#if we were just left to question what's next

[bi-writes]

What if 👀 what if we see when john proposes to the missus (is it too soon 😭) 🤩 they also live in my mind 24/7 you’re 🫵🏻 gonna be drowning in my asks

the key turns in the lock, nice and smooth this time. john oiled it before he left—he wanted this when he came, some sort of reminder that his hand has been here, in this house, so branded into its integrity that even the hinges no longer creak because he's made his nest here. (18+)

when he swings open the door, he doesn't recognize the sight.

you're sitting at the kitchen table with a sour expression on your face. there's a candle lit in the center, only one since the other has melted, so much so the wax is pooled underneath it next to the roast that's long since cold on its serving platter. there's glass of wine in front of you that's nearly empty, and a bottle within reach just as light.

john sucks on teeth a little as he drops his duffel bag by the door. the sound makes you flinch, and when he drops heavily into the seat across from you, he doesn't even react at the velvet box that sits on the table.

instead, he picks up his fork and starts to serve himself.

your eyes flick up to look at him, but he's too busy piling up meat and potatoes onto his plate. he takes off his hat and tosses it onto the table, and you scowl at the sight—you complain over and over again about that filthy fucking hat, and he has the nerve to set it down on the table like he's the one that's been working all day on a roast, molten chocolate lava cake, and tender mashed potatoes.

"you're late," you say. your voice croaks, hitching with your swallowed-down emotion. john takes his gloves off, tossing them beside the hat, and when he starts to undo the latches on his tact vest, you pick up your steak knife and pierce it right through the oak table. "don't you dare put that shit on my table."

"our table."

"oh, now you wanna chime in?"

john runs a few hands over his face. he looks tired. his beard is scruffy, more than usual, and the darkness under his eyes is heavy. his eyes aren't as bright as they normally are around you, and you find the tension in his shoulders to be especially wound. you don't care what he's gone through to get back to this table. maybe he fell out of a helicopter. maybe a bullet whizzed past his head and nearly splattered his brains. you don't fucking care—john price is sitting in front of you and eating the food you made and pretending like everything is just fine.

he laughs. it's humorless, but it angers you anyway. he's condescending; it's in his nature. when you question the way of things, when you try to put your foot down—you would punch him, but he'd ease out of the way, effortless, and it would annoy you greatly. then he'd probably take your wrists and pin them behind your back with one hand, and he'd smile doing it, because he's so much bigger than you, so much stronger. he kills people for less, it takes no effort to stifle the woman that shares his bed. everything is funny to him—everything is cute.

asshole.

"where'd you find tha'?" john asks. he doesn't look at it, but you know what he's talking about. you pick up the velvet box and pop it open. the ring blinds you. it must be at least three carats, a gorgeous thing, surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds around the band. it glitters, stunning, and if you were a stupider woman, you would've been wearing it already, but you're not.

"i found it when i was going through your shit," you spit at him. you tip your glass back and swallow down the rest of your wine. it goes down hot. "packing it for you."

"we goin' on a trip?"

"you certainly are."

john clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side. he finally brings his eyes up to meet yours, and he brings a hand up to scratch at his beard.

"not leaving."

you laugh, too, smiling, bitter.

"i wasn't asking, john. but if you don't want your stuff, whatever. i'm sure it'll burn just fine."

john shoves his plate away from him, scooting his chair back. you expect him to get up, to come towards you. you expect him to grip you by the throat and bend you over the table so he can fuck you next to the extravagant meal you've made, but instead he huffs as you hear his belt buckle clink.

"what the fuck are you doing?" you scoff. john hums, grunting low, and then you watch with parted lips as he spits into the palm of his hand and lowers it. it's only a moment before he sighs deeply, a wet slick, slick, slick following the movement of his arm. "are you fucking serious?"

"mmm..." john clenches his jaw. "'s been awhile, love." he cracks his neck as he moves it from side to side, fixing his eyes on you as he moves his arm a little quicker. your lips tremble angrily, but you can't help the way you shift in your seat. your free hand plays with the hem of your skirt, and he rolls his shoulders back, licking his lips. "show me."

"fuck you."

"in a minute, love. show me."

you're shaking with anger. it's hot in your chest, making you buzz, but it doesn't stop your hands. it doesn't stop them from feeling over the collar of your blouse before you carefully undo the top buttons. john relaxes as he watches the fabric fall loose, and he hums knowingly when you drop the blouse and unclasp your bra.

your tits fall with a bounce. you're ashamed at how easy it is, to fall right back into the place you swore you would never go again. john groans, moving his chair back further, and you squeeze your thighs together as you watch his thick hand tug at his rigid cock with more and more of a chaotic rhythm.

"come 'ere."

"no."

"come here," john mutters. he says it in that way—that way you know that he won't ask again. he won't have to.

you stand on doe legs. they wobble, and you use the table as leverage, and when you make it in front of him, john pushes you until you're sitting on the edge of the table, right next to his half-eaten plate and his dirty gear. you flinch as he stands, stepping between your thighs, and you kiss as the tip of him presses against your drooling cunt. your legs rise, knees hooking around his hips, and john licks over his teeth as he keeps stroking himself.

"we've been over this," john growls. "haven't we, sweetheart?"

"i hate you."

"this is mine," john says into your ear. "your cunt. this house. this food—it's mine, and you know tha'. you love puttin' up a bloody brawl, i know tha', love, so i take it, but you won't be rid of me until i'm dead, y'hear tha'?"

"fuck you—"

"ugh—" john hisses. "gonna make me fuckin' come, love—"

john laughs through breathy moans when he feels you're wearing no knickers. sopping, pretty pussy just waiting for him—in his house, with his girl, the one that's about to have his name.

"john—"

his grip on your thighs is bruising as he pushes into you. just the tip, just enough to drive you insane, just in time for him to spill inside of you and fill you with a dizzying amount of cum. hot, sticky, messy—john's never been very good at cleaning up his messes. he seems to like it that way. he seems to like it ruined and overstimulated and begging.

he presses his forehead to yours, grunting as he pushes further inside of you. you'll ruin the wood underneath you being so wet, but john will fix it.

"when are y'gonna learn?" john murmurs. "hmm?"

"john..."

there is no john without you. you could run, but he'd find you. you could change the locks, but it wouldn't stop him from coming home. you could throw all of his things out, burn them, shred them, bury them, but he has no real ties to anything as trivial as things. john is a fixture in the air here. he lives in the wood that makes up the house. he's in your breaths that taste like cigar smoke. he's inside of you, hot, in the bruises that line your collarbone and your thighs and your hips. john is a rigid, immutable hook that is dug so far into your fleshy insides that it would be suicide to remove him from yourself.

he's a weed you cannot rid yourself of. you pick him out by the root, but he always comes back.

he kisses you like that—tits out, cunt drooling, engagement ring tossed aside just out of reach. you think he meant for you to find it. either as a result of your morbid curiosity or your temper tantrums—john probably figured whichever came first would be good enough.

he would never propose to you. you know this.

why the fuck would he ask you about something that's already a given?

in the morning, you're alone with your thoughts, watching the ring sparkle in the early sunlight. your hand is rested on his chest, moving with the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. you turn your hand over and stare at the thing—you aren't someone who's into material things so much. you appreciate them, but something about this new reality of yours makes you stare a little harder at the diamond, question the clarity just a little. you hope it made a huge dent in that wallet of his; you hope he gritted his teeth a little when he handed over his card.

you'll make his bank account weep. you're mrs. john fucking price.

[finelinefae]

trust [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: bambi wants to try something new

word count: 7.9k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), shy reader, boyfriend!h, smut (soft smut like very gentle and loving), inexperienced y/n

this is part 4 of Bambi, read part 3 here

. . .

How do I shave down there without getting red, itchy bumps?

Follow these six simple steps to prepare for your first time!

How to suck dick 101

Y/N scrolled through a Reddit page at her desktop computer at work, the screen glowing softly in the dim office lighting. It was a page she had found after typing into Google, ‘how to prepare for your first time.’ Hundreds of subreddits appeared, each packed with questions and experiences Y/N hadn’t even considered until reading about them. She had fallen down the rabbit hole, finding a question and then getting lost in the responses.

Lostrabbit23: I lost my virginity at 15 and it was the worst experience of my life!!!! Lasted five minutes and the guy came before he even put his dick inside me, I swear.

Redberry5: Lost my virginity at 25 and it was a good experience. I’m glad I waited for the right person.

Whitedude32: Can’t understand how people can still be virgins past 18 tbh - just get it over with and live a little.

Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip, her eyes absorbing every word on the page. It seemed unnecessary, and she knew she was overthinking as she normally did, but… Y/N had a boyfriend now. A real boyfriend. And with every boyfriend, she knew what was expected.

The more she read, the more she realized how little she knew. A seed of doubt planted itself within her, growing with every scroll. What if Harry found out just how inexperienced she was? What if he didn’t think she looked pretty naked and ended up having second thoughts about being with her? The thought made her stomach twist in knots.

"Are you watching porn?" Lindsey sauntered over to Y/N's desk, balancing a stack of binders on her hip. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she frantically clicked off the incognito tab and opened a random Microsoft Word document.

"W-What?" Y/N stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "No! Of course not."

"Hmm," Lindsey placed the binders down with a soft thud and crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "Then why do you look like I just caught you red-handed? That’s not like you."

"I wasn’t doing anything," Y/N blurted, trying to keep her voice steady. "Just looking at today’s meeting notes."

Lindsey leaned in, peering over Y/N’s shoulder. "These notes are from three weeks ago."

Y/N’s eyes darted to the date at the top of the page. "I was catching up?" she added, her voice faltering.

Lindsey raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear on her face. "So, is this Reddit obsession new, or have you always had it?"

Y/N’s face burned hotter. "I-I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lindsey gave her a pointed look, "You left your tabs open during lunch. Rookie mistake."

Y/N felt like dying, “I did?” She almost felt like crying, embarrassment washing over her entire body she could feel it burning, “I-I was just researching stuff,”

Lindsey’s expression softened slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. " What kind of 'stuff' are we talking about here?"

Y/N hesitated, her fingers nervously tapping the edge of her keyboard. "Just… things. You know, advice. Relationship stuff."

Lindsey’s eyes lit up with curiosity. "Oh, relationship stuff? Now we're getting somewhere. Who’s the lucky man?”

Y/N and Harry were both sure that Lindsey already knew they were an item but they weren’t going to risk slipping their facade by bringing it up, “Just somebody.” 

Lindsey looked knowingly, “Okay well are you planning on taking the next step with this just somebody?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. Whenever things got too intense with Harry, she had a habit of pulling away or steering the conversation elsewhere. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to share those moments with him—she did. But she needed to feel ready, to prepare herself for something so intimate.

“I... I think I want to,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes. Her voice trembled as she added, “I just... I just want to be good.”

Lindsey’s expression softened immediately. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, stepping forward to wrap Y/N in a warm hug. The gesture brought a lump to Y/N’s throat. In the weeks since she’d started her new job, Lindsey had become like the older sister she’d never had—someone she could trust completely.

Pulling back, Lindsey held Y/N’s shoulders firmly, her voice gentle but steady. “First of all, you never have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Sex isn’t a performance, it’s personal. It’s about intimacy, connection, and trust. Whatever happens is between you and whoever you’re with, and that’s all that matters.

“Second,” she added with a small smile, “it’s not as complicated as people make it seem. Even if it’s awkward or messy at first, that’s okay. You’ll learn together. That’s one of the best parts of being with someone—discovering their little quirks, preferences, kinks and everything inbetween. Trust me, you’ll be fine. And if anyone ever makes you feel less than beautiful in the process? They’re not worth your time.”

Y/N exhaled, feeling a weight lift from her chest. “Oh no, he’s perfect,” she confessed, her voice tinged with a dreamy sigh. “Better than that. He’s... everything.”

Lindsey chuckled, glancing at her watch. “Well, speaking of perfect, it’s time for us to take a well-deserved lunch break.”

“What?” Y/N blinked in surprise as Lindsey grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the door.

Before she could protest further, Lindsey swung open the door to Harry’s office, revealing him seated at his desk in a perfectly pressed suit. Y/N hadn’t seen much of him that morning, and the sight of him made her heart flutter. She wanted nothing more than to cross the room and curl up in his lap.

Harry glanced up, his lips curving into a warm smile as soon as he spotted her.

“We’re taking an early lunch,” Lindsey declared.

Harry raised an eyebrow, checking the clock on his wall. “It’s 11:30. Lunch doesn’t start for another hour.”

Lindsey waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve been working so hard we deserve an extra break.”

Y/N snapped out of her daze just in time to nod in agreement, though the gesture only made Harry’s gaze soften further.

“Is that right, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. “Mhm,” she mumbled. “We’ve been working very hard.”

Harry chuckled, his gaze flicking back to Lindsey. “Fine. An hour extra, but that’s it. If anyone asks, you’re running errands.”

Lindsey grinned. “Yes, boss. Oh, and we’ll need your credit card.”

Harry scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Worth a shot.” Lindsey shrugged, then headed for the door. Before leaving, she shot them a pointed look. “I’ll grab my coat. No funny business, you two. I’ll be waiting outside.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Harry stood, straightening his jacket before walking over to Y/N. He reached for her hand, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Harry,” she whispered, her breath catching as he leaned down to kiss her gently.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to go with Lindsey, you know. You could stay here and spend your lunch break with me.”

The suggestion was far too tempting, and Harry’s smile only made it harder to resist.

“She hasn’t even told me where we’re going,” Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the rapid beat of her heart.

Harry reached down, tangling his fingers with hers. His touch was warm, grounding. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Wherever she’s taking you, make sure you don’t overdo it, okay? We still have plans tonight, remember?”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. Harry had been teasing her about the surprise date all week. She was excited, but also nervous—especially after his cryptic text telling her to wear something she didn’t mind getting dirty.

Harry kissed her again, but their moment was cut short by a loud knock on the door.

“Hurry it up in there! Time’s ticking!” Lindsey’s muffled voice called through the door.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of her, and Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile at the sound.

“Here,” he said, pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his blazer. He slid out a gleaming gold AMEX card and pressed it into her hand.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “O-Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Bambi,” Harry interrupted, his tone firm but affectionate. The nickname made her heart skip. “Take it.”

His commanding presence was enough to make her stop arguing. She looked up at him, cheeks tinged pink, and nodded.

Y/N stared at the card in her hand like it might bite her. “But Harry,” she whispered, glancing up at him with wide eyes, “I don’t even know what to do with this. What if I lose it? What if I spend too much? What if—”

Harry chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “Bambi, all you need to do is enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

Her lips parted, and she blinked up at him, unsure what to say.  “I’ll take good care of it,” she promised in a tiny voice, clutching the card. “And I’ll bring it right back. I promise I won’t spend too much!”

“I know you won’t,” he murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. “I trust you.”

Before she could overthink it any further, Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead again, lingering just long enough for her to feel the warmth of him. “Go have fun.”

Her heart did a nervous little flip at the reminder. “O-Okay,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lindsey’s voice interrupted again, sharp but teasing. “Alright, lovebirds, seriously! I’m giving you ten seconds before I come in there and drag her out myself!”

Y/N squeaked and turned to the door. “Coming!” she called, her voice high-pitched and rushed.

Harry smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered state. He stepped back and adjusted his tie, looking every bit the polished professional, but his eyes were still soft as they followed her.

“Be good,” he teased, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. “I’ll try,” she mumbled, giving him a quick, shy smile before hurrying out of the office.

Outside, Lindsey was waiting with her hands on her hips, an exaggeratedly impatient expression on her face.

“About time,” she said, grabbing Y/N’s hand and tugging her down the hallway. “Now, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into with that fancy credit card of his.”

Y/N let out a soft giggle, her fingers curling around the card in her hand. She glanced back toward Harry’s office door one last time, her heart still racing. Even though she was nervous about tonight, she couldn’t help but feel a little giddy, too.

Lindsey noticed the dreamy look on Y/N’s face and rolled her eyes with a grin. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

Y/N looked away, pressing her lips together as a shy smile spread across her face. “Maybe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” Lindsey laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s make this lunch break worth it.”

. . .

Y/N stood in the small changing room, staring at the pile of delicate lingerie Lindsey had hung on the door hook. Each set was softer and more intricate than the last, made from lace, satin, and ribbons in pastel tones of blue, lavender, mint, and blush. She felt like a clumsy giant in a room of dainty, breakable things.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Y/N called softly through the door.

“You’ve got this,” Lindsey replied encouragingly. “Try the pink one first. It’s so you.”

With trembling hands, Y/N picked up the light blush pink set, the soft lace slipping between her fingers like a whisper. She changed quickly, careful not to look too long in the mirror, and hesitated before stepping out.

“Alright, let me see,” Lindsey said, her voice full of excitement.

Y/N cracked open the door and peeked out timidly. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise. Now, come on!”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped out, crossing her arms over her chest shyly. The pastel pink lace hugged her figure, delicate straps tracing over her shoulders and down her back. Lindsey’s eyes lit up as she took in the sight.

“Oh, you look so cute!” Lindsey grinned. “It’s perfect! Very soft, very sweet. What do you think?”

Y/N glanced at her reflection in the mirror outside the stall, biting her lip. “I don’t know... It feels like... too much? Or maybe not enough?”

Lindsey shook her head, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s not too much, and it’s definitely not too little. It’s elegant and adorable, just like you.”

Y/N flushed and retreated back into the stall to try the next set. The routine continued for several minutes, with Y/N emerging in pastel greens, blues, and creams. Finally, she reached for the last set—a soft taupe-pink shade, almost like the color of cocoa mixed with milk.

When she stepped out in this set, Lindsey gasped softly. “Oh my god.”

Y/N immediately crossed her arms again. “Is it bad? I knew it was too much—”

“No!” Lindsey interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. She stepped closer and took Y/N by the shoulders, turning her toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. You look like a little deer.”

Y/N blinked at her reflection, her brow furrowed. The taupe-pink color complimented her skin tone, and the simple but elegant design made her feel... grown-up, yet still herself.

“I... I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice shaky.

“Hey.” Lindsey crouched slightly to catch Y/N’s gaze in the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. Stunning. And Harry is going to lose his shit when he sees you in this.”

Y/N’s cheeks flamed. “Lindsey!” she squeaked, burying her face in her hands.

Lindsey laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “What? It’s true! Now, I think we’ve found the winner. Let’s go pay before I start crying over how cute you look.”

Y/N nodded shyly, stealing one last glance at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she felt a spark of confidence in her chest. Maybe Harry would love it.

Or, at the very least, she loved it—and that felt just as important.

. . .

Y/N sat comfortably in the passenger seat of Harry’s Porsche, her old t-shirt soft against her skin and her blue jeans slightly worn at the knees. Her baby pink ballet flats rested lightly on the floor, toes tapping absentmindedly as she gazed out the window, trying to decipher where he was taking her. 

Harry, effortlessly cozy in his sweater and loose-fitting jeans, kept one hand on the wheel while the other held hers over the console. His black Vans were slightly scuffed, white socks peeking above the edges. At every red light, he lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against them as if it were second nature.

“Did y’have fun with Lindsey today?” he asked, sparing a glance in her direction.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Y-Yeah, it was… fun.” She tried not to think about the underwear she had bought earlier particularly because she was currently wearing it beneath her very casual clothing. 

Harry’s lips quirked up in amusement. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“No, it was!” she insisted, sitting up a little straighter. “It was really nice. I don’t spend a lot of time with other girls, so it felt… different. In a good way.”

His smile softened as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before returning his focus to the road. “Y’know you’re welcome to spend time with Sarah and Alessia too.”

“But they’re your friends,” Y/N frowned. “Wouldn’t you feel like I was taking them away?”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course not. What’s mine is yours, love. You’re my girlfriend, remember?”

Y/N’s lips twitched, a giddy warmth settling in her chest. She let her head fall back against the headrest, a slow smile curling on her lips.

“What?” Harry grinned, flicking his eyes toward her for a second.

“I just like it when you say that,” she admitted.

“What? Girlfriend?” he teased, his dimples appearing as he chuckled.

“Mhm,” she hummed, cheeks heating up. “I can’t believe I’m a girlfriend.”

Harry laughed, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. “You’re not just a girlfriend, you’re my girlfriend. All mine.”

She liked that label even more.

Later on, the soft crunch of gravel beneath the tires signaled their arrival. Harry pulled into a small stone parking lot in front of what looked like a quaint, cottage-style home. The windows glowed warmly against the dusky sky, lace curtains fluttering slightly from the inside. There was no sign or indication of where they were, just an inviting little house with flower boxes lining the window sills.

Y/N glanced around, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Where are we?”

Harry smirked, already opening his door. “You’ll see.”

Curiosity buzzed in her stomach as she climbed out of the car, the crisp evening air wrapping around her. Harry met her at the front, slipping his hand into hers and leading her toward the wooden door.

Before she could ask any more questions, the door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with wispy white hair pinned up in a loose bun. She wore a pastel apron dusted with flour and had a kind twinkle in her eye.

“Harry, darling!” she greeted, pulling him into a soft hug before turning to Y/N with an equally warm smile. “And you must be Y/N! Oh, you’re just as lovely as he said.”

Y/N’s brows shot up as she looked between Harry and the woman. “He’s mentioned me?”

“Oh, love, he wouldn’t stop talking about you,” she chuckled, stepping aside to usher them in. The scent of vanilla and butter filled the air, making Y/N’s mouth water. “Come in, come in, we’ve got cakes to decorate!”

Y/N’s jaw dropped slightly as she turned to Harry. “Really?”

Harry grinned, squeezing her hand. “Thought you’d like it.” Y/N let out a delighted squeal as she followed him inside. 

The cozy kitchen looked straight out of a storybook—wooden shelves lined with jars of sugar and sprinkles, floral-printed tea towels hanging neatly by the stove, and a large wooden table in the center covered with piping bags, frosting tubs, and trays of undecorated cupcakes.

Y/N hesitated at the doorway, her fingers curling around Harry’s sleeve as she peeked inside. “I’ve always wanted to do a baking class,” she admitted, eyes wide with curiosity.

Harry turned to her with a grin. “I know,”

She furrowed her brows, “How did you find out?”

“You’re brothers told me,” He shrugged.

The elderly woman, who had introduced herself as Margaret, beamed at her. “Don’t worry if you’ve never done this before—I’ll show you everything!”

Y/N’s fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve as she stepped further into the cozy kitchen, taking in the warm scent of vanilla and sugar. She glanced at Harry, still feeling a little surprised that he had gone out of his way to plan something so thoughtful.

Margaret handed them each an apron, and Y/N hesitated before slipping hers over her head. As she struggled to tie the strings behind her back, she felt a familiar presence behind her.

“Here, Bambi,” Harry murmured, gently tugging the ends and tying them into a neat bow.

Y/N swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her apron. “Thank you…” she said softly, peeking up at him.

Harry just hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reached for his own apron.

Margaret clapped her hands together. “Now, let’s get started! We’ve got a few cakes ready for decorating, and you two can pick whichever frosting colors you like.”

Y/N followed her to the counter, where bowls of pastel-colored buttercream sat beside trays of undecorated cakes. She hovered near the edge, unsure where to start.

Harry, on the other hand, grabbed a piping bag without hesitation. “I used to work at a bakery so don’t be surprised if my cake turns into a masterpiece,” he declared, scooping up a generous amount of frosting.

Y/N watched him for a moment, then turned back to her own cake. She carefully picked up a piping bag but hesitated before squeezing it. “What if I mess it up?” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Margaret overheard and smiled warmly. “There’s no such thing, dear. It’s just cake. If it doesn’t turn out how you want, we’ll eat the evidence.”

Y/N let out a small giggle, feeling a little more at ease. She took a deep breath and pressed down on the piping bag, carefully swirling the frosting onto the cake. Her hands were a little shaky, but as she stepped back, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit proud.

Harry glanced over and tilted his head. “That’s cute,” he said, nodding toward her cake.

Y/N tucked her chin down, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, before turning back to his own. “Almost as good as mine,”

Y/N peeked at his cake and bit her lip to hold back a giggle. His frosting was uneven, the swirls lopsided. She glanced up at him, unsure if she should say anything.

He must have noticed because he smirked. “Go on, laugh.”

She shook her head quickly. “N-No! I—I think it’s lovely.”

Harry chuckled, nudging her lightly. “lovely, huh?”

Y/N felt her face heat up and quickly focused back on her cake, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Before she could react, Harry swiped a bit of icing onto his finger and gently smeared it across her cheek. She gasped, eyes widening in surprise as he leaned in slightly, a playful smirk on his lips.

“I think you’re lovely,” he murmured.

Margaret smiled knowingly. “You two make a lovely pair,” she said as she reached for some sprinkles. “Now, who wants to add the finishing touches?”

Y/N reached for a jar of soft pink sugar pearls, her fingers barely brushing Harry’s as he reached for the same one.

He didn’t move his hand right away, just glanced at her with a small smile. “You take it,” he said softly, his pinkie finger poking her hand. Y/N ducked her head, feeling a flutter in her chest as she carefully took the jar.

With the finishing touches added—Harry’s cake looking as delightfully messy as ever, and Y/N’s decorated with delicate swirls and tiny pearls—they both stepped back, admiring their work.

Margaret beamed at them. “Wonderful, both of you! Now, how about some tea? You’ve earned it.”

Y/N nodded quickly, grateful for something to do other than stand there under Harry’s watchful gaze. She followed Margaret to a cozy table near the window, where a teapot and delicate china cups were already set up. The scent of chamomile and honey filled the air as Margaret poured them each a cup.

Harry stretched out beside Y/N, his long legs brushing hers beneath the table. He didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he wasn’t letting on.

As Y/N stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea, curiosity finally got the better of her. She glanced between Harry and Margaret before speaking up softly. “How do you two know each other?”

Margaret smiled as she set down the teapot. “Oh, I’m an old friend of Harry’s mum. We go way back.” She turned to Harry with a teasing glint in her eye. “She’s actually coming to visit next week for his birthday.”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around her teacup.

Birthday?

Her mind spun. Harry hadn’t mentioned his birthday. Not once. And now she had to meet his mum?

Oh. Oh no.

She must’ve gone silent for too long because Harry’s gaze flickered toward her, his brows furrowing slightly.

Then, under the table, she felt it—his hand, warm and steady, pressing gently against her thigh.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a knowing look—one that was both amused and reassuring. His thumb brushed lightly over the fabric of her jeans, a silent gesture that somehow grounded her and made her even more flustered all at once.

“You alright, Bambi?” he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N swallowed hard and nodded quickly, even though her heart was racing.

Harry’s lips twitched, clearly not believing her. But, mercifully, he didn’t push. He just kept his hand where it was, a steady presence beneath the table.

Y/N took a sip of her tea, hoping it would hide the blush creeping up her neck.

She had two problems now: figuring out what to do for his birthday and somehow surviving meeting his mum without making a complete fool of herself.

And, judging by the knowing smirk on Harry’s lips, he was well aware of both.

. . .

“Thank you for having us,” Y/N said softly, offering Margaret a small smile as they stood by the door.

Margaret waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nonsense, dear. It was lovely having you both.” Then, with a knowing smile, she added, “You’re welcome to come back and do some baking with me anytime, Y/N.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the offer. She glanced at Harry, who was watching the exchange with amusement, then back at Margaret. “Oh—I’d love to,” she said shyly.

Margaret patted her arm warmly before turning to Harry. “Take care, love. And don’t forget to call your mum.”

Harry groaned playfully. “You’ve been talking to her too much.”

Margaret only laughed, waving them off as they made their way to the car.

Once inside, Y/N fastened her seatbelt and turned to look at Harry, who was adjusting the mirrors. She hesitated for a moment before finally voicing the thoughts swirling in her head.

“You didn’t tell me your mom was coming to see you,” she said, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “Or that it was your birthday.”

Harry shot her a side glance, lips twitching slightly. “I didn’t want to panic you.”

She frowned. “About your birthday?”

“I don’t like the attention,” he admitted simply.

That made her pause. She looked at him, watching the way his fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel.

Silence settled between them for a beat before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Are you mad?”

The question shocked her. Her brows knitted together. “No, of course not,” she said quickly. Then, softer, “Just… worried.”

Harry turned to her fully now, one arm draped over the steering wheel as he studied her. “Worried?”

“What if your mom doesn’t like me?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softened. “I think she already does.”

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re all I talk about when I speak to her these days, Bambi,” he said, his voice warm, sure. “Believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”

A small huff left her lips as she sank deeper into her seat, still unsure if that made her feel better or worse.

“Bambiiiiii,” Harry drawled, his tone teasing. “Give me a kiss.”

She almost smiled, shaking her head as she turned toward him to say something—maybe to protest, maybe just to stall—but she never got the chance.

Before she could speak, Harry cupped her entire face in his hands, tilting her chin up as he kissed her.

Y/N melted instantly, her hands hesitating before resting lightly against his chest. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his lips moving against hers with a kind of lazy confidence that made her stomach flip.

He pulled back just enough for their noses to brush, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You taste like frosting,” he murmured against her mouth.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her fingers curling slightly against his shirt.

Maybe she was still nervous about meeting his mom. Maybe she was still reeling from the fact that his birthday was next week. But right now, in this moment, all she could focus on was him.

“Come on,” Harry’s hand rested on her knee, “Let’s get you home.” 

The drive back was quiet, comfortable. The occasional hum of a song on the radio filled the space between them, but neither of them felt the need to talk much. Harry’s hand rested casually on the gear shift, fingers drumming lightly, while Y/N watched the familiar streets pass by through the window.

Before she knew it, they were outside her house. Harry shifted into park and turned toward her with a small smile. “Home safe, Bambi.”

Y/N reached for the door handle but hesitated.

She didn’t want the night to end just yet.

Biting her lip, she turned to face him properly. “Do you… want to come inside?”

Harry blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, “Yeah?”

Y/N nodded, suddenly feeling a little nervous under his gaze. “Yeah.”

His face softened into something warmer, more curious. He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You sure?”

Y/N swallowed, then nodded again. “I just—” She exhaled, giving a small shrug. “I’m not ready for you to leave yet.”

Harry’s expression changed, something fond flickering in his green eyes before he reached over, fingers brushing her chin briefly.

“Then I won’t,” he murmured.

With that, he shut off the car and stepped out, rounding to meet her at the front steps.

Y/N’s stomach fluttered as she unlocked the door, fully aware of Harry standing just behind her. And as she pushed it open and stepped inside, she couldn’t help but smile when she heard him close the door behind them.

“Everyone’s asleep. We can go upstairs to my room,” she whispered, locking the front door behind them. Slipping off her shoes, she glanced back as Harry did the same, his movements quiet and easy.

Without thinking, she reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his as she led him up the stairs. They tiptoed carefully past her brother’s rooms, the only sound the faint creak of the wooden steps beneath them.

Once inside, she gently shut the door and turned to find Harry standing in the middle of her room, his gaze slowly sweeping over the space.

It was strange seeing him there—so tall, so effortlessly cool—against the soft pink and white of her bedroom. He looked almost out of place, yet somehow, he didn’t.

His eyes landed on the mannequin in the corner, where a partially finished dress hung, delicate ruffles cascading down the fabric.

“Did you make this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he stepped closer, taking in the details.

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “Yeah… it’s taking a lot longer than I thought it would.”

Harry turned to her, something like awe flickering across his face. “Bambi,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “You should be working with the design team at Pleasing, not stuck behind a desk.”

Her eyes widened, heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, no, no,” she protested quickly, waving a hand. “The desk job is more than enough.”

Harry just hummed, still admiring the dress. “At least give it a think.”

Y/N blinked, a confused smile tugging at her lips. “Wait, are you offering?”

Harry turned to face her, already standing just a step away, the small space of her room almost too close. His lips curled into a teasing grin. “I don’t know… do you want me to?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and before she could answer, Harry intertwined their fingers, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through her. He lowered his head, his lips ghosting over hers, just a breath away.

“I think you’re going to do such great things, Bambi,” he murmured, his voice soft but certain. “You don’t need me for that.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the sincerity in his voice melting the walls she had built up around herself. Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, she kissed him, her lips pressing against his with a soft urgency.

His hands cupped her cheeks gently, his touch grounding her as she stepped back, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of her bed. They both tumbled onto it in a tangle of limbs, Y/N’s heart thudding loudly against her chest.

His hands moved to her hips, fingers digging into her skin beneath her shirt, pulling her closer. The warmth of his touch made her pulse quicken, and her mind raced, completely overwhelmed by the closeness.

Her thoughts scattered, and she found herself whispering, almost breathless. “Y—you can take it off.”

Harry’s hands stilled, his brows furrowing in confusion. “My shirt, I mean.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes widening as he processed what she’d said. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, her heart in her throat, “I-I’m sure,” She replied. 

Harry didn’t respond at first, his eyes scanning her face to make sure she truly meant what she said. His fingers tugged on the ends of her shirt and she nodded once more to let him know it was okay and what she wanted. 

Harry lifted her shirt, his fingers grazing her skin as he pulled it over her head. The cool air prickled against her newly exposed skin, but the way his gaze darkened sent a different kind of heat through her. 

"God," he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken, his eyes scanned the underwear she was wearing. He said nothing at first, Y/N’s nerves growing at his silence. Her first instinct was to put her shirt back on to cover herself up but his fingers wrapped around her wrist, “Are you real?” 

Y/N giggled, “I think so,” she poked her tummy and Harry laughed.

“I must have been good at some point in time, I don’t think you’d be here if I weren’t.” 

“You are good Harry,” Y/N murmurs.

“For you,” Harry whispers, “I’ll be anything. Anything y’ want, Bambi. I’ll bend and break myself to be whatever you want me to be. I’ve never been one for religion, but I’ve only ever prayed long and hard for someone like you, and now here you are. You’re like holding a piece of Heaven.”

Y/N's breath catches, the weight of his words settling deep within her chest. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, tracing the lines of his jaw with a softness that matches her racing heart. "Harry..."

His eyes soften as they meet hers, the intensity never wavering, but there's something tender in his gaze now, something that says he's not just talking about desire, but something deeper, more profound.

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers twitching at her sides before she reached for the hem of his shirt. He smirked, eyes locked onto hers as he helped her tug it over his head, his movements fluid, confident. Her eyes rounded at the tattoos that littered his muscular torso. Her hands hesitated over the hard lines of his chest, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips making her pulse stutter.

"Go on," Harry urged, his voice low, teasing. "Touch me."

Her breath hitched, but she obeyed, palms trailing cautiously over his chest, feeling the steady, unshaken beat of his heart. Unlike her own, which was hammering in her ribs. She traced her fingers over a particular tattoo on his left pectoral.

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she noticed the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, the warmth of his body against hers making her pulse quicken. Harry’s eyes softened as he watched her, his lips curling into a smile.

"Relax, love," he murmured, cupping her chin and tilting her face up to his. "S’just me."

And then he kissed her again—deep, sure, in control. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she melted into him, letting him take the lead, letting him guide her through the intensity of it all.

They kissed for a while, Harry’s hands roaming over her skin, slowly learning the contours of her body as though he were memorizing each moment. Y/N melted into him, feeling the heat between them grow, her heart racing, pulse quickening under his touch. 

Y/N pulled away for a brief second to catch his breath, his eyes were hazy, his lips were pinker than usual and lazy grin lingered on his lips. “What are y’ thinking about Bambi?” 

She wondered how he could already read her so well. Her mind had been drifting the entire evening to this very moment, and now she was in it, her mouth dry and she couldn’t seem to conjure up the words. “H-Harry I-” The words were on the tip of her tongue, her mind drifting to a reddit article she read three days prior with tips on this exact situation. 

Harry waited patiently for her to continue, letting her have her space to gain the confidence to ask whatever she needed to. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation in her voice, and he respected it, not rushing her, not pushing for anything.

She sighed, her words barely above a whisper, "I bought this bra today."

Harry nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "It’s very pretty, Bambi. So pretty on you." His lips brushed the side of her neck, a gentle, tender gesture meant to reassure her.

But Y/N could feel the weight of her own thoughts pressing on her chest. "B-but there’s a reason I bought it," she continued, her voice shaky.

Harry paused, his lips stilling against her skin as he pulled back slightly to look at her, his gaze full of warmth and curiosity. “What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she gathered the courage to speak. "I... I want to try things with you."

Harry’s expression softened, the shock in his eyes mixing with a deeper understanding. He gave her a moment to continue, sensing that she wasn’t finished.

"I want you to do stuff with me." She felt her cheeks flush, but she held his gaze, refusing to look away.

He stayed silent for a beat, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his voice calm but filled with concern. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for his, needing his touch to ground her. “I want to touch you.” She whispered in his ear, her cheeks scorching.

Harry choked, “Bambi,” He could feel himself hardening in his trousers.

She quickly continued, her voice a little shaky. “But y—you have to help me because… reading things online make it hard to understand, and those articles about… it’s confusing.”

Harry took her hands in his, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles as he looked into her eyes, his expression filled with warmth. “Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured her gently. “We’ll go slow. No pressure. I’ll help you, I promise. What is it you had in mind, Bambi?”

“I’m too embarrassed to say it out loud,” She admitted, breezing past the whole ‘pretending to be confident’ moment she had pictured in her head. “I feel embarrassed not knowing anything.”

Harry’s gaze softened, and Y/N wasn’t sure why it comforted her. He wasn’t showing sympathy, frustration, or excitement—his expression was unreadable, almost effortless. It was as if her uncertainty didn’t matter to him, as if knowing nothing made no difference at all. Being with her was enough, and whatever came with it was just a bonus.

“How about I’ll help you first,” He gently guided her onto his lap, his hands steady on her waist as he settled her against him. “Just follow my lead, yeah?” His voice was soft, reassuring, but there was an edge of something deeper in his tone—something patient yet undeniably wanting.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she adjusted herself, feeling the warmth of his body beneath her. His hands, warm and firm, traced slow circles on her hips, grounding her. “You don’t have to rush,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “This is just us. You and me.”

She exhaled shakily, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she let herself relax against him. The feeling was new, overwhelming but not in a bad way. Safe. Warm. Intimate in a way she hadn’t expected.

Harry’s fingers trailed up her spine, his touch featherlight but deliberate. “Tell me what feels good, Bambi,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Y/N swallowed, her body tingling at his words. “O-okay,” she breathed, trusting him completely.

Y/N shuddered as Harry’s hands splayed on her thighs, his fingers playfully playing with the hook of her underwear that rested on her hips. His thumb made circles on her skin, goosebumps rising where he traced, ‘Is this okay?” He whispered, eyes looking into hers. 

She nodded. His fingers sliding down further until they cupped her between her legs, “What about this?” 

She gaped, “Yes Harry,” 

“M’kay,” Warm breath fanned down her neck. 

Beneath her, Y/N could feel Harry’s hardening length. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching as she shifted slightly, the sensation unfamiliar yet thrilling. Harry’s grip on her hips tightened just a fraction, his jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose.

“You feel that, Bambi?” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

She nodded, her hands clutching his shoulders, her heart hammering against her ribs. “It’s… um, it’s big,” she admitted shyly, her cheeks burning.

“Do you trust me?” Harry asked.

“Completely,” Y/N whispered with a nod. Harry didn’t hesitate, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before his hand drifted lower.

With careful precision, he hooked his fingers around the fabric of her underwear, tugging it aside. She wondered if he could feel the razor bumps from where she had tried to shave. If he did he didn’t say anything, just whispered, “Y’ the most perfect girl. How are you real?” She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or himself. 

The moment his fingers brushed past her folds, searching for her clit, she stiffened, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. Letting out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping his shoulders as a wave of unfamiliar yet intoxicating pleasure coursed through her. Harry watched her closely, his eyes dark with focus, making sure she was comfortable.

“Relax, Bambi,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple as his fingers moved with deliberate care. 

Y/N’s breath hitched as he found the sensitive bundle of nerves, his touch gentle yet firm. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she instinctively pressed closer to him, seeking more.

“That’s it,” Harry murmured, his free hand stroking her thigh reassuringly. “You’re doing so good for me.”

She felt heat pool in her stomach, her body responding in ways she never imagined. “Harry,” she whimpered, barely recognizing her own voice.

His lips curled into a smirk as he pressed a kiss just below her ear. “I’ve got you, love,” he promised, his fingers working her with steady, patient movements. “You’re truly quite perfect.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his words, but then her brows furrowed as a thought crept into her mind—she wanted to do something for Harry, too. This wasn’t meant to be just about her.

But as his fingers continued their slow, torturous movements, her thoughts blurred into nothingness. Her body responded instinctively, her hips rutting against his hand when he brushed a particularly sensitive spot.

Harry groaned, the sound deep and raw, sending a fresh wave of heat through her. The effect it had on her was instant—she wanted to hear it again. So she did it once more, rolling her hips into his touch.

“Y’ gonna kill me, Bambi,” he rasped, his grip on her tightening as he fought to keep control.

Harry let out a strained chuckle, his fingers tightening around her hips as he steadied her movements. His gaze was heavy-lidded, filled with something dark and reverent as he watched her.

“So damn sweet,” he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin. “All wide-eyed and trembling… just like a little deer.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath catching at his words. His comparison made her feel small, delicate—like something precious in his hands. 

Harry’s breath grew heavier, his grip on her hips firm as he guided her movements, letting her find what felt good. Y/N was completely lost in the sensation—his fingers working her with precise, devastating strokes, his voice low and coaxing as he whispered sweet praises in her ear.

“That’s it, Bambi,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “Let yourself feel it.”

Her body trembled, overwhelmed by the pleasure building inside her. She clung to him, fingers pulling on the curls at the nape of his neck, his head falling back as she rocked against his hand, chasing the high she had never quite reached before.

Harry was struggling himself, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged as her movements sent jolts of pleasure straight through him. He was achingly hard beneath her, the friction almost too much, especially when she rolled her hips just right.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers faltering for a moment before he doubled down, determined to push her over the edge first. “You feel so good, love—so perfect.”

His words sent her spiraling. A broken moan slipped past her lips as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing over her in waves. Her body tensed, then melted, a shuddering mess in his arms as she came undone.

The sight of her—the way she trembled, the breathy whimpers falling from her lips—was Harry’s undoing. With a deep, guttural groan, he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering as he followed right after her, lost in his own release.

For a moment, neither of them moved, both caught in the aftershocks of pleasure, their breaths mingling as they clung to each other. Y/N felt boneless, her head resting against his shoulder, her heart still hammering in her chest.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Harry,” Y/N confessed, her voice soft in the quiet light of her room. It was the most honest thing she had ever said, the most vulnerable she had ever allowed herself to be.

Harry’s eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. Maybe it was love, maybe it was more but she couldn’t quite figure out what meant more than love. Unless what she was feeling was exactly that- something more- because when she thought about loving Harry, the word seemed much too small. She wanted to be the same person, wanted to melt into his skin and never find where she ended and he began. 

His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns on her back as he held her, grounding her in the moment. “Maybe it’s your first orgasm talking.” He chuckled and she playfully nudged him before laughing with him. 

As her eyes fluttered shut, inhaling the scent of him—warm, familiar, safe, she heard him whisper, “I think I’m two steps ahead of you Bambi.” and her heart pounded against her chest. 

Maybe love wasn’t a big enough word for what she felt, but whatever it was, it belonged to him. And she had a feeling it always would.

[paddockletters]

redeemed | lando norris part 4

masterlist | previous part | next part summary: we all needed dome drama

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yourusername: When in Milan… 🇮🇹☕

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user: She’s out here living her best life while Lando’s life is a whole soap opera 💀

bestfriend: hello??? 😍

user: Meanwhile, Lando is getting cooked on twitter because of his new girl… girl, you won fr 😭

user: The way she looks unbothered and stunning? As she should

user: Milan fits you SO WELL omg

user: She’s glowing, she’s thriving, she’s in Milan… a win is a win 🫡

user: Girl, are you even aware of what’s happening back home? Or are you just eating pasta and ignoring the chaos? 😭

user: I just know she’s sipping espresso peacefully while Lando is fighting for his life 😭😭

user: Lando is in the trenches and Y/N is taking aesthetic pics in Italy 💀

user: The way she’s out here minding her business >>>> everyone in the comments needs to take notes

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yourusername: Good company, good coffee☕

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user: Not Max flying out to Milan… I just know they had a gossip session

user: lando somewhere punching the air rn 😭😭

user: She replaced Lando so fast, I respect it 😂

user: we need the full tea. What did they talk about?? Who’s the mystery girl?? I HAVE QUESTIONS

user: max in Milan??? Oh, this is about to be messy 👀

user: right??? Max is there to spill the tea…

user: Imagine if Lando sees this… the way he’s gonna feel that one lmao 💀

lando: Wow. Didn’t even get an invite

user: NOT HIM SHOWING UP IN THE COMMENTS HELPPP 😭😭 User: Lando, blink twice if you’re mad user: Someone check on him. He’s definitely spiraling user: Bro, she left and immediately upgraded to a new best friend user: Lando, you were busy in Croatia, remember? 👀

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[00valentina-does-things00]

♡♥︎ Bloom in the Ruins ♥︎♡

Warnings: soft!Abby, protective!Abby, apocalypse setting, wlw fluff, established relationship, Abby being effortlessly hot, reader being hopelessly in love, flower crowns in a ruined world

The world was a graveyard of what once was. Concrete ruins swallowed by creeping moss, rusted cars devoured by ivy, and shattered glass twinkling like stars beneath the weight of time. It was a brutal place, a cruel place, but in the middle of all that decay, life still fought back. It was in the way the wind carried the scent of damp earth, the way the sun broke through crumbling buildings, and the way wildflowers sprouted defiantly from cracks in the pavement.

It was those flowers that caught your attention as you trailed behind Abby, boots crunching against overgrown asphalt.

“Five hours in and still nothing,” she muttered, adjusting her rifle strap. Her biceps flexed beneath the weight, and you tried not to stare. It was a losing battle.

“Nothing’s good,” you mused, kneeling to brush your fingers over a patch of white and purple blooms pushing through the cracks of an old sidewalk. “Means we’re not fighting for our lives. I’d call that a win.”

Abby huffed a small laugh, but her gaze remained sharp, scanning the distant ruins. “I guess.”

You weren’t surprised by her focus. Abby had a way of staying on edge, shoulders coiled tight like she was ready for a fight at any second. Years of surviving had sculpted her into something formidable—something strong and relentless. You loved her for it. You loved her despite it.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at you over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

You plucked a flower from the patch, twirling it between your fingers. “Taking advantage of a rare opportunity.”

Her brow quirked, but she didn’t question you further. That was another thing about Abby—she never pried unless she had to. Instead, she adjusted her grip on her gun and kept watch while you got to work.

Carefully, you threaded the stems together, fingers nimble despite the dirt under your nails. The flowers were delicate, soft in a way so few things were nowadays. You worked quickly, twisting and knotting them until the tiny cluster formed a loose ring.

Abby’s boots scuffed against the ground as she shifted her weight. “We should keep moving soon.”

You hummed, placing the finishing touch on the crown. “Just a second.”

Standing, you dusted off your knees and turned to her, holding up your creation. “For you.”

Abby blinked, her expression flickering between confusion and reluctant amusement. “You made me a flower crown?”

“Obviously.” You stepped closer, reaching up to place it on her head. “You’re my warrior queen. It only makes sense you have one.”

A quiet snort left her, but she didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned down ever so slightly, just enough for you to settle the crown over her dirty golden hair. It sat crooked, a little uneven, but it was perfect.

She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in them. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I love you,” she corrected, reaching up to adjust the crown so it wouldn’t fall. “This, though? Jury’s still out.”

You grinned, stepping back to admire your work. The contrast of it—soft petals against Abby’s battle-hardened form—made something ache in your chest. She was beautiful in the way the world rarely allowed anymore.

Before you could say something sappy, a distant sound had Abby tensing. The shift was instant—one second, she was humoring your flower-related nonsense, and the next, she was a soldier again, muscles taut, rifle raised.

You reached for your own weapon, eyes flickering to the collapsed buildings around you. The ruins were quiet, too quiet now that you were paying attention.

“Stay close,” Abby murmured, voice low and commanding.

You did, heart pounding as she took point, her body a shield in front of yours. The flower crown sat atop her head, an almost laughable contrast to her tense posture and the way she swept the area with lethal efficiency.

Minutes passed. Nothing came. Eventually, she exhaled, relaxing just enough to lower her rifle. “False alarm,” she muttered.

You nudged her side. “See? The flowers are a good luck charm.”

She gave you a look, but there was a softness in it, something she rarely let show. “If you say so.”

“I do.” You reached up, adjusting the slightly askew crown. “And I say you should wear this all the way back to base.”

Abby scoffed, but she didn’t take it off. Didn’t even try.

You smiled.

Even in a world that had forgotten softness, you’d carve out a space for it. For her. Always.

[sierrale8ne]

something about you / juju watkins x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ i’m tryna do something explicit. you askin me what i like about you, girl how long you wanna sit in this kitchen? ’

summary a few substances and some conversation has juju realizing that no time apart is gonna stop her from wanting you. warnings sexual content, smoking, fingering from lena “in the morning” yeah yeah i’m a liar we already knew that next 🙄🙄 here’s the first post of my lil collection and my first juju fic because y’all alr know… that’s my lil shit.

The chime of the bell is what causes your attention to shift from your spot behind the counter. You’ve been working at the smoothie bar on campus for quite some time now, any chance to get more money in your pocket and your roommates off your back.

It was a slow day today, luckily for you, the wind of southern California kept majority of your peers bundled up and in their own dorms rather than the commons or in the store.

Until now.

You’re cleaning the counter top, paying attention to every crumb that lands on the floor that you’ll have to sweep— when you see her.

It was hard not to recognize her, the typical baggy jeans and graphic hoodie, her Nike dunks thudding across the floor as she walks in, and a slicked back bun, different than her everyday game bun. Anyone on campus would be able to see her and point her out, the Juju Watkins.

But you recognize her for other reasons, as the only person in the world who knew you like no one else did.

You haven’t seen Juju in a few weeks, all thanks to her efforts in bringing home a national championship. But still, even through all that, she never once made you feel left to the side. You were involved in every moment of her life— texts, calls, FaceTimes— Juju made an effort to show you that she really did like you. That she cared.

She walks towards the counter, one hand gripping her wallet and the other tucked into her pocket.

“What’s up, baby?” She smiles, and it makes you smile at how her eyes scrunch together. Juju’s perfume travels over the expanse of the counter and to your nose, smelling just as good as you remember she did.

“What are you doing here, Ju?” You ask. It takes everything in your body to hide the blush growing on your face. By second nature, you start ringing her up for her smoothie— mango and peach with extra vanilla protein.

She shrugs, digging in her wallet for her card. “We ain’t linked up in a minute. I gotta pay my girl a visit, y’know?”

You nod, watching the way the girl never takes her eyes off you, even as she pays for her smoothie. Her card lazily held in the tips of her fingers. “Your girl?”

“Stop playing.” Juju shakes her head.

“Judea. You just tipped me 20 for a six dollar drink.” You groan. She was never shy to make a show of how much she liked you, even if you made it clear that money wasn’t the way to do that. It seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, though.

The only lights left in the store are the ones low ones over the tables and the white light over the blenders, dim, but just enough for you to see the red haze over her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make you work faster so we can get outta here. I just wanna see you tonight.” Juju explains.

“I’m closing tonight, love.”

“Okay? When you finish?” She questions. You ignore her briefly, enough to turn your back and start on the athlete’s smoothie.

It gave Juju the opportunity to run her eyes over you. You wear black leggings that hug the curve of your ass perfectly. Your uniform shirt is cropped just enough to give her a view of your lower back. The bright lime green of your apron is nearly blinding, but also looks beautiful on your skin. She can’t seem to take her eyes off you.

“I get off in 30!” You yell over the sound of the blender, looking over your shoulder to see that nothing you said has registered in her head. “Ju?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. You said what, mama?” Juju blots her lips together, glossy and slightly rosy. They look plump and a part of you wants to jump over the counter and kiss them until all the breath in your lungs gives out.

Her eyes meet yours, and just by the look in them you know she’s not lying about wanting to see you. It’s something, almost a sparkle, that you haven’t seen in so long. She wants you.

“I get off in 30.” You repeat, handing the girl her drink.

“I’ll wait right here then.”

You cradle Deuce in your arms, the dog being quite happy to see you in Juju’s apartment again. Her hoodie is long gone, tossed somewhere on the couch which leaves her in a cropped shirt that puts her abs on display.

The seat of her kitchen counter gives her only a few inches over you as you both talk. That seemed to be what you guys did often, picking each other’s brains apart for any and everything.

“How’s school goin’?” Juju asks in between puffs of smoke. The joint rests lazily in her fingers, teasing her bottom lip. Her eyes are already low, raking over you like you were candy. And the slope of her lashes was not helping you keep your cool.

That’s how it always seemed to be with Juju, she could do nothing— but also doo too much— and you still be completely enamored with her.

“It’s alright. Stressful, but s’nothin’ I can’t handle.” You nod, darting your eyes to the joint she passes off to you. “And you? Though I doubt you’re even focused with all this basketball shit.”

You take a puff, the drug swirling through your lungs and messing with your head before you breathe it out. The slight haze traveling through the yellow light of the kitchen.

“What? I’m focused. Sometimes.” She hums and you let out a laugh.

For as long as you’ve known the athlete she’d claim that school comes first, and then as the season continues it becomes pushed to the back burner. She had one goal— or really two— win a natty, and get the girl. You.

“Just sometimes?”

“Why else do you think I play worse when I see you? You’re the distraction, mama.” Blushed. You’re blushed fucking red. And Juju can’t help but smirk at it, she finds you adorable.

Deuce fights in your arms, and you make quick work of setting him on the floor. “Can I ask you something?” You question her, passing over the joint back.

“Of course.”

Your tongue tingles at the thought of the words about to come out of your mouth. You and Juju liked each other, that was clear— but what wasn’t was why things were still kept under wraps. Why she never asked you out officially and honestly why you didn’t do the same.

“What do you like about me, Ju? ‘Cause you keep sayin’ you do, but we’re not moving anywhere.” You trail off, feeling a little small under all six feet and two inches of her.

She ashes the joint, crossing her arms over her chest before making her way over to you. The tension is thick, almost too thick to even focus on anything other than the warmth that spreads through your body.

“How long do you wanna sit here, baby? I could talk about you for hours. It’s just… something about you, got me hooked from the minute I met you.” She explains. You look at how she plays with her fingers, almost like she was nervous. But you know her, Juju doesn’t get nervous. Especially with you.

“I-I dunno, I just feel like—”

“You don’t think I want you?” She wonders. Juju trails closer, hands pressing to the counter on each side of your thighs. “‘Cause I do. I could show you?”

Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it. The words repeat in your head over and over again. But she’s standing here, smelling like lavender and something else that’s distinctly Juju Watkins. Her eyes are serious, telling you that everything she’s said isn’t a lie. And then you’re thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve even kissed her, weeks, maybe even a full month.

You remember it like it was tattooed in your brain. Just before Valentine’s day. She came to your job with flowers, much to the dismay of your coworkers. You two drove around for hours, Brent Faiyaz and Frank Ocean filling the car until you stopped at the beach. She kissed you with a purpose, so much so that the air left your lungs and all other thoughts left your brain.

You miss it.

“Show me, Ju.” You murmur, widening the gap between your legs for her to stand there.

Juju doesn’t even waste time. She grips your thigh with one hand, snaking her other into the crook of your neck and pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut and her lips meet yours. Soft and even sweeter than you remembered.

Her lips glide against your own— slow— like she was savoring the moment. And she was, the tournament was approaching and it wasn’t clear the next time she’d be able to have you like this.

She breaks the kiss and you groan in disapproval, chasing after those plump lips before you can even think not to.

“That’s good enough? Or—”

“More.” You sigh, tugging her back to you by her jeans. “I want you, and I want more.” Juju presses her knee closer to your cunt as the kiss grows hungrier. Her mouth opens further, tongue darting out to slide against your own tongue. Like she was begging for more, begging for entry with a small whine. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you dizzy with need.

Juju digs her hands into the band of your leggings, snapping the elastic onto your hip. “Can I?” She mumbles against you.

It’s your turn to break the kiss, licking the saliva string between you both. Her eyes stare into your soul, deep and full of longing. She’s yearning for you, you see it how she grips your clothes, how her legs just slightly buckle.

“Yes. Please.” You whine, spreading your legs further.

The athlete leans into your neck, sniffing the fruity scent that lingers on you from work. Her lips find your sweet spot as she kisses along your skin. “Smell so good, baby. Taste even better.” She smiles against you.

“Ju, I need—” Your plea is cut off by the feel of her fingers inside your pants. She trails them down to your clothed cunt. Copping a feel of your clit through your panties.

“I know. You’re soaked. Just need me so fucking bad, yeah?” Her voice rings in your ear while her middle finger applied the kind of pressure that made your legs shake. You gush almost instantly, more of your slick drenching the fabric.

You nod fast—anything to get her to speed up—but you mean it. “Need you so bad, pretty girl.” Your hand holds the back of her neck, fingers toying with the flyaways of hair that reside there. “Please?”

“I don’t know, baby. I wanna make you my girl first.” She teases. Her fingers don’t stop, still running up and down your covered slit.

“Ask me.” You pant. Your hips buck up in need, free hand clutching the hem of her shirt.

Juju’s face comes back to view, looking down at you with a smirk she can’t hide, not in the slightest. “Y’sure? Here? Like thi—”

“Fucking ask me, Ju.” You stutter, and she doesn’t miss it.

She can’t miss it. How your mouth hangs open and your pants huff into her ears. You’re dying for it, for more. For anything she can give you.

“Will you be my girlfriend, beautiful? Please?” She smiled. Her fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side. Enough for the air to make you shiver, but not enough for her to touch you fully. She was leaving you on edge.

“You make your girlfriend feel good?” “You joke.

“Y’know I will, mama.”

“Then yes. Yes, baby, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Juju’s fingertips brush over your clit. Once, twice— and then the third time, she’s slipping her middle finger inside your pussy. Biting her lip as she does so.

“Take your shirt off.” She orders. Her voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, at least when she was with you. So you listen. Dragging your hands off her body and to your work shirt. It hits the floor with a thud that is ultimately drowned out by the sound of your moan.

She’s good. Better than you even imagined. Her finger is long, brushing along your g-spot with nearly every stroke. And when she curls them, God, it makes your eyes water.

“You feel so good.” You whimper, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. Juju relishes in the sounds you give her, not even the moans but your cunt. It’s loud, ringing in her ears as she slips another finger inside.

“Yeah? Who’s makin’ you feel this good, mama.” She asks, holding her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your head falls back, eyes rolling as she speeds up. “Y-you. You, baby. Only you, Ju.” You babble.

“Remember when you used to say you ain’t want me?” She starts, twisting her fingers in and out until your panties are all sloppy and you’re soaking your leggings. “Look at you now, legs shaking. Pussy just screamin’ for me.”

“Juju! Oh, fuck.” You grunt, meeting her halfway with each push of her fingers. Her hand trails up to your chest, squeezing your breast with a haste that makes you want to give her any and everything that she pleases. “I can’t—”

“Can’t take it? Really? ‘Cause I know you’re not a quitter. Ain’t nothing you can’t handle, right?” She hums, pressing her plump lips to your cheek.

You can smell the weed off her breath, the mango of her smoothie. And it’s all overstimulating.

Juju curls her fingers, and she knows she’s hit your spot when you nearly fly into her hold, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Your breath hits her ear, alongside the pleas of her name. “I’m so close.” You all but cry.

“Imma make you cum?” The question is rhetorical, she knows the answer. The way your body says all the words you don’t. “Yeahhhh, gonna make it feel good for you, baby. I promise.”

“Fuck, don’t stop! Don’t, Ju.” Your moans nearly make the athlete go blind with arousal. Soaking through her own underwear and they thought of having you finish here. On her kitchen counter.

“Lemme feel it. Cum, mama.”

It takes one more push of her fingers to make you nearly fall off the counter. Your legs tremble and your hands clutch Juju’s shoulders like a fucking life line. She works you through it, leaving kisses along your earlobe until she finally drags her coated fingers out of you.

They travel to her mouth, where she makes a show of licking them clean of you. Your eyes make sure they’re fully open to get the view, you’d rather die than miss it.

“Goddamn you taste good.” Juju groans, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just something about me, I guess.”

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @d3arapril @wbbgetsmewetter @ryywyd @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @janaelalfysblunt @cherryswisherz @courtsidewithlani @vamptizm @bdbueckers @makethemhoesmad @omg-imtumbling @avvwritesstufff

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 14

˗ˏˋ laundry day ˎˊ˗

"Doing laundry should be a normal activity—not something that brings out a whole new set of revelations about Jungkook you were not even fathoming. And you don’t know if it’s helping old ladies, tying your shoes or collecting stupid vynils—but you don’t like how it’s throwing off your whole perception of your annoying roommate."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: laundry rooms, old ladies that have a vendetta against you?, jungkook being a decent human being, batman socks, vynil revelations, humanizing jungkook and not liking it

✧ author's note ✧

Hello again little gremlins! It’s your girl, Kiki—back with another dose of Jungkook being emotionally compromised and having weird feelings about vulnerability.

SO. This chapter is… fairly slow-paced, which, duh—have you read my stuff? I went HAM on the introspection here, but I think it was so needed. Sometimes we need this type of chapter to balance the narrative out. I think it’s worked out beautifully, but do let me know your thoughts at the end.

About the goal thing! In case you’ve been living under a rock (or you don’t check my Tumblr regularly—which, fair), I have decided to switch my update schedule system.

Previously, I had been working with a weekly schedule as you all know. This has been quite easy for me to maintain because I work with hyperfixations, and basically ADHD.

The thing is… it’s a 2 month cycle.

I’m basically on week 7/8 already.

And that brings me to The Point. Goal-based update system. Which just means I’ll continue posting as long as we reach the established goals in every chapter. I’m going to be creating a whole post explaining how it works, but, long story short—as long as we reach either the goal in Tumblr OR Wattpad, we’ll be getting more chapters!

This is basically a self-regulation thing. I am self-aware (luckily) and I know how to work with my ADHD—but for those who don’t know; it’s heavily tied to dopamine. Which just means (I’m not gonna get nerdy I swear), I basically need engagement to trick my brain into staying motivated. Otherwise dopamine hits get slowly weaker and at some point I literally cannot bring myself to write.

WHICH SUCKS. Because I do love my stories, and I love sharing them. But burnout is real and brains work in funny ways and I can’t really fight my ADHD or brain chemistry (trust me I wish I could). So this is how you guys are going to help me tame this bitch. WE RIDE AT DOWN. 🤝

And before anyone asks—no, this is not up for debate. This is not something I’m “considering” or “open to feedback on.” This is me taking care of my mental health and working with my ADHD instead of against it. It’s not an “excuse,” it’s just how my brain operates. If that bothers you… I literally do not know what to tell you.

Anyways, as always, I love you all, I’m reading all your comments and reblogs and asks, and do check the note goal at the very end! 🩷

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

It's fucking weird how some people's clothes have a gravitational pull, like they're magnets and your body is just helplessly metal. 

You're wearing his sweater. The same one that's been mocking you from your desk chair for the last twenty-four hours, just sitting there in all its navy blue glory, smelling like rain and testosterone and bad decisions. You don't know why you haven't tossed it back into his room yet. It's been staring you down all morning, a silent accusation of...something.

But now it's almost midday on Sunday, and your pile of dirty clothes has reached critical mass. Your laundry basket is basically a textile Mount Everest. You'd wear something clean, except there isn't anything clean left—not unless you count the questionable tank top you found at the back of your drawer that you're pretty sure you wore to a frat party sophomore year.

So. Jungkook's sweater it is.

You tell yourself it's just practical. Totally logical. It's uncharacteristically chilly outside, the first whisper of almost September creeping in, and you need something to cover your ridiculous pajama shorts for the trek to the basement laundry room. They're flowery and pale pink, paired with an equally ridiculous oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoonish sunflower with the words "HAVE A SUNFLOWER DAY!" emblazoned across your chest in neon yellow.

Not exactly the look you'd choose for running into anyone with functioning eyeballs, but it's Sunday, and your give-a-fuck meter is hovering at absolute zero.

It's not like you're going to run into anyone important anyway. Miguel the super probably won't be down there; he's usually sleeping off his Saturday night till at least 2PM. And the chances of meeting some hot neighbor—your future spouse who'll be so charmed by your sunflower ensemble that they'll propose on the spot—are basically nonexistent.

Actually, scratch that. 

Even if some dream person did materialize in the laundry room today, they wouldn't see the sunflower masterpiece because it's hidden under Jungkook's stupidly oversized hoodie. The one that somehow hangs past your shorts, making it look like you're not wearing pants at all, which is a whole different kind of disaster.

Whatever. It's warm. It doesn't smell like him anymore. (It does.) And you're just using it. Borrowing it. Temporarily occupying its fabric space.

You scoop up your overflowing laundry basket and wrestle it onto your hip. The elevator in this building moves with all the urgency of continental drift, so you opt for the stairs. Three flights down isn't horrible, especially since the laundry room is conveniently right next to the stairwell exit.

"Just put it in his room later," you mutter to yourself, adjusting the hoodie. 

You could've done that yesterday when he tossed it at you, but you didn't, and you're not thinking about why.

You check your pocket for quarters and detergent pods. 

The whole ritual is familiar now—Sunday laundry day, another week of adulting successfully completed without burning the building down or getting evicted. Not that the bar should be that low, but hey, after the month you've had, you'll take the wins where you can get them.

As you start down the stairs, the hoodie falls past your hand, and you absently tug it back up, trying not to think about how the collar brushes against your cheek or how the cuffs hang past your fingertips. 

And you definitely aren't thinking about the fact that you're surrounded by the scent of him with every breath you take.

Because that would be weird, right? Being conscious of wearing your roommate's clothes? The roommate you occasionally fuck? The one who took you to buy a vibrator yesterday before subjecting you to lunch with his overly-protective friend?

Right. Not weird at all.

You're just doing laundry, in ridiculous pajamas, wearing his hoodie because it's practical. That's the story, and you're sticking to it—even if the sleeves smell faintly of his soap when you lift your hand to push your hair out of your face.

The stairwell is quiet, just the echo of your worn-out sneakers slapping against the concrete steps. You shift the basket to your other hip, huffing slightly under its weight. 

Maybe you should've done laundry sooner. Maybe you shouldn't wait until you're literally out of underwear every single time. 

But then again, maybe you should focus on the stairs and not on the fact that your bare thighs occasionally brush against the soft inner lining of his hoodie.

Adulthood is just a series of mundane chores punctuated by questionable decisions. And today, apparently, that includes wearing Jungkook's hoodie to do your laundry.

No big deal. You'll wash your clothes, return his sweater, and the universe will continue spinning on its axis, completely unaffected by your poor wardrobe choices.

The door to the laundry room is propped open with a cinder block—probably Mrs. Patel from 4C forgetting to remove it again. You shift your basket one final time and head in, already mentally claiming the good dryer, the one that doesn't sound like it's harboring a demon when it hits the spin cycle.

It's just laundry day. Just another Sunday. 

And the laundry room is still a goddamn joke.

Because let’s be real—whoever thought six washing machines and four dryers could service an entire apartment building was either a sadist or never did laundry in their life. 

And on Sundays? 

It's like watching vultures circle a carcass—everybody desperate for their turn at the machines, glaring at anyone who takes too long to transfer their clothes.

Dona Ramirez is already there, of course. The seventy-something retiree who treats the laundry room like her personal kingdom and you like an invading barbarian. She's currently guarding the Good Dryer—the one you had mentally claimed seconds ago.

Just. Fucking. Great.

She looks up as you enter, lips pursing like she's just bitten into something sour. Her eyes travel from your face down to your bare legs and back up again, judgment radiating from her in palpable waves.

"Good morning," you mutter, aiming for polite but landing somewhere around constipated.

"Hmph." Dona sniffs, turning back to her women's magazine. "Young people these days. No shame."

You bite back the urge to point out that it's literally just your legs showing, not your entire ass. It wouldn't matter anyway. In Dona's world, anything above the ankle is basically pornographic.

Shifting your heavy basket to your other hip, you make your way to the only empty washing machine—wedged in the back corner, naturally. The one that sometimes stops mid-cycle like it's having an existential crisis. You slam your basket down with more force than necessary.

"Careful with the machines," Dona mutters without looking up from her magazine. "They're not getting any younger."

Neither are you, standing here taking shit from the laundry room gatekeeper.

"Sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

You start sorting your clothes, creating separate piles for darks and lights. Dona continues to flip pages, totally unbothered. Or maybe bothered. You can’t tell and frankly don’t care. 

As you're separating your darks, something catches your eye. Orange hair. Lots of it, actually, clinging to your black leggings and that navy shirt you wore when you were studying on the couch last week.

Griffin.

That little furry infiltrator has been shedding all over your clothes again. Despite the fact that your door is always closed. Despite the "no pets" clause in your lease that Jungkook blatantly ignores. Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of a cat-hair-free existence.

And yet...

You find yourself smiling slightly as you pluck a particularly long orange strand from your favorite black sweater. The traitorous little shit must have snuck into your room when you were in the shower yesterday. You'd caught him curled up on your bed when you came out, looking entirely too comfortable and completely unapologetic about the invasion.

He'd just blinked at you lazily, that slow "yes, I know I'm not supposed to be here, and no, I don't care" cat-blink that somehow manages to be both insulting and endearing at the same time.

You should be annoyed. You should definitely tell Jungkook to keep his feline menace away from your clean laundry basket. You should not find it even remotely charming that Griffin seems to have decided your clothes are his second-favorite napping spot (right after your pillow, the little asshole).

And yet here you are, pulling orange fur off your black clothes with something dangerously close to fondness. 

What the fuck is happening to you?

Maybe it's sleep deprivation. 

Or maybe it's the fact that Griffin is actually kind of cool, for a cat. 

He doesn't have that typical cat superiority complex—he just genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything except food, sunbeams, and antagonizing Jungkook. 

It's a lifestyle you can respect.

Plus, he has this way of curling up next to you when you're reading, just close enough to leech your body heat without actually admitting he wants your attention. It's like living with a tiny, furry version of his owner.

Not that you'd ever admit that particular observation out loud.

You dump your dark clothes into the washing machine, mentally calculating how much detergent to add. Dona shuffles to check her wash cycle, eyeing you suspiciously like you might try to sabotage her laundry when she's not looking.

"Cold day," she comments, which is probably the most conversational she's ever been with you.

"Yeah," you reply, not looking up from measuring detergent. "Came early this year."

She hums disapprovingly, like the weather is also your fault. "Wearing your boyfriend's clothes won't keep you warm forever."

For a split second, your brain halts. 

Boyfriend? What boyfriend? And then—

Ah. 

The hoodie.

Jungkook's hoodie that you're swimming in.

Something about her smug certainty, that look that says she's got you all figured out, makes you want to burn the whole goddamn building down. Or at least throw a very minor wrench in her worldview.

"It's my girlfriend's, actually," you say, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease.

There. Take that, you judgmental old bat. Let's see how your 1950s sensibilities handle—

"Even worse," Dona sniffs, not missing a beat. "Girls these days, always stealing each other's clothes. You'll never build a proper wardrobe that way."

Wait, what?

You blink, momentarily thrown. That's... not the reaction you were expecting. No pearl-clutching. No horrified gasps. Just... practical fashion advice?

"I—"

"My granddaughter does the same thing," she continues, adjusting the scarf around her neck with arthritic fingers. "Comes home wearing her girlfriend's sweatshirts, twice her size. Looks like she's drowning in fabric. No shape whatsoever. You young people and your oversized clothes." She clicks her tongue. "In my day, we wore things that fit."

Well, shit.

So much for your brilliant plan to scandalize the old lady. 

Turns out Dona's not a homophobe—she's just a fashion critic. Equal opportunity judgment for all. How progressive of her.

"Right," you mutter, feeling weirdly chastised. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Hmph." She turns back to her laundry, seemingly satisfied that she's dispensed enough wisdom for one day.

You're still processing this unexpected twist when the laundry room door creaks open behind you, letting in a draft of cooler air. 

You don't need to turn around to know who it is. 

Something in the atmosphere shifts immediately—molecules rearranging themselves, air particles getting all excited, the very fabric of space-time bending to accommodate his presence.

Or maybe that's just your pulse doing that annoying thing where it decides to race for no good reason.

"Well, well, well."

His voice is sleep-rough and amused, and you can already picture the exact expression on his face without looking. 

That stupid half-smirk. That cocked eyebrow. That look that says he's caught you doing something you shouldn't.

You turn slowly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that you're suddenly, acutely aware that you're wearing his fucking hoodie over your ridiculous pajamas.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, laundry basket propped against his hip, looking unfairly good for someone who's probably just rolled out of bed. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in tufts. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and those stupid gray sweatpants that look way too good on him, and his feet are bare—the absolute psychopath. Who walks around a gross apartment building with no shoes?

His eyes drop immediately to the hoodie, and his eyebrow arches even higher.

"Interesting fashion choice, Phoenix," he says, lips twitching.

Your face heats. "Laundry day," you say, as if that explains everything.

As if borrowing—okay, stealing—his clothes is a perfectly normal response to having nothing clean to wear.

"Clearly." His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the edge of your floral shorts peeking out beneath the hem of his hoodie. "Sunflower PJs? Again?"

"It's laundry day," you repeat, like maybe he didn't hear you the first time. Like maybe that's a valid excuse for looking like you raided a middle schooler's closet. "Everything else is dirty."

"Hmm." 

He steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and moves to the washing machine next to yours. 

Puts his basket down. 

Stands too close. 

“But the hoodie isn't yours."

It's not a question. It's a statement, delivered with that infuriating confidence he always has, like he's so sure of himself, so certain of how this interaction is going to play out.

"I found it in my room," you say, turning back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle selection. "Must've gotten mixed up in my stuff."

"For a whole day?" He snorts, and you can hear him starting to sort his laundry beside you. "Interesting that you decided to wear it instead of, I don't know, returning it."

"It was convenient," you mutter, jabbing at the start button. "And it's cold."

"Right."

You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and you don’t know why you notice without even having to gaze at him. 

Damn your body and its complete lack of dignity.

"You're late, boy."

Your head whips around at the sharp change in Dona's tone. Not softer—definitely not softer—but different somehow. Like… Less venomous, more... familiar? 

The old woman is glaring at Jungkook, but it's not the same glare she gives you. It's like the difference between a loaded gun and a water pistol.

"Sorry, Miss D," Jungkook says, and there's something in his voice—a hint of warmth?—that catches you completely off guard. "Overslept."

"Hmph. Young people." Dona shakes her head, but there's no real bite to it. "My sheets need folding. These old hands aren't what they used to be."

"Sure thing." Jungkook nods like this is a completely normal request, like random old ladies demanding his manual labor is just part of his Sunday routine.

What the actual fuck?

You stare between them, waiting for Jungkook to tell her to fold her own damn sheets, or at the very least look annoyed at being bossed around. 

But he just continues sorting his laundry like this is fine. 

Like this is normal.

"You know her?" you ask, keeping your voice low as Dona bustles over to check her washing machine.

Jungkook glances at you, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Since when?"

He shrugs, separating a dark shirt from a pile of whites. "Since I moved in? She lives on the fourth floor."

"And you just... help her fold laundry? Voluntarily?"

"Sometimes." He's not looking at you now, focused on his sorting with more attention than dirty clothes really require. "It's not a big deal."

"Is that why she doesn't look at you like you're gum on her shoe?"

He huffs a laugh. "What?"

"She fucking hates me," you whisper, gesturing discreetly at Dona's back. "Every time I see her, she looks at me like I personally invented avocado toast and killed all the mom-and-pop stores."

"Maybe you just need to help her fold her sheets," he suggests, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Or maybe you've charmed her with your stupid dimples and your fake nice-guy routine."

"Fake nice-guy routine?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks genuinely amused. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Obviously," you mutter. "Nobody is actually that helpful without an agenda."

He studies you for a moment. Then, speaks. "Yeah? What's my agenda with Dona, then?"

“I don't know yet. But I'm sure it's something nefarious."

"Nefarious," he repeats, and now he's definitely laughing at you. "Sure, Phoenix. I'm playing the long con with a senior citizen. Really working that angle."

"Wouldn't put it past you.”

"Right." He tilts his head to the other side, still smiling slightly. "Well, while I'm busy being fake nice, you might want to turn your machine on. You've been standing there for five minutes and it's still not running."

You glance down at your washing machine, which is indeed just sitting there, silent and unhelpful. Fuck. Your finger must have missed the start button in your rush to look like you knew what you were doing.

You jab the button again, harder this time, and the machine finally lurches to life with a groan that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, "come help with these detergent bottles. They're too heavy."

"Coming," Jungkook calls back, and he's moving before you can say anything else, crossing the room to where Dona is struggling with an industrial-sized bottle of Tide.

You watch, equal parts confused and suspicious, as he takes the bottle from her. They exchange a few words you can't quite hear over the rumble of the washing machines, and then—what the fuck—Dona actually pats his arm. Like he's her grandson or something.

Like she doesn't find him utterly repulsive.

Is this why she likes him? Because he lets her boss him around and carries her detergent? 

That's... kind of pathetic, actually. 

You thought Jungkook had more of a backbone than that.

But still. It's weird. The cold, calculating part of your brain catalogs this new information, filed under "Jungkook, Things That Don't Add Up About." 

It's growing into a pretty substantial folder these days.

You turn back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the cycle display, but you're still watching them from the corner of your eye. Trying to figure out what his deal is.

"You need groceries this week?" Jungkook asks, voice low but not quite low enough that you can't hear it. "I can swing by after my studio session on Wednesday."

"Do I look like I need charity?" Dona snaps, but it’s not fueled by anger. If anything, she sounds... embarrassed?

"Not charity," Jungkook says, voice even. "Just a neighbor thing."

"Hmph." Dona busies herself with folding a dishcloth. "Well, if you insist on playing delivery boy, I do need milk. And those crackers from last time."

"Got it." Jungkook nods, like this is just normal. Like he's not going completely out of his way for someone who doesn't even seem particularly grateful.

You frown, trying to make it make sense. 

Maybe... maybe it's a hustle? Maybe old ladies tip really well? Or maybe he's building up good karma because he's secretly done something terrible and needs to balance the cosmic scales?

The two of them chat for a bit longer, and you can't quite hear all of it, but you catch fragments—something about Dona's doctor's appointment, something about Jungkook's classes, something about a recipe for chicken soup.

It's all so... domestic. So weirdly normal. So completely at odds with the Jungkook you know—the one who teases you mercilessly, the one who fucks you against walls, the one with the sharp edges and the arrogant smirk.

You're so busy trying to reconcile these two versions of him that you almost miss it when Dona's voice rises slightly.

"...since Hector passed, and these new delivery apps, they charge so much..." Her voice wavers, just slightly. "...shouldn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get groceries when you can't..."

Jungkook says something too low for you to catch, and Dona makes that "hmph" sound again. But this time it sounds different. Almost... vulnerable?

"Well," she says, louder now, "you're the only one who bothers to check. The others in this building, they see an old woman and they look right through her. Like I'm already a ghost."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. An emotion you don't want to examine too closely. Something that feels a lot like…

Shame.

Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it? You saw a grumpy old lady and decided she was the enemy. You never once considered that maybe she was just lonely. 

That maybe she uses sharpness as a shield. 

The same way you use sarcasm as one. 

"Not a ghost yet," Jungkook says, and his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it. "Still kicking my ass at dominoes every Thursday."

"Language," Dona scolds, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "And don't you forget it. I expect a rematch this week."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Wait. He plays dominoes with her? Weekly? What the actual fuck?

And now you feel even worse, because apparently Jungkook—the guy you've been dismissing as an arrogant player with no depth—has been spending his Thursday nights playing board games with a lonely old woman.

While you've been doing what? Watching Netflix and judging everyone's life choices?

Great. Now he's making you feel like an asshole without even trying. That's just perfect.

You turn back to your washing machine, genuinely focused on it this time, trying to process this new information. Trying to fit it into your understanding of who Jungkook is. 

It's not working very well.

When you hear footsteps approaching, you pretend to be busy. You don’t know why you can’t look at him in the eyes right now.

"Sheets are folded," Jungkook says, sliding up next to you. "World is saved."

"What a hero," you deadpan, still not looking at him.

"Someday you'll appreciate my many talents," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Speaking of which, nice hoodie."

You finally glance at him, and yep—there's that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Like he's caught you doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.

"It's practical," you say, tugging the hem down where it's riding up. "That's all."

"Sure," he agrees easily. "Very practical to keep my clothes. Much more practical than, say, returning them."

"You want it back?" You make a show of starting to pull it off. "Fine, take—"

"Keep it," he says quickly, and the way he says it—not teasing, not mocking, just simple and straightforward—catches you off guard. "It looks better on you anyway."

You freeze, hands still at the hem of the hoodie, not quite sure how to respond to that. It feels like a trap somehow, like if you accept, you're admitting to something. To what, you're not exactly sure.

"Whatever," you mutter, dropping your hands. "I'll wash it and give it back."

"No rush." He turns back to his own laundry, a small smile playing at his lips.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching him sort his clothes. Then you look away, annoyed with yourself for gawking.

"So," you say, as casual as you can muster,  "you're like, what? The old lady whisperer?"

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You and Dona." You gesture vaguely in her direction. "The whole..." You wave your hand, trying to encompass whatever the hell it is you just witnessed. "...thing."

"The thing," he repeats, clearly amused. "Very specific."

"You know what I mean," you huff. "The helping her fold sheets thing. The grocery delivery thing. The dominoes thing."

His movements pause for just a fraction of a second, so brief you almost miss it. "You were eavesdropping?"

"It's a small laundry room," you point out. "And you weren't exactly whispering."

"It's not a big deal."

"Playing dominoes with an old lady every Thursday isn't a big deal?"

"It's just dominoes," he says, like that explains everything. 

Like it's completely normal to spend your free time entertaining your elderly neighbor when you could be, I don't know, literally anything else that twenty-something guys usually do on a Thursday night.

"And the groceries?"

"She has trouble carrying them up the stairs," he says with a shrug. "The delivery apps charge too much. It's not a big deal."

"You keep saying that," you note, studying his profile as he focuses very intently on separating a blue shirt from a white one. "But it kind of is. I mean, how many people in this building even know their neighbors' names?"

"Maybe they should. Maybe it wouldn't kill people to look up from their phones once in a while and notice the actual humans around them."

You blink, taken aback by the sudden intensity. "Okay, damn. Sorry I asked."

"No, I'm—" He exhales sharply. "I just don't like talking about it, okay? It's not a thing."

"Why?" you press, genuinely curious now. "Why is it such a big secret that you're apparently a decent human being?"

“It's not a secret. I just don't..." He shakes his head. "I don't do it for attention or whatever. It's just the right thing to do."

"So you don't want me to know you do the right thing?"

"I don't need a fucking gold star for basic human decency," he snaps, and now there's definitely an edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for a pat on the back. I'm not trying to—" He breaks off, stuffing clothes into the machine with more force than necessary. "Just drop it, alright?"

You raise your eyebrows, watching as he jams quarters into the slot with unnecessary aggression. It's almost like he's... embarrassed? No, that's not quite right. More like he's uncomfortable with you knowing this side of him.

Like he doesn't want you to think he's actually nice.

Which is weird, because most guys would be falling all over themselves to prove they're nice guys. To get those good-person points. To make sure everyone knows what a saint they are for helping the little old lady with her groceries.

But Jungkook seems genuinely annoyed that you found out. Almost defensive about it.

It's... interesting.

Weird.

"Fine," you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "Consider it dropped. Your secret identity as a decent human being is safe with me."

He exhales sharply through his nose, still not looking at you. "Thanks."

You both lapse into silence, the hum of the washing machines like tiny droplets of silence between both of you. 

Across the room, Dona is bustling around the dryers, muttering to herself about settings and temperatures. You sneaks glances at her, seeing her in a different light now.

Not just a grumpy old woman. 

A widow. 

Someone who lives alone and has to rely on the kindness of neighbors—specifically, one neighbor—for simple tasks like carrying groceries. 

Someone who's lonely enough that a weekly dominoes game is something to look forward to.

It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don't particularly like.

"Boy," Dona calls, breaking the silence. "What cycle for delicates?"

"Gentle, cold water," Jungkook calls back without hesitation, like he's some kind of laundry expert. Like this is a normal conversation they have all the time.

"Hmph," is Dona's only response, but you notice she follows his advice, adjusting the settings on the dryer.

"She likes you," you observe quietly.

Jungkook glances at you, then back at his machine. 

"She tolerates me," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"She doesn't even tolerate me."

"You've never offered to help with her sheets."

"I didn't know that was an option," you say, crossing your arms. "There's no sign-up sheet for 'Old Lady Sheet Folding' in the lobby."

He snorts, and just like that, the tension from earlier seems to dissipate. 

“Maybe there should be. Building-wide rotation."

"I can see it now," you say, following in on the joke. "'4B gets Monday sheets, 6A takes Tuesday sheets...'"

"'If you find yourself assigned to Wednesday sheets, please be aware that those are the cat-hair sheets,'" he continues, adopting a serious tone. "'Lint rollers will be provided.'"

You can't help it—you laugh. 

It's brief, just a small burst of amusement, but it's genuine. 

And when you glance at Jungkook, he's looking at you with a strange expression, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"What?" you ask, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, turning back to his machine. But there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just wondering if I should sign you up for Thursday sheets."

"Don't you dare," you warn, but it’s too soft. "I have enough on my plate without adding geriatric sheet duty."

"Could be worse," he says with a shrug. "Could be Tuesday sheets."

"What's Tuesday?"

"Bingo night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dona goes hard on the snacks."

You stare at him, once again thrown by this glimpse into a life you didn't know existed. "You're kidding."

"Only partly," he admits with a grin. "But seriously, Tuesday is when she does her big laundry loads. Always complains about the folding."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I pay attention," he says simply, like it's obvious. Like everyone should just naturally notice these things about their neighbors. "It's not that complicated, Phoenix."

There's no judgment in his voice, but you still feel oddly defensive. Like you've been caught failing some basic test of humanity.

"Well, we can't all be saints," you mutter.

"Not trying to be a saint," he says, a hint of irritation creeping back it. "It's just—" He exhales sharply. "Never mind."

You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what button you just pushed. Why this, of all things, seems to get under his skin.

"Sorry," you say finally, surprising even yourself. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

“It's fine."

"It's cool that you help her," you add, feeling awkward but pressing on anyway. "Seriously. Not everyone would."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, it's not a big deal."

"Right." You nod, getting it now.

He really doesn't want the recognition. 

Doesn't want the attention for doing something decent. 

You both fall silent again, with Dona’s muttering as your only company. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's just... quiet. Companionable, almost.

Which is weird, because you don't do companionable silences with Jungkook. You do heated arguments and sarcastic exchanges and intense fucking. 

Not... this. Whatever this is.

"You ever play dominoes?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blink at the unexpected question. 

“Not since I was a kid."

He nods, considering this. 

"Dona's always complaining that two players is boring. Says it's meant to be played with more people."

You wait for him to continue, to make the obvious invitation, but he doesn't. Just stands there, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle display on his washing machine.

"Are you..." You squint at him. "Are you trying to ask me to play dominoes with you and Dona?"

"What? No." He scoffs, finger pressing random buttons. "Just making conversation."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," he continues, eyes fixed on the machine, "that if you ever… I dunno, find yourself bored on a Thursday night… There’s always dominoes."

Is he… Is he actually inviting you to his weird geriatric game night?

And if so, why? 

It's not like you've shown any interest in spending time with the elderly. Or with him, outside of the very specific context of fucking each other senseless.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say finally, not committing to anything.

"Cool."

"Cool."

Another silence falls.

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you’re still wearing his hoodie. And he’s still standing too close. 

And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you wonder what it would be like. To sit around a table with Jungkook and Dona, playing dominoes on a Thursday night. To see that side of him—the side that helps old ladies with groceries and remembers how they like their sheets folded.

It's a weird thought. An unfamiliar one. And you push it away almost as soon as it forms.

Because that's not what this is.

That's not what you are. 

You're roommates who sometimes fuck. You're not friends who play board games together.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, breaking into your thoughts. "What cycle for cotton?"

"High heat, Miss D," Jungkook calls back, and just like that, the moment—whatever it was—is broken.

He turns back to his sorting, and you turn back to yours, and everything goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

But you're still wearing his hoodie. And you're pretty sure you're not giving it back anytime soon.

Sometime later, you're leaning against the wall just outside the laundry room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. 

Your thumb drags across the screen without purpose, not really taking in whatever the hell you're looking at—Instagram? Twitter? Does it matter? The washing machines finished twenty minutes ago, but Jungkook insisted on carrying both your loads like some kind of laundry martyr.

"I got it," he'd said, waving you off when you tried to grab your basket. "Go ahead."

So here you are, waiting, because it feels weird to just leave him down here with your underwear. Even though he's definitely seen your underwear before. In significantly more compromising contexts.

From inside the laundry room, you can hear the murmur of voices—Jungkook and Dona in what sounds like a heated debate about fabric softener. You catch fragments: "ruins the absorbency" and "smells nice" and "didn't raise my Hector to use that chemical garbage."

You roll your eyes. How is this your Sunday? Standing in a dingy hallway while your fuck buddy debates laundry techniques with a geriatric neighbor?

The door finally swings open, and Jungkook emerges, arms loaded with both laundry baskets stacked precariously on top of each other. His biceps flex as he adjusts the weight, and you're definitely not noticing that. 

"Ready?" he asks, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Been ready," you murmur, pocketing your phone. "Some of us don't need an hour-long consultation about dryer settings."

"She has strong opinions about lint," he says, absolutely straight-faced, like this is a normal follow-up to any conversation.

"Fascinating." You push off from the wall, heading for the stairs. "Let's go before she recruits you for a lint task force or whatever."

He just grins, following behind you. 

The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, with concrete steps that have seen better decades. 

You're a few steps ahead when you hear it—a dull thud followed by a muttered "fuck."

You spin around to see Jungkook stumbling backward, nearly dropping both baskets as his free hand flies to his forehead. There's an exposed pipe running along the low ceiling that you always duck under without thinking—you're not particularly tall—but apparently nobody warned Jungkook about it.

"Shit." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and suddenly you're moving toward him, hands reaching out automatically. "You okay?"

He looks momentarily stunned, both by the impact and by your reaction. 

"Yeah, just—"

You're already on your tiptoes, fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead to check the damage. There's a red mark forming, but the skin isn't broken. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he smells like—

Wait.

What the fuck are you doing?

You freeze, suddenly aware of how close you are, of your fingers in his hair, of his eyes fixed on yours with an expression you can't quite read. 

Neither of you moves. 

His eyes dart between both of your pupils. 

"Um," you say intelligently, dropping your hands like his forehead is suddenly made of lava. "Be more careful. We don't need you more idiot than you already are."

Smooth. Really smooth.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't call you out on whatever the hell that sentence was supposed to be. "Thanks for the concern."

"I'm not concerned," you say automatically, already turning back toward the stairs. "Just don't want to deal with your concussed ass if you knock yourself out."

"Right." His voice follows you up the stairs. "God forbid you have to care about something."

"Exactly," you agree, not looking back. "Caring is for suckers."

You're halfway up the flight when you hear him grunt as he shifts the laundry baskets. It's a lot to carry, and the stairwell is narrow, but you're definitely not offering to help. That would imply you care, which you just explicitly denied. So.

There's a moment of shuffling footsteps behind you, then: "Wait a sec, Nix."

You turn, ready with some smart-ass comment about his head injury affecting his ability to climb stairs, but the words die in your throat. He's set both baskets down on the landing and is now kneeling on the step below you, looking at your feet.

"What are you—"

"Your shoes," he says, nodding at your sneakers. "They're untied."

You glance down. Sure enough, both laces on your ancient Converse are dragging on the concrete steps, a tripping hazard waiting to happen.

"I know," you lie. You didn't know. "I was gonna fix them later."

"Later, like after you face-plant on the stairs?" He's already reaching for your shoe, his big hands deftly gathering the laces. "With my luck, I'd have to call an ambulance, and they'd blame me for pushing you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of falling," you mutter, but you don't pull away.

Instead, you just stand there, weirdly frozen, as Jungkook—the guy who regularly makes you come so hard you see stars—ties your shoelaces like you're a fucking kindergartner.

His head is bent in concentration, dark hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding the red mark from the pipe. His hands move with practiced ease, looping and pulling. 

It's such a small thing. So mundane. So ordinary.

So why does your chest feel tight?

"There," he says, finishing the second shoe with a final tug. "Crisis averted."

He glances up at you, still kneeling, and something in his expression makes your stomach do a weird little flip. It's probably just the angle. The way the shitty stairwell lighting catches on his features. The lingering effects of morning caffeine making your pulse do stupid things.

"I could have done that myself," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"I know." He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the laundry baskets again. "But you didn't."

You don't have a good response to that, so you just turn and continue up the stairs, acutely aware of him following behind you. The only sound is your newly tied shoes against the concrete and his slightly labored breathing as he carries the laundry.

It's weird. 

This whole morning has been weird. 

First the hoodie, then Dona and the dominoes revelation, now this—Jungkook tying your shoes like it's nothing.

Like these small, casually intimate gestures are just things people do for each other.

Maybe they are. Maybe this is all completely normal roommate behavior, and you're the weird one for overthinking it.

It's not like he meant anything by it. 

He's just like that, apparently—the kind of guy who helps old ladies with groceries and plays dominoes on Thursdays and doesn't let people trip on their shoelaces. 

It's not personal. It's not about you.

He's just nice sometimes. In between being an absolute asshole who drives you crazy.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything at all.

You finally make it to the apartment door, fishing your keys out of the pocket of Jungkook's stupid hoodie and hold the door open for him because he's still stubbornly carrying both laundry loads, despite your begrudging offer to take yours back.

"I can carry my own shit," you'd said on the landing between the second and third floors, trying to grab your basket.

He'd just smirked and swung it out of your reach. "I got it."

"I'm not helpless."

"Never said you were."

"So give me my laundry, asshole."

"Nope."

And that was that. Because apparently this is the hill he wants to die on. Stupid, stubborn, impossible man.

Now he strides past you into the apartment, annoyingly unbothered by the weight of two full baskets. 

You absolutely do not track how lean his arm muscles are as he sets them both on the table near the main door.

You definitely don't track the line of his shoulders as he rolls them back, working out the tension from the climb. 

And you certainly don't follow a bead of sweat as it trails down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Because that would be pathetic. And you're not pathetic.

He starts rummaging through his basket, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up, confusion clear on his face. 

“Wait, I'm missing a sock."

"Huh?"

"A sock." He holds up a single black sock with little Batman logos on it. "I should have two."

You stare at him blankly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you see a sock drop or something? On the stairs, maybe?"

"Why would I be looking for your socks?" You cross your arms. "I have better things to do with my life than track your Batmans."

"Fuck it," he sighs. "I'm going downstairs again."

"Seriously? For a sock?"

"It's my favorite pair." He's already heading for the door. "Be right back."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you standing there next to two baskets of laundry and feeling weirdly... abandoned? 

Which is ridiculous. It's a sock. He'll be back in five minutes. 

Get a grip, bitch.

You stare at the laundry baskets on the table. His and yours, side by side. 

Why did he insist on carrying yours? It's so stupidly... nice. And Jungkook isn't nice. He's arrogant and annoying and makes you want to pull your hair out. He's not supposed to tie your shoes or carry your laundry or play dominoes with old ladies.

It's throwing off your entire understanding of him, and that's irritating as hell.

You hate him. You definitely hate him.

Except that's getting harder to believe by the day.

The sound of a door opening breaks into your thoughts, but it's not the main door—it's Yoongi's room. Huh. Like seeing a bear outside hibernation season.

He shuffles into the kitchen, looking about as close to death as you've ever seen him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in weird tufts like he’s barely managed to lay down on a horizontal surface. The bags under his eyes have bags. His t-shirt is wrinkled in that "I've been wearing this for days" way, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone who hasn't slept in approximately three centuries.

"Working?" you ask, because it seems like the only explanation for this zombie-like state.

"Unfortunately." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in hours. Maybe days.

He doesn't elaborate, just heads straight for the coffee maker. 

You don't ask. Not your business. 

Besides, you've got your own shit to worry about—like why you can't stop thinking about Jungkook carrying your laundry, or tying your shoes, or the way his hands moved when he was folding Dona's sheets.

God, you need a lobotomy.

Your gaze drifts around the apartment, trying to focus on literally anything else. It lands on the record collection displayed on the wall next to the TV. There must be at least thirty vinyl albums. You remember when Yeji was over last week, she mentioned them—commented on how eclectic the selection was.

You'd just shrugged and said they were Yoongi's. Because they had to be, right? Music producer, always holed up with headphones... it makes sense.

"Nice collection," you say, nodding toward the wall. 

You're not sure why you say it. Maybe to make conversation. Maybe to confirm your assumption. Maybe because some part of you suspects they're not Yoongi's at all, and you want to know what else you might have missed about Jungkook.

Not that you care about his likes or interests or anything. That would be dangerously close to caring about him as a person, which—ha! Absolutely not.

"Huh?" 

Yoongi turns around lazily, coffeepot in hand. He follows your gaze to the wall of records, and then—he scoffs. Actually scoffs, shaking his head like you've just said something so stupid he can't believe it came out of your mouth.

"Have you even checked them?" he asks, tone dry as the Sahara. "They're mostly Mayer."

You blink.

Mayer? As in John Mayer? As in the songs Jungkook plays on his guitar sometimes?

As in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"—the song he played that night in his room when he taunted you through text messages and you were stupid enough to actually walk in?

"They're Jungkook's," Yoongi adds after a beat of silence. "Not mine."

"Oh." The word falls from your lips automatically, small and insignificant, completely inadequate to express the weird reorganization happening in your brain. "But he doesn't have a record player?"

Yoongi just shrugs, pouring coffee into his mug. "Doesn't mean he can't collect them."

You stare at the vinyl collection with new eyes. Each album carefully chosen, meticulously arranged. A physical manifestation of something Jungkook cares about, something he values enough to collect even though he can't listen to them. Yet.

Something unwinds in your chest. A tight, small knot of... what? 

Surprise? 

Interest? 

Whatever it is, you don't like it. Don't want to examine it too closely. Because it feels dangerously like the beginning of seeing Jungkook as a whole person, not just the asshole who happens to be good in bed.

And that's not what this is. That's not what you are.

The door swings open, and there he is—stupid grin on his stupid face, waving a Batman sock in the air like he's just found buried treasure.

"Found it," he announces, triumphant. "It was stuck in the dryer door."

You give him the blankest stare you can muster. "Congratulations. Your sock journey is complete."

His grin just widens, completely unfazed by your sarcasm. "Thanks for the moral support, Phoenix. Couldn't have done it without you."

"I literally did nothing."

"Your energy kept me going."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck in the back of your head. He just laughs, that warm, rich sound that does absolutely nothing to your insides, and starts gathering his laundry.

"Later," you mutter, turning away before he can see the corner of your mouth threatening to twitch upward.

You grab your laundry basket head straight for your room, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Safe in your own space, you fish your phone from your pocket—and see three missed calls from the same number. 

Ah. Barnes & Noble. 

Seems like you got the job. Which is good. Great, even.

This is what responsible adults do—get jobs, pay bills, build sensible futures. Not collect vinyl records they can't play or help old ladies with their grocery shopping or carry their roommates' laundry just because.

Normal, practical, boring adult stuff. That's what you're about.

Except now you can't stop thinking about those records on the wall. About what else you might have missed. About who Jungkook actually is when he isn't being an infuriating, cocky asshole. About—

About nothing. Because you don’t care. 

He’s Jungkook. Rogue. The infuriating roommate of yours that leaves towels everywhere and can’t be bothered to clean his own mugs. 

You toss your phone onto your bed and start aggressively pulling laundry from your basket. 

You've got shit to do. Clothes to put away. A job to call back about. A life to live that absolutely does not revolve around wondering why your roommate collects vinyl records or helps old ladies or ties your shoes when they're untied.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

(Except that it might. Just a little. And that's the most terrifying thought of all.)

goal: 100 notes

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[blackgirlsloveburrow]

could we get a fic where joe and you are staying at his parents house and you have to stay quite during the deed

i don’t know how i feel about this but i haven’t posted in a minute so😩

NSFW 18+

joe brought you back to his childhood home to meet his family while lsu is on their christmas break. you and him have been together for a while, and you never had the opportunity to see where he grew up until now.

his family welcomed you with open arms, showering you with compliments and questions. his mother could sense the tiredness from you and joe from the long journey from louisiana to ohio, so she shut down the conversation before it went on to long.

“alright everyone settle down. they must be very tired so we can talk to them more in the morning,” she said.

“thanks mom,” joe replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in a loving side hug.

“you’re welcome. now go show her to the guest room”.

joe warned you that most likely his parents were not going to let you guys sleep in his room together. you wanted to leave a good impression on his parents though, so you were not going to complain. joe dropped your stuff to your room and kissed you on your forehead. he then whispered in your ear.

“after everyone goes to bed i’ll come see you baby”.

“okay,” you replied, getting slightly wet hearing his deep voice against your ear.

when he left to go to his room, you went to go take a shower in the connecting bathroom, washing the whole trip away. you put on your cute pj set and sat on the bed, mindlessly scrolling on social media until you saw the door knob turn.

joe walked in wearing a hoodie and flannel pajama pants. it’s simple but he makes everything look good. he came and sat by you.

“so, what do you think about being here? i know it’s not very much,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“i love being here with you. your family is wonderful even though i didn’t get to talk much with them. i just wish we didn’t have to sleep apart,” you replied honestly.

“i know baby, but it’s only for a couple of days. as long as we keep quiet i can always sneak in here and see you”.

he starts rubbing up and down your thigh, looking you in your eyes. you can’t help but look down at his lap seeing a tent in his pajama pants. you decide to straddle his lap and he moves his hands to massage your ass. you kiss his lips, gripping the back of his hair to pull him deeper into you. he grinds his hard-on into you in response, only having two thin layers between each other.

you start to kiss down his neck, licking and biting along the way. he has a steel grip on your ass, biting his lip to keep himself from groaning.

he eventually pushes you on your back and pulls his pajama pants off, along with yours. he lines his tip up to your pussy, hand gripping the sheet beside your head. he slowly slips it in, groaning lowly in your ear.

he puts his forehead against yours as he thrusts in and out of you deeply.

“oh baby i missed your pussy so much,” joe whispered. “you’re so wet for me”.

the bed squeaks as you guys fuck. he pushes your legs back more, hitting your g-spot, making your pussy squelch the faster he thrusts inside of you. you start to feel yourself unravel.

“f-fuck joe,” you accidentally slip out. you cover your mouth, but he’s not any quieter as he chases his high.

“m-i’m gonna cum. gonna cum,” he groans.

he releases inside of you, kissing you as he does.

he rolls over next to you. as you guys are calming down there’s a knock at the door.

both of you look over, eyes going wide.

“are you both okay? heard a lot of noise…,” his dad’s voice trailed off awkwardly.

joe coughs awkwardly. “uh…we’re okay?”.

“alright. uh, w-we’ll talk in the morning”.

his dad walks away from the door. you put your head in your hands embarrassed. joe wraps you in his arms and kisses your head.

so much for a first impression.

[seeingivy]

sweetener

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

previous part linked here

--

--

megumi fushiguro has a penchant for three things. to be overly curious, unyieldingly inquisitive, and have a considerably noticeable lack of restraint when it comes to personal boundaries. that much has been true since you met him in the sixth grade. 

in most cases, those are the three things that you appreciate the most about him; that he can look over your songs and artwork with thoughtful questions, encourage changes and tweaks you couldn’t have dreamed up yourself, and at the very least, be the vote of confidence that pushed you out of your comfort zones at times – which was severely needed at times. 

in the current situation, all three of those tendencies were working against you. because you were about to get a very severe interrogation. nothing stopped him from getting the answers that he wanted. 

“so were you planning on telling me you were dating sukuna or was that just supposed to be a happy surprise?” he mutters. 

you turn to your left to eye him – noting that his usual uninterested glare is more steely than usual – as you shoot him a polite smile. granted, knowing the situation and knowing megumi fushiguro as well as you do, you could have supposed that your ritual thursday morning coffee run would be subject to this interrogation. that at some level, you were even asking fo rit. 

there isn’t anything that megumi fushiguro doesn’t know about you. there isn’t anything that you don’t know about him. nothing has ever stopped you – a time zone, long distance, even forcible attempts – so the current predicament, that you have yet to tell him about your very public relationship, was a recipe for disaster. 

and you know for a fact that if it were you, you would be doing way worse. 

“are you going to respond?” he asks, the tone in his voice giving away his impatience. 

the current walk reminds you of one thing. that being subject to irritated glare that megumi usually reserves for other people and very rarely sports towards you isn’t a feeling that you necessarily like. or ever want to get used to. 

 “if i answer happy surprise, will you be more annoyed than you already are?” you joke. 

“take a guess.” he deadpans. 

you frown, looping your arm in through his as you both cross the sidewalk, on your walk three blocks down to the play coffee, where you’re meeting sukuna and yuuji for breakfast. granted, that invite – and the fact that it didn’t come from you either – didn’t necessarily help the situation at hand. 

megumi’s comments about yuuji being overly enthusiastic about meeting you, and the fact that you were now dating sukuna, were clearly no joke. 

“i just find it really strange. i’m not really sure what angle you’re playing at here.”  megumi states. 

you sigh. 

“i’m not playing at an angle. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you before and i know that not telling you doesn’t really help my case, but there is no angle. sukuna and i are just talking. we aren’t even dating yet.” you state. 

megumi clears his throat. 

“yet?” 

“well, we’ll see where it goes. maybe we won’t even date at all. or we will, for a really long time. i’m just playing the entire thing by ear since it’s been a while since i’ve talked to someone i didn’t really know beforehand.” 

megumi scoffs. 

“so you realized you made a mistake by deciding to date the guy who's been your best friend for two years and then decided to turn around and do the opposite thing the next time you tried to talk to someone? by talking to a stranger?” 

“he’s not a stranger! he’s romeo’s brother, that definitely helps in his case.” 

megumi’s uncharacteristically silent. you wrap your arm around his wrist and pull back, gesturing for him to stop in the middle of the sidewalk before letting go. you can tell that he’s unrelenting, barely even meeting your eyes as you teeter back and forth on the balls of your feet, and wait for him to talk again. 

“megumi.” you murmur. 

“what’s the angle? i know you.” he responds back, almost exasperated. 

you debate telling him the truth. debate telling him the truth and hearing it from him in earnest – that he doesn’t think you’re very smart, that your career certainly can’t mean so much that you’d pretend to date someone, and that you’re thoughtless for messing with something that’s so important to him in the process. 

yuuji. and his family, by proxy. 

“there is no angle. he was the one who approached me and i’m just getting to know him. i didn’t even realize he was romeo’s brother until after the first time that we talked.” you state. 

“you didn’t realize that his twin brother….was his brother?” he asks. 

“they’re fraternal. and it was dark.” you state. 

“so the whole song, basketball game, that was all just an extra bonus? a surprisingly convenient way to get back at jake and aimee?” he asks. 

you sigh. 

“okay. so things were public a little fast. so fast that i didn’t even get to tell you about it beforehand. and maybe part of it was me being mad at jake and aimee and just feeling irritated and…and he was there to help me…but i’m not purposely leaving you out of anything. it just happened. and yes, it benefits him too since she’s been talking about him in the press, but it wasn’t planned.”  you state. 

you pause before continuing. 

“you’ve been busy with press. this is the first time i’ve seen you in a while. and i swear, if i had a chance to tell you – not over the phone by the way and actually in person – you would be the first to know.” 

megumi looks over, sparing the smallest smile, on which you return to his side and loop your arm through his before leaning your cheek against his bicep. 

“you can understand why i’m concerned, right?” he murmurs. 

“i know. i don’t want us to interfere with your almost eighteen month attempt at your… whatever…with romeo.”  

megumi clicks his tongue in his cheek. 

“this is not about yuuji. i could care less about that. this is about you.” he deadpans. 

“what about me?” 

megumi sighs. 

“about you and aimee. what interacting with her can do. how obsessive it can become.” he states. 

there’s an overwhelming dry patch in your throat. 

“i don’t care that you didn’t tell me on time. i don’t even really care that you’re dating him. i…think he’s great. he clearly cares about you a lot, he asks me stuff about you all the time. i’m just worried about you. you’re thinking about aimee a lot. getting involved with her again. i just wanted to make sure that you were fine.” 

you understand the implication and frown. 

“i’m fine. if it was like that, i would have told you.” 

“but you understand why i’m asking? because there was a time that you didn’t tell me. quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve withheld anything from me. and i don’t want things to escalate so far that…that i miss something.” 

you turn towards him, reaching forward to place a hand on his shoulder. the searing guilt that this is the second time now – the second time that you’re willingly withholding something from megumi – makes your stomach twist in a way that you don’t like. 

“i haven’t even given her a second thought.” 

that was a lie too. a third. 

“and trust me. more than anything, i’m more annoyed that jake has zero class.” you add. 

megumi scoffs. 

“well, i could have told you that much from the start. who wears khakis to a black tie formal?” he asks. 

you laugh. 

“plus. isn’t that kind of cute? that we’re dating two brothers? we’re like sister wives!”  

“or brother husbands. and i thought you weren’t dating.” megumi states. 

“yet. who knows where it’s going to go from here?” you clarify. 

“well, sukuna definitely wants it to go that way. he really does ask about you. quite often, i might add.” he mentions. 

you can’t help but feel your cheeks warm up. that your curiosity’s been piqued maybe a little more than it should have. it would give away too much – but you need to know every detail. the tone of his voice, the order he said it all in, if he smiled when he talked about you. 

“what did he say?” 

“he was just admiring that you’re very clever. the whole espresso thing. which i think is fucking ridiculous because you hate coffee, but i get the connection. honestly, i feel like he’s kind of shocked that you even like him in the first place.” 

“what’s he so shocked about?” 

megumi shrugs. 

“i don’t know. i guess he’s used to people settling for him or something along those lines according to yuuji. but he’s been pretty happen since you came around.” 

happy that you’re going to save his career.

--

one thing was very clear to you from the deep dive internet search that you did on sukuna a few  days prior. that if there was one thing that was beloved to him – and his fans – it was the coffee shop that he worked at when he was sixteen. 

play coffee was nestled at the end of the block, right on the corner next to a convenience store. just from the design inside – old stained glass windows, red bricks – you could tell that the building was definitely repurposed from its original use.

“yuuji told me that he was out back moving some things into stock. i’m gonna go talk to him before we join you guys, okay?” 

“sure. do you want me to order for you?” 

“sure. just ask sukuna to get me my usual.” megumi notes. 

you shoot him a polite nod, before pushing through the double glass doors, and stopping short of the display case. there’s no one you can see towards the front counter – the unmistakable  pink hair nowhere to be found – as you stop to take note of the pastries in the glass case. 

a sheet cake, perfectly sliced at the bottom, next to a glistening pie, with an intricately designed crust. three donuts in a line, a bundt cake, and what you’re guessing is the most extensive assortment of croissants that you’ve ever seen in your life. 

you pause to take a picture of the pie crust, noting the braided pattern on the outer edge, before you’re startled by the presence of another voice. 

“which one caught your eye?” 

the woman standing at your side is looking over at you, eyes wide and expectant as she waits for an answer, and as you clock exactly who she is. some part of you was convinced that your searing memory – the fact that you remember everything in painstaking detail – had to be some type of superpower at this point. 

alina. sukuna’s boss. she’s the one that owns the coffee shop. and by proxy, you assume the woman that sukuna’s so overly fond of to stay here and invest in for so long. 

“the pie. it’s lemon meringue right?” 

“that’s right.” 

“i was just admiring the design on the crust. it’s hard to find places that have such intricate crusts. or even offer lemon meringue as an option. i usually have to make it on my own.” 

alina hums in response. 

“sour on the outside, sweet on the inside. is that your type?” she states.

“what?” 

“that’s how sukuna makes that one. he makes the meringue more sour and the filling more sweet. swears that it’s better that way. is that the type of lemon meringue pie you like?”   

you give her a polite nod. and note that you’re not the only one who seems to remember things in painstaking detail. 

“sorry, yeah. you said sukuna made it?” you ask. 

she gives you a smile. 

“he’s a big baker. something you’ll have to get used to, i suppose, since his mom says that he does get an itch to start baking in the middle of the night sometimes.” 

you give her an awkward smile. of course she knows who you are. if he’s close enough to save her coffee shop from being evicted, he’s definitely going to let her know when he’s seeing someone new. 

it was normal. what you did wasn’t. 

“i’m kind of an insomniac too, so that would be fine with me. and i like baking. and it doesn’t seem like he’s half bad at it.” you ask. 

“you like baking too?” she asks. 

“oh, i try to make my own food when i can. taking the time to make it makes it easier for me to eat it and enjoy it.” you state. 

you smile, swallowing down the warmth that’s settling into your throat, to keep the conversation going. and hope that wasn’t an awkward thing ot say. 

“he’s been talking about you. playing your espresso song in the shop because he claims it’s good for business, but i think it’s just because he likes it so much.” 

“oh. you play my song here? that’s really sweet of you guys.” 

you pause, before turning to the left and extending your hand out to her. it’s an opportune time because it’s right as sukuna comes out of the closed door in the back – a glistening sheen of sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. you note that the dress code that everyone seemed to follow – at least from the pictures that you saw on the website – is one that applied to everyone but sukuna. 

because you can see his fully tattooed arms on display in the dark green tank top he’s wearing. you restrain yourself from looking at the art on his arm fully and look up to find him grinning at you, looking a little too happy for your liking. 

he probably thinks that you were checking him out. 

“you could have hollered when you got here, y/n. and of course we played your song here.” sukuna states. 

“well, that would have gotten you and your sweat over here faster. plus, i was introducing myself to alina.” you respond. 

sukuna laughs. 

“trust me, you don’t need an introduction. i’m convinced i know more about you than you do at this point.” alina murmurs. 

sukuna turns around to narrow his eyes at her, one that makes her smile very brightly, before she scuttles away towards the back. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask. 

“she’s like my pseudo mom. she just asked a lot of questions about you, that’s all.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. 

“and how were you able to come up with so many answers?” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“your best friend since childhood has been my co-worker for the past year. and he also lingers around my apartment basically everyday.” 

“i have a sneaking suspicion that’s not really true, sukuna.” you state.  

“oh?” 

you shrug. 

“i never even told you we were childhood best friends. how would you know to ask him? and he’s not exactly standing around at your apartment to talk to you.” you note. 

sukuna shakes his head, almost like he’s dismissing the entire conversation away with one shake, before he crouches in front of the glass case of the pastries, eyeing them all one by one. you note that he’s pretty meticulous – at least with the order – because he starts rearranging all of them in a specific order. 

“i actually wanted to talk to you about something.” 

sukuna gives you a nod, almost like he’s indicating that you have his full attention, not diverting his eyes from the case. 

“well, what are we doing?” you whisper. 

“i’m rearranging the pastries because yuuji doesn’t know what alphabetical order means. you’re admiring me from a distance, very shamelessly i might add.” he notes. 

you bite down on your cheek, before crouching down to whisper properly. 

“i mean. you’re almost at the end of press. i basically pissed off jake and aimee like you said. aren’t we good to..i don’t know…fizzle out?” 

sukuna scunches up his face at the sound of your words. almost like he’s irritated you’d even position this in the first place. 

“are you seriously backing out because you’re scared?” he asks. 

“scared? what could i possibly have to be scared of?” 

he finally diverts his gaze from the case, retreating his hand back to his lap, and trying to discern the look on your face from his scrunched eyes. 

“you tell me. you’re the one who is backing out right now.” he murmurs. 

you clear your throat. 

“i don’t see a point.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“i can spend another time trying to convince you of the point. but trust me, you don’t want to go into the premiere party on friday without me. i got not one but two messages last night that weren’t exactly pleasant.” 

“what? from who?” 

“the pope.” he deadpans. 

“really?” 

“are you crazy? one from aimee telling me that she missed me. and one from jake telling me that i needed to be careful with you or else.” 

“what?” 

“exactly. they’re definitely not going to drop this. and at this point in time, it really wouldn’t make sense for us to do it either. i didn’t necessarily help your case by pissing him off at the basketball game and now i’m not just going to leave you defenseless.” 

“i’m not defens..” 

sukuna rolls his eyes, placing his hand flat on your cheek in efforts to silence you, as alina sticks a plate of the pie right on the counter where the two of you are standing. you note that she smiles at the two of you – almost double taking to observe how sukuna’s holding your cheek – before she walks away. 

you can feel your cheeks warm as he drops his hand, his soft touch retreating. he gives you a sweet smile, one that you don’t entirely understand, as he beckons for you to follow him, leading you the booth all the way at the end. 

you can see that yuuji is tending to the flowers that are in the box out front through the window, and that a few feet behind, megumi’s watching him very fondly as he continues to talk. sukuna follows your line of vision, before clearing his throat. 

“ten bucks megumi makes the first move.” 

“oh, you’re so full of shit. it’s either going to be yuuji or it’s never happening.” 

“oh ye of little faith. trust me, if anyone’s hopeless over there, it’s yuuji.” 

you scoff. 

“please. you don’t know anything about megumi” 

“and you know nothing about yuuji. he’s still convinced that megumi is straight.” he whispers. 

you widen your eyes. 

“is he serious?” you whisper. 

sukuna leans forward, close enough that you can smell the faintest whiff of his cologne. 

“don’t you think that this thing we’re doing is fun?” he whispers. 

you lean back, and he’s keen to follow, as he closed the distance between you two. you’re confused by the glint in his eye – that it’s filled with something that you can’t really place – as you lean back. 

“i’m not sure i follow, starfire.” 

sukuna shakes his head. 

“are you so daft, robin?” 

“it appears i am.” you deadpan. 

“you and i are telling people that we’re dating. presumably, most people think that we’re probably in love. and at this point in time, that’s a lie. it’s a lie that you know and it’s a lie that i know. and every time i do something to make it obvious – like touch your cheek or respond to something you say online – you seem really exasperated. you roll your eyes at me like you think i’m insane.” 

“and?” 

“i’ve made you an accomplice in my lie. our lie. and every time i do, you seem to shift a little. you don’t really meet my eyes – just like you wouldn’t the other day or even a few minutes ago in front of alina – and i swear you get a flush down your cheeks. it’s one of my favorite things about you.” 

you clear your throat. 

“and?” 

“and it’s because we’re around other people. we have a secret. one that’s just ours. and isn’t that the most intimate thing we can share?” 

“sukuna, you…” 

right at that second, megumi and yuuji slide into the other side of the booth, the latter of which spares you such a bright smile that you have to swallow down the lump in your throat that sukuna’s words just caused. they’re so loud that it nearly startles you, as you push farther away from sukuna and place your hand on the back of your neck – in futile attempts to hide the flush creeping down your neck that he was so fond of. 

sukuna shoots you a smile. you know exactly what it means. 

“hi y/n! i’m yuuji, i’m so excited to meet you!” he states. 

you smile, physically shaking your head to will the thought away, as you extend your hand out to him. nearly disoriented from the words sukuna had just said to you. 

“me too. i’ve heard so much about you.” you respond, noting that your voice very noticeably cracks as you awkwardly extend your hand out. 

it’s something that megumi seems to catch on to pretty fast, as he narrows his eyes at you from across the table. 

“what were you guys talking about? seemed pretty deep in thought there.” megumi asks, as he flips his fingers through the menu. 

“sorry, megumi. we can’t share. it’s a secret.” sukuna murmurs, taking the time to spare you a sweet smile.

--  

--

the next time you see sukuna is almost a week after, at the after party of the premiere. he’s stuck doing last minute press – and you’re too intimidated by whatever secret the two of you are sharing to reach out again – so you stop yourself from asking to see him again.  

you refrain from thinking about the implications of everything he said another time, about what it meant that jake and aimee messaged him, about how he wouldn’t leave you defenseless, and instead opt to watch the ice slowly melt in your glass from the corner. 

to try to figure out what sukuna’s going to spring on you next time – so at the very least, this time you can muster a response. which at this point felt like an entirely impossible pursuit. 

you stick to the same corner at the party, watching megumi from a distance. 

megumi was very clearly the star of the show. you were barely able to get a hold of him since the start of the party, when he was whisked off by his producer, and basically got bounced through every small group of people at the party. 

the closest you were to being near him was your current spot in the little bar, where you’re dead across from the big promotional poster they put behind the counter. 

“hey. are you having fun?” 

you turn to your left to find yuuji at your side, his normal exuberant energy slightly diminished, as he sends you a tired smile. you give him a nod, beckoning for him to take the seat next to you and slide over the leftover soda in your class. 

“not as much fun as you, superstar.” you state. 

“i can’t even feel my feet.” he groans. 

you smile. 

“well, this is just the first of many for you. you were great in the show.” you note. 

he offers you a smile, his face so expressive that you can almost physically see that he’s touched in the curve of his cheeks, as he looks up at the poster across from the two of you. 

“you know. it’s kind of weird. when i was making this show, i could tell that it was really important. in my head, i always knew that it was going to do well because it was special, because megumi and i were making something that i’d never even felt with another person before. but a part of me always put that away, because i was scared i was being arrogant.” 

you shake your head. 

“i feel that way when i write music sometimes. especially when lyrics are particularly scathing or…or personal. it’s almost like i know that it’s going to reach people because it’s something that really happened to me. but then i try to convince myself that i’m just saying that and it’s just a song, that it won’t really hit people, because i think i’m making it up sometimes.” 

you pause. 

“what i’m trying to say, probably in a really long winded way that definitely didn’t come across the way i intended, is that you’re not alone when you feel that. but you also should know that your performance was really good. i thought it was very touching.” 

yuuji smiles, almost faltering in his eyes a little bit, before he turns to you. you note that he seems particularly reserved, almost flighty from the way he’s twitching in his seat, as you scoot closer to him on the bench. 

“you know. my brother said that if i wanted to, i could ask you anything. and that you were so nice that you’d probably indulge and make me feel better.” 

you smile. 

“i’m flattered that he thinks i’m so nice. and he is right, you know. is there something i could help you with?” you ask. 

yuuji swallows hard. 

“do you love megumi?” he asks. 

“what?” 

“like love love him? because he mentioned to me in passing one time that the two of you used to date and i know that you guys are really close and was wondering if it was some like…weird years long situationship that was going on or something.” 

you nod. so that’s why he thought megumi was straight. 

“would it kill you if i gave you every little detail?” you ask. 

“well…” 

“i promise that it will make you feel better.” 

“okay.” 

you smile, swiveling your chair and scooting closer, to lower your voice, at least to the point where he could still hear you. 

“i met megumi when i was in the third grade. and really, i can’t even explain how we became friends.”

“what?” 

you shrug. 

“i feel like everyone else i know, even with other friends of mine, i’m able to remember exactly when i met them. the exact moment that i realized that they were special or that i really liked them. but i can’t even remember where i met megumi. all i know is that as long as i can remember, he’s always been around. always been in my corner when i needed him.” 

yuuji smiles.  

“when we reached sixth grade, he asked me to be his girlfriend. and i said yeah, because i figured if anyone was going to be my boyfriend, it had to be him. it seemed almost natural at that point. it was that weird age where people started segregating awkwardly, asking each other to dances and…people already thought we were together to begin with. i didn’t talk to other boys. i didn’t even talk to other people. if i was going to entertain the thought of someone, they only person i could even tolerate long enough was megumi. so it was going to be him.”  

“there was a day after school where we were both waiting for our parents. both of our dads were kind of fickle in that way, never really came on time to pick us up, amongst other things. and he just asked me if i wanted to kiss him. and i did. and he bursted out into tears after the fact.” 

“what?” 

you look back over your shoulder, where he’s slung across satoru’s shoulder and giving him a disgusted glare, before you turn back and smile. 

“loud tears. like…snot filled tears. for a split second, i thought i bit him or something and just did it wrong.” 

“but?” 

you grin. 

“but he told me that i was his favorite person in the world. that there was one that he liked as much as me. and that if he kissed me and felt nothing, he wasn’t going to ever feel anything when he kissed a girl.” 

you can see the relief in yuuji’s face, that it’s almost instantaneous in the way that he smiles and the relaxation spreading in his shoulders. you reach forward, wrapping your hands around his wrist and squeezing once. 

“what did you say after that?” he asked. 

“i told him that it wasn’t a big deal that he didn’t like kissing girls. that i didn’t even really think i wanted to kiss anyone when i grew up. i was pretty morbid at that time, sixth grade and all, so we both just went about it. nothing really changed after the fact.” you respond. 

yuuji smiles, before awkwardly wincing. 

“i’m sorry for asking. that’s actually kind of embarrassing, but i couldn’t get the thought out of my mind. and it makes more sense because…well, megumi told me about his dad. about how you were the only family that he had and that no one would compare to you.” 

you smile. 

“it’s less of a romantic thing than you think. there was a time where we both lived in a studio apartment, by ourselves, and barely made ends meet.” 

yuuji nods. 

“he told me about that. the thing with his dad. and with your…” 

yuuji almost pauses. he catches himself before confessing what it is that he knows about you – what you’re assuming is the secret that he was asked to keep. 

“you know, your brother is right. if you ever want to ask me something, you can just ask.” 

yuuji smiles. 

“i don’t want to impose. you’re very special to megumi and he’s very special to me, so..i’d do whatever i can. if you ever need my help with anything. maybe you guys could let me in on your little family thing too. for you i mean. i’m kind of great at that type of thing.” 

you reach forward and put your hand in his. 

“i’ll take you up on that offer one day, okay?” 

you clear your throat. 

“did sukuna have fun?” you ask. 

“has he not been around? i’m sure he feels horrible, but his agent is really a stickler about networking at stuff like this.” 

you shake your head. 

“i don’t mind. i fully understand, i was just wondering. in general, if he had a good time at his first premiere.” 

yuuji smiles. 

“this is a really big deal to him.” he murmurs. 

“i can imagine. biggest premiere of your career, especially considering your background and all.” 

yuuji and sukuna – and even their brother and sister-in-law – were one of a kind that way. actors who had no previous background, no connections, to rely on when they made their way through. 

“yeah. and it’s all because of sukuna too, mind you.” 

you feel an insistent tapping on your shoulder, only to find jake standing at your side, eyes wide and frantic. you can’t help but immediately grimace, taking a split second to shoot yuuji a glare, who understands almost instantaneously. 

“i would get up and leave if i were you.” he murmurs. 

you glare at him. 

“and why would i leave?” you ask. 

“aimee had a lot to drink. and we were arguing a lot, about some stuff. and now she’s like thirty seconds away from reaching the counter to scream at you probably.” he whispers. 

“and what could i do to be so deserving of a screaming match?” you ask. 

jake frowns. 

“maybe i said some stuff. made some comparisons, but that’s besides the point.” he states. 

you look past his shoulder, nearly bumping your head into yuuji’s to find that jake’s not lying in the slightest, and slowly but surely, aimee is side stepping her way towards where you’re standing. 

that was one of the scariest things about her. that drinking alcohol didn’t seem to do what it did to everyone else – she didn’t excessively laugh or overshare or tell people they were beautiful in a dirty bathroom. 

she took it as an opportunity to be ruthlessly mean. say what was really on her mind. 

you turn to yuuji, shooting him an awkward smile, before leaning closer. 

“could you grab megumi? or his car keys? i think it might be time for me to go and i came in his car.” you murmur. 

“i’ll bring him back later, don’t worry about it.” he state. 

yuuji’s quick to run off, almost embarrassingly fast, as you turn back to jake, and narrow your eyes at him. 

“what are you still doing here?” you mutter. 

“i don’t know. trying to make sure you leave before she gets over here.” 

“don’t worry. i don’t need your empty concern for me. especially, when you’re the one who put me in this situation.” 

“oh, don’t be like that. things…things escalated really fast. and not in the way that i wanted and you should know that…” 

“i didn’t even realize that you were still friends with her. that you even talked let alone…did god knows what when we were together.” 

“it jus happened.” 

you roll your eyes at him, making every effort to push past him towards the door. but it’s right at that minute that aimee reaches the chair where you’re sitting, and you swallow hard to brace yourself for whatever it is that she’s going to say. 

“y/n.” 

“i’d watch what i was going to say if i were you. you’ve had a lot to drink.” sukuna states, the tone in his voice is so firm that it nearly makes you shudder. 

a demeanor that you have yet to see. possibly another secret. 

“sukuna.” 

“don’t worry. we’re leaving.” he states, reaching for the coat that’s slung behind the back of your chair and tucking it into his arm. 

“i’m so glad that you’re here for this. i was actually just going to tell y/n here that the two of you are perfect for each other.” aimee states. 

“is that right?” you ask. 

you step back as she moves closer, noting that sukuna’s hand is hovering behind you, on the lower part of your back. almost precautionary. 

“your piece of shit junkie dad is the reason you won’t give in to anyone for real. you couldn’t win in a relationship even if you tried.” 

you swallow hard. 

“what the hell did you just say to me?” 

“i said that your junkie dad is going to follow you around until the day you die. hell, i bet even to this day, you’re still going home once in a while and digging him out of the hole that he put himself in. standing right there with him. stuck in the fact that that’s where you came from. where you’ll always be from. every single shitty lie that you tell and every person that you cross should be a reminder – there’s no difference between you and him.” 

sukuna looks down at you, eyes almost wide, before she looks over at him. 

“and you. you won’t ever be enough for her. but you know that already don’t you? you’re a chronic flight risk – because deep down, you know there’s nothing about you that’s even likeable in the first place. couple that with the fact that your heart is quite literally nonfunctional, well.” 

she takes a deep breath in. 

 “you’re a match made in heaven.” she finishes. 

you’re the one who lunges first.  

--

you don’t remember the rest of the conversation. only the fact that sukuna dragged you out of there, that you were sitting in his car with freezing cold air blowing in your face, and his hand  was intertwined in yours on your lap. 

you look down, the words echoing in your head – every single one of them – as you note the calloused skin on his knuckles. a burn over the middle and ring knuckle. you run your finger over it, earning you a hiss from sukuna as you turn over to apologize. 

“oh, i’m sorry.” you murmur. 

“not your fault. i was trying to take the coffee out too fast the other day. skin’s still sensitive.” 

you nod. the two of you return to the silence, the pale glow of the streetlights reflecting across both of your faces, basking the entire car in an almost dim red. you place your other hand on his, cradling the free hand that he offered you in both of yours, and look down. 

“i hate to interrupt whatever it is that’s running through your mind, but do you want me to take you to yours? or are you okay being at mine?” 

you shake your head. 

“mine. please.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“you don’t have to beg, you know?” 

you scoff. 

“how was that begging?” 

“please.” he mimics, the tone in his voice so shrill that it almost makes you laugh.

“i don’t even sound like that.” 

“well, to me,  you do. you’ll just have to point me in the right direction to yours okay.” 

you nod, sinking down into the chair, as you look ahead at the empty streets. there’s no one even parked on the sides, the pale moonlight reflecting against the windows of the building as you ride in silence. 

sukuna’s driving slow. what you’re assuming is uncharacteristically slow, because it feels like he spares every free second that he has to look over at where you’re sitting, like he’s almost trying to figure out what to do next. 

“do you want to stay when we get to my house?” you ask. 

“stay where?” he asks. 

you shrug. 

“with me?” you ask. 

“oh. i can stay. i’d love to stay.” he corrects. 

“don’t get too excited now.” you state. 

sukuna has a whisper of a smile on his face. 

“i can stay. i just…i have something i have to do tomorrow, if i can do it at your place.” 

“what’s that?”

sukuna clears his throat. 

“i need to redye my hair before i go to the awards show on sunday. the pink is sort of fading into white at this point, which is what i wanted for the premiere, but now i need to refresh it. maybe you can help me.” 

you give him a quiet nod. and wonder if you’ll regret letting him stay in the morning. 

--

--

an: everyone thank user @/paperphytes for commenting on dream girl three times over the span of like four months and asking me to update. third time was a charm apparently. anyways next chapter is called juno HEHEHEH

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @thepurpleempath @shrimphutao4ever @monic19 @najaemism @haitanibros0007 @catobsessedlady @luvs4kim @ri-sa20 @thejujvtsupost @invisible-mori @satoruslipbalm @kyo-kyo1 @telepathicheartss @huhsthccvjh @sxnkuna @w31rdg1rl @lilalia3945 @multiplefandomthings @shotovhs @voids-universe @timetobegone @deeeeexx @livelovelaughisagiyochi @pelicanpizza @cowgirlikets @jeon-blue @phantomasmaniac @yoontaedotin @cowgirlikets @estrella-novella @theauthorunicorn @catastayy @ryumurin @kindadolly @th0tformikasa @r0ckst4rjk @you-always-made-me-blush

[cjlouwho]

Three Simple Words

needed to get this out before Thursday happens lol

“It’s been a while since we’ve done breakfast, just the two of us,” Maddie said, setting a container of cream cheese on the table. “Although, seeing as you brought a half dozen homemade bagels I can tell not much has changed.”

Buck ignored her, eyes settling on the scar that ran across her neck. “How are you doing, Maddie?”

Maddie cleared her throat, adjusting the collar of her shirt slightly. “I’m fine, Buck, really,” she replied, giving him a reassuring smile. “Now, what’s been up with you lately? Please tell me you’re doing more than baking in your free time.”

He grabbed a bagel and set it on his plate. “I- I am. I went out the other night t- to this book group thing. It was nice. Fun. Met some cool people.”

“Well, that’s good. Have you heard from Eddie at all?”

“A couple times. I don’t think things are going too great there.”

“Mm,” Maddie hummed. “Tough situation, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” Buck squirmed in his seat a bit, ripping off a piece of his bagel and taking a bite. “I, uh, I ran into Tommy at work a couple days ago, actually.”

The alarm bell sounded in Maddie’s head. She hid a smile. Here was the real reason for the emergency breakfast. “Really? Was it awkward?”

“A little, at first, I guess. It- It’s kinda funny,” he said, huffing out a laugh. “For seven years we never seemed to work together at all and now, all of a sudden, th- there he is.”

“Well,” Maddie beckoned, curiosity piqued, “did you talk to him?”

“Y- Yeah, we talked a little bit. I, um, well we both kinda at the same time asked if we could talk, s- so I invited him over to the new place.”

“And he came?”

Buck’s eyes widened slightly as he choked down his next bite. “Um, yeah. H- He came over.”

“Did you talk?”

“We, uh, we started to. I- I thought it would be a good opportunity for closure, you know? We could say all the things we didn’t get to say before. But...”

God, it was like pulling teeth today. “But?”

“But then he was on my couch,” Buck replied, a blush rising on his cheeks. “And he was wearing the black button down with his sleeves rolled up. And he kept looking at me with his eyes-”

Maddie shook her head. “Oh, Evan.”

“Y- You don’t understand, Maddie,” he said, his tone pleading. “Those eyes; he looked at me a- and I forgot everything I had in my head to say to him. The next thing I know, we’re in bed.”

Maddie picked up her mug, taking a big sip of coffee before asking, “So, what, you had a one night stand with your ex?”

“Oh, well, um, I- I mean yeah it happened that night, but it also happened the next morning.”

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “Okay.”

“An- And then that afternoon,” Buck continued with a shrug. “He’s s- supposed to come over later too.”

“Buck, I…” Maddie paused, trying to think of the right way to phrase her question. “I know you’re an adult, and you can do whatever you want, but… is this what you want?”

His cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed. “Wh- What do you mean?”

“I mean.” She sighed. “I mean you two were pretty serious, right? You saw a future with him. And now, it’s what? You hook up and that’s it?”

“It’s… I don’t know, it just happened, Maddie.”

“Three times, so far,” Maddie reminded him. “Listen,” she reached out, placing her hand over his, “I just want to make sure you’re happy, Evan. That’s all I care about. I- If you’re happy with this arrangement, then that’s great, but… are you?”

Buck stared down at his bagel. Bagels that he started working on the second Tommy left. Kept working on them even after he’d lost the battle with his mind and ended up texting him to come back over again soon. He’d held his breath when the text bubbles appeared. Kept holding it until Tommy had texted him back with a thumbs up.

His shoulders slumped. “I just- I don’t know what to do, Maddie. I asked him to move in with me, ya know? I- I love him and he dumped me and now we- we’re just doing this weird friends with benefits thing, I guess. And i- it feels good at the time-- I mean, really good-”

Maddie held up her hand. “Fast forward, Buck.”

He sighed. “But afterward, it’s hurts. I want more than sex. I- I want everything.”

“Have you told him this?”

“Of course I told him I wanted him to move in, Maddie. You know that.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean the “I love you” part, Evan.”

He thought for a second, face pensive. “Well, he has to know, right? I- I mean, you don’t just ask someone to move in if you don’t love them.”

“That very much does happen,” Maddie answered, nodding her head for emphasis. “It happens all the time, and that’s probably exactly what Tommy thought was occurring in that situation.”

“I- but, I… I thought it was implied.”

Maddie followed Buck’s eyes, making sure he was looking straight at her as she spoke. “Buck, you need to talk to him.”

“I’ve been trying,” Buck pouted.

“Have you? Because it sounds like you’ve been doing everything except talking. If you can’t figure out a way to keep your hands off of each other in private, then ask him out for coffee or lunch or something. But you need to actually talk about this.”

Buck pursed his lips. “What if it’s not what he wants though? What if he runs away again?”

“Then you’ll know for sure that you two want different things. But, until you have that talk, you’re going to be stuck in this limbo for who knows how long.” She lifted her hand, pinky pointed up toward him. “You’ll talk to him?”

He nodded, wrapping his pinky around hers. “I’ll talk to him.”

*****

Buck thought back to his and Maddie’s conversation as he and Athena chased after Tommy's helicopter. He was still trying to put all the pieces together. Tommy had called him, just a few hours earlier. A staticky conversation happening over the line. Buck thought it was a butt dial at first, but when he heard yelling he stayed on the phone. Then he heard Tommy mention weapons, and taking him instead of the other hostages. He heard Tommy say that he was the pilot, and he could get them out of there.

Calling Athena, meeting her at Tommy’s last known location, getting in her SUV to try and beat these criminals or terrorists to wherever they were going, that was all a blur.

Because Buck hadn’t kept his promise. Not yet.

Tommy had come over, and Buck’s words died on his tongue. Fear took over, and then Tommy’s mouth was on his, and everything felt right again.

This continued for weeks, with Buck telling himself that the next time would be when he finally told Tommy the truth. The next time is when he’d have the courage.

And now it was hitting him.

There may not be a next time.

And he may never get to tell Tommy that he loves him.

His head whipped up toward the sky when Athena gasped, and that’s when he realized what was happening.

The helicopter was hurtling right towards the ground.

[uhreo]

[🍎] yandere loser nerd oc x reader!

( cw. sub!character, dom reader, degradation, dry humping, hair pulling, spitting, lmk if I forgot anything. )

( oreo's notes — reader is mean-mean in this one.. not dubcon since both characters are in some sort of weird relationship that they're both aware of and consent to. I kind of imagine reader as a gyaru in this one. + my reqs are open! )

abt commissions | pinned post

He doesn't stand out much from the crowd, if one were to search for him in a crowded hall it'll be impossible to spot him due to how well he blends in. He was just that normal and mundane looking. maybe that was why he was always the target of nasty remarks, he looks like one of those typical loser nerds you'll see in cringy highschool romcoms.

Maybe that's why you took a liking to him.

He just looked so cute with his bouncy messy curls that always manages to hide some of his features, his large circular glasses that's too big on him and makes his already large eyes seem more larger, and his mannerisms similar to a hunted prey; always having his head down and never making eye contact with anyone else. He was always shaking in his seat and bouncing his leg as if something was going to happen to him.

And maybe there was.

“Hey freak-o, you've got a lotta nerve to try and take a peek under my skirt earlier.” You slung your arm around his shoulder as you notice how he tensed up immediately at your touch as if you were burning him with your skin.

“I asked you a question, didn't I? Or did all that attentive listening to the loud ass  teachers finally shattered your eardrums?” your fists knocked against the side of his head, your face going closer to his face to examine the expression he was making and just as you expected–he was breathing heavily now with a deep red hue present on his face as his eyes seemed to be clouded and glazed over.

Freak.

His eyes turned away from you in embarrassment and that made your frown deepen. his hands that was on top of his lap was clenching the fabric of his pants—the loser was obviously trying to hide the prominent bulge in his pants.

“ah-! uh-  I didn't.. uhm..” He clenched his eyes shut to try and avoid your intense gaze that was locked on his trembling figure. “speak up, dumbass.” your hand that rested on top of his head combed through his curly locks as you pet his head gently and he knew that shit was about to go down for him if you suddenly started getting gentle with your actions. 

“I- uhm.. I didn't try to– ah!” your hand fisted his hair, your long nails digging into his scalp so deliciously. “fuck– you couldn't even keep up a proper conversation without moaning and humping like a pathetic dog.” your mouth turned into a grimace as you harshly pulled his hair and turned his face around to face you– and then you spat at him.

oh god—the feeling of your wet spit traveling down his cheek was making his body vibrate with excitement and arousal. he was shaking with need and anticipation for what you'll do next— just imagining the possible scenarios that could happen to him was making him tether to the edge.

would you make him lick your shoes again? would you spit on the floor and lick it all up like a desperate thirsty dog? step on him while calling him a good-for-nothing and his only use was to be your dildo? just the thought of those happening was making him more and more closer to the edge—

“are you even listening? shit, we haven't even gotten started and you're already drooling.” he let out a pathetic needy whine at your words and choked out moan soon followed when your heeled shoe suddenly stepped on his hands that was covering his weeping dick, the amount of pressure you were applying was sending sparks all up his spine and into his mush brain.

“uh– ahn! hahhh...” one of his hands left its previous spot as he gripped the calf of your leg that was stepping on his cock, “hah- uh– please, m're..oh!” the hand gripping his hair suddenly got tighter as you hissed through your teeth. “who said you can touch me?” fuck, he gulped at the domineering tone of your voice.

“s-ahngh- sorry! didn't mean t-ah-to!” his teary eyes looked up at you, his lips trembled and opened and closed with each word he spouted–the poor guy looked like he was barely even coherent enough to speak and think, his face was flushed as little beads of sweat dribbled down his forehead but he still looked up at you with half-lidded eyes full of adoration. the sight would've all been cute if he wasn't desperately humping your shoe like a whore.

you digged the heels of your shoe a little bit harder into his cock–it was enough to make him cum from the stimulation and with a little bit more of humping from his hips his eyes suddenly rolled back as he was blinded by a white light that made his body tremble, his hips stuttering from the sudden burst of pleasure—he bit his lip to stifle the loud moan paired with a whimper signaling his orgasm.

The male heaved in breaths desperately as he moved his other hand and joined its pair that still held on to the calf of your leg to try and ground himself from the orgasm that muddled his brain, there was a visible wet stain now on his pants that made him feel sticky.

“who said you could cum?”

fuck, he was in for one hell of a ride...

[tobiosbbyghorl]

HYPER & CHILL SUGGESTIONNNNN:

What if like they were faced with a sexual question..I can alr see the red faced Y/n and the smirking Sunghoon lmaooo

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 17: Too Hot To Handle ( Literally)

It started out as a normal game night.

A few drinks, a few rounds of truth or dare, and a lot of embarrassing stories. The usual.

Or at least, it was—until now.

Because right there, on the screen of your friend’s phone, was the question that made you want to dig your own grave.

"What’s your favorite position?"

You went completely still.

Your eyes widened as heat rushed up your neck, your entire body tensing. Did the app really just ask that?

And before you could even process your own horror, the room erupted.

"OH, THAT’S A GOOD ONE!"

"Y/N, SPILL!"

"THIS IS JUICY—"

Your soul left your body. "ABSOLUTELY NOT. NEXT QUESTION."

But of course, your friends were the worst.

"What? Come on! It’s a legit question!"

"We all answered ours!"

"Yeah, don’t be shy, Y/N~"

You whipped around to Sunghoon, desperate for support—only to find him smirking.

That lazy, entertained, absolutely smug smirk.

Your stomach flipped.

He was too relaxed, arms draped over the couch, one hand casually resting on his knee, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You elbowed him in the ribs. "Say something!"

And what did this menace do?

He shrugged. "I dunno. I’m kinda curious about your answer, too."

Your jaw dropped.

The room exploded.

"OH MY GOD, HE’S EVIL."

"NAH, THAT’S WILD."

"HE’S ENJOYING THIS!"

You gaped at him, scandalized. "SUNGHOON!"

He just grinned, eyes glinting.

"What?" he asked innocently. "It’s a fair question."

Your entire body overheated.

"S-SHUT UP!"

"Wait, wait, wait—" One of your friends paused mid-laugh, eyes darting between the two of you. "Hold on. HAVE YOU GUYS EVEN DONE IT YET?"

You froze.

Sunghoon just blinked.

And then—

"NO WAY."

"YOU HAVEN’T??"

"NOT EVEN ONCE???"

You groaned so loudly it echoed. "CAN WE NOT—"

"Oh, that makes it even better," someone teased.

"Yeah, because now we’re all wondering what Sunghoon’s answer would be~"

Your heart stopped.

You turned to your good-for-nothing boyfriend, shaking your head furiously. "DON’T."

He just smiled. Slowly.

And then—

"Hypothetically?" he mused.

You slapped a hand over his mouth.

"NOPE. NO HYPOTHETICALS. WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS DISCUSSION."

Sunghoon laughed against your palm, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You’re so cute when you’re flustered," he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You whimpered.

The room lost it.

"OH, HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING."

"NAH, SUNGHOON IS TOO SMOOTH WITH IT."

"THIS IS BETTER THAN THE GAME."

You wanted to disappear.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon just leaned in, pressing a soft, lazy kiss to your palm.

"You can tell me later, Lolove," he whispered.

Your brain? Officially broken.

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @jayhoonvroom

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

[mejaemin]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ✦　

(not) like a flower - yoon jeonghan

wc: 0.8k summary: jeonghan will always be there, through the life and death of flowers and your earliest memories warnings: sadness, crying, hurt/comfort? fluff, rewrite of a rlly old fic (im deleting the og version) an: missing jeonghan hours r at an all time high rn ☹️

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ✦　

the living room floor should have caution signs all around it with all the lego pieces spread on the floor. you’re building your most recent gift, the orchid lego set, with your boyfriend. it’s been a while since the date you went on where he gifted it to you, many more happening since then, but you held off on building it until the perfect moment where you were in a lego building mood. it’s even more perfect because you could invite him over to do it with you.

soft music plays in the background, but it isn’t even needed because the sound of lego pieces being sifted through and jeonghan’s subtle humming was enough to keep you calm. honestly, all you needed was for him to be there, and it didn’t matter if you had background noise or anything else.

his side is warm against yours, sitting as close to each other as possible while working. you’re sure he knows, but you typically only build your lego sets when there’s something heavy on your mind. that’s probably why he wasted no time coming over, knowing that as soon as you asked to build this with him, you needed him over anything else. of course, that’s exactly what he’s here for, to just stick by you, asking no questions but keeping physical contact with you just how you like it.

after finishing the bag that held stems and leaves, you stopped jeonghan’s wrist from opening the next one. “wait.” you called out.

he looks up, an eyebrow raised. “what?”

“..do you think we could stop here? pick it up another time?” your hand falls back into your lap, fidgeting with the other.

“what, why? there’s only one bag left, why don’t we just finish it?”

you purse your lips together, trying to find the words. “i just.. everything’s moving too fast. and i don’t want to finish this, because there’s good thoughts and memories attached to it.. and if i finish it, i feel like they’re going away.” your voice is barely above a mumble, feeling shy and almost silly for feeling such a way.

at your confession, jeonghan smiles, wrapping am arm around your midsection to help pull you into his lap. his arms are tight, warm and secure around your waist, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head before speaking.

“baby, don’t be sad about such things. this is a happy moment. y’know how i see it?” he turns his head to look at you, smiling softly.

his look is so soft, genuine and full of love and sweetness. that tender expression he gives only to you is what makes you feel this way. just like the process of building a lego set, moments like these could be fleeting, eventually being nothing but a distant memory. you hope it doesn’t end up like that, but that fear is what makes you so upset over it.

you’re so grateful for jeonghan’s presence in your life. he always knows what you need, and this is the exact reason why you called him over. the way he looks at you and immediately knows what you need to hear is nothing if not a reminder that you’re meant to be.

“i see it as a sign of moving forward. a good one. remember when we got this? we had so much fun that day, and here we are, weeks later, finally finishing something of the past so we can move forward. together, okay?” he turns to face you fully, holding your cheeks in his hands before kissing your forehead. since you’ve met, it’s been a habit for him to do so, not without baby talking you of course.

“i’m not going anywhere, love, i promise. moments like these may come and go, but who you’re with will always stay the same.” he peppers a few more kisses over your face, and one long, meaningful one to your lips. you can feel how loving it is with the gentle, sweet way his lips hover over your own.

“this is why i don’t get you real flowers, hm? imagine how sad you’d be when they die?” he chuckles, “thankfully though, these will stay forever. me too, okay?”

at the end of his speech, it’s nearly impossible to hide your tears. jeonghan’s always so silly and playful, but he’s so in tune with your thoughts. he always knows when to get serious, and he’s so good at it too. he knows all the right words, everything you need to hear, his sweet voice sweeping away any negative thoughts you ever had. with your head now pulled into his chest, the tears flow freely and all you can think is how thankful you are for him. you can’t fully let go of that fear, but your hope that he’ll always stay, unlike a flower, or any material thing, is growing stronger.

jeonghan pulls you back from his chest, smiling once again as he kisses away the remnants of your tears. “now, let’s finish this up, ‘kay?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ✦　

svt 🏷️ @coquettejunnie

[nikamuhlsrealwife777]

Can you do a Nika Muhl x Reader where reader is pregnant, and they meet up with Nika’s UConn teammates, and they find out Nika and reader are going to have a baby. (Hope this makes sense!)

i tried for this one...

FOR REAL?? - N.M.

"I'm pregnant."

Those words, I thought would never leave my mouth. Based off the way Nika was looking at me, she thought the same.

"Wait?" Quickly, she pushed herself off the couch. Her hands resting on my arms as she got closer, "You're being for real?"

I nod, watching her face light up with excitement. We had talked about it, having kids. But so soon? I couldn't lie and say it didn't scare me.

"Oh my God. We have to start coming up with names, oh, and buying things for her...or him...shit. When can we find out the gender?" Her rambling came to a stop, her eyes finally meeting mine rather than trying to scan the room for a plan. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I chuckle. The fear of the pregnancy wasn't gone, but watching Nika and listening to her joyous rant, I couldn't help but forget for a moment. "Nothing...I just couldn't have asked for someone better to go through this with."

A content smile rested on the Croatian's lips, "We're in this together. Besides," I tilted my head, waiting for her next words, "I can't wait for a mini us walking around here."

I laugh, "Nika, I love you."

Her arms snake around me, pulling me closer into her embrace, "I love you too, y/n."

-----------

"Have you decided if you're declaring for the draft or not?" Geno's voice carried throughout the room, his question had been one of the biggest things rolling through Nika's mind.

"I've decided," her head turned back, her eyes finding me, "I think it's time I move on from UConn. Start my life outside of college."

Geno nods, "alright, kiddo. Whatever you think is best."

I knew Nika had a weight taken off her shoulder. She had made up her mind, but she didn't tell me exactly why she had made her decision. Nika's hand on the small of my back pulled me back to reality. The thoughts calming at the comforting touch. Her smile big as we moved towards the gym, her teammates practicing away.

"I wanna break the news to the team," I nod. It was probably best if they knew they were losing their best point guard.

The teams heads cocked in our direction, the doors giving us a way before we even stepped foot into the large area. Paige was the first one to make her way towards us, her smile big as a question left her lips. "What was your decision, twin?"

Without a thought, Nika answered, "I'm declaring."

"Why? Like two days ago you thought about staying," Azzi asked as stopped beside the blonde.

"Well," Nika looked at me, her expression unreadable, "y/n's pregnant...and I wanna be able to give her a place to stay that isn't a dorm room. I wanna have space for the kid, I wanna get our life moving."

Surprise was the only thing I could read on everyone's faces, probably including mine. I hadn't expected to tell anyone about the pregnancy, at least not yet.

"WHAT?!?"

"I didn't know we were telling them today, " I whispered into my girlfriend's ear, but she just looked at me and smiled, "Nika."

"Yes?"

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry. Angry at the fact she let her mouth speak before her mind could make up its thoughts. Spewing at our personal life. But something in the way she couldn't help but wanna tell everyone, it made the anger subside. She was ecstatic. She wanted this. A family.

"You're impossible."

Her smile grew. Whether she was expecting me to yell or to pull the 'we'll talk later' card; it was neither of them. Her support and excitement made all the second thoughts, the worries, whatever you wanna call it, go away. She was anchoring me to reality without knowing it.

"You love that about me," she wasn't wrong, "but to be fair, you love everything about me."

As her friends chattered among themselves, we had a moment to ourselves in the public eye. It didn't feel like it, we were in our own little bubble. Her hands on my waist, my arms stretched and around her neck; nothing could have been better. We didn't have to say anything, just looking in each other's eyes was enough to feel, to hear, to see what she was feeling.

"You know there's other people here?" The blonde's voice broke the barrier hiding us from the rest of the world. Laughter rung out through the gym, echoing off the walls.

"Yeah, yeah," Nika's hands fell, but one of her arms slid around to hold me from around my waist. "Y'all just jealous we got something real."

Azzi and Paige take a glance at each other before bursting out into laughter.

"That's not quite it," Azzi started.

"It's more like, we see the look in y'all's eyes and don't wanna be around when whatever y'all are thinking about gets released," I felt my face heat up.

I wasn't thinking about anything bad necessarily. Just what it would be like to be a parent with Nika by my side.

"What were you thinking about, bebo?" Nika's voice was soft, her smile the same.

"Just what it's gonna be like to be a mom...with you."

She nods, "I was thinking the same thing, y/n. And Paige," the blonde hummed in response, "get your mind out of the gutter."

Paige raised her hands in surrender. Nika tapped my lower back, signaling to follow her.

Once we got into an isolated area, Nika lips were on mine. Soft and sweet, the exact way she was.

"What was that for?"

Nika shrugged, "I love you."

"I love you too," our hands interlocked, "you okay?"

"I'm more than okay. I'm just...I'm just so happy to be with you. To go through this with you," a pink shade dusted her cheeks.

"You're adorable like this..."

She rolled her eyes, "let's not do that now."

I laughed, "you are...but I feel the same way. Everything just feels better with you."

No more words were shared, just a deepened feeling of appreciation for each other. I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life with her.

-----------

A/n : I lowkey didn't know how to finish this but yeah

[panthrnoir]

ROUND 2 !

pairing: military!steve rogers x wife!reader

genre: smut, fluff

warnings: manhandling, full nelson, overstim, oral(fem receiving), fingering, slight degradation

summary: it’s been a year since you’ve seen your husband and he just got home, but he’s so much taller and bigger. his new body makes your mind go wild and wonder what new things he can do now.

notes: i’m watching captain america:the first avenger and steve rogers looks so fine i HAD to write something. and i had to keep splitting up paragraphs because tumblr said they were too long…also this takes place back in 1943. DADDY’S HOME

life has been so lonely & boring since steve left for war. now all you left have of him is some of his clothes and small pictures of him and you spread around the house. going to bed alone felt painful enough so you slept with his picture next to you sometimes. it was especially hard when you felt needy and no one was there but your pillow. you were thinking about asking your neighbor, who always flirts with you any chance they get, for help but you could never cheat on steve, not after how sweet he is to you. it’s was getting late so you headed downstairs to make yourself dinner. you made alfredo for yourself and prepared a plate. you took a seat at your dining take and stared at the picture of your husband. every night, you pray he’s still alive and comes back home soon. suddenly you hear a knock at the front door. your eyes dart up in panic, you don’t want to get your hopes up and think he’s finally home but rarely anyone visits you unless it’s a friend & your friends never show up at 10PM. you slowly arise from your chair and walk to the door. before your nervous hand reaches the door, you hear a click and the door slowly opens.

“steve, is that you?” you ask peeking from being the door. it’s dark outside so you can’t see his face, but you can see his silhouette. the man is tall & buff, and you can’t stop staring at his biceps. he starts to walk towards you slowly as you step away from him. once you both are under the light, his face is more clearer and you realize your husband is finally home. “did you miss me?” he says softly as places his hand on your waist and pulls you towards him. your at a loss of words and embrace him into a hug. for the first time, you weren’t on the same level as him. “what happened to you? i knew you’d look a little bigger after war but this is completely different!” you have so many questions but your honestly trying to stop yourself from smothering his handsome face with kisses, and something else. “it’s a long story, but my only focus is you”he sweet talks, which makes your heart flutter and his words go right to your core. “well if you’re hungry, i made-”you start before he gently pushes you against the island in the kitchen and kisses you with his soft lips. the way he was kissing made you feel like you were having your first kiss. the first you both kisses, you kisses him first and you could easily reach his lips, but it felt so different this time because you had to get on your toes to reach him, nearly having to jump. chris trapped you between his muscular arms and held you in place as he kissed you. the more he held you there, the more you felt your arousal build higher & higher. you felt him slowly glide his hands down your waist and tug on the waistband of your pajamas pants. you break away from the kiss and look at him in shock. “where did all this confidence come from, last time we tried to have sex, you could barely get it up last time and you were just so nervous”you mocked but he just smiled at you with pure lust in his eyes. “trust me, i’m not that guy anymore sweetheart, and now that i’m back i’ll give you all the love you’ve been needing this time”he murmured. before you argue back, chris’s hand is creeping into your panties and starts rubbing slow circles onto your pussy. the sudden feeling makes your legs feel weak and your lips fall open. you can’t help but feel chris’s eyes peering at you, “does this feel good?”he asks after he slides his fingers inside but you barely processes what he’s saying to you because you’re so caught up in this pleasure you’ve never experienced so you just eagerly nod. before he fully fulfills your needs, he picks you up over his shoulder and walks up the stairs. the loss of his fingers make you whine and you clench around nothing. “shh, i’ll let you finish once we get to the bedroom” he whispers.

he holds you in place on his shoulder with his arm and pushes open the door with his other. he tosses you onto the bed before he takes off his shirt. his chest and his abs make you stare in awe, he’s so strong and firm now that he’s back from the war. “are you gonna take off your clothes or do i have to do that for you too while you stare at me?”his words make you get out of head and you scramble to take off clothes. now you just left with your panties on and sitting on the bed with your knees to your chest. he climbs over to you on the bed and gently pushes you back. once he pulls your soaked panties down & throws them next to your pile of clothes, he pulls you closer to him and spreads your legs open, “no need to be shy, i see you’re not the only one that misses me” he says before placing a kiss on your pussy. feeling his lips on you makes you squirm but chris’s firm hands are holding you in place. his lips start making out with your cunt and you can’t help but whine. you were so shocked how good he was making you feel you wondered how his dick would feel inside you. chris wanted you to sound even more louder as he felt your hips slowly rocking against his face so his licks got more sloppier and wet. the amount of pleasure made your back arch and your thighs tried to close but his big hands held your legs in place. “s-steve, i’m g-gonna-”you cried and he picked up his pace at your words. “mhm, c’mon” he hummed against you and the vibrations from his lips make your tummy feel warm and sends you over the edge, making you squirt against his face. you don’t even realize you squirted before you sit up against your elbows & notice the smile on his face with your juices all over his chin. “oh chris, i’m sorry i’ve never done that before i-”you panic before apologizing but chris cuts you. “don’t apologize, i’m planning on making you do that again, but this time with my dick” he interrupts and take his pants off. as soon as his boxers come off, his cock springs free and stands tall against his toned abs. “on your hands and knees, facing the headboard”he instructs and do as he says while your thighs still quivered.

“can you feel that?” he whispers as he nudges his tip against hole. he knows you can’t answer since he’s pushing your head into the pillow under you but the size of his dick makes you gulp. you feel the big stretch as he slowly pushes his cock inside you and before you can feel any pain, he drops a hand down and rubs your clit so you can still feel pleasure. once he finds his rhythm in his thrusts, he slowly picks up the pace. the only thing being heard inside the room is the sound of your soaked pussy squelching around him. all this pleasure makes your tummy feel tingly and like it’s going to explode. “n-ngh i c-can’t take it, s’too much!”you complain but he only goes faster. his thrusts are getting so rough, he almost knocks you off the bed. you try to grab & hold on to the sheets to get away from from the overstimulation but steve notices and pulls you up against his chest & wraps his bicep around your neck, putting you in a chokehold. “c’mon you can’t get away from me yet, i just got you back” he coos as you paw against his thick bicep. he’s not choking you enough to hurt you or make you pass out, it’s only enough to make you cough and makes you moan even louder if you move too much. soon enough he’s moving his hips as fast as he can against your ass. there’s nothing else you can do but sit there and take his cock deep inside your tummy as whimpers fall fast your lips. chris places a warm hand on your tummy and rubs it, “can you see that, there’s a bulge inside of you”he says but your brain is all fuzzy and your so cockdrunk you don’t hear what he’s saying. all you’re physically capable of doing is nodding. your so overstimulating and dizzy, his cock is making you see stars. chris feels your legs shaking and your hole fluttering around him and he starts to rub your clit. all the attention on your clit makes whine and even shred a couple tears because it’s feel like it’s so much. once he starts rubbing your nipples, you feel yourself gushing all over his cock. you whine from the relief before he unwraps his arm from around your neck and lets your body fall forward & relax against the bed. the release leaves you panting and struggling to catch your breathe. he starts to rub your back before throwing the covers over you as he watching you shiver. “i’m right here, let me know if you need anything,” he says as he scoots under the covers and cuddles your fucked out body. “and don’t underestimate me again or i’m not going easy on you next time sweetheart” he warns as you drift off to sleep from exhaustion.

[fancyfeathers]

Burn It All Down

(Yandere!Justice League & Yandere!Young Justice)

Based on Yandere!Justice League with their darling!children AU

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Two, Abracadabra -> Next Chapter

This chapter is told from the perspective of Giovanni Zatara’s Son!Reader (the brother of Zatanna Zatara)

Each chapter will be the perspective of the reader but as the different children since when I originally had this concept they were all darling/reader characters.

You never thought you would follow in your father's footsteps and practice the mystic arts, but things changed in the direction you expected your life to take. Being a traveling supernatural consultant was not so bad, the pay for the jobs was always good and seeing the world was pretty exciting, though it would terrify your sister, well, rather she was your step-sister, Zatanna, if she ever found out what you were doing for your job. In your letters and calls, you lied to her and told her you were studying abroad, but in reality, you needed to get away from it all, the truth behind your parents’ marriage. Now with your father being rather… occupied at the current moment, you had that space you needed to digest the truth.

You now find yourself in Paris after investigating a haunting at a home in Neuilly-sur-Seine, the couple paid well, that if you wanted to you would need to take another job for maybe a year. The last thing you honestly expected to happen in the course of your trip in the city of love and lights was a visit from a certain billionaire’s daughter while you were enjoying your day at a cafe here in the city. So you currently find yourself walking down the streets of the city alongside the daughter of the billionaire Bruce Wayne, otherwise known as the Batman, you would have been surprised on how she found you, but then again she was the daughter of the world’s best detective…

“So Paris, where is your next stop?” The lady beside you asked, she called herself Songbird, some sort of vigilante in the states after she left Gotham City.

“Don’t know, been wanting to visit Australia or maybe Brazil.” You responded to her as you two stopped at a street corner, you turning to look her in the eye. “So, what do you actually want? The whole thing with our parents, you said there were others like us, what does that mean?”

“Other runaways, or that’s what the Justice Leauge calls us-”

“I’m not a runaway.”

“Of course you're not, you just left home after your father put on the Helm of Fate to save your sister.” She spoke to you, looking completely straight faced even if she knew you were agitated at the fact that she called you a runaway. “Why is that? Did you find something out about your parents? Not so pretty is it?”

“Ya… I did.” You answered her question with a small amount of hesitation. You shoved your hands in the pockets of your long, dark red leather coat, your eyes coming down to look at your shoe-covered feet, uncomfortable to look at anyone in the eyes as your mind raced back to the thoughts of the memories of those days after your father was taken. “I found some old journals from my father when I was cleaning out some of his things and the things he wrote… the things he did…”

“I get it, trust me I do.” She responded, and you watched as she took out a small journal from her coat pocket, she flipped to a certain page before handing it to you, it was a list of names, the heroes and other names besides those that you did not recognize. “We have it a lot better than a lot of the names on this list, we have to help them.”

“What would you want me to do about it?”

“You were raised by a magic practitioner, you can do a locator spell, right?”

“What?!” Her question caught you off guard, it was not like you could not do a locator spell, it was the fact that in recent weeks, your magical abilities have become rather unpredictable, almost out of control in some circumstances. “Sorry, I just…”

“You just what?”

“Look, things have been off with me lately, I don’t know if I can manage a spell like that right now.” You admitted to the young lady, finally getting the courage to look her in the eyes. “My magic is dangerous right now…”

“Dangerous how?”

“It’s just behaving in ways it shouldn’t right now.”

“Look, there are people who need you right now, lost kids who have no idea what to do besides the fact that they don’t want to go back to where they were.” She looked you dead in the eye, and the way her eyes narrowed slightly as her lips pressed together tightly sent shivers down your spine. “Please, I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t a hundred percent necessary.”

“...Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

You took your unexpected visitor to the house you were renting from a couple, a vacation home of sorts. You took her upstairs to what is the attic of the house, but while you were here, it was to be your makeshift study, old spellbooks and papers that you kept with you, laid in stacks around the room, artifacts that you carried during your travels, set down where you had the space. You took a small globe that you brought with you for this very spell.

“Give me that journal- actually hold it open for me.” You spoke as you tossed up the small globe and it stopped in midair as if it was an actually small planet, a small parlor trick Zatanna taught you when you two were little, a simple levitation spell. You watched her as she opened the book for you, flipping to the page with the names, you read the names over carefully, you needed to focus. You turned your head to stare at the globe, your eyes narrowing at the small ball. “Erif, kees tuo eseht tsol luos.” You could see the wonder on your new friend’s face as little red dots appeared on the globe as it spun around slowly. You glanced at her, smiling at your success with the spell. “I’ll list the names, you write them down.”

“Oh right.”

“Superman’s daughter is currently in Dallas, Texas. Flash’s daughter is in Pittsburgh- and so it is Wonder Woman’s son…”

“You think they are there together?”

“Most likely.” You suppose that made your job easier, but it was hard to say given that you would bet that the Flash’s daughter most likely inherited her father’s speed. “Aquaman’s son is in Vigo, Spain. Martian Manhunter’s daughter is in St. Louis, Missouri. Green Arrow’s kid is in the middle of nowhere in Montana, Yellowstone, I think. Green Lantern’s son is in San Diego, California…”

“What about Green Lantern’s daughter?”

“She's not here.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“She could be of planet, in a different dimension, or… dead… but that second option is unlikely.”

“And the others are?!”

“I don’t know!” You heard a shatter as you yelled back at her, your eyes went wide and you turned your head to see the globe that you were just using had shattered in midair, another one of the out bursts you have been having lately. You sighed and knelt down to pick up the shattered pieces of the globe. “Look, that is all I can do right now, we have to work with what we’ve got.”

“Fine… sorry…”

“We should split this up between the two of us, I’ll take Aquaman’s son, Martian Manhunter’s daughter, and Green Arrow’s son.” You spoke, setting the shards of the broken globe on the small table beside you. “You take Superman’s daughter, Wonder Woman’s son, Flash’s daughter, and Green Lantern’s son.”

“Noted.”

“Then there is the where we should meet-”

“Don’t worry about that, I have that covered.”

“Alright Batgirl-”

“It’s Songbird.”

“Sorry.”

You sat in your bedroom, or the bedroom in the house you were staying. Songbird went off to stay at her own hotel, so you were alone for the night. You had the balcony doors open as you tossed around random items with your magic, testing the waters to see what would happen, if anything would go wrong.

“You’re up late.” You jumped when you heard a voice from the balcony where you left the doors open. You looked up and your heart stilled as you saw the face of none other than your sister, Zatanna, no doubt she wanted to surprise you, and what better way to do that than take the door no one expected.

“Zatanna! God, you scared me!” You took a deep breath as you stood up from the ground, as your sister reached out to hug you, embracing you in her arms. She finally let you go, and you tilt your head in curiosity. “What are you doing here?”

“Do I need an excuse to visit my little brother?”

“In this circumstance you do since your brother travels, what’s up?”

“Look… I know you have been lying about going to school abroad, I know you are doing supernatural work.”

“Zatanna-”

“Look, the things you are getting into are dangerous, someone may try and take advantage of you.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“You say that, but you haven’t come home since dad…” She sighed as her words trailed off, her hands coming to hold your own two. “Look, there are some very bad people who would use you to get to me or even-”

“Doctor Fate? Zatanna, you seriously cannot be defending him after what he has done.”

“But-”

“Dad is gone!” You yelled, your eyes squeezing shut as your hands slipped away from Zatanna. There was a stunned silence in the room, but as you opened your eyes you looked around to see objects floating around the room, a burst of your own magic triggered by your emotions no doubt. You sighed and snapped your fingers, all the items falling back into place. “... you should go.”

“That magic you just showed-”

“Zatanna.”

“That is dangerous-”

“Please leave, now.” You glared at her, clenching your fists to get the tension out of your body. “I won’t ask again.”

“Fine, but you need to figure this out or else I am going to figure it out for you.”

“Ya, whatever.”

You had just arrived in Vigo, Spain from the train. You had sent your bags of books and other things with Songbird, so she can give them back to you when you meet back up again in the states. You had a suitcase of clothes with you and a backpack full of your more important books that may be useful to you. You had headphones in as you rolled your suitcase out of the train station, it was just a quick walk to your hotel where you would be staying so there was no need to call a taxi or an Uber. But as you were walking, your mind caught onto something unusual, like a shift in presence, and the screaming and shouting you were hearing only added to your suspicion.

Especially when there was a car hurling in the air, headed straight towards you.

You quickly reacted, reaching out your hand, and you could feel the power surging through your arm, and you watched as your magic managed to stop the car in midair. You set it down and luckily there appeared to be no one inside the vehicle. You set your bags down near one of the trash cans on the sidewalk before you ran off to investigate the situation where everyone was running from. You could spot two figures standing, or rather slightly hovering over the ground, in the middle of the street, you recognized them both, one as Wotan, a sorcerer who your father had come into conflict with before, and then there was the other… Doctor Fate.

“Niatnoc siht retsnom!” You snapped your fingers after speaking the incantation and you watched as chains constructed of red magic stemming from you, latched onto Waton’s wrists and ankles, dragging him to the ground. You merely stood by after that as you watched Doctor Fate incapacitate the sorcerer, restraining him as well when your magic dissipated. You turned to go grab your bags, where you left them, and as you tossed your backpack over your shoulder you could feel a set of eyes staring at you. You sighed and turned around, knowing Doctor Fate was just behind you.

“You are the son of Zatara.”

“I am his step son, but yes, your current host body did raise me as his own.” You replied to the Lord of Order’s statement, your hands shoving themselves into your jacket. “I was the one who assisted you just now, there is someplace I need to be-”

“The magic you hold is rooted in chaos, cease your involvement with the mystical arts at once!” His statement caught you off guard, your eyes going wide in shock, is that really where your power was rooted in, chaos? That did not make sense, you were self-taught, you has no other power than what you learned or the little that your father taught you. Maybe you were exposed to something in your work? Maybe you had been cursed.

“Your host body may be the one I call my father, but you hold no control over me.” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed the handle of the suitcase, turning away from the Justice League member as you continued on your way to your hotel and then you would-

“My… my son.” You stopped in your tracks as you heard a familiar voice, where Doctor Fate just was. You could barely make yourself turn around to look at who stood there, and your heart was in your throat when you didn’t see that gold armor, but a man holding the Helm of Fate.

“...dad.” you could only choke out that one word as you saw your father standing before you, it was the first time you saw your father in five years. You knew Doctor Fate released him once a year for an hour for Zatanna, but you could never could make yourself go with her, it hurt too much. You could feel him wrap his arms around you, his lips planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“You have grown so much…” You could hear him speak as he held you close, both of your hearts pounding in your chests. “You look exactly like your mother.”

“...thank you.” He let you pull away but when you looked in his eyes you could see the pain behind them. “Doctor Fate released you to tell me to stop using my powers, didn’t he?”

“He did, and he is right.” Your father took your hands in his own, just like Zatanna did only a few nights ago. At first his presence felt safe, but now as your mind was remembering the truth you felt the need to put distance between the two of you, literally and physically. “There is so much for you in the world besides the mystic arts, I did not want to teach beyond the basics to protect you from putting yourself in danger.”

“Dad…”

“Go home, be with your mother and sister, go to college, go-”

“I can’t… I made someone a promise that I have to keep now, other people are depending on me… and I need to figure out what is wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you-”

“Clearly there is.” You cut him off, you have never cut your father off, even when you were an angsty teenager. “I have to go… I’m sorry.”

“Wait!” You could hear your father call out to you as you snapped your fingers, one moment you were standing on the street and the next you are in one of the alleyways of the city. You could not help but collapse to your knees, tears pouring down your face, you did not know if you could do this anymore…

[sweetdispatch]

Can I please have 5 caramel cupcakes with crushed almonds thank you

Bet - N. Hischier

v' bakery pairing: Nico Hischier x fem!reader summary: You overheard that you're just a bet for Nico and assumed the worst scenario, you hated each other since that night until you were forced to talk about it warning: swear words taglist: @bunbunbl0gs

Everything started at the bar when Nico tried to flirt with you. You really enjoyed his company but you needed to answer the phone call from your friend. When you returned, you overheard Nico talking to one of his friends and this is how you found out you were a bet. It pissed you off but decided to play his game to embarrass him later. When you returned, Nico was still flirting with you and you acted like you’re still interested in him. He asked you if he could take you home, you agreed. 

“Guys, I’m leaving. Have fun” Nico said and before he could make a step you decided to have your revenge.

“So that’s the guys you bet with to fuck me?” You spoke loudly so all of them could hear you. His friends were laughing at him and Nico felt like his face was burning. “Have fun dick” That was the last thing you said to him and left. 

“You’re in trouble now” One of his friends said and Nico just sighed. 

It wasn’t anything new for you that guys are betting to sleep with a certain girl so you shrug it off and move on with your life. Everything changed when your best friend started dating one of Nico’ teammates. You went with her to a game and spotted him. You felt your blood boiling in you. He had the same reaction when he saw you. 

Nico knew he was the one who messed up but he was mad at you that you made a scene. If you know about it, you should tell him this is what he was thinking all the time. The truth was that the bet wasn’t on sleeping with you but on getting you on a date. Nico spotted you that night and was in awe. He wanted to make a move but he was scared. That’s why he agreed on this idiotic bet. 

Although now, Nico was furious to see you. You humiliated him in front of everyone and he couldn’t forget it. That’s why when he saw you again, he got pissed. Everyone saw the change in him but they didn’t know what happened. Every question about it was ignored by him. 

For your friend’s sake, you decided to act normal and don’t argue with Nico. It was tough for you because you really wanted to scream at him how much of a dick he is. You really enjoyed his company that night. He was a well spoken guy who didn’t need to be the centre of attention. You really thought you found a proper guy. Only if you knew the truth. 

For the next few weeks, you two were having mood swings when you spotted each other. Nico expected you to apologise to him for the scene and you expected him to apologise to you for being a bet. You were sending each other weird looks but no one, except your friend, knew what’s wrong with you and Nico. 

The secret of what happened between you two was revealed when your friend accidentally told the story to her boyfriend. Because he was Nico’ teammate, he quickly said this to the rest of the team. Everything was clear now. When Nico arrived at training, they spared him a piece of their minds about how dumb that was. He knew that he needed to explain himself and this is what he did. 

His teammates were confused about this whole situation. You two were wrong but none of you made anything to change it. It was clear that you like Nico and he likes you but because of the night at the bar, you hated each other. They felt the need to fix this and get you two to have a proper conversation. 

Your friend asked you to her place and her boyfriend invited Nico. You arrived first and sat down on the couch, gossiping with your friend. When Nico came by the door, you didn't even notice him until he sat on the same couch. You looked at your friend.

“You two need to sort things out because both of you are wrong about the night. We are leaving you alone. Please don’t ruin my apartment” Your friend said and left with her boyfriend. You and Nico shared a look but none of you spoke. You grabbed your phone and started scrolling social media until you heard Nico.

“You weren’t really a bet you know” Nico said and you laughed. 

“Sure thing. Are you telling this to every girl?” You asked him and locked your phone. 

“No. Look, that night when I spotted you…” Nico took a deep breath before continuing. “You looked really pretty. I wanted to make a move but you were so pretty that I froze. My friends saw it and they were messing with me. They made this stupid bet that I don’t have balls to ask you out” Nico said and you knew it was your turn to speak. 

“You know, when you came by and started talking with me, I really enjoyed your company. I didn’t even mean to eardropped your conversation but I heard that I’m a bet and assumed that you just need to sleep with me to win” You admitted. 

“I could never. I’m not that kind of guy. From a time perspective, I know it was wrong to agree to this bet and all I can say is that I’m really sorry that you thought I want to use you” Nico’ words were sincere. 

“Apology accepted. I also want to apologise for making a scene. I should have confronted this with you but I was so mad that I felt like I needed a little revenge. I’m sorry for that” For the first time, you smiled at Nico today.

“It’s alright. I completely understand this reaction” Nico joked and you giggled. “Does it mean that we’re alright? No bad blood?” He asked unsure.

“Only if you take me out like you planned” You answered.

“The minute these two return, we can go on a dinner” Nico proposed and you nodded. 

“Sounds like a plan” You smiled. 

You two started talking just like that night before everything went down. Despite this misunderstanding, you wanted to see where things could go with Nico. You enjoyed his company and looked at him in a different light since he explained this situation.