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bueckets · 5 months ago

Text

Going UP?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Description: From missed alarms to broken elevators, your Tuesday couldn't get worse, well, until it gets better. When a late-running grad student's desperate dash to save her thesis turns into an unexpected elevator encounter with UConn basketball sensation Paige Bueckers, she learns that sometimes the best assists come from broken machinery.

Armed with nothing but coffee-fueled anxiety and an encyclopedic knowledge of basketball analytics, you find yourself trading quips with college basketball's golden girl in a stalled elevator. What starts as a disaster turns into something else entirely when basketball theory meets practice, terrible jokes meet dangerous grins, and hot chocolate meets, well, everywhere except the mug.

They say love is a game of chances. But when you're trapped between floors with a girl who can bend physics on the court and make your heart run suicides off it, maybe it's worth taking the shot. Sometimes cupid doesn't use arrows. Sometimes he just breaks the elevator.

Featuring: One (1) very broken elevator Several questionably colored cocktails A security guard who's seen it all Basketball plays drawn in spilled Shirley Temples Analytics-based flirting And a whipped cream fight that definitely isn't regulation play

Coming soon to wherever meet-cutes happen in college sports. (Rated R for excessive basketball puns and gay panic)

WC: 8.1k (roughly)

Genre/Notes: uh, i tried to be funny, floofy, rom-com-ish? (i tried), smut at the end, someone gets their kitty ATE, proof read like 50%

Your sneakers pound against the cracked, patchy sidewalk of North Campus, dodging the construction zone that's been "two weeks from completion" since freshman year. The November air bites at your cheeks, sharp as broken glass, and your laptop bag repeatedly slams into your hip with each stride, probably turning your thesis notes into digital confetti. A gust of wind lashes at you, tugging at your jacket, your hair, your sanity, and sending a rogue candy wrapper tumbling like a lonely tumbleweed across the quad like some 50’s Old West showdown.

You'd woken up to three missed calls from your advisor and an email that made your soul leave your body.

Meeting moved to 9:15 AM. Please bring updated analytics models.

It's 9:12.

The universe is really testing you today. First, your roommate's cat knocked your phone off the nightstand, somehow managing to turn off all five of your alarms. Then, the dining hall’s card reader had the audacity to look at your student ID like it was written in crayon, leaving you to scavenge through your bag for exact change like a Victorian orphan. And now this.

You weave through the crowd of freshmen congregating outside the Student Union like they've never seen stairs before, your thermos of room-temperature coffee sloshing dangerously close to the lid. The wind whips a forgotten syllabus past your feet as you cut across the grass (sorry, campus maintenance), taking the "shortcut" that everyone pretends they don't use. You can practically hear the landscaping team groaning somewhere, shaking their heads at the worn-down dirt trail you and a thousand other students have carved into their perfect lawn.

Gampel Pavilion looms ahead, all glass and steel and architectural hubris. The morning sun hits it at an angle that makes it look like it's on fire, which feels appropriate given your current state of mild panic. You've spent so many hours in this building that the security guard, Mike, doesn't even look up from his crossword puzzle anymore when you scan your ID.

"Running late?" he calls out as you blast past his desk.

"What gave it away?" you shout back, already halfway to the elevators. Your sneakers squeak against the polished floors, leaving behind a faint trail of panic and shame— but most importantly, dirt.

The ancient LED display above the elevator shows it's on the third floor. You slam the up button approximately forty-seven times, as if that's ever made an elevator move faster in the history of vertical transportation.

"Come on, come on," you mutter, shifting your weight between feet like you're doing some demented speed-skating warm-up. Your laptop bag keeps sliding off your shoulder, and you're pretty sure your hair looks like you styled it in a wind tunnel. A strand falls into your eyes, and you blow it away with a frustrated huff. Everything about you screams disaster, and yet the elevator couldn’t care less.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open with all the urgency of a DMV employee on a Friday afternoon.

And there she is.

Paige Bueckers is leaning against the back wall of the elevator, one foot propped up behind her, looking like she just stepped out of a Nike ad. Her practice uniform is pristine, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail that somehow hasn't gotten the memo about today's wind situation. She's got AirPods in, absently spinning a basketball between her hands like it's an extension of her body.

Your brain short-circuits.

Time seems to slow down as you stand there, probably looking like a deer caught in very attractive headlights. The elevator dings again, threatening to close its doors on your moment of crisis.

Fuck it.

You lunge forward just as the doors start to close, practically diving into the elevator like you're trying to save a ball going out of bounds. Your coffee sloshes, your bag swings, and you nearly face-plant into the corner.

Paige pulls out one AirPod, her eyebrows raised so high they might achieve orbit. "Nice entrance."

You straighten up, trying to salvage whatever dignity might be hiding in the corners of this elevator. "Thanks, I've been practicing."

The elevator starts its ascent with a concerning rattle that definitely wasn't part of the original design. You adjust your bag for the hundredth time, very aware that you probably look like you just lost a fight with a leaf blower. Meanwhile, Paige keeps spinning that damn basketball, the soft thump-thump of it between her hands matching rhythm with your still-racing heart.

Nine floors to go. Eight if your advisor hasn't moved offices again after the Great Coffee Incident of last semester.

You can handle this. You're an adult. A slightly disheveled, possibly caffeine-deprived adult, but still. Just because you're sharing an elevator with the university's basketball goddess doesn't mean you need to—

The lights flicker once. Twice.

The elevator shudders like it's having an existential crisis.

Then everything stops.

The emergency lights kick in, bathing everything in a red glow that makes Paige look like she's starring in a very stylish apocalypse movie. The basketball stops spinning.

"Well," she says, tucking the ball under her arm and giving you a smile that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip. "Looks like the universe has other plans for us this morning."

You look at your phone: 9:14 AM.

Your advisor is going to kill you.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," you mutter, jabbing at the emergency call button like it personally offended you. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

The little red light blinks back at you, mocking your entire existence, as if to say, yeah, good luck with that, idiot. You hit the button again, harder this time, because maybe the elevator just needs some aggressive encouragement.

"I don't think that's helping," Paige says, watching you with a mix of amusement and concern. She's still spinning that goddamn basketball, the rhythmic thump-thump now feeling less like a heartbeat and more like a countdown to your academic doom.

"Yeah? Well, neither are you," you snap, immediately regretting it. Great. Now you're trapped in an elevator AND you've just been rude to Paige fucking Bueckers. "Shit, sorry, I just—" You run both hands through your already catastrophic hair. "My advisor is going to crucify me. Like, actually crucify me. She's probably got a cross picked out and everything."

Paige catches the ball mid-spin. "Dr. Martinez?"

"How did you—"

"The only professor I know who actually might own a cross for student crucifixions." She tucks the ball under her arm. "She made one of our freshmen cry last week just by looking at her."

"That tracks." You slide down the wall opposite her, your legs finally giving up on the whole standing thing. "God, I can't believe this. I've got my entire thesis presentation on this laptop, three months of analytics data that I haven't backed up because I'm an idiot, and now I'm going to die in an elevator with—" You wave vaguely in her direction.

"With?" She raises an eyebrow, and you swear there's a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"With UConn's basketball savior who's probably missing practice right now because the universe decided today was a great day for some cosmic practical joke." You let your head thunk back against the wall. "Coach Auriemma's probably already got a hit out on me."

Paige laughs, and the sound does something weird to your chest. "Nah, Coach is more of a 'make you run suicides until you puke' kind of guy. Much less paperwork than murder."

"Fantastic. So I'll die from academic execution AND athletic retribution. Perfect way to start a Tuesday."

"You always this dramatic before 9:30?" She's definitely smirking now.

"Only when I'm trapped in elevators with pretty girls who should be at practice."

The words are out before your brain can catch up with your mouth. Your eyes go wide, and you seriously consider trying to pry open the doors and jump down the shaft.

But Paige just grins, wide and dangerous. "Oh, so you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're deflecting from the fact that we're stuck in a metal box that's older than both of us combined," you say, proud of how steady your voice comes out despite the internal screaming.

"And I think you're deflecting from the fact that you just called me pretty."

You pull out your phone again, desperate for a distraction. "No signal. Perfect. This is fine. Everything is fine."

"Could be worse," Paige says, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her feet almost reach where you're sitting, and you absolutely do not notice how long her legs are. "Could be stuck in here with Dr. Martinez."

That startles a laugh out of you. "Jesus, don't even joke about that. She'd probably make me defend my thesis right here."

"Yeah? What's it about?"

You look up from your phone to find her watching you with what appears to be genuine interest. "You really want to know?"

"Well," she gestures around the elevator, "it's not like I've got anywhere else to be."

You narrow your eyes. "If this is some kind of pity conversation—"

"It's not." She cuts you off, her voice surprisingly firm. "I'm actually curious. Plus, you look like you might spontaneously combust if you don't talk about something other than being stuck in here."

She's not wrong. Your leg has been bouncing non-stop since you sat down, and you're pretty sure you're about to wear a hole in your bottom lip from biting it.

"Fine," you say, setting your phone aside. "But remember, you asked for this. And if you fall asleep, I'm using that basketball as a pillow."

Paige's eyes light up with something that makes your stomach flip. "Deal."

"Okay, so you know how current basketball analytics are basically just glorified box scores?" You shift to face her properly, your earlier panic morphing into the kind of enthusiasm that usually makes people's eyes glaze over. "Like, sure, we can track points and assists and whatever, but that's just the obvious stuff."

"And there's more than the obvious stuff?" Paige asks, settling in like she's actually planning to follow your inevitably chaotic explanation.

"So much more." You pull your laptop out, balancing it on your crossed legs. "Like, imagine being able to track not just who made the shot, but all the little things that made that shot possible. The way players move without the ball, how defensive shifts create spaces that don't show up in any stat sheet.”

Your hands start moving as you talk, painting invisible patterns in the air. Paige has stopped spinning her basketball, her eyes following your gestures with an intensity that makes you warm all over.

"It's like..." You pause, trying to find the right words. "You know how in chess, sometimes the most important move isn't the one that takes the piece, but the three moves before that made it possible?"

She nods, leaning forward slightly. "Like a setup play."

"Exactly!" You're fully animated now, previous elevator crisis temporarily forgotten. "But current systems don't track that. They don't see how Player A moving left makes Player B's defender shift just enough that Player C can—"

The emergency speaker crackles to life, making you both jump.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The voice sounds bored, like stuck elevators are just another Tuesday morning inconvenience.

Paige reaches over and hits the call button. "Yeah, we're here. Two people."

"Alright, we've got maintenance heading up. Should have you out in about fifteen minutes. Sit tight."

The speaker clicks off, leaving you both in that red-tinted silence again.

"Fifteen minutes," you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. "Dr. Martinez is definitely going to have that cross ready."

"Hey," Paige says, and something in her voice makes you look at her. "Tell me more about your system. How do you track all those micro-movements?"

You blink at her. "You actually want to hear more?"

"Would I ask if I didn't?" She's got this soft half-smile that does dangerous things to your ability to think straight. "Plus, you get all..." she waves her hand vaguely, "sparkly when you talk about it."

"Sparkly?"

"Yeah, like you're lit up from the inside." She says it so casually, like she hasn't just made your heart do a full court press against your ribs.

You clear your throat, trying to remember how words work. "Right. Well, um, I've been working with the computer vision lab to develop these tracking algorithms..."

The next fifteen minutes dissolve into a blur of technical explanations and basketball theory. Paige asks surprisingly specific questions, and you try not to look too pleased every time she leans in closer to see something on your laptop screen.

When maintenance finally gets the elevator moving again, it feels too soon.

The doors open on the fourth floor – your floor – and you scramble to pack up your laptop, suddenly aware that you've spent the last twenty minutes word-vomiting about analytics to one of the best basketball players in the country.

"Thanks for, uh, keeping me from completely losing it," you say, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "And sorry about the whole..." you gesture vaguely at yourself, "chaos."

Paige stands too, and even in the normal lighting, she's unfairly pretty. "Chaos looks good on you."

Your brain short-circuits. "Can I get your number?"

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into the nearest trash can. But Paige just grins, that dangerous one that makes her look like she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

"Tell you what," she says, spinning the basketball on one finger because apparently she's physically incapable of not showing off. "Come to Friday's game. If you can spot one of those micro-interactions you were talking about..." She lets the ball roll down her arm and catches it smoothly. "Maybe you'll find out if I give my number to random girls I meet in elevators."

She backs into the elevator, maintaining eye contact until the doors close between you.

You stand there for a solid thirty seconds, staring at the brushed metal doors like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. Or at least explain how you went from having a mental breakdown about your advisor to what definitely felt like flirting with Paige Bueckers.

Your phone buzzes: another email from Dr. Martinez.

Meeting rescheduled to 2PM. Bring coffee. The good kind.

You look back at the elevator doors, then at your phone, then at the ceiling.

Looks like you're going to a basketball game on Friday.

The security guard at Gampel's student entrance looks at your ticket, then at you, then back at the ticket with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for people trying to use expired coupons at Target.

"This is— courtside," he says slowly, like maybe you don't understand what those words mean.

"Yeah, I, uh,” You shift your weight between feet, very aware of the growing line behind you. "I got it in an email?"

It comes out like a question because honestly, you're still not entirely sure this isn't some elaborate fever dream. The past three days have felt surreal, starting with Dr. Martinez actually smiling during your rescheduled meeting (turns out that fancy coffee shop downtown does make a difference) and ending with an email from [email protected] that made you choke on your morning cereal.

The security guard squints at his scanner like it's personally offending him. "These are usually reserved for—"

"Is there a problem?" A familiar voice cuts through the growing awkwardness, and you turn to find Mike, your elevator-lobby guardian angel, approaching with his signature "I've seen too much student nonsense" expression.

"Got a courtside ticket here, but—"

"Oh, yeah," Mike says, shooting you a look that's somewhere between amused and knowing. "This one's good. Let 'em through."

You mouth a 'thank you' as you pass, and he just shakes his head, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "kids these days" under his breath.

The student section is already packed, a sea of navy and white that ripples with pre-game energy. But your ticket directs you past all that, down, down, down the steps until you're so close to the court you can smell the fresh polish on the hardwood.

"This isn't happening," you mutter to yourself, dropping into your assigned seat—which is literally close enough to high-five players coming off the court. "This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just casually sitting courtside at a sold-out game because you got trapped in an elevator and word-vomited about basketball analytics for twenty minutes. Totally normal Friday night."

The woman next to you, wearing what looks like several hundred dollars worth of UConn gear, gives you a concerned side-eye.

"Sorry," you say, slinking lower in your seat. "I talk to myself when I'm having an existential crisis."

She just nods and shifts slightly away, which, fair.

The arena fills up quickly, the ambient noise growing from a buzz to a roar. You try to look casual, like you totally belong here and didn't spend forty-five minutes earlier having a breakdown about what to wear to a basketball game when you're sitting close enough to be on TV. (You'd finally settled on jeans and a UConn hoodie, figuring if you're going to have a gay panic on national television, you might as well be comfortable.)

The teams come out for warm-ups, and your heart definitely doesn't skip when you spot number 5 leading the layup line. Paige moves like she's got some sort of cheat code for gravity, each motion fluid and precise. She's got her game face on, all focused intensity and practiced routine, but then—

She catches your eye as she circles back to the line, and her serious expression cracks just enough to let through a hint of that dangerous grin from the elevator.

"Oh, I am so screwed," you breathe, and the woman next to you shifts another inch away.

The game itself is a blur of motion and noise. You try to focus on analyzing plays like you promised, looking for those micro-interactions you'd rambled about, but it's hard to think strategically when Paige keeps making passes that shouldn't be physically possible. Your laptop's probably having a stroke trying to track all these movements.

By halftime, UConn's up by twelve, and you've filled three pages of your Notes app with what started as technical observations but has devolved into increasingly incoherent capslock about various impressive plays. The latest note just says "HOW DID SHE EVEN SEE THAT CUTTING GUARD??? PHYSICS???? HELP????"

"Nice analysis."

You nearly drop your phone. Paige is right there, pretending to adjust her shoes by the bench but clearly smirking in your direction.

"I'm being professionally thorough," you whisper-hiss back, trying to ignore how your pulse is doing full-court sprints.

"Uh huh." She stands up, heading back to the huddle, but not before adding, "You look good in UConn blue, by the way."

You spend the entire third quarter trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The fourth quarter is when you see it—one of those perfect setup plays you'd theorized about. Paige moves left, drawing her defender, while simultaneously nodding almost imperceptibly to her teammate. The slight movement causes a chain reaction: the defense shifts, creating a gap that shouldn't exist, and suddenly there's a perfect passing lane that materializes out of seemingly nowhere. The ball flows through it like water finding the path of least resistance, resulting in an easy layup that looks simple but was actually three moves in the making.

You're on your feet before you realize it, pointing and probably looking deranged. "That! That's exactly what I was talking about! The head fake was the trigger but it wasn't even about the—" You cut yourself off, becoming aware that several people are staring at you, including the woman next to you who's now practically in the next seat over.

As the final buzzer sounds (UConn by 18), your phone buzzes with a new email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Nice catch

Body: 617-555-0147

PS - Your "professional analysis" face is reaaaaallly cute. Even from ten feet away.

You stare at your phone long enough that the arena starts to empty around you, afraid that if you look away the numbers might disappear like some basketball Cinderella story. The woman next to you finally gets up, edging past with the kind of caution usually reserved for wild animals.

"Sorry about all the,” you gesture vaguely at yourself.

She just pats your shoulder with grandmotherly sympathy. "Honey, I've been watching basketball for forty years, and I've never seen someone have a gay awakening quite that enthusiastically. Good luck with number five."

You're still sputtering when she disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone with a phone number and the distinct feeling that the universe is either laughing at you or playing matchmaker.

Possibly both.

Nah— Definitely both.

After what feels like an eternity of staring at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, your bladder kindly reminds you that you stress-drank an entire large iced coffee before the game. Fucking wonderful. You glance at the concourse—and immediately regret every life choice that led to this moment.

The bathroom line snakes around the corner like some kind of hydra-headed monster, full of people who clearly had the same brilliant beverage ideas you did. You briefly consider just holding it and dealing with the consequences later, but your body has other plans.

"This is karma," you mutter, taking your place at the end of the line. "This is definitely karma for all those times I made fun of people waiting in long bathroom lines."

The girl in front of you snorts. "If it helps, I'm pretty sure we're all suffering from the same coffee-based poor judgment."

Twenty minutes. Twenty. Entire. Minutes.

You've gone through every social media app twice, responded to three emails you've been avoiding, and played enough Candy Crush to rot your remaining brain cells by the time you finally emerge from the bathroom. The arena is practically empty now, just cleaning crew and a few lingering fans.

Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, that number burning a hole in your mind. You pull it out, staring at the digits like they might rearrange themselves into instructions on how to text your elevator-meet-cute crush without sounding like a complete disaster.

To: 617-555-0147

Hey, this is your favorite elevator analytics nerd. Great game tonight. That fourth-quarter setup play was chef's kiss

You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately regret every word choice. Chef's kiss? Really? Maybe if you run fast enough, you can catch up to your dignity before it leaves the building entirely.

Your phone buzzes before you can fully commit to your shame spiral.

From: Paige 🏀

some of us are heading to murphy's for dirty shirleys if you want to continue your "professional analysis" in person? promise there won't be any elevators involved

You nearly trip over your own feet.

Will there be a formal presentation required? Should I prepare slides?

just your sparkling personality and maybe an explanation of how you knew that play was coming before I did 😉

Bold of you to assume I wasn't just gesturing wildly at a mosquito

we both know you're too much of a basketball nerd for that. meet you there in 20?

You pause at the arena exit, looking down at your very casual, very not-prepared-to-go-out outfit. But then again, when has anything about this situation been normal?

Your eyes shoot back to your phone and your frantic typing begins once again.

Only if you promise to explain how that behind-the-back pass in the third quarter didn't break several laws of physics

deal. and hey?

Yeah?

the hoodie really does look good on you

Your stomach shoots to your ass and you stand there grinning at your phone like an idiot until Mike, doing his final security rounds, walks by and shakes his head.

"Don't stay out too late, kid," he calls over his shoulder. "These love stories always get complicated when they start in elevators."

"That was literally ONE MOVIE," you shout after him, but he just waves without turning around.

You look down at your phone one more time, then up at the now-empty arena, and can't help but laugh. Somehow, a broken elevator, an understanding security guard, and a basketball player with a dangerous grin have turned your disaster of a week into whatever this is.

Time to find out if Dirty Shirleys taste better when you're sharing them with a girl who can bend physics on a basketball court.

Murphy's is exactly what would happen if a sports bar had a baby with a college town dive and raised it on a strict diet of neon signs and questionable decor choices. The walls are plastered with enough UConn memorabilia to fill a museum, if museums were into collecting signed napkins and mysteriously stained jerseys.

Your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics as you push open the door, immediately hit by the smell of mozzarella sticks and what you really hope is just decades of spilled beer. The place is packed with post-game energy, and you're pretty sure your heart stops completely when you spot Paige at a corner booth, still in her game-day warmups because apparently she just casually walks around looking like a Nike ad.

"Analytics nerd!" she calls out, waving you over with that stupid grin that makes your brain cells commit mass suicide. "We saved you a seat!"

The 'we' turns out to be a collection of players who could probably stack on top of each other and touch the moon. You slide into the only open spot—right next to Paige, because the universe is clearly not done testing your ability to form coherent sentences today.

"Everyone, this is the elevator girl who knows more about our plays than we do," Paige announces, and your face goes hot enough to fry an egg. "Elevator girl, this is everyone."

"I have a name, you know," you manage, trying to ignore how her shoulder is pressed against yours in the crowded booth.

"Yeah, but 'elevator girl' has a better ring to it," she says, sliding a violently pink drink your way. "Plus, it's technically accurate."

"So is 'basketball menace' but you don't see me—" Your mouth snaps shut as her teammates start cackling.

"Oh, I like this one," says a girl you recognize as KK Arnold, grinning like she just got early Christmas. "She's got bite."

"She's got analytics," Paige corrects, but she's looking at you with something that makes your stomach relocate to somewhere in the general vicinity of Jupiter. "Speaking of which, you never did tell me how you caught that play coming."

You take a long sip of your Dirty Shirley to buy time, immediately regretting it when the sugar content threatens to give you instant cavities. "Holy shit, what's in this? Pure pixie stick powder?"

"Don't deflect," Paige says, poking your side. "We've got a whole team of analysts and none of them caught it. So spill."

"Fine, but only because you bought me diabetes in a glass." You shift to face her, accidentally-on-purpose letting your knee rest against hers under the table. "It was your head."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "My head?"

"You've got this tell," you say, getting into it now because apparently basketball analysis is your ideal flirting language. "This tiny little head tilt you do when you're setting up something sneaky. Like a cat about to knock something off a table, but make it basketball."

The entire table goes quiet, then erupts in laughter.

"She's got you there, P," Ice wheezes. "You do look like a menacing cat sometimes!"

Paige is staring at you with a mix of indignation and something else that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. "I do not have a cat tell."

"You absolutely do," you say, emboldened by sugar and the way her eyes keep dropping to your lips. "It's actually kind of cu—"

"SHOTS!" someone yells, and suddenly there's a tray of something alarmingly blue being passed around.

"Oh god," you mutter, watching the liquid slosh ominously. "Is this what happens when a Smurf dies?"

Paige nearly chokes on her drink. "That's terrible!"

"Just like these shots are about to be?"

She leans in close—too close, definitely too close for your remaining brain cells to function—and whispers, "Good thing I like terrible jokes."

Your stomach shoots to your ass (and possibly into another dimension) as she pulls back with a wink that should be illegal in at least forty-eight states.

"I hate you," you inform her, grabbing one of the Smurf funeral shots because if you're going to have a gay crisis in a college bar, you might as well commit fully.

"No you don't," she says with absolute certainty, and the worst part is she's right.

You really, really don't.

The night dissolves into a blur of increasingly ridiculous drinks (who knew they made something called a "Husky Howl"?), basketball stories that get more elaborate with each round, and Paige's thigh pressed warm against yours under the table. You learn that she stress-bakes before big games, that she once tried to teach her dog to play basketball, and that when she really laughs—like, really laughs—she snorts a little and it's possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

At some point, Azzi starts drawing up plays on napkins with increasingly chaotic drink-fueled creativity. Aaliyah Edwards keeps stealing her pen to "fix" the defensive rotations, while Nika Mühl throws wadded-up straw wrappers at both of them, critiquing their "absolutely trash spacing."

"No, no, look," KK follows imaginary lines with her finger across the napkin, accidentally dragging it through a puddle of spilled Shirley Temple. "If we run this here, and then—" she grabs your arm— "you're the defense, okay? Stand up."

"I absolutely am not," you protest, but Paige is already pulling you up with that stupid grin that makes your knees forget how joints work.

"Come on, elevator girl," she teases, positioning you near the booth. "Show us those analytics skills in action."

"I hate all of you," you mutter, but you're laughing as KK tries to demonstrate some elaborate defensive scheme that mostly involves her spinning in circles while Aaliyah provides unhelpful commentary.

"Your footwork is trash, bestie," Aaliyah calls out, now using maraschino cherries to build what appears to be a scale model of the paint.

"YOUR footwork is trash," KK shoots back, then promptly trips over nothing.

"Ladies, ladies," Paige steps in, all faux seriousness undermined by the way she can't stop grinning. "Let a professional show you how it's done."

She moves behind you, hands settling lightly on your hips, and your brain immediately flatlines. "See, proper defensive stance is all about—"

"Get a fuckin' room!" Nika yells, launching another straw wrapper that hits Paige square in the forehead.

"Actually," Paige says close to your ear, and your stomach does approximately seventeen backflips, "I've got that new analytics setup at my apartment if you want to see it. You know, for research purposes."

You turn to face her, very aware that her hands haven't moved from your hips. "Research purposes?"

"Mhmm." That dangerous grin is back. "Purely academic, of course."

"Of course," you manage, trying to ignore the way your pulse is doing a full drumline routine.

"Oh my god," KK groans from the booth. "This is worse than when Aaliyah tried to flirt with that barista using coffee puns."

"Hey!" Aaliyah protests. "That was smooth!"

"You asked if she wanted to 'espresso' her feelings!"

"And now we're dating, so who's the real winner here?"

Paige rolls her eyes at their antics, but her thumbs are drawing small circles on your hips that are making it very hard to focus on anything else. "So? Want to help me with some late-night analysis?"

Your stomach shoots to your ass as you meet her eyes, finding them sparkling with something that definitely isn't just about basketball statistics. "I mean, it would be unprofessional to turn down a research opportunity..."

"GET OUT OF HERE," Azzi throws a cherry that sails completely wide of both of you. "Your gay panic is ruining my plays."

"Your plays were already ruined," Nika points out, helpfully redrawing the vodka-smudged X's and O's with what appears to be lip gloss.

Paige grabs her jacket with one hand and your hand with the other, tugging you toward the door. "Don't wait up, nerds!"

"USE PROTECTION!" Aubrey shouts after you, causing several nearby tables to choke on their drinks.

"I mean, analytics can be very dangerous," you say with mock seriousness as you step into the cool night air, very aware that Paige hasn't let go of your hand. "All those numbers flying around."

"Absolutely hazardous," she agrees, pulling you closer as you walk. "Better stick together. For safety."

"For safety," you repeat, hoping she can't feel your pulse racing where your fingers are intertwined. "And research."

"And research," she echoes, giving you that sidelong grin that makes your heart forget how to beat properly. "Though I should warn you..."

"Yeah?"

She stops under a streetlight, turning to face you with eyes that sparkle with mischief. "My elevator works perfectly fine."

Your laugh echoes off the empty street. "Damn. There goes my backup plan."

"I'm sure we can find other ways to get stuck together," she says, and your stomach relocates somewhere in the general vicinity of Mars.

As you follow her down the quiet streets of Storrs, your joined hands swinging between you, you make a mental note to buy Mike the biggest coffee gift card you can afford.

Broken elevators might just be your new favorite thing.

Paige's apartment is exactly what you'd expect from someone who's somehow both a basketball prodigy and a complete dork—there's a literal trophy shelf right next to a collection of Star Wars Funko Pops, and her UConn jersey hangs framed above what appears to be a very elaborate gaming setup.

"Nice lightsaber," you say, nodding to the collector's edition propped in the corner.

"Nice deflection from how your hands are shaking," she shoots back, shrugging off her jacket.

"It's cold outside!"

"Uh huh." She disappears into the kitchen, and you hear cabinets opening. "Want some hot chocolate? I promise it's better than those nuclear waste shots Aubrey kept ordering."

Your stomach does a weird flip at how domestic this feels. "Only if you have—"

"Mini marshmallows and whipped cream? What kind of monster do you think I am?"

You follow her voice to find her already pulling out mugs, one of which has "Ball is Life" written in what appears to be glitter pen. "The kind that owns a bedazzled basketball mug?"

"First of all, Nika made this for my birthday and it's a masterpiece," she says, grabbing milk from the fridge. "Second of all, you're just jealous of my sophisticated taste."

"Oh, absolutely. Nothing says sophistication like..." you pick up a container from the counter, "unicorn hot chocolate mix?"

She snatches it back, fighting a grin. "It's limited edition!"

"Of course, my mistake. Clearly I'm in the presence of a fine dining connoisseur."

The kitchen fills with the smell of chocolate as she heats the milk, and you try not to stare at how she's rolled up her sleeves, forearms on full display as she stirs. You fail miserably.

"See something you like?" she asks without turning around, because apparently she has eyes in the back of her head.

"Just admiring your hot chocolate technique."

"My technique is excellent, thank you very much." She turns, holding up a can of whipped cream with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Want to see?"

Your throat goes dry. "I feel like this is a trap."

"Maybe." She takes a step closer, and your back hits the counter. "But you've been analyzing my moves all night. Shouldn't I get a turn?"

You're about to say something witty—really, you are—but then she's shaking the whipped cream can and all your brain cells collectively abandon ship.

"Don't you dare—"

The words are barely out before she's spraying whipped cream directly at your face. You squeal (not your proudest moment) and grab for the can, resulting in a brief wrestling match that ends with cream basically everywhere except in the actual mugs.

"You're such a menace!" you gasp, trying to wipe cream off your nose while she cackles.

"Says the girl who called me out on my head tilt in front of my whole team!"

"That's different! That was professional analysis!"

"Oh yeah?" She steps closer, effectively pinning you against the counter. "Analyze this."

Your heart stops as she reaches up, thumb gently wiping whipped cream from the corner of your mouth. Time seems to freeze, your entire world narrowing to that point of contact and the way her eyes drop to your lips.

"Your technique could use some work," you manage to whisper, and she laughs—that real laugh, with the little snort that makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

"Maybe you should show me how it's done then."

Your stomach shoots through the floor as you reach up, threading your fingers through her hair (definitely getting whipped cream in it but whatever), and pull her down to meet you.

She tastes like chocolate and whipped cream and something uniquely her, and you can feel her smile against your lips as she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

"How's that for technique?" you murmur when you finally break apart, both breathing a bit harder.

"Hmm." She pretends to consider it, but her eyes are sparkling and her hands are still firmly on your waist. "Might need more data to make a proper analysis."

"Oh my god, you're actually worse than me with the nerd references."

"You like it," she says with absolute certainty, leaning in again.

"Maybe," you concede against her lips. "But only because you're cute when you're being smug."

She pulls back just enough to give you that dangerous grin that started this whole thing. "Just cute?"

"And modest, clearly."

"I'll show you modest," she growls, and then she's kissing you again, deeper this time, backing you further against the counter until you're pretty sure your soul leaves your body entirely.

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter,

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter, forgotten in the haze of warm laughter and sticky fingers. At some point, her lips found their way back to yours, sweet and a little messy, and now you’re on her couch, knees bumping against hers as you both settle into an almost tentative rhythm. She pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, and her breath fans across your lips in short, uneven bursts.

“You’re trouble,” she whispers, her voice low and a little breathless, her hands sliding up your arms to rest on your shoulders, thumbs brushing the curve of your collarbone.

“You like trouble,” you fire back, and there’s just enough of a spark in your tone to make her grin.

“I really do,” she admits, and before you can respond, her lips are on yours again, slower this time, deliberate. It’s not the playful teasing from before—it’s something heavier, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest and your hands curl into the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.

Her fingers tangle in your hair as she shifts, nudging you gently until your back hits the cushions. She hovers above you, her knees bracketing your thighs, her ponytail spilling over one shoulder as she leans down to kiss you again. This time, it’s a little rougher, her teeth catching on your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp, and the sound seems to light something in her eyes.

“You’re killing me,” you murmur against her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, her grin sharper now.

“Good,” she says simply, and her hands are on the hem of your hoodie, tugging it up. “This okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard, and she doesn’t wait for a second invitation. The hoodie’s off in a flash, tossed somewhere behind the couch, and her eyes sweep over you like she’s committing every inch to memory. Her hands are warm as they skim over your sides, fingertips brushing against bare skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says softly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and the way she says it makes you believe her, even with your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage, trying to sound casual even as she leans back down, her lips finding the curve of your jaw and then lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands find her waist, and you can feel the strength of her beneath the soft cotton of her sweatshirt, her muscles flexing slightly as she shifts against you.

“Should we,” she starts, her voice trailing off as she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s a question there, unspoken but clear, and you answer it by pulling her back down, your lips crashing into hers with more urgency than before.

“Definitely,” you say between kisses, and that’s all the encouragement she needs.

Her sweatshirt joins your hoodie somewhere on the floor, and her hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, the curve of your hip. It’s all a blur of heat and soft laughter and the kind of clumsy, sweet desperation that only comes with two people trying to figure out how they fit together.

The couch is too small, the angles all wrong, and at some point, she pulls back just enough to breathe, “Bed?”

You nod, and then she’s pulling you to your feet, her hand sliding down to lace her fingers with yours as she leads you toward her room. There’s something about the way she looks back at you, her grin soft and a little nervous, that makes your heart ache in the best way.

The moment you’re through the door, she’s on you again, her hands sliding up your back as she kisses you like she’s trying to memorize every curve, every shiver. The bed is soft beneath you, and her weight is solid and warm as she follows you down, her knee nudging between yours as she leans over you.

“You’re really good at this whole ‘research’ thing,” you tease, and she laughs against your collarbone, the sound low and husky and so incredibly her.

“Don’t distract me,” she murmurs, and her hands are on you again, her touch firm and sure and just a little shaky in a way that makes your chest swell with affection.

And when she kisses you again, slow and deep, you think, for the first time all week, that maybe the universe actually got something right.

The mattress dips under her weight as Paige pulls back just enough to take you in, her hair falling loose from her ponytail, framing her face in a way that feels criminally unfair. There’s a glint in her eye now, something teasing but focused, like she’s about to run the most calculated play of her life.

“You look nervous,” she says, her lips curling into that sharp grin that’s been undoing you all night.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, though your voice cracks on the last syllable like your body’s calling you out.

She chuckles, low and throaty, and leans down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Good. Because I’m about to ruin you, and I don’t need you overthinking it.”

Before you can process what she said, she’s sliding down your body with deliberate slowness, her hands dragging over your sides, down your hips, and hooking around the waistband of your leggings. She raises an eyebrow, silently asking permission, and the second you nod, she pulls them down in one fluid motion, leaving you feeling bare and achingly vulnerable.

“Holy shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, her eyes locked on you like she’s just stumbled on a masterpiece at an art museum. Her hands settle on your thighs, thumbs tracing small circles that send shivers racing up your spine. “You’re so—” She stops, shakes her head, and looks up at you with that cocky grin. “Nah, I’m gonna show you instead of telling you.”

Her lips press to the inside of your knee, soft at first, but as she moves higher, her kisses grow hungrier, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you squirming.

“Paige,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper, but she just hums against your thigh like she’s savoring her favorite meal.

“Patience,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin as she shifts lower. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Your response gets caught in your throat as her mouth finally finds you, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had promptly evaporates. Her tongue moves with the same precision she has on the court, all calculated angles and devastating accuracy, and it’s like she’s figured out exactly how to dismantle you.

“Fuck—Paige—” Your hips jerk involuntarily, but her hands hold you steady, her grip firm enough to keep you grounded while her mouth does the opposite.

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her lips glistening, and there’s a wicked glint in her eye that makes your stomach drop in the best way. “Hang tight,” she says, reaching toward the nightstand.

“What are you—oh my God,” you gasp as she pulls out a vibrator, the sleek little device gleaming like it was made for moments like this.

Paige winks, all confidence and mischief, as she turns it on, the low hum filling the room. “You trust me, right?”

You nod, because at this point, you’d probably trust her to lead you into a cult if it meant feeling like this.

“Good.” She leans back down, her mouth finding you again just as the vibrator presses against you, and the combination is so overwhelming it almost knocks the breath out of you.

Your hands fly to her hair, tugging as the vibrations send shocks of pleasure racing through your body, and her tongue works in tandem, teasing and relentless. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you can feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, with every calculated movement.

“Paige, I—” Your words dissolve into a moan that would make your ancestors weep, your thighs trembling as she doubles down, her grip on you tightening.

“That’s it,” she murmurs against you, her voice low and full of something that sounds dangerously like pride. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, you do. The orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and clutching at the sheets as your vision whites out. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you swear you hear yourself speaking in tongues.

Paige doesn’t stop until your legs are twitching, and even then, she presses one last kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back with the most self-satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.

“Did I just—” You pause, catching your breath, your voice hoarse. “Did I just have an exorcism?”

Paige laughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If you did, I think I’m gonna need to start charging for holy services.”

“Fuck you,” you say weakly, though the way you’re still grinning probably ruins the effect.

She crawls back up to you, her body warm and solid as she settles next to you, her arm slinging over your waist. “Oh, you’re definitely going to want to do that next,” she teases, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And just like that, you’re laughing, still breathless and a little wrecked, but somehow more at ease than you’ve felt in ages. Paige grins down at you, smug but soft, and you think, maybe, that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Sometimes the best love stories start with a malfunction.

Just don't tell Mike. He's smug enough already.

The End

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mickyschumacher · 7 months ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.

this post is for my sanity but here is a list of drivers i think embody childhood friends to lovers simply just because (not proofread at all):

oscar piastri. so so so obvious. everything about him screams it. so attentive to everything about you and so goddamn proud of you. definitely only smiles like an idiot around you. refuses any other claims of smiling made by anyone else. the happiest when he's with you. enjoys watching you do something your passionate about. more certain about his feelings (and yours) than you are–like a hundred percent tells you out of the blue and is very persistent on them. like he's not shy about his feelings. but madly blushing and giggling to himself when he's with you. big on hand holding, hugging, cheek kisses... as discussed, he ain't shy. nicole probably tried to get you together first but oscar got embarrassed until he realised he needed her help. has a soft spot not just for you, but your entire presence in his life. oscar also likes to plan his dates with you. anything that makes you happy makes him happy.

mick schumacher. this is also obvious. you and mick have known each other your whole life. rumour has it you were born in cribs next to each other. you both know everything about each other. there for each other's most awkward, saddest, angriest, scariest, funniest moments. not sure if your feelings are real bc everyone from michael and corinna to your grandma has been planning for the both of you to get married. very much a blushing type of guy. he'd happily sit and listen to you yap. enjoys spending time with you no matter what. horse riding, picnics, lunch, long drives... mick would pretend they were dates until he actually told you he liked you. maybe this sounds crazy, but a pinky holder. like before you got together... this drove him crazy. such a simple act but he loves it.

paul aron. the endless nights you spent with each other as children in estonia... they were magical. all summer, you were off to the beach or walking around in the warm evenings to cool off. paul is very much in love with you and has been since he first met you. he tries to play it off, acting all cool about it and what not. "oh her? yeah she's my best friend." very happy to have you as his best friend–definitely brags about you. reality of his pretence: he is an absolute mess around you. always smiling here and there resulting in his brother ralf questioning him. thinking about you 24/7. aka very attentive. if you get sick, absolutely will not stand for it. he enjoys taking care of you. other than being in estonia with you, his favourite time with you is go-karting. teaching you what he's passionate about and then listening you lecture him about how worried you always are... it grounds him.

patricio o'ward. ah pato. the very personification of optimism itself. another one who isn't shy about his feelings but gets shy. he can't help it. how could he not love you? you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. pato loves teasing you. always claims you're smiling because of him, that you're blushing, and, wait for it... that you love him. go figure! (doesn't deny anything when people mistake you for a couple.) pato likes the domestic things with you. yes, he absolutely cherishes seeing you at his races. but he likes when it's just you, him, and norbi. like watching norbi run around the house with muddy paws and you're chasing norbi. loves cooking with you and yapping about the past. secretly enjoys when you and his sister gang up on him because he knows how much elba cherishes you. the best thing, however, is all those things in mexico. p.s. he fake proposed to you when you were kids. has the recording of it and intends to play it at your wedding.

charles leclerc. childhood lovers - CL... it's meant to be. pascale endorsed the idea early on and charles thought his mother was crazy. you were his best friend... you and him? surely not. but then he started seeing you differently. suddenly your smiles were making his heart skip. looking down at your teary-eyed face from a podium made him malfunction. the warmth of your hand was a feeling he yearned for as you consoled him. suddenly his platonic 'i love you' made him breathless and he would spend days learning how to breathe again. you always caught his lingering gazes, immediately for you to look away which got him grinning. was literally told not to tell anyone about signing with ferrari but how could he not tell you? waited for his first win with ferrari to actually tell you he's in love with you. (arthur and lorenzo had never been happier because they had been telling him to do it for years on end.) charles honestly doesn't know how formula one will go for him but he had planned his entire future with you in it. likes to carry a ring around with him because he's always waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question.

#definitely not because i'm watching love next door #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #indycar x reader #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #paul aron #mick schumacher #pato o'ward #this is me saying childhood lovers has a very very specific vibe and not everyone can be a childhood lover 🤷🏽‍♀️#f1 headcannons #charles leclerc x reader #oscar piastri x reader #pato o'ward x reader #paul aron x reader #mick schumacher x reader

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6ix9inewiturmom · 9 months ago

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Mine- Christopher Sturniolo

Summary: You’re on stream with the triplets and you come on the screen and the chat goes CRAZY, starts hitting on you, calling you beautiful, andChris gets a little jealous and decides to remind you of who you belong to…

Warnings: SMUTTTT, Dom!Chris,Sub!Reader, p in v, Unprotected sex (practice safe sex please), degradation, praising, oral (fem receiving), (idk what else i missed)

A/N: UMMM THIS WAS REQUESTED A LONG TIME AGO BUT TY FOR REQ THIS SO SORRY ITS TAKEN ME SO LONG, Chris is low-key like ROUGH in this.. Could u tell I'm ovulating

PSA: THIS IS MY WORK PLEASE AND THANK YOU DO NOT USE MY WORK AT ALL

Chris and I have been dating in the public eye for about 2 ish weeks now, but in private it's been 2 years, surprisingly the fans took it a lot better than he and I both expected. I've received more love than hate, occasionally I'll get a 14-year-old girl in my DMs or comment section talking about stealing her man or whatever.

Today was the first time the Triplets had streamed on their Twitch channel in a couple of months now, so obviously Chris invited me for our first actual Twitch stream since being out in the public eye.

“MATT YOU FUCKING SUCK, HOW DID YOU ALREADY DIE AFTER BEING IN A MATCH FOR 3 MINUTES” Chris yells through his headset.

“Hey, baby...” i slowly walk a little timid after trying to compose myself to join the stream.

Chris squeals softly excited to see me finally join the stream “Hi ma, glad to see you finally keeping me company” he pats his lap for me to sit, and I smile softly adjusting myself on his thigh.

I giggled softly looking through the chat. “Hey someone named Ellie just subscribed”

“SHES A PRO ALREADY” Nick yells.

Instead of focusing on the game, Chris was playing I found myself looking through their chat.

Sturnfan626: Y/N IF YOU AND CHRIS BREAK UP BE MINEE

The4thtriplet: Shes stunning oh my god

Crybaby19853: this is how I find out Chris has a girlfriend? But wait why is she like absolutely beautiful.

The chat was flooding with compliments about me and how Chris bagged me or them not understanding how Chris pulled me.

“Awe Chris your fans are so sweet look” I smiled at him as he glanced at the chat screen his eyes darkened watching 35k people hitting on me, and even a couple wanting me to start an Onlyfans which to protect my sanity and privacy I would never.

“Yeah I know I got a hot girlfriend” Chris sort of rolls his eyes before focusing his eyes back to the screen.

“Thank you, everyone,” I softly giggle as Chris’ hand snaked around my waist gripping it a little hard.

I was bombarded with comments in the chat, responding to questions about Chris and me while the boys kept playing Fortnite. Unbeknownst to me, it was disturbing Chris, as he began muttering curse words under his breath, a rare occurrence unless he's truly angry.

“I don't know about you guys but I'm super fucking tired,” Chris says while clicking out of the match, now using both of his hands and wrapping them around my waist.

“BYE EVERYONE WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR JOINING OUR STREAM TONIGHT” Nick yells kissing the camera.

“we’ll see you when we see you,” Matt says ending the stream

Chris groans as the stream ends leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair. “Get on the bed”

“Hm?” I turn my head to face him furrowing my eyebrows.

“You fucking heard me Y/N, don’t be a fucking stubborn brat” Chris says coldly.

“O-okay” I obeyed hopping off his lap walking around to the bed and lying down resting myself on my elbows.

Chris walked over hovering over me between my legs and caressing my cheek with his thumb “Such a greedy fucking whore,” he chuckled softly “fishing for compliments from other people” he shook his head leaning down and colliding his lips with mine hungrily. He wrapped his hand around my throat applying just the right amount of pressure getting a soft moan out of me, sending an invitation to explore my mouth. While exploring my mouth his hand travels down my body yanking down the sleep shorts I walked around the house in all day making them bunch up around my ankles. He pulls away softly smirking down at me fully removing my underwear and the rest of my shorts throwing them across the room.

He settles between my legs using his finger and gliding it up and down my wet, aching pussy. “So fucking beautiful,” he says as his voice drops into a husk. He analyzes my face as he slowly glides his finger into me watching as my breath hitches. “And so fucking wet” he chuckled dipping his head down and kitty-licking my clit while pumping his finger in and out of me.

“O-oh s-s-shit Chris” i moan out “s-so fucking good”

He harshly sucks my clit taking it between his teeth while he adds a second finger into me curling his finger up and hitting that hard-to-reach spot.

My back arches off the mattress watching him enjoy every inch of me in his mouth. he began pumping faster into me making my moans turn into whimpers “S-So f-fucking close” I breath out.

Chris groans against the taste of my arousal all over his mouth “Cum” he mutters diving into my pussy like his last meal, pumping faster in and out of me.

“CHRIS” I squeal finally snapping that knot in my abdomen all over his mouth and fingers. I sit up balancing my weight against my elbows looking at him and wiping his mouth against his forearm and undressing himself.

“The first one was free, you’re working for the next few” he grins beginning to take off his boxers as his aching, red cock.

My eyes widened “W-what?” I stuttered.

“You didn't think I was done with you, did you?” he comes now laying between my legs, his face just inches away from mine, and rubbing his cock through my sensitive folds.

I softly nodded batting my eyelashes at him. “Oh? Don't be so naive baby” he coos, continuing to rub his tip against my folds. “I'm far from done with you” his chuckle was almost sadistic, I'd never seen him like this but holy mother of pearl it was turning me on so fucking fast.

He aligned his cock with my entrance pushing his tip in slowly then pulling back out a couple of times, teasing my entrance, making me whine from the loss of contact. “You want it?” he says grabbing my chin and making me look at him.

I nodded violently stuffing my bottom lip out for him. “You beg for what you want Y/N” his voice turned husk.

“P-please Chris” I whined as his tip continued to push in and out of me.

“Please what, princess?” he glides his thumb over my bottom lip while giving me a faux sympathy look on his face.

“P-please fuck me, Chris,” I stated confidently swallowing a lump in my throat.

He chuckles before pushing his length farther into me “Such a pretty mouth, begging so nicely” he smirks fully bottoming out in me, making my eyes touch my brain.

"God you don't know how bad I missed fucking this little pussy of yours," Chris smirked. "That's right, princess. I want you until you see fucking stars. I won't even fucking stop if someone sees or hears. You're mine, understand? You're my little fuck toy," he husked.

I whimpered at his words. I'd never been more aroused than I was right then. He began to regain his fast pace, as I cried out in pleasure.

"Fuck, Chris!" I shouted. This seemed to turn Chris on even more as he thrust into me even harder, making my tits bounce.

"Chris, Chris, Chris," I moaned.

Chris grunted, leaned his head towards my neck, and latched his lips onto my soft skin. He took my skin in between his teeth and sucked forcefully.

"That's gonna leave a mark, Chris, stop," I Whined.

He pulled away and smirked. "I know, that's the point, you dirty little slut, I want people to see you belong to ME” his thrusts maintained a brutal pace while attacking my cervix.

“F-Fu-Fuckk” I stuttered as my legs began to shake around his torso. “Cl-Close” I choked out.

“No” his voice husked in my ear as his hand made a fist next to my head to support his weight and his harsh movements. “Do you deserve to cum?” he hummed in my ear.

“Y-yes p-lease, Chris” I begged between my moans.

“You Cum with me or not at all got it?” he grunts out sitting up and wrapping his hand around my throat and squeezing the sides just enough to make the pleasure more intensifying.

“Mhm,” I moaned out looking at him and giving him doe-eyes that I knew he couldn't resist.

“Nu-uh, words, understand?” he squeezed my throat a little harder.

“Y-Yes s-Sir” i wept, the pleasure of him repeatedly pounding my cervix and the way his veins popped out of his forearm while wrapped around my throat became almost uncontrollable, the knot in my stomach could burst at any moment now.

He smirked at my response “My greedy girl, just so pitiful, begging for that release,” he grunted “Hold it for a couple of seconds okay, beautiful? Can you do that for me?” he bit his lip removing his hand from my throat to brush the hair on my face away, smiling down at me.

“C-Cant” I shook my head squeezing my eyes shut as tears of overstimulation began forming at the corners of my eyes.

“Yes, you can pretty girl, I'm almost there alright? Just keep squeezing me so good baby” he moves his hand down my body slowly and agonizing down to my clit and toying with it while maintaining his attack on my pussy.

“FUCK” I squeal arching my back off the bed. My moans became whimpers as my makeup began to run from the tears now streaming down my face “C-Cum-Cumming” I let out a scream of pleasure as my orgasm hit me like 14 busses and I squirted all over him and everything else in the way.

“That's it,” he coos “Keep cumming for me, let it all out” he continued as his thrusts became sloppier chasing after his own release.

“Such a good fucking girl for me baby,” he smiles as his last couple of thrusts in me painted my once pink walls a nice shade of white. He slowly pulls out of me being careful not to hurt me. “Let me clean you up yeah?” his smile made me smile back at him as he left quickly to his bathroom to grab a lukewarm washrag. He slowly drags it down my legs and carefully wipes my cum covered pussy making me wince “I know ma, I know” he coos throwing the rag into the pile of clothes we left on the floor.

“You okay?” he chuckled admiring my fucked-out expression.

“Mhm, I'm good” I smiled moving my body to face his

“I wasn't too rough on you was I?” he smiles moving my hair behind my ears.

“Honestly, you were perfect” I smiled leaning into his touch.

“I'm sorry I got a little possessive, I'm trying to get used to the whole ‘the public relationship’ type thing, I'm still used to keeping you my little secret,” he says softly kissing my forehead and pulling my body closer to his.

A pound at the door quickly broke up this once peaceful pillow talk moment “HEY FREAKS!” Nick yells “SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP” he continued before walking away from the door and slamming his own door.

Chris and I chuckled as I nuzzled my head into his chest. “Do you wanna watch Sponge Bob? Or gossip girl?” he says running his fingers through my hair

“Whatever you want” I smiled before fastly falling asleep wrapped in his arms.

Chris looked at me falling asleep on him smiled down at me shook his head, admiring how peaceful and soundly I slept intertwined with his own body.

A/N PT2: GUYS IDK WHAT HORMONE MONSTER ATTACKED ME BUT LIKE I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS!! I love you all and i hope you all have a blessed and amazing day! 🩷

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alicentsgf · 1 month ago

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actually does genuinely upset me how lotties treated in the teen timeline tho. shes a figurehead. shes a symbol. she barely even gets to be a person, let alone a scared child like the rest of them. she doesnt even really have any friends, just followers. like who checks in with her? truly? they're all looking to her for answers all the time and she feels like she should have them. when they need her they use her to alleviate their guilt and pain, they let her comfort them, and then shes alone again. like yes they're scared kids just trying to believe in something, but lotties a scared kid too and you cant tell me there isnt at least a slight amount of wilfull ignorance involved here. a lot of them deep down KNOW lotties struggling with something, they just cant allow themselves to fully realise it because then they'd have to question the belief system thats giving them hope and purpose. lottie ends up sacrificed on the alter of everyone elses sanity.

#lottie matthews #need someone to comfort her they way she comforts them for once #yellowjackets #yj thoughts #yj spoilers

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letorip · 10 months ago

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casual [ii]

"is it casual now? i know what you tell your friends, it's casual, if it's casual now"

===+++===

pairing: natalie scatorccio x reader

summary: you keep telling yourself it's casual, but it still manages to bother you so much when you realise nat is ducking you.

warnings: explicit sexual content, SMUT (nat recieving), drug use, alcohol consumption, mostly set up chapter, 'i love you' but in a sad way :(

word count: 7.7k

A/N: there will ALREADY BE A PART 3 FINALE ON THE WAY. amount of research i did on US schooling, US version of Windolene, and the 1996 US Presidential Election should be criminal.

***also to be clear because i know i was kind of confusing about it last time, Nat’s father is still alive, this is a no crash au, and there’s still about a week left to go to nationals, Lottie’s party is NOT the night before, for the sake of my sanity

===+++===

Dinner that night exceeded your expectations by far, or at least in terms of awkwardness. It laced the air in thick wafts that made you shift in your chair from time to time, out of need of something to do.

"So Julie," your mother said. She raised her glass with a distinguished elegance and sipped her wine. "I heard that last year you went to the state science fair." She said it with a glance at you over the lip and dramatic overemphasis, as if she expected you to stand and applaud. “You won first place?”

You took the hint and sent Julie a smile fixed in place, and then one down to her parents at the other end. These sort of set ups went better when you appeared to give them a good try. "Oh really?"

"I did!” The smile she had worn all night widened, veneers a crisp white colour that looked like the blank walls of a dentist’s office. “It was a project on sea turtles. My dad flew us out to Barbados to work with a research team.” If Julie had said any more on her project, you could not hear it.

There was a beautiful oil painting right behind her on the wall, in a thick copper frame that glinted in the dining room light. The portrait had hung there since you were a child, but from that angle it had felt mundane. A random portrait of a random woman your father had bought on a random business trip. Now, it was impossible for you to see the soft, beautiful blues of the woman's eyes and not think of Natalie's.

Perhaps that was karma. The conversation with Nat still hung over your thoughts in an ever-present guilt, and the longer you thought about it, the less you thought you liked yourself. Not that there was much to be done about that, of course.

A silence filled the room and you looked back to Julie, who stared at you with a blank expression. You glanced around the table, only to find everyone else’s eyes on you too. Shit.

“Sorry, what was the question?” you flushed. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Lottie stifle a laugh, and your father’s gaze down at the other end. His disapproval was thick in his eyebrows, and you rubbed the back of your neck, sheepish.

Julie continued to beam at you, and you shifted in your seat. “I was wondering if you also liked science.”

“Oh. I don’t really love—,” before you could finish, your mom took it away, interrupting and reaching over the table to clasp Julie’s hand in her own.

“Of course! (Y/n) here is the president of Science Honours Society at Wiskayok. Don’t let the bruises fool you, (Y/n) is a giant studier and scholar.” Ah, the bruises.

Your mom had freaked the hell out when she saw you, just as you knew she would. Her immediate reaction had been to cover them with concealer, and then she had almost cried when you could still see the purple and red skin underneath.

“(Y/n)’s also a giant nerd,” Bobby said. “Know-it-all, more like,” he corrected with a laugh, leaning towards her as if trying to steal the show. You wouldn’t have stopped him, if he was. He had mentioned finding her pretty, not that she seemed to be interested in him. Your other cousin, Trent, knocked him on the side of the head, before he went back to his food.

“Robert,” your father chided, before turning to Julie and her parents himself. “(Y/n) here will be Valedictorian, at the end of the year. Academics are important to us, and I assure you, science is part of that.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mrs. Roosevelt said. “Do you know where you’re going to college yet?”

You shrugged, eyes on your plate. “Either Brown or Princeton.”

Your mom clasped her hands together, excited. “Mr. (L/n) and his mother and father, and his mother and father before him and so on, all went to and fell in love at Princeton. We donate money every year. And then, well, there’s Brown or Columbia, as options.”

“I was considering Princeton, too,” Julie said. “Of course, we have ties to Harvard as a family, but Princeton always piqued my interest.” At that, you hid what would’ve been a snort behind a cheeky smile. Nat’s ‘fuckin’ rich people,’ played back in your mind in a memory of the warm afternoon you had just spent in her bed. “We could meet at Princeton, right? Like your grandparents?”

You blinked, unable to compute the rather forward question into your brain along with the warmth you could feel spread out on your cheeks. Lottie watched you again, fork half in her mouth, amused and entertained beyond belief. But Julie Roosevelt, as nice as she was, wouldn’t be the one for you.

You cleared your throat, mustering an apologetic smile. “Um…yeah, it would be great to have other friends there.”

“Right…friends," said Julie, staring at you blankly. You didn’t need to look at her, to feel your mother’s disappointment. Bobby and Trent were staring, too. Lottie had her eyes on her food.

"So, did anyone ask Reginald what dessert tonight will be?" your father asked. He didn't look in your direction. You were grateful for it. He was usually the one to bridge the gap, and you had missed him when he was in Tokyo.

"I do believe he said it would be cheesecake," your mother replied. She turned her fork over in her salad, considerably less vibrant than before.

Trent nodded, sipping his water. "That'll be good." He turned to your father with a chuckle. "Did you hear that Buchanan's stepped down from the bid for president?" At that point you let the conversation go on around you, but were all too content to sit back and just observe.

===+++===

"(Y/N)!" a faint voice came into your bathroom. You blinked.

“Yeah?” But there was no reply. At least, not for a minute.

"(Y/N), GET DOWN HERE, NOW!"

You paused in front of the bathroom mirror. The toothbrush still hung from your mouth, and you furrowed your eyebrows, painfully so with the bruise on your eye, questioning if what you were hearing was real. It was all too early in the morning, for you to be running late.

"(Y/N), I'M NOT KIDDING AROUND, DAMMIT!" Your father yelled, and now you were sure you were awake. You furrowed your eyebrows at the anger in his voice and plugged your electric toothbrush into its holder, before sliding on your slippers and opening your door.

There was a whole bunch of commotion going on in the foyer below, and while your mom had held her tongue about Julie the night before, it didn't make sense for your father to be this angry you had turned her down, right? You ran your hand through your bedhead, in an halfhearted attempt to first xit as you still groggily came down the long set of stairs.

"What?" you asked. Your dad had his back to you, talking with Reginald, and Maribel was crying in the corner with a bottle of windex in her hands, but he spun around the moment he heard your voice.

"Don't 'what' me. Go look outside. Right now." His face was all red when he said it, like a scary tomato, and it somewhat snapped you out of your sleepy daze.

The front door was wide open, and there was a gardener who wasn't usually there until later, walking right on in with a wad of toilet paper in his hand. You blinked, then half-stumbled through your door and out onto the driveway.

Fucking hell.

Even from far away, you could smell the rotted eggs, splattered onto the windows of your house and dripping down the sides in clumps. They were everywhere, coating parts of your driveway and sitting in hedges. What was the worst was the white Rolls Royce your father had just bought, which had egg yolks covering the windshield and all along the fresh paint job from where it sat under the awning. Behind it, right on the garage door in spray-painted red letters was 'fuck you.'

Where there weren't eggs, there were reams and reams of toilet paper, strung from the red oaks and trimmed hedges. One or two rolls had unfurled down the length of your driveway entirely, reaching all the way to the end like some sort of demented breadcrumb trail for Reginald, who had apparently discovered the mess when he pulled into work and up the drive that morning.

Your father followed you out, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. "Do you, at all, happen to know why my lawn looks like this?" he demanded.

You swallowed. "No, I'm sorry.”

“You’re sorry? What the hell am I going to do with sorry?”

“It must just be someone from the high school pranking me." It wasn't. It didn't take a genius to make a guess, though. Nat had been pissed, but you didn’t think it would be this pissed.

"Well, whoever it was had access to our neighbourhood gate, (Y/n).” Your father pointed an angry finger at you, poking you harshly in the chest. “You didn't give the code to anyone, did you? We told you not to, unless it was approved by me or your mother."

You stared down at the ground. You were still in your slippers and silk pyjamas. "No, I promise dad, I didn't. I don't know how they got in."

His gaze was still heavy for a moment, eyes and eyebrows thick and heavy, as he scanned your face for the traces of a lie. He didn't find one, and when he didn't, he turned to Reginald, who stood in the doorway behind him, with a sigh.

"Can you pull the old Jaguar from the motor court? We'll need this cleaned up by the time I'm back for work."

Reginald nodded. "Right away, sir."

"Good," he said, and then he turned to you. "And you. I'll be changing our gate code as soon as possible. No giving it out. Your friends are lucky nothing was damaged— we'll sue no question."

"Yes sir," you said, keeping your eyes down.

"Good. Go get ready for school. Don't mention this to anyone."

"Yes sir." You couldn't get back inside fast enough, practically jogging in your slippers and up the stairs. You got about halfway up, before your mother called out to you.

"(Y/n), is that you?"

You froze, considering for a moment just going up like you hadn't heard her. You didn't get the chance though.

"Come down here."

"Yes mother." You turned back around, heading down to where she sat in the formal living room. It was closest to the door, and she must've been watching through the front window. In her left hand was a familiar bottle of wine, and she reeked of its contents. She didn't look too pleased, but with her it was more of a morning thing than the egging.

"Are you going to say good morning to me, darling?"

You nodded. "Sorry. Good morning, mother."

"There you go. Your eye still looks dreadful." Ah, the bruises.

Your mom lost her ever-loving mind when she saw you, just as you knew she would. Her immediate reaction had been to cover them with concealer, and then she had almost cried when you could still see the purple and red skin underneath and the Roosevelts would be arriving any minute.

It was a bit funny that your bloody nose was still visible, in a morbid way, but you knew better than to laugh about it in front of her, and moving your face still hurt in places. Lottie— who watched from atop the bathroom counter— laughed for the both of you instead, which earned her a shriek from your mother.

"It's going to, for the next few weeks. That's what Misty said."

She huffed. "Well, Julie was a disappointment, and we need you to get back out there, if you're going to have a date for prom. Your father and I can't have you going alone."

"I might not be going to prom," you replied, messing with the collar of your pyjama shirt. "The Yellowjackets might be going to nationals, remember? I have to go."

"Yes, well, at least get a date just in case. Everyone else in the neighbourhood will, and we can’t have you alone.”

“Lottie would also be alone.”

“Well I’m not Lottie’s parents now am I?”

“No.”

“Right, I’m not. Now, don’t cut my head off for this, but are you sure you like girls?" You glared and she waved you off. "Don't look at me like that, I just mean you're not having very much success with girls, is all. It's 1996, your father and I are very forward-thinking.”

It took all your energy not to laugh. If they wanted to believe they were forward thinking, you'd let them. The same could be said for success with girls. Instead, you shrugged. "All the girls you've picked are just so boring. There isn't a spark."

Your mother rolled her eyes. "There doesn't always have to be one. For me and your father, there wasn't. We met and then slowly worked towards a love. That instant-love stuff is for children who've seen too many Disney movies, and those soppy Democrats."

"Maybe spark was the wrong word, mother— I don't even feel a connection. They’re super ‘meh’ and stuff."

"Don’t say ‘and stuff’ you make yourself sound stupid. These girls are all from great families, (Y/n). I'm sure there are kids at your school who would love a chance to talk to Julie, or Margot or Sloane— god Sloane is in high demand. I think it's the cheerleading."

“Mother.”

“Yes— sorry. Go fix your hair, you look unkempt. And think about it. Julie wasn’t too bad, she made that joke about forks. Funny.” It hadn’t been.

“Yes mother,” you said, and you stalked away and back up the stairs without another word. You were already running late, with the whole egg thing, and you needed to figure out what you would do with your face the way it was.

===+++===

“Can we stop for coffee?” Lottie groaned, tapping her fingers along the sill of your passenger side window. “‘s so fucking early.” She was splayed out in the seat, with a backup blanket you kept in the second row thrown over her legs and cuddling up to her backpack. You scoffed, fingers on the wheel with an extra tightness.

“Hell no. We’re going to be late for the meeting.” But she just groaned again.

“I didn’t even want to be part of it. You were the jerk who made me.”

“You’re literally the treasurer. You’re on the club board.”

“And? I’m shit at french.”

“You’re shit at a lot of things.”

“And you’re shit at catching a ball with anything but your face,” she giggled.

There didn’t end up being anything you could do. Going to bed had only made the bruising worse, and your nose was a bright red while your eye sat at a deep, unnatural black colour with touches of purple on the outside. You were sure to get odd looks by anyone you passed, but you decided to just get it over with and wear it out.

At the light you turned, driving down the familiar street that led to WHS, and as soon as the coffee shop was in sight, Lottie smacked her hand onto the glass, dragging her fingers down and leaving prints.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, frowning. Lottie whipped around in her seat.

“Are you finally going to say what happened with Nat yesterday?”

You rolled your eyes. "I thought you'd never ask."

She laughed. "I mean, I was going to, in the car ride home. You just didn't say a whole word the entire drive. It was freaking me out, actually. I thought you were either brain dead from Carter’s throw-in or didn’t want to talk about it.”

"Sorry," you mumbled. Lottie shook her head.

"It's fine. I'd probably stop talking for a bit too, if I found out Jackie was right about something."

"It was reality breaking," you nodded with a smile. It took until you both stopped at the light for you to muster the ability to speak again. "Nat’s upset about me potentially seeing other girls.”

"That's what I figured," said Lottie. "Soooo…what now?"

“It gets worse,” you said, shaking your head.

“Delightful.”

“I think she egged my house.”

Lottie laughed for a moment in a giant burst, but she stopped when you just held your stare on the road ahead. “Wait— are you serious???”

You nodded. “There were eggs and toilet paper everywhere. My dad was pissed.”

“Nat wouldn’t do that, though. She’s not that kind of person,” she said, shaking her head.

“Who else would it be, Lottie? She wrote a giant ‘fuck you’ on my house. She’s the only one I gave my code to.”

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows. “Why’d you give her your code?”

“…My parents and Reginald were out of town in August. So…”

“Ew,” she scrunched her nose. “Got it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll bet she’s on your dad’s shit list now.”

You frowned, remembering just how smooth her skin was against you. How she cradled your face in her hands like it was her whole world. “I didn’t tell him it was her.”

She stared at you for a moment, as if you had missed something spelt out in a bright neon sign that floated just above your head in a way you could never read it. Lottie shrugged, turning back to look out the window. “What are you going to say to her? I mean, it’s clear she wants your full attention.”

"Or that it’s over. She told me to ‘go to hell,’ Lot.”

“It’s because she cares about you. Like, a lot.” She gave you a more annoyed look, this time.

"What's the face for?" you whined.

"If Nat’s gonna be super mad at you, practice'll be awkward as hell."

"Probably," you said. "Nat asked me to go with her to your party. So, that too."

She sighed. “You just had to screw a Yellowjacket, huh?”

“Hey! I didn’t mean to.”

“It was an accident?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“No!— ugh, you know what I mean…”

“I know.” Lottie crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in the car seat. "Maybe you could explain to her? Why it wouldn't work, and all?"

"Yeah," you huffed. "I'll just tell her she's considered trailer trash, and that my uppity parents want Miss Americana, who works in foreign countries with research teams for the science fair, and is at least four tax brackets above her. That'll go over great."

"Well don't say that," she rolled her eyes. Lottie thought for a moment. "…Do you at least like Nat, though?"

You frowned. "Would it even matter if I did?"

"Maybe," said Lottie. "Maybe it would matter." You pulled your car into your parking space, then pulled your key from the ignition. WHS always looked the same. Even in old photos your parents had shown, it had the same red brick and towering trees.

"Maybe I'll try to pull her aside…" you trailed off.

"That's probably a good idea," she nodded.

“Nat said Carter got detention?” You asked it as you grabbed your backpack from the backseat, tugging it over your shoulders while Lottie did the same.

“Yeah. Suspended from the team too,” she said, and you locked your car behind you both, as you headed through the old doors. French classrooms were on the opposite side of campus, down an older hallway that had yet to be renovated. Despite having two French teachers and a whole honours club, no one knew how to speak it.

The meeting had already started by the time you both slipped in, and Lottie awkwardly snuck along the wall to get up to the front where the leadership board was standing, who were less than pleased to see her late. Jackie waved you over to a seat in the back, and Jeff sat a few roads in front with his friends. Anyone who saw you stared for a second.

“Morning,” you mumbled, sliding into your seat.

“Morning,” she whispered back. “Your face looks terrible.”

“No, really?” you snorted. “I didn’t notice.”

“Stop talking!” came a voice from the front, and you could see Sloane glaring daggers at you from the front. She was the president of the club and she hadn’t liked you much since she dedicated a whole day to a date with you and you promptly refused a second.

“Sorry,” Jackie said, raising her hand to take the blame. Sloane shook her head, but went back to reading off of her notes. The moment her head was turned, Jackie leaned back over to you. “Boy, she needs the stick pulled out from her ass, huh?”

“It’s just ‘cause she’s French,” you whispered back to her with a grin.

“Yeah, well, she’s the only one. Besides, we all know it’s because Mr. Allard watches when she bends over.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh at the thought of the creepy old guy. Jackie nudged you in the shoulder. "Why was Nat pissed off yesterday, for the last bit of practice?"

You blinked. "What?"

"She came out all upset, like she was about to cry and stuff. Did you break her heart or something?"

"I don't know," you said with a frown. "I have no idea what we are at this point. I mean, I thought we were friends—"

Jackie scoffed. "Yeah right. You guys were friends, fucking in the back of your car. Real good friends, there."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying. You definitely let her run wild with her fantasies of you."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Maybe if you're Nat. A kid who's top of the class, hot, prom court, varsity, and not a complete asshole? You're like Prince Charming. Or Mother Theresa.”

"You're kidding, right?"

"What, do you have the emotional depth of a kiddie pool? No!"

“Jackie! Stop talking!”

“Yup! Sorry.”

===+++===

Nat didn't show up to school, that day. You knew because you waited for her, right at the door to the cafeteria, down the same hall she always came through. She wasn't there. You waited for her after what would've been her Biology class, leaning on the wall and watching everyone but her file out when the bell rang. She wasn't there either.

You even waited at the back of the school, after the final bell, to see if she would appear, but all you got were weird looks from kids in band tees and a whole waft of what smelled like weed. Nat smelled like that sometimes, but she tried to cover it with perfume. You could still smell it on her, but it blended with the smell to be uniquely Nat. As silly as that was, you liked that you knew that.

From the far wall, you could see Kevyn watching you, surrounded by kids you had seen Natalie with. You didn’t know Kevyn too well, only in passing mention from Nat, or in a story. He was the reason you two couldn’t meet up sometimes, though you tried not to hold that against him.

It wasn’t a thought you were very proud of, but your fingers tightened on the straps of your leather backpack with gold plating. Any one of your friends would laugh at you for being back here, and you stood out like a white sheep in a field of sheep in black leather jackets. You didn’t know any of these kids, but you could tell they knew of you, from the glances and whispers.

It seemed Kevyn couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. He stepped forward and at least attempted to shove his hands into his jean pockets, but they seemed a bit tight on him and he gave up. “The hell are you doing out here?” he grumbled out.

“Have you seen Nat?” you asked with an awkward smile.

Kevyn’s glare sharpened. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Nice face, by the way.” So she had told him. You winced.

“Look, I really need to speak with her. It’s super important and—”

“—I don’t think you heard me. She doesn’t want to speak to you,” said Kevyn, interrupting and crossing his arms over his chest. You frowned.

“Kevyn, please…”

“I'm not telling you, country club.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Kevyn took another step forward with a challenge. “It’s what you are, isn’t it?” You could feel even more eyes on the both of you.

“I just need to find her.” It was embarrassing, how your voice shook as you said it, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“But you hurt her.”

You looked down. Air did not want to come easy. “I know. I know I did.”

Kevyn stayed silent for a while. It was the both of you just standing there while he seemed to mull over his options. He sighed. “She’s not here today. Didn’t want to come. She’ll be back tomorrow for practice.”

You nodded, raising your hands in appreciation. “Okay, thank you,” you rushed it out, getting ready to jet. The stoners still made you a bit uneasy. But before you could go he spoke up again.

“Nat’s not as tough as she acts, you know.”

You stopped, turning back to him. “What?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you. It was almost like bragging. She’s— she was actually proud of something hers, for once.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your mother would be clutching the pearls of her necklace right now, if she saw where you were. She just might’ve died, the moment she smelled the weed.

Kevyn shook his head. “Don’t hurt her again. I fuckin’ mean it.”

You swallowed, managing to fix a smile to your face. It felt very hot out, then, and you turned around to leave this time. No one stopped you, but there were kids that watched you go.

The way he said it made you feel slimy. This would not be the triumphant lovers coming back together to be as one forever. That stuff was for kids who saw too many Disney movies. Maybe, though, she would let you sit skin to skin again in the warm, even if only for a little while. And that was perfectly normal for being casual, right?

===+++===

The sun was practically beating down on you, absolutely covered in sweat within the first ten minutes of being outside. You had gone to practice early, patiently waiting by the bench and doing up your cleats. It still felt weird. Since you and Nat had started the whole arrangement, you hadn’t gone a single day without hearing from the other. It set you on edge.

By the time the rest of the two teams had filed out onto the pitch, you already were kicking the ball around with Daniel DuPont. He always played with a smile, like Laura Lee, and you wished sometimes that you did too. A kick from you sent the ball towards him, and he booted it back so you caught it with your chest.

Your eye was doing better than the day before, but still looked violet and red, and your nose was still swollen, but you would’ve had to pry soccer practice from your cold, dead hands. On Friday afternoons your mother had her wine-tasting friends over and it was impossible to be less of a fan of the event than you were.

With the ball still bouncing on the grass, you kicked it towards Daniel, and he headed it back to you. "Here," he called it. You appreciated him being extra cautious with your eye injury, but he was playing as if you were a fragile package wrapped in bubble wrap, that needed coddling. You caught the ball with your chest, letting it drop to the ground.

"Pass!" Shauna called from the other side of the field, and you booted it in her direction, waving to everyone out there that you were off to talk to people. You took a singular step towards the benches when you saw her.

Nat stood with her back to you, fiddling with the plastic lid of her cup as if it was broken. Her hair looked especially bright in the sun, like it had in her room, or when you both went to the lake. Casual arrangements went to the lake, right?

You so badly wanted to go up to her and say something. Anything, really. But your feet were rooted to the ground and you were stuck watching her get ready. When she turned around, you weren't sure if it was better or worse than when she hadn't seen you. It was a hard stare to match, when she saw you and your eyes locked, even if it only lasted for a moment. They flew to your bruise right after, and then away. She was looking right through you with practiced indifference.

"Circle up!" Coach Martinez yelled to you all, walking right on the pitch and towards the centre. "Come on , we don't have all day!" Both teams slowly made their way over, but when enough had pooled around Coach Martinez and Coach Scott, Martinez pulled up his clipboard. "We're going to do some stretches, so just kind of space out."

===+++===

You didn't say anything to Nat the entirety of practice, but it was painfully obvious that you wanted to. You knew she could see you, staring at her and spacing out as you struggled to form the words you wanted to say to her. But she made no attempt to actually let you talk to her.

When you were on the drive home, Lottie nudged your arm. “So…Nat.”

“Yeah. Nat.” Your fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “What time are you coming over for the party?”

You shrugged. “No clue, to be honest. It depends when Jackie and Jeff plan on showing up.”

Lottie groaned. “Are they going to be annoying and have a whole drunk argument again?”

“See, that’s while I’ll probably ditch them for you and Shauna,” you laughed. “Last time they tried to get me involved on ‘who was smarter.’”

“But they’re both idiots.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You dropped Lottie off at her house and then made the small drive up to yours. It was close enough of a distance where you two were technically neighbours, but not anywhere close to one that you’d willingly walk.

The moment you got home, you parked your car under the awning and hopped out, grabbing your backpack and your duffel bag and heading inside.

“Helllooo?” you called, up from the foyer and then making a beeline from the stairs. You had to get clean and dressed for Lottie’s party, and it didn’t help that you smelled from practice and were covered in sweat. Your father had flipped out when he had seen you first sweating on the leather of your car seat, but he had given up on convincing you to put a towel down first.

When you got to the top of the stairs, a voice called back out to you. “Hello, (Y/n).”

You leaned on the bannister, and Reginald appeared at the bottom with a smile. “Hey, Reggie.”

“Your parents are going out of town tonight. I think they aim to be back on Wednesday.” You raised your eyebrows.

“Since when?” you asked. It wasn’t unusual or anything, these trips were how they stayed married. If anything, it filled you with a rush.

“Since around 4. They’ll be in Monaco tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” you shrugged. “I’m going to a party tonight. Lottie’s.”

“You know I don’t mind,” Reginald said, tipping an imaginary hat and heading back towards the kitchen. “Just make sure you shower. You smell awful.”

“Thanks, Reggie.”

“Mhm.”

It took you about an hour to get ready, in a brand new outfit you had picked up with Lottie the weekend before. You stood by the armoire, sliding your rings onto your fingers and spritzing yourself, when your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You pulled your Motorola from your pocket, flipping it open with a groan when you saw the caller I.D. and realising what this was before you even needed to hear it.

“Yeah?”

“(Y/n),” Jackie said into the phone with the buzz of excitement in her voice. “Could you come and pick me and Jeff up for the party? I’d appreciate it, hubby.”

You laughed. “Sorry, sweetie. I’m literally next to Lottie’s house, that’s a whole bunch of driving I don’t want to do.”

“But Jeff loves your car,” she replied in a sing-song voice. “It’d make his day.”

“Nope,” you said, with a fond eye roll. “I have to help Lottie set up. I promised.”

“Terrible friend, then,” she joked. You shook your head.

“Mhm. See you when you get there, sweetie.”

“You too, hubby.”

===+++===

The party was all too much, for your liking. Rap blasted from Lottie’s speakers all across her backyard. A small fire you had started sat in the centre of it, with people standing around and drinking nearby.

On a truck someone had pulled back there, you could see Shauna leaning back against it in her jacket, and she sent you a quick wave. You wandered over, knocking your solo cups together and leaning with her.

“Not having fun?” you asked with a laugh.

“It’s definitely a party,” she replied, slinging a friendly arm around your shoulders. “Where’s Lottie?”

“This couple was having a giant fight in her kitchen, she’s calling them a ride.”

“Hm,” she hummed, looking out over the bonfire. “What about Jackie?”

“Her and Jeff ran off. I don’t even know where.” Shauna frowned. “Where’s Nat?” you asked, sending her a hopeful glance.

Shauna gave you a look. “You two are still on the outs, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Well,” she said. You followed her gaze towards the other end of the fire, against a pine tree where an old, marble bench sat. It was somewhat obscured by passing people, but you saw through a gap in the crowd and your heart dropped out of your chest.

Nat was there, in a red plaid dress that hugged her body. Thrown over it was her leather jacket that she always wore. She looked beautiful. The way you had seen her in your dreams the night before. Until you saw that next to her was Bobby Farleigh, that was.

They were talking, leaned in together with alcohol in hand, and laughing. She had asked, when you started sleeping together, who else you had been with. You vividly remembered Bobby Farleigh being on the list, when you asked her the same question. He was a creep, and it made you sick just as it made you sick now. You stood up straighter.

“Yeah,” Shauna said. “Sorry.” You shook your head. Jealousy pooled in the pit of your stomach, but was normal for being ‘casual,’ right? Either way you didn’t like it. It was like a switch flipped in you. It didn’t matter how many people saw you or if they knew your parents. You couldn’t handle this.

“See you, Shauna,” you called back over your shoulder. You stormed towards the two of them on the bench with a glare, and you saw Nat look up at you coming over, watching you intently.

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” She said. It was loud, and with it came the turning of heads. Next to her Bobby Farleigh hopped up to his feet.

“The fuck are you doing?” it came out harsher than you expected it to, deep from within, and you put your hands on your hips.

“Why the hell do you care, all of a sudden?” She challenged back as she too got to her feet. “I find that really, really funny.”

“We’re not talking about this here,” you said. “Come on.” You grabbed her arm, pulling her along with you.

“As if I’d go anywhere with you,” Nat scoffed, but she didn’t pull her hand from your grasp. She let you lead the way, up through the house. People parted like Moses and the Red Sea, watching you go, and though you knew there would probably be gossip about this on Monday, you were past caring.

You wandered into one of Lottie’s guest bedrooms, slamming the door behind you. You spun to Nat.

“What, do you need me to get you off again?” She asked, tone dripping with anger. “Did you pull me in here because you were bored?”

You had to ignore the question. “The fuck were you doing with Bobby Farleigh?”

“See and I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Nat spat back at you. You scowled.

“Why the hell were you going to do that with him. He’s a bully and a creep,” you shot, crossing your arms.

“Y’know what, I don’t have to say anything to you. You made it perfectly fucking clear, we don’t owe each other anything.”

“It’s not even about me!”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh it’s not, huh? No, you don’t have a problem with it being Bobby Farleigh— you could give a fuck about Bobby!” She was yelling now. “You give a shit because it’s not you, and you’re a jealous asshole.”

“So what if I am?!” You yelled back.

“Then I’d say you have no fucking right to be! You do NOT for one god damn second get to be mad I’m sleeping with other people when I hear you’re playing The Newlywed Game with rich chicks.” You didn’t know what to say to that and Nat took it in stride.

“You can do a lot of fucking things, you rich, entitled asshole,” she continued. “But you can’t pretend for shit that we were just fucking around.” You clenched your jaw. “And to think,” she scoffed and you could see the edges of her eyes water, “that I used to think you were safe and good. Now I see you for what you really are— a fucking child with a silver spoon.”

In your arguing, you both had moved closer together, faces inches apart. Her lips looked so soft in the dim lighting of the bedside lamps. You swallowed. She was so close, and there was again that scent of perfume and weed. But Nat backed up, storming past you and heading for the door.

You didn’t know who closed the distance first, but your hand was on her arm, tugging her back against you, and then your lips were against hers. Her taste was so sweet, the same lip balm as always. Cherries.

You pulled her tight against you, feeling her hands go up to your hair, weaving in. You pulled away for a breath for a moment and then immediately kissed her again, this one more needy and ferocious than before you. She tugged at your scalp and your hands flew to her thighs, pulling her up against you and holding tight.

Everything felt so damn humid in there, and you slowly backed Nat onto the bed, pushing her down and crawling on top of her. You leaned down to reconnect your lips and then immediately went south, moving her blonde hair away gently with your fingers and then covering her neck in soft kisses while you tugged her dress down.

Nat let out a heady breath. “(Y/n),” she said in a huff. Your hands grabbed hers, interlocking the fingers and moving them above her head while your mouth did the work for you, sucking on a spot right under her jaw and then slowly down her neck to the exposed area that only her hair could cover from her father.

Nat’s skin was always a cool pale colour, and you pulled away briefly to see the bruises already forming along her neck. You weren’t exactly being soft, but you knew Nat could take it, and that she wanted it. She was staring at you with heavy-lidded eyes, and you silently tugged off your shirt, throwing it somewhere in the room.

Her hands went to your pants, tugging them down, and you moved to get them out from under your legs before discarding them too. She went for your underwear next, watching you with her blue eyes as she moved, but you stopped her, catching her by the wrist and lifting it up to place a slow, gentle kiss on her open palm. You just wanted it to be Nat beneath you.

You slowly dragged your mouth up her arm while you held her gaze, leaving a trail of where it had been. Your other arm came up to cup her breast through her bra, and she let out a full on moan, face flushing pink.

You moved away from her arm and to her chest instead, nipping at her collarbone and sucking on the skin there. Her hands came up to cup your head, fingers weaving in the hair at your nape and brushing some back from your forehead as she let out another shaky breath. Your mouth trailed lower and lower, and Nat threw her head back as you continued to palm at her breasts through the fabric, her hand leaving your hair and scraping down your back with her nails. It hurt, sure, but not in a bad way. In a way that made you want her even more.

“Can I?” you asked, as she writhed beneath you. Your knee went to the space between her legs, feeling her wet, dripping centre on the outside of her underwear. She rubbed down on it, trying to relieve some of the friction and cried out.

“Need— need,” she struggled to focus with your hand on her breast and hot breath on her neck. “Need you,” she whimpered. Nat usually put up more of a struggle for dominance, and fucking was typically far more playful than the pure desire her face expressed. You didn't need to be told twice, taking your fingers and skirting the waistband to dip even lower. When you felt how soaked she was you sucked in a breath.

You pulled her underwear down in a single fluid motion, thumb swiping right over her clit. Nat shook against you with a moan, hand wrapping around your shoulder to hold you close and keep her stable. You started slowly, gently inserting your middle finger into her entrance, and Nat shuddered, leaning into you and holding you tight.

It was an awkward angle, but you never would've told her to move or let you go. It was the warmth you had been missing, and you watched her face scrunch as you slowly began to move your finger. Nat let out a breathy moan, nails digging into your shoulder, and you took the subtle note, adding a second finger.

She's ground down into your hand, clasping your wrist in encouragement, and soon you were moving quicker inside her entrance. Her legs shook with your movement, head thrown back and no longer able to look at you anymore as you fucked her down to your knuckles. You'd done this before, but you had a fire in your belly.

When her grip on your shoulders faltered and her hands fell to grip at the sheets, you took your other hand and gently rub it on her clit, thumbing the bundle of nerves in a way that has her loud. She sucks in breaths and moans, throwing back her head, and you listen to them with a smirk at how quickly she seems to be approaching release.

Your fingers pumped deep inside of her and she shook, and then she said your name. "(Y/n)," she breathed out.

"Hm?" you asked, adding extra pressure on her clit. She let out a gasp.

"I love you," she said, and though it caught you off guard, you did not slow down. She had said it before while fucking and so had you. "I love you," she repeated, and you could feel her body tensing.

"Uh...I love you," you said it back, continuing to fuck her with your fingers.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, Nat," you whispered.

"I love you!" she gasped again, and this time, you felt her body tense completely. Cum leaked out onto your fingers, coating them in her slick while she shook. You slow down your pace, watching her with more awe than you'd like to admit. She just looked so beautiful, splayed out like that and still gently shaking from time to time while she regained herself.

When you gently pulled your fingers from her centre, she shakes and whimpers with the lost sensation. You put your fingers to your lips and into your mouth. Nat tasted just as sweet as before, and your gaze softened at the girl in front of you just as her chest slows its heaving.

"Are you alive?" you asked, sitting up and grabbing your shirt from of the floor to tug it over your chest. She nods slowly, then opens her glossy, blown-out eyes. She's not awake for long, and it only takes a few minutes for her to be out like a light. She's still shaky and weak, but she sends you a smile before she falls asleep.

You don't know why you do it, but you gently lift her up and under the sheets of the bed, pulling the duvet over her. You'd probably have to reimburse Lottie for the dry cleaning. You don't know why you do it either, but after heading towards the door with a pile of clothes in hand, you decide to stay. You clamber into the sheets alongside her, resting your head on the pillow and watching her softly sleep until you fall asleep on your own.

You can't place exactly why it hurts you so much, when you wake up the next morning and realise Nat's no longer there.

THERE WILL BE A PART 3 COMING I PROMISE BUT THIS WAS SO LONG ALREADY. ANYWAYS, FINALE NEXT TIMEEEEEE

#natalie scatorccio x y/n #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #yellowjackets

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fanthropology · 5 months ago

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I love how Matthew falls for Diana approximately seconds after meeting her. Literally, he catches the book and starts flirting with her immediately.

He follows her to a coffee shop and justifies it by telling himself he has to warn her about how interested everyone’s going to be in how she got 482, and when she’s like “are you threatening me?” he’s genuinely confused and distressed, because he doesn’t understand why he is so pressed about being helpful to her.

Then he shows up in the library sitting directly opposite her spot, having persuaded himself she needs to be protected from the other creatures, but actually, he’s there for another opportunity to flirt with her. He’s not silently watching over her, he is sitting as close as he can to her favorite spot, specifically so she has to make eye contact with him and he can talk to her

He breaks into her apartment to look for the book (doing a fairly lazy job), then stalks her to the boathouse and his first question is about her safety. Then he remembers what he’s there for and asks about the book. The picking up and sniffing of her jacket? You don’t sniff people’s clothes unless you’re already interested in them.

Then he runs away to Hamish the second he realizes he’s into her, specifically so Hamish can tell him to leave her alone, so then he can persuade Hamish he has to see Diana because she’ll only be safe if he gets the book from her so no one comes after her. This is classic persuade someone else to justify it to yourself.

And the second he gets back, he sees that Diana is looking for him, and he is 100% a goner from that moment. Logic has come to matter to him less and less over the course of the first two episodes.

When she goes looking for him, he completely loses his grip on reality. He starts saying nonsensical things and making irrational decisions at that point, in order to justify himself. He shows up the next day having cased the library to be sure it’s full of creatures so that he can pretend he’s not asking her out on a day trip to his historic mansion to try to impress her, no she has to go with him for her safety. He decides she has to leave Oxford, with him, and go meet his mother, a vampire who famously hates witches, on an extended trip in a historic castle (gotta up the ante from mansion).

Literally no one could have been after them and Matthew would have still made ridiculous irrational decisions in order to be with Diana. I love that for him. He loses his mind very early on, and he does not ever get it back. Sanity? He doesn’t know her.

#a discovery of witches #adow #matthew de clermont

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 4 months ago

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MISTLETOE TRAP

Prompt 3: mistletoe

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!reader Summary: after spending so long watching you and Eddie hopelessy flirt with eachother, the club comes up with a plan fit for the festive season to bring you guys together. Warnings: mention of kissing, brief mention of Eddie being in the hospital. one mention of Y/n, I APOLOGISE

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

Christmas music played softly in the background as the club played a festive board game, yelling and screaming over each other filled the room as everyone pointed fingers to who's cheating.

the smell of pizza filled your noses as the fire crackled of Gareth's livingroom.

the lights of the tree twinkling in your eyes as you sat on the couch next to Eddie, everyone else choosing to sit on the dirty carpet. pillows under all their buts to soften the hard wooden floor.

it was perfect, everyone having fun, laughing- more or less when everybody isn't fighting, but despite that, it was perfect.

the club did this every year, but it's the first time Mike, Lucas and Dustin have attended.

and while this was their first time hanging out for Christmas games, this was not their first rodeo when seeing a certain pair of flirty best friends that are way to close to be just friends.

"my hands are a bit cold, mind warming them up for me?" Eddie had smiled, earning many silent groans from the room, from everyone except you, who had blushed and shook your head sheepishly

"I have a feeling you just want an excuse to hold my hand, Eds" you teased

"you caught me. so what do you say?" you nudged you, holding out his hand.

you've always been the flirty type of duo, you and Eddie. you don't know when it happened, it started with little remarks in certain situations that he deemed fit, then you slowly began retaliating, giving small comments back that left poor Eddie flushed in surprise. but the certain situations turned into a weekly thing, then soon every time you'd see each other.

"I say my hands are quite cold too" you rolled your eyes, slapping your hand in his and interlocking fingers

you barely noticed the glared and groans from anyone in the room until they all got up and left, saying they are going to the kitchen for seconds

where they all huddled up, sick of their dungeon master and his best friend acting like a bunch of idiots while flirting with each other.

"I'm sick of this, it's been going on too long" Jeff sighed

"I think it's cute" Dustin shrugged "Eddie deserves love too"

"Really? you think our dungeon master complaining his hands are too cold and that she needs to hold them is cute?" Lucas shook his head, questioning his friend's sanity,

because what you and Eddie have going on, is not cute.

"it's a bit cheesy-" Dustin started before Mike cut him off

"-it's gross!"

"Well, what do we do?" Gareth bit the inside of his cheek

then Dustin had an idea.

a brilliant idea

it was just involve talking to Steve.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

You walked into the Harrington home with Robin.

a little party with Steve's friends that you had been invited to, given that his parents went out of town.

you walked in, surprised to see the whole club sitting on the couch, including Eddie- which was less surprising

you knew Steve and Eddie were mutual friends, or friends, you're still not sure, you've never seen them directly talk after Eddie got permitted out of the hospital.

but the whole club here was definitely not something you would expect. but god you were happy

"we were waiting for you" The Munson boy cheered on your arrival

"don't cream your pants, we were just stuck in traffic" you rolled your eyes, pointing the robin behind you who threw her coat on the coat hanger, literally, letting it fall to the ground

"You do know how to put a coat on a hanger, right?" Steve huffed, picking her jacket up and hanging it on a hook while you settled on the couch, right next to open seat next to the one and only Eddie

the whole club had greeted you with unsettling smiles, Dustin rocking his legs as he sat cross legged on the floor.

their faces made you suspicious, they were always up to no good with those looks on their faces

"what's up with them?" you whispered to Eddie, who shrugged

he picked up a Garfield mug, steam floating up and reaching his nose as he brought it up to his lips. humming at the taste before pulling it away and back onto the coffee table

you giggled, looking away when he turned to you

"what? do I have something on my face?" he smirked, knowing the fluffy whipped cream adorned his top lip

you shook your head as he leaned in

"wanna help me out and get it off?" he raised his eyebrows, nudging your shoulder

it was a sight to barf at to everyone else I the room, but fighting against the sickening interaction, they knew this had to happen, this was all apart of the plan, well not this but this party.

that's actually a lie, Steve had invited everyone over for a little gathering, and by everyone he means his friends, but due to much begging to his favourite child, Steve had let Dustin bring the club too, why? the Harrington boy doesn't know, nor understand but whatever.

you huffed, reaching up and swiping the foam off of his lip, silently gasping when he connected his lips with your thumb, licking it off your finger.

the party's eyes were wide with disgust and shock before Dustin spoke up quickly

"Eddie why don't you get Y/n a cup of hot coco while we explain the rules of the game to her"

Eddie looked over to the freshmen and nodded, getting up

"marshmallows?" he asked before leaving, earning a happy nod from you

"only th-" you started before he cut you off, disappearing down the hall to the kitchen

"-the white ones!"

you blushed and smiled, watching as Steve placed The Christmas game down on the table, Mike eagerly opening it up

"so the rules of the game is-" Dustin began

"I know the rules of the game, Dusty, I've been playing this since before you knew how to walk" you chuckled, shifting on the couch

you leaned over and helped set up for the game, Nancy walking in from upstairs, had being in the bathroom when you had arrived. when you were busy putting the cards down on the board, Gareth had taken the bundle of mistletoe from his bag and tiptoed to the doorway of the hallway, connecting the Livingroom and kitchen, where he peeked over the corner to see Eddie lift up the mug and put marshmallows in.

he came and sat down without you realising he left before he spoke up

"hey...Eddie's been gone for a while, why don't you check on him?" he asked you, nodding his head in the direction to the kitchen

"oh.. uh sure" you frowned, getting up, it's not like Eddie couldn't handle making a cup of hot cocoa, but you walked to the kitchen anyway.

you walked through the open wall and yelped when you bumped into his hard frame, the cup of hot chocolate swished and spilled on his chest, earning a groan from him and a gasp from you

"oh shit, I'm so sorry" you blinked rapidly.

"it's fine, love, not your fault" he smiled tightly, sighing

you went to say something but you heard a few hushed laughs and Lucas coughing

you both looked back to notice their gazes focused above you

you look up and back down, confused before you did a double take and your eyes widened, Eddie looking up right after you, a sigh leaving his lips.

a bundle of green and red hanging above you, tied with a ribbon, a bow, mistletoe.

"oh" you said in unison

Eddie looked back down at you, watching as you stared up

he whispered "we don't have to- it's just a silly tradition"

that made you frown, did he not want to kiss you?

you know you were best friends but you had always hoped for more, not that you weren't happy, but he was just so...him, so perfect in your eyes.

"you have to kiss!" Robin smiled

-she wasn't in in the plan, no one but the party was, Steve knew but he wasn't listening when Dustin was rambling, all Steve remembered was him asking if the club could come, and Steve figured half of them were coming, may as well just give the kid what he wants to shut up.

you look down at Eddie to see his concerned face

or was it sad?

you couldn't make it out, but they held something of that sort

"may as well" you shrugged "you know we'll never hear the end of it from them if we don't"

he licked his lips

Eddie was sweating, everywhere. and not just from the fireplace they were right next to. but because he had thought over your first kiss so many times before.

it was be so perfect, so romantic, gentle but desperate. maybe looking over the town or during a drive in movie he'd take you to.

definitely not in Steve Harrington's Livingroom, and certainly not in front of all of yours and his friends.

he'd want it to be right. not a forced act, but an act of love.

because it's you

his best friend.

his lifelong crush

so to say Eddie Munson was sweating balls in this moment would be an understatement.

in the corner of his eyes he saw everyone looking at you both, expectedly

but his eyes were focused on yours. looking so deep into yours that he felt he was melting away

why was it so hot? apart from the scorching hot cocoa that drenched his band tee.

the way you looked at him, so soft, you were so beautiful, the coloured lights from the massive Harrington Christmas tree illuminating your face perfectly, you always looked beautiful in red.

"I don't want our first kiss to be in front of everyone" he mumbled to you finally. moth slightly agape, eyes wide in despair

you furrowed your brows when you looked over silently, watching as they all looked away

the room was dead quiet, the only noise was the crackle of the fire, so they must have heard Eddie.

so as they all looked out the window, watching the snow fall outside, tiny snowflakes dancing in the wind of the night, you looked back up at Eddie.

you silently parted your lips.

he looked back down at you.

he silently parted his lips.

he brought a hand up, slowly.

you brought a hand up, slowly.

his hand meeting the plush of your cheek.

your hand meeting the skin of his exposed hip.

then you leaned in, slowly.

so slow.

Eddie watched as your eyes fluttered shut as his nosed brushed against yours.

and his own soon shut as his lips met yours, grazing ever so gently before he took a sharp intake of breath before fully connecting them, pressing his lips firmly on yours.

Jesus, how they fit so perfectly, he thought to himself.

God, how they fit so perfectly, you thought to yourself.

your lips moved perfectly in sync, creating the kiss that Eddie had envisioned so many times before. it may have even been better.

his warm hand cupping your cheek, his fingertips rough but oh so gentle.

everyone in the room stayed looking outside awkwardly as they heard nothing, but Dustin, deciding to take a peek, was only able to catch a glimpse of the kiss ending, you both pulling away from each other, smiling softly as your eyes fluttered open

your eyes met again. your smile growing as you saw his blown out gaze, the colour of his eyes barely recognisable through his irises as he looked down at you

"I'll make you another hot chocolate" he said, blinking, in a haze of some sort

"I'll come with you" you replied, matching his tone as you grabbed his hand

everyone watched as you both disappeared down the hallway to the kitchen

"they're going to make out in my kitchen aren't they?" Steve spoke up after a minute, frowning

"leave the kids be, Steve, they've finally found out what horniness feels like" Robin joked, leaning against the back of the couch.

Steve's head whipped around in horror. so many thoughts in the poor head of his. are they gonna have sex in my kitchen?

"don't worry guys, this is just what the mistletoe trap does, it brings people together" Dustin said cluelessly

"that's what this was!?" Steve hissed at him, finally remembering something along the lines of 'bringing a young couple together' and 'mistletoe' that Dustin had said over the phone to him when he was just trying to focus on how to shut him up.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

bonus-

Steve storms into his kitchen, it's been too long since you both went in there and he wasn't ready for a baby to be made in that room.

all he sees is you, pressed against the counter with Eddie holding you, soft moans and sighs escaping your lips as your hands roamed each others body, your mouths locked together as you made out aggressively.

"DISGUSTING!" Steve yelled.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

#imagines #eddie munson x reader #x fem!reader #joseph quinn #oneshot #ami's christmas prompts #fluff #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem #stranger things fic #eddie munson #please request #christmas prompts

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notiddygothgf · 2 months ago

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ii.

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You're drunk. ❞ ❝ Not that drunk. ❞

★ c.w.: tension. drinking. reader embarrassing the hell out of herself omg. not beta'd

★ a/n: oh my god i was so excited after the amount of love i got on the last chapter that i absolutely had to rush this one out!!! i was literally ripping my shirt off bc of the tension i just want them to fuck omg. (Jk... not rlly tho stay tuned). anyway if you couldnt tell im super aki hungry lately. this chapter is the result of that. we get to see a different side to the cold blooded captain.... i think yall r gonna like it just trust me ;)

again i apologize for the fast pacing, pls remember that this is a short story! (though shameless was supposed to be short too so who knows i may rewrite it into a longfic teehee). you know the drill! leave lots and lots of comments for me to read and ill make that next chapter come out stat! get ready... its a long one lol xx

★ w.c: .5.2k

pornstar ; chapter index

THE NIGHT – for the most part – had just started. Your drinks, on the other hand, hadn't waited up. You were three beers deep, head perched on your hand, peering at Himeno, who was telling some wild recount of the mission you had just had. Everyone else was listening, too, heads turned, eyes wide while she described the way you had "swooped in and saved the day" (something Hayakawa had chewed you out for).

"She blew a hole straight through the building," She was saying. "But there were no casualties. Talk about precision, am I right?"

And, eyelids droopy as all hell, you laughed, swirling the piss yellow liquid around in your beer mug. The pleasant buzz from the few drinks you'd had were beginning to seep into your skin, warmth washing over you in slow, comforting waves. You basked in it for a moment, tuning out of the conversation being had only a few feet away.

You tuned out and, instead, your attention shifted. You see, it was hard to stay focused when a certain someone you hadn't expected to show up actually wound up pulling through, now seated at the other end of the table looking far too uptight to be at a friendly gathering. He was wearing his Public Safety uniform – the one you had never seen him out of... not that you were thinking about what he looked like out of uniform, or anything like that – and he looked good enough to have you questioning your own sanity.

You swore it was the alcohol – you swore it was. Nothing else could explain the way your pulse thrummed a little harder in your veins when he looked up and caught your gaze, cobalt eyes tearing you apart at the seams. Hair pulled back perfectly into his signature ponytail, not a strand out of place. He hadn't taken off his suit, but you were suddenly rather conscious of how much larger than you he was – of the way he seemed that much taller than you, even when he was sitting down, of the way his suit accentuated his broad shoulders. His jawline was sharp and angular, just like the rest of him, and his eyes... fuck, his eyes...

Were staring right at you.

Biting back a shriek, you averted your gaze, glaring into your lap like that would make the situation any better. You had to take the situation at face value – you had invited your superior out to drinks and were now making a complete and utter fool out of yourself by spending the evening making goo-goo eyes at him.

Oh, and not to mention the fact that you were supposed to hate his fucking guts.

Shaking yourself out of it, you tuned back into Himeno's conversation, trying to latch onto her words like a lifeline.

"So then, this asshole pops out of nowhere—like, I swear to God, he came out of thin air—and he goes for her throat. But!—" She punctuated her words with an exaggerated hand motion, nearly knocking over her beer in the process. "She dodges like it's nothing. I mean, I've never seen reflexes like that. It was unreal."

You managed a laugh, though it came out a little delayed, like your body had to remember how to react. The alcohol had made you sluggish, slow, and the warmth in your chest had turned sticky, clinging to your ribs. You weren't even sure what you were feeling anymore, but something about it didn't sit right.

Your gaze slid back to him—because of course it did. And this time, when you looked, he wasn't looking back.

Instead, Aki's attention was on something else entirely—on someone else. He was speaking to one of the girls from another division. Kobeni, you realized. She was nodding, awkward and stiff, while he spoke, his expression the same measured, unreadable one he always wore.

You let your head drop onto Himeno's shoulder, exhaling through your nose. What the hell is going on between us?

It wasn't like you. You weren't the type to get hung up on things like this. But tonight, the drinks had loosened something in you, and you could feel it unraveling, thread by thread. Aki was a pain in your ass. He was the one constantly calling you reckless, the one always tightening the reins when you stepped even a little out of line. You weren't supposed to care. You weren't supposed to notice how sharp his jaw looked under the dim bar lights or the way his hands moved when he spoke.

And yet.

Himeno, drunker than you were, said nothing about the way you leaned against her, only let her head tilt slightly against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You shut your eyes for a moment. Maybe if you pretended you weren't watching him, pretended you weren't thinking about this at all, it would stop feeling like something.

But it didn't work.

No, once more, your gaze drifted back to the damn captain. This time, when he spoke to Kobeni, she smiled – wide enough to crease the skin at the corners of her eyes. She was a pretty, young thing. She had pretty eyes and pretty, chestnut brown hair. She was shy and timid and took orders very well – everything you were not.

I wonder if he likes her, You couldn't help but wonder, smile dropping from your face while you observed the two of them in conversation.

A strange feeling clawed its way over your chest. Something you couldn't name. It was a horrible, rotten feeling. One you hadn't felt since you were a highschooler. It sat in your stomach like a brick, burning its way through your arteries, prying at your lips for escape.

It was jealousy.

Oh, what the fuck?

She definitely likes him, you thought. That much was evident by the way she leaned into her superior's space, eagerly taking in every word that left his mouth. Her eyes glimmered with something that made your stomach churn.

It was jealousy, you knew that, but... why? Why him? Why now?

Why the fuck did you even care?

Why did you feel jealous over a man you hated?

Himeno's hand on your shoulder shook you out of your drunken gaze. You perked up, lifting your head from the crook in her shoulder, turning your attention away from the scene in front of you so you could dedicate all of your attention to someone more deserving of it.

"You know, kohai," She giggled, face flushed with a drunken shade. "You're really pretty."

Am I in the twilight zone?

You smiled at her, "That's coming from you."

"Oh, shut up," The woman replied, batting you away with your hands, laughing up a storm. "I wanna ask you... ask you 'sumthin."

You knit your brows together, pursing your lips. "What's up?"

She looked at you, then, lashes fluttering over her one good eye, mischief written all over her face. You knew you shouldn't have asked, but you were even more shocked by her answer, "Would you kiss me?"

You laughed at that – you couldn't help it, truly. Himeno had kissed just about every person in the division (though you weren't sure if that excluded a certain stuck-up bastard, and you were even less sure that you wanted to ask). Still, it was because of that fact that you knew her request was harmless. It was... just her way of showing love while drunk. She couldn't help it.

"I didn't know you could swing that way, Himeno," You laughed.

"I've never tried– hic– tried," She shrugged, as if she was asking the easiest question in the entire world. "'M jussst... curious, aren't you?"

You answered back, "Not really."

And she pouted at that – like she was a child and not a drunk-ass, grown-ass woman, "Why not? Am I not your type?"

No, but apparently someone else is.

Peering down at the table, vision a little hazy, you polished off the rest of your beer. Then, you added, "You could say that."

Why do I feel drunker than I did a few minutes ago?

"Who's your type, then?" She asked, leaning forward, all up into your personal space, and it would have bothered you if it was anyone else, "Do you like girls? Guys?"

"Never really explored, but..." You hummed. The beer made its way down the back of your throat, warming your vocal chords, your stomach, your chest. "Guys, I guess."

Then that devilish little grin of hers was back on her face. "If you could fuck anyone here, then, who would it be?"

"Sober or drunk?" You laughed, setting your empty mug down with a soft clink.

Himeno cackled, tipping forward slightly in her seat. The alcohol had turned her loose, made her limbs sluggish and her voice louder than she probably realized. "A few shots, maybe. Not drunk."

You hummed, drumming your fingers against the table, pretending to give it some thought. But the answer was already there, sitting heavy in the back of your mind, waiting for a moment of weakness to slip through the cracks.

Captain Hayakawa.

The name surfaced so quickly, so naturally, that it startled you. And before you could stop yourself, before you could even pretend to fight it, your gaze flickered back to him.

Big mistake.

Because Himeno caught it immediately.

She gasped, sharp and dramatic, smacking a hand over her mouth like she had just witnessed a crime scene. It was so loud, so cartoonish, that a few people turned to look, and you had to resist the urge to sink into your seat.

"No fucking way," she whispered, but there was nothing subtle about the gleam in her eye. She practically vibrated with excitement, like she'd just stumbled upon the juiciest piece of gossip imaginable. Then, with a grin, she leaned in, voice hushed but not nearly hushed enough. "You're hot for captain?"

You snapped your head toward her so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "No—no, no," you hissed, gripping her forearm in a weak attempt to physically shut her up. "Shut up, Himeno."

She wasn't having it. She wiggled her brows at you, eyes twinkling with amusement. "No fucking way," she repeated, drawing out every syllable like she was savoring them. "I thought you hated his guts."

"I do," you shot back, a little too fast, a little too forceful. It was immediate. Instinctive. A reflex.

And she noticed.

The look on her face turned downright smug.

"I don't have the hots for him," you corrected, shaking your head, willing your face to cool down even as it burned. "Now would you keep it down?"

Himeno held up her hands in surrender, but there was something devious in the way she did it, like she was still holding onto the truth of the situation, just waiting for the right moment to pry it back open.

She sat back slightly, but then, after a beat—because of course she couldn't just leave it at that—she leaned in again, voice dipping lower, eyes gleaming. "If you were a little drunker, though..."

You groaned, slapping a hand over your face. "Enough," you hissed, dragging out the word, but your voice lacked bite.

She was full-on giggling now, shoulders shaking, thoroughly enjoying your suffering.

Then, her laughter faded—just a little—and she tilted her head, giving you a look that was too knowing, too amused. "Not even a kiss?"

"No," you said, firm. But somehow, it didn't feel quite as firm as it should have.

The night went smoothly after that. Drinks and conversation were flowing, you were sufficiently drunk, and the lot of you were laughing loud enough to disturb any of the other patrons who came to this poor izakaya to get moderately tipsy.

The drinks kept coming, conversation swelling louder with each round, the izakaya thick with smoke and the scent of grilled meat. You were properly drunk, the kind where your limbs felt loose, where laughter came too easily, where everything should've been fun, should've been easy.

Except it wasn't.

Because across the table, Aki was still talking to Kobeni.

And you didn't care. You didn't.

You had no reason to. You weren't friends. You weren't anything. If anything, you hated his guts—his quiet, know-it-all demeanor, his stupid pretty face, the way he always acted so fucking above it all. Like he was better than the rest of you just because he didn't get sloppy drunk, didn't fuck around, didn't let things get to him.

And yet—

Your drink was empty again. When had that happened? You barely remembered drinking it. You reached for the bottle to pour yourself more, but your hand wasn't as steady as you wanted it to be. Himeno laughed beside you, grabbing the bottle before you could knock it over.

"Take it easy," she teased, topping off your glass anyway.

You snorted. "I'm fine."

Himeno grinned, and for a moment, you let yourself focus on her instead. It was easier. She was warm, easy to be around, all teasing smiles and the kind of confidence that made everything feel simple.

But then—

Another laugh from across the table. Aki's.

You hadn't even known he could laugh like that, low and quiet, the kind that didn't come often. Your stomach twisted before you could stop it, your head snapping toward him on instinct.

Kobeni was leaning in, her hands curled in her lap, nodding at whatever he'd said. And Aki—he wasn't even looking at her anymore, just staring down at his drink, lips twitching like he wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed.

You clenched your jaw.

It wasn't like they were doing anything.

Aki wasn't flirting—he wasn't the type. You knew that. He wasn't the kind of guy to lean in too close, to lower his voice just enough to make someone's breath hitch, to toy with people the way Himeno did. He was the exact opposite—quiet, serious, all sharp edges and self-control.

And yet, there was something unbearable about the way he was sitting there, across the table, listening to Kobeni like she was worth listening to.

She was talking—some pointless, forgettable thing, probably about work—but her body language spoke louder than her words. The way she fidgeted with her glass, how she kept sneaking glances at him, how her voice wavered slightly before picking up again, like she was hesitating before every sentence. She was nervous. And that alone made you feel like something was pressing against your ribs, like a slow, smoldering ember was settling somewhere beneath your skin.

She was trying.

Trying to impress him. Trying to be seen by him.

And Aki—Aki, idiot that he was—just sat there, unreadable as ever, nodding along, responding just enough to keep the conversation going but not enough to give anything away. Not pushing her away. Not shutting her down.

Letting her talk. Letting her have his attention.

Your fingers tightened around your drink.

It was stupid.

You didn't even like him.

You weren't sure if you even respected him. Half the time, you couldn't stand him—his rules, his orders, the way he always acted so damn above it all. You'd seen him roll his eyes at you more times than you could count, seen the way he sighed when you got under his skin. You weren't his type, and he sure as hell wasn't yours.

So you had no reason—none at all—to feel that awful, simmering thing curling in your stomach.

Maybe it was just the alcohol.

Or maybe it was something uglier.

Maybe it was the fact that if Aki ever looked at you the way Kobeni looked at him, you wouldn't know what the fuck to do with it. Maybe it was the idea that he could like someone like her—quiet, nervous, too polite for her own good—when all he ever did with you was act like you were a fucking nuisance.

Maybe it was that, deep down, you had always assumed Aki didn't have the capacity to like anyone at all.

And now, watching him sit there, watching Kobeni work up the nerve to inch closer, to brush her fingers against the edge of his sleeve like she was testing the waters—you weren't so sure anymore.

You downed your drink, jaw tightening.

Himeno nudged you, her voice playful but perceptive. "You're awfully quiet," she mused, lips quirking.

You exhaled sharply, barely processing the words before your own were spilling out.

"I changed my mind."

Himeno blinked. "Huh?"

You didn't think.Didn't hesitate. Didn't second-guess yourself.

Your hand curled into the fabric of Himeno's collar, tugging her forward with more force than necessary. There was barely a beat of surprise before your lips crashed against hers, the alcohol burning hot in your veins, your pulse hammering in your ears.

The izakaya erupted around you. A chair scraping against the floor, a loud whistle, the sharp intake of breath from someone—Kobeni, probably. Laughter. Someone shouting something half-coherent in encouragement. The kind of scene that would normally make you self-conscious, make you want to shrink away from the attention.

But you didn't shrink away.

Because Himeno kissed you back.

And she kissed you like she meant it.

Her lips tasted like warm sake, sweet and sharp, the scent of cigarette smoke clinging faintly to her. Her fingers slid up your neck, slow and deliberate, curling at the base of your skull. She deepened the kiss, tilting her head just enough to press closer, her breath mingling with yours.

For a second, it was grounding.

For a second, the heat of it, the weight of her hands, the press of her body against yours—it was enough to drown out the gnawing, ugly feeling twisting in your stomach.

You could feel her smirk against your mouth. Himeno had always been good at this—at teasing, at making things feel light, easy. Like none of it had to mean anything.

When she pulled back, her grin was lazy, her eyes lidded and amused. Her fingers stayed in your hair, playing absently with the strands.

"Damn," she murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear, "You kiss like a man. I like it."

The words should've embarrassed you.

Should've made you regret it.

But you just laughed, breathless. It felt a little hollow.

Because when you glanced toward Aki's seat—

He was gone.

Your stomach dropped, the lightness of the moment collapsing in on itself.

And just like that, the heat you'd felt seconds ago twisted into something unbearable.

The room was too loud. Too warm. The laughter too sharp, the smell of alcohol suddenly cloying. Himeno was still watching you, her teasing smile lingering, but you couldn't focus on any of it.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

It shouldn't have mattered. It didn't matter. But your heart was pounding anyway, and suddenly the room felt too loud, the heat of it unbearable. Himeno was still looking at you, a teasing remark likely on the tip of her tongue, but you couldn't focus on any of it.

That asshole, you thought – ideas ruminating in your mind. I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind, leaving with no excuse like that.

You pushed your chair back, barely hearing the legs scrape against the floor.

"Where are you—?" Himeno started, but you were already moving, shoving past the press of bodies, stepping outside.

The night air hit you immediately, a sharp contrast to the stifling warmth of the izakaya. The street was damp from earlier rain, neon lights from nearby signs reflecting off the slick pavement. The noise from inside was muffled now, like it belonged to a different world.

You didn't stop until you came face-to-face with an intimidating figure. You exhaled slowly, breath curling in the cold. And then—

Aki.

He stood a few steps away, his back against the wall, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. He wasn't smoking it, not yet—just twirling it absently, gaze fixed on some distant point down the street. His expression was unreadable, the way it always was.

And he was devastatingly handsome, even now – fucking asshole.

Biting back a drunk little grin – and realizing that you knew damn well you would never, ever have done this sober – you approached him, hips swaying from side to side. Whether the motion was due to your trying to come off as enticing or due to the copious amounts of sake and beer you had ingested, you weren't sure. Hell, you weren't sure about anything anymore.

And, the moment those baby blues of his flicked up to meet your gaze, you immediately regretted coming out to find him. The fact that he was perceiving you now in such a drunken state was enough to have your heart beating against your ribs like an animal at the zoo (but not enough to make you back down now that you had him alone). You knew it was stupid, fuck, you should have turned back on your heel and gone back the way you had come, but you couldn't stop yourself.

No, I have to give him a piece of my mind.

His eyes dropped down to your outfit – the little black dress you definitely hadn't picked out with him in mind, making sure that it revealed just the right amount of cleavage, hugged you in all of the right places – and then back up to your face. The movement was small, almost perceptible, but in your wasted state, you were hyperconscious of his every move, of the way his eyes widened when they saw you, the way you could smell the scent of him from where you were standing, masculine, woody, ambery cologne mingled in with the faintest hint of smoke.

You were so drunk that you were practically seeing two of him until you refocused your eyes. So drunk that, for a moment, you couldn't say anything – realizing that you had forgotten to come up with an excuse to see him at that moment – and neither could he.

You were the first one to break the silence. "You're such an asshole."

He didn't look the slightest bit phased by your words. Instead, he reached into his pocket and searched for his lighter, holding it up to the end of the cigarette and striking the wheel until the flame took.

"You just... left," You swallowed, throat suddenly very dry.

He held the cigarette up to his lips, popping it between them like it was the most natural thing in the world, taking a deep breath. You watched the tension melt away from his shoulders, smelled the nicotine as it wafted up into the air around you.

Then, finally, he glanced at you, raising an eyebrow, "Yeah."

Your pulse jumped at the sound of his voice for no reason whatsoever. Pouting, you crossed your arms, damn near stumbling as you did so, "You didn't even say anything. No goodbye, no nothing."

"I was stepping out for a smoke," He breathed smoke out into the air. "Didn't think I needed to."

God, he pissed you off. Him and... his... his beautiful, blue eyes, and... fuck.

"You could at least pretend to be fun sometimes," You muttered – you thought it was beneath your breath, but when you caught the way his head tilted at your words, you knew that wasn't the case. So, instead of apologizing for insubordination like you probably should have done, you decided to dig your grave a little deeper. "You just sit in there– hic– all stiff, barely... barely drinkin', actin' like– like you're... too good for the rest of us."

"I'm tipsy enough," He hummed. "Not that that's any of your business, and I wasn't acting like anything."

Now, this was the point where any sane person would have dropped to their knees and apologized to him.

Not you, though.

No, the liquid courage coursing through your veins deluded you into thinking that you could talk some sense into him.

Actually, what came out was something entirely different.

"You were all over Kobeni," You narrowed your eyes. The words left your lips before you could even stop them. Immediately, regret settled in your chest, washing over you in waves – making your face burn.

There's no way I just said that to him, you chastised yourself internally, Fuck, I'm gonna be fired.

Aki didn't react at first. Just stared at you. Then, after a beat, he let out a short, dry sigh.

"You're drunk."

You pouted, "Not that drunk." (Which was a total lie. You were practically smelling colors).

He studied you again with those fucking... hawk eyes of his, gaze sharp in a way that made your skin crawl with anxiety. He wasn't looking at you the way Kobeni had looked at him – wasn't waiting for something, hoping for something. But he was looking at you.

Finally looking at you. And somehow, that was worse.

"She was asking me about an upcoming assignment," He commented, voice flat. You should have been grateful that he had even decided to humor you and your drunk interrogation, realistically. "That's it."

He's... surprisingly patient today.

I wonder how far I can push him until he snaps, you thought, not really knowing why – or, for that matter, what the hell had crawled into your brain to control you and make all of these stupid decisions.

You huffed, "Oh."

"Yeah," He pulled another hit from his cigarette, and this time, you observed him – the sinful way his lips wrapped around the end of it, cherry glowing orange while he took another deep breath. Then, you watched him breathe the smoke out through his nose. "You're a real pain in my ass. You know that?"

You didn't know why – the same way you didn't know why everything was happening, but you laughed. It was more like a giggle, really, a bubbly, drunken noise that you practically choked out. Either way, it was enough to have him looking at you like you had two heads.

You stumbled a little closer to him and, to your surprise, he didn't inch away. Instead, his gaze followed your sluggish movements, different, this time – like a cat eyeing up a naive little mouse. Like you were prey.

"What the hell's gotten into you tonight?" He asked.

Stumbling over your feet, you braced your hands on the wall in front of you, dropping your head and laughing a little harder. Truthfully, you didn't know why you were laughing. Nothing was funny. None of this was funny.

Even more truthfully – as you peeled your gaze up from the ground, from Aki's shoes, you realized that you weren't leaning on a wall at all.

You were leaning on him.

I'm fucking dead, you thought. If I wake up tomorrow, I'll be handed a letter of termination.

You met his gaze head-on, half-lidded eyes peering up at him through your lashes. He didn't break eye-contact this time. No, he was looking at you the same way you were looking at him – like neither of you knew why any of this was happening, like you weren't quite sure if you wanted it to stop, either, even though you knew it should.

You could see it again – the faint shift in his expression, in the way he looked at you. Something had definitely changed. There was an unreadable glint in his eyes. Maybe if you were sober, you would have been able to tell what it was.

Then again, if you were sober, you would have done the right thing tonight and stayed inside. You certainly wouldn't have been there, leaning on his shoulder, looking up at him and realizing that everything was different.

It wasn't just the alcohol. No, he was different.

"I hope you're not driving home," He commented, though his voice lacked its usual tenor, its usual confidence. "Not like this."

Why's he actin' so weird?

"Since when did you care?" You pouted. When he said nothing, you answered. "Okay, I walked here."

"Good," He sighed.

"You wanna walk me home?"

The words slurred out before you could even process them, and you immediately regretted asking. Aki, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers, exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching you from the corner of his eye, but his gaze didn't soften.

"No."

His response was quick, firm, and just a little too cold. But the way his gaze flickered over you, almost a little too long, made you wonder if he wasn't as unaffected as he wanted you to think.

You blinked, not entirely sure what you were expecting but not that. "Why not?" you asked, and your voice came out more whiny than you'd intended.

Aki didn't immediately answer, flicking the cigarette ash onto the ground, the ember glowing brighter for a brief second. He looked at you, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his voice was low and tired. "Because I don't feel like it."

You frowned, feeling the weight of his words tug at your chest, though you couldn't fully explain why. "Lame," you muttered. You weren't sure what you were even getting at anymore, but the thought of being alone tonight felt worse than anything else.

He eyed you for a second, but there was something softer in his expression now. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in for him, too. "You're drunk," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture you weren't sure was out of discomfort or something else.

You smiled—more like a crooked grin, but you couldn't help it. "I'm not that drunk," you protested, but you swayed on your feet as you said it, and he didn't look convinced.

Aki's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sigh, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. Sure, you're not." His eyes flicked to yours again, a little too keen for someone who was supposed to be this dismissive.

"I just... don't wanna be alone," you muttered, the words coming out before you even realized you were saying them.

Aki stared at you for a long moment, and you swore there was a flicker of something in his gaze—annoyance? Amusement? But it passed just as quickly. "Well, that's your problem," he said with a dry chuckle, his tone flat, as though he were trying to make it clear he didn't want to hear it. "Not mine."

You stumbled slightly, both from the alcohol and the sting of his words. "Right," you muttered, trying to steady yourself, feeling the warm rush of liquid courage running through you. But as you stood there, looking up at him, something started to sink in. This was Aki. You knew him. Knew his moods. His indifference. But this, tonight—something was different.

"I... just," you began, trying to find the right words, but they came out jumbled. "Just... help me, okay?" The desperation was there, but you weren't sure if he saw it.

His eyes softened slightly, the sharpness in them dulling just a little as his cigarette burned down to a stub. "Help you? What, do you expect me to just babysit you?"

You winced at the word, the thought stinging more than it should have. "No," you murmured, taking a step closer to him. "I just..." You trailed off, biting your lip. The alcohol was starting to cloud your thoughts even more, but you couldn't shake the feeling that if you didn't convince him now, you'd really be on your own. And you couldn't handle that tonight.

Aki raised an eyebrow at you, clearly unsure of what you were getting at. "What?" he asked, a little too bluntly for your liking.

You stared up at him, breath a little shaky. "Please," you repeated, but this time, there was something more vulnerable in your tone. "Pleeeeeeeasee."

The words felt like a weight that had to be lifted, but they also made you feel foolish. You weren't that drunk. You weren't. But the world felt like it was spinning out of control, and you didn't know where to place your feet anymore.

Aki took a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to process everything you'd just said. There was no edge in his voice anymore, just a weariness that made you wonder if you weren't the only one who'd had too much to drink.

"You're really something," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don't even know why I'm putting up with this."

"I'll cry," you said, half-laughing, half-serious. The words felt ridiculous, but they slipped out anyway, desperate in their simplicity.

Aki's gaze softened a little, though the smirk that tugged at his lips was almost imperceptible. "Go ahead," he said, voice flat, but his eyes held something deeper.

The silence stretched between you as you waited for him to backpedal, to somehow take back that easy dismissal. But instead, his shoulders sagged, and he sighed, long and loud. He took a last drag from his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and ground it out beneath his heel.

"Fine," he muttered, and the words caught you off guard. "I'll walk you home."

For a moment, you didn't believe him, like the weight of what he was agreeing to was still sinking in. You blinked, slightly stunned. "Wait, really?"

He shot you an incredulous look, though his eyes softened just a little, like he was too tired to argue anymore. "Yeah, really. Can we go now, before you start actually crying?"

You blinked, a small, unsteady laugh slipping from your lips. You hadn't expected him to cave so easily, and it made you feel like you'd gotten away with something. But then, the weight of what you'd just gotten him to agree to settled in. You didn't want to push your luck any further.

Aki took a step back and gestured toward the door of the izakaya, his voice dropping lower. "We can't leave together. Not like this. If people see us leaving at the same time, it'll look weird."

The realization hit you. Of course. Everyone had been watching you all night, and there was no way you could just stroll out of there with him without someone noticing. "Right," you mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed at how quickly you'd forgotten about that. "Okay. You go first."

He nodded, his expression softening just a touch. "I'll wait a few minutes, make it look like I'm staying." He gave you a dry look, his lips curling into that familiar smirk. "Try not to make a scene on your way out. Himeno's gonna wonder what's going on."

You winced, the reminder of Himeno's playful teasing still fresh in your mind. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. You were still trying to process the fact that Aki—Aki—had actually agreed to walk you home.

He gave you a brief nod before turning to head toward the back of the bar, disappearing behind a row of drunken patrons and laughter, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the noise inside.

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself, trying to ignore the swirl of thoughts that followed you like a second layer of fog. You'd barely had enough time to process everything that had happened between you two tonight, let alone now have to pretend like nothing was different.

You swayed a little as you turned back toward the group, feeling that odd combination of exhilaration and dread settling in your chest. When you reached Himeno's side, she was already watching you with that sly little grin of hers. She could probably read you like a book, even if you were still half-drunk.

You straightened your shoulders, trying to force a smile. "I'm heading out," you told her, your voice still a little shaky. "Long day tomorrow."

Himeno raised an eyebrow but said nothing for a moment, like she was trying to make sense of something you weren't telling her. "Uh-huh. Sure," she replied, her voice a little too casual for your liking. "Alright. Be careful. You arewalking home, right?"

You nodded quickly, swallowing down a lump in your throat. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Himeno eyed you for a beat longer before shrugging. "Okay. Have a good night," she said, her smile unreadable.

With that, you gave her a brief wave and turned to walk out of the izakaya. The door swung open, the chilly night air rushing in and hitting you like a bucket of cold water. You paused just outside, feeling the weight of the night settle around you.

Aki had said he'd wait a few minutes, and you weren't sure whether to be nervous or relieved.

Your feet shifted restlessly, the cold air biting at your skin as you leaned against the brick of the building, trying to look casual—like you weren't waiting for him at all.

You glanced around. The street was quieter now, with fewer people out and about, but still, the idea of walking home with Aki felt... strange. The thought of him so close to you, especially after everything that had happened, was almost more than you could handle.

Just when you thought maybe it'd be better to leave and get it over with, you heard footsteps behind you. Aki's figure appeared through the dim light, moving with the usual purposeful strides that somehow felt different tonight.

Without saying anything, he walked past you, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as he headed down the street. He didn't stop, didn't turn around, and you could feel the shift in the air. The tension between you was undeniable now.

For a moment, you just stood there, your feet feeling rooted to the spot. You weren't sure what to do. You didn't want to make it obvious that you were waiting for him, but at the same time, you couldn't shake the odd sense of unease creeping over you. What was happening? What wasn't happening?

Finally, you exhaled, pushing yourself off the wall and walking slowly toward him. You didn't call out; it wasn't like you had to. It was clear that he wasn't planning on walking that far away from you.

Aki moved at a steady pace, hands shoved into his pockets as he walked ahead, the cool breeze tugging at the collar of his jacket. You felt a weird, unfamiliar pressure building in your chest as you matched his steps, not sure if you were keeping your distance on purpose or if it was because you didn't know where to start.

When you reached his side, you glanced at him briefly. He didn't acknowledge you, not really. It was like you were walking side-by-side by accident, like this was just some strange, unspoken part of the night that neither of you could quite comprehend.

You couldn't help yourself. "So," you started, your voice a little wobbly. "I didn't think you'd actually do it."

Aki turned his head, those sharp eyes of his flicking over you. "What? Walk you home?" he asked, voice rough around the edges. He didn't look at you like he normally did. There was something more distant about it, almost like the alcohol had drawn a line between you.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his presence beside you. "Yeah. Didn't think you were... I don't know, the type."

He snorted softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm not," he muttered, as if it was obvious. "But you were whining enough to make me reconsider."

Your stomach twisted at the thought of how easily he gave in to you tonight, like it was no big deal. But then again, you weren't sure if that was comforting or more uncomfortable.

You walked a little further before speaking again, your voice barely above a whisper. "So, what now?" You were almost afraid to ask, but at the same time, you had to know. Was this just a one-off thing? Was he going to pretend none of this had happened?

Aki didn't answer right away. Instead, he kicked a small rock out of the way, his eyes focused straight ahead. "We're going to your place," he said, his tone back to its usual flatness. "Wherever that is."

You didn't know why, but you couldn't shake the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Before you could process it, Aki's voice broke through your thoughts again, low and dry.

"You good, or you gonna keep asking me questions?"

You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of your drunken haze. "I'm good."

A moment passed. You paid close attention to the sound of your heels on the pavement, the sound of his sneakers touching the same surface.

"I just realized I don't even know your address," He added, almost like he felt bad about shutting you up.

"I live at the– uh... you know where the post office is?" You rattled off the top of your head. He seemed like a man with a good sense of direction.

He nodded.

"Okay, well, I live right across from it. At the apartment complex," You finished.

His eyes narrowed, "That's only three blocks away."

"Yup," You nodded.

"You really couldn't walk that on your own?" He reiterated.

"Nope."

The cold air against your skin had sobered you just enough to think more clearly, but you still couldn't shake the feeling that something was... off. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol still buzzing through your system or the strange tension between the two of you, but the air felt heavy.

Aki was walking beside you, as stoic as ever, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He hadn't said much since you left the izakaya, and you weren't sure if that was his usual silence or if something else was bothering him. Either way, it had you on edge, and you couldn't resist breaking the silence.

"So... tonight's been pretty weird, huh?" you said, glancing sideways at him as you tried to read his expression. You needed something from him, but you weren't sure what.

Aki didn't respond right away. He just gave you a quick glance, his sharp eyes flickering over you before he answered. "Weird how?"

You shrugged, feeling the alcohol's effects still lingering on your tongue. "I don't know. You've been quieter than usual."

Aki didn't seem particularly moved by that observation. "I'm not in the mood for small talk."

You exhaled in frustration, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. "I guess not. But it's just... I've been acting weird tonight. Doing things I wouldn't normally do."

"Like what?" Aki asked, his voice flat but with a slight hint of curiosity.

"I kissed Himeno," you blurted, half-smiling to yourself at how ridiculous it sounded coming out of your mouth. You almost regretted saying it. But it had to be said, right?

Aki's head turned just slightly, but his face didn't change. "Yeah, and?"

You blinked, a little caught off guard by how quickly he dismissed it. "You know... it was a kiss. Just... fun, I guess."

"Fun," Aki repeated, though his voice was laced with a certain dryness. "Right."

You kept walking, feeling an odd twist in your stomach at how unbothered he was. You'd expected more of a reaction—something. Maybe you were wrong about trying to make him jealous. Maybe he didn't care at all.

But you didn't want to admit that. Instead, you pressed on. "She's a good kisser, though. Didn't think she had it in her."

Aki shot you another glance, his lips pressed together in a thin line. You could see the faintest shift in his expression, but it was gone so quickly you weren't sure if you imagined it. "Himeno, huh? You really go for the easy ones, don't you?"

It was a subtle jab, but it still managed to hit something inside of you. "I wouldn't say 'easy,'" you muttered, trying to shrug it off. "But yeah, I guess I've got a thing for—what?—fun, spontaneous stuff. You know, the kind of thing you wouldn't normally do."

Aki didn't answer right away, and the silence stretched between you. You could feel his eyes on you, but it wasn't the usual detached kind of look. No, this time, it felt like something more. Something that tugged at you, made your chest tighten in a way that was impossible to ignore.

"I've heard she's kissed just about everyone in the division. Wanted to see what the hype is all about," You tried again, "Have you tried it?"

Finally, Aki spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't kiss my coworkers. If it was just fun, then why are you still talking about it?"

You stumbled in your step, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. "I don't know," you admitted, your voice a little unsteady. "Maybe I just wanted to see if it would get a rise out of you."

What the fuck.

Why did I just say that?

Aki didn't look at you, but you could feel the slight shift in his posture. His shoulders tensed, just a little, as if he were trying to suppress something. "And what would you do if it did?"

"I don't know," you said, a little too quickly. "I just wanted to see if I could get you to show some... something. You know? Anything. You're always so cold towards me."

Aki was quiet for a moment, his jaw tightening as if he were holding something back. "You're a pain in the ass."

You almost laughed at that, a little breathless. "Yeah, I know."

But there was still something there. Something in the way he'd said it—something just beneath the surface. You weren't sure if it was jealousy, but it was definitely something. Aki wasn't being completely himself, and it was enough to make your heart beat just a little faster. But you weren't sure if it was what you thought it was.

"Did it work?"

Aki suddenly stopped walking, and you nearly collided with him. He turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that made your breath catch. "Don't start up again. You're drunk."

You smiled, a little too wide, too tipsy to care. "I'm not that drunk," you said, though the slur in your words gave you away.

Aki's eyes narrowed just slightly, his expression unreadable. "You're still making me walk you home."

You shrugged, too giddy to care. "Yeah, guess so. I'm... not really in any shape to walk by myself."

He muttered something under his breath, a faint exhale through his nose that could have been a laugh, but it wasn't. It was something else. "You're lucky I'm not putting you in a cab."

You grinned at that, though you felt a twinge of something you couldn't quite explain. "You're just saying that 'cause you're being nice tonight."

Aki shot you a quick glance. For a moment, the playful banter fell away, and there was an unexpected quiet between you. You both kept walking, the sound of your footsteps the only thing filling the space between you. It was hard to tell if anything had changed, but it felt different somehow. The weight of the night was still there, but there was something new, too—a strange kind of closeness.

You turned to look at him again, but this time, the words caught in your throat. You didn't want to ask him, not now, not when you didn't know if it was a mistake.

But then, in a flash, you tripped.

Your heel caught on the uneven pavement, and you felt your body lurch forward. Before you could even react, Aki was there, his hand gripping your waist with surprising gentleness, steadying you before you could fall.

"Careful," he muttered, though his tone was almost... softer than usual.

He's so hot.

He's so hot and I'm tired of hiding it, you thought. Why do I want him?

Fuck! He's such an asshole.

"I'm fine," you said, shaking it off with a breathless laugh. "I'm just a mess tonight."

Aki didn't respond, but you felt his hand tighten around you just a little. The next thing you knew, he had shifted, his arm going around your waist and lifting you effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Hey!" you protested, half-laughing, half-protesting. "Put me down, asshat!"

Aki didn't even glance at you as he started walking again, his tone dry but with a hint of something else beneath it. "You can barely walk straight."

You grinned, a little more giddy than you should have been. "You're gonna hurt yourself!"

"Relax," He sighed. Still, he handled you with a dizzying ease. Like you didn't weigh anything at all.

I knew he was strong, but...

"Do you work out?" You spat out.

He didn't respond, his steps measured and steady, though there was something... different.

"Of course I do," He answered, like that should have been obvious. "Never know when I'll have to carry a drunk idiot back to their apartment."

His posture was firmer than usual, and for a split second, you could have sworn there was a small, satisfied edge to his voice. Maybe you weren't imagining it.

The night was still strange, but as Aki carried you through the darkened streets, you couldn't help but wonder just how much of this was real—and how much was a game you both were playing without even realizing it.

Aki carried you up the three blocks with the same steady pace, his grip around your waist unwavering as the night air nipped at your skin. Each step he took was deliberate, his posture firm, almost casual as though carrying you wasn't the slightest bit out of the ordinary. But you could feel his muscles shift under the weight of you, his body solid against yours, and it was hard to ignore how easy he made it look.

For a moment, it felt like the entire world had faded out—just you, him, and the soft thud of his footsteps on the pavement.

The dark streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the sidewalk as you glanced at the city around you. Aki's pace didn't falter as he walked, but you were still aware of how close you were to him, how warm the space between you had become. It was like there was an invisible tension that grew the further you got to your building, one that neither of you could shake, no matter how casual the night seemed.

You shifted on his shoulder, trying to adjust, but the dizzying sway made you a little unsteady. "You really don't have to carry me, you know," you muttered, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all. "I'm not a child."

Aki didn't respond immediately. His fingers tightened just a little, a firm grip that told you he wasn't letting go until you were safely where you needed to be. Finally, he let out a quiet breath and murmured, "You're acting like one."

You rolled your eyes, but it wasn't like you could do anything about it. You were too comfortable in his hold, too grateful for how effortlessly he was handling the situation. "Okay, Dad, fff-fuck you."

You really needed to learn how to hold your own liquor.

"Not my fault you need someone to take care of you when you drink," Aki muttered, but the words held a different meaning. You didn't know if it was the alcohol or just your imagination, but there was something softer, almost protective in his tone. The walls he usually kept up were still there, but they were cracked just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something else.

Before you knew it, the three blocks had passed, and Aki had stopped right in front of your apartment building. He gently set you down on your feet, but you wobbled as soon as your heels hit the ground.

"Careful," Aki said, his voice low but with an undercurrent of concern.

You gave a half-hearted attempt at standing straight, but it was futile. "I'm fine," you muttered, your fingers fumbling for your keys in your purse. The alcohol was still buzzing in your head, making it hard to concentrate, but you finally felt the familiar cool metal of the key between your fingers. "Just—just give me a second."

Then, you dropped the damn thing. It fell to the floor with a frustrating clatter. With a groan, you bent over, plucking them off the ground and–

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw his eyes lingering on your backside.

No, it's just a trick of the light, you thought, I'm fucking plastered.

Still, it made you straighten up a little faster than you probably should have, locking eyes with him as you regained your balance. His expression was unreadable, but you didn't miss the way his lips tightened slightly, like he was keeping himself in check. Or maybe it was just his usual lack of interest. Either way, the tension between you two wasn't lost on you.

"Thanks for walking me, Captain," you said, trying to brush it off and make light of the moment. You threw in a sloppy salute, the gesture clumsy and half-hearted. You weren't even sure why you'd done it. Maybe to break the silence. Maybe because you needed to be something other than nervous.

Aki raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You really trying to salute me now?"

You just grinned, more out of awkwardness than anything else, and straightened yourself up again. "It's the least I can do. I'm lucky I didn't trip over my own feet the whole way."

He rolled his eyes at your antics, but there was something softer in his gaze as it met yours. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just the way the moment had lingered, but something felt a little different, like the usual distance between you both was starting to shrink.

Neither of you spoke for a beat, the silence hanging heavy in the air. You couldn't help but feel the weight of it. You knew you were both trying to act like this was just another night—nothing special, just a little drunk and out of place—but there was something in the quiet. Maybe it was the way Aki was standing a little closer, or how his usual guarded expression had softened, just a little, in a way you weren't used to.

You finally broke the stillness, desperate to fill the void. "You know," you started, your voice just a little slurred, "You're not as bad as you act."

Aki's eyes flicked over to you, his gaze narrowing in that familiar, assessing way. But you could've sworn there was a slight glimmer in his eye, something you couldn't quite read. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You grinned, not entirely sure what you were saying, but the words felt right. "You're actually kind of... cool, under all that grumpy, 'I hate everyone' thing you have going on."

Aki didn't respond right away. Instead, he just stared at you for a moment, like he was weighing the meaning of your words. You weren't sure if you meant it or not, but there was a certain honesty in the moment that you couldn't ignore.

"You don't know what you're saying," he finally muttered, his voice lower than usual, but not in the usual sarcastic way. He was almost... mellow, in a way you hadn't expected.

For a split second, you considered what he said—how he didn't shrug it off immediately, how his expression hadn't closed back up. It wasn't a compliment, not really, but it was something that almost felt like one.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. "No, really. You're really cute when you're not being an asshole."

Why did I say that? Why did I say that? Why did I say that?

Oh, my god, You winced the moment the words left your lips. You were astronomically fumbling tonight – a feeling that made your whole face flush when you realized what you had said.

Aki said nothing at first. Instead, he just stared at you, his gaze a little too intense, like he was trying to read you, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your head. You could feel the weight of his silence, his eyes on you, steady but unreadable.

Your heart was pounding, and all you could think about was how stupid you must have looked. You needed to get away from this, away from him, before you embarrassed yourself even more.

But before you could come up with an excuse to leave, Aki spoke again, voice slow and calculated, the usual bite of sarcasm absent. "Fuck you."

It didn't sound like a harsh retort. It didn't even sound annoyed. It sounded almost... amused. Like he wasn't angry, just a little perplexed by you. And you hated how that single, simple phrase made your heart race. You wanted to get away from the tension building between you two, but the magnetic pull only seemed to draw you closer.

"You'd be a hell of a lot cuter if you just... shut the hell up once in a while," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. There was no filter, no hesitation this time, just the raw honesty that came from being tipsy and irritated by how much you'd been holding in all night.

Aki didn't respond at first. His lips barely moved, but you noticed the subtle shift in his expression. Something in his eyes changed, a flicker of something almost... warm? Maybe it was just the alcohol messing with your mind, but you swore you saw it—his usual guardedness faltering, just a little.

You were standing there, staring at him, feeling that rush of warmth in your chest. There was something in the air, something electric and charged. The proximity between you two felt suddenly so close—and it wasn't just the alcohol making your head spin anymore. It was something else, something real.

You wanted to say something else, something to break the silence, but the words got caught in your throat. You could smell him now, that subtle, comforting scent of him that had always been there, but tonight it felt sharper, more intoxicating. His cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin, and it made your thoughts scatter, dizzy and disoriented.

Before you could stop yourself, your body was moving. You weren't sure why, but it was like something inside of you had completely snapped. You wanted him closer, wanted that distance between you erased.

You didn't think. You just acted.

You stumbled toward him, your hand reaching up without hesitation. In one swift movement, you grabbed him by the tie, yanking him down toward you. He was caught off guard for just a second, but his eyes never left yours. You could feel the tension radiating between you as you pulled him closer, your heart pounding in your chest like it was about to break free.

His breath hitched just barely, his body stiffening for the slightest moment, before he relaxed. The shift was subtle, but it was enough for you to notice. The air around you both thickened, the silence stretching between you until it felt suffocating.

Aki didn't speak. He didn't even try to stop you. He just stood there, still and silent, waiting for whatever you were about to do next.

And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could think of all the reasons why this was a bad idea, you kissed him.

a/n: muaaahahaha.... MUAUAAAAAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!! OH MY GODDD AGRHJDSBG i fucking loved writing that last part. i know, hate me all u want for blue balling you. yall know i wont keep u waiting too long tho xx. (jk its a slow burn so i will). (at least the romance aspect is. the smutty aspect? maybe not). please please please let me know what yall thought in the comments, i love love love reading everything you guys have to say. seriously. yall have made my whole entire week LMFAOAOAO. im so glad u love this story as much as i do!! new update should be out soon (not as soon as this one was but who knows we'll see bc im an attention whore and u guys fw this story). ily all xx

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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twistedteatime · 2 months ago

Text

Signs

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Scorpio!Reader

A/N: Birthday fluff for Bucky. It's late, but I FINISHED it. I'm proud of myself for actually finishing it. Summary: It's Bucky's birthday. He forgot but you most definitely didn't. With the rest of the team off on a mission, you show up to celebrate with him with a gift that brings back a lot of memories. You also answer one of his questions about modern dating. Warnings: LANGUAGE. Sexual innuendos. Talk of animal cruelty. Mentions of violence. Confused!Bucky. Fluff. That's about it I can think of.

Word Count: 4.7k

Master List: Scorpio AU

===================

What did you just call him?

Confusion was not something new for him. Far from it. It was a daily occurrence for James “Bucky” Barnes, and not simply since breaking free from HYDRA. The second time at least.

However, the confusion he felt usually stemmed in some way shape or form from Steve. Be it why he was tall instead of small or who the hell he even was or was saying. If it wasn’t his best friend it was how to exist in the modern world with how different it was when it came to slang, pop culture, and dating.

Bucky had tried, several times, to get himself back into it. He failed each time. Not necessarily crashing and burning, usually, but enough that he had determined it might be best to just stop trying until he was in a better place and mentally prepared to deal with the vast differences between himself and his dates.

That and their obsessions with his arm. It got uncomfortable sometimes how fixated they were on it. Though, he did have to credit one for the idea of just putting it in the dishwasher to clean it. That worked phenomenally well and the look on everyone’s faces the first time had been priceless.

Sam had tried setting him up on a few blind dates. Those were usually okay just not for him. Steve…there was no way Bucky was going to go along with anyone he suggested ever again. He valued what was left of his sanity far too much.

The one time he had agreed she was practically a female version of pre-Captain America Steve. He had spent the entirety of the date trying not to get arrested, shot, or caught while keeping her safe as she raided a pharmaceutical company’s animal testing lab. One second she was asking if he liked animals, the next was if he thought lab experiments were fair, and then he was somehow standing in a red flashing hallway with an arm full of cats confused.

He did get a cat out of that, though. She was not fond of his date and had just launched herself into his jacket with a hiss and a claw baring swipe. It was adorable and gave him an excuse to not have to see his date again.

“Alpine doesn’t like her and if Alpine doesn’t like someone then I don’t like them.” He said while hugging the white, purring, kitten rubbing against his face.

Steve tried suggesting other people, but Bucky refused. One Steve-brained hero was enough. More than enough.

Natasha was the only one that was safe when it came to trying to get him to date. She just didn’t. She simply left him to his own devices and told everyone else to leave him alone. Bucky appreciated it immensely.

That didn’t mean Natasha didn’t do that sort of thing. She did. Constantly. With pretty much everyone she could except for him and she knew a lot of people.

Bucky was always meeting someone new she was introducing to someone else. If a week went by when she didn’t introduce him to some new person it put him on edge. It was a part of the routine so when she finally introduced him to you he had thought nothing of it.

Well…other than that you were easily the most gorgeous of the women she’d brought by as a date for someone not him. You were an absolute doll, too. He was almost jealous of Steve that day. Almost. It didn’t work out and he just couldn’t figure out why.

You were lovable, easy to talk to, with a magnetic personality that pulled people in and a sassy wit that never ceased to bring a smile to his face. Your tongue was sharper than his knives at times and he liked it. Most of the time. Sometimes it said very confusing things.

Like now.

Happy Birthday, Fish Boy?

“What?” he asked as he blinked at you, blue eyes swimming in confusion as you sat across from him in his living room, one leg crossed over the other putting your glorious curves on display, “Fish boy?”

You sighed with a small playful smile and roll of your eyes, “Yeah. You’re a Pisces. Y’know…zodiac sign? Pisces is represented by two fish swimming around each other. So…Fish Boy.”

“Today’s my birthday?” he asked, blinking, and you nodded.

“Yes…it’s the 10th of March today, Bucky.” You answered easily, not judging or teasing him for it, and smiled as Alpine hopped up onto your lap and inserted her head under your hand for attention, “Hey, there, sweetie. I was wondering where you were. Were you plotting how to get the birds out the window again?”

“Mao.”

“I’m starting to get jealous of that thing.” Bucky said and you chuckled while petting the white cat affectionately.

“Well, it was her birthday. I had to buy her a cat tree. She stopped knocking your books off the shelf, didn’t she?” you asked and he nodded, wondering why no one else had said anything to him about his birthday, something you could see as you looked at his blue eyes and the way they shifted and shimmered, “They’re on a mission out in the Pacific…somewhere. Different time zones. They’ll probably call later. It’s still early here.”

“Oh, right. Yeah…” he sighed.

He still had a tough time remembering certain things. Dates being a big one. Most of the time, Bucky could get by with dates as long as he put them in his phone or on a calendar to remember them with. Some things, like covert mission dates, he couldn’t do that with. Other things, like his birthday, he just didn’t think to.

It was just another day. One that didn’t feel like it belonged to him anymore. It belonged to the old Bucky, not this one.

Sure, he’d go out if his friends took him, but it was just another day. Yet it had brought you to his apartment with a large box. One he initially had assumed was yet another toy for Alpine.

You spoiled the cat. Toys, treats, a massive cat tree that took up the entirety of one whole window that Alpine adored spending hours exploring and jumping around on. Bucky only outwardly complained about it, but he didn’t mean it. Seeing Alpine happy made him happy and you always brought him something, too.

Usually coffee, food, or a book. Sometimes you brought a record, one he hadn’t heard since the 40s, and not a reproduction either. You never told him where you found them, though. You refused to reveal your “source” because then you wouldn’t be able to surprise him with them.

Bucky appreciated the attention to detail you had when it came to his likes and dislikes. You were also usually one of the first people to notice if his moods shifted, or rather when they did. You read him like a book regardless of whether or not he wanted you to and that was without mind reading powers.

You just knew.

“So…” he started, pulling himself from his thoughts before you had a chance to, and smiled teasingly, “What’d you get me? It better be good after the cat fortress you got Alpine.”

You simply gestured to the cardboard box on the coffee table between you with a small smirk. It was one of the ones he loved most: Sassy and victorious. You were hard to fluster and you gave as good as you got from everyone.

It was probably one of the things they liked about you. Even Loki. That day had been interesting.

Thor had decided to visit and brought his brother along. There were still some tense feelings between the Avengers and the God of Mischief, which you made abundantly clear while walking into the room.

“Why the hell does it feel like I walked into the episode of some soap opera were everyone is confronted with the fact they all slept with someone’s murdered husband?” you had asked, catching them all off guard save for Bucky who had seen you walk in, nose in a book.

“An opera of cleaning…” Thor started confusedly but your eyes already landed on Loki and shifted from confusion to instant understanding.

“Oh. You brought the God of Kneel Before Me and Obey.”

“He apologizes for tha-”

“You didn’t even take people on a date first.”

“Who are you, again?” Loki asked, curious, a bit put off, and fishing for something to make a rebuttal with.

“This is Y/N Y/L/N, brother. She…I don’t know what she does…but she does read many books and tomes.”

“What I do is I put up with you. You eat my Pop Tarts from the break room again and I will make your every visit here a living nightmare of hellish proportions and torment.”

“I will replace the box immediately.” Thor replied instantly, eyes wide, fear flashing over his eyes that Bucky didn’t quite understand yet didn’t question, particularly as his brother just laughed.

“I like her.” Loki laughed and then went on to ask what you were reading, falling into, an occasionally insult fueled, conversation about your book.

Loki often visited on his own afterwards. Usually to discuss some book or event with you. It was this that eventually caused Bucky to find himself having a strangely deep conversation with the god about conflicting feelings on control, a shared hatred of electrical shocks, and knives.

He was a bit overwhelming to converse with at times, but you always managed to step in before an argument occurred. The frequency of which eventually caused Loki and him to start wondering if you did have powers of some sort after all. You neither confirmed nor denied anything.

“What’s in it?” Bucky asked as he pulled the box closer to him, feeling the weight of it.

“Don’t shake it. Just open it.” You said as he lifted it onto his lap.

Bucky opened the box carefully and blinked.

It was a cake, in a pan, chocolate if he had to guess by the smell of it and the thin layer of frosting on it. He recognized it at once. Not that it was cake, but the type of cake.

You knew Bucky didn’t like most cakes and you quickly realized why when you saw Steve forcing himself to eat his own birthday cake someone made him.

It was too rich.

Though both Steve and Bucky liked chocolate, what people seemed to forget was that candy and cakes were different now than when the two super soldiers were kids, growing up, and even during the war. The ingredients were different. The flavors were different.

“I found a recipe I think you’ll like.” You said as he took it out of the box then looked at the wrapped gift underneath, “You can open that after you try a bit of the cake I spent the better part of a week getting right.”

“Was it really that hard?” he asked, frowning, and you smiled as you got up to go into his kitchen, carrying Alpine as she utterly refused to move.

“You’ll understand in a few minutes. Believe me.” You answered, grabbing a fork for him then handing it to him, “Try it.”

Bucky took the fork from you and paused before digging it into the corner of the pan and scooping out a bite. It looked just like he remembered and when he put it into his mouth he was instantly taken back to his mother’s kitchen. The last birthday he had with her and his family.

The tears were instant. So was the shock. So were the questions as he looked at you when you sat down next to him and pulled out the wrapped present from the box. They were there when you handed it to him while taking the cake pan…while trying to take the cake pan.

“I’m not going to eat it on you, James. Believe me. I’m a little caked out myself, but this…” you said while holding the present, “Will answer some of your questions.”

Bucky just nodded and relinquished the pan to you before opening the present carefully.

It was a picture frame but what was in it took his breath away. Old, faded, and worn beneath the glass was a single sheet of paper yellowed and brittle with age. The handwriting on it brought more tears to his eyes as he ran his fingers over the letters lightly.

How?

That was the one question running through his mind as he looked down at his mother’s handwriting that listed out the ingredients for a chocolate birthday cake. Elegant, graceful, and yet difficult to decipher if one wasn’t accustomed to reading it. He even found it hard it had been so long.

Why it had taken you a week of perfecting the recipe he understood. Some things weren’t called the same names as they are now and he doubted you would know what some of it meant right off the bat no matter how smart you were. There was also the fact that it was only a list of ingredients. There were no directions at all. Only ingredients.

“Keep going, then I’ll explain.” You said gently and his brows furrowed before he continued and set the frame down carefully on the coffee table then looked at what was beneath it.

Two books. One much thicker than the other as it was made with thick plastic pages that, when he opened the simple black cover, he saw were filled with more pages. All of them were recipes written on scraps of paper in his mother’s handwriting. Some were pieced back together before they had been carefully put between the sheets to preserve them.

Cake recipes, johnny cake recipes, pickles, bread, relish, chutney, everything she cooked and had thought to write down. Some of it was gone. Broken off and lost to the ages, but so much was preserved and there.

How?

Looking at the smaller book, he saw it was a new one. Brand new. Crisp white lettering on light blue on the cover.

A Collection of Recipes by Winifred Barnes.

He opened it and looked at you, blinking as he tried to dam the impending flood, and looked back. Thumbing through it, he saw what each page had a photo of one of the papers in the other book and next to it was a neatly typed out translation. Some of them had directions on how to prepare them. Others did not and had lines beneath the ingredients. A space to write in the directions.

The dam broke.

How? Why? How?

“Shhh…” you soothed as the tears began to fall from his eyes, setting the cake down on the table before pulling him into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tight yet still careful not to crush, “I wanted to make you a cake you’d enjoy eating. I know things are different now than they were then. The food’s different. There was less additives and artificial crap then…and with the Depression…you couldn’t get everything a cake today would have so they’d have to improvise with things. So…I…got it in my head I’d try to track down an old recipe book or something. That only sounded simple.”

“You did this in a week? How’d you find…” Bucky asked, his voice thick as he sniffled and you chuckled.

“The cake was a week; all of this has been at least two months. I knew I’d have to start early. I’m used to research, but doing my daily research on top of this research…yeah, I had to start early. I went to a few estate sales, antique shops, you name it. Nothing that dated that far back. Then I finally found an old thrift store in Brooklyn, near where I get your records…which is still a secret by the way and found a box. In that box was a huge stack of recipes.” You explain while rubbing his back gently, “Then I saw the name on the box and thought: ‘Holy shit. No way. No fucking way.’ Obviously, I bought it immediately and did some digging.”

“I never told you my mom’s name…did Steve?” Bucky asked and you shook your head.

“No, but he does know about this. He may have been my guinea pig for some things and he may have puked a few times as a result. I just dug into your records to find your mom’s name.” You answer and gently wipe the tears off his cheeks with a smile as he chuckled at the idea of you and Steve in a kitchen conspiring and Steve, once again, subjecting himself to an unknown concoction of things, “Then the…deciphering began.”

“I can’t even read some of this…” Bucky admitted and you nodded, a look of horror on your face as you did.

“Yeah…she had a tendency to write s as r and q’s, g’s, z’s, and p’s can all look exactly the same if you don’t know what you’re reading. Then figuring out the ingredients came, and Steve helped with that, but he couldn’t help with how to actually make things. He tried once and it was a disaster so I never let him touch the food ever again.” You said and Bucky laughed lightly as he nodded imagining you angrily swatting his best friend away from a pot of something black and bubbling.

“I’m surprised there’s a kitchen left intact.” He said and you groaned.

“There almost wasn’t when we tried at my place. There’s a reason he shoved money at me that one time a few weeks back. He had to buy me a new stove after whatever napalm he concocted destroyed the old one.” You said then smiled, “That’s when I decided to move the experiments to the compound. I don’t care if we ruin Tony’s crap. It took a few iterations to get this right. When it says sour milk…it means sour milk. Not sour cream, not buttermilk, sour…milk…and that means I had to actually…get…real milk. Not the shit they sell at the market. I had to find a farmer’s market that sold milk in the glass bottles.”

“You went…through…all of this…for me?” Bucky asked and you nodded with an easy smile.

“Well, yeah. You deserve it, first and foremost, and don’t you go thinking I tortured myself doing it. I learned a lot and actually enjoyed it a bit. I never knew there were three original different 3 Musketeer bar flavors you could buy all at once going into this and I’m disappointed they aren’t around.”

“Sugar rations.” He said with a sigh but then smiled, “Thank you…for this. I…”

You nodded with a gentle smile that brought a fuller one to his face. You understood what it meant to him and looking into your eyes Bucky found himself relaxing with the knowledge that you always knew. He didn’t need to say it because you always knew what he meant without words.

“Are you sure you can’t read minds?” he asked and you laughed.

“I’m sure. I’d probably go nuts if I could from all the very perverted and ungentlemanly thoughts that run through men’s minds whenever I walk by in a dress.” You said and smirked a bit with a chuckle as he swallowed a bit, the memory of the last time you had shown up in a dress flashing across his mind, “Particularly yours.”

“I…do no such thing.” He said, narrowing his eyes at you, “Unlike most guys in this day and age I know how to treat a lady properly.”

“Treating a lady properly and imagining what running your hands over her curves could feel like are not the same thing…nor are they mutually exclusive, Bucky.” You replied smoothly and he chuckled before looking back at the cake and everything you had given him.

“You’re an absolute doll…you know that, right?” he asked.

“I’ve been told on occasion…but you’re the only one I’ll accept it from. Anyone else I punch.” You said and he looked at you curiously, “What?”

“You punch people?”

“Yeah. I punch a lot of people. Do you have any idea how many people walk into the archives and try to steal shit? At least every other day. Why do you think I’m down there?” you asked and he blinked.

“You never explained what you do in the compound past that you work in the archives. Nat just told us you were her friend and she was gonna introduce you to Steve.” He said and you nod, “I still don’t understand how that didn’t work out.”

“Because Steve has the self-preservation instincts of a rabid chihuahua stuffed inside a rottweiler’s body.”

Bucky burst out laughing while nodding. Someone finally understood. Most people compared him to a golden retriever. Sweet, loyal, cuddly.

They had no idea how stupidly tenacious he could be. How reckless he could be. How many fucks he didn’t give about anything once he got it in his head what the right course of action would be.

“Yes.” Bucky laughed, “Little punk would get into every fight in Brooklyn he could up against guys three times his size.”

“Would? Bucky he still does shit like that, there just aren’t as many people three times his size now.” You reply with a laugh and he nods with his own.

“That’s true. So how do you know Nat? Really?” he asked and you smiled.

“That’s a long story, Bucky, but the abridged version of it is that she was working undercover in a club I was the bouncer for, yes it’s a thing, and I knocked some guy out that decided to try and roughly grab her ass. I’d already tried deescalating with him several times before and he didn’t listen so…I punched him. That’s probably why she tried to set me up with Steve, but there’s a difference between Steve and me doing my job. I obviously found out the truth about her after a while and then she introduced me to Tony as someone to work in archives to keep the peace down there.”

“Is it really that bad?” Bucky asked and you nodded seriously.

“Yes. It doesn’t matter how high someone’s I.Q. is or how smart they are. They turn into little toddlers with tantrums or meat headed morons if they don’t get their way. Tony hires the best and brightest minds, that also means he tends to hire people with huge egos. It takes them some time to learn to not screw around with me when they’re new and I routinely have to take people down a couple pegs. I don’t care if you graduated from M.I.T at the top of your class. You’re going to wait like a good little boy for your turn at the Pym Papers.” You said and he looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “Seriously. Come down and visit me sometime.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Please do. Friday. Wear the leather jacket, put on some cologne, bring some coffee, and smile. Two o’clock. Reggie needs to learn manners that I can’t teach him and I’ll make you another cake anytime you want if you can get him to stop asking my sign and dishing out the worst pick-up lines this side of the Appalachians.” You said seriously and Bucky chuckled a bit at your disgruntled and exasperated face and tone.

It was cute, but he had to ask. It was something he hadn’t figured out quite yet. Something he could if he just decided to google it, but he figured you’d explain it better.

“What’s the thing with the signs?” he asked and you looked at him and took a deep breath in.

“The zodiac signs. There’s…belief…theory…whatever that certain signs are more compatible with each other than other signs are. There’s also belief that certain signs act certain ways, now…I’ve found this to be true to an extent but there’s a lot more that goes into it then just your sun sign. It’s a complicated mess of things I don’t even understand, but it gets annoying when men use it as a pickup line. Particularly with my own sign. Men like that tend to assume things because of the reputation of my sign.”

He frowned. Bucky was well aware of what it felt like when people assumed things about him. It was a stupid notion, but one that he was still intrigued by.

“What…do…they assume?” he asked.

“They assume I’m a sex-crazed, freak that can’t wait to get it on with the first guy to walk by, am manipulative, a bully, and too hard to handle long term because of my supposedly deep seeded trust issues and tendency to take things too intensely.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a Scorpio.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know.”

“That’s really fucking stupid.” He said while sitting back on his couch and you nodded, “So why the leather jacket and cologne and everything?”

“Do you really need me to say it, Bucky?” you ask with a teasing smile then smiled more as his lips turned up in a playful smirk before pretending to consider then nodding.

“Yes. I don’t want to assume.”

“Well, I’m not trying to secretly set you up with anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nnooo…that…that doesn’t seem like your thing.” He said as he considered it, “So why?”

“The coffee is because on Fridays coffee is the only thing that keeps me from going feral on people. The rest…well…to put it bluntly: I like your cologne and leather jacket and the way you smile, when you actually smile and mean it. When you actually mean it…it’s like fucking sunshine in human form.” You answer and he looks at you, not exactly surprised and yet at the same time he is, “Seeing you smile and laugh is always a highlight of my day because of everyone I see and work with on a regular basis…you deserve to actually laugh and smile the most. You’re a lot stronger than you realize you are, internally. I’m not talking about the arm or the serum or the rest of it. You, yourself, are a strong person and I find that…incredibly attractive and sweet.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just smiled slightly as he thought about the past several months since he’d met you. The more he did the more he realized that he should have noticed.

You were one of the few people to sit and just talk with him. Particularly the women. You didn’t shamelessly flirt, blush, or gush over him. You just…were there whenever he needed someone to be there.

He never thought anything of it because you did that for everyone. Steve included. Despite the date not resulting in anything it wasn’t unusual to find you sitting down to a cup of coffee with Steve just talking about things. You were the same way with Natasha, Sam, Clint, and even Tony to an extent…usually when Pepper was mad at him.

Yet thinking on it, for him, you were a lot warmer, less guarded, and smiled a lot more. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. On one hand it excited him, and yet on the other, the cold…metallic one…it made him worry.

Was he really worth all of that effort? Did he want to really let you all the way in? There was plenty he hadn’t told you or anyone. Things he worried would change your perception of him.

“Mao.” Alpine mewled before hopping up onto your lap again and immediately shoving her head into your hand, purring when she got what she wanted in the form of affection as she looked at him.

Bucky didn’t know what they did to her in the lab. He never wanted to know. Sometimes, though, he guessed it was a lot more than just run of the mill pharmaceuticals.

Alpine always seemed to have an innate sense of someone and you were one of the few people she would just run up to and demand love and attention from. It had been this way from the start and looking at her as she looked at him, it was like she was telling him it was okay.

Bucky smiled and nodded as he reached over and grabbed his cake and fork, “Alright, doll, Friday at two. I'll be there.”

"Don't forget."

Bucky smirked a bit and chuckled, "Oh...trust me...I won't forget this."

=======

A/N: I actually finished it. Obviously there's room for a continuation of this, but I finished it. I did the thing I said I would.

Next Story (Scorpio AU): Coffee

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #scorpio #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fluff

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delilahsturniolo · 1 day ago

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⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . mentions of blood, descriptions of a wound, romantic tension, slow burn.

CHAPTER TEN: NEW BLOOD, OLD WOUNDS