#i kind of really don't want to be there on his last day on friday

[tardis--dreams]

FUCK i still gotta write that goodbye card

[norikuna]

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT — choso kamo

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (d) and let the show begin !

prologue. → it's been seven days since you wobbled into your apartment and almost threw up on your best friend. seven days since you confessed your love to him. seven days of radio silence as you've done your best to shut him out, hoping that the earth swallows you whole. there's no way he's going to want anything to do with you now!

but it's been years since choso had started silently loving you.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader

warnings. vírgin!choso, spítting, kíssing, makíng out, thígh kínk (mild), yuuji being a menace 😭

word count. 8k! song inspiration. last friday night — katy perry

a/n. i can't believe i don't write for choso more. i really put a lot of love into this fic but i wish i had expanded on it a bit more 😭 one thing abt me is that i love adding side characters to cóck block

mp3. think we kissed, but i forgot!

"did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? breakups happen every day — you don't have to lose it."

you jab at the skip button like it's personally offended you, cutting off the mournful strains of the evermore bonus track mid-verse. normally, you'd let the singer's poetic misery hold your fragile heart in a pretty gentle chokehold, for she understood your heartbreak like a nobel laureate in emotional devastation. but not today.

not on this particularly dreary friday, right before christmas, where even ms. swift's dulcet agony felt obnoxiously on the nose.

pinned under the suffocating weight of your quilt, you let out a dramatic sigh that could rival a victorian heroine wasting away from heartache and humiliation.

with the theatrics of someone clawing their way out of a shipwreck, you work one arm free, waving it weakly into the air like your tragic signal of defeat.

the cocoon of your quilts and covers isn't warm nor comforting. it's a smothering trap, a quilted tomb of your own making.

"this is it," you mumble to the empty air of the apartment, your voice muffled by layers of fabric, "this is how i go."

the universe, for its part, remains unbothered by your suffering.

with a theatrical groan that would earn you a standing ovation in a one-person tragedy, you yank the quilt over your head. plunging yourself into darkness once more.

but unfortunately, the muffled strains of your 'sad girl winter' playlist refusing to take the hint seep through, like overly persistent ghosts of your bad decisions in the past. it seemed that evermore was feeling less like a balm for your soul, and more like the soundtrack to your public humiliation.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of your bed, half pillows and half-sulking regret, your poor and neglected nintendo switch lies face down like it gave up on your hours ago. its screen has long since gone dark, but if you listen hard enough, you can almost hear your animal crossing villagers whispering conspiratorially, drafting a formal petition to evict you.

no doubt tom nook is already sharpening his capitalist claws, repossessing your house with an unsettling amount of glee.

but the rest of your room is not much better. the string lights on your walls flicker half-heartedly, casting an uneven glow over the wreckage of the past week.

it's not the charming nor dramatic kind of mess that makes for an artsy photo dump. no, this is the slow and unflattering unravelling of someone who let life beat them up with zero resistance. if rooms could file restraining orders, yours would have done it by now.

teetering laundry piles of discarded sweatshirts are haphazardly stacked in the corner. nearby, an empty hot cocoa mug sits, sticky with the remnants of whipped cream. candy cane wrappers are strewn across the room, the aftermath of a peppermint explosion that made your jaw ache.

but the true centrepiece of this disaster? your phone, face down on your nightstand. neglected and on silent. the one object in this room that's probably begging for attention, and one that you've been skilfully ignoring. and yet, right on cue, it buzzes again.

lighting up with a contact number that you've been ignoring all week.

choso.

and you squint at the notification, at the glowing screen that makes your eyes sting in the dim light.

sweet, dependable and utterly loyal choso.

your best friend of over a decade. the one person that you can't bring yourself to face.

the one person that also deserves so much better than this radio silence, and yet the last person that you can humanly confront. especially not after what happened last friday night.

and here, good friends, lies the crux of your problem.

that doomed night, seven days ago, has mostly dissolved into a series of blurry and fragmented snapshots. like a bad, half-finished film that you'd walked out of halfway through.

but the lead up? oh, you remember that part with the kind of clarity that should have been reserved for more important moments.

you could still feel the heat of storming out of that overpriced restaurant, half-drunk and fully pissed off, tears streaming down your cheeks and thickening your throat.

your ex-boyfriend? well, he had been your current boyfriend, before he decided to break up with you. in public. for all that classy, emotional damage that was so in character for him.

and with a line so perfectly cliché, it practically begged to be immortalised on a 'worst breakup excuses' list in cosmopolitan: i'm sorry, baby. i just don't see it working anymore. we're just too different. oh! and i found someone else.

oh, sure. but you should have been glad to have been rid of the man-child that thought frankenstein was the monster's name, the man who commented 'oxford study' on innocent tiktoks, and called pinterest 'girl instagram.'

god, what a fuckin' loser.

fuelled by a mix of public-induced heartache and questionable tequila choices, you had practically charged across street crossing. your feet hitting the pavement with the reckless kind of abandon reserved for teenagers sneaking out after curfew.

and there choso had been in your apartment. your best friend had been sitting cross-legged on your rug, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbons. probably wrapping yuuji's christmas gifts with military precision. he had been balancing a roll of tape in his mouth, scissors over his lap dangerously close to the family jewels. but you had barrelled through the door like a feral cat in a downpour.

his eyes had widened, a little startled, as you made your entrance. the tape had fallen out of his mouth, chestnut hair falling over his face as he gaped. you couldn't blame choso, of course. you had looked entirely like a bedraggled, disheveled mess in a storm. cheeks streaked with mascara trails, but then everything went...fuzzy?

what did you remember? crying. lots of it.

and boy, was it a show. the kind of weeping where your face contorts into a puffed-up, berry-red disaster, and you would feel the headache creeping in even before the tears had finished.

choso's arms had caught you before you could face plant into the couch. solid, broad. warm and familiar.

you had caught the scent of clove and pepper, alongside faint citrus that you had been associating with him over the years. you had been saying something, raw and desperate.

your words had spilled out of you like water from a broken faucet.

and here you were now, reaping the glorious consequences of your own unfiltered word vomit.

seven days of stewing in your own shame and regret. but seven days were not enough to undo this level of self-sabotage. you briefly considered the options: faking amnesia, dropping out of university entirely, or best case scenario — moving to antarctica and herding emperor penguins.

you groan, sinking deeper into the abyss of your covers. and then, of course, your phone buzzed again. the dull and persistent vibration drilled into your skull like a tiny, digital drill.

cho 💜

(01:09am) hey, are you doing okay? (08:42am) tell me if you need anything! (04:23pm) hello? did i do something?

you peek at the screen, trying to avoid making eye contact with the tiny and terrifying letters. your sheet mask scrunches uncomfortably, making you look like a particularly pathetic mummy. choso's sweet and utterly patient messages were a sharp control to your gross sulk, and his concern makes you want to curl into a ball and crawl into a snowbank.

outside, christmas snow fell gently, blanketing the world in a soft and untouched white. it was like something out of a dream, a world of calm and peace. peace that your trifling ass didn't deserve.

if choso wanted to speak to you, he'd have to drag you out of your self-imposed misery himself. and even if he were to arrive at your apartment door, he'd only find a note tacked to the wall. with a map leading to the south pole.

so, what exactly had happened last friday night?

the memory rolls out like an old film reel, all jagged and distorted. the kind that you can't skip, even if you wanted to. it comes in fragments, each one more excruciatingly clear than the last. the haze of vodka-infused whipped cream shots over hot drinks slowly melting away like a bad handover.

the door to your apartment? you remember that part with embarrassing clarity. you had kicked it open with awful, ragged flair. your heel slipping on the floor, and you had nearly stacked it. face-first into your own doorway, standing there with the grace of a giraffe on roller skates.

the second the door had slammed shut behind you, a gust of frigid winter shot through the apartment like a chill reminder of your situation.

choso had been sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, in the midst of complete, barbaric chaos. the roll of mauve wrapping paper teetered precariously on his dark jeans, and scissors dangled from his lap while a stripe of tape was wedged between his teeth. in between the mess of clippings and discarded tape, he seemed more like an absurdly morose-looking christmas elf that had been tasked with being santa's helper after an entire bottle of mulled wine.

but as you had walked in, or rather stumbled in, his gaze had shot up. his chestnut hair falling in messy curtains around his face, with one unruly strand intertwined with a red-white rogue ribbon. choso's face had twisted in alarm, his usual solemn manner replaced by someone who looked like they were trying to figure out whether they needed to brace themselves for good or bad news.

"hey," he had said, voice soft but sharp, like he was trying to handle fragile glass. choso had spat the tape out of his mouth unceremoniously, and he had been tugging the ribbon free rom his hair, concern all over his fine features, "what's wrong? are you okay?"

and you? a disaster. drunk, crying, furious. the recipe for an emotional molotov cocktail.

"i hate him," you had snarled, yanking off your beige coat, hurling it in the general direction of the couch. instead, your aim missed entirely. flopping halfway onto the floor, and halfway across choso's knee.

choso simply plucked the coat off his leg with two fingers, gingerly draping it over the arm of the couch. your best friend was frowning as he set down his oversized scissors, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. amber-hazel eyes flicked to yours, wide with alarm as he stepped closer, "are you hurt? is this about —?" he was hesitating, "your boyfriend?"

"no, my ex-boyfriend!" the words were ripped out of you, and your voice pathetically cracked halfway through as tears spilled down your flushed cheeks, "and 'm not hurt, cho. unless you count emotional damage," punctuating your statement with a tragic, breathy hiccup.

choso's perpetual frown deepened, as thick and unruly brows knit together, "okay," he said, voice low and steady, "do you want to sit down? i can get you some water, wait." his steps are slow, purposeful as he closes the distance between you gently, with measured care. or like he was defusing a bomb.

but you were having none of his gentle care, "no, i don't want water! i want — i want to un-date him," you wail, arms flailing as you start pacing like a caffeinated hamster, "god, i'm so stupid for dating him in the first place. and yes, i know, stop looking at me like that. i know you want to say i told you so, but he's such a —," you pause mid-rant, clawing the air for the right word, "a troll. a goblin, an ogre."

choso blinks, "maybe you should just get some fresh water in you," but there's an underlying layer of grimacing amusement painted over his quiet features, "and i didn't even say i told you so."

"no," you blurt, your head snapping so fast that your neck immediately files a complaint in the form of a sharp crick, "i don't want water. i want —"

and then, your brain short-circuited. because that's when you'd actually looked at him. like really looked.

warm hazel eyes framed by dark, sleepless circles that seemed to follow choso around like cursed ghosts. soft, feathery strands of mahogany hair that refused to stay tied back, and tumbled rebelliously into his face. that damn sweatshirt, loose and charcoal gray, and perfectly slouched over his broad shoulders. the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal forearms so solid that they could make a renaissance sculptor pack and quit.

and like a freight train at full speed, like whee-woo, the realisation hit you. choso kamo.

your best friend in the entire world. your steady and reliable, and kind to a fault best friend. better than any stupid ex that you'd ever had.

and because tequila is the nectar of chaos, and heartbreak has no filter, your mouth decided to unleash the words that you would haunt you for the next week.

"i should have been dating you."

the room is silent, as choso freezes entirely. like someone had smacked the pause button on him, and his hand, mid-reach for a glass of water, stops cold. his eyes are wide, mouth parting as though he hadn't yet processed what you had said.

"what?" choso finally manages, the words soft and stunned, like he wasn't sure that he had heard you correctly.

you, in your infinite wisdom (or rather, drunken idiocy), barrelled on like a bull who had just seen red cloth, "i'm so serious! you're the one i should've been with all along!"

you wave a hand at him, as if showcasing him to an invisible jury, "you're smart and you're sweet, and you actually care about me, unlike him!"

choso blinks, his expression unreadable, "okay," he says slowly, setting the glass back down on the table, "i think maybe, uh, you should sit down?"

"i don't wanna sit down, i want you to stop looking so perfect right now."

there's a faint flush creeping up choso's neck, like red pigment staining cream watercolour canvas, "perfect?"

"yes!" you hiccuped, teetering over the couch, "you're supposed to be my best friend, and instead you just stand there with your stupid forearms, and your everything, and it's not fair!"

choso doesn't move, doesn't even speak. just stands there, vaguely dumbstruck. like you had hung the moon, and then yanked it back down to earth to hurl it at his chest.

"i should've been dating you, cho," you declare again, louder this time, and your finger jabs his broad chest like it was somehow his fault, "you're the best, y'know that? and you're so hot, how did i not realise this sooner?"

your best friend's expression goes on a journey of varying emotions, shock and disbelief, panic and confusion. all while his candied pink lips open and close, "uh," because by now, eloquence had left the room for both parties. his hands hovering awkwardly like he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or flee. his ears noticeably red, the flush creeping down his neck.

but drunk-dumped you wasn't done. oh no, this was your oscar moment. the hill you were going to die on. the ted talk that no one asked for.

and you were on a roll now, "i mean, look at you! you've got the broody, hot guy thing down so well, and you know that's my type. and everyone knows it, like why aren't we dating already?"

choso's mouth curls again, but no sound comes out. he looks like he wants to crawl into a snowbank and bury himself there forever, "okay, i think maybe you should sit down before you hurt yourself, or, uh, the furniture."

"i'm fine!" you'd declared, throwing your arms up in defiance just as your knees decided that they were absolutely not fine. you wobbled, and in an instant, choso's warm hands are on your shoulders, steadying you with ease.

the searing heat of his touch makes your heart lurch in a way that felt far too real for comfort. you look up at him, his face close enough that you could see the faint freckles dusting his nose, and your breath hitches.

he's close enough now that his lips could press against yours with the mere turn of his head. but you know that choso's just too kind and thoughtful to kiss you in this state right now. he also looks like he's about to gently suggest that you pull yourself together. you wouldn't know, because you've just bulldozed right over him with zero brakes.

tears stream down your face still, but they're starting to slow. sticky and hot, tacking to your cheeks, as you deliver the final blow, "if i asked you to kiss me now — like genuinely right now, would you, cho?"

you would never know what choso's reply would be, because you hiccup violently. the kind that punches your chest and makes you sway. fate was never done with you, because your stomach lurches in warning. you had clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with panic.

choso, bless his heart, had looked ready to throw himself in front of you, "bathroom. now," he'd commanded, his voice taking on a rare, firm edge.

and that's right where your memory cut off, mercifully plunging you into the black void of your vodka-soaked brain. no idea if you'd made it to bathroom. no idea if you'd thrown up all over him, classy as always.

but the last thing you did remember, the thing that haunted you eve now, like a ghost tapping on your shoulder, was the look on choso's face. wide-eyed, jaw slack. like you had flipped his entire world upside down.

choso sits cross-legged on the cold dorm floor, the faint creak of wood beneath him. in his hands is a neatly wrapped gift, small and unassuming. but painstakingly chosen for you. the crimson ribbon, shiny and festive, catches the light of the desk lamp.

it wasn't extravagant, nothing flashy nor pricey. but it was thoughtful, personal. something that he had picked out weeks ago, back when everything between you two had been normal.

back when you didn't look at your phone, and decide he wasn't worth answering.

choso's thumb grazes the corner of the box, smoothing over the edges of the paper that he had meticulously folded after watching youtube tutorials. but now? the box felt heavier than it had any right to. would you even want this anymore? would you even want to see him?

choso sighs, letting his head tip back against the edge of his bed frame. it was a tight and awful feeling, something small and sharp that had wormed its way into his chest.

it wasn't just the silence. it wasn't even the unanswered texts or the way you’d been avoiding him like he was the human incarnation of bad news.

it was the fact that you were you. his best friend. the person he always knew how to read — until now, when everything felt scrambled.

he stares at the gift again, his brows furrowing. he'd been turning this over in his mind for seven straight days, wearing grooves into his thoughts like a track stuck on repeat. did you regret it? did you even remember what you said?

and worse — what if you did mean it?

that last thought was the one that always hit hardest. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling back into his face. somewhere on his desk, his phone buzzed softly, and for a second, his pulse jumped. but when he checked, it wasn't you.

because of course it wasn’t.

"pathetic," choso muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

seven days.

seven long, agonising days since you'd stumbled into your apartment like the ghost of heartbreak past — tear-streaked, half-drunk, and dropping words so raw they’d knocked the air out of choso's lungs.

seven days since you’d looked at him like he was everything good in the world — right before nearly puking on him and passing out on the couch in a heap of drunken devastation.

and seven days of brutal radio silence ever since.

choso groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he slouched against the edge of his bed. he got it — why you'd be embarrassed. he, he was still processing it, the memory looping in his head like a cursed highlight reel.

"you're amazing, cho. you're perfect."

the words echoed, soft and slurred, over and over like a broken record choso couldn’t shut off. a selfish part of him — a really shameful, awful part — had been glad your ex was out of the picture. not that it was a surprise; choso had never liked that guy. too loud, too cocky. the kind of guy who thought buying overpriced cologne absolved him of skipping deodorant.

but then there was the other part of him — the one that made him feel like a jerk. the part that felt guilty for feeling anything at all. because he wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you.

choso wasn't supposed to have spotify playlists privately curated with all your favourite songs. wasn't supposed to have started buying extra hair ties, just because the thought of you stealing one was so annoyingly appealing.

and he definitely wasn't supposed to have been quietly, hopelessly in love with you for five years and counting.

how many times had he messaged now? four? five? enough that he was starting to feel like that guy, the one who couldn’t take a hint. what if you'd sobered up and realised last friday was just drunk nonsense? what if you didn't like him like that at all?

had he not spent seven days drowning his misery in tubs of mango and pistachio ice cream? enough was enough.

choso's thumb hovered over your contact for a long, stupid second, debating whether to send one more pointless text. but before he could add another "hey, just checking in," he swiped away and hit a different contact. a boisterous teenager with a shock of pink hair.

he shoots off a quick text, almost grimacing as he hits send.

Choso Kamo: Need advice. Got a hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: if this is smth weird i'm not googling it for u

choso rolled his eyes, already regretting this decision. but he needed to hear an outside opinion.

Choso Kamo: It's not weird, serious this time. If someone confesses something private to you while they are drunk, then avoids you for a week, what do you do? Hypothetically?

a pause, and then:

yuujithegoat2003: is this someone a hot girl lol

choso sighed, his dry lips twitching despite himself.

Choso Kamo: Yes. Also, serious answers only. yuujithegoat2003: ok ok. do they remember what they said? Choso Kamo: Most likely not.

yuujithegoat2003: huh...so did they say something good? or was it rude? Choso Kamo: It was good. Really quite good. yuujithegoat2003: bro this seems easy, just ask if they meant it.

choso blinked at his phone, at the...almost reasonable response. suspiciously reasonable, coming from his younger brother.

Choso Kamo: And if they freak out? Or say that they didn't mean it? yuujithegoat2003: then u say 'just kidding' and blow the place up and leave the country. i can get u a fake id, i know a guy. i know lots of guys.

Choso Kamo: You need to stop being influenced by Gojo Satoru. Just because his public break-up landed on national news does not make it a premise for my own situation. Hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: ok, gojo just said no one gaf abt your love life anyway. seriously tho if u like this hypothetical person, just be chill. don't be all intense and scare them off bc its never that deep.

Choso Kamo: Love is that deep. Especially when you care for the other person a lot. yuujithegoat2003: ur so dramatic bro. anyway good luck.

yuujithegoat2003: also if you get rejected don't tell me bc i can't handle second hand embarrassment. thx. gtg to work. these pizzas don't deliver themselves ay

choso glances down at the gift still in his lap, the ribbon he'd so painstakingly tied now a little crushed — much like his pride. the box stares back at him accusingly, as if to say, what's the plan here, genius? wait for her to magically show up?

choso exhales through his nose, sharp and frustrated. sitting here wallowing wasn’t doing him any favours, and neither was yuuji's unhelpful voice.

"yeah, sure," he mutters under his breath, shoving the box into his jacket pocket. he stands abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his desk chair.

if you weren’t going to talk to him, fine. he'd bring the conversation to you. answers, he thought, stepping out into the cold. the winter air bit at his face, but it was bracing, grounding even. one way or another, tonight was going to settle this.

the knocking was relentless.

you tried to ignore it at first, clutching your blanket like it was a shield against all outside forces. whoever was at the door would get the hint eventually. probably. hopefully.

but no, the knocking persisted, evolving into a deliberate rhythm, like some overzealous drummer auditioning for a garage band.

"unbelievable," you groaned, peeling your headphones off and tossing them onto the pillow where they landed with a hollow clatter. if this was the pizza guy you'd ordered from two hours ago, he was wildly late, and you were too broke to tip him anyway.

dragging yourself off the mattress felt like an olympic event. your legs wobbled, your blanket fortress collapsed behind you, and your pride was buried somewhere under the covers still. at least you'd showered earlier — small victories.

your damp hair dripped cold trails down the back of your oversized sweatshirt, and you caught a whiff of cocoa butter as you shuffled to the door. that was…something acceptable at least. but then the mirror by the entryway betrayed you, reflecting sleep-swollen eyes, and the faint ghost of face mask residue clinging stubbornly to your skin.

perfect. a vision of grace and dignity.

you yank the door open, ready to unleash a pointed what do you want? — but the words lodge somewhere in your throat.

smooth. and oh, just your luck.

there stood choso, a walking anomaly in the drab matrix of your sad little existence. his tall frame fills the doorway, backlit by the flickering hallway light, clad in a baggy black tee and faded denim that didn't quite match the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. his hair was tied up in a messy bun, spiky strands sticking out like an afterthought, and of course, he looked unfairly good for someone who had probably spent the past week avoiding the sunlight.

"uh, hey," he says, his voice softer than usual — careful, even. like he thought you might throw the nearest piece of furniture at him and sprint into the night.

"hey?" you echo, voice brittle as you folded your arms tighter. the sweatshirt you were wearing — his sweatshirt, one that he had left here weeks ago — suddenly felt two sizes too big and painfully obvious, "what are you doing here?"

choso scratches the back of his neck, his gaze flickering over you briefly before darting to the floor, "i needed to see you."

"at…eight at night? without warning?"

"would you have answered if i'd texted you?"

the air between you stilled as your brain scrambles for a retort, but he had you dead to rights. with a reluctant huff, you step aside. "fair point. just come in."

choso hesitates for half a second before stepping inside, his presence making your already small apartment feel even more claustrophobic. he's taking a quick glance around, and you watched, mortified, as his eyes landed on the pile of crumpled tissues precariously close to a half-drunk mug of cocoa and a bottle of jack daniel's teetering on the edge of the coffee table.

"sorry for the mess," you mutter, your voice defensive as you crossed your arms tighter.

"it's fine," choso says, a little too quickly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. his gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary, "i didn't mean to…interrupt."

"you didn't interrupt anything." you wave vaguely at the disaster zone that was your apartment.

choso's lips twitch, almost like he wanted to smile but wasn't sure if now was the time, "look, i just —" he trails off, his usual dull voice faltering as he pulled something small and neatly wrapped from his pocket, "i came to give you this. and talk."

you stare at the gift in his hands, shiny crimson ribbon and all, your pulse kicking up like it had somewhere urgent to be, "christmas came early? thanks, cho," you say, mirroring his words with the kind of ease that only comes from too many shared silences. "i'm fine, though. i wasn't up to much."

choso cracks a small, half-hearted smile, but it's like watching a flicker of light in a dim room — there, but not really there. "i tried texting," he says, glancing at you, searching for something.

"i know," you murmur, suddenly finding the floor very interesting, "i just wasn't in the mood for much talking."

choso huffs, a sound halfway between exasperation and amusement, "i noticed," he says dryly, and that only makes the air in the room more thick and uncomfortable.

you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you flop back onto the couch, curling your knees up to your chest like you're trying to make yourself small enough to disappear, "so, what? you came here to check if i'm still breathing?"

"kind of," choso admits, settling awkwardly on the edge of your coffee table, his long legs folded beneath him in that way that makes him look like he’s trying to physically contain himself. his knees bump into yours, and you have to fight the urge to pull away, like you could get too close, "but mostly...i came to talk about last friday night."

your stomach does a horrifying little flip, the kind that sends cold fingers crawling up your spine. you stare at him, silently willing him to read the begging look in your eyes and back off, but he doesn't. he's never been the type to take the hint.

"i've been thinking about it all week," he continues, his voice quiet but steady, as if he's preparing himself for something big, "and i need to know if —"

"nope," you interrupt, holding up a hand, "nope. we're not going there."

choso blinks at you, like he's trying to process the sudden barricate that you've just put up. but you're so not ready for this conversation, not now, nor ever. and you'll be damned if he gets any closer to the minefield. he scowls, his brows knitting together like he's resisting the urge to push you off the couch, "why not?"

"because it doesn't matter, okay?" you lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like you can will this conversation away, "i was drunk as hell, cho. you're overthinking it."

he scoffs, his voice sharp now, like he's cutting through your flimsy deflection with a blade, "i don't think i am."

you wince, shrinking a little under the weight of his stony gaze, "why does this even matter?"

"you think i can just brush it off like it didn't happen?" and there's a rawness in choso's voice that hits you harder than expected.

your cheeks heat up, a fiery blush creeping up your neck, "i didn't mean it," you mutter.

"yes, you did," choso snaps back, with uncharacteristic heat, and he leans forward, enough to close the distance between you two, "and you know how i know? because you've been ignoring me all week. if it was just some drunk nonsense, you would have laughed it off by now. but you haven't."

you open your mouth to argue, to push back. but the words stick heavy in your throat. nothing comes out, and it must prove choso all the more right, because you watch as his bottom lip is captured by his teeth, suddenly watching plush skin split.

"do you want me to apologise?" you ask finally, voice a little too sharp for comfort, "because i will. i'll say i'm sorry for putting you in that position and —"

"i don't want an apology," choso cuts you off, and the dim light of your apartment makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises, "i want the truth."

you freeze, your heart thudding like a drum in your chest, "what truth, cho?"

"that you meant it," choso says softly, "that you meant it when you said that you wish it had been me."

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. your breath catches, as your mind goes blank. an entire power outage, as you blink at him like a fish out of water. finally, after what feels like an eternity, you force the knot in your throat to loosen just enough to speak, "yeah," you whisper, "i meant it."

choso's whole body seems to deflate, like he's been holding up the weight of the sky. his shoulders slump, and the sheer relief on his face hits you like a tidal wave. it's almost enough to undo you. there's a sound, soft and shaky and far too vulnerable that escapes him.

neither of you move. the moment stretches out, fragile. like it could snap in half if either of you dared to breathe too loud.

then, choso is the first to move.

there's no hesitation, no uncertainty. just pure intention, like a dam finally bursting open. he shifts forward, hands finding their way to your waist with an urgency that makes your pulse go into overdrive. choso's grip is firm, but there's a reverence to it, as if you're something he's waited his entire life to touch. he pulls you to him, and you can feel the heat of him flood your chest, your blood, your bones.

"what if you regret this?" you murmur into his chest, voice muffled as your arms slip around his necks, holding onto the beautiful man like he may float way.

"not a chance," choso replies, and his voice is raspier than you've ever heard it, like he's saying it more to himself than to you.

choso kamo finally kisses you.

the kind of kiss that feels like a storm is finally breaking over clear skies, with an unrestrainted longing that crashes over the both of you.

his sweet lips meet yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, raw and real. choso clearly doesn't want to hold back, and neither do you.

his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly at russet strands.

choso groans into your mouth, a soft and burning thing that ignites every nerve in your body.

without breaking his hold on your lips, his wide hands slide down, finding the back of your thighs, making you shamefully clench them closer together.

but he's tapping them in silent invitation, and you leap into him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. the world around you blurs as he stumbles backwards.

and when the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed, gravity does its job. you both tumble into the mattress in a jumbled mess of limbs and muffled laughter, your heart pounding so loud, as you muster up the courage to prod your tongue at his lips, letting him part his mouth so you can take up more of choso.

you land beneath him, his weight pressing into you in the best way possible, sending sharp spikes of heady arousal through you. and you blink up at him, breathless.

choso is so close now, his hazel eyes locked on yours with a rare intensity, like the calm façade is entirely shattered now. but there's a smile on his lips, a crooked little thing that sends a rush of warmth through you.

"hi, choso," you whisper, your voice soft yet breathless as he chases your lips again, a desperate hunger in his eyes. it's as if he can't bear to be apart from you, even for a heartbeat.

"hey," he murmurs back, that low rumble sending shivers down your spine, igniting a heat you can't ignore.

you keep pressing kisses to his glossy lips, the world narrowing down the press of his mouth and how choso's hands cradle your waist like you might slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

without breaking contact, choso shifts, his strong hands guiding you gently, firmly.

"don' wanna crush you," he spills against your mouth, his voice low and rough, and before you can reply, he flips you effortless.

the movement is seamless, fluid even. and you're suddenly perched atop him, straddling his thighs and sinking into the worn denim of his jeans.

he's leaning back against the covers beneath him, as his chest rises and falls in unsteady waves as he gazes up at you. expression caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

choso looks so completely, heartbreakingly in love with you that it leaves you breathless. his hands tighten on your waist, fingertips pressing with a near bruising intensity into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt that clings to your frame.

his cheeks are flushed a deep, telling pink, and you can't help the soft, teasing coo that slips from your lips as you trace the curve of his temple with gentle fingers, "is something wrong, cho?" you murmur.

his lips, swollen and glistening from your kiss, part slightly, his breath uneven and catching on the edges of unspoken emotions, "nothing. nothing, i swear," he says, the words tumbling out rough and raw, his voice pitched low and vulnerable.

his hands slide you closer, his grip firm but trembling slightly, and his next confession nearly undoes you, makes your core moisten even, "just…never done this before."

"really?" you whisper, eyes widening as you take him in — the flush on choso's cheeks, the way he won't quite meet your gaze, the way he holds you like you're something precious.

the realisation that he's never shared this part of himself with anyone else tugs sharply at your heartstrings, "never?"

choso swallows thickly, nodding once, his voice a quiet hum as he admits, "mhm."

"ah, you're so cute, cho," you giggle, watching as the man scrunches his nose in mock protest.

"tch, 'm not meant to be cute."

you huff, feigning disappointment, "and here i was, wishing you a very merry christmas eve." he whines as you lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck, right where his heartbeat thrums beneath his pale skin. your lips find their home at the juncture, and you can't help but smile at the way he whines at your touch, bucks his hips up into yours.

"must have been real good to get a holiday gift like this."

you pull back just enough to admire your handiwork, a little red bloom that blossoms on thin skin, bruised petals that mark him now. choso's swallowing thickly, his adam's apple bobbing, as a soft whine escapes his lips again as you lean in, this time closer to the jaw. leaving a trail of kisses in a messy that makes choso squirm.

you press your thumb against his lower lip, feeling the soft and trembling skin quiver under your touch, "hey. open up," you coax, a teasing lilt colouring your voice.

choso looks up at you, his wide eyes clouded with desire as dark strands of hair fall across his forehead, "huh, what?"

you tap his lip again, impatience bubbling in your chest, "c'mon, open your mouth. properly," and the way he immediately obeys, parting his glossy lips sends a thrill through you. the scent of clove and citrus envelops you as you lean in closer, running your tongue over his lower lip.

you let a glob of spit fall from your lip into his mouth, with a thick thwack! echoing in the air. you deliberately miss, just a little bit, to watch him squirm as he swallows, eyes fluttering shut and inky lashes staining his cheeks.

"so good, aren't you? good at playing nice, hah," you use your thumb to smear the slick over his lips, just a bit. to watch him shudder, entirely captivated by you. it's exhilarating and makes your cunt clench around nothing. probably seeping through the thin material of your shorts and onto his thick jeans.

bang bang bang!

a sharp knock that booms at your door, enough to make your ears ring. you hear choso groan beneath you, shifting slightly so you can feel the full, thick curve of his bulge right where you need him most.

"think we can ignore that?" he rasps, his voice rough and low, the sound of it leave slick strands clinging between your thighs.

you spread your legs just a little wider over him, watching as his frown dissipates and his jaw drops, distracted by the preview you've given him, "i'm really hoping so."

but whoever is at the door has no intention of being ignored. another knock rattles the wood, followed by an all-too-familiar voice yelling, "hey! open up! delivery!"

your brows furrow, recognition sparking, "cho, isn't that—"

he cuts you off with an apologetic sigh, lifting you off his lap with surprising gentleness. choso sets you down on the quilt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before muttering under his breath, "it better not be."

you watch him go, more than a little distracted by the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his messy hair bobs with each step. already, you're plotting exactly how you’ll get your hands back in it once he returns.

choso swings the door open, and you hear a collective, "what the hell?" echo through the apartment — one part you, one part choso, and one part…

"itadori yuuji?" you blurt, leaning over to get a look. sure enough, there's choso's younger brother, standing in the doorway in a bright red pizza delivery uniform, balancing three large boxes in one hand and his phone in the other.

yuuji blinks at the two of you, then raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and something vaguely accusatory before reading off his phone in a robotic voice, "uh…merry christmas eve. i have three pizzas. extra cheese. stuffed crust," he pauses, not able to keep the act up as his golden eyes narrow, "but, uh — bro, what happened to your face?"

you bite your lip to keep from laughing as choso straightens, his expression caught somewhere between mortified and furious, "yuuji—"

but the younger man's attention shifts to you, his gaze taking in the oversized sweatshirt you're wearing, choso's sweatshirt, and his jaw drops, "oh hell no. this is the hot girl you texted me about?"

choso visibly flinches as you burst into giggles.

"that's like your best friend? that's like my sister-in-law!" yuuji throws up his hands in mock disbelief, "you really keep your circles tight, huh, man?"

before choso can even respond, yuuji leans in closer, squinting at his older brother, "and seriously, dude, what's all that on your face?"

choso groans, snatching the pizzas from yuuji with one hand and shoving him toward the hall with the other, "okay, that's enough. get out."

"you haven't paid me! that's against the law!" yuuji protests, but choso grabs the scruff of his brother's uniform collar, steering him out the door.

"i'll pay you double. triple. just leave."

"my pizzas are probably cold now anyway," you call out, adding fuel to the fire.

"yeah? well, you look a bit too busy to eat them anyway," yuuji swivels his head over his shoulder to wag a finger at you with a grin, before choso finally shoves him fully into the hallway.

as the door slams shut, you hear yuuji's muffled voice echoing, "i'm telling everyone. i'm telling dad. i'm telling sukuna. i'm telling gramps, gojo, nanami —"

you can hear their bickering voices fade down the hallway, to where choso is probably gonna pack him into the car and send him off.

you glance down at the box you'd set aside earlier, your curiosity getting the better of you. carefully pulling at the ribbon, you open it to find a small scrapbook, beautifully made. inside are photos and clippings of you and choso: movie ticket stubs, receipts from late-night takeout runs, train tickets from your trip to the coast.

your chest tightens as you run your fingers over the familiar handwriting scrawled in the margins, a quote from a cheesy romantic movie that you had forced choso to watch with you a few months ago. what an honour it is to be loved like this.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8564 tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: longer chapter woohoo, was gonna write after break but had so much inspo. wrote on my phone, so if there’s any typos, please ignore 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The nights haven’t been easy in the past couple of days. Mingled with a growing sense of anxiety added on top of your already heightened stress, your brain just can’t seem to shut off. You’ve tried melatonin and no more caffeine, but caffeine is ultimately getting you through the day and keeping you up when needed. In all honesty, you’ve already been struggling with sleep, but with the surprise meet with Suguru, dread’s been pooling in your stomach.

You have no doubt he spilled the beans. Hell, you would too if that was your best friend. You can only hope he somehow didn’t, though. A small part of you would be a little annoyed if he did, because again, he has no role in this. At least not a big one.

A sudden banging on your door jolts you upright, checking the clock and it’s not even 7:30 yet. Only one person could be demanding your presence so early. A heavy sigh leaves you, forcing your stiff muscles out of bed, wrapping yourself in a robe before trudging to the front door. When you peek through the peephole, your landlord stands there with an annoyed expression on his old face, foot tapping the ground in impatience.

“Bastard,” you mumble to yourself before opening the door. “Good morning, Mr. Sato.”

Seems he doesn’t have time for fake pleasantries, “Y/N, I’m assuming you saw the eviction note I left on your door yesterday morning.”

Unfortunately. “Yes, sir. I did.”

His arms cross, scratching at his greying mustache, “So, is it also safe to to assume you’ll have the money by next Friday?”

You sigh heavily, hand running through your hair. This is not how you wanted to start your morning. He was already making your life hell by suddenly raising your rent out of nowhere three months ago for so-called “renovations”. But you’ve yet to see any actual renovations being done. Not to mention, you’ve been bugging about your heater no longer working, and during this time of year, you and Koji are practically freezing to death. You had to buy a portable heater, small, but it gets the job done. Although it’s mainly in Koji’s room because you’d rather freeze than let him. “Look, Mr. Sato, I’m really trying here. I’m working hard to get the money, but please understand that—”

“Understand? I’ve been understanding, Y/N. I even applied last month’s rent to this month, just ‘cause of you.”

Of course, he’s gonna throw that in your face. Landlords seem to take their title so literally that if he didn’t have this much control over your space of safety, you would’ve ripped him a new one. Also, how could you forget that to even get him to agree to that plea deal, you were forced through an hour and a half of an uncomfortable, infuriating dinner with the man. Really, he’s not giving you much to work with here, but then again, you shouldn’t have had such high hopes. “I know, I know,” you reply, scratching at your roots. “I’ll have the money, okay?”

“You better,” he says gruffly. “Or I’m renting this unit to someone who can actually afford it. I’m hurting here too, you know?”

You huff. “Yeah, thanks.”

Without another word, you close the door in the man’s face, locking it. Leaning your back up against the hard surface, you close your eyes and will yourself to stay calm and positive. Counting back from ten and then back, a small tip your therapist showed you before your insurance no longer covered it. It’s okay. It’s only the start of the day, you have 20 something hours left. Now’s not the time to throw yourself a pity party and play woe is me. Now’s the time to just pick yourself up and move on. You’ll find a solution for the money, you always do.

Though this time, you can’t help but feel you’re really fucked.

I mean, you honestly have no idea how you’re going to come up with almost four thousand dollars in just a week. That sounds quite literally impossible in every single way. You get paid next week, but with taxes, you’re going home with maybe three thousand, so how will you get that extra thousand?

Unless some miracle decides to hit you, which almost never seems to happen. You used to think someone hoaxed you, or you were just born with the most unluckiest luck ever. Or, the more cynical thought you tend to have, you were fated to live a life in strict financial management, and hardships are constantly thrown at you left and right.

But hey, you’ve made it this far, right?

“No, I haven’t.”

“You what?!”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Y/N, what the fu–”

“Jesus Christ, I know, Hana. You don’t have to make me feel even more like shit.”

Your friend stops mid-way, eyeing your very displeased expression. She sighs and relents, slumping back in the small chair in the backroom of the cafe. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting your confession simmer and process. When she does, it’s an honest question. “But…why?”

Why. You feel like you’re staring to hate that damn word. “A lot of reasons, I know it’s not really justified, but I just…need someone to understand me for once. Not come at me for my dumb decisions.”

Your words feel bare and raw, not completely exposing the extent of the emotions you’ve been harboring, but enough to make her stop. Hana regards you with pursed lips, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Okay, I won’t question you anymore. You have your reasons, and your reasons are always valid. So, I’m behind you on this. We stick together, remember?”

A hint of a smile forms on your lips, quietly thanking her. She comes forward to give you a hug, one you immediately reciprocate. Her auburn hair tickling your nostrils, arms seemingly tightening. “Don’t go holding things in anymore, I told you that. I’m here, to talk, listen, whatever.”

You and Hana met three years ago. She was just your co-worker at the time, now promoted to your manager. Although she’s two years younger than you, you two relate to a lot of things. Whether that be movies, food, what guys are hot, or alcohol. If anything, Hana might be your only friend in general. It’s a little sad, maybe, but at least you have someone to come to when you need to talk about adult issues your five-year-old wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

“I love you.” You find yourself muttering.

“I love you too, girl. Now, get out there, your break’s up.”

Jokingly scoffing and nudging her, you stand from the seat and do a quick stretch. Preparing yourself for yet another few hours of dreaded customer service and fake smiles, you walk out of the backroom, pushing the small curtains aside that separate the back from the counter, and clock back in.

“Cash or card?”

“Hello, how can I help you today?”

“Would that be all?”

“Have a nice day.”

Are all phrases any retail or customer service worker finds a little annoying, if not a lot. It’s so draining. And when the customers don’t greet you back, your pettiness shines through and you won’t even say have a good day to them when they’re leaving. Although, the job does have some upsides to it. For example, you get to make free coffees, take whatever pastries are left at the end of the day home, and the customers are never really bad. Of course, you have had a couple experiences, but nothing compared to a chain store. You’re even starting to use your customer service voice throughout the day, even when you’re not at work. Honestly, that’s not very good.

As you’re wiping up the counter, you feel a buzzing in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you see a set of numbers, an unsaved contact. You give Hana a quick glance, muttering a “just a sec”, before going back to the back to answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N?”

God, it’s gonna take some time getting used to his voice on the regular now. “Oh, Suguru. hey…uh–what’s up?”

There’s some shuffle on the other side like he’s adjusting the phone. “Are you busy right now?”

“Well, yes. I’m on the clock.”

He sighs, phone switching to his car output. “Where do you work? I’ll come now.”

“What?” you splutter out, head shaking. “No, Suguru, you can’t just pop out at my job. I’m busy, just tell me what you need right now.”

“I’m not sure I should.”

That statement alone scares you a bit. His cynicism always got on your nerves, but it also worried you from time to time. Most of the time, he didn’t mean any harm because that’s just how Suguru was, but it still did its job. Contemplation strikes through you. “Is it bad?”

He hesitates, which only further skyrockets your anticipation. “Honestly, it’s not too bad. But still, I need to talk to you.”

A breath emits from your lips, one you didn’t know you were holding. Eyes meeting the ceiling, you ponder over your decisions. Eventually, you come to a conclusion. “Fine, but it can’t be too long. I’m at Deja Brew, the cafe on–”

“On Express, got it. Be there in a bit.”

He’s hanging up before you even get a chance to question that he knew the cafe you worked at. If he did, surely he would have visited at least once, but you’ve never seen him come in. And you’re every day. Unless he usually comes when you’re not clocked in anymore. Anywho, you steel yourself for the inevitable conversation. Anticipating whatever bad or not-so-good news he'll give you.

“So.”

“Mm, this is good.” Suguru nods appreciatively, sipping from his coffee. You made it for him before he arrived, as a weird sort of gift to him. You two have situated yourself in a booth in the corner. Hana was a little confused as to why you were taking a break while you were on the clock, even regarding you with an almost scolding look. But the second she saw Suguru follow, her expression changed.

You practically saw the heart eyes form, smiling in a bashful way. That’s one thing you forgot about. The way girls would magnetize themselves towards the man, his best friend too. The two together were an almost deadly duo.

“Suguru,” you say, a hint of exasperation in your tone. “Please just…don’t stall anymore. Why did you want to see me?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. Once more, his steely gaze meets yours, you have to hold back the sudden urge to look away. “Like I said, it’s not terrible news, but not very good either.”

You nod, wanting him to just stop with the extraness and get to the point. “Okay, say it.”

“Satoru.” is the first thing he says, gauging your automatic grimace to his name. “He knows.”

Figures. “And you told him?”

He nods in response. You exhale, rubbing your face. “Suguru, why? I didn’t say you could.”

“I mean, I didn’t think I needed permission to tell my best friend he has a secret love child he hasn’t known about for five years, Y/N.” You hate when his voice gets like that, like you’re a school child who’s just been caught by her teacher for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “Anywho, he knows. He wasn’t…very happy.”

You slowly ask, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer. “What did he say?”

“More so what he did than said,” he pushes a stray strand of black hair out his eye and behind his ear, arms crossing. “He’s been quite easy to anger. I mean, I haven’t really talked to him because he’s not answering my calls, but I’ve been hearing from people at the office. He also kicked my ass out right after I told him. But that’s all I know at least, Nanami says he’s like a ticking time bomb.”

Jesus Christ. You don’t know what else you were expecting, you’re surprised he hasn’t done worse, but like Suguru said, that’s all he knows. His state is most likely a hundred times worse than what’s being thrown at you right now. You feel an intense guilt pool, mixing with a slight fear. “Did he…do anything else? Say anything?”

“I don’t know, he’s not talking to me right now.” Suguru concedes, leaning closer to you, brows furrowing in a seriousness. “Look, I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel worse, but I should let you know. He’s going to try and seek you out now that he knows about his son. You know that, right?”

Of course, you fucking know that. That’s what makes you scared, the possibility of somehow running across him in the most unsuspecting of places makes you want to stay holed up in your shitty apartment. “Yeah,” you gulp. “I figured.”

“I don’t know how he’ll react if–when–he does see you.” he honestly admits. “I just think you should reach out to him first, before he does it. I have his number, you should ca—”

“Stop.” you hold a hand up, eyes closing. “No more, I don’t want to be told what to do. I just…need some time processing everything right now.”

“Y/N–”

“Suguru,” your eyes open, staring at him dead on. “You seriously can’t expect me to jump from one thing to the next. I need fucking time to figure out what I’m gonna do. I’m already stressed as it is, now I have to worry about my son’s father possibly trying to reach out and that just sets me more on fucking edge. You come to my work, spring this on me, and I–” you’re rambling. Cutting yourself off in the middle of a sentence, choosing not to finish it. The last thing you need to do is rant to him. Besides, you’re just starting to see him again after five years, that would absolutely put him in a weird place between comforting someone who was once his friend, and backing up his life-long best friend.

You jolt a bit when you feel a warm palm envelope your hand, his thumb gently rubbing across your knuckles. Looking back at him, he gives you an all too familiar look. One that can make you just pour out everything you’re feeling right at that second. It’s a horrifying technique he has. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like shit. I should’ve been more considerate. I’m sorry.” He apologizes with a soothing intonation. Again, it’s making you feel warm. “It’s a hard situation, I could never know exactly what you’re going through. but…I care about you, Y/N. I always have, even without Satoru’s involvement. So, I’ll do better and not overwhelm you.”

Damn it, Suguru. Now you’re making me feel bad! Not trusting yourself with words, you meekly nod, slowly pulling your hand out his grasp. You miss the way his eyes dart down to his now empty grip, a small downward twitch to his lip that he expertly hides. “I should go back to work, I’m assuming you do too.” You stand on wobbly feet, giving him one last lingering gaze. “On the house, by the way….yeah, bye.”

Suguru watches you disappear behind the curtains, a small pit expanding in his gut. He pushes it away without thought, sighing to himself as he stands and exits the cafe. He walks down the sidewalk to his blacked out 2025 Mustang GT parked on the street. Getting in with a heavy head that’s full of all kinds of emotions. Some he doesn’t try to acknowledge, but the ones he does, it’s all worry and concern. He really doesn’t see how this situation can somehow turn around. Maybe you two will have a very mature and calm conversation when you cross paths.

He almost laughs to himself when he begins driving. Calm? Mature? Yeah, right. How do you have a calm conversation about hiding a kid for five years? Not to mention, you and Satoru are equally stubborn; it used to be so infuriating for him.

Suguru had patience, a lot of it actually. But you two tended to test that. Although, he would always forgive one of you the quickest. Cough, cough. You. It was like you had this weird thing about you that made the people around you just…like you.

His grip tightens on the wheel, biting his lip. He gets to a red light, thumb tapping on the material. Damn it all.

There’s a ringing that emits from the car’s speakers, looking at his touch screen to see the familiar name. Using this as a distraction, he answers. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shoko’s voice sounds out. “Where are you? Thought you were paying for my lunch.”

He huffs, eyes rolling, and moving the car forward once the light turns green. “I never agreed to that.”

“Sure you did,” Shoko replies, exhaling a breath. She must be smoking. “Anyway, hurry up. I’m already waiting outside. I thought Satoru was coming, is he gonna be late again?”

Yeah, no. “I don’t think he’s coming anymore.”

“Why not?” Shoko asks.

Suguru exhales heavily, turning the street towards the meet-up spot with his friend. “Some shit happened, I don’t think he’s doing good.”

Shoko pauses, adjusting her phone in hand. “What happened?”

Suguru too stops, completely forgetting how Shoko has no idea about what has transpired in the past couple of days. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

Satoru has never been surprised before, not technically. He’s a smart man with quick instincts and a good foresight, it’s like he can always tell when something is going to happen, before it happens. Even for birthday parties, his perception and people reading skills are great, he knows when someone’s lying or not telling the full truth.

In short, he knows a lot of things.

But, what he didn’t expect was for 1) even hearing your name ever again after the breakup, and 2) you have a son, his son. A son he had not one goddamn clue about. The only person who’s ever been able to throw him off his game is you.

Even back when you two dated, there were moments where you’d either say or do things that would make him pause for a second and think how unlikely that was of you. He knew you’d lie sometimes, small white lies weren’t foreign to him because he did it too. But, he never thought you’d deliberately keep something like this from him.

And to top it off, if Suguru never saw you by chance that day, would you have ever even told him?

Now that really fucking pisses him off.

When Satoru is mad, everyone else’s day is ruined. When he’s mad, you can see it in his face, his body, how he’s just barely holding himself back. It’s even more scary when Satoru is known as the laid-back, playful and unserious type of man. So when he’s mad, almost no one in the office wants to make him even angrier, let alone be around him.

He’s barely slept a total of ten hours within the past two days, mind keeping him awake. He’s trying to not imagine the image of you holding a boy who looks like him because he’s already broken one too many pairs of glasses and the thought alone makes him infuriated. He sees a blinding white flash of betrayal, hurt, confusion, and anger.

He doesn’t mean to take it out on his employees, but their feelings are not on his list of priorities.

He has a son.

A son who’s five, apparently.

Five whole years of being kept in the dark, not even being blessed with a smidge of information about his offspring. While he was off fucking women, having fun, dreading about taking over his father’s business, you were god knows where, changing fucking diapers and losing sleep. And for what? Were you that fucking scared to tell him?

Oh, he’s so going to rip you a new one when he sees you.

But, he’s still not sure if he wants to do that. Afraid of what might happen, he’d rather not blow up on you, but can you blame him if he does?

He just found out he has a secret love child from a woman he knew years ago and know he’s expected to act like everything is normal in this boring fucking meeting?

Not to mention, if his father finds out, he’s not sure what will happen. If anyone else finds out, for that matter. If anything, he needs to get a reign over this messy situation before he’s allowing anyone to know.

“Mr. Gojo? What do you think?”

At the sudden mention of his name, he snaps back into focus. Eyes flickering over to the bald-headed man who currently stands in front of the table of other withering men, the screen projector displaying a multitude of different statistical data. The man falters slightly, his grip tightening on the laser pointer as Gojo’s eyes land on him

Shit. He has no idea what they were even talking about. “About?” He clears his throat, appearing nonchalant, though the tight hold on the ballpoint pen says otherwise, the faint click of it opening and closing the only indication of his simmering irritation

The room feels colder, quieter.

The man clears his throat nervously. “The expansion plan... into the Asia-Pacific region. Whether you think it’s viable in the current climate.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his pen continues its faint, rhythmic clicks. His expression is unreadable, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he lets the silence stretch a moment too long. “And you need my opinion on this?” he says finally, his tone polite but tinged with condescension.

The bald man shifts on his feet, adjusting his glasses. “W-We... wanted your insight, given your, uh, experience overseeing the European division.”

“Right,” Gojo says, dragging the word out just enough to make the man squirm. He tilts his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, if I’d been paying attention, I’d probably say something about how overly cautious you all seem to be. But that’s just a guess.”

The bald man blanches, stammering, “O-Overly cautious? We’ve taken every factor into account—”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Gojo cuts in smoothly, his voice softening just enough to disarm the growing panic in the man’s voice. “I’m just wondering if maybe all those ‘factors’ are holding you back. Are we leaders, or are we playing it safe like everyone else?” His eyes flicker briefly over the rest of the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

The bald man hesitates, then nods quickly, his nervous energy palpable. “Of course. You’re absolutely right, Mr. Gojo. I’ll revisit the projections to—”

“No need,” Gojo interrupts again, flashing a faint, humorless smile. “I trust you’ll figure it out. Unless you think I shouldn’t.”

The man practically trips over his words in an effort to assure him. “No, no, of course not. I’ll make the adjustments immediately.”

“Perfect,” Gojo says, the finality in his tone dismissing the topic entirely. He shifts his attention to the projector screen, the numbers and graphs blurring together as his thoughts drift.

The room eventually moves on, the hum of conversation resuming. But Gojo doesn’t miss the quick glances from across the table, the subtle unease lingering in the air.

He taps the pen against the table, his jaw tightening. It’s taking everything in him not to snap, not to let the weight of the fact that his ex-girlfriend is a filthy fucking person seep through the cracks.

Let them sweat. It’s the only thing keeping him entertained today.

The minute the awful meeting of ifs and hesitant decisions is over, he’s pushing out his chair, being the first one to leave the haunted room. It’s a bad mistake on his end, because his secretary, Aiko, is on his ass. “Mr. Gojo, your father is waiting for you in your office.”

Great, as if things couldn’t get any fucking better. He holds back a remark, gruffing out. “For?”

“He didn’t say, sir. He just wanted me to tell you to see him as soon as the meeting finished.”

He really, really doesn’t want to see his father right now. The two were too alike, constantly butting heads which only ended in a harsh set of insults being tossed around, mingled with occasional threats of “never passing the company down to someone as idiotic as you”. His father is bluffing, of course. He has no other person to pass it down to, with Satoru being the oldest and only son of his father’s. His long legs easily lead him to the doors of his office, to which he hesitates. Taking in a big breath, before opening the doors and closing them soon after. “What is it?” he asks, walking over to sit in his chair, leaning back comfortably.

His father, Yamato Gojo, the current CEO of the Gojo Group, who sits leisurely on the black leather coach stands up to position himself across from his son. Arms crossed and the permanently etched frown on his face. “Why didn’t you come to the dinner yesterday? There were very important people there you needed to meet. I texted and called you.”

Why didn’t he go? Can he really just say “sorry dad, I was stressing about this shithole I’ve found myself in”. No, he can’t. Instead, he shrugs and brushes his father off. “I was already busy.”

“Busy with what? What’s more important than networking?”

“A lot of things, actually.”

Yamato dislikes that answer quite a lot, frown seemingly deepening, regarding his son with another usual disapproving look. “Satoru, this is serious. They were expecting you and you embarrassed me. I won’t let this happen again, when I say you need to be somewhere, you be there. No if, ands, or buts. You’re pissing me off.”

How ironic of him to say that considering he’s having the exact same effect of Satoru. He isn’t scared of his father, hell no. But he does know to pick and choose his battles. And with the way his mind is completely scrambled right now, he forces himself to intake a huge breath of air. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I’ll be there next time. Happy?”

“Only after you prove it.” Like father, like son. Satoru hates how his father always seems to want to get the last word in. But his father hates how he does the exact same.

Throughout the entirety of his shift, up until he clocks out of work and walks to his designated parking spot which houses his white 2025 Mercedes-Benz SL-Class. Driving back to his high rise penthouse on autopilot, his thoughts zeroed in on one person only. Or well, two people.

Satoru wasn’t ever sure he wanted to be a father. He knew it was expected of him, but so many people had such high expectations of him, it became exhausting. Too exhausting. Does he even have a right to call himself a father to a child he never knew, a child who probably doesn’t even know him?

His right hand reaches for his phone, calling a number without taking his eyes off the road. It answers on the first ring, but Satoru doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “Do you know where she lives?”

There’s a falter, hearing Suguru’s deep breath come out on the other end. “No, I don’t. And nice to hear from you too.”

“I don’t have time for your sarcasm right now.” He stops at a red light, using his left hand to rub the crease between his furrowed brows. “Do you know anything? Her number? Where she works? Where did you see her so I can go over?”

“Satoru, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go meet up with her again. You’re obviously not in the right mind space and I don’t want you two to—“

“I’ll argue with her all I want, I have that goddamn right to.” Satoru grits out, interrupting his friend before he has the chance to spew out more shit he’d rather not listen to right now. “Answer me.”

In Suguru’s mind, he knows if he gives Satoru even the tiniest bit of information regarding your whereabouts, he’ll storm over there and probably say things he doesn’t mean. Satoru tends to think emotionally in very dire situations, a bad habit of his. Still, although he knows his best friend should be angered by this situation, Suguru doesn’t want to involve himself. More than he has. After speaking with you, he’s come to the conclusion that you’ll reach out to Satoru soon. Considering the fact that he already knows. “I don’t know, I saw her at a grocery store, but she was just shopping.”

“Fuck,” Satoru groans, moving his car forward again. “Well how the hell do I—“

He’s cut off by a small vibrate to his phone, a message. When he looks down, the screen is overtaken by a new call coming in from Himari. Honestly, she’s the last person he wants to talk to right now.

“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, after noticing the small beat of silence from the other end of the phone.

What isn’t wrong? “Gotta go, call you later.”

“Sat—“

Satoru ends the call, picking up the new one. “Hey.”

“Baby,” Himari’s light voice fills his ears, sighing in relief. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at the mall but the tires of my driver’s car popped.”

He’d rather not, but Satoru has found out that it’s been quite difficult to say no to his girlfriend. So, he puts his own internal and external battles to the side, making a right turn and exhaling. “The mall?”

“Yes, baby. Thank you so much.”

He hums back in response. “Be there in ten, wait outside.” Once again, he hangs up and a suffocating silence fills his car. Hands tightening around the wheel, he reels himself in with a big inhale, then exhales. He can’t show these sorts of emotions in front of the woman, for she’ll no doubt question and question about what’s wrong, which will then lead to an argument. He doesn’t need arguments.

As Satoru sees the mall in the distance, he’s overrun by the sudden determination. The determination to find you and meet his son.

“Just one more question, Koji. Then let’s eat dinner, how does that sound?”

The young boy groans in annoyance, the math work of simple addition problems laid out in front of him. He hates math, almost as much as you, excelling in other subjects like English and Art. “But Mama……” he drags the words out in a childish manner.

Plating two plates of tonkatsu chicken with curry, one plate smaller than the other, you turn to your son who now has a pout on his face. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “You can do it, you did the other ones so well.”

Sitting next to him, you look over at his workbook. Just one more problem. It’s a problem consisting of three numbers, 5, 23, and 6. Simple in your eyes, but a disastrous monstrosity in the eyes of a five-year-old. “Mama will help you, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” Koji grumbles, reluctantly grabbing his red pencil again.

Times like these you cherish. Sure, it’s mundane and not very exciting. But it’s the little things that matter most to you. Helping your kids with homework, helping them learn to ride a bike, tie their laces, it’s all wonderful experiences from your perspective. Proof of the fact that your chubby little baby isn’t very little anymore, growing into his own person. Although, the more he grows, the more he’s starting to resemble his father. It’s scary at times, when he looks at you and you get random flashbacks.

Eating dinner and washing up is another thing you love. After such a hectic day, you just want to unwind with your son. You had put in your PTO for the convenience store a month in advance; after a particularly hard month. Finishing at 5:00pm, like most people do, is a breath of fresh air.

You let Koji tire himself out in the tub, then the living room, to which he has Cars playing (his favorite movie at the time). He plays with his own small set of matching cars, while you sweep the kitchen. Your eyes flicker over to your phone that lays face up on the island, a bubbling sensation forming in your being, one of contemplation. You wonder to yourself, would you call Satoru? You know his number by heart, he most likely hasn’t changed it.

After the breakup, you cut off all contact with him and his friends, even choosing to get a new phone and new number, just to avoid any possibly drives of texting him, or to avoid him texting you. You quite literally wanted to erase every memory about him.

Kinda hard to do that when you’re raising his carbon copy.

After another blind minute, you pause your sweeping and grab your cellular device. You’re about to grab Suguru’s business card from your purse when a sudden question hits you.

How was he able to call you earlier at work if you had never given your number to him in the first place?

Your brows knit together while you come up with any possible solutions and reasoning to that thought, coming up blank. Seriously, how did he call you? Without thinking, you go to your recent calls, pressing the first one, and raising your phone to your ear.

It rings for about a second, before Suguru’s coaxing voice follows. “Hello?”

“How did you get my number?”

“What?”

“How did you get my number? I didn’t give it to you at the store.”

You can practically hear the way he’s trying to formulate an answer. Coming up with a shitty one. “I just…guessed.”

You say nothing, your eyes narrowing on a certain spot on the blank white walls of your kitchen.

Another second passes before he gives in, too easily. “Okay, okay. Look, I don’t want to sound creepy or anything but—“

“Were you stalking me?”

“What?! No! Of course not, Y/N. I’d never do that.”

“Then tell me how you got my number without me telling you.”

He sighs. “…I have a friend. He’s in the law enforcement and I…may have asked around. But before you get any ideas, I was worried. You just fell off the face of the Earth and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You can’t stop the huff that leaves you. Should you feel complimented that he went out of his own way to do all this or invaded? Maybe both. Honestly, you did that all for a reason. And he blatantly went behind yours, probably everyone’s, back to get some information on you in a shady way. Isn’t that illegal or something? “Suguru, when people do that, it doesn’t mean they want to be found.”

“I know, Y/N. But I was worried, so was Shoko and Satoru—“

“Does he know my number too?” You ask, already feeling your panic run up your veins, boy straightening into a stiff position.

“No, no, he doesn’t. Just me.” He quickly relieves you.

You guess that’s somewhat better. Although you still feel mildly annoyed at Suguru for what he did. “Is that all you know?” The way he doesn’t respond immediately makes you feel even more frustrated, jaw clenching.

“I….” He lets out a heavy breath. “No, it’s not.”

“What else do you fucking know?”

He winces at your now harsh tone of voice, though he knows it’s all expected. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just wanted your number, I swear. But when you’re looking for that kind of stuff, other things pop up like…address and…yeah.”

If only he could see your expression right now. “You know where I fucking live?”

“Yes, Y/N….”

Okay, now your privacy is very invaded. You have never really gotten angry with Suguru, let alone get into an argument. He always knew when to stop, what not to say to make someone else feel worse, but did he just get fucking dumb after all these years? “…are you serious?” You know he is, not even giving him the chance to answer your rhetorical question. “Fuck you, Suguru. I can’t believe you—you completely—I don’t even know what to tell you right now.”

You can hear the guilt in his voice, tone softening. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I had the best intentions, I was never going to visit you or call you without your specific permission to.”

“Did I give you permission to call me earlier?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Exactly.” With another scoff, you bite your lip, picking the correct words to voice out. You wouldn’t say you’re a word vomit person, usually. But right now, you just feel…slightly weirded out. All this time, you thought you had solitude. But Suguru knew where you were this entire time? “Goodbye, Suguru.”

“Y/N, wai—“

“Don’t. If I need you, I’ll tell you. But right now I don’t want to speak to you.”

He pauses, feeling his gut tighten. Nonetheless, he nods and mutters. “Okay, I’ll give you space. Just please know I’m sorry and I really didn’t have bad intentions.”

Seems like this is the second time today he’s apologizing to you. You don’t like it. Without another word, you end the call, putting your phone back on the hard surface of the island. Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on, seriously?

One minute you’re stressing about getting evicted, then you have to worry about Satoru somehow running into you, and now you find out Suguru has just casually known your address all these years. Why is all of this deciding to be sprung on you all at once? Out of no where? The world must be punishing you for every unholy deed you’ve done in your life; it really doesn’t seem fair. At all. Can’t things just go right for once in your life? You just want to go at least a day without external stressors fucking you over in every way possible.

Of course, you’re unlucky. That’s just how things have always been for you. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, and you’re the punchline to every cruel joke. The thought of Suguru knowing your address sends a cold, uncomfortable shiver down your spine. What else does he know? What else has he been hiding?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. You sit down heavily on the edge of your worn-out couch, its cushions sagging beneath you as though they, too, are tired of carrying your weight. You bury your face in your hands, the skin of your palms rough against your cheeks, and take a deep, shaky breath.

Satoru (and Suguru). Their names alone bring up a storm of emotions you can barely keep bottled up. You’ve worked so hard to keep them, and everything they represent, in the past. Yet here they are, forcing their way back into your life like unwelcome ghosts.

You glance at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table, mocking you with their bold red lettering. As if you didn’t already know you were drowning. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting the tide.

You watch Koji focus on the bright screen, moving his toy cars in unison with the movie. Willing yourself to worry about the now, to convince yourself that you’re not done, that there’s still some fight left in you.

However, that seems to be proving harder each and every single day.

It’s a chilly, but sunny winter day. The sidewalk filled with other people going about their day. You’re wearing a black trenchcoat, along with a scarf. Hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat as little puffs of white air leave your mouth, a stark piece of evidence of how cold it is today. The heels of your shoes clacking down the concrete, making your way to the familiar cafe of Latte Lounge.

Saturdays are supposed to be happy days, a final breath of fresh air after the business of the weekdays prior. The day where people enjoy Mother Nature and what she has to offer, a day of sleeping in, a day of no responsibilities.

A woman like you has no Saturdays. It’s like every day is a cold, hard Monday.

You finally spot the cafe, its large, glass windows giving you a sneak peek to the liveliness that resides inside. Of course, most people do choose to go to cafes on Saturdays. Especially this early in the morning. Walking in, the small bell above the door dings. The workers behind the counter greet you; while you give them a half greeting back, your eyes scan the environment. It takes a few seconds, but you see Mr. Ito sitting at a table for two in the corner.

You prepare yourself with a heavy sigh, forcing your feet to maneuver you over to the man who smiles and stands once he sees you approaching. “Ms. Y/N, good morning.”

“Good morning.” You’re a little caught off guard when he takes the empty seat from across from him and pulls it out, a silent move of help. Sitting down, he pushes your chair in then walks back over to his own. He laces his fingers together on top of the table. “Get whatever you’d like, on me, remember?”

“Oh, I’m not very thirsty right now.”

“No, please. It’s my pleasure, especially for meeting with me so early this morning.”

A part of you wants to deny his niceness. But, he did cause you to lose money you could’ve still had to spare if you didn’t have to call in Sana to watch Koji. And well, coffee always makes you feel better. “Just an iced vanilla latte.”

He nods and stands up. “Great, I’ll be back.”

Watching him go up to the counter and order, you look back down at your lap. Koji misbehaving sounds odd, he’s always been an obedient kid. Of course he has his moments, but he understands when to listen and when to goof around. A few minutes later, Mr. Ito sits back down with two cups of coffee, sliding yours over to you. You thank him and sip. Hm, not too bad.

There’s a small silence that flows over you two as you taste your coffees, but you wait for him to speak first. He did schedule this little meeting, after all. He clears his throat. “So, Ms. Y/N, again thank you for meeting with me.”

You nod. “Of course, Mr. Ito. Anything for Koji.”

Mr. Ito smiles, his hand waving you off. “Oh please, call me Haruto.”

Already trying to get on a first name basis. Simply nodding again, you raise an eyebrow for him to continue.

“Anywho, like I said earlier this week, I have concerns about Koji’s behavior. You see, he’s had about six instances where he doesn’t listen to me when I say it’s time for silent reading time. I understand he’s a talkative child, but he usually does not act out like this. Would you happen to have any idea as to why he is behaving this way so suddenly?”

“No, I don’t. Koji listens well, and he hasn’t come to me specifically about getting in trouble.” You respond, lips pursing.

Mr. Ito nods in understanding. “I can assume so, but his behavior has started affecting his peers, as well.”

You sit up straighter in your chair. “In what way?”

“Well,” Mr. Ito tilts his head, seemingly recounting the times Koji has misbehaved. “The students who sit around him have started coming to me, complaining about how Koji doesn’t leave them alone. They feel as if he’s taking away from their learning.”

What? Not to mention that that sounds quite…interesting for other five year olds to say, but no way Koji has been that bad. Maybe it’s your bias as his parent, but this is brand new to you, very brand new. Even when he’s home, Koji always insists on doing his homework before playing or eating dinner. So really, you’re not sure how to react to this surge of new information about your own child. “I really don’t know, Mr. Ito. I mean, Koji is a great boy, he listens very well to me and the other adults in his life. I’m just as shocked as you are right now.”

Mr. Ito leans back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I’m not doubting your parenting skills. Koji’s clearly a bright and energetic boy. Maybe too energetic for some of his classmates to handle.” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent there, something you can’t quite place. “It’s possible he’s just seeking attention in ways that might not be obvious at home.”

You nod slowly, though his words don’t sit right with you. Koji doesn’t come across as attention-seeking at all. If anything, he’s a bit reserved until he’s comfortable around someone. “I’ll talk to him tonight and see if I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mr. Ito says, his smile deepening as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s closing some invisible gap between the two of you. “You’ve always struck me as a very attentive parent.”

The compliment lands awkwardly, and you find yourself straightening your back again, instinctively pulling away from his lingering gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Ito,” you say curtly, steering the conversation back to its purpose. “I just want to make sure Koji’s doing well and that his behavior isn’t affecting his classmates.”

“Of course,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “And I’m here to help however I can. We could even set up regular meetings if you’d like, to make sure we stay on the same page about Koji’s progress.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, your polite tone edging into firmness. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

His smile falters for a brief moment, but he quickly recovers, leaning back in his chair as though he hadn’t just been testing the waters. “Understood. Please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything. My door is always open.”

You nod, feeling a distinct shift in the atmosphere—one you’re eager to step away from. “Well, are there any other concerns I should know about, Mr. Ito?”

He looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it. “No, Ms. Y/N. None at all, thank you for coming out.”

“Thank you for the coffee, have a nice day.” You reply, wasting no time in standing up, grabbing your drink in one hand and bag in the other. Though, his voice speaking again causes you to stop.

“Ms. Y/N,” Mr. Ito’s voice stops you just as you push your chair back. You glance at him over your shoulder, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “I really hope I didn’t come across as too forward earlier. I’m just...invested in making sure Koji has everything he needs to thrive.”

You offer a polite smile, settling the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Ito. I appreciate that.”

He smiles, but there’s a pause before he continues. “It’s rare, you know, to see a parent as involved as you are. It’s refreshing.”

The compliment makes you pause, and you clutch your coffee cup a little tighter. “Well, Koji’s my world,” you reply simply, brushing off the remark.

“As he should be.” Mr. Ito leans back in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his own drink. “But I imagine that must get exhausting sometimes, especially since you seem to handle everything on your own.” His tone is casual, but there’s a softness to it, as if he’s inviting you to confide in him.

You blink, his words catching you off guard. Is he fishing for something? “It’s not always easy,” you admit cautiously, “but that’s just part of being a parent.”

“True,” he says with a small nod, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “Still, you shouldn’t hesitate to lean on the people around you when you need to. It’s not a sign of weakness, you know.”

You stiffen slightly, unsure how to interpret his words. They seem innocuous enough, but the way his gaze flickers toward you feels... calculated. “I manage just fine, thank you,” you reply, keeping your tone light but firm.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, raising his hands slightly as if to placate you. “You strike me as someone who handles things with grace. It’s admirable.”

You glance at your watch, eager to end the conversation. “Well, I should get going. I’ll talk to Koji about everything we discussed.”

“Of course.” Mr. Ito stands as you do, his smile as steady as ever. “Thank you again for meeting me. And...if you ever want to talk more, even just about life in general, I’d be happy to listen.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you force another polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.”

“I can walk you to your car, I’m heading out as well.” He quickly suggests.

You shake your head almost instantly, smile feeling more narrow. “No need, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“But I—“

“Thank you again, but I really must go.” You cut him off, feeling your patience run thin and the desire to be cordial and polite stretching too much. You nod stiffly and turn around to briskly walk out the cafe. However, just as you do so, you collide into something, or someone.

Your open-lidded coffee fumbles a bit in your hand, quickly steadying it. Though it does manage to stain the white shirt of the person you just bumped into. Just great. You hold back a wince and apologize. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t—“

Your words leave you, your breath feeling like it’s been stolen straight from your chest. Every hair on your body stands up straight, your heart falling straight to your ass like you’ve just hit the biggest drop on a rollercoaster. You know that feeling when you question if something is real or not, pleading with yourself and every deity watching that it’s not? Well, that’s exactly how you feel right now.

It feels like a spotlight has been shone on you without your consent and you suddenly want to throw up. Because as your eyes have moved up to profusely apologize to the stranger, a bucket of water filled with nostalgia and past memories drowns you.

The bright blue, unmistakable irides stare back down at you. A million memories play on repeat, but one thing’s for certain.

The past has never felt so close, and you suddenly want to erase it all and scream.

a/n: the dreaded reunion is here! thank you for reading and the tremendous support! <3 stay tuned for next chap, sorry if yall thought these two were boring, chapter 3 will be getting more into it

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins @sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited @duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee @devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts

[leclarifies]

i love you. it's ruining my life. (MV33)

✰ max verstappen x popstar!ex!reader ✰

summary: you and max have been broken up for four years now, going no contact for the entirety of those years. never bothering to contact eachother but he invites you to one of his races one day after the last show of your tour, who were you to say no?

genre: angst (im sorry)

wc: 3k

a/n: AHHH, THIS WAS WAS A DOOZY!!!!! i loved writing this (i mostly just like hurting myself more than anything). kind of dark themes tho, ooc max bc he vvv loving and would never cheat on his lover. thank you so much for 100 followers btw!!!!!! i wrote this as a 100 follower special :3 thank you so much for my supporting my short journey as a tumblr writer, you guys inspire me to write even more for you guys. can you imagine that's it's been a week of writing and i've already gained 100 followers?? i love you guys so much.

warnings: mentions of existing relationship with kelly, cheating

"thought of calling ya, but you won't pick up. another fortnight lost in america." - taylor swift, 'fortnight'

isn't it ironic that careers can really separate you from what truly made you, you? being a popstar, touring for months on end, surrounding yourself with new people, new opportunities, made it hard for you to reconnect with the people that helped you from day one.

it wasn't like you cut them off, or stopped talking to them. you tried. you really tried, but sometimes life goes on and people forgive and forget. your old life before you started your career was slowly being etched away and replaced with new pieces.

and maybe that was a bad thing.

"on stage in 2 minutes," a voice snapped you out of your trance, you looked up. you looked amazing in your sparkly dress, it was the last leg of your tour and you were touring in europe.

you had been offered to attend a formula one race this weekend after all of your shows had been concluded, you've been thinking about it, but you're not sure you want to go. one of the people from said past was in attendance and you're not sure if you wanted to immerse yourself in that again.

you didn't think about it for long though, you were due for a show and a show was what you're going to give.

it wasn't long until the weekend, friday to be exact and you had accepted the offer of being on the formula one paddock, you knew that a certain ex-boyfriend was going to be there, racing on the track and you were invited personally by him, which was why you were so skeptical to go.

POPSTAR Y/N BREAKS UP WITH F1 DRIVER MAX VERSTAPPEN.

you remembered the headlines, you remembered what you let go of but seeing someone you still loved after your break up almost four years ago stung a little bit.

you couldn't blame him though, you were the one to break things off all those years ago. it wasn't because you had a terrible relationship with him, but it was more because you both didn't have time for eachother and you could see it in his face everytime you came home to monaco after a long show.

"i miss you, when can you finally stay and actually stay awhile?" max's face looked pitiful and you could only look down at your feet, you felt guilty. you wanted this career, he pushed you for this career but sometimes you wished that you could split yourself in two to cater to both his needs and yours.

you look back up at him, locking eyes with his stormy blue eyes, "i don't know maxie, maybe next month? i don't really have a schedule for next month, i can stay in monaco with you for awhile—"

"you said that last month, when are you actually going to be free schatje?"

"max, i can't give you a definite timeline—"

"what's the point of me being in a relationship with you when i can barely see you?"

it hurt to hear those words come out of his mouth.

maybe that's when you finally realized that he deserved someone normal, someone who wasn't a famous singer and could actually spend time and be there for him.

but here you were, amidst the paddock with a singular security guard because you didn't think you needed more than one, considering security around the paddock was tight in of itself.

the red bull's garage had been nice to you, offering you anything you possibly could need while being on a grand prix, you had politely declined any type of special treatment though, wanting to feel like a person for once in your life.

you wouldn't say your job is the hardest in the world, never. doing what you loved while meeting all of your fans was going to be the highlight of your day, but sometimes the job came with crazy fans that would invade your privacy for selfish reasons, and it made you a tiny bit stressed.

you remember starting out from the netherlands, starring in small gigs before getting signed to a mega corporation in america, which was when you moved. you slowly lost contact with your friends, but you were sure they were proud of you although you weren't proud that you lost contact with them.

you knew that if you contacted them that it would be awkward, there was just no way they would even remember you, right?

you were walking about aimlessly around the paddock, it was free practice day which meant that after the allotted time of the free practice, drivers were free to roam around the paddock however they wanted. you were scared on what you had to face today.

you told yourself to just keep calm, take whatever you got this weekend and just react like a sane person.

saturday came and went, you attended the paddock to watch the qualifying session, of course, max came out on top. was it even a surprise to you? you knew he was the best of the best, you never expected less of him, even after all these years.

sunday was here and maybe it was the anxiety, but you felt like throwing up when you saw max approach you.

"y/n, it's good to see you."

god, those eye-smiles. you could never get tired of them.

"hi max, congrats on starting out pole for this weekend," you told him as you shook hands with him, he was all smiles.

it felt good to see him happy.

"how has the paddock been treating you?" max asked, gesturing all around him, "have you tried the food? it's really good."

you nod as you let go of his hand, clasping it with your other hand, a nervous habit, "yeah, the food's good. how have you been? i haven't talked to you in awhile," a nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat, you were nervous to see him, maybe it was those damn butterflies in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of when he looked at you with those blue eyes of his.

"i know, you've been quite busy right?" max laughed at you, he felt silly conversing with his ex-girlfriend like this, like they didn't have a past.

you could only nod and smile back at him, shoulders tense, "yeah, touring's been eventful. it's the last leg of the tour so i decided to come, thank you for the invite by the way, i really appreciate—"

"max, who's this?" a voice came from behind you, quite condescending if you did say so yourself, cutting you off, you turned your head around to see his girlfriend and his girlfriend's child coming into view, walking towards max and wrapping max with her arm as a possessive embrace.

max kissed her cheek, and that hurt. you didn't want to know why, but you knew. he spoke up afterwards, "this is y/n, she's a singer. i wanted her to come because she had a show here, thought the timing was quite convenient for her. y/n, this is my girlfriend, kelly piquet. she's a model."

you extended your hand as a form of hello before introducing yourself, "hello, i'm y/n—"

"yeah, i know who you are," kelly cut you off again, you were quite taken aback by the hostility, your hand left hanging but then again, max was talking to one of his ex-girlfriends. you thought you would react the same way, so you didn't take it too much to heart. her face was something you'd describe as an angry, possessive tiger, brows furrowed, frown on full display.

"i didn't mean to take time away from your boyfriend. i was just having a little chat pre-race," you tried to give her a smile while returning your hand back to your side, but kelly was adamant about standing her ground.

little penelope was looking at you like she had stars in her eyes, you smiled at her. as if it was a sign of whether she should speak up, she starting speaking to you directly, "hi, i really love your songs. do you think you can stay in the red bull garage and we can take pictures together?"

you giggle and bend down to her level and pat her head, "hi little p, of course we can take pictures together— that's if your mother lets me," you acknowledged that this little girl was no ordinary little girl and was your ex-boyfriend's girlfriend's child.

"can we all talk in private please?" kelly excused the three of them away before you could even give her a response but you understood her. standing back up before walking off deeper into the paddock.

MAX'S POV

"i don't understand why you would invite her!" kelly was pacing around the motorhome, here we were fifteen minutes before race start and here my girlfriend was still yelling over something that happened two hours ago.

"kelly, i just thought it was a good idea. i wanted to invite her because i know p was such a big fan of hers—"

"she's your ex for god's sake, max!" kelly yelled out yet again, "why would i ever approve of her coming to one of your races? let alone be near to p??" her pacing was more feverish now, like she was scared.

i could only sigh, honestly i wasn't too worried about this problem at the moment. the only thing on my mind was the race and only the race.

"look, can we talk about this when i've finished with my race? i really need to focus and you keeping me locked up in here isn't going to help with it," i stood up from my seat, i didn't want to hear anything else come out of her mouth other than a 'okay' and letting me walk out of here.

"don't you think our relationship is at stake here—?"

"if you don't let me go out into the garage, then we're nothing kelly," i say with finality, i wasn't going to let her ruin a race, "i told you, we will solve and talk about this issue later, but you chose to lock me up in here. there will be nothing to salvage if you don't let me do my job."

kelly wordlessly stepped out of the way of the door and let me go, thankfully just with enough time where i could run down and get into the garage, getting me in racing gear.

thankfully the red bull mechanics and officials were understanding enough to let me rush and get inside of my car, getting into the chasis just at the right moment where we would need to drive out.

it was going to be a fine race for me. i knew it. i had enough confidence in myself to know whether i could win a race, and this was one of them.

"and that's p1 max, great race," gp was in my ear, i was proud of myself for winning, but kelly was gnawing the back of my mind. although, the first face i saw when i got out of the car was y/n's.

it felt like my heart stopped beating, i thought i got rid of those stupid butterflies ages ago, but nothing ever beat seeing her smile after i finished a race. she looked so beautiful, so ethereal but i washed those thoughts out of my head.

i had a girlfriend.

i can't run up and hug her because she's my ex. i have a loving relationship in front of me. what was i thinking?

kelly was nowhere to be found in the celebratory pit, i thought that maybe she was still too angry to face me at the moment. it stung a little bit, but she'll get over it. i'm sure.

the night moves on fast, and somehow i found myself still in the garage fixing a few things with the sim, most of the mechanics and staff were long gone. with kelly nowhere to be found. sometimes i felt bad, for still harboring feelings for an ex that left me four years ago.

my relationship with her felt so different with kelly's...

she was like fresh air you would breathe after exiting a club in the middle of the night, the smoke that clouded the air dissipating almost instantly after that fresh air hit your lungs. somehow, even four years later i still find her in little things i do everyday.

against my better judgement, i picked up my phone and i gave her a call.

"hello?"

i breathed out a sigh of relief when i realized she hadn't changed her phone number yet.

"it's me," were the words that left my lips, "you wanna come celebrate with me tonight?" i was picking on my jeans, i didn't want her to say no. i just wanted to spend a little time with her.

"what about your girlfriend? isn't she going to be even more upset with you—"

"can we not talk about her right now?" i closed my eyes and leaned back against the chair i was sitting on, hearing her voice again after a long time just... it felt right.

"max..."

"don't... just don't. i know what you're gonna say and i know it's wrong but i just... i can't do this today. i just won today and the first face i saw was yours, she didn't bother to show up. you can't tell me how to feel, y/n," i rubbed my temples, "meet me in the lobby of my hotel tonight. i just wanna see you."

"if i say okay, will this be a one-time thing?" y/n asked, i could hear the soft rustles of her moving things around, she was probably already in her hotel, resting from her tour when i had called.

"better yet, just drop the address of where you're staying. i'll come to you."

the first thing max did when he saw you was crash his lips into yours, you wanted to push him away, be the better person and tell him that he has a girlfriend but your arms couldn't do it.

your lips disconnected after awhile, he was breathing heavy, face flushed, hands all over you, "i've missed you."

you hum a response, you could barely get out a response when you feel his lips on yours again, this was wrong. all the alarms in your body were telling you to push him off, to yell at him, to reprimand him for basically cheating on his girlfriend.

but you didn't.

and maybe that made you a bad person, but at the moment you didn't care. you just wanted to feel him once more.

you woke up the next morning, cuddled up against max, both of you bare and indecent. he hadn't left yet, maybe he didn't want to leave.

the reality of last night crashed down onto you as you realized what you've done.

"max?"

"yes, schatje?"

the little nickname he gave you never went away. he used to call you that all the time but the feelings that came with it was no longer endearment but horror.

"you need to get back to your girlfriend, i don't think i can do this," you unwrap yourself from his grasps and sit up, back facing him, tears filling your eyes.

"woah, woah. schatje—"

"please, max. i feel like shit. you have a girlfriend and i just slept with you. last night was a mistake," you breathed out and hugged your knees close to your chest. you felt his hand on your back.

"y/n, what are you saying—" you cut him off before he could say anything else.

"i can't give you what you want max. we can't be together anymore. our story ended four years ago, please don't make this mistake. you're going to regret it," you quickly got up and away from his close proximity and got dressed.

you didn't know how to face him anymore.

"can we please talk about it at least? you can't lie and say that you don't feel the same way i do," max's voice came from behind you, you were pacing around the room, you were stressed. he was sitting there, shirtless with his pants on now.

"i do max! and that's the worst part because i knew you're in a relationship but i still let this happen. i am a horrible person. i love you and it's slowly ruining my life. i should've known better!" you turn around to face him, your face red, tears streaming down your face.

max could only sigh and raked a hand through his hair, "schatje..."

"we can't be together max, you know it. i can never give you what she gives you. she can be with you almost all the time max, you threw that all away for me? for someone who can't give you time of day?!" you sob into your hands.

you felt arms wrapping around you as you sob into his embrace.

MAX VERSTAPPEN BREAKS UP WITH GIRLFRIEND KELLY PIQUET ONLY AFTER A FEW MONTHS OF BEING TOGETHER.

you scroll past that headline as you got ready for your appearance to promote your new album, it came out two days ago and you were to debut the new songs on jimmy kimmel.

the tortured poets department.

you hadn't talked to max ever since that night, ever since he tenderly kissed your forehead and told you it was going to be okay and that he would figure it out. he had been blowing up your phone, asking to meet but you didn't have it in your heart to meet him after destroying his relationship like that.

that was two months ago.

you were due on stage in around an hour and that's where you would sing your heart out, leaving whatever pieces of your old self behind when you slept with max for the final time.

"i love you, it's ruining my life. i touched you for only a fortnight."

hello! thank u for reading this fic hehe, hope u guys enjoyed it. thank you again for 100 followers!!!!

[yandere-romanticaa]

I feel like I'm 15 again. Todoroki was my first BNHA love, it's only fair that he gets a little something.

Shoto, who has had his eye on you ever since his UA days. He was enrolled in the hero course while you were in the general course, leading a completely separate life from his own. You had your own interests, hobbies, friends.

It was so beautiful to admire, from a safe distance of course.

Shoto was aware of his popularity amongst the student body due to his powerful quirk and impeccable grades. Whenever he would walk down the hall to class the murmurs of hundreds of students would follow, their beady and curious eyes either glaring daggers of envy or were in absolute awe of him.

Either way, he did not care, not for any single one of them. He was never too keen to call the people around him "extras" in the same way Bakugo did but whenever he would catch sight of you in the hall, every single possible distraction really did become a hassle. His cool mask was always under the dangerous threat of melting at the mere sight of you, it would even triple if you talked to, or if God was feeling merciful, accidentally touch him. His mask of indifference would slip for a brief second, dual eyes widening in shock as he would get a whiff of your perfume and would curse the fact that there were so many people around.

If he could die with his nose buried in your neck, it would be the sweetest way to go.

Shoto would become paranoid of the thought of being discovered. Sometimes, just sometimes when he was feeling just a little bit bolder than usual, he would press himself just ever so closer to you in the cramped hall and would take in every nook and cranny he possibly could. The average student would think nothing of this as he was probably just in a rush to get to class. He would also always apologize politely, Shoto would even try giving you a sweet smile while doing so.

However. The people who knew Shoto were not your average students.

Bakugo was not known for his subtlety and that legacy still lives on. On a Friday evening when the last bell had rung and the classroom was empty, the hotheaded lad trapped Shoto in a corner.

"Just say how you feel dumbass." Bakugo had said, his gruff tone slightly quieter than usual.

At least he had enough grace to not be a complete jackass.

With his eyes closed and lips pressed in a thin line Shoto had shook his head in defiance. Bakugo made the entire situation sound so easy, as if Shoto could just walk up to you and ask to hang out. You were a kind person and would most likely say yes, but Shoto was not so sure if you could handle the sheer intensity of his feelings. This, whatever this was, was all consuming, it left Shoto feeling breathless and restless, for who knows how long. You made him lose focus but you also made him so much stronger at the same time. He would space out in class a bit too often for comfort, which lead to Aizawa scolding him until the tips of his ears turned red.

This was so much more than a simple crush.

Bakugo shrugged his shoulders and exited the classroom. "Whatever you say icy hot. Just don't start crying if things don't go down the way you want them to."

Time passes, you all graduate. Shoto still pines helplessly from a distance but he has gotten just a little bit closer to you. Sometimes you meet up and hang out, he could always feel the tips of his fingers twitching in anticipation, eager to hold you but he kept his distance.

He didn't want to scare you off.

Even more time has passed and Shoto is a professional hero now. He is an honest worker and has built up a strong reputation. Everyone wants to be him or be with him.

But he still wants you.

Even after all these years, he still longs for your touch. He longs to be the only man in your life, the one you come home to.

Shoto watches you from his office window, his eyes glued to you and the person you were so lovingly fondling over. He grits his teeth and clenches his fist so tight that his knuckles turn white as snow.

That should be him down there. He should be the one who gets to hold you, touch you, kiss you.

It should be Shoto Todoroki who you love. Not whoever that extra is. He swiftly turns his gaze away from the window, a sick amusement coming over him. "Extra" really was a fitting term for whoever was down there.

Shoto should have listened to Bakugo all those years ago. He should have listened to him. He may be a cocky loudmouth but he was right and you had slipped right away from him.

Finally, it was time to take matters into his own two hands. He was done longing and lingering in the shadows. He wasn't too keen on manipulating the hero system he swore to protect but damn it all. It had to be done.

Killing your little lover was so easy, it came to him like breathing. The beauty of his quirk that it was so versatile, he could come up with so many creative ways into disposing that pesky thorn in his side. Hot flames and horrid ice marred the flesh of your little lover but Shoto was clever. Oh yes, Shoto was indeed so clever as he made sure to keep the physical torture to the minimum, just in case someone decided to get smart and start suspecting him.

Besides, it was so much more impactful to gloat over his victory. He was the one who was going to take care of you for the rest of your days together.

Not even death could tear you away from him.

Shoto watched the life being snuffed away from the poor sucker as he cried and spat out pools of sweat and blood. There were no heroes here that could help him, not a single soul was in sight.

He was completely in Shoto's mercy. And he was not going to give him a single drop of it.

The pro hero tossed the lifeless body aside and hid it sloppily, because he knew that you would be worried, that people would come looking. He cleaned up the scene of the crime and secured himself an alibi, just to be safe.

Shoto started walking towards his office but the adrenaline of the encounter still pumped in his veins, his mind was all over the place.

And your face was front and center.

Instead of his original plan of waiting it out, Shoto made the hasty decision to just.... Take you. He had waited for years, and years and years. He would be gentle, naturally.

And with time, he was positive that you would come to appreciate him.

And just like that, he was at your front door, ringing the doorbell like crazy. You opened the door in a worried frenzy, dressed in your comfortable pj's which Shoto just adored.

Suddenly, he had pushed you inside of your apartment and closed the door with his foot, freezing it ever so slightly with his quirk. He pinned you to the ground, both of your arms in a single tight grip as the other ever so gently caressed your face. His gaze was wild but focused, so utterly lovesick that there wasn't a single word which could describe the range of emotions he was feeling.

Finally, after all these years Shoto had you where he wanted you. And there was nothing that could change that.

[strangersteddierthings]

Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

-

Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

[willieverseetheland]

like you mean it (pt. 1)

Dexter Morgan x fem!reader

Summary: You haven't felt very appreciated by your (serial killer) boyfriend recently, so he shows you how much he really cares.

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, implied smut, language

Pt. 2

From the moment that you met Dexter, you knew he wasn't like everyone else. He can be a little socially inept at times, as well as insensitive. However, at the same time, he's incredibly loving, charming, and funny. You love him and all his quirks. Compared to the men you’ve been with in the past, he’s a saint. He's respectful, kind, and you actually feel safe with him.

But at the end of the day, he’s still a man.

He has a hard time seeing things from your perspective, which can cause a lot of arguments, that are almost always one-sided. You try not to nag but it's hard feeling like the only one putting in effort. He often forgets the things that you tell him. You figure he doesn't find importance in the same things that you do. Lately you've been feeling a little neglected. Monday you asked him to come over for dinner, but he said he was busy. Wednesday you asked him to go lunch with you on his lunch break, he said he was busy yet again. You had a movie date planned for Friday; he bailed last minute because he was...busy.

You always get excited thinking he’s going to say yes, planning cute outfits, spending time on your makeup and hair, all for him to say no. You end up sitting on your couch in front of the tv, with a pint of ice cream instead.

Finally you convinced him to come over tonight. You would love for it to be a relaxing and romantic night, but you know you need to have a talk with him. You hate having these talks because it can feel like talking to a brick wall at times. You know he means well; he just doesn't see it the same way or doesn't even mean to make these mistakes in the first place. But it is hurting you, and you're tired of feeling like your boyfriend doesn't want you.

Of course, he won't be here until late. He has to "take care of a few things first". You knew blood-spatter analysis was a complicated job, but you didn't think it would require this much overtime...

Even though you're slightly mad at him, you don't want him to starve so you make dinner for the two of you. As you're setting the table you hear your apartment door unlock.

In walks Dexter, with his adorable face and dorky smile. You may be irritated but you can't help but smile at the sight of him.

"I made dinner, would you like a beer?" you ask

"Sure" he says with a soft smile

He comes over to give you a kiss on the forehead. You make a half-ass smile in response. When you don't kiss him back or even look at him, he can tell something is wrong.

"What did I do?" he frowns

You immediately sigh

"Dexter, I...I just feel like you don't care. About me, about us."

"What? That's not true at all, why do you think that?" He exclaims

"You've been so distant recently. Gone all the time, always bailing on our dates, always busy, you hardly call or text! I just wish you would put in a little more effort, that's all." You can feel tears begin to form; you didn't realize you were this upset about it.

"Y/n, you know I'm busy with this case, they just really need me right now." He's looking at you, looking through you. You can't read any emotion or remorse on his face. This only makes you want to cry more.

"It feels like I don't mean anything to you! I feel like you don't want me anymore." You can feel your face getting hot and your chest tightening. "Fuck, do not cry right now" you think.

You bring your hands to your face, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to ward off the tears.

"What do you mean? Of course you matter to me; I've just been busy." he has a look of confusion, like he can't understand why you would feel this way. He's here now, isn't that all that matters?

"Well, it just doesn't feel like you mean that."

"Well I do, you're my girlfriend, of course I want you." he sighs

"Then prove it! Show me that you mean it." You look into his eyes, you think you finally see it, regret, remorse, guilt.

He brings his hand up to your cheek, he finally sees how upset you are. You sink into his touch, stepping closer to him.

"How? Change? How do you want me to show you that I want you? That I care?" He's looking into your eyes, brows furrowed.

Even with all the hurt and anger, all you want to do in this moment is kiss him. Feel his body against yours. Not only has it been long since you've had any quality time or even a deep conversation, but you also haven't had sex in weeks. You feel guilty for thinking that in this moment, but you just want to feel close to him, connected.

You place your hand over his

"Stay the night. Be with me... Fuck me, like you mean it. Like you want me, like you care."

SURPRISE BITCHESSSS! I told y'all I was on my writing GRIND. If you want a part 2 lmk! Someone return the favor and write Dex fics for me please and ty <3

[wososcripts]

Face to Face (IV)

Fridolina Rolfö x reader

Summary: An attempt to make amends.

A/N: we're nearing the end!! not sure how I feel about this part... hopefully it's okay

Word Count: 3k

Warnings ⚠️: none?

PREVIOUS PART

The next few days followed in a similar manner. Alexia brought you to the pitch even though you couldn't play, and you sat there for a few hours until they were done. Occasionally Jona would come over to see you, or Olga would stop by with food. Ana Maria even drove over from Madrid to see you and take you out for the day. But mostly you slept, listened to podcasts, and thought about what the hell you were going to do about Frido.

She still hadn't spoken to you and the team was starting to notice. It's not like the two of you were very close before (at least publicly) but now it was a conscious avoidance. The rest of the girls often kept you company when they could on breaks or in between drills.

It was only after five days, on Friday afternoon, that she approached you.

“Hi…” Frido said softly.

You looked up at her from where you sat on the pitch. You had been doing light stretches on your calves, still not allowed to do anything strenuous until next week.

“Hi, Frido.” You said plainly.

You tried not to react emotionally despite the fact that this was the first time she was speaking to you since the incident. She hadn’t even called to say she was sorry. It all seemed to confirm she really didn’t give a damn about you—didn’t have the courtesy to treat you like a stranger even.

“How are you feeling?”

Her careful, soft tone enraged you.

“Not so good, actually. My head fucking hurts, I’m sick of sitting here while the rest of you play. And I’d really rather be doing anything than talking to you.”

You felt bad the second you said it. Not because she didn’t deserve it, but because this wasn’t you. You were better than that.

“Sorry, I just really would like to be left alone, Frido. Please, just leave me be. Leave me alone.”

Frido’s eyes shot towards the ground as she blinked furiously.

“Okay.”

She turned away and walked back to the field, joining Alexia and Ingrid as they talked about something. Part of you felt bad for rejecting her so quickly, but another part of you felt enraged that she had the nerve to wait this long.

Ingrid looked over at you and then back at Frido curiously.

"What did you want to say to her?" She asked in Norwegian, knowing Frido would understand.

"I don't know… just wanted to check in on how she's doing so far."

Before Ingrid could reply again, Alexia butted in.

"You need to tell her you're sorry as soon as possible."

"I just tried—clearly she isn't too keen on having me around, is she?" Frido snapped back.

The three of them stood in shock for a second, surprised at Frido’s temper. Usually she was level headed and understanding.

Alexia sighed and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Keep trying."

With that she was off to change and shower, giving Ingrid a small smile as she left.

"Frido," Ingrid rubbed her arm to catch her attention. "Why don't we go get a drink tonight and catch up? It's been a long time since we went out, just us."

Frido contemplated it momentarily, not stupid enough to miss that Ingrid clearly wanted to talk about her mood. If she accepted, she was also accepting the fact that she had to open up to her best friend sooner or later.

"All right."

-

"I don't know what to do," Frido complained, tossing back the last dregs of her beer.

Ingrid sat across from her, her own beer nearly untouched. They were sat out on the balcony of some restaurant nursing the end of the night. They hadn't met, just the two of them, in a while, Frido realized. She wished it was under better circumstances.

"Can I be honest?" Ingrid asked.

Frido nodded. She expected no less from the Norwegian—though she was incredibly kind, it wasn't common for them to sugar coat things.

"You've got to go up to her and apologize. Sincerely. One on one. And you can't be sure she's going to forgive you."

Frido knew Ingrid was talking about apologizing for more than the tackle. She wasn't privy to exactly what happened between the two of you—even in your anger you hadn't told your teammates what was going on—but it was clear something unhealthy had been a staple between the two of you.

"Mapí showed me the video. I didn't want to see it at first, you know how I am with that stuff, so worried always that it'll be one of us. But I finally saw it." Ingrid met her eyes. "The way she went down, the way you hit her, she could've been hurt much worse than she is. And you just got up and left, didn't even check on her."

There was a hint of disdain in Ingrid’s voice that inspired nausea in Frido.

"Had that been any player in a match against Barcelona, imagine how any one of us would've reacted."

Frido knew, if she had seen someone do to you what she had done herself, it would've boiled her blood. To see you lying there unmoving, would've had any player on that field aching, because you were wonderful. You didn't cause fights, you forgave people, you smiled at the opposition after each game, you spent as much time as possible with the fans. And Frido had somehow broken that, gotten you to yell and scream and cry.

"We were together." She whispered, not meeting Ingrid’s eyes. "Well, not really. We were sleeping together, I was at her place most days a week."

The waitress came by, and Frido ordered a glass of wine. She needed a bit more courage to fully get this out in the open.

"I didn't want commitment. I'm not… I didn't know how to be open about that with anyone. I was ashamed of it—she knew. She could sense it." Frido gripped the stem of her wine glass and took a sip. "She hated breaks because she knew I wouldn't talk to her until I was back in Barcelona. Right before I went back to Sweden for camp… we had a huge fight. She said she couldn't take it anymore, that I made her feel like a whore, that I tossed her aside whenever I didn't want her. And I said I didn't care."

Ingrid was silent.

"I didn't expect her to kick me out. Or to refuse to speak to me. I thought we'd fall back together, we always did. But it was different this time. And I hated it. I hated it so much it made my head spin."

Ingrid put a hand over Frido’s where it rested on the table.

"Frido, I love you. You're my best friend, okay?"

Frido nodded, wiping at a tear that was beginning to fall.

"You've got to make this right. Good people do shitty things. Really shitty things sometimes. But sometimes they're also forgiven, in time. And if you want anything with her, even friendship, you've got to apologize and explain yourself."

Frido nodded, meeting Ingrid’s eyes finally.

-

That night Frido found it difficult to get to sleep.

There wasn't any good reason for it: she had worked hard in practice all day and her body was exhausted. Her bed was comfortable, her apartment quiet. But it was empty. She had realized that she hadn't spent a week straight sleeping in her apartment for months. At least once a week she was with you, always.

But now you weren't speaking to her. You looked at her during practice, then avoided her at all costs. She hadn't even tried texting you, worried she would find her number blocked.

She contemplated calling someone to keep her company, though who would be up at one in the morning?

Eventually she fell asleep after tossing and turning for what felt like hours. She slipped away into unconsciousness, allowing her body to relax into the mattress.

Her mind, however, had different plans.

In her dreams she was in the hospital, unable to get to you. She stood at the door to your room, peering in through a small glass window. The rest of the girls were inside, holding your hand and stroking your skin as you laid in the hospital bed. Your eyes were open but you hardly moved. All she knew with certainty was that you did not want to see her. You wanted her gone. You've ruined my life, she heard you say, though your lips didn't move.

Another time you had simply disappeared. Her fault. You had moved far away, far from Barcelona, and far from her. You were happier somewhere else, with different people.

Once more you hated her. Refused to speak.

When she woke it was to a dark room and a sick feeling in her stomach. She was lonely. She wanted you next to her in bed. She wanted to see you smile and hear you laugh. She wanted to see you play great football and jump into her arms after a goal. And it terrified her to think she wouldn't get any of that again.

How was it that she could've treated you so horribly? It confused her, as if it had been someone else. How had she let her fear control her like that? And most importantly, how had she put your feelings aside so callously?

If she was going to fix anything she would need to apologize. Apologize for it all. Ingrid was right. She hadn't been there for your recovery and now it was all she wanted. The guilt of it all threatened to choke her. She thought of how scared you must've been lying on the field in pain.

Though it was only 4:30 in the morning Frido got out of bed and went to the bathroom to start a scalding hot shower. She needed a plan for how to fix things between you two.

-

It began that morning. Alexia brought you to practice. You were still living with her for the time being, until you were one hundred percent cleared. You didn't mind it, in fact it was nice to get so much time with Alexia when she was normally busy.

You walked into the locker room, so pleased to be getting into your kit for the first time in a week and a half. Even if it was just for physio work, at least you were in the uniform once more.

Unexpectedly, sitting in your locker was a small stuffed cow with a card and one of your favorite protein bars propped against it. You picked up the plushie, pressing it to your face and enjoying the softness. You were a bit of a child when it came to stuffed animals: you loved them.

The card was written in very familiar handwriting, and your heart jumped into your throat.

This made me think of you. I'd really like to apologize after practice today. Perhaps we can grab a coffee?

- Fridolina

The message was a bit stilted, but you could practically hear Frido’s hesitation on the page. She was nervous.

Just then the blonde came into the locker room to grab something from her bag. She glanced at you quickly, not sure as to your reaction.

"Frido," you called softly. You hadn't decided until that moment to try and forgive her, "I'll see you after practice."

Frido seemed shocked, but quickly her mouth transformed into a wide smile.

Practice seemed to fly by now that you were allowed to do something. The physio workers had you weight training and doing yoga to try and work your muscles that were tight from the pain you had been in. You felt like you were making progress, finally, after more than a week of sitting around.

-

The car ride with Frido was quiet. You sat in the front seat, fiddling with your fingers and checking your phone as she drove. She had music playing softly, some indie band you didn't know. It was bordering on awkward, though not quite there. You simply didn't know what to say.

Once Frido was pulling off the street to parallel park you spoke.

"I don't think I've been here before."

"I just found it a little while ago when I was wandering around desperately in need of some coffee."

The shop was cute. The outside was painted in chipping yellow paint and the shutters were open. There were a few tables outside, an eclectic set of guests seated at them. There was an old man reading the paper, a student on her laptop, and a mother with her baby. The smell of baked goods wafted from the entrance.

"The muffins are fantastic, if you want one." Frido offered cautiously.

You nodded and gestured for her to enter first.

You decided on a chai and a cinnamon muffin which did look incredible, you had to admit. When you were about to pull out your card to pay you felt a hand on your arm.

"I'll pay, please."

You allowed it, understanding that this was all part of Frido trying to ask for forgiveness. You were willing to see this to the end. It shamed you to admit but you had missed her deeply. It felt good to be near her, to smell her perfume and anticipate her ticks that you knew so well. What made you stay was the possibility that she had missed you too.

Frido carried your drinks and food to the table you picked. It was still warm enough to sit outside even with the sun setting. You tapped your foot and ate your muffin slowly, waiting on her to say something. You didn't want to speak first, but it seemed as though you might have to.

"So…" you started, trailing off to try and prompt Frido.

"I wanted to apologize. Really apologize."

You sat quietly.

"Just for the concussion you gave me?"

Frido hesitated.

"I'm still figuring things out—it's all jumbled up in my head. I was talking to Ingrid the other day and she made me realize I had to set things straight."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"I'm not explaining this well—I wanted to apologize for hurting you. And I want us to be on better terms. I wish we could start over."

"That's it?"

Your chest squeezed painfully. You thought this was the chance you had to deal with the horrible ending to your relationship, but Frido seemed to have no interest in unpacking it. You couldn't help the way your anger flared in response to the hurt you felt.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm not exactly okay, Frido." You started to stand up. "I think it's better if I left. There's no hard feelings over the concussion, I knew it was an accident. Let's just forget about all of it."

Frido stood up quickly, reaching out to grab your elbow.

"Can I drive you back?"

You shook your head.

"I'd really rather walk. It isn't far to Alexia's."

Frido looked for a second like she would push further, but then she deflated and nodded.

"See you at practice, Frido. Thank you for the coffee."

-

You couldn't help the tears that fell down your face as you walked down the streets of Barcelona. Deciding to forget the whole thing was worse than being angry about it—at least then you got some acknowledgment. Now you felt as though Frido was telling you she just wanted to smooth things over and make nice. She wanted it to be as if this thing between you never existed—all the pain and attraction gone in one fell swoop. You wanted to scream.

How were you meant to play with someone who you had so much conflict with? Surely Alexia or Jona would begin to notice sooner or later. You knew it would affect the team chemistry. The thought just made you more upset.

The tears in your eyes began to fall faster. Not only was your relationship (whatever messy bleeding thing it had been) ruined, but there was a potential for it to impact your job, your team too. What would you do then? If it came down to you or Frido you couldn't imagine Barça picking you.

Alexia noticed you were crying the second she saw you, even though you tried to hide it.

"What's wrong?" She fretted, pulling you close to her. "What happened? I thought you were with Frido this afternoon? Why did she not drop you off?"

You just shook your head, burying it in your captain's sweater. She wrapped her arms around you, quietly shushing you.

"Come, let's sit down."

You felt like a child being led to the couch and leaning in Alexia's embrace. Deep breaths eventually calmed you down so you could speak.

"I'm sorry Ale, I shouldn't be coming here like this."

Alexia shook her head.

"Nonsense. Tell me what happened. Was it Fridolina?"

"It's my own fault, I let it get like this."

"Let what get like this? The accident?"

You shook your head.

"Not the accident. Frido and I have a…we have our difficulties."

Alexia looked at you, surprised.

"Really?"

"I don't think I can tell you…you're her captain I don't want to let it affect the team."

Alexia took your hand.

"I can separate work and personal life. I'm your friend too, and it seems like you need one."

"We were seeing each other, kind of. In secret." You sighed. "We weren't exclusive, she just wanted some fun I think. I didn't."

You felt defeated. There wasn't much more to do. You just had to accept your fate.

Alexia looked at you for a moment in disbelief. She had had no idea.

"You and Frido?"

"It was a mistake."

[bangtan-junkie]

Dissonance (Part 2) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f)

Part 1, Part 2

Genre/Tags: coworker!JK, enemies to lovers, smutttttt, slow burn (ish?), ANGST

Word Count: 6799 words

Synopsis:

After being left alone and humiliated on the floor of a dirty bar bathroom by Jungkook, you had to pick yourself up off the ground (literally). You had to get even, embarrass him like he'd done to you. Maybe you were mean to him before, but you were about to become a nightmare to humble this man. Unfortunately for you, your anger was short sighted, while Jungkook's wasn't. So you never predicted how your plans might backfire on you...

Note:

it's finally fucking here omg. ik it's super late but i'm finally decently satisfied with this. i'm looking forward to writing part 3 bc that's where the tension finally breaks and y'all aren't even ready for the revenge y/n gets lol. i hope y'all enjoy this and it lives up to part 1! i'd love to know your thoughts, if you're still pissed with jk lol, and any suggestions or requests are always welcome! chatting with you guys is my fav part <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dread consumed your senses from the moment you woke up. The weekend had passed, but your chest still burned with rage at the thought of having to see Jungkook again. You hadn't even noticed the time go by over the last two days, too busy seething in your own anger. If you hated Jungkook before, you loathed him now. You forced composure as you got dressed for work. Jungkook already had the upper hand when he'd left you in the bar bathroom. He knew that you'd seen him with the girl afterwards too. You couldn't even think about whether he'd went home with her that night without being sick. After all that, the last thing you wanted was for him to think he had any kind of effect on you. You were going to go back to work with pride and confidence. At least you wanted to.

When you finally got to work, you made a beeline for your desk, pointedly not looking for Jungkook. As you settled in, one of your coworkers stopped by your desk.

"Oh hey Y/n, you feeling any better?" he asked. Your head whipped up, a gentle voice ripping you away from your resentful thoughts. You looked up at him in confusion, eyes settling on his red hair. "From Friday? You left early because you weren't feeling well?"

"Oh, right," you cleared your throat. Just then, you saw Jungkook's unmistakable figure from the corner of your eye. He was talking to someone but you could feel his eyes boring into you. Your blood began to boil but you forced yourself to stay calm. You refused to indulge him at all. "I'm feeling much better actually, thanks Jimin," you replied, shooting your coworker a sweet smile. Jimin was your acquaintance in the office; someone you could actually stand in that place. He was always kind and helpful which automatically made him better than 70% of the people there. Even though you hung out in the same circles, you never really became close friends. Probably because you were always more focused on how annoying Jungkook was whenever you were out. And you were doing it again. You made conversation to force any thoughts of him out of your mind.

"How does your hair seem more red every time I see you?" you asked with a light-hearted laugh.

"I can't be caught slacking. I put in a lot of work to keep this hair ya know," he smiled back at you.

"I still don't know how you got permission from the boss for that," you gestured to his hair. "I asked before and she shut me down so fast." Jimin laughed at the annoyed expression on your face, finding it endearing.

"I guess I'm just that charming," he shrugged, holding back a chuckle. You couldn't help but snicker. Jimin's jokes weren't that different from Jungkook's, but he wasn't obnoxious about it. Jungkook obviously believed his jokes and thought he was god's gift to the world, which made him insufferable. Jimin, on the other hand, didn't take his jokes too seriously and wasn't constantly flirting with anything that moved.

Jungkook, who was barely listening to the person talking to him, had heard your exchange with Jimin. He felt annoyance build in his chest. He knew that if he'd made the same joke, you would've been rolling your eyes and making fun of him. So why were you giggling when Jimin said it? He tried to distract himself by trying to focus on the conversation he was supposed to be having.

A quick chat with Jimin later, you turned back to your desk. You made the mistake of looking up and caught Jungkook's gaze. He looked at you, an indifferent look on his face. He wasn't sure what he was expecting; maybe you'd look away in embarrassment, maybe you'd glare at him angrily. But what he didn't expect was the cold, empty look you gave him - like you were looking right through him, like he wasn't even there. His brows furrowed for a quick second, even more annoyed now. You went right back to work.

That's how the next few days went by. Every time Jungkook was remotely in your vicinity, you'd look through him without ever acknowledging him. If he even tried to walk your way, you left the room immediately. At first, Jungkook thought you were just being childish. But when you regained your confidence after a few days, he knew that you weren't through with him just yet. If he thought your insults were bad before, the newfound loathing you had for him made things ten times worse. It started with you amplifying the spite in your voice when you insulted him for his work. You refused to speak with him directly either, so all the insults were being thrown indirectly and in front of your other coworkers. With every second this continued, Jungkook felt his patience running thin. But if you were stubborn, so was he. He kept up your little game by firing back with his usual sarcastic or flirty remarks. Internally, he was burning with fury, just like you wanted him to.

All the animosity and anger eventually came to its boiling point when you crossed the line for the last time. You had walked to your desk that morning to find that your boss had paired you and Jungkook on the next project. Your skin crawled at the idea of having to work with him over the next few weeks. Part of you wondered if Jungkook had something to do with this. Thinking about him getting your boss on board with making you his partner for this big project was only adding to the fire that was spreading through your body. You already hated the way your boss melted around him, but to think that he could manipulate her to this level? After spiraling for a few minutes, you forced yourself to take deep breaths. You had to remind yourself that you were jumping to conclusions and then convince yourself not to march over to Jungkook's desk and give him a piece of your mind. You tried to get back to work, but all you could think about were what reasonable excuses you could make to get out of this situation. The rest of your morning was spent racking your mind. With no luck, you decided to join your coworkers for lunch; hoping that it would give you a distraction.

Unluckily for you, Jungkook walked into the staff lunchroom soon after, only to find you and some of your other coworkers chatting around the coffee machine. Well, they were chatting and you were busy glaring him down from the second he stepped into the room. Your dark eyes peered at him over the rim of your mug as you sipped your coffee. You knew that there was no way in hell he was going to approach you to talk about this. The solution to your problem practically fell into your lap when you zoned back in to the conversation around you. If he really did get the boss to put you on the project with him, you'd make him regret that decision.

"I can't believe you got that huge project Y/n! You're so lucky," one of them said, playfully pouting.

"Talk about lucky," someone else chimed in, "You even get to work with Jungkook. But I guess that isn't so lucky for you." They laughed lightly, poking fun at you. Clearly they hadn't noticed that Jungkook was in the room, listening.

"Everyone here knows how much you hate him, even the boss. Really, what was she thinking pairing you guys up?" They continued to laugh at your misery. But you weren't annoyed. Instead, your mind lit up with the perfect way to get under Jungkook's skin in that moment. The second he saw the way your eyes lit up, he knew he was in for it. Jungkook prided himself on the fact that everyone liked him and thought highly of him. So what better way to get your revenge and get him to kick you off the project than to take that away from him?

"Yeah," you said skeptically, "She's never paired us up before." You continued to stare directly at Jungkook. Your coworkers looked at you with confusion and amusement.

"What changed this time?" Jimin's voice rang through the room as he walked in to join you. He'd already spotted Jungkook in the other corner of the room, and he saw the dark glint in your eyes. It was clear to him that you were up to something. So he helped you out by stirring the pot a little. Jungkook squinted his eyes at you, annoyed at seeing Jimin again and wondering where you were going with this.

"I think Jungkook really wanted this project," you answered. "And it's easy to get whatever you want when you're fucking the boss," you said, not breaking eye contact for a second. Gasps erupted across the circle as they all looked at you in disbelief. Jimin's brows raised and he scoffed, slightly taken aback that you were making that accusation. But you were more focused on Jungkook's reaction. The look on his face was beyond furious. His eyes darkened and you saw the tick in his jaw as he clenched it.

"Wait, you really think so?" one of them asked, everyone already engrossed in the gossip.

"He is a manwhore," you shrugged. Jimin stifled his laugh, not wanting to be too mean to Jungkook. You finally looked away from Jungkook and back at the group. "And he always gets the good projects. Boss doesn't favour anyone else like that." Your coworkers immediately started gossiping amongst themselves, making random connections because what you said made sense. Some of them already started getting riled up, thinking that their opportunities had been snatched by Jungkook through the boss. You obviously didn't know for sure whether Jungkook was sleeping with your boss or not. But you didn't have to. You just had to plant the idea and you knew your coworkers would jump to conclusions.

"You must be really pissed at him," Jimin whispered, leaning back against the counter. You felt Jungkook's eyes glaring daggers at you but you paid him no attention.

"I promise he had it coming," you whispered back, a devious smirk settling on your lips.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," he chuckled. You just shot him a smirk. When you glanced back at Jungkook, you barely caught him walking out the door. You didn't know what you were expecting. Maybe you wanted him to lose his shit in front of everyone, or yank you out of the room with him. So the disappointment you felt only annoyed you more. By the time you finished your lunch and made your way back to your desk, you already began hearing whispers about Jungkook and your boss. For a moment, you wondered if this was crossing the line. Definitely. But so was getting you to blow him and ditching you in that bathroom. Now you're even. You couldn't help but smile, knowing that he must be seething about the rumours.

A couple hours later, you were being called to your boss' office to discuss the new project she'd assigned you and Jungkook. You reluctantly grabbed your things and made your way there. You couldn't keep in your scoff when you saw Jungkook already there, making your boss giggle about god knows what. Your boss cleared her throat as she noticed you in the doorway, peeling herself off her desk from how far she was leaning forward towards Jungkook. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Way to be subtle.

"Y/n," she announced, "Come, sit down." You forced a smile as you sat down in the chair next to Jungkook. He didn't say anything to you, didn't even bother looking at you. Just being in his proximity was pissing you off, especially since he had nothing to say to you. Obviously he couldn't say anything in front of the boss, but you wanted to see that you'd made him just as angry as he'd made you. Maybe all this rage was clouding your mind and judgement...but who cares?

You pulled out your pen and began taking notes as she started talking about the project. Despite hating working with Jungkook, you weren't going to let that ruin your work on this project. You rolled your eyes when you saw that he wasn't taking notes at all. Of course. As your boss began wrapping up the conversation, you gathered your things again, getting up to leave.

"Listen you two," she started, her tone changing. You raised your brows and sat down, curious what she had to say. "I know you don't like working together, but this is an important project. So please, put your feelings aside and work on this together." You scoffed, forgetting to keep your composure. That's when Jungkook finally looked at you. His eyes were fiery but he looked vaguely amused that you had the courage to scoff at the boss. Your boss was also looking at you expectantly, waiting for an explanation. That was all you needed to decide that maybe you weren't even with him just yet.

"Sorry, but it's not about feelings. Our work ethics don't match. I'd rather work on this alone," you said, straightening your back as you felt like you were in the spotlight. Your boss didn't look too happy.

"This isn't a one person project Y/n," she pointed out.

"I know, but it would honestly be easier to do the work myself instead of having to chase him around, begging him to get anything done." The amusement quickly disappeared from Jungkook's face.

"Excuse me?" he finally spoke. You ignored him.

"Maybe we can switch him out for someone who's actually focused on their work instead of flirting," you boldly stated. Your boss scoffed in disbelief.

"What is your problem? Do you think I want to work with you?" Jungkook spat, just about done with your shit. He shifted in his chair to face you, one hand gripping the armrest hard enough to see the whites of his knuckles. Oh now he had something to say.

"You're lucky to be working on this with me. Or else this project would've gone to shit," you retorted with an equal amount of spite.

"There's a reason I'm on this project Y/n. Because I'm good at my job. So if you're letting your personal feelings affect your professionalism, you need to get a grip." His words stung but you refused to accept that there was some truth to them. He was giving you a taste of your own medicine; humiliating you in front of your boss like you were doing to him. All your self control and common sense went out the window when you felt that embarrassment.

"Yeah, that's why you're on this project," you said sarcastically, referring to the rumour you'd started a few short hours ago. You could practically see his nostrils flare as he willed himself to keep his mouth shut.

"You're out of line Y/n," your boss jumped in. She hadn't heard the rumours yet, but she could clearly see that Jungkook didn't like the implications of what you had said. "I don't care whether you two like each other or not. You will put aside...whatever this is...and work together on this, and that's final," she said firmly. Irritation coursed through you, seeing her take Jungkook's side yet again.

"Yes ma'am," you barely grit through your teeth. You'd be darned if you got fired over Jungkook. You quickly stood up and left, rushing to the file room for a moment to cool down. It was the only place you could get some silence - no one ever really stepped into the filing room because most of your work was stored digitally anyways. You pressed your back to one of the metal cabinets, sliding down to crouch as the door slowly shut. You took some deep breaths to calm down. If you went back out there now, you would rip someone's head off. How did Jungkook have the audacity to continue being a dick to you? You knew you'd without a doubt crossed the line back there, but despite that, you didn't feel even with him yet. After a few moments of dragging your mind away from these thoughts, you took one last deep breath and stood back up. You straightened your skirt and fixed your hair. Since you were already there, you decided to grab some files you needed for the project before going back out there. You turned around, pulling a drawer open and digging through the files before you found them. Just as you pulled them out, you heard the door open behind you. You already knew who it was, getting a waft of his cologne. Your heart already began beating faster, not knowing what to anticipate. There was a beat of silence as the door slowly shut.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jungkook grit through his teeth, trying to keep his voice down. You didn't bother turning around or replying to him. Any semblance of self control he had left snapped when you didn't even acknowledge him. With three quick strides, he was right behind you, pressing you face flat against the cabinets. He yanked one of your hands behind your back, making you drop your files. You yelped as his entire body caged you in, slight panic rising in your chest.

"You don't get to ignore me now," he snapped, voice low. "You haven't shut the fuck up for the last few days, don't start now." He yanked your arm down further so he could hold your wrist with one hand. You groaned at the ache, but decided against complaining about it. His anger was palpable; you could practically feel it seeping through your skin, igniting your own fury. In the shock of the moment, you'd almost forgotten that Jungkook wasn't the only one with reason to be upset. This was all a consequence of his insanely disrespectful behaviour, and he had the nerve to be mad at you now?

"What is it? What's got you so fucking riled up, hmm?" He sounded bewildered, gritting the words through his teeth. The more he pressed against you, the harder it got to ignore the heat building in you. An ugly satisfaction was creeping through you seeing the way you'd managed to get under his skin. This was what you wanted; to see that you'd affected him.

"Didn't get enough cock last time? That it?" he growled, bending down next to your ear. His words pierced right through you, as if he knew exactly which buttons to press.

"Fuck you," you spat before you could compose yourself. You strained in his hold, your arm coming up to elbow him in the ribs. To your dismay, Jungkook predicted your move and held you tighter, keeping you still.

"I thought it'd be enough to keep you satiated for at least a week. But you're just a cock hungry whore hm? " he taunted, his lips grazing your ear and sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "I should've fucked your throat a little harder. Wouldn't be able to lie about me to everyone - including our boss - then, would you?" Despite the bitterness in his voice, your body reacted to his words. Your mind was scolding itself for the rush of arousal that coursed through you. How was he still affecting you like this?

You shook your head clear. No. He wasn't going to have his way this time.

"Lie? I haven't lied about anything," you replied with a snarky tone. Jungkook chuckled in disbelief. He quickly flipped you around so you were forced to face him. You didn't hesitate to meet his ravenous gaze with your own.

"No? So you really think I'm sleeping with the boss?" he asked, tone getting serious. You shrugged nonchalantly, annoying him more.

"You'll fuck anything that moves," you jabbed. "At least fucking the boss has some real benefits unlike the girl from the bar. Maybe she'd even give you a raise if you could satisfy her properly." Jungkook couldn't hide the disgust that flared across his features; insulted that you thought so little of him. The urge to shut you up was growing stronger by the second, burning through his insides. You were going to drive him insane.

"Watch yourself," he warned, the words coming out dark and gravelly. But the surge of excitement that you felt, knowing that you had managed to provoke him, was addicting. You wanted more.

"If it was anyone else, I'd be all for it. Get that bag, you know?" you said with indifference. "But you? I thought the boss had better taste. Her bar must be in hell." That was enough for Jungkook. Before you even had a second to process what was happening, one of his hands was wrapped around your neck. His fingers dug into the flesh, limiting your breath in the most delicious way.

"You didn't seem to think so when you were begging me to touch you - to fuck you in a dirty bar bathroom," he growled, stepping closer, face inches from yours.

"Yeah, obviously I expected too much," you sneered. "You don't know how to please anyone but yourself. Boss must be a real masochist to keep going back to you. Poor thing," you tutted, knowing you'd practically nailed the head in your own coffin before you'd even finished your thought. Jungkook's face contorted in a snarl as his grip tightened around your throat. You gasped, the dark swirl in your core intensifying.

"Maybe I should talk to her," you patronized, chasing the high from pissing him off. "I can recommend someone who can actually make her feel good - get her off. A man. Not a selfish boy," you emphasized. "Think she'll like me better than you after that?" With that, his other hand was pressed firmly against your mouth, effectively shutting you up. You grunted at the sheer pressure of his hold, now struggling to breathe.

"You just don't shut up, do you?" he spat. The look in his eyes was nearly feral; like he was going to eat you alive. His ego took a hit to your words, even though he knew you didn't actually believe everything you'd said. Still, you seemed to be stuck on his 'selfishness'. It infuriated him that you didn't understand why he wasn't giving you what you wanted, but he'd had enough of you running your mouth. If you'd forgotten how easily he made you melt under his touch, he'd just have to remind you. And make sure you never forgot again.

With each passing second of silent seething, you thought he might actually choke you out. But then he let go of you. You gasped for air, coughing as you caught your breath. Just as you were about to shoot him the dirtiest look you could muster, Jungkook sank to his knees. The snarky remark on your tongue vanished as you watched him kneel in front of you, looking up at you with a carnivorous gaze. Lust consumed your senses as he wordlessly loosened his tie, tugging at the collar of his shirt. You'd think that seeing him on his knees would make you feel more powerful in the situation. But the hunger in his eyes made it clear that he was still very much in control.

Simply put: Jungkook, in a suit and on his knees, was enough to wipe away your last bit of common sense.

"This is what you want, right?" he asked, his hands slipping under your skirt. You felt paralyzed, your breath caught in your throat. His hands moved up your thighs, slowly dragging your skirt up with them. "You wanna cum, yeah?" You were genuinely struggling to form any thoughts, your senses heightened.

"Want me to make you cum?" A strangled groan bubbled in your throat at his tone. He'd barely done a thing and your breathing was already heavy. So much for your resolve. As your skirt bunched above your hips, you suddenly became hyper aware of your situation. You were still at work, in a file room, door unlocked.

"Someone could walk in," you gasped, trying to convince yourself that you didn't want this. He ignored you, trailing his fingers down your hips and legs instead. "We've already been gone for a while. What if someone comes looking?" You desperately tried to focus your wandering mind.

"I guess I should hurry then," he sneered, shooting you a glare. Then his fingers were sliding between your legs, making you close your eyes and sigh as they eased the ache in your clit. By that point you were too far gone to even feel embarrassed about having soaked through your panties. Jungkook hissed as your slick coated his digits. "I put the bar in hell, but still, you get so wet for me," he snapped, adding more pressure. For the first time all day, you had nothing to quip back with. Your sweet silence was like music to his ears. Mindful of the time, Jungkook hooked his fingers in your underwear and pulled them down your legs. You knew there was no going back as you stepped out of them. Your knees felt weak as you watched him hastily shove them in his pocket. But before you could ask what he was planning on doing with them, he hooked a hand under your thigh, lifting your leg up and to the side. With your legs spread and your pussy staring him in the face, Jungkook was struggling to control himself. He wanted to tease you - make you beg and plead - but he didn't. Fuck. He couldn't; not when he felt like he'd lose his sanity if he didn't taste you right away.

Without wasting another second, his lips were pressed to you, the velvety heat of his mouth engulfing you as his tongue licked at your wetness. Your mouth was left agape as your hands buried into his hair, using the locks to keep yourself tethered. Jungkook groaned into your heat; he felt like he was getting drunk off of you. His fingers dug into your thighs as he hungrily lapped at your pussy. Your eyes rolled back and you let out a drawn out moan as his lips wrapped around your clit, creating the perfect amount of suction. You would've thought he was starved seeing the vigor with which he ate you out. He didn't stop, didn't pull away for a single breath - too consumed with the taste of you on his tongue. You were embarrassingly close already, struggling to contain your moans and whimpers. You bit your lip, trying to hold them in, but another particular harsh lick to your clit had you groaning Jungkook's name. Seeing you unravel so quickly only fueled Jungkook's appetite; the sound of his name on your lips going straight to his aching cock. All it took was him groaning into your cunt after that to send you over the edge. Your fingers yanked at his hair, desperately pulling him closer as you felt the white heat build up.

"Jungkook, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," you cursed, voice whiny as you tried to keep quiet. "Gonna cum," you moaned right as you crashed over the edge. Jungkook felt you tense in his hold as you came on his tongue. He diligently lapped at your slit, sure to pay attention to your clit as well to help you ride out your orgasm. He slowed down as you came down from your high. Naturally, your legs tried to close together once his tongue became overstimulating. But Jungkook's hold was firm, keeping your legs apart. You tried to catch your breath, mind reeling from the mix of pleasure and pain flooding your senses.

"Jungkook... wait," is all you managed to get out. He ignored you again, picking up his pace despite your cringing.

"So fucking good," he growled against you, like he hated admitting it to himself. It felt weird hearing him compliment you after all the bickering and degrading earlier. Yet you couldn't deny that it boosted your ego seeing him so fucked out and angry. He pushed you further up against the cabinets, giving himself better access to you and delving his tongue into your dripping hole. And just like that, the sensitivity was replaced with a delicious pleasure once again.

"Please, wait..." you breathlessly pleaded. In contrast to the last orgasm, he was building this one up slowly. Unfortunately for you, that meant it felt twice as intense and you were getting increasingly worried about being caught.

"Thought you wanted to cum, sweetheart," he mocked. "That's why you're being such a bitch, right? Mad that I didn't make you cum last time?" he grit through his teeth. You cursed him under your breath, but were more focused on the feeling of his soft lips against. You finally looked down at him properly, ready to glare at him. But the second you saw his dark eyes staring up at you, the rest of his face buried between your legs, you lost your train of thought entirely. Then you saw his hand sprawled across your lower stomach while his thumb rubbed circles into your clit. Fuck, why was he so hot?

"What if we get caught?" you half-heartedly complained, trying to muffle your whimpers.

"They'll see what a fucking slut you are for me then," he grunted. You slapped a hand over your mouth when he picked up his pace, continuing to plunge his tongue in and out of you. "Keep your hands down," he demanded, pressing harder on your clit. "You're gonna keep moaning like that for me," he hissed, delving right back into the heat of your cunt. In that moment, all you heard was his demanding tone and your hands instinctively went back to his hair without a second thought. You whined, trying to keep your voice down as he slowly built up your pleasure.

"Good," he praised, his words muffled as he continued to eat you out. "I should make you scream, so that everyone knows that you, Y/n, are cumming on my tongue." His words were bitter but they turned you on more. You clearly had some problems. It didn't take very long after that to feel that white heat building up again. Jungkook could tell you were almost there, so he sped up the pace of his fingers and plunged his tongue deeper into you. "Including our boss," he rasped. And then you were cumming again; gripping tightly onto his hair and groaning his name once more.

"There you go," he coaxed, letting you ride his face. You hadn't realized, but at some point, your hips had started moving on their own. Seeing you with your eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open, as you unraveled under his touch, only fueled Jungkook's hunger. When you started coming down, he finally pulled away; giving you a second of reprieve. That was until you looked down to see his blown out, dark eyes staring at you. His mouth and chin were covered in your juices and he looked ravenous. He quickly pulled off his suit jacket, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, eyes never leaving yours. Your chest heaved; partly because you were still catching your breath, and partly because of how fucking hot Jungkook looked in the moment. His hands went right back to your thighs, pulling them apart once more.

"Wait, what're you doing?!" you asked, eyes going wide. "I can't cum again, please," you nearly cried. His fingers dug into your thighs as he watched you plead.

"You can and you will," he said firmly. "You know why?" He slid his fingers between your folds, gathering all the wetness that had pooled. "Because you fucking love my touch," he growled. Your already weak knees felt even weaker.

"You're so desperate for it; for my mouth, my fingers, my cock." Your legs threatened to buckle under you if it weren't for Jungkook's hand holding you up. "So desperate that you're being such a fucking brat," he spat. "Trying to piss me off. So, what? So that I'd finally touch you again?" he mocked. Your senses were overwhelmed and his words settled in a pit in your stomach. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes; whether it was because of his harsh words or the overstimulation of his fingers, you weren't sure. Just as you were about to retort, Jungkook slipped a slender finger into you which slid in smoothly with how wet you were. He let out a throaty groan, quickly slipping another finger into you and curling them upwards. You nearly doubled over as he pressed right into your g-spot.

"See how tuned your body is to me? I've barely done a thing and you're already a mess," he taunted. Seeing how flimsy your legs had gotten, he quickly threw the leg he was holding over his shoulder, getting even closer to you. His name left your lips in a whine, your body torn between pleasure and worry. "Well here, I'm giving you what you want." He punctuated his words by curling his fingers again, making you moan. "You wanna cum? I'll make you cum...over and over again, so you never forget how good I make you feel." And with that, he finally pulled his fingers out before slamming them back into you, setting a hard pace.

Your mind was left blank, so consumed with pleasure that you couldn't even think about staying quiet. Whimpers and moans shamelessly tumbled out of you as he filled you up so delightfully. Jungkook wasn't unaffected either. Feeling how warm and wet you were was driving him up the wall, numbing his own thoughts.

"So wet for me, fuck. My cock would slide right into you with how drenched you are," he thought out loud. He felt you tighten around his fingers, making him snarl and pick up his pace. "Filthy fucking cockslut. I can't wait to feel you tighten around me like that when I'm fucking all this brattiness out of you," he growled, voice low. You could only moan in response.

"Jungkook, s-slow down, please," you begged, knowing that you wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. Before you knew it, his free hand came down on your pussy, leaving a delicious sting spreading through you. A half yelp-half moan sound came out of you, making Jungkook scoff.

"You're gonna take what I give you, like a good little slut," he grunted. "What do you have to say now Y/n?" he asked, annoyance lacing his voice. "You're so convinced I'm fucking every woman and leaving them unsatisfied. Do you feel satisfied yet?" With his fingers pumping you, grazing your g-spot with every thrust, it was nearly impossible for you to form a coherent thought. When you didn't answer, he gave your pussy another smack, making you hiss.

"Answer me," he demanded, "How do you feel now Y/n?"

"F-feel good," is all you could come up with. Jungkook chuckled at your fucked out state.

"Who's making you feel good sweetheart?"

"You," you moaned, feeling yourself reach your climax again. "Oh my god. Jungkook, please...don't stop. Feels so good, I'm gonna-"

Jungkook's ego inflated as you finally found your words again, saying exactly what he wanted to hear. Hearing you beg for him almost made up for all the shit you'd put him through that day. Almost. You were creaming on his fingers before you could even finish your sentence, moaning his name way louder than you should.

"Now you're finally being a good girl," he praised, continuing to pump his fingers through your orgasm. "Fuck, you're getting so tight. Keep cumming on my fingers like that, yeah?" he groaned, imagining how good you would feel on his cock. Your orgasm was so powerful, you were cumming for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook didn't mind; continuing to work you through it. When it was finally over, your legs gave out. Jungkook quickly caught you as you collapsed, and he placed you down on his discarded jacket on the floor. You closed your eyes and waited for your heart rate to go back to normal. When you opened your eyes after a few moments, Jungkook was still kneeling in front of you. His gaze was trained on your still exposed cunt and he had slipped his soaked fingers into his mouth, tasting you all over again. You worried for second that he still wasn't done with you. He slowly dragged his glazed over eyes to meet your. You gulped at the voracious look on his face, your legs instinctively closing.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was battling with his own insatiable thoughts. He knew he couldn't forget about this, about you, about your pussy after this. As infuriating and insufferable you were, he couldn't deny how good you tasted and felt. And he sure as hell couldn't deny how hard you'd gotten him either. With his hormones surging through him, all he could think about was being inside you, in any way. He saw the look on your face and nearly scoffed. You fucked up his reputation and humiliated him all because you wanted to cum, and now you couldn't take it. He took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts away so he could be rational.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna make you cum again," he said. You scoffed, easing up a little with his reassurance. "You got what you wanted, right? Now maybe you'll keep your mouth shut." The high of your pleasure was wearing off and the weight of his words were hitting you. Did he really just think you were desperate for him? Had he forgotten how he was shamelessly flirting with that other girl right after leaving you in that bathroom? Reality finally caught up with you, and you realized how vulnerable you'd made yourself to him. If someone came in right now, the only person who'd be humiliated was you. Clearly, all of this was just a game to him; a way to shut you up. Jungkook was toying with you and you were letting him. A similar shame and hurt creeped across your skin as the night he'd left you in the bar bathroom. Part of you had started to feel bad about what you'd done earlier, but if Jungkook really was just using you, then you were still nowhere near even.

Without saying a word, you stood up, pulling your skirt back down. In the process, you remembered that he'd taken your underwear. But you'd have to talk to him to ask for them back, and the last thing you wanted to do was talk to him. You'd just have to clean up later and make it through the day without them. You straightened your clothes, trying to make them look as less wrinkly as possible, avoiding Jungkook's piercing gaze. When you finally felt like you looked presentable, that's when you looked at him. This time it was him that was left a mess. His hair was ruined by all the grabbing and pulling you'd done, and his collar was soaked with your juices. You looked at his jacket that you were not standing on, and sure enough, you'd left a wet spot and now heel marks on it too. It made you feel a little better, knowing that this time he'd have to fix himself up instead of you. You picked up his jacket with the toe of your shoe before kicking it over to him. You shot him a cold look.

"You're an asshole," you stated before walking out the door. Jungkook was left on the floor, even more frustrated. He'd felt more gratified after putting you in your place, but then what was that? You'd obviously enjoyed yourself, so what was the problem now? He groaned loudly. Despite his anger, the bulge in his pants was now aching. Everything about you was infuriating to him, so how did you have this much of an affect on him? His mind wandered back to how you felt in his hands and on his tongue. He growled as he palmed his crotch, slowly taking out his hard cock. He stroked himself harshly with the frustration you'd left him with. He quickly pulled out your panties from his pocket, unable to stop himself. His head rolled back and your name spilled past his lips along with low groans as he brought up the thin fabric to his face.

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Tag List: @myjungkookthighs @bemuas @junecat18 @exortedgoods @jahnaviii @jk97bam @itsmekylabear @blueberriesm @marvelbun @vantelover1306 @runariya @btstrology @diame93 @curse-of-art @minyoongi7016

[izzabela]

white noise - audio 1

a/n: I just wanted to drop in and say....THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING THE ORIGINAL IDEA SO HARD GUYS!!! special thanks to @junovae , @red5tars , @devil-in-hiding , and @beloveds-embrace for boosting and hyping my idea up. i've been letting this marinate in my head for a long time, and I'm so glad that it's well-received :)

please please PLEASE enjoy guys, i worked really hard to make sure this was a perfect first chapter :>

"What on God's green Earth do you think you're doing with this schedule!?" your boss's words flying to you as fast as the papers he threw off the side his desk.

As the assortment of schedules, checks, files, and folders rain down like snow, you simply look at your boss with a cool smile and dead eyes. You've dealt with things like this before, the same tantrums over and over again with a man who's still growing up at forty-five.

The sun was setting over the New York City skyline, and you've just about had it for the day. It's been thirty minutes since your allotted time to clock out, and this man-child is still holding you up like a baby with his pacifier.

"Sir, you have a meeting with XYZ's CEO stand-in Friday morning," you calmly explain to the toddler as you pick up his mess. "That same day, you have a lunch on Wall Street with Mr. Allen in regard to the upcoming acquisition to one of your sub-companies."

Without breaking a sweat (but most definitely popping a blood vessel), you continue to give reasonable excuses for your choice in scheduling.

"And on that same day, sir, your presence is requested at your brother's residence, to celebrate his third engagement," you finish, giving him a good once-over to see how he's doing. "Speaking of, did you purchase that Rolex I linked you? I had sent you a message via work-phone with the exact link."

He's matting his poorly-worn toupee wig down and coughing profusely.

100-0, you tally your mental game you've been keeping track of.

As you grab the last piece of paper, ironically the one with his Friday schedule, you place the stack back on the center of his desk. There's enough force pressed down that his name plaque jumps (maybe in fear for your wrath too).

"Do you have any other questions sir? Or am I free to go home?" you smile tightly, hands neatly over themselves on your belly.

"Y-you're free to leave," he pulls his necktie nervously, beads of sweat on his forehead and palms as his butter-fingers attempt to fix his tie.

You nod, keeping the tight smile all the way past the threshold of his office, past the snarky bitch of a front-desk woman, and all the way to the elevator.

"Good afternoon, Pumps," the elevator-doorman greets you. "Long day in the office?"

"An understatement, George..." you sigh, rubbing your temples in circles to soothe an incoming headache.

George was probably your only peace in this hellscape of an office: kind demeanor, soft voice, manners, it seems the bar is below the ground with how poorly people behave here in your office.

It's silent on the way down, the light jazz of the elevator music filling the conversation-less space.

Ding

George's gloved hand presses the open door button, and you mosey on out with a little falter in your step.

"Take a rest, Pumps. Lord knows what will happen if you leave that man to his devices," he humors, earning your chuckle as you give him one more wave before walking past the front desk of the main entrance and into the revolving doors.

You spin in the revolving doors for a mere moment before getting spat out back on the street. You'd think that the sunset would help soothe your growing pain, but the streets come to life with blaring neon lights and flickering street lamps.

This is New York City after all.

Slapping your shades on and plugging your earphones in, you begin the trek home. Your houlders slumped and legs dragging like an army man coming home from deployment, you mindlessly listen to your de-stress playlist to try and relax before heading home. You don't think the pain of your head will leave until Siri reads a notification.

A NEW POST FROM GHOST PLUS A LONG MESSAGE, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO READ IT?

Suddenly all your pain felt nonexistent, and you've regained bounce in your step once again. Your favorite voice actor posted, and a long notification means scripted content.

You discovered him, a VA named "Ghost" after scrolling through Reddit for a bit. The nation of subgroups and communities, you found your forever home with him after a ramble fap of his after a stressful day of work a couple of years ago.

Enamored by his husky voice, low timbre of his throat, and his British accent, you learned he had more than just Reddit. You didn't think you'd be addicted, but after exhausting his master-list on Reddit, you decide to follow his links to other places.

Other than his fifty-thousand on Reddit, he has one-hundred thousand on Youtube for his SFWs and one million on TFCo (the audio company he belongs to)- and when you saw his exclusive content? Well, you just had to get your hands on it all. Not to mention he's a successful voice acting career in audio books (you've bought those solely because he voices some of the characters).

And if one thinks this is degenerate, try working for a man who can't think for himself- you'd do anything to decompress and relax.

Which is where you are in the present, picking up your pace to head back to your house so you can relax with the voice that makes you delusional.

The walk felt like a marathon, but you finally made it to the lobby of your apartment. You don't even need to push the door open when they swing inwards for you, accompanied by another familiar voice.

"'Notha long day, Pumps?" a thick Yankee accent rings in your ears. You offer a bright smile, trying to hide the fact your leg muscles have been screaming at you all day.

You take your earphones out. "Nothin' I can't handle, Tony," you describe your day in a mere two words. He only sighs and shakes his head, offering to walk you all the way to the elevator.

Tony looks at you funny, "Can't fool me, lil' miss," he scolds. "Your calves are twitchin', 'ich means you need a good 'n long bath."

You chuckle, "You got it Thomas. Warm bath and sleep."

You hear a faint "atta girl" as you step into the elevator, and his figure disappears behind the silver walls as you go up to another battle.

Ding

The doors part, and you hear the echo of your shoes bounce off the walls as you near your flat door. Lost in the sea of your stuff, your keys probably lost in the void called "your purse," you hear a shuffle and a click of another door opening.

Out walks the guy that moved in right next door. You watch with a glare, eyeing him like someone eyes a stain on their clothes. He wears the same black trousers, black t-shirt topped with a black jacket with his head hooded, and that stupid black face mask with the lower part of a skull.

"Evenin' Simon," you begrudgingly greet. He turns towards you, also eyes you head to toe, and nods.

You do everything in your power to hold yourself back from strangling him.

Simon always struck you as odd: didn't talk to anyone, wore black (and black only), and dressed poorly. Everyone who lived in this side of NYC came from daddy's money, mommy's trust fund, or a mix of both. You took his apprehension in talking as introversion, so you tried to make your presence (and support) known from afar.

In the first month he moved in, you tried to strike up conversation whenever you'd see him leave or enter his room. Just like he did now, he'd offer nothing but a simple glance-over and a sizing, eyeing up and down like a child.

Over the next couple of months, you tried peace offerings of food and snacks. From homemade meals, to little snacks and munchies, you left them at his doorstep for him to grab by himself. You're pretty sure he hated them, usually finding nothing left on your door.

(Unbeknownst to you, Simon ate everything of yours to the bone- no crumbs left).

Since his initial move-in, you've counted that it'll be almost a year since he moved next door to you. God found you his strongest soldier with the way you remained so patient with him and his disdain for others.

One thing you haven't let go, though, was the noise he made late in the night. Whatever he missed in the day (which is usually 100% of noise he never made in the day), he'd make it up tenfold deep into the night. Sometimes you hear him curse loudly, or the annoying creak of his bed slamming into his wall. There were even moments where you've heard him laugh like a villain, before he'd goes back to letting curses wring out like water from a wash rag.

You've really tried to be patient with him, but juggling between a fool of a boss and an ignorant man, you felt it chip away at you like weathered stone.

You make your frustration clear, shuffling the stuff in your bag a bit louder, hoping that he'd get the memo, but he walks past you like a speck of dirt- unnoticed and left behind. Finding your flat key, you groan as you twist, unlock, and make it inside your apartment. You drop everything in the hallway, kick your heels off, and crash on your couch.

Usually you'd take this time to scroll through Instagram, catch up with messages you missed, or simply flip through Netflix to find the perfect show, but all you craved right now is sleep, a shower, and food (maybe a bit of wine too).

"Get to it, Pumps," you scold yourself, pushing yourself off the plush cushions. "For George and Tony..."

Seems your doorman and elevator-man were right, a hot shower does wonders. Though you came out of the shower a bit dazed, at least you were relaxed now. Your stomach wasn't, though, as it grumbled angrily.

"Yeah yeah, I heard ya," you mumbled, opening up your fridge to find it empty and sad (was that a fly leaving?). You curse and make a mental note for groceries tomorrow after work.

"Ramen will do just fine," you answer yourself, walking to the pantry to grab an instant pack to cook.

It's nice and quiet as you cook your noodles, the faint sounds of the city traffic sounding more like a lullaby than record scratch. You look over to your side as you stir your pot, the floor-to-ceiling windows allowing full view of the Empire State building, park, and the other buildings in the area.

Taking the pot off the stove, you carefully place it over a pot holder and grab a bowl. Pouring the soup and noodles in, you multitask and check anymore notifications you missed through the day, and the one from a couple of hours ago is first in line. The TFCo notification banner is calling your name, and you press it immediately to see what's new with your man, "Ghost."

The notification read an announcement for a new exclusive drop, a werewolf!shifter! in rut taking his pretty bunny!shifter in heat, and the tags filled your belly with butterflies: primal play, chase, CNC, shifters, and a mean!ghost tag- the list is filled with dirty tropes that make your core tighten and panties damp.

You're tempted to drop everything and fall victim to your desires, but ignoring your stomach felt like a bad omen in the making (and another earful from Tony would not be good). Besides, it was on your phone- you can wait.

Enjoying the loaded sodium soup of your ramen, you do some more doom scrolling on some other accounts and socials of VAs you follow. You occasionally listen to Soap Dish, a Scot with a fiery temper and even hotter audios, you listen to him when you want something goofy or silly. Occasionally though, he'll drop a great CNC, mean audio that really gets you heated.

Then there's Gazzandgoo (Gaz for short), another British VA with great all-around content. Ranging from mean BDSM audios to him whimpering and subbing, you enjoy Gaz's flexibility and range with his voice. A guilty pleasure of yours is his whimpering and sub audios (high powered job needs equal amounts of destress right?).

Slurping the last of your soup down, you didn't realize the time left you as your phone's clock read "eleven thirty" (was the doom-scroll that bad this time around?). Doesn't matter since it's officially "you time"- where only you, your search history, and the government knows what you're doing tonight.

After a quick rinse and toss of your bowl and utensils in your dishwasher, you dig for your headphones from your bag so you can indulge. Scooping it out, along with some papers, hair pins, and business cards, you leave the mess for tomorrow as you enter your room. Pictures of your friends, the few family you had in contact, diploma, and posters judge you as you get into bed and in a comfortable position.

Leaning back, headphones in, you press the notification of the TFCo app and watch your phone light up with the direct audio link of Ghost and his latest content.

There's lots of sound effects as the audio plays, the script being very in depth. You hear the rustling of leaves and grass, the billowing breeze, and the faintest noise of pebbles rolling over each other. The image of a forest is painted in your mind, and the painting gains a new addition with the sound of ragged breathing.

"Ah.... fuck..." the recording of Ghost's voice is in the background as you hear his groans and moans grow closer.

You close your eyes and let yourself go in the audio, imagining Ghost's werewolf character pouncing on top of you.

"'N what's this pretty bunny doin' here?" he muses in your ears. "Wandered on the wrong side of the forest, huh? Stupid fucking bun..."

Your legs twist and close, the friction of your panty fabric and your legs pressing together getting you worked up. Imagining what Ghost looks like, what he feels like, is sending you into overdrive as he continues to speak in your headphones.

"You look fucking delicious," he groans, and you shiver as you hear the sound effects of his hands running across a toy he uses for a body. "So soft, so fucking perfect. Gonna be a meal for me?"

You dumbly reply to the emptiness of your room, and your cheeks blush as Ghost groans again.

"You sound so cute begging for your life. How 'bout a deal?" he eggs you on, and you nod once again.

"If you can outrun me and make it out the forest, you get your life," he offers the first half of his wager.

He chuckles, "The other part? That's easy, isn't it bun?" you hear him brush over his mic to get real close. "If you can't, you'll be my meal."

"On the count of three. One, two," your chest is rising and falling quickly, the anticipation of what he'll do pushing you to the edge. "Go."

The sound effects of your character running through the grass, hopping and sprinting in order to stay alive. You cave and shove your hands down under the waistband of your panties, fingers flicking over your sensitive bud as you can hear Ghost grow closer and closer.

You hear the sounds of Ghost wrestling, noises of foliage and nature bending and breaking under you. The audio paints the picture of you pinned under Ghost, and his maniacal laughter rolls through your ears thanks to binaural headphone settings.

"Pathetic," he spits out at your futile escape. "Were you even trying?"

It sounds like Ghost was sniffing you, his inhalations close to the mic as he comments on your scent. You can also hear the sfx of him reaching down and to your aching pussy.

"Oh... maybe you weren't trying bunny," he teases, the audio effects of pussy squelching invading your ears. "Maybe you wanted this- wanted to get lost, caught, and eaten alive by the big bad wolf..."

You whimper, circles over your little clit growing faster and needier as his voice rings through your mind. "Beg me for your life- 'please don't eat me, Mr. Wolf'- beg me nice 'n proper..."

The squelching grows more obscene, and you can't tell if that's your own cunt or the toy he's using in the audio. It doesn't matter though, as the sounds of wet pussy stop, and you hear a shift in weight and position.

"I take it back- no need to beg when your cunt is drenched, bun," he teases, and you're so sure his cock in tapping the entrance of the toy that represents you.

"What? Scared? 'Fraid my cock's gonna hurt?" he asks, and you respond with a sad keen (ironic, since your fingers are working overtime for you to reach your peak).

Suddenly, a deep grumble and "oh fuck" is heard, and you realize Ghost is stuffing you full in the audio. You moan a little louder, slipping a single finger in, curling it to make sure it hits your spot just right.

Perverted sounds of Ghost's cock bullying the toy he uses to represent his listeners fill your ears, and the sounds of said toy smashing into his hips add sprinkles of erotica as you imagine yourself getting stuffed full of him. Lost in your own pleasure, you squeeze your eyes tight as you focus on reaching your finish.

You must've wandered a little too far in your imagination as you didn't feel your earbuds fall of your ears. The audio is no longer heard for you, but you can't tell when you're riding off of your imagination (and maybe the faint audio that's coming from the earbuds, since they're on full blast).

You're drawn out of your lust as the earbuds fall like marbles on your hardwood floors. Immediately, your hand flies away from your aching sex, and you see the buds lay pitifully on the floor. You groan, borderline sulking over the fact something so simple drew you away from your peak.

As you reach for your tech, your ears catch on to another noise. It's coming past your bedroom walls, and it sounds a lot like the audio you're listening to right now.

"Such a good girl f'r me..." the voice groans, a strangled moan escaping the lips of your neighbor and entering your ears.

"He sounds so familiar...." you whisper to yourself, and the next line he grunts out pieces all of the issues you've had with him together.

"You wanted this, didn'tcha? Takin' all 'f me like a dumb slag, but'cha wanted this didn'tcha?"

"You like this, don't ya?" he annunciates, semi-muffled noises of a pocket-pussy getting stretched out like actual cunt floating into your ears.

Every ounce of arousal has left your body as your braincells fire and connect the dots, and you swear you can hear the sounds of bells echoing in your brain.

"Ghost" is Simon, and Simon is "Ghost."

And "Ghost" is your neighbor.

ding ding ding

[smellslikechahnspirit]

heyyy chan’s spirit!! I love your writing so much and had a little fic idea I wanted to share! Could you write something where channie’s wife asks him to get intimate for the first time after they find out she’s pregnant? It doesn’t need to be explicit—just soft and emotional, focusing on their love and connection. Totally okay if it’s not your vibe, but I’d love to see your take on it!

Ofcourse! It's a bit short, but I hope you still like it :)

Absolutely 🤍

[Husband Channie and y/n being intimate after finding out their pregnant for the first time (not NSFW)]

Bang Chan x Reader

🤍 read guide lines in Masterlist!

THIS IS (OBVIOUSLY) ALL FICTION AND IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY! THIS IS MY PERCEPTION OF HOW I THINK SKZ WOULD BEHAVE IN SITUATIONS LIKE THIS AKA, NOT REAL.

[8:05 PM]

You both were on the couch, watching Arcane. It was the weekend. Not any kind of weekend. This weekend was special. It officially has been 2 months since you two found out you were having a little baby. Both of you have wanted this for quite a while and were very excited to finally share the news with everyone. But it was Friday night. You wanted to announce it first thing tomorrow morning. Today was the last day it would just be between you two.

''I still can't believe it...'', you said out of the blue. ''Hm?'', Channie replied who was sleepily laying with his head on you lap. He looked up at your face which was shining bright. ''Our baby. I can't believe it's finally happening.'', you spoke swiftly.

He smiled at you, turning around a bit so his face faced your tummy. ''I know baby, me too. Can't wait to see the members faces tomorrow haha.'', he said. You laughed. ''They're gonna be great uncles.'' ''I'm sure they will honey.'', he replied. ''Kinda liked the little secret we had for a while tho.''. After you said that you pouted. ''Hm me too.'', he said as he kissed your stomach softly. ''Can't believe it's been 2 months already...'', Chan said right after. ''Yea, 7 more to go.''. As you said this you kinda looked..I don't know how to put it...off? You looked disappointed. Or rather annoyed.

''Something wrong baby? You feeling okay?''. ''Nah, I'm fine.'', you said as you pushed him off your lap soflty, so you could get up. Since you're pregnant, he kind of just let you. Normally he would've made you stay and talk it out right then and there, but he knew you were uncomfortable enough as it is.

''Sure?'', he asked you while watching you walk towards your shared bedroom. He only saw you nod and disappear behind the door.

He got concerned, more then confused.

He knew your emotions were all over the place, but seeing you raise a wall was never a good sign. After a good 5 minutes he decided to check up on you.

He walked into the bedroom. The door was still slightly opened. ''Knock knock...can I come in darling?''. ''Ofcourse.'', you said smiling soflty. He walked in slowly, holding a cup of your favoured tea. ''Got ya this.''. He put it down next to you. He kept looking at your face, trying to decipher what was the matter.

''Y/n, please tell me..what's going on. Are you feeling sick? Worried? Don't deal with this by yourself baby, please.'', he said as he rubbed your arm soflty. ''It's just...''. He looked you in the eyes, making you look back at him. ''It's what?'', he said very quiet. ''I guess I'm just a bit worried.'' ''Hmhm, worried bout what sweetie?''.

He now sat down next to you, giving you a small kiss. Patiently waiting for you to tell him what was bothering you. ''Do you still love me? Or just because I'm pregnant now, you feel like you have to?''. He was shook by your words. Completely unaware that you felt this way. ''Y/n? Are you...okay? How...what??? Why would you ask me that. I love you to death. Does it look like I don't love you anymore?''. He was really confused. ''No, I mean...I don't know...''. ''Baby...?'', he asked confused. ''Well...since you found out I was pregnant...we haven't...had sex. Like not even once. Are you not willing to have sex with me, for the next 7 months either?''.

He now understood your thought, but this was never his intention. ''Babe...first of all, why didn't you tell me this sooner? And second...it's not that I don't wanna have sex with you. I just didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.''.

''Uncomfortable?'', you looked up with big eyes. ''Well, I don't know...since that day we found out...you kind of have been all about the safety of the baby, and health for your body and doing yoga and etc. Just everything. I felt like, me bothering you with my needs, was something that would stress you out. I just didn't want to put pressure on you, into thinking you had to, since your body is now a temple to keep safe.''.

''What does sex have to do with that?''. He also didn't think this through too much. These last 8 weeks have been stressful for the both of you. ''I don't know what else to say... I never meant for it to seem like I didn't want to, I wanted to...everyday actually.''.

Your eyes lit up. ''Really? You don't think it's weird now?'' ''Weird? No. Do I feel like we have to be carefull and mindfull about this? Yes. I don't wanna hurt you in any way baby.'', he said wisely.

Instead of worry, all you felt now was happiness, being in a position that a man like this was the man who you were having a baby with. ''You're actually amazing, you know that babe?''. He smiled, then giving you a deep kiss. And the kiss kept going. And going. When after a while he was laying on top of you.

''Let me take care of you tonight. I will be gentle in every way. You deserve a treat, after this long.''.

He knew how these 8 weeks have been on your body, let alone how difficult the other 7 months are gonna be on you.

''You sure you wanna do this?'', you asked. ''Absolutely.''.

...Masterlist...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

© 2022-2025, smellslikechahnspirit • No posting on other sites or platforms, rewrites, or translations

[captainsophiestark]

Take A Break

Javi Rivera x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Twisters

Summary: As part of Kate's original crew of tornado-tamers, you're as much of a workaholic as she is. Thankfully, Javi's around to help pull his girlfriend out of her notes when she really needs a break.

Word Count: 1,123

Category: Fluff, Humor, kind of angst just because of what happens to the original crew, but you can easily pretend that doesn't happen in the timeline of this fic :)

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hey, enough work for tonight. Come join the party with the rest of us."

I smiled to myself as I made a few last notes off the computer screen. I knew Jeb was mostly talking to Kate, but I also knew that if I stayed here and tried to keep working after he managed to get Kate to take a break, my boyfriend wouldn't be far behind to literally drag me away from my notes.

I scribbled down a few last things as Jeb herded Kate away to the campfire, then started the process of shutting down my computer. Just as the last program finished closing, two arms wrapped tightly around my waist and picked me up, pulling me away from my work at the back of the truck.

"Javi!" I squealed, laughing as he slung me over one shoulder and started heading for the campfire.

"Yeah babe?"

"I was about to head over!"

"Oh yeah, I've heard that one before. Sorry, I know you too well. I know how fast another minute can turn into another hour. I care about this project as much as you do, but you need to take a break."

I sighed, rolling my eyes even though Javi couldn't see me. Even so, I couldn't totally hold back a smile.

"You know, Jeb just came and threw an arm around Kate."

"That's because Jeb lacks commitment," Javi responded as we neared the fire with the rest of our friends. He made sure to speak loudly enough that Jeb could hear him, too. "And because Kate's easier to convince than you are."

I scoffed, but the impact was lessened as Javi flopped into one of the chairs around the fire, pulling me around to sit in his lap in one smooth move. I shook my head and grinned up at him once we landed.

"You don't want your own chair?"

"My girl's had her head in her work, completely ignoring me for hours. No, I don't want my own chair."

I laughed, snuggling in closer to Javi and resting my head on his chest. He wrapped his arms tighter around me, and I smiled to see the rest of our friends settled comfortably around the fire, too.

"Glad you could finally join us!" called Praveen, Addy grinning beside him. I grinned right back.

"Don't act like I'm the only workaholic in this group," I said, fake-scowling as I curled closer into Javi's side. "You're all just as bad as I am. That's why we're friends."

"Alright, I resent the implicaiton that I don't know how to have a healthy work-life balance," said Javi, drawling his words a little as he held up his hands on either side of me to help illustrate his point. "I know how to have fun and how to work my ass off with Dorothy."

I twisted in Javi's lap to look up at him with a frown.

"Is it a healthy work-life balance to go way too hard on work and fun?"

He just looked down at me with a grin, leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling back with the same roguish smile.

"Hell yeah it is."

I just laughed and shook my head, leaning back on his shoulder as he tigthened his arms around me.

"Alright, whatever you say. I guess that's what college is for anyway, even if it's grad school."

"We're making memories. We have to have something to say when we're being interviewed for our incredible scientific breakthrough. Some good memories for the memoir."

"He's right," Jeb chimed in, leaning back and stretching his arm out across Kate's chair. "Most people won't want to hear that we spent every hour of every day in the lab. They want to know the people behind the science."

"I don't think any of the journals we want to publish in are going to care about who we are outside of the lab," Kate countered, flopping back against Jeb. "Or the people reading our grant proposals."

"Still works for the long-term headlines," Addy chimed in. "'Brilliant scientists tame the tornado, protecting the home where they spent countless nights together'."

"I think that's a little long," mused Kate.

"It makes it sound like we were all sleeping with each other or something," I added.

"Yeah, that's just the two sets of lovebirds over there," Praveen added.

Kate and Jeb smiled, Kate tucking her head into Jeb's shoulder, and I shot Praveen a wink before leaning up to give Javi a quick kiss. Praveen and Addy liked to make a big show of covering their eyes and shouting at any sign of PDA, but we knew it was all in good fun. They loved the four of us, both separately and as couples, even if they'd both developed strong ten minute comedy sets on the fact that they weren't dating each other or anyone else in our little group.

"Alright, enough of this," Kate said, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow. "I came over here with the promise of s'mores. So where are they?"

"Javi packed them," said Jeb, nodding in our direction. Javi shifted under me, settling further into the chair and wrapping his arms a little tighter around me.

"They're in the back of the van, but somebody else is gonna have to get them. I'm settled in here, and if I don't keep an eye on this one, she might just run right back to her computers."

Most of our friends rolled their eyes, but even so, Addy stood up.

"Lucky for both of you, I want s'mores enough that I'm willing to get up and take one for the team."

"Thank you, Addy," we chorused. She just waved us off with a smile. I waited until she passed Javi and I and got all the way to the truck, then leaned up to whisper in my boyfriend's ear.

"You absolutely know I wouldn't choose computers over s'mores. Probably ever."

"Of course I know," Javi said, leaning down to whisper in my ear with a smile, nuzzling into the crook of my shoulder. "But I'm enjoying sitting with you like this. We're too comfortable to be getting up for s'mores when we have friends that'll take care of that for us."

I laughed, nodding and resting my forehead against his.

"You're right. Genius decision."

"I know."

We shared a smile, one of Javi's hands gently squeezing my thigh as I leaned in to give him another quick kiss. Sitting by the fire with him, surrounded by all our friends, was my absolute favorite happy place. It made all the work and risk and long nights spent huddled over calculations and theories worth it, to be able to do it with Javi and the rest of our crew.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

[michaelsfavgirl]

freaky friday

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!actress!reader

Synopsis: One ordinary night, you and Michael unexpectedly switch bodies, forcing him to navigate life as you. With no choice, he has to go on set and do his best to act like you.

Tags: switching bodies, established relationship, bit of fluff, jealousy.

Word Count: 9.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: hey...*crickets*

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

The clock on the wall ticks loudly, but it’s barely audible over Quentin Tarantino’s voice as he rambles on about some minute detail in the script, his words now a constant, steady stream of sound that filters through your ears but doesn't quite register. You've been in this room for hours, long enough for the sunlight streaming through the blinds to fade into the amber hue of early evening. You sit in a chair at the head of a large wooden table, posture more relaxed now, legs crossed, fingers lazily spinning a pen between them. Across from you, Quentin is pacing back and forth, script in hand, gesturing wildly as he talks. His energy seems endless, as if he could do this for days, while you feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in after such a long day.

“…and in this scene, I really want the tension to build, you know? Like, build, build, build, until it just explodes!” Quentin exclaims, throwing his hands up dramatically, making you wonder how his arms don't tire from all the gesturing. His face lights up with an excitement that borders on obsessive, eyes wide, pacing faster now. His energy is contagious in some moments, but tonight, it’s hard to keep up.

You nod absently, eyes drifting from him to the shelf behind his head. It’s cluttered, filled with mementos from over the years: awards, photographs, and odd little trinkets from his film sets. Your gaze lands on a photo, one you’ve seen many times before but somehow always pulls you in. It’s a candid shot taken at the Oscars last year. You and Quentin are at the center, surrounded by other actors, all of you dressed to the nines. You’d won your second Best Actress Oscar that night, a moment forever immortalized in that photo.

But what you remember more than the cheers or the weight of the golden statue in your hand is the way Michael, your husband, had looked at you from the audience. You can still picture his face, glowing with pride, those deep brown eyes locked on you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. He had been your plus one, and even in the crowd of Hollywood’s finest, no one else had mattered in that moment. The applause, the cameras, the stage, it had all blurred into the background as you looked down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. 

“…and then we cut to the next shot. It’s gotta be quick, right? We don’t wanna linger too long. Keep the pace moving. Keep the audience on their toes.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the haze of your memories, pulling you back into the present. You blink, refocusing on him. He’s still pacing, still talking a mile a minute, but you can’t help but feel the fatigue in your bones. The weariness of running through this script for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

You shift in your seat, fighting the urge to yawn, and give him a small nod as if you’ve been following every word. He’s grumbling now, something about the studio and time limits, and you watch as his expression darkens, his tone becoming more irritated.

"Those bastards are putting a time limit on this film," he growls, finally stopping his pacing to look at you directly, expecting some kind of outrage or agreement.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Quentin and his disdain for anything that constrains his creative process is almost comical at this point. The man would make a ten-hour film if he could, and still call it concise.

“Oh, how cruel,” you tease lightly, your voice dripping with faux concern. “Three hours is basically a short film.”

His eyes narrow into a glare, though you know it’s all in good fun. He pauses for a moment, mouth twitching as if he’s holding back a retort, but the glare softens just slightly. You’ve spent enough time with him over the years to know how to push his buttons in just the right way, and he enjoys the back-and-forth.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips as you stretch your arms over your head, standing up slowly, letting out a sigh. You glance at the clock—half past seven—and wonder how the hell you’re still here. The set’s calling your name, and tomorrow you’ll be there, in the thick of it, channeling everything into the role that’s consumed your life for the last few months. But tonight? Tonight you need to rest, to recharge, to find your center again.

You look back at Quentin, who’s still watching you, waiting, expecting something more. He’s always pushing, always wanting to squeeze out every last drop of energy you have for his vision. But not tonight.

“I think we should wrap this up, tin tin,” you say, voice firm but gentle. You meet his gaze, your expression softening just enough to let him know you appreciate his drive, but you’re done for the night. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. I need to get home.”

He bristles, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “But what about-”

You cut him off, taking a step toward the door, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair as you do. “Do you want me to give a perfect performance tomorrow?” you ask, your voice filled with a knowing tone. The words linger in the air, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

He hesitates, blinking at you, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He knows where this is going. Of course he wants a perfect performance—he demands nothing less. But he’s also not one to let go easily, not when he’s on a roll. You give him a small, raised eyebrow, waiting for him to catch up.

“Obviously,” he mutters, crossing his arms, a faint pout forming on his lips like a petulant child who didn’t get his way. 

“Then I need to rest in order to do that,” you say, pulling your coat around your shoulders and moving toward the door. There’s a finality to your tone, one that brooks no argument, and Quentin, despite his tenacity, knows when to concede. 

He opens his mouth, but you’re already one step ahead. You flash him a playful smile as your hand grips the door handle. 

“Arrivederci,” you say with a dramatic flair, throwing the goodbye over your shoulder like it’s the end of one of his own films. And before he can utter a single word in response, you pull the door open and step through, closing it firmly behind you.

With a soft chuckle, you adjust your coat and make your way toward the exit. Your thoughts drift back to Michael, to the way his eyes had sparkled that night at the Oscars, and you find yourself eager to get home. To slip into the warmth of his embrace, to hear his voice, to recharge in the comfort of your shared life before the madness of filming begins again tomorrow.

The gravel crunches softly under your feet as you walk along the familiar path that winds through Neverland Ranch. The late afternoon sun bathes everything in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the sprawling landscape. It’s peaceful here, a serene retreat away from the chaos of your everyday life. You smile at the sight of the gardeners, working diligently as always, their hands tending to the earth with precision and pride. You wave hello, receiving a warm smile in return, and for a moment, everything feels right with the world.

Without hesitation, you reach the front door and let yourself in. You’ve long since stopped ringing the bell; this is your home too, after all. The door clicks shut behind you, and as soon as you step inside, you’re greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of dinner. The rich smell of herbs and spices fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You know immediately that Michael has been in the kitchen, cooking up something special for the two of you. 

You follow the scent like a trail of breadcrumbs. The light in the house is soft and warm, casting everything in a cozy glow. It feels like home—safe, welcoming, and full of love.

In the kitchen, you see the spread he’s prepared—a feast for the senses. Without thinking, you grab a fork and take a bite of the nearest plate, the mouth watering taste hitting your tongue in a perfect combination. You close your eyes for a second, savoring the flavor.

But before you can take a second bite, you feel his presence behind you. His arms snake around your waist, his chest pressing gently into your back. You stiffen slightly in surprise, not having heard him approach. Startled, you almost drop the fork, and in your jolt, you nearly knock him off balance. His chuckle, low and soft, vibrates against you as his grip tightens, steadying you both.

“Easy, easy there, sweet girl,” he coos in your ear, his voice a soothing whisper, filled with amusement and affection. His breath is warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but laugh at your reaction. 

You turn in his arms, your body relaxing as you face him. Michael’s eyes sparkle with mischief, that familiar boyish grin tugging at his lips, and before you can say anything, he bends his head down, placing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The sensation is electric, and you feel your muscles go lax as his lips trail up and down your skin, his kisses gentle, unhurried, as if he’s savoring every inch of you. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt for support as you melt into his embrace. 

“Hmm,” you hum softly, leaning into him, your body pressing closer to his lean frame, completely at ease in his arms. His touch has always had that effect on you—grounding you, making the world disappear until it’s just the two of you.

“Tired, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a quiet, tender note of concern. His lips brush the curve of your jaw, and you hum again, the sound barely more than a sleepy sigh. You don’t have the energy to answer in full sentences, the weight of the day’s exhaustion catching up with you now that you’re in his arms.

Noticing how you’re practically sagging against him, he chuckles softly and shifts his hold on you. One arm slides around your back while the other scoops under your knees, and before you know it, he’s lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Let’s get you into something more comfortable,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You don’t protest, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful haze. 

He carries you through the wide hallways to your shared bedroom. Michael sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he kneels in front of you, looking up with those dark, expressive eyes that always seem to see straight into your soul. He starts to help you out of your clothes, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse, moving with slow, deliberate care.

“You were amazing today,” he says softly as he slides the fabric off your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin in the process. “I know it.” His praise is sincere, his voice filled with admiration. Even though he wasn’t there with you at the meeting, he always knows how to make you feel like you’ve conquered the world.

His hands move down to your shoes next, gently removing them one by one as he continues his soft praise. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve to rest. Let me take care of you, okay?”

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who knows you so well, who always seems to know exactly what you need, even when you don’t say it out loud. He’s careful, meticulous as he helps you into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, all the while whispering sweet words of encouragement, each touch and each word meant to soothe you into complete relaxation.

Once you’re dressed, he stands and pulls you back into his arms for a moment, his hand running up and down your back in long, gentle strokes. “There,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now you’re ready to eat.”

Back in the dining room, you settle at the table, the delicious meal spread out before you like a banquet. Michael sits across from you, and the two of you dig in, the quiet comfort of home surrounding you as you enjoy the meal together.

“So,” he begins after a few bites, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you with a soft smile. “How was the meeting with Quentin?”

You roll your eyes playfully as you swallow your food, already anticipating the subtle interrogation that’s about to follow. “It was long,” you say with a sigh. “We went over the script again for what felt like the hundredth time. But it went well. We’re ready to start shooting tomorrow.”

Michael nods thoughtfully, taking another bite of his food. There’s a pause, just a beat too long, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s never been great at hiding his feelings, and you can sense the question coming before he even asks it.

“And… How's André?” he asks casually, too casually, as if he’s just making conversation. But the slight raise of his eyebrow, the way his eyes flicker with something more than curiosity, gives him away. 

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing as you set your fork down and meet his gaze with an amused look. “Michael,” you say, your tone playful but firm. “Are you really asking about him?”

He shrugs, trying to maintain his nonchalant air, but there’s a spark of jealousy in his eyes that he can’t quite hide. “Just… curious. You know, he’s your co-star. You two have some pretty… close scenes together.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms as you study him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re never good at hiding your jealousy.”

He chuckles, looking down at his plate for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not jealous,” he says, but there’s a playful lilt in his voice, and you know he’s not being entirely truthful. “I just… want to make sure everything’s professional. That’s all.”

You reach across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about André. He’s a professional, and so am I. It’s just acting, Michael.”

He nods, but you can still see the way his jaw tenses slightly, the protective edge that always seems to come out when he talks about your work, especially when it involves other men. It’s endearing, in a way—his fierce devotion to you, the way he always wants to make sure you’re safe, loved, and protected. 

“Besides,” you add, your voice softening as you meet his gaze. “There’s only one person I’m coming home to at the end of the day.” 

The tension in his face melts away at that, and his smile returns, warm and genuine. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I know,” he says quietly, his eyes filled with love. “I just can’t help it sometimes.”

You smile back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I know. And I love you for it.” The rest of dinner passes in comfortable conversation, the two of you talking about everything and nothing all at once. 

The ticking of the clock grows softer, fading into the background as the night deepens. It’s close to midnight, and the exhaustion of the day is catching up to you both. After a long, relaxing dinner and some quiet moments together, there’s only one thing left to do before you can finally collapse into bed: shower.

You two move in sync, heading to the spacious, marbled bathroom that’s become a familiar haven. The cool air in the room brushes against your skin, but the anticipation of the warm water about to cascade over you is enough to chase away the chill. Michael moves ahead of you, twisting the faucet, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise, filling the room with warmth. He steps inside first, and as the water begins to rain down over his lean frame, you can’t help but stare.

Droplets of water cling to his skin, gliding down his body, tracing the contours of his muscles. His curls loosen under the stream, sticking to his forehead. You stand frozen for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. There’s something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and intimate, that makes your breath hitch.

He looks at you, a teasing grin on his face. “You planning to stand there all night or are you getting in?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze, and laugh softly. “Just admiring the view.”

His grin widens, and he steps aside to make room for you. You join him under the shower’s warm spray, feeling the water wash away the day’s tension, soothing your sore muscles. The heat envelopes you both, the glass walls fogging up quickly.

He smiles softly, knowing exactly what you need without you having to say a word. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you rest your head against his chest. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his embrace, it all feels so right. You stay like that for a while, just letting the water wash over you, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

After a while, you both step out, toweling off and heading to bed. The sheets are cool against your skin as you settle into the plush pillows, and the comforting hum of the TV in the background lulls you into a sense of peace. Michael curls up beside you, the two of you cuddling close as the “The Nanny” plays softly in the background. You’re not really paying attention to the show anymore, too focused on the steady rhythm of Michael’s hand rubbing your back.

His touch is gentle, soothing in its familiarity, but when he stops, you immediately feel the absence. You whine softly, the sound barely a murmur, but enough to get his attention.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright. alright” he teases, his voice low and affectionate.

You pout in response, pressing closer to him. “Don’t stop…”

With a soft laugh, he resumes, his warm palm sliding across your back, fingers moving in slow, gentle strokes. His touch is everything—comforting, grounding, a constant reminder of his presence beside you. You shift slightly, settling deeper into the sheets.

“A little to the left,” you mumble sleepily, eyes closed as you surrender to the growing drowsiness.

Obligingly, he scratches your back to the left, his fingers grazing the spot that has been bothering you all day. His touch feels heavenly, chasing away any lingering tension in your body. 

“And a little lower…” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as sleep begins to pull you under.

He complies, his smile audible in his voice as he says, “Anything else, your majesty?”

You hum softly, too tired to respond, already halfway asleep. His hand moves in slow, soothing circles, the warmth of his body against yours lulling you further into unconsciousness. With a contented sigh, you let yourself drift, the comfort of the moment enveloping you completely. This has been such an ordinary day, right? Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary—just another day in your life with Michael. Right?

Little do you know, something extraordinary is about to happen.

Morning comes too soon, and the first thing you hear is the blaring sound of your alarm. Groggily, you reach over to your nightstand to turn it off, but your hand meets… nothing. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you fumble around blindly, your eyes still half-closed, trying to find the alarm. When your fingers finally close around the clock, it’s on Michael’s side of the bed. 

Why is it over there?

The thought is slow to form in your sleepy brain, but something feels off. You groan softly, not yet opening your eyes as you roll onto your back, rubbing your face to try to shake off the remnants of sleep. But the moment your hands touch your face, you freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and what you see makes your heart skip a beat. The hands in front of you… they’re not yours. They’re larger, rougher, with long fingers and a noticeable strength to them. Panic rises in your chest as you stare at them, and in a desperate move, you sit up and look down at your body.

Oh. Shit.

The body you’re looking at—it’s not yours. It’s Michael’s. Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind races, trying to process what the hell is going on. 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

You whip your head to the side, your heart pounding in your chest, and that’s when you see yourself—your actual body—sleeping peacefully beside you. Your chest tightens as you take in the sight of your own face, eyes closed, looking as serene as ever. But it’s not you. It’s not your consciousness inside that body. 

You’re in Michael’s body.

Your hand instinctively goes to your chest, and the moment your palm flattens against the unfamiliar, muscular plane of your torso, a wave of shock hits you. “What the fuck,” you whisper under your breath, your voice sounding completely foreign to your ears. Deep. Michael’s voice. 

Your eyes widen, and you glance down, your hands trembling slightly as they hover over the sheets. Curiosity, mixed with utter disbelief, gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips under the covers, and you feel…it. 

You jerk your hand back immediately, your cheeks flushing with heat. “Oh my God,” you mutter, suddenly feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy in the most intimate way possible. Your mind is spinning, unable to wrap itself around what’s happening. You’re in his body. This can’t be real.

You leap out of bed, your heart racing as you start pacing back and forth, your hands running through Michael’s hair as you try to make sense of this bizarre situation. “I have to be dreaming,” you mutter to yourself. “This isn’t possible.”

But it feels real. Too real. The floor under your feet is solid, the cool air hitting your skin feels normal, and every move you make is controlled by Michael’s body. You glance back at the bed, at your body, still sleeping peacefully. How did this happen? How is this even possible?

Your alarm blares again, and you freeze. Set. The set! You have to be on set today.

“Oh god,” you groan, rubbing your face. You have to be on set in a few hours, and you’re stuck in Michael’s body. How are you supposed to shoot your scenes when you’re like this? 

Michael’s voice comes out in a groggy mumble as he snuggles his face into the pillow. “What’s all the fuss about?” he grumbles, clearly still half-asleep, his voice soft and pitched higher than usual. He shifts slightly, his hand lazily reaching out for the blanket, but then he freezes. The sound of his own voice – or rather, the sound of your voice – pulls him out of the last remnants of sleep. His eyes snap open in confusion.

He lifts his head slowly, blinking against the morning light, and when he finally looks over at you, his jaw drops. He stares at your(his) body, standing there looking every bit as stunned as he feels. His eyes widen in disbelief, and for a few seconds, it’s like his brain can’t catch up to the reality of what’s happening. He looks down at himself, or rather, at your body, and back up at you, back and forth in stunned silence.

“The hell…” he whispers, his voice coming out higher, more pitched. It sounds completely foreign to him, like someone else is speaking through his mouth.

You’re already pacing, hands running through his hair. Your body language is full of anxious energy, and he can tell right away you’re freaking out. Michael takes a deep breath and forces himself to move. Slowly, as calmly as possible, he slides out of the bed, every movement cautious like he’s trying not to break something.

Once on his feet, he takes a few shaky steps toward you. It feels weird and when he looks up at you he has to tilt his head to meet your eyes. The shift in perspective is jarring. He’s never realized how much taller he is than you until now. Is this what it’s like for you every day, looking up at him like this?

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, still trying to keep calm. “Is this what I look like to you?”

You glance at him, still pacing in his body, and for a split second, your stress breaks. You can’t help but giggle. “How does it feel to be the short one now?”

He shoots you a look, your own sharp stare coming right back at you. “Not the time,” he says, his tone clipped. 

The giggle dies on your lips, and you nod, understanding this is serious. Michael begins pacing now, mirroring the frantic energy you had just moments before. Watching your own body pace back and forth is surreal. You’ve never seen yourself like this, and there’s something bizarre about seeing your body from an outsider’s perspective, especially when you’re inside someone else.

He rubs his hands over his face, feeling your softer skin, the shape of your cheeks, and the delicate jawline he knows so well, just not from this angle. He takes a deep breath, then another, as if trying to ground himself.

“It’s fine,” he says, more to himself than to you. “It’s all fine. We can figure this out.” He’s pacing faster now, his arms moving in that exaggerated way that always happens when he’s nervous. “We’ll just… call Deepak.” His voice is quiet, more like he’s thinking out loud. “He knows about this kind of stuff, right? Spirituality, body…switching?” His voice falters at the end, and you can tell he’s grasping for something, anything to make sense of this.

“Mike,” you say, stepping forward in his body, trying to stop his pacing. But he keeps going, muttering under his breath about having all day to figure this out, that everything will be okay by tonight. You watch him, knowing he’s doing that thing where he tries to rationalize everything, even when things are wildly out of control.

You step forward and place your—no, his—strong hands on his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. The contrast between your hand’s size and the feel of your own body beneath them is striking, and it gives you a moment of pause, but you quickly focus on the situation at hand.

“Michael,” you say again, a little more firmly this time. “We don’t have all day.”

He frowns, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have to be on set in two hours.”

That’s when the realization hits. His eyes widen, which is weird to see on your own face. “Oh shit,” he mutters, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands drop into his lap, and he stares blankly ahead, his mind obviously racing as he processes what you just said.

You sit down next to him, the bed dipping under your combined weight. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of what this means. You have to be on set today. He has to be on set today. In your body. And as that thought fully settles in, you can see the dawning horror on his face.

He’s going to have to act.

Trying to break the tension, you give him a small, teasing smile. “Maybe now’s your time to finally become an actor.”

“Not funny sweetheart.” He groans, flopping back onto the bed in exasperation, your arm flinging dramatically over his face. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters, his voice muffled. “I can’t do this.”

You chuckle softly and nudge him with your elbow. “Come on, there’s no way around it. You already know the words from helping me rehearse. You’ve practically memorized the whole script.”

He peeks at you from under his arm, his expression somewhere between resigned and panicked. “Memorizing the lines is one thing. Actually being you on set in front of Quentin and the whole crew is… insane.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. This is insane. But there’s no other option. “Look, we don’t have a choice. And you know how I behave. Just… do what I do.”

He groans again but sits up, running a hand through your hair, which looks bizarre from this perspective. He finally seems to accept that there’s no way out of this. With a deep breath, he stands up and squares his—your—shoulders.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly. “I got this. I just have to act like you.”

You smile, relieved that he’s getting on board with the plan. “Yeah. Easy.”

He nods, his expression determined as he heads toward the bathroom. But then, as you watch him go, you notice the way he’s walking—his usual confident, masculine stride. It looks completely out of place in your body, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. Watching your body walk like that, like a man, is almost too much.

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe not so easy,” you mutter to yourself, a wry smile playing on your lips.

Michael disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the water running as he splashes his face, probably trying to snap himself out of the weirdness of the situation. Meanwhile, you lay there, your mind spinning with everything that’s about to happen.

You can’t help but wonder how this day is going to play out. You’re stuck in Michael’s body, and he’s stuck in yours, and somehow you’re both going to have to survive the day without anyone figuring out what’s happened. 

—

Michael steps out of the walk-in closet, fidgeting slightly as he tugs on the sleeves of the outfit he’s just put together. It’s a far cry from what you’d usually wear, but he’s trying his best to look like you, or at the very least, like a version of you that could exist on a casual day. He looks down at himself, feeling awkward as the clothes hang a little differently on your body than he imagined.

As soon as he steps into the bedroom, you take one look at him and blurt out, “What is that outfit?” 

His brow furrows, clearly a little offended. He glances down at the clothes he’s chosen and frowns. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, arms spreading out as if to showcase the full look.

You fold your arms across your chest, tilting your head with an exasperated sigh. “Michael, you can’t go on set looking like that. No way. Come on, I’ll get you dressed.”

He huffs in protest, standing his ground. “I think it looks fine. It’s your stuff. What’s wrong with it?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you move forward and start rifling through the closet, your movements confident and sure, despite being in his body. “Trust me, now’s not the time to argue about this. You’ve got less than an hour before you’re supposed to be on set, and you can’t be out there looking like…” You trail off, gesturing at his body. “…like that. Just—come on, let me fix it.”

Reluctantly, Michael steps back as you start throwing together an outfit—something that actually looks like you. As he watches you, he mutters under his breath, “So, what? Were you lying every time you complimented my outfits?” he grumbles as you sift through the hangers, picking out clothes that feel more like you.

Rolling your eyes, you toss a shirt at him. “I wasn’t lying. I like your outfits… on you. But right now, you’re supposed to look like me, remember?”

Michael grumbles but complies, changing into the outfit you’ve picked out with a few more muttered complaints. Once he’s dressed, he gives you a reluctant nod, clearly not thrilled but knowing better than to argue further. The clothes fit better, at least, and when he checks his reflection in the mirror, he has to admit that he looks more like you now than he did before.

With a deep breath, he finally heads out, ready, or as ready as he’ll ever be, to tackle the day ahead.

—

At your shared home, you're reclining on a deck chair, trying to relax despite the nagging feeling of unease that’s settled in your stomach. The ranch is gorgeous as always, the sun filtering through the trees and casting a warm glow over the rolling hills. But even with the idyllic setting, you can’t fully relax. Michael’s on set, in your body, about to spend the day pretending to be you. 

You trust him, of course. But still… it’s your job, your reputation on the line. What if something goes wrong? What if he messes up? What if-

You shake your head, trying to push the worries aside. There’s nothing you can do about it now. All you can do is wait.

—

Michael arrives on set, and the moment he steps out of the car, he can feel his heart rate spike. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s hard when everything around him feels so foreign. He’s been to set with you a million times before, but never like this, never as you.

You make this look so effortless—walking onto set, greeting everyone with that natural charm, slipping into character like it’s second nature. But for him, it’s like stepping into a battlefield without any armor.

As he heads toward the dressing rooms, he mentally rehearses what little he knows. Smile. Be friendly. Act like nothing’s wrong. He can do that. Right?

Walking into the building, he forces a bright smile and greets the crew, trying to channel your energy. “Morning everyone.” The words feel awkward, but no one seems to notice.

He’s ushered into the makeup chair almost immediately, and the team starts fussing over him, brushing his hair, applying your makeup. Michael watches himself in the mirror, seeing your face reflected back at him. It’s a bizarre feeling, being on the other side of this.

The real test comes when he steps out of makeup and catches sight of Quentin across the set. His heart lurches. Oh no. Quentin’s eyes lock onto him, and Michael turns on his heel, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But before he can make his escape, Quentin’s voice booms across the room.

“Hey! There she is!” Quentin’s excitement is palpable, and Michael has no choice but to turn back, plastering a smile on his face.

“Hi, Quentin!” he calls, trying to mimic your usual enthusiasm. Inside, he’s screaming.

Quentin strides over, grinning widely. “We’re starting with the scene we worked on yesterday. Got everything prepped?”

Michael’s mind races. The scene we worked on yesterday? You hadn’t mentioned anything specific about yesterday’s rehearsals. He nods, playing along, though he has no clue what Quentin is talking about. “Yeah, of course. All good.”

Quentin gives him a thumbs-up and turns to the crew, calling for everyone to quiet down. “All right, everyone! Let’s get ready for the first shot!”

As the set falls into hushed activity, Michael makes his way toward the stage, scanning the room for any sign of what’s coming next. And then he spots Andre. Great. Michael narrows his eyes. If there’s any silver lining to this ridiculous situation, it’s that he finally gets to see firsthand if Andre has a thing for you.

Andre is already in position, lounging casually in a chair, his charming smile aimed right at you. As Michael approaches, Andre stands and strides over with a relaxed confidence. “Hey, you,” Andre says, flashing that charming smile. He goes in for a hug, pulling Michael in close. Does he always hug you like this? 

Michael stiffens, his mind spinning. He’s so lost in the flood of jealousy that he doesn’t even notice Andre’s hand reach up to adjust the collar of your shirt. It’s only when he feels fingers brush his neck that he snaps out of it, stepping back abruptly.

“What are you doing?” Michael blurts out, his tone more accusatory than he intended.

Andre chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Forgot what scene we’re shooting today?”

Michael’s stomach drops. “No, I- of course I remember. We’re shooting the… uh…” He trails off, hoping for some miraculous divine intervention. None comes.

Andre gives him a knowing look, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “The confession scene.”

Michael’s throat tightens. Oh, that scene. How wonderful.

“Right. That one,” he mutters, trying to keep his composure.

Andre mumbles under his breath, just enough to be heard but not enough to draw attention. “The kiss scene.”

Michael’s mind reels. The kiss?! He didn’t know about this. But before he can respond, Quentin’s voice shouts, “Action!”

The scene begins, and Michael’s instincts kick in. He’s watched you act a thousand times; he’s even helped you rehearse your lines. But now, actually performing? It’s a whole different ballgame. He tries to remember how you carry yourself, how you deliver lines with that natural charisma.

Andre begins, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I can’t keep this inside anymore. Every time I see you, it’s like… like I’m drowning in everything I feel for you.” His eyes are locked on Michael, stepping closer with every word. “It’s not just want. It’s need. You have me enchanted.”

Michael tries to respond, his voice trembling slightly. “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Don’t lie. You always knew,” Andre says, his tone softening. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment we met. And now, I can’t wait anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”

Andre leans in, his hand brushing against Michael’s arm, and Michael feels his body tense. Oh God. The kiss.

Panicking, Michael stumbles back a step, and in the process, his elbow knocks into a vase on a nearby table. It tips and crashes to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

“Cut!” Quentin’s voice roars across the set, filled with frustration. The entire crew freezes, staring at the broken vase, then at Michael.

Michael’s heart is pounding in his chest as he tries to breathe. He feels a surge of embarrassment flood through him, but before he can explain, Quentin marches over, rubbing his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Quentin asks, exasperated but not yet furious. “You were doing fine, and then…” He gestures to the broken vase. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael stammers, “I just… got distracted for a second.”

Andre smirks, clearly enjoying this far more than he should be. “You good, babe? You’re not usually this jumpy.”

Babe?! Who the hell is this bitch calling babe?

Michael clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. He forces a smile, trying to keep it together. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… got a little too into it, I guess.”

Quentin waves it off, already moving back to his director’s chair. “All right, let’s reset and go again.”

As the crew rushes to clean up the broken vase and reset the scene, Michael takes a deep breath, feeling the pressure mounting. He glances at Andre, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. The kiss. It’s coming, and there’s no way around it.

Michael glances around, trying to steady his breathing as he walks back to his mark. He’s dreading this moment. Out of all the scenes in the script, why did they have to start with this one? It’s the first time André’s character confesses his feelings for yours, and of course, it culminates in a passionate kiss. Michael grits his teeth. He’s already feeling defensive just thinking about it.

André, ever the professional, strolls over, adjusting his shirt as he gets into position. He gives Michael a quick smile, one that seems way too charming for Michael’s liking.

“Ready?” André asks, flashing that same disarming grin that Michael now finds infuriating. He’s been watching this man flirt with you for days, and now he’s got to endure him up close—way too close.

Michael forces a nod, doing his best to look calm. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the air. “And… action!”

The scene begins, and Michael tries to focus on the lines he’s practiced, mentally repeating them as he watches André deliver his dialogue with intense emotion. André’s character is pouring his heart out, stepping closer and closer with each sentence. Michael can feel the weight of the scene, but it’s hard to concentrate when he knows what’s coming.

And then it happens. André leans in, his face just inches away from Michael’s. Their lips touch, and Michael fights the urge to pull back. He tries to stay in character, tries to be professional. He can feel André’s hands sliding over your body, gently caressing your arms and then moving lower, fingertips grazing your waist. This definitely wasn’t in the script.

What the fuck? Michael thinks, his mind racing. He swears you told him this kiss was just supposed to be a brief peck, but here he is, locked in what feels like a full-on makeout session. André’s lips press harder against yours, the kiss deepening as if the two characters are consumed by the moment. Michael is struggling to keep it together. He stiffens, resisting the instinct to shove André away.

From the corner of his eye, Michael sees Quentin nodding approvingly, almost entranced by the scene. He’s probably thinking it’s going better than planned. But Michael is ready to crawl out of his own skin.

“Cut!” Quentin finally calls, his voice filled with satisfaction. “That was great! Really great!”

The moment Quentin’s voice echoes across the set, Michael pulls away, nearly stumbling as he breaks free from André’s hold. He wipes at his mouth instinctively, a grimace twisting his features as he meets André’s eyes.

André, seemingly unfazed, just smirks. “Nice job,” he says, his voice dripping with allure.

Michael shoots him a look that would’ve melted steel, but before he can say anything, Quentin announces, “Alright, five-minute break, everyone.”

Michael turns on his heel without a word, heading straight for your dressing room. He’s barely able to keep it together, anger simmering beneath the surface. His phone is in his hand before he even realizes it, and he’s dialing your number. The moment you pick up, he doesn’t wait for you to speak.

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to do the kissing scene today!” he says sharply, his voice laced with sass.

On the other end, you try to suppress a laugh, but Michael can hear the amusement in your tone when you respond, “Well, I didn’t want to stress you out more than you already were.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “That’s real considerate of you,” he mutters sarcastically. “But can we talk about that mo-... him? Why is he so touchy-feely with you?”

You sigh, and Michael can picture you rolling your eyes in return. “Michael, that’s just the way he is. He’s an actor, he’s in the moment. No need to worry about it.”

“No need to worry?” Michael huffs. “He’s clearly into you. The way he was all over me—well, you—just now? That wasn’t acting.”

You groan on the other end of the line, clearly over this conversation. “Michael, please. We’ll talk about this nonsense when you get home, okay?”

“Nonsense?” He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a quick, “Love you,” and then the line goes dead.

Michael stares at the phone, groaning as he leans back against the wall of your dressing room. He lets out a long breath, staring into the mirror. There’s your face looking back at him, but it doesn’t feel like you. It feels alien, like he’s wearing a mask that’s too tight. He tries to calm down, closing his eyes for a second before pulling himself back together. He can’t afford to lose it now, not when he’s still got a full day of shooting ahead.

With another deep breath, he heads back to the set.

—

The shooting continues, and Michael does his best to stay in character, though it’s hard. He makes a few minor mistakes—forgetting to tilt his head just right, not delivering lines with the same nuance you do—but nothing too disastrous. Quentin doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s not calling Michael out on it. Still, every time Michael stumbles over a line or misses a cue, his stomach clenches. He feels like he’s walking a tightrope, balancing between passing as you and being found out.

But what bothers him more than the minor acting slip-ups is André. The guy is infuriating. Every time they reset the scene, André finds some excuse to get close to you, whether it’s fixing your wardrobe, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, or even offering casual compliments about how well you’re doing. To anyone else, it might look like André is just being friendly, but Michael knows better.

There’s an intensity in his eyes when he looks at you—an intensity that Michael’s certain he’s aimed at you a hundred times before. It makes his blood boil.

At one point, when they’re setting up for another scene, André sidles up to Michael, standing just a little too close for comfort. “You’re doing so well today,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I knew you were talented, but this… this is something else.”

Michael grits his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Thanks,” he mutters, not wanting to engage more than necessary.

André leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “You know, I’ve always admired your dedication. It’s… inspiring.” His face is so close to yours that Michael feels his warm breath against his neck.

Michael glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. He wants to say something, wants to tell André to back off, to stop being so damn flirty, but he knows he can’t afford to blow up here. Not in front of the crew. So instead, he forces a tight smile and steps away, pretending to check something on his phone.

André watches him for a moment, that same charming smile still on his face, before finally walking off to talk to one of the crew members.

Michael exhales, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. If André pulls something like that again, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back.

As the day drags on, Michael somehow manages to get through the rest of the scenes without any major disasters. He stumbles a few more times, forgetting small details you’d usually nail without thinking, but overall, he manages to hold his own. The crew seems satisfied, and even Quentin gives him a few nods of approval.

But throughout it all, Michael’s focus is split. Half of his mind is on the task at hand—delivering lines, hitting marks, staying in character—but the other half is constantly tuned in to André. Every time the other actor gets too close, every time he touches Michael or says something with that smooth, flirtatious tone, Michael feels his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

By the time Quentin finally calls a wrap on the day’s shoot, Michael is more than ready to get the hell out of there. As soon as he hears those magical words, “That’s a wrap!” He practically bolts for your dressing room, eager to escape André’s lingering presence.

He pulls out his phone, sending you a quick text: Coming home. 

He doesn’t wait for a reply before grabbing his things and heading for the car. Today has been exhausting in more ways than one, and all he wants to do is get back to the ranch, collapse into bed, and forget this whole bizarre day ever happened.

—

As you lounge on the plush couch in the living room you stretch your legs, sinking deeper into the luxurious cushions, savoring the calmness that comes with being home. Thank god he had a day off today. 

The door swings open gently, and Michael walks in. His steps are a little heavier than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched in that familiar way he gets when he’s both tired and annoyed.

You raise your eyebrow, sensing his mood before he even says a word. “How did it go?” you ask, your voice laced with curiosity and a bit of playful teasing.

Michael doesn’t respond immediately, just sighs deeply, making his way over to the couch. He collapses next to you, laying his head against your chest, burying his face in what is now his own body. You chuckle softly at the sight—it’s still bizarre seeing him in your body, his movements awkward and slightly off, but endearing all the same.

“I think I didn’t do too bad,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. His arm drapes lazily over your waist, and you stroke his hair gently.

You nod, encouraging him to continue, but something tells you there’s more. His expression gives it away, the way his brows are furrowed and his jaw is tight. He’s holding something back.

And then, as expected, he brings up André.

You let out a soft breath, your lips twitching into a smirk. You knew this was coming. “What about him?” you ask casually, trying to hide your amusement as Michael continues his jealous rant.

“He just—ugh, he’s so obvious! He keeps finding reasons to get close to you. Like, during the scene, he had his hands all over me, and I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t in the script!” Michael grumbles, his head still resting on your chest. “It’s like he doesn’t even care that you’re married. He’s got no respect.”

You can’t help it, you breathe out a chuckle, the corner of your mouth lifting as you watch him get more worked up. His jealousy is kind of adorable, and you’ve always known he’s been protective of you, but seeing him like this—seeing him experience it firsthand—is on another level.

Interrupting his tangent, you sigh, your voice soft but knowing. “I know,” you say.

Michael’s head jerks up suddenly, his eyes wide as he looks at you in shock. “Wait, what? You know?”

You nod, giving him a shrug. “Yeah, I’m not blind, Michael. I know he likes me. It’s pretty obvious.”

He stares at you, looking like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

You smile, brushing your hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like I pay him any mind.”

He sits up now, fully engaged in the conversation, eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t?” he asks, and you can hear the underlying tension in his voice.

You tilt your head, smirking a little. “Of course not. Yeah, he’s cute—” you can see the slight shock flash across Michael’s face at that admission, “—but he doesn’t compare to you.”

Michael’s expression softens slightly at that, his shoulders relaxing a little as the words sink in. For a second, his jealousy seems to ease, and you can see the corners of his lips twitch, though he tries to hide it.

“So, he’s cute now, huh?” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words anymore, just a little playful teasing.

You laugh softly, giving his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, doo doo head. He’s not the one I’m married to,” you say with a wink. And that seems to settle him down, his head leaning back against the couch as he sighs, though his eyes still flicker with traces of that protective spark.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you break it with a new topic. “By the way, I called Deepak.”

Michael glances at you, now intrigued. “Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’ll be here in an hour or two,” you explain, your tone casual. “Says he can help us figure this out and hopefully get us back into our own bodies.”

Michael nods, seeming relieved. “Good. This whole thing is starting to really mess with my head.”

You let out a small sigh, leaning back into the cushions, and the silence stretches for a moment. Then, feeling a sudden mischievous urge, you turn to him with a grin and ask, “So… you gonna let me fuck you?”

Michael’s eyes widen in pure shock, his mouth dropping open as he stares at you, clearly taken aback. “What? No!” he blurts out, his voice shooting up an octave.

You pout playfully, leaning closer to him. “Come on,” you tease, your voice lilting with amusement. “I wanna know how I looks when you fuck me.”

His face heats up, and he shakes his head vigorously, his body tensing at the mere suggestion. “No. Absolutely not.”

You let out a groan of disappointment, falling back against the couch dramatically. “You’re no fun,” you grumble, casting him a playful glance out of the corner of your eye.

Michael finally lets out a chuckle, the tension easing as he watches you with that familiar smile of his. “I can’t believe you even suggested that,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, though his laughter betrays his amusement.

“What? It was just an idea!” you defend, giggling as you nudge him with your shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile remains, and the tension from the day seems to melt away, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with you, his wife, even if you’re in his body for now.

The clock ticks softly in the background as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, waiting for Deepak to arrive, but for now, content to just be here, together, even if things are a little upside down.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @theladyinmoscow @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @leociinta @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw @b3rk1ey @sirusxx @maybe7tommorow @falllovesomemichealjackson @virgomjj @michaels-nonbinary-child @veavixen @elthoughtzos @kingayanna

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗗

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is part of the Sturniolo Triplets fandom and makes videos about them on TikTok. After years of creating content, one of her videos seems to catch the attention of none other than Chris.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, from anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N².: I used this tiktoker as an inspiration for the content that the reader creates on this.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

It was true that the Sturniolo Triplets fandom grew so much in such a short time thanks to the fans themselves, who play a big role in bringing the channel to other people through social media - mainly TikTok. It was also true that, at least 90% of this part of the fandom works with edits of different types of the boys; compilation of parts from a certain video or podcast, edits and even memes.

But there was a small portion that made videos talking about the boys, showing their faces and voices while explaining their content, work and even giving tips on how the triplets themselves could increase their audience or improve their brands.

And Y/N was part of this small portion, having been in the fandom since mid-2021 and not missing any videos of the triplets, she could talk about them for hours on end.

Her biggest hobby was making videos giving ideas for their channel and brands: some brands they could collab with, theme ideas for car videos, topics for podcasts, prints for hoodie sets and t-shirts - both for the triplets' brand and for Fresh Love -, different flavors and themes for Space Camp, and so on.

The girl applied all her love and knowledge to all her videos, editing the backgrounds and explaining her ideas with the smallest details, making them understandable. She had perfect lighting, audio, and set equipment for her work, which made the quality equally good as her content.

Her trademark was her strawberry frappuccino, which she was always drinking every time she turned on her phone camera. Fans joked that her obsession with the drink was like Chris's obsession with Pepsi.

And all that was exactly why fans loved her so much. Y/N had more than 400 thousand followers on her TikTok account and all her videos reached an average of 150 thousand likes, in addition to the many comments saying how smart she was for having those ideas, her kindness in sharing them with the public and even complementing her beauty.

The girl spent hours of her day reading each one of them and interacting with fans as if they were best friends, always being very kind. She laughed her ass off at the comments from people who madly tagged the boys, especially Chris, as it was a well-known fact that he was her favorite - she loved to make that very clear.

Some fans even went so far as to say that if Chris was ever ready to get romantically involved with someone again, they wanted it to be with Y/N. The girl read that type of comment with a huge smile on her face and red cheeks, feeling honored. Although she imagined that the boys would never even notice her, she allowed herself to travel through the world of delusion from time to time.

So it was an understandment to say that she was super surprised when, after waking up on a typical Saturday and picking up her phone for the first time in the day before even getting out of bed - a bad habit of hers -, she saw the notifications in triple the volume of its normal.

She felt dizzy with so much information, trying to find in the midst of so many comments and messages what was really happening.

Finally, after traveling between her TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter for long minutes, she finally found it.

Chris Sturniolo had commented on her last video.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

It was Friday, and the triplets had just returned home after finishing recording their new car video that would be posted in a few hours.

Chris was currently lying in his bed, the lights in his room dimmed, and the low noise coming from his phone filling the four walls.

The brunette was just getting ready to take a shower minutes ago, having opened his TikTok and scrolling through his For You for a few minutes, about to take off his clothes used in the filming, when a video of an unknown girl talking about himself caught his attention.

It was very normal to have videos of and about himself on his For You, after all, the hours over the last few years that he spent liking one video or another showed the algorithm that he liked this type of content. Edits and memes of him alone or with his brothers filled his app, and he spent enough time watching, laughing, liking, and, sometimes, reposting some of them.

But it wasn't normal for him to have a completely unknown person talking directly about him, with her face and voice exposed for the world while doing it. And what surprised him most was what she was talking about, that specific video being about different prints and colors that he could use in the next Fresh Love collection.

His blue eyes lingered too long on the girl's face, admiring her features, her sweet voice serving as a melody for his ears.

When Chris dragged his thumb from the right to the left of his screen, entering the girl's profile, he finally noticed her name.

"Y/N." His voice came out in a whisper, enjoying more than necessary how the name slipped off his tongue so easily.

His fingers wandered across the screen, going from one video to another, listening to the ideas carefully - even writing some down on his Notes app -, saving some in a separate folder and browsing the comments, only then realizing that practically all of them were from fans tagging him.

Laughter escaped his lips at some of the jokes the girl made every now and then, while fascination filled his eyes with the effort she put into each idea.

The sound of knocking against his bedroom door startled him, his body jumping as he turned sharply towards the source of it, Matt's head appearing between his door and the frame, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes traveled around the room briefly.

"You've been listening to this girl for so many hours that I thought she was here with you." Matt commented, opening the door wider and approaching Chris.

The youngest of the triplets rolled his eyes, suppressing the urge to lock his phone screen and keep Y/N all to himself, but she was well known in the fandom and her videos were about him and his brothers, the possibility of her content getting to them as quickly as it got to him was huge.

"It's a girl who appeared on my For You today. She makes videos of ideas for our channel and brands, can you believe it?" Chris looked at Matt as he showed his phone screen with Y/N's profile open. His eyes were wide with fascination, and his lips stretched into an enthusiastic smile.

Matt observed him for a few seconds, noticing his body language and the way he spoke about the girl, it was different from all the other times the boy commented about tiktokers or videos others made about them.

"Send me a video of her, I'll take a look later. Now go upstairs, I bought us something to eat."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Another Monday had arrived, and Y/N was looking for strength in her body to get out of bed and face another start of the week.

The thought that in a few hours, she would have a brand new Sturniolo Triplets podcast was what made her tackle her tasks.

Her eyes traveled to the time on her phone and to her notification bar every 10 minutes, as if she was expecting Nick to release the podcast earlier than usual - it was obvious that that wasn't going to happen.

After last Saturday, where she had woken up to a comment from none other than Christopher Sturniolo, her weekend was complete madness.

She spent hours staring at the little comment as her mind tried to process whether she was actually awake or still asleep and in a very good dream.

"loved the idea! it's noted ;)"

"it's noted"? What did that even mean? Did he actually write down her idea for future use? Should she be prepared to wake up some other day and see that he has launched a new collection with something she suggested in one of her videos?

And what made her go crazy the most was that Chris Sturniolo had seen her face, and not only that, he found her attractive enough and her idea creative enough to watch it until the end.

She spent almost the entire previous two days waiting for him to comment again, or even like one of her videos, but that didn't happen. Instead, Y/N received thousands of comments from fans going crazy with her about what happened. At least she had a good laugh with them.

Now, she was in her bedroom, the light from the movie playing on the TV was the only source of illumination. Y/N was lying in her bed, already in her pajamas and with her pre-bed cup of cappuccino on her lap, keeping her legs warm, her eyes on the television, but her mind somewhere else.

The sound of the YouTube notification came from her phone and Y/N had never moved so quickly, her hand taking the device out of her bedside table and unlocking the screen while muting the television, clicking on it with her thumb without even looking at the other notifications.

Her fingers worked on increasing the volume and screen brightness, setting it to the best resolution and getting comfortable on her bed, preparing to stay in that position for the next hour.

The podcast was already at minute 35, and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting from how much she was laughing at the topics brought up by the boys. Nick was especially funny that day, making Chris and Matt laugh at every moment.

In addition to the senseless fights that would arise between the three of them out of nowhere, which made Y/N roll her eyes playfully, already accustomed to their way with each other.

Until her big smile was replaced by an expression of a mixture of fright and surprise.

"Can we take a moment to talk about the intense crush Chris developed this weekend?" Nick interrupted Matt's laughter, taking a sip of his Doctor Pepper.

Chris turned abruptly to his brother, his eyes wide at the comment as he shook his head, almost begging through telepathy for him not to talk about that.

"It's true, Chris spent the weekend obsessing over a fan of ours who makes videos on TikTok with different ideas for our channel." Matt agreed, looking briefly at Nick while his hands moved the microphone support, pressing his lips together as he tried to suppress his laughter at Chris's reaction.

"Yeah, she is super pretty, and her ideas are very interesting. I think I only saw her profile once, but I listened to all her videos through Chris's phone." Nick continued, raising his right hand and directing his palm towards Chris, pretending to cover his figure with it and ignoring his desperate expression. "He literally spent the entire weekend watching her."

"Her name is Y/N. Search for her guys. We might even use one of her ideas on our next podcast." Matt added, his voice coming out low despite his mouth being almost glued to the microphone.

"You guys are horrible, I hate you." Despite the distance, the camera lens that focused on Chris's image captured his red cheeks as he tried to suppress a smile at the thought of the girl who took over his thoughts, rolling his eyes to his brothers.

"Now he will be silent for the next 10 minutes." Nick continued, amusement in his voice as he picked up his Space Camp watermelon lip balm, playing with the object in his hands.

"He's in love Nick, give him some credit." Matt mocked alongside the oldest triplet, a small smile on his face as his eyes watched his brother's reaction.

"Okay, next topic." Chris interrupted loudly, his voice cracking with embarrassment. He raised his arms and moved them from side to side exasperatedly, earning laughter from the other two, before Nick briefly passed his eyes on the document open on his laptop, starting the next topic.

"Oh my God." Y/N whispered, clicking once on the screen and dragging the small ball in the bottom bar to the left, going back a few minutes of the podcast and rewatching that specific part.

The girl repeated that action at least three more times, her brain still processing that Chris Sturniolo had been watching her TikToks all weekend - as if she were some kind of famous artist - and that, apparently, he was developing a mini crush on her as well.

Her heart was beating too fast to be normal as her cheeks burned, a red tinge taking over her skin. Goosebumps ran through her body as her fingers trembled slightly. Her jaw was already hurting from the time she held her mouth open, but no sound escaped from it.

A notification suddenly appearing at the top of the screen caught her eye, her right hand instantly flying to her mouth while her left hand lowered her phone, resting the device on her mattress.

Her eyes were now fixed on the wall in front of her bed, as her mind screamed at herself.

christopherturniolo sent you a direct message.

"hey!"

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Six. Six calls. And he hadn't picked up any of them.

The straw that breaks your back.

Nanami comes home Friday night, around 10pm, trudging up to the apartment like a soldier deep in the forest. His coat is over his arm, briefcase in one hand and a convenience store bag in the other. He bought drinks, your favorite kind. A peace offering.

He places the bag down to unlock the apartment. He grabs the bag once the door is open, kicks the door closed once he's inside. The apartment is pitch black, save for a night-light in the kitchen, leaving a golden glow over the counter. Nanami places his bag on the counter, briefcase on the floor, and his coat over a bar stool. He turns on the kitchen light and glances around. Maybe you went to bed already.

He empties the convenience store bag and puts the drinks in the fridge. Afterwards, he makes his way down the hall, hand loosening his tie.

"Darling?"

No answer, but maybe you were asleep.

The bedroom door was closed. He opened it and stepped inside. The curtains were open, moonlight streaming through, hitting the sheets. The empty sheets.

"Hmm..."

Nanami pulls out his phone, bringing up your contact, hitting the call button. It rings once, then goes to your voicemail. He furrows his brow, hanging up and trying again. Same result.

He goes to your messages, sends you a text asking where you are, then goes back to the kitchen.

He downs a glass of scotch as he waits, glancing at his phone every five minutes. The TV is on some rerun of a cooking show, volume low. He needed just enough noise to distract him from the anxiety of you not being there.

An hour had gone by, and still nothing. Should he call the police? Your friend? Yeah, maybe your friend might know where you are. Maybe you went over for drinks and were too tired to come home, your phone dead. He should call her.

"The fuck do you want, Nanami?"

"Well, it's great to hear from you too."

"What do you want?"

"Have you heard from Y/N? I tried contacting her and she hasn't replied. I'm worried."

"Oh, so now you're worried-"

"Excuse me?"

"So Y/N calls you several times because you don't come home for days, and you don't answer once, but when you're worried about her, suddenly-"

"What are you going on about?"

She sighs loudly, mumbling to someone before he hears a shuffling on the other side of the phone.

"It's over, Ken. Don't contact me anymore."

The line goes dead. He sits there for a moment, blinking, before taking his phone away from his ear and looking at it. He presses the call button again, but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries your number again, and nothing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He bolts to the bedroom, turning on the light and going to the closet. Your clothes are gone. He tries the dresser. Nothing. He goes to the bathroom. Your shampoo, your toothbrush, it was all gone.

No. No. No no no no no.

Were you gone? Gone for good? What happened? What had he done to make you leave? Yes, he had been busy with work, gone overnight for several days, and yes, he had missed your calls, but he was busy, it was justified. He wouldn't have done it on purpose if he didn't have a good reason to.

He checked for your other belongings, just to be sure. Your books, your hobbies, all your personal items were gone. His apartment looked the way it did before the two of you met.

God, please, no. Don't do this to me. If you want to end it, I understand, but please, don't leave me like this.

His stomach hurt. Was he going to throw up? He shouldn't have drank before he knew what was going on.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. But nothing came. Just this heaving in his chest that left him feeling sick.

He found the couch again, plopping down. He stared blankly ahead, processing the last few weeks. Had there been signs? Did he not take notice of how you were truly feeling? This couldn't have happened overnight. Was this really all because of his work?

He hunched over, head finding his hands.

It's over.

[thegoldensundreamer]

Love At Last

Onyankopon x black!reader

Warnings: exes, use of n word, squirting, fingering (f receiving), eating out (f receiving)

Word Count: 6.2k

He was a little older than me. A junior, and I, a sophomore. In college, you only had two focuses: have fun and study, and truthfully it helped me. No matter what anyone told me I had control to do whatever I wanted in life and didn't want anyone's opinions on how I'd be living it.

Honestly, that's what made my other ex's love me and even some, hate me.  But I mean it wasn't like he was always putting his expectations too high for me. Onyankopon just wanted to see me as my best self. When we broke up and I told him the reason as to why I couldn't do it anymore, it all really didn't make sense. I wanted to tell myself that I knew the reason as to why he was just so terrible but subconsciously I knew I didn't. And it was hard for me these past months. Really hard. I been seeing him on campus like a thousand times and he just keeps getting more beautiful and glowin like the sun.

He's the head of his team now and it never helps me that he didn't ever have any girls he just messed around with. Especially bonding and having a real relationship with his exes. Including me. And Its painful seeing him just living his life and me not hating him for any reason because he is really a great guy. So whenever I see him I make sure to shift my eyes to the complete opposite direction of where his head is at. Or even cover my face with a book or a water bottle to not have that awkward walk past. But I kind of wish he chased after me... and although I know its selfish I'm just as confused as when I left that boy. But I guess we all just have to move on.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"The assignment is still due this Sunday at 11:59 on Blackboard. I don't want any emails, text messages, or conversations next class about an extension. Period."

I honestly think Professor Rodriguez is tweaking now. No excuses? What if someone is sick or something?

The whole class groans as we pack all of our stuff. I mean, it's just a paper so I'm not tripping or anything. I just got to make sure to do it before the Que party this weekend. There's never been a problem before so I don't think I have anything to worry about.

Me and my girls have been planning to go to one of the Que parties we keep infamously hearing about. It's always wild, lit, and memorable till you graduate. All of a sudden when you get that degree they don't exist no more because you don't want no one to know of the hoe tales.

I haven't been to one of their parties yet, but Im excited. I haven't been outside in a while especially since I ended things with Ony. A few kickbacks here and there were going on this past semester for me but that's about it. I like being inside just as much or even more than I like being out.

When I walk down the university building, I put in my headphones ready to blast some Sexyy Red. That woman music got something in it I swear.

"I'm looking for the hoooesssss" I mouth to myself while I nod my head. Shit, I forgot how hard that bass goes. As I bob my head I can't remotely hear the voice behind me trying to catch my attention.

It was Jaden, one of Ony’s teammates, and he's also in Professor Rodriquez class. He gave up calling my name and just let me go.

•••

When I finally left the building and head to my car I instantly switch my music over to the Bluetooth aux and look at my assignment before I pull off. You see... he assigned it to us last Friday and I for real have just been procrastinating till now. I would say my time management is usually really good but its not.

"Ok so I got to just write about 500 words. I could do this tonight no problem."

I put down my phone and start adjusting my rear view mirror only to find light grey clouds of the day turning darker grey. I really hope it don't storm when I'm on the road.

Driving out of the lot and onto the highway, I continue blasting my hoochie playlist. Shrugging at the random pain in my heart I'm feeling, I call one of my girls talking about how much I think this party gon cut all my feelings from Ony and revive the party girl in me.

Im pulling into my apartment complex excited . I haven't been this joyous to go to a party in a while. The mere thought of shaking ass is bringing me serotonin. Just a sweet release of stress. Plus, it's Friday and the party is Saturday night so I'm definitely geeking.

When I stumble up the steps right before the entrance to my residence giddy and jovial, looking for my key, I slightly looked up. The scream in my head is definitely showing me how much I'm not over this feeling in my heart.

I stopped my movement and fought the urge to back step all the way back into my car and hide. I'm not sure why hes here at this time. It's 5:30 which isn't late for real but just a bit confusing enough to make you question why the hell someone is at your door uninvited. Especially since its here. At my apartment. And it's him. With his aura and skin glistening like oil on a hot body.

He was in some black muscle shirt with matching jogger pants. Shyly smiling at me at first but then noticing my expression, he looked down at the state of his body and cringed before looking back in my eyes. Clearly embarrassed. "Sorry you seeing me like this, I just came from practice so I'm still a little sweaty"

I secretly moaned in my head. He looks so good I had to catch my breath and his voice is still captivating up to now. I still can't forget the way he used to t-

I'm getting sidetracked. Let me regain this composure.

"Is there something you need?" I quietly ask. This is no good. The whole point is out of sight out of mind. You know how you want to block somebody on everything and really go out of your way to not see them in person so you won't have to think about them or double back? Well I feel like I'm breaking that right now. It's not my fault sure but the shame still feels the same.

Ony pulls out an object from his pocket. A white, slightly long but thin figure. He looks at it for a moment before looking up at me again and holding it up.

"I came here to give this to you. Im pretty sure it's yours. At least that's what Jaden said."

I squint my eyes in confusion at what he was holding and hurriedly looked through my tote bag to find that I did not have my Apple Pencil for my iPad.

So that's why he's here.

Apple pencils are expensive so I'm not mad. I would've been more upset if I only figured out I dropped it when I got inside and tried to start my paper. But how did he even get it?

He reached his arm out as I began to walk up to him for my pencil. I thanked him for bringing it to me and awkward silence overtook the little rain droplets that noted the thunderstorm about to take place.

Our hands touched ever so slightly as I grabbed my missing pencil. I withdrew immediately and he did the same faintly after. After a few long seconds, he broke the silence.

"Jaden gave it to me at the locker rooms after practice. He said he tried to give it to you after class but couldn't catch up or something so I guess he just wanted me to carry out the deed especially with some paper he mentioned."

I grinned and slightly nodded in understanding, quickly glancing at his eyes before staring at the Apple Pencil. It's strange. He can't really look me in the eye. I mean, I can't either but he's 6'2" so my excuse is good. On top of that, the nonchalance in his tone doesn't sit right with me. It's either he's forcing it or a part of me wants to believe he is just to delude myself that he still cares. It's unfair of me, especially since I probably broke his heart, but it's the real.

"I'll thank Jaden when I see him next class. Thank you for bringing it to me." I quip and walk past him to my door, beginning to find my keys in my bag with the pencil still in hand.

Damn when did I get this shy?

Onys attempt at being nonchalant somewhat was breaking. He stared at the pencil smiling as he spoke and pointed.

"I'm surprised you still have Chowder on there".

I turned my head around, mid-hand in bag. He was referring to the little sticker I had on my ex-missing item. The one that would help me differentiate my pencil from everyone else's so no one would take it. The one he gave me as a funny gift for the love of our mutual favorite childhood show.

I'm surprised he still remembers these little details about me. About us.

"Well it's still my favorite show. I don't think that's ever going to change." I giggle looking back for my keys.

It's hard to do this. To face him. How do people talk to their exes? This isn't even my first but damn. Now my minds all over the place with him and us all over it. All those memories we share. Good and bad.

I stop fiddling in my bag and spoke under my breath with the same thought, caught up in the idea.  "I'm surprised you still remember." I mumbled to myself.

I can feel his presence and his eyes on me, not exactly sure what his actions are. But his voice speaks up with a small sense of fervor in his tone. Something undeniably him. The tone I always craved since it left me.

"Y/n, you can't tell me you don't call to mind how Ive remembered every single thing I've been blessed to learn about you"

I still my hands from roaming once again after I found my keys. At this point, I don't know what's going on. But as I motion my mouth to find what to say a grand lightning bolt flashed down from the sky, hitting somewhere nearby. Thunder that sounded like an earthquake erupted, immediately pouring heavy rain down with it. With that, we instantaneously saw lampposts shut off. All electricity in the area immediately being gone in an instant.

"Ain't no way" I groaned. I can't believe this. I look around at all of the dark areas surrounding the complex except for the emergency lights powered from the generator. Putting my keys in the door, I heavily sigh opening up my residence.

Slowly walking in to the dim natural light from the blinds I turn around to Onyankopon, standing still at the doorstep, and tell him he can come in.

"Are you sure? My car is all good and everything I can still drive."

"In this storm?" I ask raising my eyebrow. I rolled my eyes, "You not gon get nowhere the way this storm going right now. It's fine. Plus, your place is probably out of electricity too."

He nods, "Well thanks, I really appreciate it" He awkwardly steps into the 3 bedroom apartment. My girls usually have class during this time last I checked so we're the only ones here.

I grab some candles to light across my home hoping for some sort of spark to brighten up the place.

Once I withdrew a breath and looked around, the rooms seemed to be lit up enough comfortably outside of the insanely romantic essence it gave off. I stood up from where I was crouched by the living room table where I made eye contact with him sitting up on the couch.

"Soooo could I get you anything?" I awkwardly stand there and he's just sitting... menacingly.

Ugh who am I kidding he looks so geeked out right now.

"It's honestly fine. Once the storm passes I'll be right out forreal you don't have to go through any trouble." He laughs.

With that in mind I obliged and went to my room setting up my laptop and iPad with my now found Apple Pencil. Since the electricity's gone that means I shouldn't have any distractions on focusing on my work.

"Right y/n, focus on the goal. It don't matter that your ex is in the other room. Get on your zoom!" Mumbling to myself  as I type in my username to blackboard to view the rubric.

"What the-"

Shit. Of course blackboard and the wifi is down too if all the electricity is out.

As I groan and leave my room to get a glass of water, I'm getting Ony one too. Seeing him roaming on his phone and placing the glass in front of him on the table I sit on the sofa opposite of him.

He looks up from his phone, "You did not have to do this", he began to grin to himself as he lifted the cup and started to drink.

As I began to speak we both got a notification.

ALL UNIVERSITY STUDENTS: ELECTRICITY IS DOWN ON CAMPUS AND ON AND OFF CAMPUS HOUSING DUE TO A SEVERE WEATHER STORM. MORE UPDATES WILL COME SOON. CURRENTLY, AN ESTIMATION OF 3 HOURS WILL BE NEEDED TO REPAIR DAMAGES TO ELECTRICAL UNITS.

"Fuck" I groaned.

"You're not gonna be able to finish that paper huh?" He questioned.

"No and it's due Sunday. I was hoping to knock it out today before the weekend really starts. I don't need to procrastinate anymore than I already have."

"Oh trust me I remember." He laughed. "I can help yknow. There's nothing else we can do here."

"On what though? Blackboard is down."

"Not google docs or notes app though." He smiled, "As long as you know what you're supposed to write about you're set."

"But I like looking at the rubric when I write to make sure my grades solidified"

"I'm hearing a lot of excuses misses honors student. If you wanted to do it you would at this point. Plus, my specialty is writing papers so I can definitely help"

I remember oh so well. This reminds me of when I procrastinated on a paper last semester the weekend before it was due just like this one and we stayed up till 3 AM writing it. So many laughs and double shot espressos from that time. His specialty really is writing essays and all sorts of papers. That assignment was 5000 words and we started the Saturday and still got an A.

"Shit, why not. It's only 500 words anyway" I joke.

He smiled and we got to work. The first hour went by like nothing. It felt like old times. 200 words were typed but the only thing holding us back was that I actually need to have proper cited sources. Professor Rodriguez do not play around either so it's been a painstaking amount of time trying to find anything with no internet and a on and off personal hotspot.

As Ony and I sit next to each other working on the paper, he lifts up his glass and it accidentally slipped out of his hands onto the table.

"Ah damn I'm so sorry. Let me-"

"No it's cool." I put down my laptop and got up to get a paper towel. When I sat back down and handed the paper towel to him our hands touched again. That once jovial, funny and somewhat relaxed mood we had was now gone. We're exes. This isn't what exes do. We're not friends.

But shit we were . That was exactly what we were like before we started anything or knew there was something there. Even during our relationship we felt just like this at times too. Where the hell did we go? Why did I let us go?

The awkward touch we had became more intimate as I decided to gently grab his hand. The eye contact he made was confused but willing. It spoke "why haven't you done this all this time while I'm right here?" Or at least that's what I think.

Our hands interlocked letting go of the paper towel at this point. Eye contact on something serious as we ask questions to each other with them. As I began to lean down on the couch, Ony couldn't stop staring between my eyes and my lips. He eventually and quickly took the dive, trying not to lose the moment. Embers burned and flowed through the air as he began to shift from my power to his. He embarked on leaning my back onto the couch rather than his. Hands splayed in my locs and taking small breaks to breathe before going back in.

Small moans escape my mouth as he's working me. Kisses pressed on my lips were coming down my chin... then my neck as he suckled on my skin. His hands roamed my body slowly. One on the side of my stomach nearing my ass and the other beginning to feel my breast under my shirt. At this point, he's starting to get more vocal, groaning and whispering sweet nothings along my body.

"You know how much I've missed you y/n. How much I've missed this pretty face... this pretty body... and this pretty pussy" he hissed one kiss after another. "Is this all ok? If you're not fine with this of course I'll stop. Tell me what you want."

His asking for consent was always so sexy and those words... damn I missed him and this.

I looked at his lust blown eyes as he looked up to mine from my stomach as he briefly stopped from going lower and lower.

"I want you Q. I'm all yours." My composure is definitely done at this point. He's got me right now.

"Don't worry. You know I will always take care of you." He slurred, slowly sliding my bottoms and panties down and kissing my inner thighs before locking them in his arms. It's been a while since I've been in this position and I've missed it since forever ago.

Slow pecks from my thighs came closer and closer to the apex of them. He must could tell how nervous I was since his thumbs gently rubbed where they laid at to comfort me. Im in love with the way they feel on me.

"So as you can see I do have some hair ri-"

He side eyed me. "Y/n I'm a grown ass man. You know I like my peaches with some fuzz on it. Now can I have my dinner please?"

He can get so forward like this it's making me shy. I rolled my eyes and laid my head back. I never thought I'd be in this predicament.

"Good girl. Just stay just like that baby."

He nestled his lips on my bundle, wrapping them on to gently suck at a slow and smooth pace. His rhythm was gradually fastening and shortly, his lips unattached from my clit to lap at the bundle once more flicking his tongue. He remembers. He always remembers what I like.

Beginning to close my legs from the sensation, he parts me once again lapping at my cunny fervently. Like some undying need that he can't let go. As a "punishment" for me not taking it, he inserts a finger and then a second to make me break even more than I already am.

I plead and moan, "Ony, baby, I'm leaking"

I can barely control my body now. My breath getting fainter as I breathe heavy.

"Good. You know that's what I want." He keeps pumping. Squelching ensues as he becomes infatuated with his doing. "Look at that shit. All for me huh" He asks looking at my fucked out face.

I disappointedly moan when his fingers leave me but he swipes my essence from its trail and sucks his fingers while maintaining eye contact with me. I whimper and squeeze at the sight.

I guess he wanted to finish the job though. I tried to reach over to slip my hand in his boxers just for him to grab my wrist and pin both of my hands down to finish what he started.

It's always like a switch in him when he's like this. So different from the sweet Onyankopon from everyday that everyone knows. So nasty. I love it. I miss it.

He mischievously watches me. "You feel this?" I moan as he pumps his fingers back in me. I roll my eyes to the back of my head and he chuckles. "I'm gonna take that as a yes. Let me make you cum, princess."

He lowered his head down again as he continued pumping into me. Licking a stripe up my honey and continuing the mess he was creating previously. Languid strokes of his tongue were hitting me just right and my moans started turning to desperate whimpers.

Building me up for a while, he then dipped his muscle into my pussy and interchanging with his fingers, curling them with each stroke. His other hand left my thigh and his thumb began rubbing my clit. Faster and faster he went I started to find my stomach tensing and the air becoming hard to breathe.

In between heavy pants I slip out "O, stop, I'm gonna make a mess!" my eyes rolling to the back of my head and legs lifting and coming together.

He didnt stop and pinned me down pressing on my lower stomach. My moans became octaves higher and higher. He lifted his head from my cunny, "you gon take it and make a mess all over my face. Don't hold back nothing."

With that, he continued his ministrations. My grip on his hair became as tight as it could as I could feel my voice go weak. My legs began to shake as clear liquid lightly sprayed out onto his face and a white ring began to form on his fingers. My pants were beginning to rapidly slow down as I came down from my high, un loosening the death grip I had on his head.

He came back up kissing my cheek then licking my essence off his face and fingers, "Always taste so good." Proceeding to take a rag from my bedroom to clean me up and carrying me to my bed.

Before we even got the chance to speak about what happened, my eyes fell. A nap took over both of us and hours that felt like minutes rolled by.

His arm around me as we slept on our sides felt  like old times. Like something right that I just ripped away from my body. It's so comfortable.

After a dream I couldn't remember, I wake up in a daze, looking behind me to see him knocked out and his arm still around my waist.

Gently moving it off of me, I slowly get up and walk to the bathroom.

"Shit I might as well take a shower"

To be honest, none of this has settled in my head yet. My ex boyfriend who I'm clearly not over in my bedroom after being nasty on the couch is sleeping on my bed... crazy. Real fanfiction kind of shit.

Pushing the light switch up, I notice the bulb illuminate the room. Thank the Lord almighty. I put on my shower cap and get in. I feel myself let go of a breath I didn't know I had when the hot water hits my skin.

This is insane. I shouldn't be hooking up with my ex. I cut it off for a reason... I think. It's gotta be this way for the both of us so nobody gets hurt.

"Bitchhhh" I think to myself in the shower holding my head.

Leaving the bathroom with my towel on, I see my ex looking over at me from his phone, arm now holding his head up to stare me up  and down in awe.

"It's been a while since I seen this view"

I cut my eyes and stand in front of him on my bed. "Look we need to talk- " and my head turned immediately when I heard the front door of the apartment open. Thankfully, my room doors closed, but my girls walked in the apartment gossiping when they called out my name to have our daily debrief of the day.

I cuss at myself and know they probably see the cups of water, candles, and his shoes at the door as they fell silent. Whispering to themselves with words I couldn't make out,  I eventually hear a knock at my door.

I looked at Ony, mortified with a finger to my lips, then took a deep breath, opening the door so they can only see me still in my bath robe.

"Heyyy" I greeted with the awkwardest get out and don't make this weird smile I know.

"Hey mookie, we just wanted to check on you and see if you're good with the electricity going off and everything earlier." One of them said, clearly peeking inside my bedroom to see who's here, eyes widening that it was him before he could move himself. She gave me a look and I gave her one back like we telepathic or something.

"Girl yknow I'm good, just trying to finish this paper" I say hoping she takes the message that I know she's getting from me right now.

"Yeah I'm sure it's realll hard" She said acting like a real smart ass.

With a few more exchanges they go to their rooms to settle down for the night. After hearing both of their doors close I rush back to my room.

"Yeah, you gotta go" picking up his clothes and pushing them to his chest.

"But-"

"Look, I wish there was a better time to talk, but you have to go. This... is strange. We broke up. There's a reason why this ended. I know it was probably stupid of me to let you stay here during the storm, but this wasnt my intention." Pointing at the both of us.

I picked his arm up before he could get a word out to reason with me, clothes just tussled onto his body. If he sweet talks me again I really might not double back this time.

We get to the door and with the least amount of strength he has, he turns his body towards me and gently grabs my hand before I could open the door placing it back by my side.

"Y/n...why are you letting go of us... again? This still doesn't make sense and you know that."

I still. I remember this feeling... this sense of regret. But just like last time, I can't tell if it's the wrong choice or because I don't want to let go.

In truth, Ony feels... familiar. He'll always feel like a memory and I don't want to get too comfortable in his light of nostalgia. He brought such a level of solace in my life that I never wanted to replace. It was even more so after we became official....I don't want to become stagnant because of it. I have my own dreams, my own endeavors, and my own goals that I want to reach. It would be so easy to be a trophy wife to him... and he'd gladly let me. As a woman, I don't want that to be the tell all be all of my life when I know that I had a life before him. I didn't know if I could escape from it then and I definitely don't know now. That's the real reason why I keep shutting him out and probably why we broke up... but he can't know that.

"Because I know we won't end well. We're two different people Ony and this idea that you can just up and think everything is picture perfect for us has to stop now"

He looks in my eyes with such disappointment, then slight anger as his eyebrows pushed together. He opened his mouth to speak again but thought about it and decided not to, closing his eyes in the process. With a heavy huff from his chest, he looked at my eyes one last time for the night before turning away and leaving the complex.

When I shut the door, My girls came out immediately like paparazzi.

"You were over him huh?" One of them snarled at me. "It don't seem that way to me love. Maybe you shouldn't even go to the party tomorrow."

I looked down at the ground and they both took notice of my state. We all went to my bedroom and I explained everything that happened tonight. Their eyes looked at mine with frustration and awe. I held my head knowing their reaction just like they've been telling me for the past 3 months.

"You are not over that boy y/n"

"I think you're confused"

And they're right. I am. But I tell them the same thing I told them every time.

"But when he makes it to the league, what am I going to do? Wag my tail like a dog after him and have niggas tell me that I want his money or that I don't have half his talent for anything like them bitches was saying when we were together? And what if he cheats? He gon have hella girls at his disposable and I'll be feeling stupid like  "I really wasted my time on this nigga". Y'all know how much I love Ony and I was just getting over him too. This is for the best for me right now y'all know that"

They gave each other a look and got up to hug me.

"Whatever decision you choose to make girl you know we got you. Just remember to listen to your heart sometimes"

With that, we said our little goodbyes and retired for the night. Ony on my mind, I went to bed.

Waking up, he is still on my mind. Getting my laptop, I tried to continue the paper but had no will power to do so. The whole morning and afternoon felt like that... no volition and all a blur. Wasting away in my bed after the three different times my girls checked up on me throughout the day I just can't escape him. It doesn't help having the daydream engrained of what could've been present with our past. In that same thought, I hear a buzz on my phone, too in tune with the delusional reaction thinking it could be him.

I look at it to see the ticket for the party tonight that one of my girls sent. I groan and get up, finally deciding to start my day and also prepare myself for tonight.

Hype hoochie music is playing on my speaker and I hear Looking For the Hoes again. I'm thinking of how good everything was before all that happened yesterday. Do I even regret it? Am I blocking my blessings?

I can't let a man distract me from my life though. There's a life before and after him and I have to remind myself of that.

Finally finished with my look and it finally being an hour after the party started, me and my girls head out for the wild night we been planning for months.

What I didn't know was that the line would feel like 3 miles long and realizing we need our ID when we're finally 5 feet before the security. Why are parties this complicated? I don't know. But luckily we all at least have pictures of our ID and got in.

When we step foot into the party, the first thing we see is purple lights illuminating the entire venue. People are scattered everywhere and in every other corner we see the Ques barking and hopping to their stroll.

"Lawd have mercy" one of my homegirls say in love with the ques. Me and the other laugh and roll our eyes.

After some time just standing, we decided to find a small table and sit down with our small get ups. Our drinks from the pregame were starting to kick in after 10 minutes and we were laughing our ass off drunk when we hear "Girl the way you move it got me in a trance-", and that was it. All of us pulled each other to the dance floor and start to turn up. I'm throwing ass on my home girl and catching from the other.

I needed this. Seriously. I forgot how fun it is to be outside in the streets. Seconds later, we hear a scream and laugh from a girl and gasp from the crowd. One of the Ques picked up a girl and started acting like he was eating her out.

We all looked at each other with our jaws dropped. Ain't no wayyyyy. They were not lying bout it getting wild.

Right behind where I see the spotlight shining, about 30 feet away, I saw a face I didn't think I'd see at all. Just as his eyes set in on the scene before him he also saw my eyes and we made eye contact for a brief second.

I turned my body so fast that I almost knocked my home girl over. In the middle of her fussing me out she asked what happened. Naturally, I told her that Ony is at the party.

"Why is a nigga at a Que party is the real question though?"

"Girl unimportant can we please move somewhere else"

We all move to a separate section of the party venue. This can not happen. I'm drunk and I been dancing? I can not see or be around that man right now.

Before I could even get the nightmare out my head, I hear a "Y/n" near my head. I turn around mouth slightly agape to see him once again. Even finer in his put together party get up than his athlete clothes from yesterday. My mind all caught up in him just like last time I'm in a blur of what he's actually saying to me.

"Y/n, why are you here right now?" He whispers yells in my ear from the loud music blasting from the speakers.

I look to my left and right and my homegirls dashed off like the road runner... traitors.

Looking at him once again, eyes low from the drink in my system I ask, "Ony, why would it matter to you? I'm not your girl and you not my man. We single. The real question is why you're at a Que party." Remembering what my homegirl had said to bite back at him.

He fixes his face, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek looking at me clearly frustrated. Just looking at his face he can't leave me alone. Sorry that's just drunk me talking I don't know whats on his mind.

"Y/n, why the hell you been drinking so much? Don't you got a paper to finish?"

"Ony you are not my daddy get up out my face!" I yell at him. "I'm out here having fun with my girls trying to get over YOUR ASS so why can't you just mind yo business!" Oops. My eyes widened, that last part wasn't supposed to come out. Fuck.

Shit, how did he react to that?

Without time for me to look up and see his face or even hear him utter a word, he has my hand in his and leading me somewhere and fast. I'm trying to keep up but it's kind of hard to have good foot and direction coordination in a party like this and off my ass.

With all of the movement feeling like a blur, I found both of us outside of the party venue from some back door. It's slightly raining by the building and the night sky showed a bright orange street light that was our only light source.

He takes off his jacket and puts it over my shoulders to warm me. It's a bit cold. What a gentleman.

"Y/n ... what did you say?"

He stares directly in my eyes with a sense of fervency and hope. One that I can't deny now.

Part 2?

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Authors Note: Hi y'all! I haven’t written fanfic in soooo long but never stopped reading lmao. I loveeee this one so much. It’s Literally the best fic ive done period thus far. I’m trying to think if I should start writing again fr esp for my fictional anime men.