like it was your fault he was about to be late.

“Aight. Ima be gone just a couple hours. Pool out back. Pour somethin’. Relax.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. But your eyes were still stuck on him.

As he walked off, you called after him:

“You better not be lyin’ this time!”

“You better not post no thirst traps while I’m gone.”

You smirked.

Already had your camera out. Face glowy, body glistening, caption loading.

Out back, you let the robe slide off.

Dipped your feet in the water. Slid your sunglasses on and leaned back like you owned the place.

Smoke might’ve had to handle business but when he come back he was gon’ have to handle you.

Sun was gettin’ low.

But the heat hadn’t backed off.

It was that sticky kind of Florida air. Heavy.

Sky soft orange, palm trees still.

Not a breeze in sight.

Smoke and Stack sat on the hood of a matte black Range Rover. Parked deep in some dead-end lot behind a warehouse near the water — boats nearby, tugboats creakin’, seagulls loud. Whole place smelled like sea salt and decomposing seaweed.

Smoke had the blunt between his lips. Stack was rollin’ another, long fingers fast, calloused. Gold chain glintin’ when he moved.

“Man takin’ his sweet ass time,” Stack muttered, eyein’ the road.

Smoke shrugged slow, eyes half-closed.

He was always the calm one. Looked like he could nap through a shootout.

“That’s how Miami niggas move,” he said, low around the smoke. “Slow n’ flashy.”

Stack just snorted. Lit his blunt and leaned back.

Then —

Headlights turned the corner.

Low, black Benz. Tinted.

Came rollin’ real slow into the lot like it was feelin’ them out before committing.

Smoke sat up just a bit. Didn’t move fast. Just tapped Stack’s arm once. They both stood.

The Benz stopped. Engine still running.

Door cracked. Out stepped a dark-skinned dude in his late thirties — gold fronts, lil chain, Dior shades on.

He had a blunt too. Lit already.

Wasn’t in a rush.

“You Hakeem?” Smoke asked, voice like sandpaper and quiet fire.

The man grinned wide around his blunt. Blew smoke through his nose.

“Y’all niggas twins?”

Stack barked a soft laugh, the sound light but not friendly.

“Nah,” he said, smiling. “We cousins.”

Smoke hit the blunt again, eyes on Hakeem the whole time. Didn’t blink much.

Hakeem laughed. More like a snort.

Didn’t seem fazed.

“That’s good.”

Then a pause.

Tension. But not sharp — more like everybody here knew what this was.

“You got it?” Stack asked.

Hakeem stepped back toward the Benz.

Opened the back door and popped the trunk from inside.

Didn’t say nothin’ — just walked to the rear of the car and lifted it up like he done this a hundred times.

Inside?

Two black, weatherproof duffle bags. Heavy. Zipped up like they were locked down tight.

“Glocks, baby,” he said. “Nine mils. Forty-fives. Couple of those titanium slides — real stealth, real light. Got the Cerakote finish, black and slate gray, keeps ‘em slick and quiet.”

Smoke and Stack didn’t move right away.

They let the silence stretch. Like they were tryna make Hakeem feel something. Nervous. Small.

Didn’t work — the man just pulled on his blunt again and leaned on the bumper.

“Y’all out here for vacation?” he asked, glancing between them.

Smoke finally stepped forward.

Grabbed one bag. Unzipped it halfway. Peeked inside. Matte black frames with silver accents gleaming under the lot lights, mags loaded, safety off.

He nodded once.

“Work don’t stop,” was all he said.

“So y’all workin’ and partyin’?” Hakeem said, grinning again. “That’s crazy. Niggas like y’all always end up with trouble.”

“Niggas like us always end up with money,” Stack said, stepping forward now.

“Or dead.”

Stack smiled again. Brighter this time. Teeth sharp.

“Ain’t we all?”

Smoke zipped the bag up again. Passed it to Stack.

“What about the other drop?” he asked.

Hakeem shrugged.

“Later tonight. Same place. Different face.”

“He good?”

Hakeem just tapped the ash off his blunt and looked off at the skyline.

“You ever seen a nigga with no tongue run his mouth?”

Smoke tilted his head.

“You tryna be poetic?”

“Nah.” He smirked. “Just sayin’. He good.”

They left it at that.

Money was handed off. Quick count. Nobody flinched. Nobody reached.

It was calm like rainwater — until it wasn’t.

As they got back in the Rover, Stack glanced in the mirror.

“Why that nigga talk like he in a Spike Lee monologue?”

Smoke laughed soft.

Started the engine.

“Long as the shit clean, I don’t care if he speak in haikus.”

You was warm.

Not just body warm — but deep.

Bones relaxed. Eyes heavy. Muscles floated.

That wine done crept up on you.

You ain’t even realize it at first.

Just a lil glass to sip while the Bluetooth speaker played some SZA in the background.

Legs stretched out across a plush outdoor chair by the pool.

The whole place glowing in the blue light of underwater LEDs and Miami night.

But that one glass turned into two.

Two turned into three.

Next thing you knew, you was giggling at your phone and talkin’ to yourself.

You dragged your thick lil tipsy self into the house just before midnight.

Shower ran hot — steam curling up against the mirror like a ghost.

You scrubbed that chlorine off your skin, deep conditioner in, body butter after.

Tied your scarf like somebody grandma.

And slid into bed like you was in love.

Only you wasn’t.

Not technically.

But god — you felt like it.

The sheets smelled clean, expensive.

Room dim, soft glow from the bathroom light spillin’ across the floor.

You were on your side, legs bent, hoodie on — his hoodie, matter fact — the grey one you stole off his suitcase and never gave back.

You curled into it.

Nose pressed to the collar.

Smelled like detergent, weed, cologne, and him.

And you just laid there.

Still.

Quiet.

Thinking.

You wasn’t tryna be dramatic or nothing, but…

You kinda missed him.

And that didn’t make sense.

Because he’d only been gone 13 hours.

But something about the silence when he wasn’t around made the world feel off balance.

Like he carried the gravity of every room he walked into, and without him, shit just floated weird.

You stared at the wall.

Breathing slow.

Mind wandered to the way his hand found your thigh like it was made to rest there.

How he kiss your cheek without warning.

How he look at you sometimes — eyes low, lips parted, jaw tight like he ain’t know what to do with all that feeling.

You swallowed.

Tucked your bottom lip between your teeth.

You thought about earlier.

The way he’d said, relax, like it ain’t hurt him to leave you.

Like he ain’t look back at you twice on his way out.

You thought about the way he touched your chin that morning.

Real gentle.

You exhaled, slow.

Wasn’t nobody who ever made you feel like this.

Not soft. Not wanted. Not heavy in a good way.

He didn’t even say too much — but he was loud in all the places that mattered.

You blinked slow.

Mind startin’ to fade with the wine, body heavy against the mattress.

And then —

Click.

You snapped up.

Quick — like your body knew him before your mind caught up.

Eyes still half-sleep, but your ears perked at the sound of the front door shutting soft.

Not slammed.

Not loud.

That careful-close he only did when you was sleep.

Your heart kicked.

Then melted.

Then flipped again.

A minute later — you heard his voice, you heard his steps.

That slow, heavy-footed walk he always had, like the floor owed him silence.

And when the door opened and he walked into the room, it felt like somebody lit a match in your chest.

There he was.

Elijah.

Neck glintin’.

Chain heavy on his collarbone, eyes low like he ain’t had nothin’ left to prove.

He smelled like cold night air and weed and heat.

Your lips parted.

You was sobered up just enough to realize you wasn’t ready to pretend like you hadn’t missed this man this bad.

He was quiet. Just stood in the doorway for a second, eyes skating over you in bed.

The room still dim.

You in his hoodie, legs bare, scarf tied like a good girl.

Looking at him like he was the moon.

And you wanted to hug on him.

Kiss all on him.

Pull him in and lay up on his chest and tell him don’t go nowhere else ever again.

But your limbs was lazy.

Body melted into the mattress.

You just blinked at him slow, eyes all big and pink in the corners.

He came over though.

Didn’t say nothing at first.

Just leaned down and kissed you.

Real slow.

Real him.

One warm hand cradled your cheek and the other braced on the mattress as his mouth met yours like he’d been waitin’ to all night.

You sighed into it.

Drunk lips parting, letting him taste that wine you still had on your tongue.

You sucked his bottom lip out of instinct.

He pulled back a little, licking his own lip.

Eyebrows dipping just slightly. “You drunk?”

You blinked. Smiled lazy.

“…Just a lil bit drunk.”

He squinted. “Did you eat?”

You shook your head on the pillow.

“Damn…” He looked down at you, thumb brushing your cheek. “You want somethin’ to eat?”

You closed your eyes, still smiling.

“…No. Just miss you.”

That part came out softer.

Almost a whisper.

Like you was embarrassed to say it out loud, but you couldn’t not say it.

He stared at you for a second.

Didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Didn’t play.

His eyes just softened real slow, mouth parted like he ain’t expect you to hit him like that.

You looked back at him.

Skin glowing gold from the lamp light spillin’ in behind him.

Lashes low. Lips pouty. Eyes full of every feeling you had no business tryna hide.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered.

That time you meant to say it loud.

Meant for him to hear it.

And he did.

Smoke leaned down again — kissed you with his hand sliding under the hoodie, up your side, slow and possessive.

His breath was warm against your cheek when he whispered, “You been thinkin’ about me, huh?” He asked before standing up.

You nodded.

You smiled.

Then giggled.

The one you only do when your feelings real warm and gooey and girly.

The kind you hate that he be causin’.

You tilted your head, cheek mushed into the pillow.

Lashes fluttering.

Eyes a lil glossy from that wine, but they was all on him.

He ain’t say nothing else for a moment.

Just breathed.

Took another long look at you beneath the covers, then backed up slow to the edge of the bed.

The low thump of his shoes hit the carpet first — then the quiet creak of the mattress as he sat down, back to you.

Tugged his shirt off, slow.

He ain’t face you.

Just sat there in the golden spill of the bedroom lamp, the muscles in his back flexin’ soft as he rolled his shoulders a bit.

You blinked — then shifted.

Sat up onto your knees.

There was no hesitation in your body.

No wine fog between your thoughts.

Just need. Just comfort. Just the overwhelming ache of him.

You crawled across the bed and kissed the space between his shoulder blades.

Real slow.

He stilled.

You kissed his up spine next.

Then the back of his shoulder.

Then up the column of his neck, warm lips soft and open against his skin like a sigh.

Tasted his sweat and cologne and Florida air.

Your arms slid around him from behind, hands resting on his chest, and your cheek pressed against his back like you belonged there.

“You smell good,” you whispered, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

Elijah reached for your arms and pulled your hands up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles one by one.

Then turned, real slow, to face you.

You sat up on your knees in front of him.

He looked at you like you were everything.

His fingers ghosted your jaw, then dipped under the hem of your hoodie to rest against your waist.

Just warm enough to make you inhale.

He said nothing at first — just looked you up and down like he was taking inventory of all the parts he’d been craving since the moment he left the house.

Then finally — his voice low and soft:

“Imma spoil you tomorrow.”

You blinked. Your breath caught.

He smirked just barely. “You deserve it.”

“You say that now,” you mumbled, tilting your head. “Then you gon act like spoilin’ me is a chore.”

He shook his head once, low chuckle spilling from his chest as his hands slid down to your thighs.

“You dramatic. But I’m for real.”

“You mean it?” you asked, tilting your face toward his.

He nodded, this time slow. Real slow.

“Whatever you want.”

You paused. Then smiled.

And kissed him again — soft, wine-lazy, slow enough to melt the moment.

He pulled you closer, slid his hands under your thighs and brought you into his lap like you was weightless.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, lips never leaving his.

It wasn’t about sex.

Not yet.

It was about intimacy.

And you was wrapped up in it — right here. On his chest. In his hands. In his arms.

A/N: Love me some Elijah “smoke” Moore — he can have this anytime- anywhere he want — I’m talkin abt IN ITTTT — NO lube, NO protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jittering, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, he could put a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

Lil taglist — @sertonins - @crimsonxm00n @klssngss @juicypinksblog @mingisg00dgirl @stilestotherescue @imperfectlyperfect78 @hoouno06 @kirayuki22 @christinabae @pinkpantheris @kxllanxtdoor @heartgirllover @spicypiscesssss @italiekim @rarow-racee @fadingbelieverexpert @juicu @roughridah0 @yornayyy @reignsinmydreams @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @thequeenkhlo @lewispool @levibabymama-blog

[soobsim]

pretty thing c.yj

(um this one kinda wild, have fun tho)

summary: your rude roommate yeonjun is a faceless cam-content creator, who just happens to be your favourite one too. [DISCLAIMER: nsfw – minors dni, camboy-dom!yeonjun x fem!reader, masturbation, dubcon, degradation (and not just mild), reader tries to be bratty, big dick yeonjun, exhibitionism (sex on cam), choking/gagging, basically rough sex] wc: 2,559

m.list

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

you moved into the apartment almost a month ago, now sharing a space with a rather cocky man—choi yeonjun. he was walking seduction, either wearing low necks, or sleeveless tops, and a resting bitch face.

hell, he barely acknowledged your presence and if he did, it'd be to nag you.

yeonjun never even tried to gel up to you, he just accepted you as his new roommate and rolled with it. you know nothing about him, the mystery only adding up to his appeal.

all you knew about him is that he was a swimming coach, apparently. you're not even sure. he hardly ever talked to you, mostly locked inside his room when he wasn't at work.

oh, and he had made it known to you that his room was off-limits. "if you want to say anything, just text me. i don't want you knocking on my door." his exact words. he wouldn't be home all night during the weekends, you were somewhat convinced that he was a murderer, or did atleast something illegal.

this kept going for around five weeks, until one night yeonjun decided to come home for the weekend. and, since you were so used to spending weekends alone in the apartment, you did what you always did when alone.

your panties were pulled down to your ankles as you opened your phone and then twitter, heading straight to your usually preferred account.

yawnzzn.

he was an anonymous camboy, never showed his face or revealed his name and he never had to. his videos still blew up everytime. and, he had just posted a new one while you were out earlier. ofcourse, you had to watch it the moment you came home and found the apartment empty.

you clicked on his newest video, the thumbnail being a shot of his abs and him holding his huge cock. but this time, he had an underwear wrapped around it too.

that underwear...looked way too familiar as his long fingers held the maroon lace around his veiny length and rubbed himself against it.

you could hear the faintest groans leaving his mouth, watching how his hips bucked into his hands, the tip of his member red and glistening with precum.

your lips parted and you leaned your back against the bed's headboard, your free hand dipping between your legs and grazing over your bare and aroused clit. you bit your bottom lip, rubbing your bottom lip as you watched him stroke his length using the panties. which were so similar to the ones that disappeared from your laundry.

but you didn't pay attention to that, too distracted by the shudder running up your spine when you slipped a finger inside yourself, sighing at how easily it did.

you placed the phone down on the mattress, between your legs, using one hand to massage your clit and the other one to thrust into yourself. you added another finger, imagining it to be the cock on your screen, imagining his hand to be your walls.

a soft moan escaped your lips, your walls clenching around your two fingers as you played with yourself. you wished you knew his name, so you could moan it, because he sounded so hot everytime he sighed or moaned. it made your pussy tingle, only wishing that he was the one fucking you, not your fingers like every other weekend.

your stomach knotted when you heard him mumble a low, "fuck.." under his breathe. you closed your eyes, the sound echoing in your ears and almost making you come, before you heard a scoff from your room's door.

you froze, fingers stilling on your clit and inside you as you forced your eyes open. you hadn't bothered to lock your door, since you were home alone anyways, so...

it can't be, right?

you swallowed thickly and hesitantly turned your face to look at the door of your room, your heart dropping to your stomach when you saw your rommate standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a sinister smirk on his face.

yeonjun stared at you, not fazed when you look at him and freeze. "why stop, y/n? i was enjoying the show." he chuckled and stepped inside the room.

your heartbeat skyrocketed when he entered your room, your hands immediately leaving your body and locking your phone again. "yeonjun, what the fuck? y-you're such a creep." you panicked and sat up, reaching for the comforter to cover your body.

yeonjun caught a glance of your phone's screen before you turned it off, and his smirk only grew. his steps didn't stop, instead stopping your hands from reaching for the sheets. "that's rich, coming from someone who was touching themself to a random guy's video." he taunted and grabbed your hand, forcing it down between your legs again.

your eyes widened, body starting to tremble due to how embarrassed you're starting to feel. "i-"

"shh, no need to get all shy with me. not when i was the one you were masturbating to." his words made your throat go dry. no. you had to have heard it wrong, or this is just a dream.

yeonjun noticed your shock and it only amused him further as he pressed your fingers against your clit again, "what? you didn't realise that even after seeing the panties i used in that video?" he scoffed, watching how your body immediately shivered at the touch.

your brain was already in an overdrive and you could barely form words, let alone stop him. it made sense that the panties looked just like the ones that you couldn't find. they were yours.

"are you that dumb?" the mocking in his tone snapped you out of your headspace, staring up at him with your eyes still wide. he didn't stop there, guiding your finger back inside your already wet pussy, "or are you just a slut, who's only ever thinking about my cock?" his voice deepened.

it wasn't playful or teasing anymore, straight up cruel. a chill ran through your body when his darkened eyes met yours, his body now hovering above yours as he basically made you finger yourself.

you should be offended, you should push him off you, but you don't. instead, a whimper escapes your lips at his words. and, you hate yourself for it.

the fact that yeonjun is the man behind yawnzzn is more than your mind can comprehend at once. the man you've been living with, is the same man you've been getting yourself off to. and you didn't even know. it does make you feel stupid, and now you're trapped under yeonjun's body with his hand pumping your fingers in and out of you.

"hell, you're not even stopping me?" he laughed, the sound borderline evil as he observes you for a split second. "you are actually getting off on this, fucking slut."

yeonjun's words make your face grow hot, both in humiliation and excitement. "you..you're the one jerking yourself off on camera, so who's the slut here?" you don't know where you find the confidence, given the state you are currently in.

the words do happen to have the desired effect because yeonjun pauses, his gaze sharpening and jaw clenching before his lip twitches up.

he retreated his hands and took off his jacket, "yeah? well, let's find out, then." yeonjun challenged as he threw his jacket on your bedroom's floor and walked out without a word.

your brows furrowed when he left the bedroom without an explanation. was that it? what was he even doing?

your confusion didn't last long, since yeonjun walked back into your room holding a camera. if your eyes weren't already hard enough, they just grew wider.

you sat up and swallowed thickly, "i'm not putting myself on cam." you blurted, not even considering it once.

yeonjun didn't respond immediately, just glancing at you as he moved some settings around. "you're not gonna be on cam. just your cunt." he said it so casually and threw the camera on your bed, right beside you.

you licked your lips, "and, why would i agree to this?"

yeonjun grabbed the hem of his tshirt and pulled it over his head, the sight of his abs all to familiar from all his videos you've watched. "because you want me fuck you, y/n." he grinned, and it wasn't the nice kind.

your breathe faltered when he stepped close again, now standing at the edge of your bed, his hips leveling with your face and his infamously big dick straining his jeans.

"what makes you so sure, yeonjun? i didn't even know it was you behind the screen." you try to defend yourself, but that resolve weakens when yeonjun reaches to unzip his pants. you eyes dart down, your face right in front of his crotch.

yeonjun pulls out his cock from underneath his boxers, hard and flushed. "are we going to act like you weren't thinking about this when you were fucking yourself, just moments ago?" yeonjun grumbled and pressed the head against your lips. "now, stop acting like you don't want this and be a good slut." he ordered, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

your eyes flickered with an obvious sense of lust when yeonjun's manhood pressed against your lips and your lips parted instinctively, giving it an opening.

"see? your mouth knows how much of a whore you are." yeonjun chuckled mockingly, not hesitating to thrust his hips into your mouth.

a loud muffled moan left your throat, your jaw slacing to make room for him as yeonjun dragged himself out and back inside your mouth. "such a warm mouth, fuck. bet your hole's warmer, isn't it?" he hummed, fisting your hair and moving your head back and forth.

you looked up at him through your lashes, your cheeks hollowing and tongue wetting his length as he halted at the back of your throat. he wasn't moving fast, solely focusing on getting his dick lubed before he actually fucked you.

yeonjun looks down at you with eyes glazed in desire, "i don't plan on letting you suck my dick, but you look awfully good with your mouth stuffed." he scoffed, pushing himself back in one last time before pulling his cock out of your mouth.

your cheeks were flushed, a single string of saliva connecting your lips to his, now swollen head.

yeonjun grabbed you by the neck, pushing you down onto the mattress and climbing on top of you. he trailed his thumb over your lower lip, wiping the drool before pushing his index and middle finger inside your mouth. "but, that doesn't mean i can't keep your mouth full." he chuckled, his jeans and boxers now joining the clothes scattered on the floor.

you graoned around his fingers, feeling absolutely wasted at the way he was talking to you. looking at you. treating you.

his other hand grabbed his camera, angling it low enough to only capture you below your neck. "lift your tshirt." he ordered as he started the recording. "give them a good show, hm? you know i have a greedy audience." he cooed, nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

you stared up at him, then glancing at his camera recording you. your hands were shaky, but you complied, not sure exactly why you were into this. it was sickening.

you lifted your tshirt, settling it right above you bare tits. yeonjun exhaled a sharp breathe at the sight and sat on his haunches, positioning himself between your legs and keeping two of his fingers in your mouth for you to suck on.

your body tensed when he brushed his tip between your folds and groaned at how wet you still were. he lowered the camera, letting it capture how his cock pushed it's way inside your cunt. "fucking hell, you're so tight for someone who acts like a slut." he spoke lowly as he adds a third fingers into your mouth, pushing them in deeper.

your eyes fluttered shut and tongue slackened at the raw stimuli buzzing through your body. you whined, the sound muffled against yeonjun's fingers as he only entered you halfway before pulling out and slamming himself in.

his head fell back, his knees digging into the bed as he felt your walls closing around him. "fuck, baby, you might just be my favourite hole yet." he grunted, rocking his hips in a slow but harsh rythm.

he looked down at you with his own lips parted, watching your tits bounce everytime he thrusted in harder, watching your eyes grow glossy as he gagged you with his fingers before pulling them out.

you were a mess already, tightly clinging to his cock as he rammed into you, all while filming your pussy hungrily take him in entirely.

yeonjun wrapped his free hand around your neck, "you're letting yourself get fucked on cam too now. doesn't that make you slut too?" he taunts, punctuating it with another sharp thrust, deliciously abusing your g-spot.

your eyes rolled back, almost moaning out his name before he squeezed your neck tighter, signalling you to not say his name on cam. so, you simply moaned out a string of curses.

yeonjun held you down with one hand, the other one taping the moment to stay in his camera, and eventually on his cam account. "you were made for this, baby. look at how well you're taking me, just like my perfect little fucktoy." he laughed when you looked up at him with your eyes glistening.

his pace had fastened considerably since the first few thrusts, now driving into you mercilessly and tightening his grip around your neck. you could feel your breathe shortening, and your stomach twisting for the second time tonight.

you didn't say anything, not wanting your voice to end up on that side of the internet, except the lewd noises escaping your lips every now and then.

the sound of wet skin slapping against each other echoed through your room, recorded through and through on yeonjun's camera. you clenched around yeonjun's cock, and he could tell that you were close.

"yeah? gonna come? go ahead, show them how much your pussy is enjoying this." he teased as he thrusts himself deeper, making sure you really feel him inside you.

another, almost pathetic, whine errupting from your throat as you lathered his cock with your orgasm, your head thrown back into the pillows.

yeonjun groaned at the sight and feeling of the white, thick liquid coating his length as it disappeared between your legs with every thrust.

he knew he wouldn't last any longer either so he pulled himself out just in time, letting his cum spill all over your stomach and abdomen. your body trembled, jolts of pleasure still coursing through it as you both tried to come down from the high.

yeonjun stopped the recording and let the camera fall on the mattress beside you two, still seated between your legs. "you're just a natural at this. you'd make such a good pornstar." he mocked, pulling your leg to rest on his shoulder.

you had barely caught your breathe and he was already lining himself against your hole again.

"fuck, aren't you satisfied with one take?" you complained, though, it was half-hearted.

yeonjun chuckled, "that was for the recoding. this is for me, y/n."

___

(soooooo, how we feeling about this? it was better in my head i swear)

[formulaonecrumbs]

spending my 20’s on you

Lando Norris x university student!reader

summary: lando and reader navigate the ups and downs of being young and in love.

warnings: implied ‘first time’ but not full smut, kissing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, emotional depth, light swearing, not explicit but suggestive, angst with happy ending, mutual pining, some misunderstandings, low-key just a whirlwind of shit.

A/N: this is just multiple scenarios of lando and reader being 20 and in love. (READ) backstory: they’re highschool sweethearts, been dating since they were 17. i forgot to mention it in the fic itself and now idk where to add it so yeah. my brain wouldn’t shut off so this is why this is so long (i think it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written) also i didn’t edit almost any of it, so not much italicising for emphasis, even tho i love doing that. i’m too lazy, writing this took it OUT of me. anyways enjooyyyyyy!!! love u, cuties 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

୨��� ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the dorm room feels warmer than usual when you both stumble in, laughing about something you’ve already forgotten. lando’s arm is around your shoulders, and you’re leaning into him like it’s second nature.

“god, your uni mates are so weird,” he mutters, kicking off his shoes.

you flop onto the edge of your bed, tugging your jacket off. “you’re the one who told that story about getting stuck in your wetsuit.”

“they asked!”

you giggle, flopping back and watching him through blurry eyes.

he looks good. a little flushed. soft curls a bit messy. his hoodie is riding up, and you can see a sliver of skin and the band of his calvin klein underwear when he lifts his arms to stretch.

your stomach flips.

he notices you watching.

“what?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

but he keeps looking at you.

and you’re still looking at him.

and then… the room goes quiet.

the kind of quiet where your heart feels too loud in your chest.

lando walks over slowly, kneeling in front of where you’re sitting. “can i ask you something?”

you nod.

“how long have we been dancing around this?”

you swallow. “a while.”

he reaches for your hand, his fingers warm. “we don’t have to, you know. not tonight. not ever. not if you’re not sure.”

you are.

you’ve been sure for a while.

so instead of answering, you lean forward and kiss him.

he exhales sharply, like he’s been waiting for that.

it starts slow. nervous. both of you a little unsure, a little buzzed, still giggling in between kisses.

“ow, you elbowed me—”

“your hoodie string is in my mouth—”

but then he pulls away, looking down at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

“are you okay?” he whispers.

you nod. “are you?”

“yeah,” he breathes, smiling a little. “just… really want to do this right.”

“you are,” you say.

and you mean it.

because it’s him.

because it’s always been him.

and it’s not perfect. not even close.

you knock your head on the wall at one point. the bed creaks too much. someone in the hallway yells and makes you both laugh halfway through.

but it’s warm. and slow. and real.

his hands are soft. yours are shaking a little. there’s so much kissing you lose track of time.

“you okay?” he asks again, forehead resting against yours.

“yeah,” you whisper. “don’t stop.”

he doesn’t.

he holds you the entire time.

kisses every inch of your face when it’s over.

you lie there after, tangled in sheets and sweat and silence, just staring at the ceiling and holding hands.

“you’re amazing,” he mumbles sleepily.

you turn your head toward him, nose brushing his.

“lando?”

“yeah?”

“me too.”

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

you wake up before him.

his arm is slung around your waist, his face tucked into your neck, breathing slow and even. there’s a faint sunbeam slipping through the dorm blinds, casting soft light across the mess of clothes on your floor.

you blink slowly, brain still fuzzy. the night flashes through your head in pieces—warm hands, breathless kisses, his voice soft in your ear.

you feel him shift behind you.

a sleepy groan.

then a very tired, very raspy, very adorable:

“‘m i dead?”

you laugh, and he tightens his hold on you, pulling you back against him.

“if you are, this is a really weird afterlife,” you mumble.

he noses at your jaw, half-asleep. “then i’ll stay dead.”

the room is quiet. safe. lando’s fingers trace shapes into your hip lazily, like he’s not even thinking about it. he still smells like you—your shampoo, your dorm, the night you shared.

you turn slightly, and his eyes flutter open.

he smiles. that soft, sleepy smile that melts your insides.

“hi,” he says.

you grin. “hi.”

you’re both quiet for a second. then he says, “so… last night.”

“last night.”

he tilts his head. “was really, really good.”

you nod. “yeah.”

“like. top ten moments of my life.”

you snort. “just ten?”

“i’m leaving room for our wedding,” he says, dead serious.

you shove him, laughing. “you’re such an idiot.”

“your idiot.”

he won’t stop kissing your shoulder.

you won’t stop smiling.

the duvet is halfway off the bed. your legs are tangled together. neither of you make a move to get up.

“hey,” lando whispers.

“what?”

he cups your face gently, thumb brushing your cheek. “you sure you’re okay?”

you nod. “i’m really okay.”

he kisses you again—slow and sweet and so full of love it makes your chest ache.

“cool,” he says. “’cause i was gonna ask to do that again. like. a million more times.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re so romantic.”

“you literally cried after.”

“that was emotional release!”

“you were like—‘oh my god i love you so much.’”

“you mocked me?!”

“i treasured you.”

he pulls you closer, grinning into your skin. “you’re stuck with me now, by the way.”

“i know.”

“good.”

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

lando’s back home. two cities away. two train rides. one entire eternity.

it’s been three days.

three days since he left your dorm. three days since that night. three days since he kissed you like you were the only thing that existed and made you feel like your heart was beating in places you didn’t know hearts could reach.

you’ve talked, obviously. little texts. voice notes. blurry selfies.

but it’s not enough.

it’s so not enough.

your phone buzzes.

lando: you up?

you call him before you can reply.

he picks up after one ring.

“hey,” he says, and he already sounds breathless. like he ran to answer.

you smile, pulling your blanket tighter around your shoulders. “hey.”

he groans. “i miss you.”

“i miss you more.”

“no. like. i actually miss you. like i feel sick. you ruined me.”

you laugh softly. “oh, so it’s my fault?”

“you cursed me,” he says, dramatic. “i’ve been sitting in my bed thinking about your stupid mouth for three hours.”

you bury your face in your pillow, already warm all over. “lando.”

“no. don’t ‘lando’ me. you don’t get it. i’m ruined. do you know how annoying it is to go from literally falling asleep next to you to this?”

you sigh. “i know. i hate this.”

“i keep reaching for you in my sleep.”

you go quiet.

he does too.

then, softer: “it’s worse now.”

“i know.”

“because now i know what it’s like. all of it. all of you.”

you swallow. “lando…”

“i miss your skin,” he says quietly. “and your laugh. and how warm your hands are. and the way you look when you’re half-asleep and trying to pretend you’re not.”

your heart is doing flips.

“i miss your back,” he adds, completely serious. “and your knees. and that little freckle on your hip.”

you smile. “you remember that?”

“i kissed it. i remember all of you.”

you’re silent for a second, heart so full you think it might spill out of you.

then you whisper, “i keep replaying it. over and over. in my head. like a movie.”

“same.”

“i can’t sleep in my bed now. it feels weird.”

“mine’s too cold.”

you both sigh at the same time.

“i wish i was there.”

“i wish you were here.”

“i’d hold you so tight.”

“i’d never let you go.”

lando groans again. “you’re so annoying.”

“you called me, idiot.”

“because i missed you.”

“i missed you more.”

“not possible.”

“try me.”

“fine. come here.”

you smile into the phone. “lando.”

“i’m serious. ditch class. run away with me.”

“and go where?”

“don’t care. as long as you’re there.”

the line goes quiet for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s soft. warm. you can hear him breathing. feel your heart slowing down a bit.

then he whispers, “i love you, you know.”

“i know,” you whisper back. “i love you too.”

“good,” he says. “i’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“soon.”

but not soon enough.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

you don’t even remember what set it off.

maybe a missed text. a call that didn’t come.

maybe it was the way you asked if he could visit next weekend and he didn’t answer right away.

“you always have an excuse,” you say, sitting at the edge of your bed, staring down at your phone. “just admit it, you don’t wanna come.”

lando scoffs on the other end of the line. “what? that’s not true—”

“you hesitated.”

“because i was thinking,” he snaps. “i’ve got training, i’ve got classes—i’m not sitting around doing nothing, you know?”

your chest tightens. “and i don’t have things going on too?”

“that’s not what i meant.”

“no,” you cut in, voice sharp. “you never mean it, right? until i’m the one sitting here crying because you forgot again. because you left me on read. again. because you said you’d try harder and then didn’t.”

“jesus christ,” he mutters. “why do you always do this? why does everything have to be a test?”

you go quiet.

there’s a shift on his side of the line. you can almost hear the regret settle in—but he doesn’t say anything.

you blink back the sudden sting in your eyes. “you know what? maybe it is a test. and maybe you’re failing.”

silence.

then, softly: “maybe i am.”

you don’t even know what you expected. not that. and not the way it feels like everything inside you just broke open.

“i’ll call you later,” he says, voice distant.

“lando—”

but he’s already hung up.

the silence after is unbearable.

you don’t sleep that night. not really. you toss and turn and stare at your phone, willing it to light up. hoping he’d take it back. hoping he’d say something.

but he doesn’t.

and the next morning, you walk through your day in a fog, barely listening, barely speaking. you sit in the campus café with some classmates and sip your coffee like it’ll fix anything. one of the girls leans across the table, curious and nosy.

“so… you and lando still together?”

you nod. “yeah.”

she raises a brow. “long-distance? wow. impressive. i couldn’t do that at our age.”

you laugh softly. it sounds wrong. “why not?”

“i mean…” she shrugs. “we’re twenty. you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. don’t you think it’s a little too serious?”

someone else at the table laughs. “right? people act like twenty-year-olds can’t just… date. without planning their whole future together.”

you freeze a little. smile like it doesn’t hurt. like your chest isn’t already bruised from last night.

“yeah,” you say. “maybe.”

but the words stick. they echo.

too serious. too young. whole life ahead of you.

and you hate that for a second—you wonder if they’re right.

it takes two days.

two full days of silence before lando calls.

it’s late. you’re curled up in bed, scrolling mindlessly, trying to pretend you’re fine.

when your phone lights up, your heart leaps. and then crashes back down again.

but you answer.

his voice is soft. cautious. “hey.”

you say nothing.

he exhales. “i deserved that. i just… i didn’t know how to call you after what i said.”

you stay quiet.

“i shouldn’t have said i was failing. i shouldn’t have hung up. i was pissed, but not at you. i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes. “i didn’t mean what i said either.”

“i know.”

there’s a pause. a heavy one.

“someone said something,” you admit, voice small.

“what?”

“just this girl in class. she said we were too young to be this serious. that we should be living our lives, not tying ourselves down.”

lando doesn’t answer right away.

“it got in my head,” you say, softer now. “and then after what you said… i don’t know. maybe we are too young.”

his voice comes out quiet but steady. “we’re not.”

“how do you know?”

“because i’ve already lived without you,” he says. “and it was fine, but it wasn’t this. it wasn’t us. and if this is what tying myself down looks like, then chain me to the fucking floor.”

you blink, your breath catching.

“i know we’re twenty,” he goes on. “i know everyone thinks we should be partying and flirting and figuring things out. but i have. i figured it out the second i met you.”

you stay silent, too overwhelmed to speak.

“i want to come see you,” he says. “this weekend. i’ll skip training, i’ll take the train, i’ll do whatever. just—please let me come.”

you swallow hard. “okay.”

he lets out a breath. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

another pause. then, softly: “you’re it for me.”

you close your eyes again. but this time, you smile.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

he shows up saturday afternoon, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, hair a mess from the train, and you nearly knock him over when you throw yourself into his arms.

“missed you,” he mumbles into your neck.

“you better have,” you whisper back.

the first few hours are easy. you fall back into each other like no time has passed—like he never said those things, like you never cried yourself to sleep after.

you drag him to your favorite coffee place, then show him around campus, fingers laced the entire time. he asks about your classes and the annoying girl in your literature seminar. you tease him for getting lost in your dorm hallway.

it’s only when the sun goes down and you’re curled up in bed, limbs tangled, his hoodie hanging off your frame, that the conversation shifts.

“so,” he says quietly, his hand tracing shapes on your hip. “that girl who said we were too young to be serious.”

you groan. “please don’t bring her up.”

“nah, i want to. because… i get it. why it stuck with you.”

you turn to look at him, eyes wide.

he shrugs. “it’s a scary thought. being all in. forever.”

your chest tightens. “so you do think it’s too much?”

“no,” he says, instantly. “i think it’s a lot. but it’s the right kind of lot.”

you blink.

“like… yeah, we’re twenty. maybe people think we’re insane for talking about the future already. but i want it all with you.”

you stay quiet, heart beating too fast.

“like, i want to get a flat together. a tiny one with shitty plumbing and a weird neighbor who always plays techno music at 2am. and i wanna argue over what rug to buy, and who used the last of the oat milk.”

you laugh, soft and surprised.

“and i want to marry you,” he adds, voice even softer now. “like—actually. one day. you in some pretty dress, me forgetting my vows halfway through because i’m too busy staring.”

you bury your face in his chest, and he just holds you tighter.

“and kids,” he mumbles into your hair. “not soon. but eventually. little versions of you running around? i mean, yeah. i’m doomed.”

you giggle, half-laugh, half-sob. “what if they look like you?”

“then they’ll be cute but annoyingly stubborn. like, can you imagine? a five-year-old me refusing to eat broccoli?”

you laugh again, and he tilts your chin up gently.

“you really see all that?” you ask.

he doesn’t hesitate. “i do.”

you don’t say anything—you just kiss him. long and slow and full of everything you can’t put into words yet. when you finally pull away, breathless and quiet, you whisper:

“i want all that too.”

he grins like he’s just won the lottery.

“good,” he says. “now we just have to survive your final exams and my next race weekend.”

“and the oat milk arguments.”

“especially the oat milk arguments.”

A/N: (alternate scenario of when he visits cuz i can’t help but write make out scenes with lando :p it’s my favourite 🤷‍♀️)

you don’t even make it past the front door.

he’s barely inside your dorm when you’re already on him—fingers in his hair, lips at his jaw, pulling him close like he might disappear again if you don’t.

“hi,” he mumbles between kisses, grinning like a fool. “missed you too, apparently.”

you just hum, mouth dragging down to his neck. “shut up.”

he laughs, hands on your waist, pulling you against him until there’s barely space to breathe. “you’ve got roommates—”

“they’re gone.”

“all of them?”

“do you care?”

he doesn’t answer. just presses you back against the door and kisses you properly. full and warm and a little desperate. it’s the kind of kiss that feels like a sigh of relief. like he’s been holding his breath for two weeks and finally let go.

your hands tug at the hem of his hoodie, slipping underneath to feel warm skin and familiar lines. his breath catches.

“this isn’t fair,” he murmurs against your lips. “you in this little top… i’m trying to be respectful here.”

you grin. “you’re failing.”

“miserably.”

you stumble backwards, dragging him toward your bed, laughing when he trips over your backpack. you land in a heap, tangled in sheets and limbs and breathless laughter, and he kisses you again, slower now.

“you know i’m obsessed with you, right?” he whispers, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder.

“yeah,” you breathe. “same.”

the rest of the world falls away. no noise, no schedules, no deadlines—just the soft hum of your dorm heater and the way his thumb rubs lazy circles into your hip.

just his lips, and your hands, and the space between kisses where you smile against each other’s mouths like idiots.

you don’t go further. you don’t need to.

it’s enough to kiss and kiss and kiss until you’re dizzy. until you forget what day it is. until your lips are sore and your hearts feel a little lighter.

just twenty and in love and not caring about anything else.

THE END :>

[gemharvest]

Oh I fuckin'. COMPLETELY forgot this poll. Shoutout to Pico winning by like one vote.

Least important question I will ever ask in my life.

[satoruxx]

ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader (hinted) | 5k words

✧ SUMMARY: ghost!reader, major character death, jjk manga spoilers, so much angst bc you literally die lmao, longing, mutual pining, suppressed feelings, everyone sucks at love, some fluff, banter, might be slightly suggestive, lots of hinted feelings (read: suguru), arguments, overall this is painful so read if you enjoy angst !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: this idea randomly came to me before i went to bed a few days ago and in the spirit of halloween, i figured why not? i live off of angst and need to share the pain with everyone lmao oops. this is late for halloween tho my bad !!

i. 2007

satoru brings one more flower than he did the day before. morning glories again, of course, but an extra one. he had added one more to the the bunch every day since the day you died. the first day, he brought three, wrapped with a cheap blue ribbon that he found in his desk drawer. it was hardly a respectable bouquet, but those three flowers were the ones he'd grown for you, so it only seemed fitting.

he didn't care much for gardening. but one day you asked shoko what her favorite flowers were so you could give her some on valentine's day. she asked you what yours were so she could return the favor.

satoru never forgot morning glories after that day.

he's not even sure if morning glories are appropriate to bring to a grave, but he knows you'd like them.

you would tell him it didn't matter anyway.

ii. 2007

(suguru did not cry when you died. satoru watched, intently, because there was nothing in the universe that his six eyes couldn't catch. he waited for it, even a sliver of emotion that would betray suguru's bleeding heart, but he gave nothing. he just stood in front of the stone that marked the end of your life with a deep stare. something had settled there in his eyes, cold and resolute.

a few months before you died, you had told satoru that there was something wrong with suguru. you said that he'd been distant, somewhere far away, and you worried for him. you always did, so open with your affection for him.

"don't want him to get lost." you had hummed, your shoulder brushing against satoru's as you raise the mango ice pop he brought you to your mouth. satoru watches your lips out of the corner of his eyes, his stomach flipping eagerly even as he keeps his face impassive.

"he said it was just the summer heat," he answers, ignoring the sweet mango juice dripping down his knuckles. "should be nothing."

you don't look all that convinced, turning your head to look up at him with meaningful glance. "you sure?"

he stares at you for a lengthy second, cerulean eyes darting over your facial features, before he reaches up and knocks his knuckle against your forehead. "yeah. he'll be fine." he assures, and your shoulders relax as you continue to eat the ice pop.

you were right about it all. four days after you die, suguru massacres an entire village.)

iii. 2008

satoru shifts in his bed, grunting quietly he begins to stretch his stiff joints. his eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep as he waits for his dark ceiling to come into focus. except it doesn't, because all he can see are a pair of very familiar looking eyes. unsaturated, but still so obviously the color he once knew. his own eyes snap open, all traces of sleep gone as he finally makes out someone who looks exactly like you, perched on his stomach with a confused and slightly panicked expression.

he shoots up, and you pull back a little. it looks like you're on his lap, and yet he can't feel you on him at all. he gulps.

"hey toru." you say quietly, and his stomach drops. the same eyes, the same voice. gods above.

"you're dead," he says simply, trying not to betray the way his pulse is jumping at even the smallest glimpse of you again. "you're not real."

"i'm dead," you confirm, nodding your head as you look down at your translucent palms. "but i'm here somehow."

he sucks in a breath, reaching out a hand as if to touch you. the disappointment he feels when it passes through your form is sickening.

you smile shakily, shrugging your shoulders as you attempt to make light of the situation.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

he stares at you for minutes without saying a word and you stare back, equally silent.

iv. 2007

(nanami had carried your body back, his teeth gritted as his blonde hair fell over his eyes. satoru never brought it up, but he knew that nanami remained bothered by it for the rest of his life. your death was bad timing, especially after they had just lost haibara a few weeks prior.

nanami had no reason to blame himself though. if anything, it was satoru's fault you were gone.

shoko had called him from the infirmary, her voice hard and pinched as she spat out three words: "get down here."

when satoru saw your body, he didn't say a word. just took a few long strides until he was at the table where nanami had placed you down. your eyes were shut, face resting in a way that seemed so unnatural. he opened his mouth to ask shoko something, but felt like he was choking on air, so he stopped himself.

then he grabbed your limp fingers, squeezed them gently. they were still a little warm, but not as warm as you usually run. shoko didn't say anything, just stood there with her hands clenched, short brown hair falling over her dark eyes.

satoru remained there for the next thirty minutes, waiting for you to sit up and laugh at the prank you were no doubt pulling. as if your blood wasn't still dripping all over the table.

shoko was the one who finally pulled a sheet over your body with shaking hands. she didn't look satoru in the eye, and didn't spare a glance when suguru burst into the room ten minutes later.)

v. 2008

it takes satoru a while to get used to the fact that you're not physically there. he has to bite his tongue when he moves to bump your shoulder or flick your forehead only to find that his skin goes right through yours. you always give him that same little rueful smile, and he sighs to himself.

he doesn't make an effort to figure out why you're there. he figures it's similar to how jujutsu users can come back as curses due to strong feelings. when he thinks about it though, guilt lodges itself into his throat, because the first thought he had when he heard you were entering death's door was no, don't you dare die.

every day he wonders if he's the one who cursed you to stay.

you act like it doesn't matter, hovering around him as he busies himself in his empty room. at first you're quiet, as though you've forgotten how to speak to him in your incorporeal form. but then you start asking him questions, and it's one question that satoru dreads to answer that you finally bring up.

"where's suguru?"

he's not stupid. he knows there's more you think of suguru than you've ever revealed. of course you'd want to know. but that doesn't mean he wants to be the one to tell you. you had died with nothing but a good impression of geto suguru. you'd probably died with your feelings for him still intact too.

it'd be selfish of satoru to ruin that.

"nothing, don't worry about it," he dismisses, voice clipped as he busies himself with preparing dinner. he knows that won't deter you.

you huff, moving to hover in his line of sight. you cross your arms as you glare at him seriously, and satoru hates how nostalgic your expression makes him feel. he tongues his cheek before sighing.

"he's gone." satoru answers simply. he tries to keep his tone even but it comes out bitter and strained. he can hear your quiet gasp, and feels your form move closer to him. if you were alive, he'd be able to feel your breath on his skin now.

"what do you mean, gone?"

satoru sighs again, turning to look at you completely. he hated everything about this. "he left school. went crazy. killed a bunch of people, including his parents."

he would've laughed at the comical way your jaw dropped if you didn't look so hurt. you sputter over your words as he picks up his bowl and moves to the table, trailing after him and demanding more information.

he doesn't hesitate to share, because he's always hated keeping secrets from you. you had this uncanny ability to see straight through him, and it never failed to make him feel unsettled. so he tells you everything that happened in the few weeks after you died. suguru leaving, their confrontation in shinjuku, his plans for non-sorcerers. he leaves nothing unsaid.

when he's done, he finally looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction. but you're just staring at his food with a bitter expression, brows pinched and lips pursed. satoru says your name once.

you glance at him, and it's too quick for him to look for any accusation in it. doesn't matter though, because he's ready to own up to his mistakes.

"you were right back then. about suguru." satoru admits quietly, turning to his food. he doesn't want to look at you anymore, because he's scared you'll show him how disappointed you are with him.

you don't say anything in response. but you sit down at the small dining table and watch him eat with soft eyes, one bite at a time. satoru doesn't admit it, but the whole time he imagines that you're gently rubbing his shoulder, and he thinks he hasn't missed you more than in that moment.

vi. 2007

(it was satoru's fault you died. if he hadn't been so selfish, you'd still be next to him, shoulder brushing his as the two of you walked through the streets of tokyo.

you had knocked on his door that morning before you had left for your last mission, rocking on your heels. he opened it groggily, still half asleep.

"you going on a mission?" satoru had yawned, drowsy eyes trailing over your uniform. you nod with a grin.

"mhm, with nanami. there are two separate areas with curses though, so we'll split up when we get there. should be simple enough." you shrug, toying with the collar of your uniform jacket.

satoru decides to be annoying. "then why are you here disturbing my sleep? get out." he groans dramatically, peering at you with narrowed eyes. you smack his arm, scoffing. you've stopped questioning why he keeps his infinity down for you do those things to him.

"i was gonna ask if you wanted to come with," you hiss, crossing your arms defensively. "but i'm taking it back, asshole."

he grins. "what? can't stay away?"

you roll your eyes, shaking your head with a sarcastic laugh. "don't flatter yourself."

satoru pauses for a second. "i was gonna go back to sleep." he admits, feeling a little guilty. he had just come back from a mission the night before, and he doesn't feel like leaving again. he doesn't know how to say that to you though.

but you see right through him, like you always do.

"you've been going on missions a lot lately," you smile earnestly, patting his shoulder. "no wonder you're tired."

"'m the strongest, i don't get tired." he protests, crossing his arms with a scoff. you roll your eyes again, sticking your tongue out at him as you heft your weapon over your shoulder.

"keep it up and you're seriously gonna fry your brain or something," you say with a shake of your head, eyes betraying your concern for him. he notices it, and tries to smother down the way it makes his stomach flip. "i'll be fine. you can come on my next mission with me."

fair enough, he thinks. he hadn't gone on missions with you or suguru in a while. he should remember to ask yaga to let him go on your next one. just the two of you. you and him. maybe he'd buy you a mango ice pop on the way back.

"fine." he acquiesces easily, not even thinking to protest. he'll see you later anyway, so he'll talk to you more when you get back.

you smirk a little, motioning to his bedhead, before gently kicking his shin. "go back to sleep then, stupid."

he rolls his eyes, reaching up to knock his knuckle against your forehead like he always does. "whatever. bring me some sweets on your way back, yeah?"

the laugh you give him as he shuts the door is the last thing he ever hears from you.

he should've gone with you.)

vii. 2012

satoru hates the way you're looking at him right now.

it was a stupid little mistake. he had gone to see little megumi and tsumiki earlier that afternoon, and as usual, you had tagged along with him. you'd watched him raise up the two kids over the last few years, never failing to tease about his newly acquired fatherhood, or how much he seemed to care about them despite his efforts to hide it. he didn't ever think to say that you'd helped him raise them up too. even in your incorporeal form you'd always been around to tell him what meals he could prep or to remind him that megumi liked black forest cake for his birthdays.

he'd gotten so used to you being around and he slipped up once. that afternoon when he had walked megumi home from school, teasing and poking fun at the kid, he'd made a stupid joke. megumi had rolled his eyes and told him to shut up.

and then without thinking, satoru had turned to you as you hovered next to him and groaned your name out dramatically before whining, "this kid is so mean to me!"

your eyes widened immediately, and if you were alive he'd probably see the color drain from your face. his stomach had sank and he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, even when megumi glanced at him with a raised brow.

"who are you talking to?" he asked, and satoru gulped, shaking his head as he broke eye contact with you to look down at the kid.

"nobody." he had answered.

he tries to ignore the meaningful stare you pin him with for the rest of the afternoon, hoping that you'll just forget about it. but as soon as satoru has left the kids and he's back in his own room, you're on him. he busies himself with making a cup of hot chocolate, even though he feels sick to his stomach.

"satoru you have to figure out how to get rid of me!" you plead, eyes so sad it makes his stomach churn. "i'm gonna drive you insane!"

"i'm fine!" he snaps back, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his mug, the warmth distracting him from whatever it was you were trying to remind him of. he places it down on the table in front of him and crosses his arms defensively. "it was a stupid mistake. won't happen again."

you shimmer in and out of focus, manifesting in front of him with a glare, though your eyes are still the same. wounded and hurt. "it wasn't and you know it! you can't keep living like this. i've been haunting you for years, toru!"

"well who asked you to go ahead and die?!" he yells without thinking, and it's like he sees your hurt bubble forth in slow motion.

"i went and died because i made a stupid mistake on a mission! quit blaming yourself, you dumbass!" you shout, voice raised higher than he's ever heard it.

satoru's mug shatters against the wall.

the two of you immediately turn to look at the mess with wide eyes, before slowly turning to each other to ensure that it really did happen.

"how'd you do that?" satoru asks quietly, his voice strained as he takes a few long strides towards you. you look down at your hand, the same one that you had lifted to swipe at his mug during your fit of rage. you look back up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. satoru's head is pounding, some kind of sick hope stirring within him. "you had to have touched it."

"i don't…" you trail off, voice filled with awe and a bit of fear. satoru reaches up a hand, ignoring the tremble in it, and moves to touch your face. he will never admit to the amount of times he begs in his head, please please please.

his hand goes straight though your skin, and your eyes soften. satoru lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, hiding his disappointment as he takes a step back and turns away.

viii. 2006

(satoru thinks gardening is ridiculous. plants are so fragile, needing to be constantly monitored and cared for like children. he can't understand why anyone would choose to garden as a hobby when there were less stressful things to do in spare time.

even the process was time consuming, he realizes as he scoops out piles of dirt into the small pots he had set out on his windowsill.

he thinks back to the silly little grin you had on your face as you answered shoko's question.

"morning glory," you had said, leaning against her shoulder. "i like the way they open in the morning and close at night."

shoko hummed, staring at the sky even as satoru quietly eavesdropped. "you got a favorite color?"

"the blue ones," you answered. "they're the prettiest."

your voice echoes in his head as he places the seeds into the soil, and he sighs heavily. why he was doing this for you was beyond him.

the thought makes him annoyed, and he huffs in frustration the entire time he plants them. gardening had to be the stupidest hobby ever.

and yet when three blue morning glories bloom against his windowsill, he can't hold back his grin.)

ix. 2017

satoru's grateful that you don't watch him kill suguru.

he tells you to go, and you give suguru a long stare, face pinched and sour even though your translucent eyes are shining. it's a shame suguru can't see you though, because satoru thinks you look so pretty. suguru would've been lucky to have you be the last thing he ever saw.

you turn away and disappear without a word, and after one last exchange, satoru finishes the job.

it's only after he watches rika's final goodbye to yuta does he realize the extent of what a goodbye even means. he'd said one to suguru, and yet he can't help but miss him as he walks back home. he wonders if suguru wouldn't have had to die if you were still around.

satoru had never gotten a goodbye with you though. you're somehow still with him, but he misses you so much. it puts an ugly feeling in his gut, twisted and dark. it weighs down on his shoulders as he finally opens the door to his room, heavy and overwhelming as he sees you sitting on his bed, face vacant.

he says your name, and you don't move. he takes a seat next to you, and something about your sad expression makes him so unbelievably angry.

"quit being sad about it," he finally spits out, the truthful extent of his feelings coming out. "it's not like you're even alive that you'd be able to see him."

you scoff as you give him a sidelong glare. "what's that supposed to mean? one of my closest friends just died and you expect me not to be upset about it?"

"at least he'll find a way to you!" satoru hisses, clenching his fists so hard that his nails leave crescents in his skin. "you two can have fun together for all of eternity."

there's a tense silence that follows as he grits his teeth, turning away from you. he's so disgusted right now. with suguru, with you, with himself.

"i'm all by myself." satoru mutters bitterly, the words so foreign on his tongue as the truth hits him.

god he misses you so much.

he suddenly feels a sharp thwack on the back of his head and he's turning around with wide eyes.

"don't you dare forget about shoko!" you hiss, tears in your eyes as you glare at him, hand raised. "i'll never forgive you!"

his throat goes dry, because the smack you just gave him was the first time you'd touched him since the day you died. there's a storm in his throat that threatens to break free, but he tries to keep it lodged in his throat. even with your teary eyes, he thinks you look just as pretty as you did with life flowing through you.

he misses suguru. he knows you do too, because there are translucent tears dripping down your cheeks and he has never ached to touch you more. but he can't because you're dead.

you remain in front of him all night, barely saying a word in between your sniffles. he doesn't say anything either, just watching you.

he doesn't know what there is to say. the only thing he ever wishes he got to say to you was goodbye. but you're here, in front of him, so a goodbye seems pointless.

when the sun comes up, you wish him a merry christmas, and he swears you never left him.

satoru says it back to you. you smile sadly.

he misses you so much.

x. 2007

(satoru had cleaned out your dorm room three days after you died.

he didn't really understand why he was doing it so early. shoko had frowned when he told her that he planned to pack away your things, frowned in a way that made her look like she disagreed.

well even if she did disagree, it didn't stop her from sitting in your desk chair, chewing on her nail quietly as she watched satoru fold your clothes. he didn't even understand why he was doing this.

maybe it was because every time he walked past your empty dorm room he felt sick to his stomach. there was a twisting feeling in his gut when he realized that you'd never curl up in that bed again. never sit by the window with a grin watching him and suguru bicker as they threw playing cards on the floor. he figured the faster he got rid of your remnants, the quicker the feeling would go away.

that's what he's hoping anyway. but when he picks up your jujutsu uniform he feels something claw at his throat, and he unconsciously digs his fingers into the fabric. he hears a sigh from behind him and then shoko is at his side, wordlessly easing the cloth from his hand. she lays it on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles before folding it carefully. when she places it into the box, satoru thinks her hands shake a bit.

there's a bitter expression on shoko's face that he's never seen before, and it makes his stomach twist.

they work on your room for the next few hours, until the sun has disappeared behind the horizon and the cool evening breeze bullies its way into your old space. neither of them say anything, save for the occasional nostalgic hum as they remember something that you did or they're reminded of the story behind one of the trinkets in your room. otherwise it's silent, and for a second satoru feels like he can hear your laugh.

it isn't until night has completely fallen that they are interrupted.

"what are you doing?"

satoru turns around just as shoko looks up, both of them finding suguru standing in the doorway. he hadn't taken a step in yet, eyes still trailing over the emptiness of your old room from behind an uncrossed line.

"cleaning." satoru answers, his voice oddly clipped.

"it wasn't messy…" suguru mutters back, his lips slanting in such an unusual way. there was an uncharacteristically determined look in his eyes, as though there was something in him that was struggling to burst forth. satoru didn't understand what it was.

"never said it was." satoru replies noncommittally. he hears shoko inhale deeply, shifting in your old chair as she watches the two of them stare at each other. there's a tense silence as he notices suguru frown.

satoru can't remember the last time he even had a full conversation with suguru. he remembers seeing you leave for your last mission, and he wants to kick himself for not asking earlier to be sent on group missions with the two of you.

even now, he doesn't really know what to say to suguru. all he can do is tighten his fingers around the edge of the box with your stuff neatly packed in, and watch his best friend sigh.

suguru wets his lips, eyes darting over your desk. there's an odd expression on his face, and his brows pinch as he notices something. then suguru reaches out to pick up an old polaroid, and satoru knows exactly which one it is. your arms slung around suguru's shoulders, smile so wide your cheeks probably hurt. suguru's expression was uncharacteristically gentle.

satoru remembers it so well, because he's the one who took the picture.

suguru looks at the polaroid without a word, rubbing the corner between his thumb and forefinger, and his expression suddenly mirrors the gentleness in the picture. his eyes remain stormy, deep and unsettling as he reaches conclusions that satoru will never understand.

the three of them stay quiet for a few minutes, even though satoru has so many questions that he can't figure out how to phrase. shoko toys with a cigarette between her lips, leaving it unlit because you've always hated the smell of smoke. suguru just stands there, silently eyeing your unfiltered smile through the lens of a camera.

satoru wonders if suguru's trying to say goodbye to you. he doesn't ask, and suguru doesn't say.

only after something had clicked in suguru's eyes, did satoru realize something was over. he couldn't help but feel like he had just buried you in that cardboard box with all your things, and he swallows hard.

then suguru clenches his fists, veins flexing as he looks around your room, almost like he was committing it to memory. satoru didn't understand why; it's not like suguru couldn't come see your room anytime he wanted.

then he turns away, hand lingering on the doorframe heavily, without another word.

just as suguru walks away, satoru thinks he hears your voice whispering in his ear.

"don't want him to get lost."

xi. 2018

something is wrong. something happened. something is wrong.

satoru knows he needs to wake up. but he's so tired, so exhausted from carrying on all by himself. he suddenly remembers the taste of frozen mango, sweet and chilled, and he wants to keep thinking about it for the rest of eternity.

but something is wong. he needs to wake up.

the minute satoru forces his eyes open, he can ignore the taste of blood in his mouth because you're there.

you're kneeling at his side, sunlight shining behind your head in a way that makes you look almost angelic. he'd believe it if you said you were an angel, because you've been dead for so long now.

you'd been a ghost for so many years, hovering around him and getting him through everything that had come his way. isn't that what guardian angels were supposed to do, guiding humans through their own trials? isn't that what you were doing to him since the day you died and came back to him?

you'd been a ghost. you'd been his angel. you'd been haunting him.

you'll always haunt him.

you seem to know it too, because the expression on your face is understanding, soft and yet so sad.

for what seems like the millionth time in his life, satoru aches to touch you.

he tries to move his hand but finds that he can't. synapses misfire. he can't feel his body anymore.

he wants to touch you. gods above, he wants to touch you so badly. please just this one last wish.

your translucent forms shimmers in the sunlight, and satoru can't tell if he's hallucinating or not because you suddenly seem to become fully physical. the particles of your form solidify, slowly filling with more color until you don't look quite so dilute. the saturation of your eye color comes back, and satoru can't look away because he's never seen a ghost so pretty before.

his breath hitches as you gently cup his cheek in your palm, warm and gentle. the melancholic look on your face makes his eyes sting.

"it's good to see you." he says with a weak smile, ignoring the metallic taste on his tongue. his breath is short, mind racing because your skin is on his again. finally, after so many years. you're so soft, just like he remembers.

"you weren't supposed to join me this quick." you sigh, eyes shining as you smile down at him ruefully. your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and satoru's cerulean eyes flutter.

no. no more waiting. he'd missed you too much. he doesn't have it in him to stay away from you anymore. he'd done it long enough. your fingers tremble against his skin and he almost laughs.

no more haunting.

there's a resolute part of him that knows you'll be the first thing he sees when he gets to wake up again. he decides that, when he does, he'll get you a mango ice pop and plant some morning glories with you.

his eyes fall shut with a sigh.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

[rayraelleaizawa]

They're going hard on you

TW: none i think

gn!reader

Short stories of when OP men go hard on you out of worry

Characters: Shanks, Trafalgar Law

Shanks

You sat in the captains office and looked at Shanks who was unusally quiet. You had an anxious feeling in your guts. You knew you had fucked up, but you didnt think he would be that mad.

The red hair pirates docked at some uninhabited island, and you were assigned to not leave the ship since Shanks wasnt sure how dangerous the island would be. But when you saw a strange animal falling from a tree and into a river, trying desperately not to drown and reach the shore again but couldnt make it, you left the ship and jumped into the river and helped the animal out of there. The scared animal didnt realice you only wanted to help him, and trashed around in your grip and scratched and bit you.

When Shanks and a part of his crew came back from exploring the island, and he saw that you were standing on deck, soaked from head to toe and trying to clean up your bloody injuries, his usually carefree face fell. He wore an unreadable expression as he told you to come into his cabin when Hongo was done treating your wounds.

Now, half an hour later and bandaged up, you sat in Shanks office and looked at your lap. He still had that unreadable expression on his face and you werent sure in what kind of trouble you were right now. You had breaken the rules before, nothing too bad, but he never acted like that because of you. You thought that he'd understand why you left, everyone knew that you had a soft spot for animals.

You anxiously waited for him to start talking, but he didnt even look at you. After another silent ten minutes, he finally said something.

"What did Hongo say?"

"He said that it is nothing too bad, just some scratches. I need to go check up regulary tho in case of infection and if I feel weird I am supposed to go to him instantly. Hongo checks the books right now if the animal that bit me is poisenous or not."

You gladly would have left out the last part, but you knew you shouldnt do that right now. He would talk with Hongo and find out anyway.

There was another short silence before he spoke again.

"What did I tell you to do? No, what did I order you to do?"

"To stay on the ship" you quietly said.

"And what did you do?"

"I...left the ship."

"You disobeyed my orders. That's what you did. No matter what relationship we two have, I am your captain and you have to follow my orders like everyone else on this ship."

You were quiet for some time. You didnt mean to disappoint him, but you didnt think about his orders when you saw that helpless animal fighting for its life.

"I'm sorry. I only wanted to help the-"

"I dont care what you wanted to do. You had clear orders. Orders, which were meant to protect you. Protect you from exactly those animals that hurt you. We have no idea if they are venomous, or aggresive, or a religious species for any natives that live here."

You stayed silent. The uneasy feeling in your stomach growing by the second. Sadness and fear joined that feeling too. You thought he'd understand you, but in the end you just disrespected him infront of his crew with ignoring his orders.

"I'm sorry for messing up" was all you could get out in that moment, and you heard Shanks sigh. He stood up from behind his desk and walked over to you.

"What am I supposed to do with you? Even when i try to protect you you still seem to find a way to end up in Hongos medical office. Why cant you just listen to me?"

His tone was softer than before, and you finally dared to look up at him. He had a worried expression on his face.

"I- I didnt think in that moment" you admitted as he bend his tall frame down to you, looking at your bandaged hand where that animal bit you.

"You have no idea how it felt to see you all bloody on deck. How it feels to know that you could die if that animal was highly venomous" he said, gently touching your arm.

You avoided his eyes and looked at the stump of his left arm.

"Yes I do know how that feels. I didnt want to make you experience this too. I'm sorry."

He sighed again, moving his hand under your chin and forced you gently to look him in the face.

"Never do that again. I love you too much for that."

Trafalgar D Water Law

You didn't look at him as he walked past you. You both ignored each other since the argument you had. You felt frustrated and angry at him, but mostly because he was right.

There was an emergency at the submarine, something about the boiler malfunctioning in the middle of the night. You were the closest to it so you tried to fix it, but you werent an engineer - you weren't sure what to do so you just improvised and tried your best until the persons who knew what to do came. Before that happened, hot water splashed onto your arm leaving a nasty burn on it.

Law had bandaged you up, but you noticed something wasn't right with him so you asked him. Which resulted in a heated argument between you two which ended with him snapping at you.

"If you have no idea of something then why do you even try? You're no help here, we just have more work now because of you."

Your eyes got teary when you thought back to his words, but it hurts even more knowing he was right. He had more work because he had to bandage you up, while your crewmembers probably had to fix the boiler more because you damaged it even more with your improvised actions.

You self doubted your worth on this crew now. Sure, you knew how to fight, but that was it. You could bandage up small injuries and cook, but in the end everyone knew how to do that. You had no specialty like the others.

With frustration bubbling up inside you that your captain and lover thought of you as an useless inconvinience, you started working even more. You didn't take a break, you just cleaned the Polar Tank or trained. The burn on your arm hurt most of the time, but you didn't care. You wanted to prove yourself that you weren't just on this crew because you and the Captain were dating.

You asked Shachi if he could explain to you how the boiler and stuff worked. He was perplexed as why you wanted to know that, but you convinced him with saying that next time an emergency happend you could actually help. He agreed, tho he knew that Law wouldn't be so happy about you working when you're already injured.

He explained stuff to you in the engine room and of course, no other than Trafalgar D. Water Law walked in on you two while you were trying to name some parts of the enginge. He looked displeased and coldly said your name and then just walked off.

You didn't want to follow him, but knew that he would be even more pissed if you ignored him. He led you two to the infirmary and told you to sit on the exam table. He then grabbed your hand and unwrapped your bandanges.

"What do you think you're doing, y/n-ya?" he spoke calmly, but you immediately noticed that he was holding back.

"Learning new stuff so next time i can actually help" you answered in a snippy tone.

"You won't do anything next time. I don't allow you to" he said while turning around.

You started to argue back that you just tried to be a help when he interupted you mid-sentence.

"How do you want to be of help when you cant even look after your own wound!"

"You were the one who told me I wasnt capable of anything, and now it's wrong when i try to become usefull!" you almost yelled back, tears of frustration and hurt in your voice.

"I never said you weren't capable of anything, I simply stated that-"

"You said I am no help, that I have no idea what I'm doing and that you all have more work because of me!"

A tear rolled down your face and you started shaking slightly as Law looked at you with widend eyes. He grabbed his hat and pulled it over his eyes as he looked down.

"That wasn't what I meant. I just...you got hurt on my submarine while I was present. I- you shouldn't have gotten hurt when I'm there to protect you."

You looked at him with wide eyes, the tears now streaming down your face.

"You are more than capable of sorting stuff out on your own, you are a big help to everyone on this crew. I didn't mean to insult you or tell you you aren't worthy to be here. It's just...this could have ended up bad. And now I see you working in there again. I can't have you getting injured when I'm just a few feet away" he added as he walked towards you and grabbed your face so you'd look him in the eye.

"I want you to be safe, y/n-ya. And i failed to do that. You and this crew, you're everything I have. I'm a doctor but I can't heal everything. I'm sorry for insulting you, my heart."

Your eyes softend at the last nickname he called you. It wasn't often that he used it, which made it even more special when he did. He is a big softy and constantly worried about you. You laid your head to his chest and murmured an apology, while he leaned down and kissed your hair.

[katnipp]

Can I request jealous Lara where she’s wondering where y/n is at so she’s scrolls through Instagram to find out that y/n is at a party dancing with other girls. And then in the end they make up. Thanks

just a little too jealous— lara raj

genre: FLUFF BUT A LITTLE BIT OF ANGST IN THE BEGINNING

synopsis: lara gets jealous when she sees y/n having fun at a party with other girls. after a heartfelt apology, they make up and share a sweet moment together

warnings: jealous lara☹️, miscommunication, THATS ITT

—

lara was used to being busy. constant schedules, rehearsals, fans, and the endless need to keep her cool in public. but tonight, for the first time in a while, she had nothing to do. no interviews. no photoshoots. no practice. just her, sitting in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling.

she hadn’t heard from y/n all evening, and the silence was starting to feel heavier than usual.

it wasn’t like y/n had to check in with her all the time, but lara couldn’t help the way her mind kept wandering. where is she?

after a long sigh, lara pulls out her phone, thinking she’ll kill some time by scrolling through instagram. she opens y/n’s account, half-expecting to see some funny selfies or a video from their latest hangout. instead, her thumb stops dead at a story posted just minutes ago.

y/n is in the middle of a crowded party.

the lights are dimmed, but the music is loud. y/n’s laughing, carefree, dancing with a group of girls. one of them has her hand resting on y/n’s waist, leaning in close, and y/n is looking up at her, smiling in that way she only ever did when she was feeling really good. lara’s heart sinks, and she tries to shake the feeling that starts to swell in her chest.

it’s just a party. it’s just friends. but why didn’t she text me?

lara scrolls to the next clip. y/n’s spinning around in a circle, her hair flying as she moves, completely at ease with the world. and there’s another girl beside her—someone lara didn’t recognize—looking at y/n like she was the only person in the room.

lara felt like someone had dropped a brick into her stomach. the insecurity, the sudden jealousy, the nagging thought that maybe she wasn’t the one y/n wanted. maybe she had more fun with these girls.

lara swipes away from the story, her breath shaky. she couldn’t help it. she pulls up a few more of y/n’s posts—photos of her laughing with friends, another one where she’s holding a drink with that same girl.

“why didn’t she say anything to me?” lara mutters under her breath.

she stares at her phone for what feels like forever. the questions spiral—why is she even feeling like this? why shouldn’t y/n have fun? but the jealousy creeps in anyway, and soon, it’s all lara can think about.

⸻

when y/n finally texts her, it’s after 2am.

sweetheart:

sorry, i didn’t check my phone. having fun with friends! i miss you tho

lara stares at the message, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. part of her wants to snap, tell y/n that she shouldn’t have to beg for attention. but instead, she just types:

lara:

looks like you’re having a lot of fun.

there’s a pause. then, another message from y/n.

sweetheart:

i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel like i was ignoring you. i was just in the moment. but i miss you more than anything, lara. come here, i’ll be back in the hotel soon

lara takes a deep breath, the tension easing a little. she puts down her phone and heads for the door, a small smile playing on her lips despite the jealousy still simmering inside.

⸻

when y/n walks through the door, she looks guilty, hair still messy from the party.

“lara,” she says softly, looking down at her feet. “i’m sorry.”

lara crosses the room and pulls her into a hug. “it’s fine,” she murmurs, holding y/n tight. “just next time, maybe text me before you get lost in the fun, okay?”

y/n laughs softly, her arms wrapping around lara’s waist. “i will, i promise.”

lara pulls away slightly, her thumb brushing over y/n’s cheek. “don’t make me jealous again.”

y/n grins, leaning up to kiss her on the forehead. “no promises, but i’ll try.”

lara can’t help but laugh as she pulls her back into the hug. “you’re impossible.”

“yeah,” y/n says, grinning. “but you love me anyway.”

lara smiles, feeling the warmth spread through her chest as she rests her head against y/n’s. “yeah, i guess i do.”

they stand there for a few more seconds, just holding each other, letting the quiet calm them. lara feels the last of her jealousy fade away as y/n squeezes her a little tighter.

“you really do miss me, huh?” lara murmurs, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“more than anything,” y/n whispers, her voice warm and genuine. “you’re the person i miss, lara. always.”

lara’s heart flutters. she pulls back just enough to look at y/n, soft but serious. “i think i might be a little obsessed with you.”

y/n chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to lara’s lips. “i’m okay with that. i’m a little obsessed with you too.”

lara smiles against her lips, letting the kiss deepen, feeling her chest tighten with affection. they stay like that for a while, just being close, the world outside fading away.

“next time, i’m coming with you to the party,” lara mutters, half-joking, half-serious. “can’t let you have all the fun without me.”

y/n laughs softly, pulling her even closer. “deal. but only if you promise to dance with me.”

lara grins, the last of her jealousy completely gone. “oh, i’ll dance with you. just… maybe not with that much enthusiasm.”

y/n snorts, shaking her head. “you’re impossible.”

lara winks. “you love it.”

and for the first time that night, lara feels her heart settle completely.

—

[yan-randomfandom]

Hii! Could I request a yan! Jinx with a darling who is on hunger strike? (Bacically, darling got kidnapped and so she decided to stop eating till she gets freed...is that even a word?)

Anyways, ty 4 reading my request and I would be really happy if you were to fuffil it <3

Make sure u drink enough water!

Yandere!Jinx x GN!Starving!Reader

a/n: thank you for your kind words anon! 😺 i just realized how much energy i gave mc here omg 😭🙏

tw; starvation, kidnapped MC ermm

💧 ;

Stubbornness is something both you and Jinx share. It's built into your very core. She knows this, and yet, here we are.

You're tied to a chair, looking away from her with a deep frown on your face—unwilling to eat.

"My sweetest," Jinx groans, dragging out her words. "Darling, baby, angel..." She places her hands on the back of your chair, her breath brushing the tip of your nose—"beloved."

...

You roll your eyes. "It stinks."

With an offended gasp, she recoils from you, her eye twitching. "I— You— Come on! At least I had dinner, but you? You haven't eaten anything for days!"

As if the Gods have a sense of humor, your stomach lets out a loud, drawn-out rumble. It goes on for a few moments... like her hideout wasn't quiet enough already. You have half the heart to glance at Jinx, who's watching you with an unimpressed expression.

Against your better judgment, and despite the deadly stomachache, you don't say anything.

Jinx pushes the bowl of food in front of you. "...Your, uh, stomach's hungry. Please. I just want you to eat—"

"I want you to let me go," you snap, glaring at her. You emphasize your point by rattling the chair with your frail limbs in frustration. "It doesn't help that you tied my arms and legs up. Honestly."

She returns your look, almost clueless. "It didn't have to be that way! You kept trying to escape!"

"I wonder why!!"

An annoyed groan. You can't even tell if it was from you, or her. Maybe both.

...

...

"...I told you I can't," she mutters softly. Not when she started a war.

You scoff and turn away. "Not that you can't. You won't."

Jinx does not reply.

Then, she chuckles. "Still amazin'. All this energy, even in starvation."

...

You press your lips together. Truth be told, you're barely holding it together. You're simply not giving up. Even if it's out of spite. Especially.

She starts walking. The sound of her booted footsteps grows fainter and fainter until, finally—the exit closes.

Jinx left you.

Nothing else accompanies you but the quiet humming and faint lights in her hideout.

Your body seizes the chance to collapse, eyes closing in one blink.

...

The next time you wake up, you grudgingly rub your eyes. A yawn escapes you.

You stretch your body. Your joints pop, relief spreading all across—

Wait.

You sit up from the softest surface you've ever been on in a while. It takes a moment to clear your vision, but once it does, you fall in disbelief.

Lifting your hand, you eye your wrists suspiciously. The patterns of the rope is still visible. But faint. It must have been a while since they were removed.

The chair you've been stuck in for days is gone. Your limbs are untied, finally fucking free from the numbness. A small fan offers a refreshing breeze next to you.

Your heart starts racing.

A whiff of your favorite scent. You perk up.

There's a glass of water filled with ice on the table. Beside it, an irresistible array of food. All your favorite types.

You don't even think twice.

either u try to escape or eat the food—your choice. do both tho cuz u might idk die

[midnite-c6]

Hear me out. Pink Guard Reader (any shape guard; triangle/square/circle) who watches the contestants of this horrendous game fight for the money that glows above them and their own survival for it. Pink Guard Reader who notices two particular contestants, Nam-Gyu and Thanos. Both of them seemingly seem to stand out amongst all the players since everyone seems to be taking these games seriously besides those two, mainly. You keep a watchful eye upon them (and perhaps, sneakily help them in some situations...maybe, saving their lives at one point...?) and it doesn't take for one of them to notice and inform the other. And they now keep a particular eye on you, and perhaps, when they see you standing alone in a certain area with your pink guard uniform and mask..IDK, PLEASE HEAR ME OUT

guys tables turned!!! tthank thank..tjanks for sharing to the class hahahahahah PURRRRR. omg the way theyd absolutely look down on u bcuz like ure the one supposed to kill them and be evil so why r u being so nice? (they take advantage of this ofc) 🫶🏻

thanos & namgyu x pinkguard!reader warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon

つ⁠｡⁠☆ you were just so intrigued by them! i mean, they were literally treating the games like... games. no deaths, no consequences, just fun! they were insane. you liked insane, tho. you'd even save them in the game mingle. unfairly killing other players. you wanted them to live because.. you were bored, and they kept the games fun, anyways.

it was now dinner time, when the two guys would line up for their own share of food, thanos would notice it was you! the same guard that saved them since the button on your jacket was slightly broken,, "my bro, can i get extra?" he'd press his hands together, and you'd happily give him extra because, why not? nam-gyu was just behind him, asking the same, he'd even give a polite thank you.

both of them noticed how they were the only ones getting unfair advantages, so when everyone's too busy with their food or talking to their groups, they walk up to you, as you were standing guard next to the bathrooms. you couldn't speak, since you'd be scolded to talk without permission, but the two have got nothing to lose, and they'd make it their life's goal to bother you. "pst. triangleee facee. talk to us!" thanos would poke you, his other hand occupied by the extra milk you gave him earlier. "ah, this dude's boring."

thanos would even offer the small pills inside his cross necklace, you politely decline. simply shaking your head. "do you think there's a person inside there?" nam-gyu would press on your mask as he wonders, "you're right! what if this guy is just a robot..? shiit. technology is getting good." nam-gyu would stare at you intently, trying to find something underneath that mask. he'd take his hands to touch your chest and stomach, in search of any indications on your body, of course, the touch makes you jolt. you immediately point your gun at him. "woah, woah ..my bad." he says as he puts both of his hands up. "ah, fuck dude you angered him!" they'd both laugh, and you lower your firearm. "so it must be a human." thanos would get all up in your face. "hey, tell me, man, why'd you save us?" you can't answer. "why can't you speaaak??" he was getting frustrated, clearly. you'd only turn your face to the guard with a square on his mask, signaling him as your superior. "i think if he talks, that guy would get mad." "ohhh yeah no shit, dude." and before you could react, thanos quickly pulls you to the mens bathroom, guess you have no choice but to speak now..

"there! surely you could speak now!" he exclaims and after a few seconds of contemplating, you would speak, although the voice is distorted , "that's correct."

"take off your mask then." such a straight-forward request, but you'd do it with no protest, you're just the same as them, nothing to lose. once you've lifted your mask to rest ontop of your head, you'd happily breathe in the cold air. the two stares at you dumbfoundedly. "fuck dude, your pills are starting to make me go crazy." "me too bro!!" "is it just me or are you also seeing a chick?" player 124 would rub his eyes with his hands. "what the fuuuuuuuuck." you'd only snort at their comments. "hey! you've been shootin' people , huh?" the purple-haired one would scold, "is there something wrong with that?" nam-gyu chuckles, "bet she looked hot doing it, to be honest." thanos touches your face with his hand. "you're like.. a guardian angel to us." you're embarrassed honestly, it was such an awkward moment. they'd both look at each other at that moment, reaching to some kind of decision, "hell yea, do i wanna fuck my guardian angel."

nsfw below!!-> 💘

"mmph-. god. fucking a murderer feels crazy." thanos happily blurts out in groans, as he pushes heavily inside you, putting in all his weight , balls deep inside your pussy. you couldn't moan out, with nam-gyu's cock shoved down your throat, his pace was much more abusive and mean than thanos', bruising your poor throat. they didn't even bother to go inside a stall, instead deciding to be right in the middle of the mens bathroom, where your suit was pushed to the side. they'd keep the gun slinged to your body, and your mask still slightly lifted up from your face, the mask stays on, what a hot image. the one thrusting inside your cunt was ecstatic, like he was so pent up he'd thank the gods he could put it all out inside you. "awwh.. pretty pink guard.." he would tuck your hair behind your ears, your forehead dripping with sweat. "pretty pink pussy n' all. you're so evil.." nam-gyu would also thrust far too deep, making you gag, your hands would grip on player 124's legs, letting him know that he was going too rough! and for what! "you're tough, i'm sure you can take it." and he goes even faster! it was like they were punishing you for only doing your job, not even bothering to say thank you for saving them :(

...sadly, the rules are strict when it comes to being a guard. and you've been gone for way too long, atleast you went out with a bang! literally.

I MADE THIS SO SILLY 😭🙏🏻. guys sorry mah brain nawt working LOLs but they can do it day and night every position until i learn fluent korean fr. born to ride both forced to only write and read for them😿 maybe i make masterlist after this 🤨

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

part two

a/n i swear everytime im about to play love and deepspace, the app needs another update. my phone storage can't keep up T0T anyways, i'm not that far in but xavier is my fave. he lowkey reminds me of silver haha. rafayel is a close second tho

includes: all of octavinelle, scarabia + pomefiore

tw mentions of eating disorder

want more? check out part one!

Octavinelle <3

⋆ Perhaps the last dorm that you want to know about your skills. But alas, your heart is vast, so even shady seamen deserves some delicious home cooked meals/treats!

⋆ How about making some extra cash? Is what Azul says after taking a bit. He does mean it. Not only would Monstro Lounge gain some more popularity after news of the Ramshackle Perfect’s home made meals/treats were being served, but he gets to spend time with you without giving his feelings away? A win-win if you asked him. As we all know, Azul does suffer from an eating disorder, as much as he tries to deny it, but somehow your cooking/baking doesn’t upset him at all. If anything, he gets so lost in the flavors that he doesn’t realize that his stomach is full and plate empty. Should he be concerned? Disgusted with himself? Lots of negative emotions begin to swell up, but when he glances at you, fully expecting the worst, he’s met with your proud smile. Happiness practically radiating off your being. And suddenly, Azul doesn’t mind the feeling of a full stomach as long as you look at him like that again.

⋆ Jade finds himself coming to you more often to ask for tips on how to cook mushrooms in different ways. Heck, he even encourages you to come out mushroom hunting with him. He’s fascinated by the way you work, seeing you mix different spices and ingredients together inspires him to do the same. He enjoys getting a glimpse at a third world, your world. It reminds him that the universe is truely a big, fascinating place. He is touched that your first thought was to bring him food, don’t worry he’ll repay the favor.

⋆ Your food is the only thing to get Floyd out of his moods! Once he smells the delicious scent of your meals/sweets, he instantly goes back to being silly and goofy! He will pester the living daylights out of you to make his favorite foods. You will know no peace! Floyd always makes his distaste clear. He’s an honest guy, what can he say? So it’s a big achievement that your food gets the Floyd pass. He will glare at anyone that dares to come near his food. This is his food, not theirs! Floyd’s a good cook himself, so like Jade, if he’s feeling particularly chummy, you might be gifted with his own unique concoction.

Scarabia <3

⋆ Scarabia is known to have the best food in the school! So it was a little jarring when you decided to give them some of your homemade food. But you really have nothing to worry about when it comes to these too.

⋆ You thought you were going to go blind with how bright Kalim's smile was. It truly could rival the sun. Because of the trust between you and Kalim, he devours it within seconds. Practically buzzing in excitement as the flavors touch his tongue. He’s not joking when he says that it’s as good as Jamil’s food. He wants to throw a party where you and Jamil have a cook off! But also just to show off your amazing cooking. You’re going to have to politely tell him that might be too much for you. Or that you only cook for special people! (subtle flirting hehe) And well Kalim is Kalim so it’s like a 50/50 chance that it won’t fly over his head. But in the case that it doesn’t, Kalim gets all warm and flustered. You know how some people get cuteness aggression and just want to squeeze said cuteness, well that’s Kalim. Instantly you're in his arms while he exclaims how much he loves you!

⋆ Jamil gave you the weirdest look, thinking that you wanted something from him. But alas! You did it out of the goodness of your heart. After getting over his initial suspicion, Jamil is incredibly thankful! I get a feeling that between everything that Jamil has to handle, he tends to eat very little most days. Just enough to get him to bedtime. So when you popped out of thin air with food, but not just any food his favorite, Jamil is touched. Though just because he’s touched, that doesn’t mean he won’t critique it! Internally of course, unless you ask. I would like to say that this would lead to cooking dates, but Jamil gives me the impression that he doesn’t like others in the kitchen while he works. Though he’s willing to try it out for you! Omg, if you make him food from the Scalding Sands, he just might tear up (lol, probably not but that’s a funny thought) but he will be incredibly touched!

Pomefiore <3

⋆ A tricky dorm to cook/bake for. A life or death situation! You must satisfy the Queen’s tastes or else you’ll face everlasting sleep! OoooOOoooooOOOoooo

⋆ Your greatest foe, the Queen herself! Does your food satisfy the Queen’s strict diet? ………partially. Listen, Vil holds himself to high regards and keeps a stern eye on his calories and where those calories come from. And while yes, you are going the right path, you also took some side quests on the way. In other words, you were like 74% to getting Vil’s approval. But fear not! For Vil is more than willing to take you under his wing! Though, Vil’s not a chef himself, so he’ll guide you in the ways of his diets. As long as you keep those in mind, Vil finds himself thoroughly enjoying anything you make him. He enjoys foods that are light on the stomach with plenty of nourishment. Vil will oftentimes find himself thinking about your food. His stomach growling in hunger. He appreciates it whenever you show up with homemade snacks. Vil will oftentimes submerge himself in his work, whether that be new roles, schoolwork or guiding his dorm mates, and forget to eat. So knowing that you're always thinking of him and coming to check up on him makes him feel all mushy and gooey inside. Goodness, the effects you have on him.

⋆ C’est délicieux! Anything and everything you give Rook is eaten with fervor. Truly enjoying and savoring every bite! For how could he let anything go to waste? You put your heart and soul into it, it would be wrong not to enjoy it with his own heart and soul. His appetite is never quenched when it comes to your food. He consumes your food with such earnestness that it's hard not to get all flustered. The compliments are never ending when it comes to him. Rook could (and has) write poetry off the delicious taste of your food. Sweet, yet a little off putting. Will jump at any occasion to speak about your food, and by extension you. Eveytime he sees you with a bag or box, Rook is skipping towards you with a little tune to each step.

⋆ Nothing could beat his Meemaw’s apple pie, but Epel supposes that yours come to a close second. Your food is the only thing Vil will turn a blind eye to, which Epel takes as an opportunity to slyly (not really) suggest new recipes for you to try. Honestly, Epel really likes your food! He gets all flustered whenever you pop with food for him. At first he was a little insulted that you made him food, thinking you were insulting his masculinity or something by babying him. But after your very honest words (and a reprimanding from Vil and Leona for making you sad), Epel understands that it was just you trying to show him that you cared for him. I can see Epel going to Jack and asking ‘Is someone giving you food manly?’ and Jack, who happened to overhear Leona telling Ruggie, casually responds with, ‘My mom always makes my dad food, so yeah…” And Epel’s all like, ‘Well damn, if Jack looks like that then his dad must be super macho.’ or something like that. Needless to say, Epel has never hit someone so hard before over food. (rip grim and ace)

[sadiesdoll]

EVERYTHING SHE COULDN’T SAY.

femme popular girl! reader x loser butch! vi | pure filth. (mdni ♡). wc: 1968

synopsis : vi doesn’t belong at parties— especially not ones like this. But she shows up anyway, pretending her friends dragged her along, when really, she came for you. The effortlessly hot, mean-in-a-way-that-makes-her-ache, popular girl who’s been living rent free in her head. You’ve always known she liked you, even if she was too pathetic to admit it. But tonight? You finally do something about it.

contains: sub!vi (she turns dom for a split second tho) dom!reader, top!vi, g!p vi, light humiliation (v!receiving), degradation (v!receiving), spit kink, hair pulling, femininity kink, breeding kink, power imbalance (emotional/psychological), obsession themes. Enjoy ♡

The music’s too loud. The bodies are too close. Her hoodie’s sticking to her skin, and some guy just spilled beer near her boots. Her jaw’s tight. Her hands are buried in her pockets so no one sees how bad they’re shaking.

She lied when she said her friends dragged her here. None of them even came. She just knew you would.

And there you are.

At the center of everything—pink, glowing, radiant. Something about how feminine you are makes her dick so fucking hard. 

You’re laughing in a way that makes her heart stutter, like something soft and devastating. Your dress is short. Your lip gloss is shiny. Your nails match your drink. And you’re touching some guy’s arm like it means nothing.

Vi swallows hard and looks away. She shouldn’t be here. You don’t even know her name.

Not really.

Sure, you’ve seen her around campus. Called her “broody girl” once with a smirk that made her weak in the knees. She remembers every word. Every glance. Every time your perfume lingered in the hallway after you passed her in your little skirts and flirty looks and cruel little smiles.

She thought she was subtle. But maybe she wasn’t.

“Didn’t think you were the party type,” you say suddenly, and Vi freezes like you just slapped her. Where the hell did you come from?

You’re standing right in front of her now, cocking your head, drink in hand, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I’m not,” she mumbles, trying not to look directly at you. “My friends, uh… dragged me here.”

You arch a brow. “You look like you’d rather die.”

“I’m good,” she lies.

You lean in, all glitter and heat, and Vi stops breathing.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you whisper, lips brushing her ear. “Got something to say, or are you just gonna keep pretending you don’t exist?”

Vi’s breath catches. Her stomach knots. Her cock twitches in her jeans.

“I…” she chokes. “You just look… nice.”

You chuckle gently. “Just nice?”

Vi swears her knees are going to give out.

You tug her by the hoodie, down the hallway, past drunk couples and closed doors. 

“Wait, fuck- where are we going?” she stumbles after you, eyes wide, voice soft and confused.

“Shut up,” you mutter without looking back, grip tight, pace faster.

Vi lets out a tiny breath—part whimper, part thrill. She follows anyway.

Until you find an empty bedroom and shove her inside. You lock the door. She’s breathless. Heart racing. 

“What are you doing?” Vi asks, trying to sound cool. She fails.

“You’ve been following me around campus for weeks,” you purr, stepping closer. “You think I didn’t notice? Those puppy eyes? Always looking away when I catch you?”

She opens her mouth to defend herself, but you press a hand to her chest.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

She flinches. Her cock aches.

“I’m not—”

“Oh cut the shit,” you say sweetly. “You are. And you’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.” You say while eyeing her lips.

And then you kiss her.

It’s messy. Hot. Your tongue meeting hers. You taste like vodka and strawberry. Her hands shoot to your waist, holding you so tight like you might disappear. She’s trembling. You’re not.

She moans into your mouth, desperate, needy—and then you feel it. Wetness at the corner of her lips. A thin string of spit drips down her chin before she can even stop it.

You pull back slightly, eyes wide with amused disbelief.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, cocking your head. “Did you just drool?”

Vi’s face goes crimson, breath hitching. “I—I didn’t mean to-“

“You’re drooling over me already?” you tease, voice syrupy with a hint of mockery. “I barely even touched you yet, sweetheart.”

She whimpers, jaw clenched, clearly humiliated—but she doesn’t look away.

“Poor thing,” you murmur, wiping it off with your thumb. “You’re already falling apart, huh?”

Your thumb lingers against her bottom lip, just a second too long. She’s breathing heavy, eyes glassy, completely wrecked already—and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“God, you’re easy,” you murmur, more to yourself than her. “Bet you’d cum just from me sitting on you.”

You climb onto her lap where she’s now sitting on the bed, grinding slowly against her, your pink panties rubbing right over her clothed hardening cock. She lets out a strangled whimper.

“F-Fuck… your panties are so pretty.”

“Yeah? You like em’?”

“Y-Yeah,” she breathes. “I—I wanted this. So fucking bad.” She whimpers. Throwing her head back, exposing her neck.

“Really?” you tease, kissing down her neck. “How bad?”

She grabs your ass like it hurts to speak.

“Like… for months. I—I used to jerk off thinking about you. You’d wear these tiny skirts and look at me like you knew. I thought I was going fucking crazy.”

Your pupils blow wide. You press harder into her.

“You were going crazy,” you murmur, grinding down. “You couldn’t even talk to me, poor thing. Had to come to a party you hated just to maybe catch a glimpse.”

Vi lets out a whine—an honest, humiliating noise. She’s flushed red and glassy-eyed, her cock now throbbing between you two.

You reach down and undo her jeans.

“You’re hard already,” you say mockingly, but your voice is soft now. “You’re so pathetic for me.”

You tilt her chin up with two fingers.

“Open your mouth,” you order. Vi obeys immediately, eyes wide, lips parted.

You spit into it—slow, deliberate.

She lets out a soft, broken moan and swallows without you even needing to tell her. Her cock twitches violently inside your walls.

“I am pathetic,” she gasps. “I am, I swear.”

You pull her out and your mouth drops open. She’s thick. Veiny. Desperate. You move your panties aside and sink down onto her without warning, and she whimpers—actually fucking whimpers—like she’s going to cry.

“F-fuck— you’re warm— you’re so—”

Your nails rake down her shoulders.

“Shit, feels like you’re about to cum already.” you murmur, breath hitching as you adjust to the stretch. “Be good and fuck me right first.”

Vi nods rapidly, thrusting up into you with a need that’s almost painful. Her eyes are glued to your pussy that takes her in over and over again. She’s babbling, groaning, panting, her forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“I-I can’t believe— I wanted this—fuck, I wanted this for so long— you don’t get it, you don’t fucking get it—”

You ride her harder.

“Oh, I get it,” you pant, your voice breaking with every bounce you give her. Biting your lip. “I can feel how badly you wanted it. Ngh—fuck.. Every fucking thrust is so desperate—fuck—you’re needy. Like a fucking loser.”

Vi whines, her brows furrowed, thrusts shaky and deep.

“Y-You’re so fucking mean,” she pants. “But you feel so good—fuck, you’re perfect—”

Your voice breaks as she hits deeper. “Yeah? You like when I’m mean to you?” 

You tangle your fingers in her undercut, long pretty nails grazing her scalp, and yank her head back—not too hard, just enough to make her eyes water.

Her lips part, a helpless noise falling from her throat as she shudders beneath you.

“Say it,” you demand, watching her squirm. “Say you like it.”

She nods frantically.

“Use your words,” you snap, tightening your grip. “Say you fucking like it, Vi.”

Vi gasps, pupils blown wide, hips stuttering. “I like it,” she pants. “I love it—fuck—I love when you’re mean to me—”

You pout at her in a mocking way. “Mhmm? You do?”

She thrusts harder and deeper into you, and for a split second— it feels like she’s dominating, but you don’t let her.

She whines, “Yeah—yeah—you tease me—walk around like that.. with your pretty little ass out— like you don’t know what you’re doing—I fucking love it. I love it—”

You feel her thrusts getting weaker, a sign of her getting closer and closer.

You grab her jaw, pulling her face towards you slightly, forcing her to look at you.

“Listen to me.” You command. “Don’t cum yet,” you say, tightening your grip on her. “You don’t get to finish until I say so.”

Vi lets out a choked whimper, her cock twitching inside you.

“F-Fuck-please—please, I’m so close—”

“Then hold it in,” you demand. “Be good. You wanted to fuck me so bad, didn’t you? So fuck me right. Pound your dick into me like you mean it.”

Her eyes flutter. She nods, desperate, jaw clenched as she tries—tries—to stay in control, every thrust shaking and speeding up like it costs her everything.

Just as you think she’s losing control, she surprises you—her fingers dart down between your bodies. 

And then—

She starts rubbing your clit. Fast and firm, right as her thrusts pick up in desperation, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your breath hitches. 

You weren’t expecting that. 

You gasp, the loudest moan escaped your throat as she abuses your poor wet clit.

You bite your lip, clenching around her girthy cock, suddenly caught off guard by the sensation of her hands on you—soft, needy, and demanding.

Vi notices the shift, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth as she presses harder against you. “You like that?” she breathes against your ear, voice a dangerous whisper.

You shudder, momentarily losing your composure. But you shake your head, trying to regain control.

“F-Fuck,” you stammer, but the pleasure starts to overtake your thoughts. “You little—”

She lets out a faint giggle.

“God,” you moan, arching against her. “Look how hard you’re trying. Is this you trying to make mefeel like the desperate one? You’re fucking pathetic.”

You bounce harder and faster on her until she feels like she can’t breathe.

Vi sobs into your neck, every muscle in her body tensed like a dam about to break.

“Fuck. I’m sorry- I’m so fucking sorry baby please-“

Your nails dig deep into her back.

“P-Please—say I can- say it—I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Nuh-uh, if you’re so close, why aren’t you pulling out?”

Her whole body jolts. She stares at you, wide-eyed, like you just smacked her.

“W-What?” she breathes.

You grin, eyes half-lidded.

 “Ohhh,” you coo, voice dripping with mock pity. “You wanna cum inside me, don’t you?”

Her throat bobs. She doesn’t answer.

“Yeah?” you tease, riding her harder. Clashing your lips onto hers.

“You wanna fuck your cum deep inside and fill me up? Wanna breed me like the desperate little puppy you are?” You whisper against her lips.

“F-Fuck—fuck—holy fucking shit- please—” she gasps, trembling.

“Then do it.” 

Vi looks deep into your eyes, searching for reassurance. “You want me to?” She sighs out softly.

You smile cruelly, biting your lip as you look down at her with your dazed doe eyes, making sure she knows exactly what’s about to happen. 

“Mhm. Cum inside me.” You lower your voice, ride her harder, just for her, making the moment burn deeper. 

“Fill me up with everything you’ve been holding in. Don’t you dare pull out—let me feel every inch of you, how desperate you are for me.” You bounce harder and faster.

And she shatters.

Her moan is raw, like it’s been locked in her chest for years. She fills you up, trembling, cock pulsing deep inside your cunt as she gasps and gasps like she can’t get enough air.

And then it’s quiet.

The air is thick with sweat and sex. Her arms are shaking. Her face is buried in your neck. You feel her cock soften inside you, and you swear you hear her whisper something like, “Thank you.”

You brush her hair back, soft for the first time. Just a little.

“You lasted longer than I thought,” you murmur.

She lets out a breathless laugh.

“You ruined me.”

You smile. “Yeah. I know.”

Please keep in mind that this is a oneshot !! I will not be doing a part 2. (Unless.. lolzies)

Critcism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

thank you for reading! ♡

[miirohs]

no body, no crime [o.p]

pairing: Mob Boss!Oscar Piastri x GN!Reader wc: 1.8k cw: reader shoots someone, poor hurt/comfort an: this one is dedicated to the local piastri lover em because that Danny Ric fic is never leaving the editing stage,,, had to change it up a bit tho bc the beginning was hampering the rest of it, but anyways I’m continuing the 2 am shitposting tradition 💀

The clock ticked softly in the background, a cold breeze filtering through the room as you curled further into the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to drown out the noise. The nightlights shone through the thin curtains, the light of the bright neon billboards cast onto the floor.

Oscar wasn’t home again, leaving you to your lonesome in his penthouse in London, something about an emergency meeting at eleven in the night.

You weren’t worried much about the call time, but you couldn’t help the pit that formed in your stomach as your head rested on his shoulder, still too tired to make out what he murmured in a low voice on the phone.

Whatever it was sounded important but he didn’t let you hear anything, herding you back to the bedroom with the promise that he’d be back sooner if not later. You held onto his hand, eyes shutting for good as the warmth of his hand slipped away once again.

With that, you fell into a fretful sleep, waking up at odd times for no explainable reason.

You felt dreadful as your eyes opened again, apartment eerily quiet, vision blurring as you read the clock.

2:45 A.M. It read.

You crawled to the end of the bed, letting your legs dangle off the bed as you reached out for your phone. Not a single notification on the screen and you sighed, opening up the messages app.

As you opened Oscars contact, something outside clicked faintly, making you jump. You slid off the bed, feet padding against the wooden flooring as you wandered into the hall.

You didn’t see any guards posted, even as you called out names you could barely remember hoarsely, getting no response back even as your voice bounced around the hall. It was slowly starting to freak you out, but you figured it was just the lack of sleep getting to you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this paranoid, and it wasn’t just for nothing.

The lights were off in the living room and kitchen, and you turned on the flashlight on your phone, your free hand pressed to the glass window. Your hands trembled slightly as you returned to tapping against the screen, typing up a message to send to Oscar.

where are you rn? heard something outside, can’t see guards anywhere.

The screen lit up, speech bubbles popping up for a couple moments before diapering entirely.

lmk when you’re on your way.

You sent the message, sliding onto a chair and hunching over the granite countertop. The phone rang only moments later, and you snapped out of your stupor, looking at the caller id.

[Osc].

You swiped, sliding off the chair and walking into the kitchen.

“Y/n? Is that you, baby?”

“Mmm, it is,” You mumbled sleepily, fingers running along the countertops as you reached to open the cabinet, "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back," Oscar replied, tone relieved. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

“No, I thought i heard something,” You paused, anxiety thrumming under the surface of your skin as something clicked again, “And the guards aren’t here, they-”

“What do you mean not there?” You held the phone away, eyes widening as he cussed softly. The shock and fear in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

"I don't know," you stammered, glancing around the dark kitchen, "I called out for them, but no one answered. I thought it was just me being paranoid but…"

"Lock yourself in the bedroom. Now. I'm almost there, and if anyone breaks through, there's a gun in my nightchest. Don’t use it, just scare them if you have to." He instructed, voice panicked. You paused as he rambled further, eyes landing on a glass half full sitting on the countertop next to the sink.

“What the…”

Your head was slammed into the counter, blinding white pain licking across your temple as you dropped the phone.

The glass shattered as you flailed, crumpling onto the floor. Your world spun, something wet staining your hand as you clutched your head.

Oscar was now frantically shouting through the phone, and your vision blurred as you scanned the floor for the bright light. The sound of your phone cracking made you scramble back, trying to stand up as the world spun under your feet.

You could barely see the assailant in the darkness of the apartment, barely illuminated by the lights of the city.

They lunged for you, barely missing as you scrambled to the side, back hitting a wall. It was barely seconds before they came for you, pressing you up against the wall with their gun, cutting off your circulation.

The cold metal dug into your neck, and you clawed at their clothed arms, aimlessly flailing. Your kicking paid off, as the intruder gasped in pain as you landed a kick to the crotch, gasping for air as you slid down. Despite the throbbing pain, you dogged again when something flew at your head, crawling to the living room and pulling yourself up against the coffee table.

The intruder closed in once again, swearing loudly as they limped towards you. Grasping blindly, your fingers closed around a metal vase, swinging it in their direction. It connected with a resounding thud and you got up, shoving past them in the direction of your shared bedroom.

You’d stunned them, but you weren’t sure how long it’d last, locking the door behind you as you fell to your knees, crawling over to his side of the bed, slumped against the bed as you opened the drawer.

Your fingers closed around the cold metal of the gun Oscar had mentioned, hand tensing and untensing as you stared down the shiny silver. Suddenly, the door banged again, and you froze.

The rush of blood drowned out the taunts, positioning yourself in a far corner of the room, eyes straining in the dark as the doorknob jiggled.

That didn’t last wrong, the wood of the door splintering and cracking. "Come out, you-" the intruder's voice was cut off by another loud bang on the door, hand reaching down to the handle through a crack in the door.

There was nothing but the bed between you now, the door finally giving way, allowing them to stumble into a room with a malevolent look.

Panic surged through you and you raised the gun as threateningly as you could.

He grabbed your wrist, wrenching the gun from your grasp and throwing it to the side. You struggled, kicking and clawing your way out of his grip, diving for the gun. They tackled you once again, and you both tumbled to the ground.

In the struggle, your finger dug into the trigger, losing circulation as he pinned you down, gun shaking uncontrollably.

A shot rang out, followed by an intense ringing in your ears, the grip on your hands loosening. Something warm splattered against your face, blood pooling at your sides and you could only stare in horror.

There was nothing but a ringing in your ear, staring into the darkness as if expecting something else. The door burst open and Oscar rushed in, his eyes wild with fear. It was the first time you’d seen him so unkempt, eyes widening in shock as he connected the dots between the smoking gun in your hand and the body on the floor.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying, only as he pulled you closer to him, feeling the vibrations in his chest.

You couldn’t really make out what he was saying, slumping down against him as tears escaped your eyes.

You weren’t sure how much time passed till you could hear him again, blanking out for a couple of moments before you could remember again, sitting on the bed once again.

You could hear Oscar shouting in the other room, probably on the phone again. Something had gone terribly wrong for his composed self to be shattered.

He had Lando sitting in the room with you, monitoring you as your legs dangled off of the edge of the bed, staring down at hands crusted with blood.

Both of you didn’t say much, only nodding to any questions he asked, not even listening entirely.

“Is she doing okay?” You turned at the sound of Oscar's voice, opening then closing your mouth as Lando shrugged noncommittally, murmuring something about how he hadn’t heard a peep in the hour he’d been there.

You phased out again, only coming back to your senses as he gripped your hand, kneeling in front of you.

"Hey," Oscar said softly, high contrast to the way he had been yelling earlier. "Can you look at me baby?"

You blinked, slowly focusing on his face. The tears were coming back, and you swallowed them down again, digging your nails into his hands instead.

He didn’t complain, running a soothing thumb over your knuckles. "You don’t have to if you don’t want to," He continued, "You're safe now. Everything's going to be okay."

Even when you didn’t answer and stared blankly, he continued, listing things aimlessly to catch your attention.

“We’re going to increase security detail for you by the way. I won’t be leaving you on your own for a while…” He paused in his explanation, tilting his head at you. “Please talk to me, baby, I’m worried.”

You swallowed hard, feelings like a mess of strings as you opened your mouth. "I don't know what happened," You shuddered, voice barely above a whisper, "I just... I had to… I just killed someone. Oh god, I'm a killer."

Oscar's expression softened further in contrast to the steely tone he used as he gripped your hand tighter. “No, you didn’t. If anyone questions you, I was the one who did it. Not you, me. Don’t blame yourself for what happens to scum like that.”

“But then- then you’ll get in trouble,” You whispered, haunted by the thought, “they’ll arrest you.”

He smirked, reaching up to brush the hair out of your face as if he was contemplating something.

“Osc baby, what-“

“Whoever sent them,” He spoke with slight disgust, although you could tell that wasn’t at all the full gist of what he was feeling, “Started this trouble first. They can’t arrest me if there’s no body to be found. No body, no crime baby.”

You could only stare at him, heart aching slightly as he pulled your hands to him, allowing you to run your fingers through his messed up hair.

“You’re…” You didn’t finish the sentence, allowing him to stand up and hover over you.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he wiped your unshed tears. “You’re strong, we all know that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You sniffled, hands looping around his own as he cradled your face.

“You’ll never have to find out,” he replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead, arms holding you down almost possessively, “Never when I’m here.”

[formulaonecrumbs]

looked at me the right way 💋

Lando Norris x reader

summary: a small moment turns into something more

warnings: making out, insinuated sex (low-key their first time together) no actual smut, still extremely fluffy

A/N: a little bit inspired by my last fic and by the fact that i’m ovulating 🤗🤗 this might be the closest i’ll get to smut for now cause i’ve never tried to write it + it’d make me uncomfy if it’s my own fantasies (y’all can req all u want tho) ALSOO i love a good make out. could get off to it 💯 (too tmi? idk anymore) anyways ENJOY. love u, my pretties 👅

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it starts on the floor.

you’re both lying there, half-watching a movie, half-distracted by the way your feet keep brushing.

lando’s head is propped on a pillow. he keeps stealing glances at you.

“why are you looking at me like that,” you ask, not looking away from the screen.

he hums. “like what.”

“like you’re about to do something stupid.”

“define stupid.”

you turn to face him.

he’s already closer than expected.

“lando.”

“mm?”

“stop it.”

he grins, soft and smug.

“make me.”

you blink. once. twice.

then you lean in and kiss him.

it’s supposed to shut him up. it’s not supposed to make your whole body spark.

but the second your lips touch, he exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding it in all day. his hand finds your waist, warm and sure, pulling you half on top of him without a second thought.

you kiss again. slower this time. deeper. like you’re both figuring out how far this can go before one of you catches fire.

lando’s hands slide up your back. yours tangle in his hair. the movie keeps playing, but you stop hearing it.

there’s nothing but breath and warmth and mouths that don’t want to part.

he sighs into the next kiss like it’s the best thing he’s felt all day.

your fingers tug his hoodie up slightly, just enough to feel his skin beneath. he shivers a little.

you smile against his lips. “cold?”

“no,” he whispers. “just ruined.”

you laugh, and he kisses you again like he needs it.

like he doesn’t care that you’re both on the carpet, awkwardly half-crushed under throw pillows.

like he’s been waiting to kiss you like this since the second he met you.

his kisses get slower after that. softer. more deliberate. like he’s savoring every second.

one of his hands moves to your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

you lean into it instinctively.

it’s not just making out anymore. it’s not just heat and hands and mouths.

it’s something quieter. heavier.

you rest your forehead against his.

lando swallows, like he’s trying to keep his heart from spilling out his mouth.

“this is stupid,” you whisper.

“mm,” he agrees. “the stupidest.”

you kiss him again anyway.

again.

again.

again.

lando’s hand slips beneath your shirt.

slow. careful. like he’s not sure if he’s allowed.

you answer by kissing him harder.

your body presses fully against his now—chests flush, legs tangled, your fingers still in his hair like they live there.

“you’re really not gonna stop me,” he mumbles against your lips.

you smile. “do you want me to?”

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes are half-lidded, cheeks pink, lips swollen.

“not even a little bit.”

you kiss him again, slow and heavy, like you’ve got all the time in the world and no idea how to use it properly.

his hand on your back drifts lower. yours slip beneath the hem of his hoodie, flattening against his stomach.

he makes a noise in the back of his throat—something soft and startled and completely wrecked.

you pull back slightly, just to catch your breath.

“lando.”

he looks at you like he’s about to fall apart.

“yeah?”

“this feels like something.”

“it is something.”

“no,” you whisper. “like… more.”

his thumb rubs gently at your side.

he nods, just once. “i know.”

you study him for a second. “you sure?”

lando laughs—soft, breathless, almost nervous.

“i’ve been sure since you shoved cheetos in my mouth mid-stream and told me to ‘shut up and be funny.’”

you blink. “that was, like… eight months ago.”

“yeah.” he kisses your cheek. “i’ve been screwed since.”

you grin. “that’s disgusting.”

“and true.”

you kiss him again—quick, then longer.

then you whisper, “bed?”

lando doesn’t answer with words.

just sits up, scoops you into his arms like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and carries you like you weigh nothing.

you squeak. “you’re gonna drop me.”

“never,” he says, all stupidly sincere. “you’re my favorite thing.”

you bury your face in his neck so he doesn’t see your expression. it’s probably embarrassing.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the lights are low. the room is quiet except for your breathing—his and yours, uneven, too close together.

lando’s lying beside you, one hand on your waist, thumb moving slow circles over your skin. your shirt’s ridden up, showing most of what you’ve got going on. his hoodie’s gone. everything feels warmer now.

“you’re staring,” you whisper, like you’re not doing the exact same thing.

he doesn’t deny it. just tugs you closer, like he can’t help it. like he needs to feel all of you pressed against him.

“can’t believe you’re mine,” he says quietly, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back again. “feels fake.”

you laugh, breath catching as his fingers brush the dip of your waist.

“feels very real to me.”

he kisses you again.

it starts soft. sweet. but then you shift, just slightly—one leg over his, your hand slipping up to his jaw—and everything tilts.

his breath hitches.

your fingers thread into his hair, tugging just enough to make him sigh against your mouth. he kisses deeper now, more open-mouthed, more wanting.

his hand skims under your shirt again. he’s not rushing. not trying to get anywhere fast. just touching to feel. to memorize.

your hips shift without thinking.

lando groans into your mouth, just a little, barely audible—but it hits you like a spark to kindling.

you break the kiss, panting.

“we’re gonna combust,” you say, smiling breathlessly.

he grins, letting out an airy giggle he speaks. “then let’s go out in flames.”

you shove him back gently. he lands against the pillows, laughing, and you climb over him, straddling his hips.

his hands settle on your thighs. yours on his chest.

you lean down and kiss him again—slow, teasing, dragging it out.

his fingers tighten.

“you’re evil,” he whispers, lips brushing yours.

“you love it.”

“i love you.”

that stops you for a second.

he doesn’t take it back.

you kiss him again because it’s easier than answering—but your whole body’s buzzing now, every nerve on fire with affection and wanting and him.

the next few minutes- maybe hours, are a blur of hands and kisses and laughing when someone bumps their head on the headboard, of whispered “right there”s and soft moans muffled by mouths that can’t stay apart.

nothing rushed.

just two people hopelessly in love, tangled up in sheets and each other, kissing like it’s the only language they speak.

you fall asleep like that.

half-draped over him, skin warm, lips swollen, his arm tight around your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

and honestly?

you hope he never does.

THE END :>

[julietsf1]

All is Fair in Love and Pastries - Kenan Yıldız x Reader

summary: She came to Munich for romance and got ghosted instead. Now, all she has left is a non-refundable ticket, a wounded ego, and an ongoing feud with a man who stole her last pretzel. (8k words)

content: serendipity, slight enemies-to-lovers, unexpected chemistry, teasing, fluff :)

AN: getting that real life inspo lmao I'm actually still going to Munich this weekend as my ticket is non refundable :') bet im gonna go shopping tho!! have a lovely day darlings <3

_______________________________________

I stared at my phone for the hundredth time that day, hoping—no, praying—for a notification. A single message. A carrier pigeon, even. Anything to prove that I hadn’t just imagined the last 5 months of my relationship.

Nothing.

Just the same empty screen, as quiet and indifferent as the man who swore he loved me five days ago.

I refreshed our chat anyway, like that would suddenly make a difference. Maybe my WiFi was acting up. Maybe he had texted, and the message was just... stuck in the digital abyss, waiting to be delivered.

Nope. Still nothing.

I sighed dramatically and flopped back onto my bed, holding my phone above me like it might suddenly start explaining itself.

It had been four days since my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend? Current ghost?—had last texted me. Four whole days. No explanation, no excuse, not even the cowardice of a half-assed breakup text.

Just... radio silence.

Besides the instagram stories of his friends, where he was seemingly having the time of his life clubbing and going to basketball matches.

The man who, less than a week ago, had been telling me he missed me so much, that he couldn’t wait to see me, had apparently decided I no longer existed.

Cool. Very cool.

I unlocked my phone and stared at my last message to him. A simple:

"What time are you picking me up from the airport <3"

Sent. Read. Ignored.

I clenched my jaw and rolled onto my stomach, glaring at my laptop screen where my non-refundable plane ticket sat in my email inbox. A round-trip flight from Nice to Munich, purchased in what I now recognized as the stupidest burst of romantic optimism I’d ever had. 

What was I supposed to do now? Cancel? Waste the money and sit at home, marinating in my own heartbreak like some tragic rom-com protagonist?

Absolutely not.

He may have ghosted me, but I’d be damned if I let some spineless man ruin my weekend. If nothing else, I was going to Munich. I had been there quite often for him anyway; I can figure out town for myself. And if nothing else, I was going to eat overpriced pastries, wander through fancy boutiques, and romanticize the hell out of my heartbreak.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I packed my bags and boarded the plane with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own public execution.

…

Munich was cold, and I was hungry—a dangerous combination for my already fragile mood.

I had spent the last hour walking through Englischer Garten, trying to shake off the lingering irritation of being ghosted. Fresh air was supposed to be good for you, right? It was supposed to clear your head, restore balance, whatever.

Did it work?

Not even a little.

I even stopped by the Eisbachwelle, where wetsuit-clad lunatics flung themselves into freezing water, attempting to surf a man-made wave in the middle of the city. I lingered for a while, waiting for the sight of someone wiping out spectacularly to cheer me up. A little Schadenfreude, as the Germans call it.

But even that failed me.

A guy faceplanted so hard that his board smacked him in the ribs, and all I felt was secondhand embarrassment. Not a single drop of joy.

Which meant I had officially lost my edge.

I needed a reset. Something warm, salty, buttery, preferably in the shape of a large pretzel.

So when I spotted a small bakery stand in Marienplatz, I knew what had to be done.

There it was. The last Brezn.

Golden brown, perfectly crisp on the outside, still steaming slightly. It looked like a hug in food form. The kind of thing that could turn your entire day around, that could restore faith in humanity, that could—

A hand shot out at the same time as mine.

Before I could react, the pretzel thief had already handed over his cash, nodding a polite danke to the vendor as if he hadn't just robbed me blind in broad daylight.

I stood there, hand still hovering mid-air, fingers closing around absolutely nothing.

The guy—the criminal in question—didn’t even hesitate. He just took a bite, slow and deliberate, as if he were performing for a food commercial.

I should have just let it go. But I was cold, hungry, and, quite frankly, on the verge of snapping.

“Excuse me?” I said, my voice teetering dangerously close to customer service polite.

He finally turned toward me, mid-chew, like he hadn’t just committed culinary theft.

Up close, he was—unfortunately—pretty easy to look at. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features softened only slightly by a full head of thick, dark blonde hair. The kind of guy who looked like he belonged in an expensive ad campaign, modeling watches he probably didn't even know how to read.

His gaze flicked down at me, scanning me with the casual arrogance of a man who had never had to fight for the last anything in his life.

“Problem?”

I crossed my arms. “You just stole my Brezn.”

He glanced down at it. Then, without even a hint of remorse, ripped off another piece and tossed it into his mouth.

“Oh?” he said, chewing. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

I let out a slow breath through my nose. “You cut the line.”

He shrugged. “I don’t wait in lines.”

I squinted at him. “Oh, wow. That must be so difficult for you.”

“It is,” he replied, entirely serious, before popping another bite into his mouth.

I stared at him. He stared back.

This was a test from the universe.

“I think I deserve it more,” he said finally, still looking alarmingly relaxed about this whole thing.

“Oh yeah?” I deadpanned. “And why’s that?”

He licked a bit of salt off his thumb—unnecessarily slowly, might I add—before replying, “I’m barely ever home. Haven’t had one of these in months.”

I exhaled sharply, glancing at the vendor like maybe—just maybe—there was another pretzel hiding in a secret stash somewhere. But no. This was it.

This stranger had not only taken the last Brezn but was now making a compelling case as to why he deserved it more.

I had two choices:

1.     Accept defeat like a normal, functioning adult.

2.     Die on this hill.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling particularly mature today.

“Well,” I said, shifting my weight onto one leg. “I actually had a really rough week. So if we’re doing the who deserves it more competition, I’m pretty sure I win.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking far too amused for someone who had just ruined my day. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

I opened my mouth, then hesitated.

 “Let’s just say I’ve had a series of unfortunate events that have led me here, to this exact moment, where all I wanted—all I needed—was a Brezn.” I gestured toward the offending baked good, still clutched in his ridiculously nice hands. “And yet, here we are.”

He considered that for a moment, like he was actually entertaining the idea of handing it over.

Then, after a beat, he simply swallowed, dusted the salt from his fingers, and said, “Still not giving it to you.”

I blinked. “You’re actually the worst.”

“Probably,” he agreed, unbothered.

And then—because apparently, this interaction wasn’t infuriating enough—he shot me a quick smirk, turned on his heel, and walked away.

With my pretzel.

I watched his retreating figure, the back of his stupidly nice jacket, the annoyingly confident way he walked, and considered my life choices.

Maybe I should have just tripped him.

…

By the time I reached Jamal’s apartment, I had mostly let go of the pretzel theft.

Mostly.

Fine, not at all, but I was telling myself that because I refused to let some random bread bandit ruin my entire weekend.

I rang the doorbell, and within seconds, the door swung open to reveal Jamal Musiala—failed Raya date turned best mate.

We had met on the app ages ago, but within the first five minutes of real-life conversation, it was abundantly clear that we were better off as friends. No awkward tension, no will-they-won’t-they—just immediate sibling energy.

And when he heard about my spectacular disaster, he didn’t even hesitate.

"Cancel the hotel. My guest room is free. You’re staying with me."

Which was how I ended up here, standing in his doorway while he pulled me into a quick hug.

"Yo! Finally made it," he said, immediately pulling me into a hug. 

"Survived another international flight," I sighed, stepping inside and already feeling the tension in my shoulders ease.

He grabbed my bag, tossing it near the door like it was his personal mission to make sure I did absolutely nothing for myself this weekend. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I muttered, collapsing onto the couch. "Between the baby on the flight and some guy testing my patience on the streets of Munich, I was one bad moment away from throwing hands."

Jamal raised an eyebrow, already amused. "Define ‘testing your patience.’"

I waved a hand. "Eh, some random dickhead cut in front of me at a bakery. Took the last Brezn. Very tragic. Anyway, I’m over it now."

Jamal snorted. "You don’t sound over it."

"I’ve grown as a person," I said solemnly, grabbing the tea he handed me. "Anyway, enough about me. What’s new? Got any hot gossip?"

"Nothing as dramatic as your bread wars," he teased, settling into the chair across from me. "But I’m still reeling over the fact that you thought long-distance dating was a good idea."

I sighed, taking a long sip of my tea. "Alright, go on. Get it out of your system."

He smirked. "No, no, I just think it’s inspiring. You—who has approximately zero patience for time-wasters—thought dating someone five countries away was a solid plan."

I gave him a look. "It made sense at the time!"

Jamal raised an eyebrow. "Did it?"

I groaned. "Yes! In theory, long-distance means built-in space. No pressure to see each other all the time, no risk of losing yourself in the relationship. You still get your own life. It’s all very mature, very evolved."

"Ah yes," he nodded seriously, "a relationship with absolutely no quality time. Revolutionary."

I ignored him. "It worked perfectly for me."

Jamal leaned forward, grinning. "I think you’re saying he just didn’t make you fall head over heels properly."

"I’m saying it was a noble experiment that failed," I corrected.

"You rationalize love like it’s a business deal," he said, shaking his head. "I bet you made a whole pros and cons list before agreeing to this relationship."

I pursed my lips.

Jamal’s eyes widened. "Oh my God. You did."

"It was a very casual list," I mumbled into my mug.

He threw his head back, cackling. "You’re mental."

I scowled. "Some of us like to make informed decisions, Jamal."

"And some of us," he grinned, "realize that love isn’t an investment portfolio. It just happens."

I squinted at him. "That sounds like something people say when they want me to shut up."

"That too," he admitted, still smirking. "Anyway, I invited a friend over for FIFA later—hope you don’t mind."

I waved a hand lazily. "No problem. I’m gonna take a long shower first anyway."

…

The shower did its job. By the time I stepped out, warm and wrapped in one of Jamal’s oversized hoodies, I felt lighter. Like maybe this weekend wasn’t a complete disaster. Maybe I could just enjoy being in Munich, enjoy my friend’s company, and ignore the nagging feeling that I had flown here for absolutely no reason.

Then I stepped into the living room.

And froze.

Because sitting on Jamal’s couch, controller in hand, was none other than the Brezn thief himself.

I stopped so abruptly I nearly slid on the hardwood floor.

He looked up at me mid-game, one hand casually flicking the joystick, the other resting against the back of the couch like he had all the time in the world. His dark blond waves were slightly damp, like he’d just showered too, and he was wearing a black long-sleeve shirt that looked unfairly good on him.

For a split second, I thought maybe the universe was punishing me. That this was some kind of elaborate karmic joke.

Then he grinned, slow and lazy.

“Oh,” he said, far too casually for my liking. “It’s you again.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you following me?”

Jamal—completely oblivious to the mounting tension in the room—paused the game and looked between us. “Wait. You two already know each other?”

The man—who I now knew was not just some random bakery menace but an actual acquaintance of Jamal’s—stretched his arms out in front of him like he was completely at ease, shooting me a look that was somewhere between amused and smug.

“We met earlier,” he said, still grinning like he found this whole thing hilarious. “Had a little disagreement over a pretzel.”

I crossed my arms. “I wouldn’t call it a disagreement. More like an act of blatant food theft.”

Jamal let out a loud laugh. “Oh my God. You’re the Brezn guy?”

I turned to him, betrayed. “You’re taking his side?”

“Oh, I’m on no one’s side,” Jamal said, still grinning. “I just can’t believe you’ve been ranting about this all evening, and it turns out it was Kenan.”

Kenan.

I turned back to him, my brain finally catching up. Kenan Yıldız. The name suddenly clicked into place. Juventus player. Young star. He had been on all the football news headlines lately, yet I hadn’t recognized him when we’d been too busy arguing over baked goods.

Kenan leaned back against the couch, clearly enjoying every second of this.

“If it helps,” he said, “I did think about giving it to you.”

I scoffed. “Wow. So generous.”

“Didn’t, though,” he added, eyes gleaming.

I inhaled sharply, mentally weighing the pros and cons of throwing a pillow at his head.

Jamal, meanwhile, was still thoroughly entertained. “Alright, alright. Before you two start a war in my living room, sit down. We’re playing FIFA.”

I dropped onto the couch, watching as he passed a controller to Kenan. “Oh, fantastic. I get to witness high-quality gameplay firsthand.”

Kenan barely glanced at me as he selected his team. “That sounded sarcastic.”

I took a sip of my drink. “That’s because it was.”

Jamal grinned. “You talk like you’ve seen him play before.”

I gestured toward the screen. "The evidence is right there. You haven’t even started playing, and I can already see the classic overconfidence."

Jamal burst out laughing. “Oh, this is great. I love this."

Kenan tilted his head slightly. “You think I’m bad at FIFA?”

I leaned back, stretching my legs out. “I think you think you’re good, which is way worse.”

Jamal wheezed. “Mate, she’s calling you a fraud.”

Kenan finally smirked, something sharper in his expression now. “Alright then. Play me.”

I scoffed. “Why would I waste my time proving something I already know?”

Kenan handed me a controller. “Because I think you’re all talk.”

Jamal let out a low whistle. “Damn. You gonna let him say that?”

I squinted at Kenan, assessing. He looked too confident, too pleased with himself, like he had already decided I was going to lose.

Big mistake.

I stretched my arms, feigning boredom. "Fine. But when I win, you’re buying me a Brezn."

His grin widened. “Deal.”

Jamal leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, this is officially the most invested I’ve ever been in FIFA.” 

The match started, and I quickly realized three things:

1.     Kenan was as smug as humanly possible.

2.     I was not as bad as he expected.

3.     I was still losing.

“You sure you’ve played this before?” he teased, passing circles around my defense.

I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Shut up.”

And then—he scored.

Jamal burst out laughing as I dramatically collapsed against the couch. “I’m going to throw this controller at your head.”

Kenan grinned. “You’re just mad because you’re losing.”

I exhaled, resetting. “Alright. I’m locked in now.”

Kenan smirked. “Oh? You weren’t trying before?”

“I was warming up.”

And then—I started to figure him out.

Kenan was good, but he was also comfortable. He played like someone who expected to win—which meant he wasn’t ready for surprises.

So I gave him one.

Instead of playing safe, I started forcing mistakes. Instead of predictable attacks, I threw reckless passes forward, sprinting onto them with zero hesitation.

And then—somehow, some way—I scored.

The room went silent.

Jamal’s eyes widened. “NO WAY.”

I shot up from the couch, genuinely thrilled, throwing my arms in the air like I had just won the World Cup. “LET’S GO!”

Kenan blinked at the screen, processing. “...Alright. That was decent.”

“DECENT?” I laughed. “That was incredible. That was a masterpiece. Someone call FIFA, that was the best goal of the year.”

Jamal was dying, doubled over in laughter. “She’s actually celebrating like she won the league.”

Kenan shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.

Jamal leaned toward him. “You good, man? I think she actually rattled you.”

Kenan exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “One goal means nothing.”

I grinned. “You sound stressed.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly.

“You look stressed.”

Kenan didn’t even respond. He just restarted the match, jaw set, eyes focused.

And that’s when I realized—he actually cared.

I had gotten to him.

And that fact alone made my entire weekend.

The rest of the game was pure chaos. I spent the entire match talking, commentating my every move like I was a sports announcer, making Jamal cry with laughter while Kenan did his best to block me out.

And then—somehow, against all odds—I scored again.

Jamal fell to the floor. “SHE DID IT AGAIN.”

I jumped up, clapping my hands together, absolutely beaming. “Someone get the cameras! Someone call ESPN!”

Kenan exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

Jamal cackled. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

Kenan looked at me then, properly looked, and for a split second, there was something undeniably fond in his gaze.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head with a tiny, reluctant smile.

I flopped back down, grinning wildly. “Kenan, should I go pro?”

“You should retire while you’re ahead,” he muttered.

I smirked. “So you admit I’m ahead.”

Kenan sighed, picking up his drink. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

Jamal wheezed. “Nah, man, you lost. Accept it.”

I stood up, stretching lazily. “I believe you owe me a Brezn, Yıldız.”

With a giggle, I wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a coke from the fridge, still riding the high of my victory.

Behind me, I heard Jamal got up, grabbing his phone. “Food’s almost here—I’ll go down and get it.”

The appartment was quiet now besides the sound of a controller being set down. A pause.

Then, Kenan’s voice, low and even.

“She’s unbearable.”

I grabbed a coke and turned around, only to find him already walking into the kitchen.

He moved with the kind of easy confidence that was impossible to ignore, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt slightly, like he had all the time in the world. I expected him to go for a drink himself, but he just leaned against the counter, watching me.

I raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip. “Let me guess. You came in here to process your humiliating loss in private?”

His lips twitched. “I came in here to see if you’d finally crack and admit you got lucky.”

I scoffed, setting my drink down with dramatic emphasis. “Lucky? Oh, that’s cute. You think this was luck.”

Kenan tilted his head slightly, like he was really considering it. “Mmm. Either that, or you tricked me into underestimating you.”

I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. “Are you suggesting I played mind games with you?”

His eyes glinted with something just shy of admiration. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

I smirked. “You’re right. I totally did. And I’d do it again.”

Kenan’s lips curled at the edges, like he wasn’t going to give me the satisfaction of admitting anything. But his gaze flickered—just for a second—down to my mouth before locking back onto my eyes.

There was a beat of silence, not awkward but charged.

His voice was lower when he spoke again. “I’ll get you back for that.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Sure you will.”

Before he could respond, Jamal’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Food’s here!”

Kenan stepped back, running a hand through his hair before nodding toward the door. “Come on, winner. Let’s eat.”

I followed, my smirk still lingering.

For the first time all weekend, I felt genuinely good.

…

It had gotten late the night before. Later than expected.

Jamal had ordered food, we’d all ended up sitting around, eating, talking, and somehow, between full stomachs and heavy eyelids, Kenan had ended up crashing on the couch. It wasn’t planned—just one of those things that happened when the night stretched longer than you thought it would.

I had barely registered it at the time, already halfway asleep in Jamal’s guest room, but when I woke up the next morning and wandered into the living room, there he was.

Kenan Yıldız. In all his six-foot-something, professional athlete, half-asleep glory.

Sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, hair a mess of lazy curls, mouth slightly parted like he hadn’t fully re-entered consciousness yet.

I stared for a second too long, mostly because I wasn’t used to seeing him like this—soft around the edges, not smirking or arguing with me—before clearing my throat.

“You know, Jamal does have an actual guest room.”

Kenan didn’t move, just let out a low, sleep-roughened grumble that was probably a sentence in some language I didn’t speak.

I rolled my eyes, walking into the kitchen. “I’m going to get breakfast. If you’re alive in the next five minutes, feel free to come along.”

He was already pushing himself up onto his elbows, blinking like he wasn’t fully convinced the day had started yet. “Where’s Jamal?”

I grabbed my coat. “Still dead to the world.”

Kenan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. “Smart man.”

…

The café was small, tucked away from the main streets, the kind of place that felt warm the second you walked in. The smell of fresh bread and espresso filled the air, and despite the morning chill outside, it was cozy, inviting, the kind of place people actually took their time in.

I relaxed a little the second I stepped inside.

Kenan scanned the space, hands in his pockets, taking it in like he was mentally scoring it. “Not bad.”

I scoffed. “Not bad? This is an elite breakfast spot.”

He smirked. “I’ll decide once I taste the food.”

I rolled my eyes but before I could continue defending my flawless café selection, I noticed a small interaction at the counter.

A barista—young, probably new—was clearly overwhelmed, trying to juggle too many things at once. She fumbled slightly with the coffee machine, hands moving fast, eyes flicking to the growing line like it was personally taunting her.

The businessman at the front, impatient and already checking his watch, let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Jesus, is it always this slow?”

I didn’t mean to intervene.

It just kind of… happened.

I leaned slightly against the counter, offering a calm, easy smile.

“Take your time. It’s way too early for people to be this impatient.”

The words weren’t pointed, not really, but they carried just enough weight to cut through the tension.

The barista glanced at me, a flicker of relief in her expression before she nodded quickly and refocused on the drink in front of her.

The businessman, unimpressed, muttered something under his breath but dropped it, grabbing his coffee and stalking off.

Kenan, silent up until now, turned his head slightly toward me, like he was seeing me differently for the first time.

I ignored it, focusing back on the menu.

When we finally stepped up to order, the barista, still looking a little frazzled but better, managed a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks,” she murmured, adjusting her apron. “Some people are just…” She trailed off, rolling her eyes slightly, as if she couldn’t quite find the right word.

“The worst?” I offered.

She laughed. “Yeah. That.”

Kenan was still watching me, but now there was something else behind it.

Something almost amused.

“So you do have the capacity to be nice,” he mused, smirking as we stepped aside to wait for our drinks. “Interesting.”

I scoffed, stirring a sugar packet between my fingers. “I am perfectly capable of being nice.”

Kenan raised a brow, feigning deep contemplation. “Mmm. Just not to me?”

“The barista never stole my pretzel.”

He let out a low, lazy laugh, shaking his head as if he almost respected the answer. “Fair point.”

I took a sip of my coffee, pleased with myself, but before I could gloat, the barista returned, sliding an extra croissant onto our tray.

“On the house,” she said with a grin. “For being nice.”

I shot her a bright smile, but that smile slightly fell when I turned back to Kenan, I caught him watching me.

Not smirking. Not teasing.

Just looking.

It wasn’t obvious, nothing overt or lingering enough to call attention to itself. But there was something there—something unreadable, like a thought passing through his mind before he could decide what to do with it.

I frowned. “What?”

Kenan blinked, shaking his head slightly like he was resetting his expression. “Nothing.”

I squinted at him. “You’re weird.”

He smirked. “And yet, you invited me to breakfast.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because I was feeling charitable.”

Kenan took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still flickering with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Lucky me.”

And for some reason, that sentence stayed with me longer than it should have.

…

The rest of the day, after dropping Jamal’s breakfast and Kenan went home, I was on a mission.

Enough sulking. Enough rehashing why I was even here. If I was going to spend a weekend away, I was going to make something of it—starting with the one thing that had never failed to lift my spirits.

Retail therapy.

Now, let’s be clear—I wasn’t the kind of person who regularly indulged in luxury shopping sprees. I was a firm believer in financial responsibility and splurging on sales.

But sometimes—just sometimes—a girl needed to treat herself.

I had no intention of actually buying anything.

But the moment I stepped inside Saint Laurent, something in me shifted.

Maybe it was the soft golden lighting, making everything look like it belonged in a dream. Maybe it was the quiet elegance of it all, the way the sales associates moved like they had all the secrets to life itself.

Or maybe, for the first time all week, I felt like I deserved something just for me.

I started with the handbags, lightly running my fingers over smooth leather and delicate gold clasps, trying to soak up the feeling of being in a place that felt so effortlessly put-together.

And then—I saw it.

It wasn’t a bag.

It was a dress.

Simple, timeless, and undeniably perfect.

I hesitated for a second, fingers hovering over the fabric, wondering if I was allowed to try something this nice on.

Then a sales associate appeared, smiling warmly. “Would you like to see how it fits?”

I bit my lip, a little shy. “Oh, I was just—”

But then, in a rare moment of self-indulgence, I nodded. “Actually… yeah. Why not?”

And that was how it started.

Five minutes later, I was standing in front of a mirror, staring at a version of myself I hadn’t seen in a while.

The dress fit like it was made for me.

It hugged just right, elegant but effortless, like I’d just thrown it on and magically looked stunning. The kind of dress that didn’t need accessories or complicated styling. It just… worked.

I smoothed my hands over the fabric, twirling just slightly, inspecting every angle.

And for the first time all weekend, I actually smiled at my reflection.

The saleswoman clasped her hands together. “That’s the one, isn’t it?”

I exhaled, still staring at myself. “You’re very good at your job.”

She laughed. "You look stunning, dear."

I let out a small, giddy giggle, the kind I hadn’t heard from myself in a while. It felt nice, to like how I looked—to do something that was just for me, without a single ounce of guilt attached.

For once, I wasn’t overthinking it.

I wasn’t analyzing whether I should or shouldn’t.

I was just happy.

So before I could talk myself out of it, I lifted my chin and said, “I’ll take it.”

As I handed over my card, I thought about where I’d wear it.

Jamal’s match tonight. The VIP box.

And then, out of nowhere, another thought crept in—one I definitely didn’t mean to have.

What if Kenan sees me in this? Surely he would be there too.

The moment the thought fully registered, warmth crept up my neck and into my cheeks.

I nearly choked on my own internal monologue.

I shook my head quickly, forcing down the blush before the saleswoman could notice.

I wasn’t buying this for him. Obviously. No. This was just for me.

…But if Kenan happened to see me in it, well.

That wasn’t my fault.

….

By the time I arrived at Allianz Arena, I felt genuinely lighter.

Maybe it was the crisp night air, the buzz of excitement in the crowd, or the fact that I was actually looking forward to something for the first time in days.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that I felt good in my new dress.

The stadium lights shone down as I made my way to the VIP section, clutching my pass. The energy inside was electric, fans already singing, the deep thrum of anticipation settling over the stands.

I stepped inside the box, scanning the seats for Jamal, when a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

I turned, already knowing who it was before I even saw him.

Kenan stood next to me, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his usual smirk firmly in place. The stadium lights did unfair things to his features, casting a warm glow over his already obnoxiously handsome face, and for a split second, I hated that he had the nerve to look like that in any setting.

His gaze flicked down ever so slightly, scanning my dress before he met my eyes again.

“You look good.”

I blinked, caught slightly off guard by the lack of sarcasm in his voice.

Then, as if he could sense me registering the compliment too much, he added, “Unexpected, really.”

There it was.

I let out a scoff, placing a hand on my chest. “Oh my God, Kenan. That was almost a normal, genuine compliment. You must be exhausted.”

He hummed, nodding. “Yeah, I don’t know what came over me. Won’t happen again.”

“Shame,” I teased. “I was really enjoying the moment.”

He shook his head, biting back a smile. “So, what brings you here? Finally expanding your horizons past FIFA?”

I crossed my arms. “Actually, I’m here for Jamal. Some of us support our friends.”

Kenan nodded slowly. “Mmm. And yet… you’re standing here, talking to me instead.”

I opened my mouth to fire back, but before I could, the stadium erupted in cheers, the players stepping onto the field.

I turned my attention to the match, trying to pretend I wasn’t slightly flustered.

Kenan, however, didn’t seem as interested in the game as he was in continuing his favorite pastime: annoying me for fun.

“So, be honest,” he murmured, leaning in slightly. “You understand the rules of football, right?”

I gave him a dry look. “Wow. Incredible assumption. You see a woman at a match and immediately assume she doesn’t get it?”

Kenan grinned, unbothered. “No, I just see you at a match and assume you’re mostly here for the snacks.”

I gasped. “Excuse me, I am deeply invested in Jamal’s career.”

Kenan hummed, clearly not convinced. “Okay. What position does he play?”

I stared at him. “...Defense?”

Kenan smirked. “He’s a midfielder.”

I groaned, throwing my hands up. “Alright, whatever, I’m here for vibes and friendship. Sue me.”

Kenan chuckled, his eyes twinkling with pure amusement.

For once, I didn’t feel annoyed by it.

I turned back to the field, taking in the sheer energy of the stadium, the rush of excitement that rippled through the crowd.

And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kenan watching me.

I glanced at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching the match?”

His smirk didn’t waver. “I am.”

Something warm and fluttery settled in my stomach before I could stop it.

…

By the time the match ended, I was happily full of stadium energy but tragically underfed.

The VIP box had food, sure, but it was the kind of small, fancy bites that looked better than they tasted. You know, the kind that was supposed to be "elevated dining" but just made you angry and hungrier.

I popped another tiny canapé into my mouth and sighed dramatically.

Kenan, who had been watching me struggle with barely concealed amusement, finally smirked. “You’re starving.”

I turned to him, offended. “I am not starving.”

Kenan gestured lazily to the criminally small appetizer on my plate. “You just inhaled that in one bite.”

I crossed my arms. “Maybe I have a very refined palate.”

He snorted. “Right. That’s why you look physically betrayed after every bite.”

I sighed, defeated. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m a little hungry.”

Kenan hummed like he was deep in thought, then glanced at his watch.

“Come on.”

I frowned. “What?”

He was already heading toward the exit, looking over his shoulder like it was obvious. “We’re getting food.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Kenan chuckled, his expression full of mischief. “Trust me, anything outside is an upgrade from whatever that was.”

I tilted my head. “And what if this is an elaborate scheme to lure me into a suspiciously empty street?”

His smirk deepened. “I’d like to think if I wanted you gone, I’d be more creative than that.”

I considered it. “That’s… unsettlingly fair.”

…

Kenan’s car smelled unfairly nice—not in an overwhelming, aggressively expensive way, but in that effortless ‘I have my life together’ way. It was all clean leather, faint cologne, and something subtly fresh, like pine or citrus, the kind of scent that made you want to breathe a little deeper just to keep it around a second longer.

I did not breathe deeper.

Instead, I focused on the city outside, on the soft blur of streetlights streaking across the window as we drove through a quieter part of Munich. The streets were mostly empty, the chaos of match day behind us, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I wasn’t feeling weighed down by my own thoughts.

I was full, I was warm, and for once, I wasn’t thinking about him.

And then, Kenan spoke.

“So.” His voice was casual, almost offhanded, like he wasn’t about to upend my peace. “You never actually said why you were in Munich.”

I blinked, looking away from the window. “What?”

He glanced at me briefly, his fingers drumming idly against the steering wheel before he turned back to the road. “You don’t seem like the type to just book a random flight for fun.”

I scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I am very spontaneous.”

Kenan hummed like he didn’t believe me. “Right. And how many of these ‘totally random’ solo trips have you taken before?”

I opened my mouth. Paused. Frowned.

“…That’s not important.”

Kenan chuckled, shaking his head. “So, you’re telling me you woke up one day and thought, Munich sounds nice?”

I huffed dramatically, crossing my arms. “Maybe I did.”

Kenan shot me a pointed look that said ‘I know you’re full of shit.’

I exhaled, shifting in my seat. “Fine. I was supposed to see someone.”

He didn’t react—just kept driving, waiting.

It was almost worse than if he had immediately jumped in with a question.

I sighed, resting my head against the window. “But, uh… turns out he didn’t feel like seeing me back. And I had the ticket booked already.”

The words felt… lighter now, like they didn’t hold the same weight as they did a few days ago. Maybe because I’d said them out loud before. Maybe because I wasn’t alone with them anymore.

Kenan’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel, his jaw tightening for half a second before he spoke.

“Idiot.”

I blinked, turning toward him. “What?”

His voice was even, casual, but the way he said it was too sure, too final. “The guy. He’s an idiot.”

I let out a small, surprised laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t even know him.”

Kenan didn’t hesitate. “Don’t have to.”

Something about his certainty made my stomach twist.

I licked my lips, choosing to ignore the warm feeling creeping into my chest. “You’re very confident in that assessment.”

Kenan finally glanced at me, just for a moment, then looked back at the road. “Yeah. I am.”

The air in the car felt different all of a sudden, not uncomfortable, but charged.

I opened my mouth, about to say something to break whatever this was, when—

Kenan reached into the backseat, grabbing something, and tossed a small paper bag into my lap.

I frowned down at it. “What’s this?”

Kenan kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting lazily on the gear shift. “Something I saw.”

I gave him a suspicious look before reaching inside.

The first thing I felt was something soft.

And when I pulled it out, I actually gasped.

It was a Jellycat plush.

But not just any Jellycat plush.

A pretzel-shaped one.

Ridiculously soft, golden brown with tiny embroidered salt flecks, its round body twisted into a perfect loop, like an adorable, carb-shaped hug.

I stared at it, completely thrown.

My brain short-circuited.

I turned to Kenan, wide-eyed. “You—” I stopped, shaking my head, too stunned to be normal about this. “You got me a Jellycat pretzel?”

Kenan shrugged, like this was completely normal behavior. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

I blinked down at my lap, still gripping the plush like it might disappear if I let go. “I—this is—I don’t even know what to say.”

Kenan smirked. “Wow. A rare moment.”

I ignored him, still reeling. “Wait. How did you—” My eyes narrowed as the realization hit. “Jamal.”

Kenan huffed a small laugh. “Jamal.”

I groaned, slumping back against my seat, embarrassed beyond belief. “I swear, he’s worse than an actual gossip column.”

“He told me the full pretzel tragedy while you were shopping this morning.” Kenan’s lips twitched. “Said you looked genuinely devastated when I took the last one.”

I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. “I was devastated.”

Kenan let out a real laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I got that impression. Little drama queen.”

I glanced back down at the plush, running my fingers over its ridiculously soft surface, warmth blooming in my chest for an entirely different reason now.

I swallowed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, you know?”

Kenan exhaled through his nose, his smirk fading slightly. “I know.”

There was a small pause, then—

“I wanted to. I like to see you smile”

I froze.

Just for a second.

It wasn’t even what he said.

It was how he said it. Like it was simple. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was a big deal.

I looked down at the Jellycat pretzel, tracing my thumb over one of the little embroidered salt flecks.

Kenan cleared his throat, like he wanted to move the conversation along before I got weird about it.

“I, uh—” He rubbed his jaw, focusing back on the road. “I couldn’t exactly smuggle a fresh one into the match, so I figured this would keep you warm in a different way.”

I swallowed, my grip tightening on the plush.

Somehow, slowly over the last few days, my heart stopped feeling so heavy.

I glanced at Kenan, and for once, he wasn’t watching me with his usual smirk or teasing expression.

He was just watching.

Like he was still trying to figure out why I looked so surprised.

Like he didn’t realize he had just completely disarmed me.

I turned back to the window, hiding my smile.

Kenan shifted in his seat, adjusting the air conditioning like he suddenly needed something to do with his hands.

He still hadn’t started the drive back to Jamal’s.

Good. I wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere.

…

I woke up earlier than expected, the kind of early where the world still felt half-asleep, where the streets outside hummed quietly with the first stirrings of the city.

The apartment was still, save for the occasional distant sound—pipes groaning as someone used the shower, the soft buzz of an electric toothbrush in another room.

And then—

A loud "OH, COME ON!" followed by rapid button-mashing and what I could only assume was a FIFA-related disaster.

I groaned, pressing my face into the pillow, trying to will myself back to sleep.

It didn’t work.

Instead, my hand reached instinctively for something beside me, fingers brushing against—

Oh.

I cracked one eye open.

There, sitting right beside my pillow, was the Jellycat pretzel plush.

Warmth bloomed immediately in my chest, completely uninvited.

It had been exactly where I left it, tucked neatly beside me like some ridiculous comfort object. I had slept next to it. Like some sentimental idiot.

I exhaled sharply, flopping onto my back and covering my face with my hands. “I’m losing it.”

Jamal’s distant FIFA agony continued in the other room.

I peeked at the plush again, this time reaching over to pick it up, squeezing it absently in my hands.

It was too soft. Too huggable. Too… thoughtful.

Kenan had really gone out of his way to find something like this. He had listened to Jamal’s retelling of my pretzel tragedy and then acted on it.

That thought alone did something weird to my stomach.

I needed to leave before I started reading into things.

After a long, slightly too-hot shower and a reluctant change into travel clothes, I zipped up my suitcase and walked into the living room, where Jamal was still intensely focused on FIFA.

“Morning,” I greeted, adjusting my bag strap.

Jamal barely looked up. “Yo. Ready for your flight?”

I nodded, shifting my weight. “Yeah, time to go back home. Thanks for letting me crash.”

He finally paused his game, stretching lazily. “No problem. You’re welcome to crash here whenever your love life implodes.”

I gasped, fake offended. “Excuse me, that was one time.”

Jamal smirked. “That was this time.”

I glared at him. “You’re very lucky I don’t have time to fight you about this.”

Jamal grinned, unpausing his game. “Safe flight, man. Oh—Kenan’s out front, by the way.”

I froze mid-step, my brain short-circuiting. “What?”

Jamal tilted his head toward the window. “I think he’s waiting for you.”

I blinked rapidly, my stomach flipping for reasons I refused to acknowledge.

Kenan was… waiting for me?

I didn’t even have time to process what that meant before my feet were already moving, slipping on my coat and heading for the door.

And sure enough—

When I stepped outside, there he was.

Leaning against his car, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture completely at ease, like he had been there for a while and had all the time in the world.

The moment he saw me, his lips curved into a smirk, like he had been expecting me to be surprised.

“You’re awake,” he said, as if he had any reason to assume I wouldn’t be.

I scoffed, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Kenan shrugged. “Driving you to the airport.”

I blinked. “I—what?”

He tilted his head slightly, amused by my confusion. “What, you thought I’d let you navigate Munich public transport with a suitcase?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I was literally just going to call an Uber.”

Kenan rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “That’s boring.”

I stared at him, the weight of this entire situation settling into my brain.

Kenan—who had no reason to be here—had woken up, driven across the city, and was now waiting for me outside, completely unbothered, like this was just something he did.

I adjusted my coat, voice quieter. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

Kenan looked at me like I had just said something profoundly stupid. “Yeah. I know.”

I didn’t know what to do with that.

So instead of overanalyzing it to death, I just sighed, adjusting my bag.

“Fine. Let’s go.

…

When we finally pulled up to the departures area, Kenan shifted into park, tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel.

I unbuckled my seatbelt slowly, suddenly feeling like this was weirdly… final.

Like leaving now meant returning to normal.

And for some reason, I wasn’t ready for that.

I turned to him, opening my mouth to say… something.

But before I could, Kenan reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

A tiny bag of pretzels.

I blinked, thrown completely off guard. “You—”

Kenan smirked, holding it out toward me. “Figured you might need some snacks for the flight.”

I stared at him, something warm creeping into my chest before I could stop it.

I took the bag, shaking my head. “You’re trying to buy my goodwill?”

He leaned back against the seat. “You love it.”

I scoffed, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Debatable.”

Kenan’s gaze flicked to my carry-on, and before I could register what he was about to say, his smirk deepened slightly.

“Did you pack the Jellycat?”

My face immediately heated up.

I opened my mouth—to lie, obviously—but Kenan just let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You did.”

I huffed. “No comment.”

Kenan’s lips twitched. “Good. It means my plan worked.”

I frowned. “Plan?”

He nodded toward the plush peeking slightly from the top of my bag. “Now you have to think about me every time you see it.”

My brain short-circuited.

I had no response to that.

I huffed, adjusting my bag. “Okay, well. Thanks for the ride, I guess.”

Kenan nodded once, casual as ever. “See you around.”

I hesitated for half a second.

Then, before I could stop myself—

I turned back to him one last time.

And said, without thinking:

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Kenan’s smirk was slow, lazy, and way too confident.

“No promises.”

I stared at him, my brain doing at least fifteen flips, before turning on my heel and walking inside before I could make this worse for myself.

I had no idea what had just happened.

All I knew was that my face was burning, and I was smiling like an idiot.

…

Back home, everything was exactly as I had left it.

The same apartment, the same slightly-too-loud coffee machine sputtering in protest before coming to life, the same half-empty fridge reminding me that I should really start grocery shopping like an adult.

Everything had resumed as normal.

And yet—

I found myself standing in my bedroom, suitcase still half-unpacked, as if some part of me refused to fully settle back into my routine. My fingers ran absentmindedly over the plush pretzel sitting on my bed, its soft, squishy loops an absurd but strangely comforting reminder of the past weekend.

I wasn’t supposed to still be thinking about him.

I wasn’t supposed to be replaying conversations in my head, breaking apart the way he had looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, the small shifts in his expression, the casual, almost careless way he had handed me that bag with the Jellycat and the pretzel, as if it hadn’t meant anything at all.

I let out a frustrated sigh, squeezing the plush against my chest like it was somehow responsible for all of this.

“You’re not helping,” I muttered at it.

Unsurprisingly, the Jellycat did not have a response.

I groaned, flopping onto my bed and burying my face into my pillow, as if that would somehow smother my thoughts into submission.

This was ridiculous.

I was being ridiculous.

I had gone to Munich with a very specific reason—to see someone who had ultimately proved to be unworthy of my time. But somehow, I had left with something else entirely.

A new inside joke. A new routine. A new, completely inconvenient way my stomach flipped whenever I got a text notification.

Which was precisely why I should not have reached for my phone just now.

But I did.

And when I turned it over—

There it was.

A new message.

From Kenan.

I hesitated for a beat, my thumb hovering over the screen, already knowing that whatever it said would only make things worse for me.

Then, finally, I clicked it open.

Kenan: Buy a nice winter coat.

I frowned, sitting up slightly as I typed back.

Me: Why?

The reply came almost instantly, as if he had been waiting for me to answer.

Kenan: I’m playing in the Netherlands next Wednesday.

Another message followed before I even had time to process the first.

Kenan: I need you to see how much better I am than Jamal, obviously.

I stared at my screen, my heart doing a very, very inconvenient thing, something warm and fluttery and deeply annoying settling into my chest.

I didn’t respond right away.

Because I already knew what I was going to do.

I was going.