#like as I was walking around just meeting and talking to people

[azzibuckets]

worth the wait [part two]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count: 4.7k

wtw masterlist

2017 - Colorado Springs, Colorado

1 year ago

Azzi is taking a long pull from her water bottle when she feels a warmth behind her. Paige doesn’t touch her, not yet, but still, Azzi feels dizzy from the proximity of her presence.

“Hey.” Paige bends down a little, mouth almost brushing the shell of her ear. Azzi shivers. “Meet me after dinner in the conference room.”

“Conference room?” Azzi repeats, barely able to register what the older girl is saying when her hands are now lightly touching the small of her back.

“At the hotel.” Azzi doesn’t know why Paige is even talking to her, much less asking to rendezvous late at night. They’ve only had a couple conversations since Paige had flirted with her in the bathroom the first day of tryouts, all of them brief and in passing. But she’d be lying if she said that Paige hasn’t been on her mind all week. The older girl is hard to miss in the gym; she’s a natural show-off on the court, her flashy style of play begging for everyone to stop and look at her. But off the court, the way she walks around with a kind of quiet confidence beyond her age? There’s no other word to describe Azzi but fascinated.

When Azzi doesn’t respond, Paige tilts her head and tugs lightly at her shirt sleeve. “You’ll be there?” she asks hopefully, eyes eager.

Azzi ducks her head, hoping to hide the blush she know is spreading across her cheeks. “I’ll be there,” she affirms quietly.

“Alright,” Paige says, a wide smile overtaking her face. “Just me and you, yeah?”

Azzi can only nod before Paige is called away. The blonde doesn’t break eye contact, walking backwards and sending a little wink. Azzi’s chest tightens. She wonders if Paige feels it too—the way it feels like everyone else disappears when they make eye contact, the sparks in her tummy whenever they touch. She doesn’t quite know what it means yet, but she really hope she does too.

“She wants to do what?” Jordan, who’d been lying on the bed and throwing a plastic basketball in the air, suddenly sits up.

“Meet after dinner. Just us.” Azzi’s too giddy to notice the look that Sam and Jordan exchange.

“How long have you known her for?” Sam asks gently.

“Just this week.” Azzi buries her face into her pillow, hiding the stupid grin on her face. “We met on the first day of tryouts.”

“Az.” Sam moves closer, sympathy written across her face. “I’ve known Paige for a couple of years now, and she’s….” Sam goes quiet, searching for the right word.

“Flaky? A flirt?” Jordan cuts in, always one to be blunt.

“She’s not a bad person,” Sam defends. “She’s my friend. But I’ve seen her with a lot of different girls, and I don’t know.” She throws an affectionate arm around Azzi’s shoulders and pulls her in tight. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“So?” Azzi shrugs, choosing to give the blonde the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t have a crush on her or anything, and besides, she’s friends with a lot of people.” She thinks it’s sorta silly her friends think she wants something more with Paige. Yeah, the older girl is pretty, and definitely attractive, but Azzi’s only ever liked boys. All she wants to do is get to know Paige a little better, to unpack the mystery that everyone seems to know, to uncover a little bit just for herself.

Azzi walks to the conference room as soon as she finishes eating, her steps light. There’s a lot of doors, and she opens each one until she finds the room with the long table and plastic chairs. Settling into one of them, she waits patiently.

And patiently. When ten minutes go by, she shifts in her seat. Her butt is starting to hurt from the cold, hard, metal, but Paige isn’t exactly known for being timely. So she keeps waiting. She’s not too worried yet.

Thirty minutes pass when she starts to pace around the room, trying to shake some feeling back into her legs. Her heart pounds, no longer in anticipation, but in an uncomfortable sort of dread that rots in her stomach, slow and sinking.

Azzi doesn’t let herself sit in the room for an hour. It’s fifty-one minutes before she gives into the sting of rejection and forces herself to stand up.

She passes by the gym on the way up, and seeing a flicker of movement, looks a little closer. There’s a familiar flash of blonde hair, and an audible trace of a laugh that’s even more familiar.

She squints through the window. Paige, on the bench, dumbbells forgotten at her feet as she smiles at a girl. The girl says something, and Paige laughs even harder. Something aches, first to her nose, where it burns, then her throat, where it’s hard to breathe, and then to her stomach, where it feels like falling down the first dip of the rollercoaster, but this time, there’s no one to catch her. No brakes to stop this nasty feeling that makes her want to curl up into a ball and cry.

Eyes burning, Azzi flees up the stairs. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’s too hurt to take the time to ask herself why she feels this way. All she knows is that Paige had stood her up, Paige had been out there, flirting with and touching another girl while Azzi had waited in the conference room for damn near an hour, alone. Goddamn you, Paige Bueckers.

1 year later

2018 - Minsk, Belarus

“Look at you two,” Amy coos, a hand placed over her heart. It’s easy to see where Paige gets her air for drama from, Azzi thinks. “Already sharing clothes and everything.” Paige stiffens beside her, but thankfully doesn’t say anything incriminating, and Azzi breathes out a slow exhale of relief.

Their parents exchange pleasantries, acting as if they hadn’t just spent three hours in the bleachers plotting over their daughters under the guise of watching their game. Azzi and Paige and her siblings stand around in an awkward circle, the younger ones sizing Azzi up like she’s an alien. It’s only now that Azzi wishes her little brothers had come along for the trip. They’re with her grandparents in Minnesota right now, and she misses her best friends.

Reluctantly, Paige breaks the silence by gesturing to her siblings. “Uh, this is my little brother, Drew, and my other brother, Ryan. And this is Lauren.”

Azzi waits for Paige to introduce her name, but the blonde merely pulls out her phone and starts scrolling, a bored expression on her face. She has a mind to slap her, but then she looks at Paige’s siblings and is overcome with cuteness aggression. Optimistic by their sweet faces that they’re nothing like their demon spawn of a sister, she bends down to their height. “Hey guys,” she says softly, “I’m Azzi, Paige’s teammate. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I knew that,” Lauren responds. She can’t be more than eight, and her eyes are bright and oddly similar to Paige’s. “You’re the really good one.” Her smile is crooked and infectious, and Azzi can’t help but smile in return.

“You could say that,” Azzi replies teasingly, at the same time Paige mutters under her breath, “Not as good as me.”

Azzi casts Paige a look that says Seriously? and to her surprise, the older girl tucks her phone away and starts to pay attention. “Jokes,” Paige backtracks, plastering on a smile that resembles more of a grimace. Then she ruffles Ryan’s hair, and her demeanor completely changes; the look in her eyes is something akin to awe as she picks up Drew and squeezes him and does the same thing with Lauren. “How was your day?”

Lauren and Ryan begin to tell a story about how they got lost downtown earlier that day, voices slowly rising as they try to speak over the other, and Paige is wholly attentive, nodding along and asking questions as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever heard. By the way her little siblings fight for her attention, Azzi can tell they absolutely adore her. It’s a side to the older girl that Azzi has never seen before, and she doesn’t realize she’s staring until she feels a hard poke in her side.

Looking down, she’s surprised to see Drew, who had seemed more occupied with his toy dinosaur than paying attention to the antics of his older siblings. “Hi,” he says simply, big brown eyes blinking up at her, and when Azzi really looks at him, a carbon copy of Paige, she’s surprised by how strong the genes run in the family.

“Hey there,” she says, a smile forming on her lips when the little boy raises his arms. Scooping him up and settling him on her hip, she gives him a little tickle, and he giggles. “You must be Drew.”

“I am,” he says proudly. His eyebrows suddenly furrow as he pokes Azzi’s cheek. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Azzi touches her face, wondering if there’s still chocolate from her binging session earlier. It would just be like Paige to see food on her face and not tell her.

“The hole.” Drew pokes at her cheek again when Paige suddenly cuts in.

“That’s a dimple, Drewski.” Paige reaches for her brother, who climbs out of Azzi’s arms begrudgingly and into his sister’s.

“You tryna steal my siblings?” Paige grumbles, but there’s less animosity in her tone than usual.

“I’m surprised these sweet little angels are related to you,” Azzi whispers at a volume only audible to Paige. Cooing, she squeezes Drew’s cheek as he looks at her, starry eyed. “She’s pretty, Paigey,” Drew giggles, reaching to poke her dimple again, and Azzi beams.

Teeth nibbling on her bottom lip, Paige shakes her head. “You don’t think she’s pretty?” Drew questions, and oh, Paige is going to murder her little brother. Her eyes flick up to meet Azzi’s, about to make a ridiculous joke, but then her brain short circuits as she realizes how long Azzi’s lashes are as they flutter, and how pretty her dimpled smile is, and she stutters. Paige Bueckers is stuttering, and she’s about ready to leave and jump off the roof of the building when her parents thankfully call them over. Clutching Drew tight, Paige’s mouth forms a thin line as she marches away, and Azzi stares after her, confused. Confident, cocky Paige had turned into a stammering mess right in front of her. She smiles to herself. Oh, she’s never gonna let this go.

“I love that you guys have become friends,” Amy says as they begin to dig into their food. “Ever since I watched you two on the court together last year, I’ve been meaning to get to know your family! Azzi, you seem like such a sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Azzi mumbles into her food. Paige chews her food bitterly, wondering how the hell Azzi’s fooled everyone into thinking she’s a sweetheart when she’s more of an iceberg.

“It’s been so nice seeing Azzi get out of her shell,” Tim adds in. “Last year she played for the high school team as an eighth grader and she really struggled to make friends on the team.” He runs her shoulder fondly. “We’re really proud of how she’s adjusted.”

“You didn’t have to say that,” Azzi says quietly, fork dropping onto her plate. Paige looks up, noting the sudden tension as her eyes flick between Azzi and her parents.

“Az, come on, he didn’t mean it like that,” Katie says softly.

“Well, you still said it.” Azzi gets up suddenly, her cloth napkin falling to the floor in a lump. Staring fixated at the floor, she says shakily, “I gotta use the bathroom. Don’t follow me,” before she’s gone.

The table is stunned. Amy’s eyes dart to her, and she cocks her head meaningfully. Right. Paige rises, brushing her hands on her thighs. “Uh, I should go check on her.” She clears her throat. “Excuse me.” As she follows after Azzi, she wonders if this a bad idea. She’s pretty sure she’s the last person the younger girl would want to see in this situation, but she can’t really back out now, not with two sets of parents eyeing her path to the bathroom.

When she enters the bathroom, Azzi is leaning against the sink, hands gripping the marbled counter as if she’ll fall if she lets go.

“Yo.” Paige stands tentatively behind her, unsure of what to do. “You good?”

“I’m fine.” Azzi scrubs angrily at her eyes. They’re already irritated and bloodshot, and Paige has half a mind to tell her that rubbing them will only make it worse. “Didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“Well, you kinda did.”

Azzi laughs, and it’s dry and flat and not at all humorous but Paige moves closer, taking it as a good sign. “Didn’t I say not to follow me?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t really listen to you.” Paige has never been great around crying people, especially with those she can’t even be nice to when they aren’t crying. So sue her if she sticks with what she knows best.

“So you’re just here to do your usual job of annoying me?”

“Yeah, but I’m doing it compassionately this time.” Paige nudges her. “Call it growth or whatever.”

Azzi looks up at the ceiling, trying to blink away her tears. “You suck at comforting people.”

“That wasn’t really my goal.” Paige leans against the wall, arms folded, eyes serious. “It was weirdly satisfying seeing you not have your shit together for once, and well. How could I pass up the opportunity?”

That puts a scowl on Azzi’s mouth. “If you’re gonna make me feel worse, just leave, Paige.”

The older girl sighs. “Alright, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—you’re always so composed, so mature, so perfect. It’s nice to know for once that you’re human, just like the rest of us.”

Azzi is quiet for a beat before she admits softly, “It’s a shitty feeling.” She looks down at her hands. “When your parents think you’re a loser who can’t make friends.”

Paige tilts her head.

“I can make friends,” she says, almost to herself. “Just cuz I’m not outgoing doesn’t mean I’m a loner. They can’t seem to get that, though.”

“Can’t read the room, either,” Paige jokes, and Azzi smiles a little at that. Then they fall silent, both unsure of what to say.

“You know it’s okay, right?” Paige presses. “To let yourself fall apart every once in a while.” She says this harshly, tone grating against Azzi’s ears, but they don’t take away from the kindness in her words. Before Paige can stop herself, her thumb swipes across her cheek, wiping away a tear, lingering as if she’s scared Azzi will break as soon as she pulls away. They stay like that for a moment, tension hanging so thick between them it’s almost palpable, so close that Paige can feel Azzi’s breath fan warmly over her cheeks, until Azzi shifts, causing Paige’s hand to fall back to her side.

Azzi can felt her heart pound in her ears, blood rushing headily to her cheeks. Paige stuffs her hands into her pockets, trying to clear the awkwardness. She hadn’t meant for the moment to be so tender. She hadn’t meant to be soft towards someone who’d always iced her out. But her body had inexplicably betrayed her, viscerally reacting to seeing Azzi cry as if it had hurt her, too. “Just don’t take too long in here.” Paige mumbles finally. “Lauren’s getting antsy. Wants to go home and play Roblox.”

Azzi laughs a little at that. She looks in the mirror and starts to fix herself up. “Yeah, whatever. Tell them I’ll be back in a second.”

Paige nods and leaves. When the door swings shut behind her, she takes a moment to lean against it, metal and brick cold against her hands. God. What was she doing?

Dinner passes, albeit a little awkwardly. When they’re about to leave, Drew runs over and throws his arm around Azzi’s legs. “It was nice meeting you, buddy,” she laughs, wrapping her arms around him and holding his little body tight.

“Can we hang out again?” he says eagerly.

“Yeah, maybe,” Azzi responds, unsure that Paige would take kindly to her and her little brother spending time together. But she’s not about to break his little heart, so she ruffles his hair and promises, “I’ll see you, okay?” and the smile on his face is worth it.

“Okay.” Drew looks around before tugging her hand. “I gotta tell you a secret.”

“What’s that?”

“Paigey definitely thinks you’re pretty too.” Drew smirks. “She was staring at you all night.”

Azzi doesn’t really know what to do with that information, and despite the fact that she knows that Drew is barely five and probably doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, her stomach flips all the same, and all she can say is a pathetic “Oh.”

༉‧₊˚✧

Azzi’s lacing up her shoes when Hailey approaches her. “Hey, Azzi.”

Azzi nods at her, unsure of what she wants. They aren’t exactly friends, per se, their exchanges only consisting of asking to borrow a hair tie or complimenting a good shot, but they’ve always been cordial. Hailey takes a seat next to her, starting to work on exchanging her slides for sneakers.

“You okay?” When Azzi raises an eyebrow, Hailey continues, “You’ve been a little off lately. Not really just today, but since we got to Belarus.” She pauses. “So I just wanted to ask if you need anything.”

Azzi removed one of her earbuds, even more confused. “What?”

“I meant—Paige said you’ve had a rough time lately. That it’s been hard for you, socially and all. I dunno.” Hailey’s voice becomes more and more unsure as the look on Azzi’s face darkens. “But uh, it’s cool that you two are tight now,” she trails off.

“Paige told you that?”

Hailey swallows, hands faltering on her own laces. “Yeah? I’m sure she didn’t mean anything bad by it—“

Azzi doesn’t respond. She finishes tying her shoe with a tight, overly aggressive pull. “I’m fine,” she grits out, standing up. “And just so you know, me and Paige aren’t tight.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder. “We aren’t anything.”

Paige is enveloped in darkness when she hears the loud slam of the locker room door. Wrestling the rest of her shirt over her head, her head finally finds and slips through the collared hole, and she yelps in surprise when she finds Azzi’s face a mere few inches from hers. Eyebrows scrunched up and pouty lips downturned, the younger girl looks more like an angry teddy bear than anything, and Paige bites back a laugh. “If this is about my socks being on your bed, I—”

“You told them I’m lonely?” Azzi interrupts.

Paige takes a step back, but Azzi only follows. “Azzi, what?”

She moves forward, rough hands pushing Paige against the locker. “Hailey said that you told her I’ve been having a hard time. Like I’m a fucking charity case.”

“Aight, first of all, that’s not what I said.” Paige swats Azzi’s hands away from her, trying to ignore how warm her touch was. “Second of all, what the hell?”

“I open up for one fucking second and you’re already blabbering away.” Azzi spits out, and Paige has been on the receiving end of Azzi’s annoyance and exasperation and impatience, plenty of times, but this is the first time Azzi has been really, truly angry, and honestly, it’s quite scary.

“I didn’t say anything the rest of the team doesn’t already know! What, you think no one else has noticed that you’re introverted?” She sounds high-pitched and off-kilter, completely affected. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not better than the rest of us because you keep to yourself, Fudd.”

“I didn’t ask for your help last night, Paige.” Azzi turns away, but not quick enough for Paige to miss the way her eyes glisten, wet with unshed tears. “Or your pity.”

“I wasn’t trying to pity you,” the older girl says. “I was trying not to be a total jackass for once.” She shakes her head. “Big mistake.”

“It’s just like you to do that.” There’s a sort of quiet fury radiating off the dark haired girl now, and Paige doesn’t really know how to deal with that. “To wipe my tears, play savior, then go around bragging to everyone that you finally got through to me.”

“Jesus, you really think I’d do that? That I’d use what you told me just to score points?” She sounds more shrilly than she’d intended, so she takes a beat to calm herself down. “Honestly, I shouldn’t even be surprised. You’ve always been set out to think the worst of me.”

Azzi shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable? I’m not the one who heard one comment out of context and decides I’m a bitch with a savior complex.”

“That doesn’t sound too far off,” Azzi scoffs.

“You wanna know what I actually said? Instead of accusing me for shit I would never do?” When Azzi remains silent, Paige steps forward, trying to ignore the sweat still beading on the younger girl’s collarbone, the rise and fall of her chest, the sharpness of her uplifted jaw. “All I said is that you’ve been keeping to yourself lately. I didn’t say shit about anything else.” Her finger jabs into Azzi’s chest, sending her stumbling back.

An angry huff leaves Azzi’s mouth. “You’re still the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

“At least I’m not the coldest.” Paige responds sharply. “At least I’m not afraid to feel something, or let someone in every once in a while.”

“Feeling something is different from begging for others’ attention.” She flicks her eyes. “I don’t have to be the loudest person in the room to feel like I belong.” The words hang in the room, sharp and unfiltered, targeted, and Paige flinches.

There’s silence between them, suffocating silence, and Azzi sits down on the bench, head dropping in her hands.

Paige turns her back, pretending to rummage through her locker, pretending to be busy, pretending to be unaffected, pretending that those words hadn’t stung, hadn’t hit home. But god, she’s always pretending when it comes to Azzi, and she’s so fucking sick of it. “You know I didn’t tell them, right?” Her question comes out soft, aching, so quiet she thinks Azzi couldn’t have heard her.

“Yeah.” A strangled sound. “I know.”

Paige turns around. Azzi’s eyes are closed, head tipped against the wall as her hands hang limply, helplessly in her lap. She looks defeated, exhausted, like the world has taken too much from her. The furrow in the space between her brows that never seems to go away is more pronounced than usual, as if it’s etched into her skin now. Paige swallows at the sight, and her legs begin moving on their own accord, taking steps until she’s standing between Azzi’s legs. Azzi’s eyes flicker open, and she shifts subtly, spreading her legs ever so slightly to let Paige stay. Paige is so close she can hear, can see her breathing—and the fact that it changes from slow, deep breaths into uneven, shallow, pants. “Then why are you still acting like you hate me?” Paige murmurs, head tilted, eyes searching for a question even she doesn’t know the answer to.

“You make it hard not to.”

A knot forms in her throat. “Then stop letting me in.”

Azzi snorts. “I’m not.” The way she says it, so dismissive and snide, when it’s the complete opposite of the truth, has Paige clenching her fists.

“You won’t get anywhere by shutting people out.”

“I don’t want anywhere,” Azzi says, voice low and scratchy. Her eyes open, meeting Paige’s in a piercing stare. “Not with you.”

Paige shrugs, half in disbelief, half in exasperated surrender. Steps away. Returns back to her locker, turning her back once again. “If that’s what makes you feel better, then keep lying to yourself, Azzi.”

༉‧₊˚✧

“You good?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Azzi says. Sam looks taken aback by her sudden sharpness, and she sighs. She hasn’t meant to be so harsh, especially not when her closest friend in the team, who’s been there for her through everything. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “Been a long day, but yeah, I’m fine.”

“Alrighttttt.” Sam says hesitantly, clearly not believing her. “Cuz everyone heard y’all fighting in the locker room.”

Azzi’s head snaps towards her. “You heard what we said?”

“Nah, couldn’t decipher it. Believe me, we tried,” Sam snickers. “Just heard a lot of yelling.”

Azzi sighs, stepping aside to let her friend board the bus first. “Whatever. I’m over it.”

“Well, if you’re so over it…” Sam plops down in the seat next to Jordan. “You won’t mind if I sit here?”

“Why would I mind-,” Azzi looks up, giving the bus a quick scan and internally groaning when she realizes the only empty seat left is next to Paige. “You actually suck.”

“Have fun,” Sam giggles.

She hovers over Paige, who’s watching a movie intently on her phone, a little awkwardly. She flicks the older girl in the head. “Move,” she demands.

Paige pauses whatever she’s watching and looks up, not bothering to hide the disgust on her face when she registers who she’s talking to. “You sitting next to me?” she asks, shifting her backpack to take up the empty seat, as if Azzi can’t see with her own two eyes that it’s unoccupied.

“I’m sure as hell not sitting on the ground for three hours.”

Paige crosses her arms. “I kinda got my stuff, here, so.”

Azzi reaches over and plucks the background before dropping it very indelicately on the ground. “Not anymore.”

Muttering under her breath, Paige sidles over to the window seat. Azzi sits down, purposefully jabbing her elbow into the older girl’s rib her as she settles in.

Paige turns her movie back on, but she can’t really focus when Azzi keeps shifting next to her. “Yo, can you stop moving?”

“I wouldn’t need to move if you’d stop manspreading,” Azzi returns, knocking her knee against Paige’s in an effort to steal more space. It sorta backfires, though, because Paige’s leg is weirdly warm and soft against her own, and for some reason it kinda makes it hard for Azzi to think clearly.

They’re an hour in when Paige’s phone dies. It’s not really a surprise, since she’s been on it the entire afternoon, but then she realizes she left her charger in her suitcase, which is currently beneath her in the undercarriage of the bus, and now she has nothing to do.

“Hey.” She taps Azzi on the shoulder, who pointedly ignores her as she keeps typing on her phone. “Fudd.”

Azzi finally turns to look at her. “You got an extra charger? My phone’s out.” She only gets a shake of the head before Azzi returns her attention back to texting, and Paige groans, slamming her head back against the seat.

Time ticks by in a slow haze, and Paige can only stare at half dead vegetation and the occasional horse for only so long until she’s losing her mind.

“You got games on your phone?” She asks hopefully. Maybe Azzi will have Subway Surfers or Geometry Dash or something of that kind. Maybe she’ll even let her get a turn. But Azzi only glares at her before physically turning her back and facing the aisle.

She takes out a couple of pencils and begins to drum on the foldout table in front of her. She’s getting into the groove, creating a pretty sick beat, before her pencils are taken from her. She watches, mouth agape, as Azzi tosses them into the trash bin across the aisle without even giving her a glance.

“Those pencils cost money,” she interjects, but Azzi only rolls her eyes. It’s starting to piss Paige off that Azzi refuses to even speak a word to her, so she spends the next half hour being as annoying as possible, loudly smacking her gum and manspreading and playing with the cap of her water bottle. Unfortunately, Azzi remains silent, only giving Paige little glares. “You’re really committed to the whole silent treatment thing, huh?” Paige asks once Azzi tosses her phone in her backpack and reclines her seat, clearly ready to take a nap.

“I'm trying to enjoy the one peaceful moment I get when you're not talking.” Azzi says, and Paige turns around, surprised she got a response this time. Azzi doesn’t open her eyes, giving Paige the opportunity to really look at her. It’s not something she allows herself to do often, half because Azzi would look at her even more weirdly if she did, half because it always creates this funky sort of feeling in her that makes her nervous and hyper all at once.

Azzi opens her eyes suddenly, and Paige quickly curls into the window, trying to play it as nonchalant as possible. “Were you staring at me?”

“No.” Paige responds too quickly.

“I opened my eyes and you were basically on top of me.”

Paige looks out the glass. Suddenly the half dead vegetation doesn’t look so boring after all. “Well, I wasn’t staring.”

“You’re annoying and you’re creepy.” Azzi fixes her neck pillow around her head and relaxes back into her seat once again. For some reason, Paige’s eyes revert back to trace down the slope of her nose, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the thickness of her full black lashes. There’s something about the way sun lights up the younger girl’s features, the way she’s so effortlessly and achingly beautiful, that makes Paige want to reach out and touch her, to make sure she’s real, to make sure— “Definitely staring at me.” Paige’s stare flicks up from pouty lips to smug brown eyes that are open. Wide open. And looking at her.

“Whatever,” she says, unable to formulate a witty response. Nice going, she thinks to herself. This time, she turns away and really does focus on the passing scenery, and it’s not long before she starts to nod off.

༉‧₊˚✧

Azzi wakes up to soft blonde hair and the scent of strawberries. She nestles in closer, the warmth calling to her, before she realizes who exactly she’s lying on and immediately jerks away.

Paige looks at her, unfazed. “Morning, princess,” she says, her voice a little scratchy from sleep, and Azzi flushes.

“How long was I—” she gestures to Paige’s shoulder.

“Cuddling me like a toy and and talking in your sleep?” Paige’s smirk is so self-satisfied that Azzi wants to grab her from the shoulders and shake her. “Only for an hour.”

Azzi leans away, as if creating distance will erase the fact that she just spent half the car ride sleeping on the blonde. “Well, you’re really bony,” she lies.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty comfortable,” Paige grins. Honestly, it’d only been forty minutes of Azzi treating her like her own personal pillow, but it was funny seeing Azzi getting all flustered. She’d known because she’d been asleep for the first twenty, then woken up to a weight on her shoulder, a soft cheek on her bare shoulder. Frozen, she’d almost shook the younger girl awake before deciding against it. It had been a record for Paige, staying still for the twenty minutes after, trying not to wake the younger girl. But the frantic look on Azzi’s face when she’d woken up had made it all worth it.

“You weren’t,” Azzi says. “Worst sleep of my life.”

Paige snorts, not buying a word the younger girl says. “You drool when you sleep.”

Azzi blushes fiercely this time, crimson spreading across her face, and Paige is caught off guard by how much she likes it.

[guliexe]

—ON THE LOW 18+

Dealer!Nicholas/Wang Yixiang x Female!Reader

warnings/tags: slow burn, dealer/stoner!nicho, i call him weno in this, soft dom!nicho, shy!reader, loverboy!nicho, drug use, shotgunning, romantic, making out, dry humping, praising, fingering, oral (f. receiving), p in v, mating press, crying, unprotected sex, confessing, aftercare

♡ you started buying weed for your friends and ended up falling for the dealer—turns out, he fell even harder.

w/c: 9.7k (no proofread)

You’d seen him around long before you ever spoke to him. He wasn’t the kind of guy you could ignore. Not because he was loud, Weno was anything but loud, but because he had this presence. Calm, quiet, and detached, like nothing ever really touched him. He was always there but just out of reach. The kind of person who didn’t care if people were watching, but somehow still ended up being the one everyone looked at. You had a couple classes near the same buildings. He always showed up late, always dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed—big hoodie, baggy jeans, backpack hanging off one shoulder. Never rushed. Never looked stressed. Just there. He’d walk past where you and your friends were sitting on the grass and barely glance your way. But even that one second felt heavier than it should. You didn’t know much about him, but you noticed him. You always had. Weno wasn’t exactly a mystery, everyone on campus knew what he did, they just didn’t talk about it. Not out loud, anyway. The stories passed around in whispers. That he sells, and it’s good shit too. That he never chased customers, people came to him. That if he liked you, he might give you more than you paid for. That if he really liked you, you’d know.

You didn’t know if any of that was true. But what you did know was that your friends wanted weed and were too scared to go get it themselves. So they asked you. Apparently, being the quiet one made you the designated “safe” option. It wasn’t like you and Weno were strangers, anyway. You’d talked a few times now. Nothing long, quick chats during pickups, the occasional hi at a party when you passed by each other. He’d never made you feel weird or unsafe. Just… flustered. A little warm in the chest, a little unsure what to say next. He had a way of watching you that felt deliberate, even when he said nothing at all. Your friend had shoved some cash into your hand at the last minute, babbling about how “he’s chill, he’s not scary, just please go for me, I can’t” — and you’d sighed, texting him before you could overthink it. He told you to meet him behind the dorms. 6:30. You almost didn’t go. You weren’t sure why he made you nervous, he hadn’t done anything to deserve that label. But something about him felt sharp beneath all the calm. Like he could see through you if he wanted to. When you rounded the corner that evening, he was already leaning against the side of his car, phone in hand, headphones around his neck. The sun was low, painting the edges of his face gold. You caught yourself staring before you could stop. He looked up as you approached. “Didn’t expect you,” he said, not moving. You blinked, “Why?” He shrugged, “Thought one of your loud friends would be the one to show. You’re not really the type to do this.” It wasn’t teasing exactly, but the way he said it made your face warm. You cleared your throat. “They made me come.” “Mm,” he hummed. “Figured.”

He pushed off the car, pulling a ziplock from his hoodie pocket. You reached for it automatically, but he didn’t hand it over right away. “You ever tried it?” You shook your head. “No. It’s not really… my thing.” He tilted his head slightly. Not judging, just observing. “Didn’t think it was.” he chuckled softly, then he handed it to you, fingers brushing yours for half a second too long. You looked down at your hand, not at the bag, but at where your skin still tingled. “You’re good,” he said quietly, “Let me know next time.” You nodded, muttered a soft thanks, already starting to turn away, but then he said your name. You froze and glanced back. He was still standing by his car, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily spinning his keys around his finger. The way he looked at you made your stomach flip, like he wasn’t just looking at you, but through you. “You always do stuff for your friends?” His tone was casual, but the question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” He shrugged a little. “They want something, and you’re the one who shows up.” A pause. “That happen a lot?”You weren’t sure how to answer. It did happen a lot. They asked, you went. Not because you wanted to, but because it felt easier than saying no. You glanced down at the ziplock in your hand. “I guess,” you mumbled. “I don’t know.” He hummed low, like that told him everything he needed to know. You looked back up, ready to say something else—anything, maybe even defend yourself, but he beat you to it. “You’re a good girl.” The words were soft and genuine, but they landed heavy. Your breath caught. His gaze didn’t waver—steady, calm, like he hadn’t just said something that made your skin go warm all over. You didn’t know what to do with that. You didn’t even know what it meant coming from him. You just knew it made something flutter in your stomach. “Thanks,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You turned and walked off a little too quickly, heart pounding, ears hot, his voice still echoing behind your ribs. You’re a good girl. You didn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. It wasn’t long before your friends asked again. Same excuse, same tone, a whiny “please, he already knows you” and cash pushed into your hand like you owed them something. You hesitated more this time. Not because of them, but because of him. You hadn’t stopped thinking about last time. It replayed in your head again and again. You stared at his contact in your phone for some minutes before typing out the message.

You

hey my friends wanna grab again

He replied two minutes later.

Weno

same place 7:30

When you showed up this time, he was inside his car, driver’s door open, music playing low through the speakers. He looked up as you approached and smiled, lazy and half-lidded. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “Hey.”You tried not to sound nervous. You weren’t even sure why you were nervous. This wasn’t new. You’d done this before. But this time, it felt different. You felt different. He stepped out, shutting the car door behind him as he pulled the same ziplock from the pocket of his jeans. You took it wordlessly, but his fingers brushed yours again, on purpose this time. You could feel it in the way he didn’t rush, didn’t pull away immediately. “Still not trying it?” he asked, tilting his head. You shook your head. “Not yet.” He raised a brow. “Why not?” “I just… haven’t.” You tucked the bag quickly into your jacket pocket like it might deflect the attention. “You scared?” The way he asked it wasn’t mocking, just curious, like he wanted to understand you, not challenge you. You hesitated. “No,” you said finally. “Just don’t wanna.” He nodded slowly, watching you again with that unreadable expression. “Still doing things for your friends, though.” You pressed your lips together. “I guess.” “They ever do stuff for you?” You blinked. “What?” He shrugged. “Just wondering.” You didn’t answer. Mostly because you didn’t have one. He could probably tell, because he didn’t push. He just looked at you for a long second, eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to meet your gaze as he rolled a blunt for him. “You should stop letting people use you.” The bluntness of it caught you off guard. You shifted on your feet, unsure whether to say thank you or tell him it wasn’t like that, even though maybe it was. “You don’t even like them that much, do you?” Your breath hitched. “They’re my friends.” “Mm,” he hummed. “If you say so.”

After that, it happened a few more times. The same routine: a text, a time, a quiet walk behind the dorms where he’d be waiting. Sometimes he was standing. Sometimes in the driver’s seat with the door open. Sometimes already smoking, low music humming from the speakers. And each time, it got a little easier to look him in the eye. But also harder not to look too long. Weno never talked much. He didn’t fill silence just to hear himself speak. He asked things, small things, personal in ways that didn’t feel invasive, just seen. He was trying to piece you together quietly, without making a show of it. You’d come with your friends’ money in your pocket and leave with more than you paid for. Not every time, but enough that you noticed. When you offered to give him more, he just shook his head, said “You’re good,” and he meant it, it wasn’t just about the cash anymore. You didn’t tell your friends about how often you started going. Sometimes it wasn’t even about picking up anymore. You’d hand over the cash, but he’d wave it off. “Not this time.” You started to wonder if he even gave you real amounts. If this was still a deal or just an excuse. What you did know was that somewhere along the way, something started to shift.

It was in the way your pulse picked up when his name lit up your screen. In how you started getting ready earlier than you needed to. In how you made sure your outfit and make up was cute before leaving, like that would help keep your face from giving you away when he looked at you like he always did. It was on the low. No one really knew how often you were seeing him now—certainly not your friends. To them, it was still just you doing the awkward task they were too scared for. They didn’t know that half the time you went to Weno now, it wasn’t even because of them. Sometimes they didn’t ask at all—you just found yourself texting him anyway. And he always said yes. You weren’t sure when it stopped being about weed. You weren’t sure it ever really was. Sometimes you’d sit with him for a while. In the passenger seat of his car, parked in the same quiet lot behind the dorms. He’d roll one and lean back with the window cracked, slow smoke curling out into the night while music filled the silence. He never pushed anything on you. Never asked why you stayed. But you stayed. You weren’t good at talking about yourself, and he didn’t make you. He just gave you space to exist, and maybe that was what started doing it. Maybe that’s why you kept feeling warmer every time you saw him. More sure that he saw you. And you started to open up to him. You two would hang out and talk about anything and anyone very frequently.

You were curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked under you, jacket zipped halfway. The night was cool, and the air smelled like weed and cologne, smoke curling from the blunt between his fingers. His playlist low in the background that made it feel like time moved slower in his car. You hadn’t said much in the last ten minutes. Just sat there, letting the silence hang. But it wasn’t awkward. Weno never made things awkward. You gave him a small smile, eyes drifting out the window. The streetlights cast a warm glow across the dashboard. He tapped the ash into the tray and leaned back, one arm stretched across the back of your seat like he didn’t even think about it. “I don’t get it,” you said quietly after a moment. “You do this with all your clients?” “Do what?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly, playful but unreadable. “This.” You motioned vaguely between you. “Sit in the car, talk like this, not charge them.” He chuckled once, deep and soft in his chest. “No.” You blinked. “No?” He turned his head, looked right at you, and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “They’re not you.” Your stomach fluttered. You tried to play it off, but your smile gave you away. He tilted his head slightly, watching you through the soft haze in the car. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” Your head snapped toward him. “What?” He smirked, exhaled a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. “Client,” he added after a beat, but the pause was on purpose. His smirk deepened like he knew what he was doing to you. Your face went warm immediately. “Shut up,” you muttered, covering your smile with your hand. “I’m serious.” His tone was calm. “You don’t talk much, you don’t ask dumb questions, you never waste my time.” “Oh,” you said quietly. But your smile stayed. “So I’m convenient.” He leaned a little closer, voice dropping low. “Nah. You’re cute.” Your heart jumped. You didn’t know where to look. You didn’t know what to say. So you laughed—awkward and soft, trying to bury your face in your hands like that might cool your cheeks. You left a little later than usual that night.

Three days later, when your screen lit up with a text from him, you answered in less than a minute.

Weno

u free tonight?

wanna chill for a bit?

♡

You

yeah :)

same spot?

♡

Weno

pull up at 10

no rush

You tried not to read into it too much. But you still picked out a different hoodie this time, your favorite one, did a little extra on your make up, styled your hair in way you knew framed your face best. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything. But your hands still felt warm as you walked out to meet him. His car was already there when you arrived. You climbed into the passenger seat, familiar now with the way the door stuck a little when you pulled it. Same playlist was on, and the heat was turned up just enough to make the inside feel cozy. He glanced over as you settled in, eyes flicking down to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “Hey,” he said, voice smooth, quiet. “Hey,” you murmured back, smiling a little.

The next hour passed easily, like it always did when you were with him. You talked about nothing and everything, classes, music, random campus drama you weren’t even involved in, movies you both halfway remembered, the last weird dream you had. He laughed more than usual tonight, low and slow, eyes squinting a little when something you said caught him off guard. His hand rested on the steering wheel as he listened, thumb tapping the leather in a lazy rhythm. He made you feel comfortable, like whatever you had to say mattered even if it didn’t. Like he was listening just because it was you talking. At some point, he lit up. You were mid-sentence when he leaned forward to spark the lighter, the soft flick of it barely cutting into the music. He offered it to you once out of habit, holding the blunt out between two fingers, and this time you didn’t shake your head immediately. You hesitated. Then, before you could overthink it, you took it. Your fingers brushed his. His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze lingered longer than before. “You sure?” he asked, voice soft, a little more serious now. You slowly nodded. “Yeah. Just—don’t laugh at me if I cough.” He smiled, “I won’t.” He leaned back into his seat. “Promise.” You inhaled, a small hit, like you’d seen him do a hundred times now. It burned, made your throat tickle, your eyes water just a little, but you didn’t cough. He watched carefully, still smiling. “Good girl,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened at the words, heat blooming under your skin before you could stop it. You handed it back to him quickly, trying to focus on the burn in your lungs, the soft thrum of bass in the background, anything except how warm you suddenly felt. Time got slower after that. An hour passed in a haze, soft laughter, lazy conversation, both of you sinking deeper into your seats, the windows fogging slightly. He smoked again, and passed it back and forth to you. Your body felt lighter. Music melted into the background, his voice a little rough now. You both stared out at the empty parking lot for a while, just existing. It was quiet in the way that felt close, not awkward. Every time your knee brushed his, he didn’t move. Every time you shifted, his eyes flicked toward your mouth, then back to the road like he didn’t want to get caught looking. And maybe it was the high, or the way the space between you had been shrinking since the start, but something changed. You turned to say something and caught him already looking at you, staring. His arm was still draped behind your seat, but now his fingers were brushing your shoulder, light and casual. You blinked at him. “What?” you whispered, voice lower than before. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long second, eyes warm, thoughtful. “C’mere.” You didn’t even think. You just leaned forward, heart thudding quietly behind your ribs as his hand slid slowly to the back of your neck. He tilted his head slightly. His lips brushed yours soft at first, testing. Then again, firmer. You leaned into it. Your heart stuttered, hands unsure of where to go. One found the edge of his hoodie. The other pressed lightly to his chest. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been thinking about this for a while. He wasn’t in any rush now that it was finally happening. You kissed him back slow, high and a little breathless, your skin buzzing all over. He pulled back eventually, just enough to look at you, eyes dark and steady.

“You’re high,” he said, almost teasing. “So are you,” you whispered. He smiled, gaze dropping to your lips again. “Yeah. But I still meant it.” You smiled, small and dazed, and tucked your legs under you again, curling back into your seat. The car was quiet for a few more minutes. Nothing changed. But everything had. And when you finally said you should go, he didn’t stop you. Just nodded, reached over, and opened the door for you like he always did. Before you stepped out, he caught your wrist gently. You turned back. His eyes searched yours for a moment. “Text me when you get in.” You nodded, “Okay.”

You

made it home :)

♡

Weno

good

was starting to think u got lost

♡

You

nope

just still thinking

♡

Weno

about?

♡

You

you

♡

Weno

yeah?

what part

♡

You

the obvious part

♡

Weno

mm

i liked that part too

didn’t rlly want u to go

♡

You

u didn’t?

♡

Weno

nah

wanted to kiss u again

♡

You

i wanted to too

but i got nervous :(

♡

Weno

it’s ok bby

will i see u again soon?

♡

You

yeah

if u want to

♡

Weno

i do

♡

You

can’t wait

goodnight weno :)

♡

Weno

me neither

gn <3

You didn’t stop thinking about that night. Or his texts. Or when he said he wanted to kiss you again. The way your heart stuttered when he called you bby like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was already normal between you. It wasn’t, not really. But it was starting to be. You’d kept texting after that. Not every second of the day, but enough. Little check-ins, good mornings, music recs, late night questions that felt heavier than they sounded. He was never overly forward, not the type to blow up your phone or say things just to get a reaction, but everything he did say stuck with you. You were head over heels. Smiling at your phone and then burying your face in your pillow like an idiot every time. So when one of your friends mentioned the party coming up—some frat guy’s birthday, everyone was going, “you have to come, it’s gonna be huge”—you didn’t think much of it at first. Until she added, casually, “Pretty sure Weno’s gonna be there too, so you can’t get us some stuff as well?” That made your heart skip. You played it off, said “yeah, cool” and shrugged, but your brain had already started spiraling. What if you saw him? What if you didn’t? What if he ignored you in front of everyone? What if he didn’t? You told yourself you weren’t going for him. But you still stood in front of your closet longer than usual. You picked a dress—short, tight, something you hadn’t worn before. Simple, but it hugged you in all the right places. You did your makeup with more care than usual, spritzed perfume on your neck, your wrists, let your hair fall soft and full around your shoulders. You didn’t tell anyone why you looked a little extra tonight. But you kind of hoped he’d be there. And you really hoped he’d notice.

The house was already packed by the time you got there—music thumping through the walls, bodies crammed together in every corner, red cups in almost every hand. Lights low, flashing sometimes, music echoing through a speaker in the living room. It smelled like sweat, beer, weed, and cheap cologne. Typical. Your friends disappeared as soon as you walked in, squealing at someone they recognized near the kitchen. You stayed back for a second, just long enough to scan the crowd. Not because you were looking for anyone. Not on purpose, anyway. And then you saw Weno. Leaning against the far wall near the stairs, hoodie half-zipped over a white tank, cargo pants hanging low on his hips, the hem of his boxers peeking a little. He wasn’t dancing. Wasn’t talking loud or laughing or drinking like the rest of them. Just standing there, calm and unreadable, eyes lazily moving through the room like he’d been here a hundred times before. He was talking to someone, dapping them up quick, pulling something from his pocket and handing it off like it was nothing. No one looked twice. Just a quiet exchange, over in seconds. He didn’t try to be subtle, he didn’t have to. People came to him. You stayed near the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, pretending to be more focused on your friends than you were. But your eyes kept drifting back. He looked good. Effortlessly good. And he hadn’t seen you yet. You tried not to look over too often. Tried to focus on your friends and their chaotic conversations, the loud music, the colorful lights. You laughed at jokes that didn’t really register. Nodded along. Sipped water from your cup and told yourself it wasn’t that serious. He wasn’t even talking to you. He was doing his own thing. Still, your gaze kept drifting. Just to see if he was still there. Still. Every time you checked, he was. Some minutes passed like that—just you pretending to be more chill than you felt while your friends chattered and moved toward the crowd. You stayed behind, needing a second to breathe. You slipped into the kitchen, mostly empty now, except for the quiet hum of the fridge and the faint bass vibrating through the floor. You reached for the fridge handle, intent on just grabbing some cold water and hiding out for a bit, but when you turned, he was already there. Standing just inside the doorway. Watching. Your breath caught.

He didn’t say anything at first. His eyes scanned you slowly—top to bottom, unhurried. You felt it like a heatwave, settling low in your stomach. His gaze was darker than usual. Focused, sharp. You dropped your eyes immediately, trying not to fidget. Tugged lightly on the hem of your dress like it might help somehow, like maybe it covered more than it did. You felt your cheeks flush without him even having to speak. You weren’t even sure why you were so nervous. You’d seen him like this before, but something about tonight made it worse. Made you bite your lip without thinking. Made your cheeks burn just from the way he looked at you. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, voice calm and even. A little rough from the smoke, but still warm. You glanced up, heart racing. “Yeah,” you said, “Wasn’t really planning to, but… my friends dragged me.” He smiled a little. “I’m glad you came.” Your breath hitched. You weren’t expecting that. “You look good tonight.” It landed heavy in your chest. No teasing. No smirk. Just him saying it like it was a fact. Your whole body flushed. “Oh,” you said, voice small. “Um. Thanks.” He nodded once, eyes still on you, and then glanced back toward the hallway. “I’m heading up to the balcony for a bit. If you wanna get some air.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Just gave you one last look—soft, lingering—and pushed off the doorframe to leave. “Come find me,” he said, and then he was gone. Leaving you standing in the kitchen, heart racing, lip caught between your teeth, wondering how the hell he always made you feel like this without even trying.

You lingered in the kitchen for a while after he left, pretending to scroll through your phone, half-listening to the party still pulsing through the walls. Your friends had fully disappeared into the crowd by now, probably dancing or taking shots or screaming over music. You told yourself you were just cooling off. Just getting a break from the noise. But you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at you. The way he said it—You look good tonight. Like it wasn’t up for debate. Like he meant it, and he knew you’d heard him loud and clear. Eventually, you texted some excuse about needing air, said you’d be right back if anyone even cared that you left. You slipped out of the kitchen and made your way upstairs, heartbeat loud in your ears, feeling a little ridiculous and a lot nervous. The hallway was quiet, just some closed doors and the muffled hum of bass below. You found the door to the balcony slightly cracked open, soft breeze pushing in from the night. You pushed it open gently. There he was. He sat on a low, beat-up couch tucked against the wall. One leg stretched out, the other bent, arm thrown over the backrest like he owned the space. Head tilted back just slightly, hoodie slipping off his shoulder, lips parted around the blunt as he took a slow drag. The ember glowed red in the dark, lighting up the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. He looked unfairly good. Like the air belonged to him. Like nothing touched him. He turned his head lazily when he heard the door, eyes finding yours through the smoke. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at you, then took another slow hit, exhaling with a quiet sigh before speaking.

“Knew you’d come.” You swallowed hard, heart kicking up again like you hadn’t already spent the last fifteen minutes trying to calm it down. His voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something behind it—something that made your chest tighten a little. You stepped out and quietly shut the door behind you. You sat down beside him, slow and careful, the cushion dipping under your weight. His knee brushed yours just slightly, warm through the fabric. You glanced over, then down again, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I just—I’d rather be up here with you than down there in all that chaos.” That got him to finally look at you. Head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed just a little like he was trying to read deeper than what you were saying out loud. He didn’t answer right away. Just flicked the ash from the blunt, leaned back again, eyes still on you. You breathed in through your nose, steadying yourself. Then softer, barely louder than the wind, you added, “I missed you.” He turned his head fully now, letting the blunt rest between his fingers. The pause that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Warm. His eyes softened just a bit. “Yeah?” he said, voice a little quieter than before. “I missed you too.” It landed in your chest like a weight—like the kind of thing you weren’t sure you were allowed to want, but did anyway. He leaned in a little, not close enough to crowd you, but just enough for his knee to press softly into yours. His eyes didn’t leave your face.

“You been thinking about me?” he asked, voice still calm, but something about it made your stomach twist. You blinked. Heat rushed to your cheeks again, and you had to look away. “…Maybe.” He smiled at that, small and crooked and unfairly attractive. “Same.” And then he took another hit like he hadn’t just wrecked you with a single word. He let the silence hang for a few seconds after that, the blunt burning slow between his fingers, and then he said it quietly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Come closer.” Your eyes flicked to his, heart stuttering a little. He didn’t look away, didn’t shift or make room, just waited. You hesitated for a second and then moved, scooting over until your leg was pressed fully against his. He reached out casually, like it was second nature, and slid his arm around your shoulders. A soft tug, and suddenly you were leaning into him, your head falling against his chest like it belonged there. You could feel everything. His warmth, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady thump of his heart under your cheek. His hoodie smelled like smoke and laundry and him. He brought the blunt to his lips again, took a hit, then lowered it and turned his head slightly toward you.“Want some?” he murmured. You shook your head, just once. “Not right now.” He hummed, didn’t push. Just let his hand stay where it was on your shoulder, thumb brushing idly against your arm. You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he. You both just sat there, pressed together on the old balcony couch, the party a muffled storm below you, the stars wide and scattered above. You listened to the wind. The soft scratch of fabric when he shifted. The occasional drag and exhale as he smoked. You closed your eyes for a second and just let yourself feel all of it.

He shifted a little, moving his hand lower on your arm, caressing the skin, his breath warm against your hair. You felt his heartbeat quicken just a bit beneath your cheek. The silence between you was thick. to be noticed. You glanced up at him, your eyes catching his in the dim light. There was something softer there now. Something unspoken, but heavy. Without breaking eye contact, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering near your temple. Your breath hitched. He leaned down just a little, voice low and casual, “You’re beautiful.” You swallowed, barely able to meet his gaze as your face flushed again. Then, just like that, he closed the tiny gap between you. His lips found yours slow and gentle, before deepening the kiss, like he’d been wanting to do this all night. You melted into him, your hand slowly reaching up to rest on his chest as the world around you faded. It’s not gentle anymore, it’s urgent, needy. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you closer as his tongue slides against yours, deep and demanding. You whimper softly, the sound lost in the press of his mouth, your body melting into his. He pulls back just enough to whisper in your ear, voice husky, “Wanna get out of here? I’ve got my car nearby.” Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it. You just nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, breath catching again as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

He doesn’t rush you, just laces his fingers through yours, warm and firm, and gives your hand a gentle tug. You follow without thinking, legs shaky as you leave the balcony behind and slip back into the quiet hallway. The party feels distant now, like the world narrowed down to just him, the weight of his hand in yours, the aftertaste of his kiss still lingering on your lips. The walk to his car is quiet, but not awkward. When he unlocks the door and slides into the driver’s seat, you hesitate for half a second before slipping in beside him. The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you both inside the low, warm hum of the vehicle. He leans back, legs stretched out, calm like always, but there’s a heat behind his eyes when he looks at you. A spark still flickering from earlier. “I’m gonna roll real quick,” he murmurs, pulling out his tray and grinder from the center console like it’s second nature. You nod, watching him work—his fingers nimble, methodical, the lighter’s flame briefly illuminating his face when he brings the blunt to his lips. The car fills with the earthy scent of smoke, and his head tilts back slightly as he exhales, half-lidded. He looks so fucking fine like this, bathed in shadows and smoke, hoodie loose around his collarbones, the faint red glow of the blunt lighting up his lips. Then he turns his head toward you again and you don’t even get the chance to fully catch your breath before he leans in again, free hand finding your cheek as he kisses you.

The smoke still lingers on his breath, and you melt into it, moaning softly into his mouth as his tongue slides against yours. His fingers are on your thigh, squeezing gently as he pulls you closer. The kiss turns messier, full of need, soft gasps and low groans echoing through the car. Your hand grips his hoodie low, holding on like you might fall apart if you let go. He pulls back only enough to whisper, breath ghosting over your lips, “Could do this all night.” Then his mouth is on yours again. More heat, more tongue, more breathless little noises spilling from your lips as your body starts to tremble in his hands. Without breaking the kiss, his hands move, one sliding up your thigh, the other settling on your waist. “C’mere,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low but soft. You barely register what he means until his hands are guiding you, pulling you gently, firmly, right onto his lap. One leg at a time, knees sinking into the seat on either side of him, hands braced on his shoulders, your dress hiking up as you settle onto him, straddling him, face to face. He leans back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded, red from the weed, blunt still between his fingers. One of his hands slides up your side, fingers grazing your waist and ribs over the thin fabric of your dress. He takes his time with it, like he’s learning your shape. Your breath stutters as his hand travels higher, stopping just under your arm. He brings the blunt to his lips again, takes a long, slow hit, his chest rising beneath you, and then leans in close. His free hand curves around the back of your neck, guiding your face closer to his. You part your lips on instinct, and he exhales the smoke right into your mouth, warm and slow, curling over your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe it in, heart thudding, and then he kisses you. Kisses you like he’s taking the air right back from your lungs.

Your breath catches when you feel his hands slide down, beneath the hem of your dress. He pushes it up slowly, bunching the fabric around your waist until the cool air hits your thighs. You shift slightly, nervous, thighs tightening around his hips as he exposes more of you. He doesn’t say anything, just stares for a second, eyes flicking down to where your panties are now visible, his palms firm on the back of your thighs. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, mouth finding your neck, and everything gets messier after that. He kisses down the side of your throat, open, warm, wet, his lips dragging along the skin, tongue flicking against your pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips twitch against him. You whimper quietly, trying to stay still, but he’s already pulling you closer with both hands, guiding your body into his like he knows exactly what you need. You tilt your head for him without thinking, shy sounds escaping your mouth as he works his way up to your jaw, then down again, kissing a little rougher now. “Weno…” you whisper, voice breaking around his name. “Shh,” he murmurs, his voice low against your skin. “You’re okay.” Your arms wrap around his shoulders instinctively, face burning as you shift in his lap, unintentionally grinding down just slightly. His reaction is immediate, a quiet groan right into your neck, his hands tightening on your hips. “Just like that,” he breathes.

Your hips grind down harder without thinking, breath coming out in shaky gasps as the friction starts to feel almost too good. His hands slip under the back of your dress, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your movement like he needs it just as bad. You’re whimpering into the heated space between you, clinging to his hoodie, your body trembling slightly with every slow drag of your hips over his. Your panties are soaked. His pants are straining. The windows are fogging up, and the whole car smells like weed, sweat, and heat. He tilts his head, catching your mouth again in another deep, tongue-heavy kiss, like he can’t stop tasting you. His hand slides up your waist, grazing under the curve of your chest over the thin fabric of your dress, and you shudder, moaning softly into his mouth. Then he pulls back, just a little, resting his forehead against yours as both of you try to breathe. “Fuck,” he whispers, chest rising and falling beneath you. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” You blink at him, dazed, lips swollen and barely parted, still trying to catch your breath. He looks at you for a long second, hands still on your waist, grounding you. “I don’t wanna do this in the car,” he says, voice rough. “You deserve better than that.” Your breath hitches, heat flaring even higher at how serious he sounds. “Wanna go to my place?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your side. You nod slowly, shy but needy, your fingers curling in the collar of his shirt, a little scared to let go. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “Okay.” He kisses you once more, soft and sweet, before pulling back just enough to reach for the keys.

The door shut with a quiet click, sealing you into the warmth of his place. It was dark, mostly, just the glow of a streetlamp slipping through the blinds, casting faint lines across the floor. Neither of you spoke. You turned slightly, lips parting like you might say something, but he was already reaching for you. His hands found your waist in the dark, pulling you in with no hesitation, and his mouth was on yours before you could even breathe. Kissing you hungrily, deep and needy. Everything he hadn’t said tonight was pouring out of him all at once, into the way he held you, the way his lips moved over yours. His grip was firm, hands splayed over your hips, your back arching into him as you kissed him back just as desperately. He walked you backwards without breaking the kiss, slow, steady steps through the short hallway, lips never leaving yours. You barely registered the corners of the space or how you ended up where you did until the back of your knees hit something soft. And then he was lowering you onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath you, and your breath caught as he hovered above you, eyes dark and steady on yours. Then, without a word, he zipped down his hoodie and took it off. Now just in a white tank, it clung to his frame in all the right places, the cut of his collarbone visible, shoulders broad and sharp under the light. He looked down at you for a second longer, breathing hard, gaze lingering on your face like he couldn’t believe you were really there. Then he leaned down, kissing you again, less rushed, but just as intense. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips ghosting over the fabric of your dress, moving deliberately, memorizing the shape of you. You whimpered softly into his mouth, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. He pulled back for a second, eyes flicking between yours, voice low and wrecked. “You good?” he asked, forehead brushing yours. You nodded, cheeks burning, lips swollen already. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m good.”

He didn’t wait long after your answer. His mouth moved to your neck, warm and open, lips brushing your skin before he started kissing, slow, deliberate, dragging his tongue gently along the curve of your throat. You gasped, breath hitching as he sucked softly at a spot just below your jaw. Then again, a little lower. Your hips twitched beneath him when you felt his teeth graze you. “Weno—” you whispered, but it came out as more of a breath than a word. “You’re so pretty” he murmured, voice barely there, like he was talking to himself. “Always are.” His hand moved down slowly, slipping over your waist and along the outside of your thigh before sliding back up under the hem of your dress. His touch was patient, teasing, he didn’t rush. Just let his fingertips brush along the top of your thigh, higher and higher until they were tracing the edge of your panties. He pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side, slowly, and let his fingers slide between your folds, touching your bare heat. You gasped, head tilting back into the pillow, lips parting in a silent moan. “Shit,” he whispered, breath warm against your collarbone. “So soaked f’me, baby.” Your cheeks burned, thighs tensing slightly around his hand. He kissed the hollow of your throat, then lower, just above your chest, tongue wet and warm as his fingers began to move—slow circles at first, barely-there pressure that made you squirm beneath him. His free hand gripped your waist, holding you steady like he could feel how close you already were, how much you wanted him. “You’re so sensitive,” he muttered, voice deep and low, teeth grazing your skin as he kissed up to your ear.

You whimpered his name, hips grinding into his hand without meaning to. His fingers never stopped moving, dragging slick circles against your clit as he kept his mouth on your neck. Every kiss felt more urgent, but not rushed. It wasn’t just lust. It was something else. Something heavier. And then he leaned up, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think about you all the time,” he murmured, breath warm, fingers still teasing between your thighs. “Even when I’m not supposed to. Even when I try not to.” Your heart flipped, aching at how raw it sounded coming from him. “I don’t even think you know what you do to me,” he continued, a soft kiss behind your ear. “How long I’ve wanted you like this. Letting me touch you.” The words hit harder than anything else had—deeper than the kisses, deeper than his touch. Your chest tightened, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers slid into his hair, pulling him down until your lips met again. Your moans melted into his mouth, the rhythm of his fingers picking up as your hips rolled up into his hand. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider for him.

And then, without warning, he shifted his hand lower, deeper. Your lips parted in a quiet gasp as he slid one finger inside you, slow and careful. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, already aching from how worked up you were, how long he’d been teasing. He didn’t wait long before easing in a second finger, stretching you just a little more. His movements were smooth, curling them up inside you just right, drawing out whiny, breathless little sounds from your throat you couldn’t hold back. You buried your face in his shoulder, hands gripping his bicep, your hips rocking involuntarily into every slow thrust of his fingers. He moved deep and steady, his palm pressing into you, thumb dragging lazy circles over your clit in rhythm. He kept moving inside you, slow and deep, curling just right. You were so close, the tension winding tighter and tighter in your stomach, breath catching with every stroke. But just as your legs began to shake, just as your hips bucked up into his hand with a quiet, desperate moan—he pulled out. You whined at the loss, hips stuttering forward instinctively, chasing the friction. “Weno…” “I know,” he murmured, breathless himself, voice thick with need. “I know, baby.” He leaned back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side. The soft light coming through the cracked door hit his chest just right—shoulders broad, abs toned, skin flushed and warm. His chain shifted against his skin when he moved.

Then he was reaching for you again, hands gentle. “Can I?” he asked, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. You nodded, cheeks hot, eyes wide and dazed. “Y-Yeah” He pulled it up slowly, lifting it over your head. His eyes dropped to your body as it was revealed to him—bare chest, soft skin, rising and falling with every shaky breath. He leaned his mouth to your nipple, giving it a soft suck while sliding your panties down your legs, dragging his hands along your thighs as he did. Then he moved lower. He settled between your legs like he belonged there, hands spreading your thighs gently, thumbs brushing along the inside. You whimpered, body already arching at the sight of him down there, the feel of his breath ghosting over your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, eyes locked on your soaked center. And then he leaned in. His tongue was warm, slow, one long, deliberate lick up your folds that made your back arch off the bed. Then again, this time with more pressure, more intent. His mouth locked over your clit, sucking softly before he flattened his tongue and circled it. You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling as your thighs tried to close around his head. He just groaned into you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, keeping you wide open for him. The sounds—wet, messy, sinful—filled the room along with your breathy moans, soft whimpers, the quiet creak of the mattress beneath you.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with purpose, lapping, circling, flicking. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but moan, soft and desperate, your hips twitching with every stroke of his tongue. And then you felt his hand again. Sliding up the inside of your thigh, fingers trailing through your slick folds before one dipped inside you, curling instantly. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. He added a second immediately, stretching you and pumping into you while his mouth never left your clit. “Weno—fuck,” you whimpered, body jolting as he curled his fingers just right. Your walls clenched around him, needy and tight. His groan vibrated through you when he felt it. His tongue pressed harder, fingers pumping deep and slow—each drag of his knuckles making your toes curl. Your moans got higher, breathier, as your body trembled under his touch. “You close, baby?” he muttered against your clit, fingers never slowing. “Wanna feel you cum on my fuckin’ fingers.” You nodded, frantic, too far gone to speak. Your back arched, thighs shaking as he held you open, ruined you with his mouth, pushed his fingers deep inside you until the heat building in your stomach finally snapped. You came hard, legs trembling, hips stuttering, a loud moan spilling from your lips as everything clenched and pulsed around him. Fingers still working you gently through it while his tongue slowed, easing the intensity but never leaving you empty. Weno pressed one last kiss to your thigh, lips lingering as he pulled his fingers from you slowly, savoring the way your body jolted at the loss. He sat back on his heels, chest rising and falling a little faster now, eyes heavy as they dragged up your body.

You watched, dazed, flushed, and breathless as he reached for the waistband of his cargos, unbuttoning and sliding them down. They hit the floor with a quiet thud, leaving him in just his boxers—black, stretched tight over the obvious bulge straining against the fabric. He palmed it slowly, eyes still fixed on you, thumb pressing down over the thick outline like it ached. You squirmed beneath him, breath catching again when he leaned forward, caging you in with his arms. He kissed you slow and deep, tongue sliding over yours, moaning into your mouth. Then he reached between you and pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, hissing softly when his length sprang free and brushed against your thigh. “You still good?” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his thumb caressing your cheek. You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Yeah… I want you.” That was all he needed. He reached down, guiding himself to your entrance, dragging the tip through your slick folds, teasing you both with the heat of it. His hand found your waist again, grounding you as he pushed in slowly—inch by inch, thick and hot and stretching you just right. You gasped, nails digging into his biceps, body arching as he filled you completely.“Fuck,” he breathed out against your mouth, kissing you again as he bottomed out. “So tight. So good.” He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried deep, letting you adjust while he pressed soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips. His hands smoothed over your sides, grounding you. And then he started to move.

He started slow and deep, rolling thrusts that dragged every inch of him along your walls. Your body clung to him, welcoming each stroke like it had been waiting, aching, for this exact moment. His hands moved down your sides, palms warm and firm, before sliding under your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist. The new angle made you gasp, your head falling back into the pillow as he sank even deeper. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice all breath and gravel, “So fucking perfect like this.” You whimpered, lips parting with every slow rock of his hips, every soft press of his chest to yours. One of his hands slipped under your back, pulling you closer, the other traveling to cup your breast, squeezing gently, thumb circling your nipple. “Love your body,” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone. “Every inch. All mine now, yeah?” You could only nod, breath shaky, heart pounding. He moved again—long, deep thrusts that made your thighs tremble around him, that had you clinging tighter to his shoulders, trying to ground yourself in his touch. “So fuckin’ good,” he groaned, kissing your neck, “Fuck—look at how you take me.” He slid his hand down to your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you up into each thrust, letting you feel just how hard he was holding back. You cried out softly, tears blurring your vision as the heat coiled tighter and tighter inside you. You felt stretched, full…loved. Every part of him was on you, in you, his lips, his hands, his voice. He slowed for just a second, chest heaving as he looked down at you.

His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your lip as he whispered, “No one’s ever made me feel like this.” You blinked, another tear slipping free. He caught it with a kiss. He pushed in deep again, groaning low as your body clenched around him. Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips parted in a sob, overwhelmed. The pleasure, the emotion—it was too much, and not enough. You gasped out his name, voice broken, tears spilling freely now. “You’re doin’ so good,” he breathed, kissing the corner of your mouth. “So good for me. You feel so fuckin’ good—can’t get enough of you, baby.” He cupped your breast again, his other hand squeezing your ass as he rocked deeper, firmer, filling you completely with every thrust. The mattress creaked beneath you, skin slapping, breathy moans and whimpers. He lift your legs higher, folding them up toward your chest as his hands slid beneath your knees, guiding you open. His body shifted with yours, hovering close, his chest pressing to yours as he settled into the new position. You were utterly vulnerable, and so full. “Fuck,” he breathed as he pushed back in—deeper, impossibly deep, the new angle hitting something inside you that made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. Your thighs trembled against his sides, your arms wrapping tight around his shoulders as he rocked into you again, slow and hard. His face was right above yours, eyes dark, mouth parted, breath hot on your cheek. His forehead pressed to yours. You pulled him down, fingers tangling in his hair, and kissed him hard, messy, open-mouthed, desperate. You sobbed into the kiss, the pleasure blurring everything, making your whole body feel like it was about to break apart in the best way.

He moaned against your mouth, thrusts picking up just slightly, deeper and deeper, hips pressing you into the mattress. One of his hands cradled your cheek as the other gripped under your thigh, holding you open for him while his body kept driving into yours, filling you perfectly. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw between gasps. “So good for me, baby… fuck.” Your body clenched tight around him, your moans turning into cries as your nails dug into his back. “Weno— I’m close, I—please,” you gasped, barely able to form the words through the sobs that kept catching in your throat. “I got you,” he panted, hips grinding down, pace relentless now. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel you.” It only took another stroke. One more hit just right, and you shattered. Your second orgasm came, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sobbed his name, legs shaking violently around him. You clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. “Shit—baby—fuck—” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut as your body pulsed around him. “So good. So fucking good.” He barely lasted another few thrusts before he was pulling out quickly, stroking himself through the last moments, his body jerking forward with a final moan as he spilled across your stomach, thick and warm. He collapsed onto his forearms above you, forehead to yours again, breath ragged, lips ghosting yours.

He was still above you, body trembling slightly as he caught his breath, his lips brushing yours in soft, lingering kisses that felt more like confessions than touches. You were trying to breathe too, heart racing, chest rising and falling as your mind spun. Every nerve in your body was still alive, aching with how full he made you feel—physically, emotionally, all of it. And yet, even in the quiet after, something heavy sat in your chest. You swallowed hard, fingers fidgeting at his sides, your eyes darting everywhere but his face. You could feel it pressing against your tongue—those words—so big and so terrifying, but so real. Too real to keep inside. “Weno…?” you whispered, voice barely audible. He blinked down at you, soft and hazy from the afterglow. “Yeah, baby?” Your lip trembled as you looked up at him, wide-eyed and afraid. “I… I think I’m in love with you.” The second the words left your mouth, your stomach dropped. You felt exposed, like you’d stripped yourself bare in a whole new way. Your eyes filled with panic—what if he didn’t feel the same? What if this ruined everything? “I—I’m sorry,” you added quickly, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to ruin it, I just—fuck, I don’t know, I just feel so much and I couldn’t keep it in and—” He cut you off with a kiss. Not a soft one, not a careful one, but deep, sure. His hand cupped your face as he leaned into you, kissing you like he needed to feel every word you’d just said on his tongue.

When he finally pulled back, his thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the little tear that had escaped down your cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he whispered. “You could never ruin anything.” Your heart fluttered painfully. “I’ve been in love with you,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Since before I even knew what to call it. You don’t scare me, baby. You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.” He kissed you again, tender. His hands wrapped around you, pulling you close until your body was pressed to his, skin to skin, and you could barely breathe from how tight he held you. You buried your face in his neck, arms tucked between your chests, your heart pounding against his. The silence that followed was heavy with warmth—safe, soft. Eventually, he shifted just enough to reach for the blunt on his nightstand, lighting it with a quiet flick of his lighter. The glow lit up his face in soft orange as he took a long drag, exhaling with a sigh, head tilted back slightly. You curled into him, cheek pressed to his chest, ear catching the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His arm came around you instinctively, holding you tighter, and his hand drifted lazily into your hair, fingers combing through the strands. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. He held you like he was never letting go.

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A Kiss To Change Everything

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> When Bucky becomes the Winter Soldier again, he follows you around. Only you. Funny thing is, you and Bucky aren't exactly friends. So why is the Winter Soldier protecting you?

Disclaimer: Fluff, angst, a hint of smut towards the end, a brief mention of a sex dream, flirting whilst sparring, multiple kisses, love bites, swearing, the Winter Soldier protects the reader, reader watches over Bucky, one bed trope (kinda). Enemies (to friends) to lovers. A little mutual pining. Not fully proof read.

Four days. Four days, twelve hours and twenty six minutes. 

That was how long Bucky had been watching over you. Or rather, The Winter Soldier. 

“Four days!” you exclaimed quietly to yourself. “Four damn days.”

As you turned around, you jumped, nearly scattering everything off your desk. 

You swore under your breath, “What is your problem? Make a damn noise, or something!”

Four days of hell. 

For everyone. 

You had been in a meeting when Bucky had gone on the mission with Sam and Natasha, so the points were unclear. The main thing you knew was that Bucky left for the mission, but the Winter Soldier returned. 

And he hadn’t left your side since touching wheels to tarmac from the jet. And, it would make sense, Bucky watching over you. But the thing was- 

You and Bucky had never even been friendly with each other. If you ever did talk to one another, and that was a big if, it was mostly sarcastic comments and threats thrown to each other's throat. 

None of it made sense. 

Shuri had been called instantly and she had checked Bucky over. He was definitely the Winter Soldier, but he wasn’t a killing machine. He was still Bucky. Bucky was held behind a wall of memories. 

But the one thing he didn’t do was attack. It was almost like that part had been conditioned out of him. Instead, he was this looming bodyguard that never left you alone. 

Not for a minute, not even for a second. 

You never heard him, but you could feel him. Watching you, following you, part of him studying you. 

It was creepy. 

As you entered the kitchen, you turned around on your heel quickly. The Winter Soldier didn’t flinch. He just stopped walking and looked at you. 

“Alright, no. I can’t keep doing this. Sam told me not to, but, please. I am begging you. Stop following me!”

He didn’t move. He didn’t even speak. 

You ran a hand down your face and sighed. 

“Fine. If you’re not gonna leave me alone, then sit.”

You pulled out a chair and pointed to it. 

“I’m gonna be here for a while and I already don’t like people in the kitchen with me. So, sit. Or fuck off.”

He was silent. And then he moved. One slow blink before he turned his head and looked at the chair. He looked back at you and you nodded. 

Then he walked over to it and sat down. But his gaze remained focused on you. 

It wasn’t much, but it was breathing space. 

“Thank you.”

Trying your best to block him out, you started pulling out different bowls and ingredients from the cupboards. You heard the creak of the chair when he watched you climb onto the cabinet to grab the flour from the highest shelf. 

“No!” You shouted. “You move from that chair and I swear to god, Barnes, I will follow through with my promise about buying a military grade magnet. Sit!”

The chair creaked again after a short minute. 

For the next three hours, he remained sitting in that seat. People walked in and out constantly, but each time you heard a creak you’d just shoot him a look and he’d sit back down. 

“Any word from Shuri?” You asked Wanda as she walked inside to snack on your cupcake sprinkles. 

She shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe he sees you as his commander.”

You scoffed, but a pang of guilt struck your chest. “Please, when he’s him he never follows my orders. Does the opposite, actually.”

Wanda shrugged and looked over at Bucky whose eyes hadn’t left you. “Maybe he just really cares for you.”

“Now, we both know that’s not true.”

Wanda just hummed. “Who knows? There is a fine line between love and hate.”

You nodded. “Yes. That fine line is my sanity.”

Wanda laughed before jumping off the counter and leaving you to continue your baking. “Stranger things have been known to happen.”

You shook your head, but for a moment you let your gaze land on Bucky in the corner. 

There was still no explanation as to why it was you he’d chosen to follow around. Not Sam or Natasha – the very two who had been with him when it happened. Or even Steve. But you prayed it wasn’t because he saw you as his commander. 

You and Bucky may never have gotten along. You could hate each other’s guts for all eternity. But what he went through as the Winter Soldier…

That was something that nobody should ever have to suffer through. And he did. For seventy years. 

So, after the hours of being watched and guarded. After the nights of walking outside of your bedroom only to run into his back outside your door – the same place you would grab his t-shirt and drag him back into your room and make him sit down on the sofa chair on the other side of your room. 

If he was gonna be watching over you through the night, too, it meant he wasn’t sleeping. He needed sleep. But putting him back into the freezer tank wasn’t going to help anyone. 

And after the days of being followed around everywhere. 

You finally sat him down. 

Everyone had gone to bed hours ago. Most of the lights in the building had been switched off. The only light in the living space was the dim light that floated across from the kitchen island across the room. 

“Why are you protecting me?” 

If Shuri couldn’t get the answers, you were gonna ask the man himself. Maybe he had an explanation. 

But he only replied in Russian. 

“You’re important.”

Your gaze flickered over his. There was barely a hint of Bucky in him. The person sat in front of you was a soldier. A protector. Someone who told you you’re important, the same way he would tell you he had eggs for breakfast. 

“Important?” you questioned. “Important to who?”

You leaned a little closer to him, almost out of instinct. And for a split second, you saw something flicker in his eyes. Something a little softer in the middle of the brambles. But it was gone as quickly as it came. 

Reaching out, you turned his head to look back at you and you swallowed your pride. 

“Bucky,” you said, your voice soft and needing. “I need you to come back to me. I know we’re not friends, but I need you to come back to me. Bucky. Not Hydra’s Perfect Creation.”

You waited in the silence, his eyes fixed on yours. But the only thing that stared back at you as the same deep, if slightly vacant, look that had been staring at you for the last four days. 

Leaning on the edge of despair, you did something you never thought you would ever do. Not with Bucky, and certainly not with the Winter Soldier. 

You kissed him. 

Really kissed him. 

Not the undercover kiss on the cheek, or the fake movie-style kiss that you were forced to watch whenever Steve chose the film for movie night. 

A real kiss. 

And for a moment, there was nothing. No reaction. No movement. Just a stiffness that only ever came from a soldier taking a command. 

But just as you lost all hope, leaning back a little in order to break the kiss, there was a flicker of something. A slight movement from Bucky. 

His hand reached out and laid itself on your leg. 

You didn’t know how – you and Bucky had never even hugged – but you knew it was him. It was Bucky. 

Just for a fleeting moment, you felt him kiss back as his other hand came to hold your hair against the side of your face. 

But the kiss broke. 

Looking in his eyes; for the first time in four days, you saw something other than the soldier. 

You saw humanity. 

Bucky’s voice broke as he finally spoke. “Y…y/n?”

You didn’t realise when you started, but you felt yourself cry. “Yeah.”

Then you watched the panic take him over as he looked around frantically. “Oh, god- no, no, no. What did I- When did- is everyone-”

You cupped his face and forced him to look at you again. “Everyone’s- hey, everyone’s safe. Nothing happened, Buck. Nothing happened. I swear. You didn’t do anything, Bucky. You’re okay.”

There were tears in his eyes and you felt your heart crack. 

“I could have-”

“You didn’t.”

His eyes remained focused on you as he tried to slow his breathing. And for a moment, you placed one of your hands over his heart. His own hand came to cover and cup that very one against his chest.

However, just as he was calming down, you watched something settle over his gaze as he kept his eyes on you. 

“You kissed me.”

Internally, you panicked. Externally, you moved back and tried to keep your voice as level as you could. 

“I, uh, it was getting creepy, you watching over me all the time. I needed to find a way to break you out of it, so-”

“You kissed me,” Bucky repeated. 

For a second, you nodded. But then you stood. “I should- I should go and-”

Bucky reached out for you and held onto your arm gently as you stood from the sofa. Your eyes landed on his own almost immediately. But where you thought he might have chewed you out for what you did…he didn’t. 

His eyes flickered with something you didn’t quite recognise. Not coming from Bucky, at least. 

“Thank you.”

There was something in his voice that told your instincts he wanted to say something else, or something more. But you couldn’t stand there any longer; the feeling of the kiss was still tingling against your lips and his touch was almost burning your skin. 

And not in the way it would have done before. 

So, you nodded with a polite smile and he let you go. 

“I’m just, I’m gonna go and get Steve or- I’ll be back.”

Bucky watched you leave the room, but he didn’t follow. Meanwhile, you rounded the corner and held a hand to the wall in order to balance yourself before the wave of emotions drowned you there and then. 

“F-Friday. Please…” you took a deep breath. “Please alert, uh, Steve and…Sam and, uh, Princess Shuri.” Your voice broke. “Let them know Bucky is back.”

You could hear the alerts down the hallway and you remained standing as they all came out of their rooms and rushed down the hall past you. 

“He’s okay, but he’s shaken up,” you told Sam as the others ran past. Sam took your word for it and followed them. 

Then you slid to the floor, forcing your breathing to steady itself.

The following month was filled with awkward encounters, quiet encounters, medical tests, field research and psychological tests. 

And, although you and Bucky didn’t talk, you didn’t argue either. You tended to remain at least eight paces from him at all times. 

It was like the roles had been reversed. You were now the one watching over him. 

And when he was in med-bay with Banner and Shuri during the day, you watched over him as he slept at night. 

A month ago, you would have had nightmares about helping Bucky. 

But since his turn. Since that kiss – the one that broke him free – you rarely wanted to leave his side. 

But you didn’t want him to know that, so you remained eight paces away. You stayed outside of his hospital room when the others went in. And, when you fell asleep in the chair beside his bed at night, you left before Banner or Shuri could wake and walk inside to find you there. 

That changed, however, when Bucky let you know he was awake. 

You’d just settled yourself in the chair beside his bed, having put away your book, when he spoke. 

“You’re gonna get a bad back.”

You sat up. “You’re awake.”

“Not for long,” he told you, lifting his arm. “C’mere.”

You were slow to move at first, confused if slightly concerned why he was asking you of all people to lay with him. But as you climbed into the bed beside him, you felt a wave of security wash over you. 

“Is this okay?”

Bucky smiled a little as he leaned into you. “It’s okay.”

As you finally relaxed beside him, you could have swore you heard his heart monitor pick up a little before it leveled itself out again. And for the first time, in a long time, you fell asleep almost instantly. 

So did Bucky. 

By the time morning rolled around, you were the first to wake up. And, for the first time, you took a few minutes to look at the sleeping man beside you. 

A few strands of his hair had fallen in front of his face during the night, so lightly, you swept them away and you felt yourself smile. 

When James ‘Bucky’ Buchanan Barnes wasn’t being a pain in your ass all day, he was pretty cute. 

That was when it struck you. Deep in your gut, or maybe your chest. Maybe even your soul…

He’d always been cute. You had always found him cute. Handsome. Sometimes devastatingly so. 

Then you felt the highly structured walls around you crumble into nothing but dust. And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly vulnerable. 

“I-I’ll be back later,” you whispered to him although he was still asleep. 

For a moment, you held onto his hand and pressed a light kiss to the side of his temple before you slowly made your way out of his bed and out of the door. 

But you kept your promise. 

And for three weeks straight, you slept beside him each night until he was finally cleared for duty again and the threat of the person he’d once been moulded into had been eliminated once again. 

That was when things got difficult. Because, not only were you harbouring a rather big secret, but you and Bucky had become friends. 

The bun Bucky had tied at the back of his head was slowly coming loose the longer he spent sparring with you. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” 

Bucky had been trying to get you to talk to him properly all day. 

“There’s nothing to say,” you replied as you circled each other. Bucky ended up with the advantage. 

“Really? Because you seem distracted lately. And that only seems to happen when I’m with you.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, despite your back being pinned to his chest. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, Bucky,” you told him as you swung your legs high to flip you both onto the ground. 

Bucky rolled onto the floor and you had him pinned. 

You smiled, a little breathless. “People might start thinking you’ve got an ego.”

That was when you saw Bucky smirk. And when he smirked, you worried. His hand wrapped itself around your thigh and within three seconds, he had you pinned. 

“Oh, come on.”

“You know, I still think about it.” Bucky’s voice was a little breathless as he practically crawled up your body so he was finally face to face with you. 

You were struggling to get out of his hold. After really trying, you gave up. “Think about what?”

“That kiss.”

You stopped moving and your eyes darted to his face. You tried your best to steady your heartbeat, but you could feel the heat crawling over your chest and up your neck. 

“That was nothing.”

“Liar.” 

“I’m not lying.”

Bucky’s blue gaze focused back on yours. “You forget I know you, Y/n. I know when you’re lying.”

Shit.

Bucky added, “You have a tell.”

“I have a tell?”

He nodded. “Your eyebrow. It twitches before you throw out your lie.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him, but he just laughed. Only James Buchanan Barnes would have the audacity to laugh. 

“It was just a kiss, Bucky.”

“Then tell me why it felt like more?”

“Maybe that’s your issue,” you fired back. 

He just smiled, and agreed. “Yeah, maybe.”

In that moment, Bucky’s hand left the grip he had against your wrist in order to fix your hair. His touch lingered for a second longer. 

“But I have a feeling it’s not,” he added.

Your breath was gone. Your heart was working overtime in your chest to keep you alive. All the while, Bucky had a smirk resting upon his face as he stood and left you by the mats, only to grab his things and walk out of the gym door. 

But not before he looked back once more with a small chuckle. 

As you watched the glass door slowly close behind him, you rolled from your side and onto your back once more. “Fucking tease.”

For the rest of the week, Bucky watched you. He watched you watching him, whilst simultaneously trying to avoid him at all costs. But it just made him laugh. Even more so when he would catch you looking away when he finally met your gaze across the dinner table. 

But the subtle touches, the sparring sessions and his fucking teasing all added up. And since you couldn’t work the feelings away, they decided to cut you your own 4K, HD movie to play out inside your head as you entered a deep sleep. 

You woke up with a start – then you felt it. The ache in your core, the coolness of air that hit your inner thigh when you moved your duvet away from you, and the dryness in your throat. 

“Fuck. Fuck.”

Twenty minutes later, you were freshly washed and were standing inside the kitchen with nothing more than the kitchen island bulbs lighting up your workstation. You were on your third batch of cakes when Bucky walked inside, looking like he’d had a fight with his pillow and lost. 

You felt him pause by the door and look at you. You didn’t even have to see him to hear the tired smirk on his face. He continued to watch you as he grabbed what he came for and sat down at the kitchen island across from you. 

It was like he was the Winter Soldier again. Except, you could hear the smile on his face as well as feeling the curiosity in his gaze. 

The odd thing was, Bucky felt the same. He could remember what it was like, feeling the need to be beside you, to watch over you, to protect you. He could remember the moments you talked to him, when you thought he couldn’t hear you. 

He could remember it all. 

But one question stayed on his mind. Even though you were, technically, friends. You still wouldn’t talk to him. Not properly, at least. The closest he came was during your sparring session a little over a week ago. 

“What?” You finally asked, looking at him. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. You already knew. 

“Because,” you said as you turned back to your cake batter. 

“Because, why?” Bucky stood and walked over to your side. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Whether it was the sleep deprivation, or the fact that snippets of the sex dream you’d just had about him were playing like flashes in your mind as he sat across from you, you blurted out the truth. 

“Because it’s too hard. Bucky-” You sighed, cutting yourself short. Four in the morning was not the time for this conversation. “Nevermind.”

“No, tell me.”

You stayed quiet and kept your eyes on him for a moment. Then you laid the bowl down on the counter and looked away from him. But you felt his hand hold onto yours. 

“Please,” he begged, quietly. 

“Because…we’re us. Bucky, barely two months ago I was chewing you out over how you stocked your leftovers,” you motioned over to the fridge. “And then…” You looked at him, but you couldn’t form the words. 

So he did it for you. “You kissed me.”

You nodded, your voice quiet as you finally spoke. “I kissed you.”

“Do you still think about it?”

You watched as  his fingers intertwined and danced with yours. “Thought you already knew the answer to that.”

“I need to hear it from you.”

Finally, you looked at him. 

Somehow, it was easier in the kitchen. Easier in the dim light of the kitchen island. Easier when it was just you and Bucky. 

“I still think about it,” you admitted. 

A steady blue gaze held yours as Bucky’s hand came to rest against your face, his thumb rubbing back and forth on your cheekbone. Then he leaned in, kissing you like it was the last opportunity he would ever get. 

Leaning in closer to him, he bumped against the kitchen island but managed to hold you closer. You felt his arms wrap around you completely as you kissed him back. 

 A few hours, one burnt cake and plenty of hickeys later, you were standing in your bathroom finishing your make-up whilst also trying to cover up the love bites on your neck. All the while, Bucky had just turned off your shower and in a billow of steam, wrapped a towel, low on his hips, after quickly rubbing his hair dry. 

Bucky stood behind you, moving your hair out of the way. You watched him do so as the mirror began to fog up once more. 

“Buck, you’re still dripping,” you giggle softly, trying to wriggle away from him. But the smile he gave you just knocked you to your knees. 

“Only for you, doll.”

You rolled your eyes and plucked another towel from the rail before throwing it at him. “Dry off.”

He chuckled, drying his hair and neck once more. But as you cleared the mirror again and continued to apply your make-up, Bucky stood behind you and smiled proudly to himself. 

“You owe me some more concealer. I hope you know that.”

In the mirror, you watched him lean down with a breathy chuckle as he pressed light kisses to your exposed shoulder and neck. “Worth it.”

“What are you doing?”

Through his dark lashes, he met your gaze in the mirror. “Missed a spot.”

You melted under his touch. Closing your eyes, you leaned into his kiss as his hands pushed under your top and dipped under the hem of your pants and underwear in order to flush you against his body. 

You moaned a little, feeling him harden against you. “Buck- You’re gonna make me late for work.”

Bucky disagreed. “All you’re doing is filling out case files today. Cases that we’ve finished. They can wait.”

Turning you around quickly, Bucky kissed you until your lipstick was smudged enough to warrant a whole new look, along with fresh sheets for your bed, and some new towels for your bathroom. 

[loveqnai]

Can you please write a military! Reader x f1 driver like she came back and surprises driver at the grand prix or something I would prefer Lando but you can write whoever is your favorite

we'll meet again | ln4

-the one with the emotional reunion

-pairing- lando norris x military!fem!reader

-use of y/n, slight angst, fluff.

-a/n- thank you sm for the request!! i love this idea sm! i hope i did it justice.

lando and you had been in a relationship for three years. the first two years were amazing. lando was an incredible boyfriend. you had been to some of his races, and his fans knew of you. alas, good things don't last forever.

you were in the military and had been deployed for the past 8 months. your relationship with lando turned into a long distance one. communication was sparse— you could manage only letters or scheduled calls. lando was constantly worried about your well-being, which reflected in his career as well. he had not been able to focus and everyone had noticed, yet no one held the courage to speak to him about it.

you had informed lando that you wouldn't be able to make it until the end of the season, which didn't ease lando's worries at all.

monaco grand prix. one of the most important grand prixs for lando. yet he was distracted.

"mate, you alright?" oscar asked his teammate, who seemed to be lost in his own world.

"hmm? yeah, yeah i'm fine." lando snapped out of his daze, prepping himself for the race which was about to begin in a few hours. oscar didn't believe him, but he didn't pester him further.

all lando wished was for you to magically appear in front of him and hug him tightly, let him know you're okay. lucky for him, his wish was about to come true.

you had been cleared earlier than you expected. overjoyed, you thought of calling lando and telling him immediately. but where's the fun in that? instead, you lied to him and said you wouldn't be able to make it until later.

you were in disguise (a cap and shades, really) as you entered the paddock. the mclaren team already knew of your arrival. they had helped you plan the surprise.

you were leaning against the wall, trying to be discreet and hidden from everyone, when you felt a tap on your shoulder. you turned and saw a glimpse of the papaya suit, your heart jumping to your throat. no way your surprise just got ruined.

"y/n?" but that wasn't lando's voice. you turned fully to face the person— it was oscar. lando's teammate.

"oh my god— i thought you were lando!" you laughed in relief.

"when did you get here? does lando not know?"

"nope, i'm surprising him." you smiled cheekily at the thought.

"i'm really happy for him. he's been moping all these months." oscar sighed. i nodded.

"he won't anymore."

after a while, you heard commotion. lando had arrived. he was talking to someone on the team.

"yeah— why is everyone so smiley today? like, i don't know, every person i walk past looks at me as if they know something i don't." you overheard him talk and snickered. you were having too much fun with this.

you had planned to surprise him before the race began, and you went with it.

as lando was walking and talking with someone, you snuck up on him.

"hey, can i have a picture?" you asked, trying hard not to laugh as you held out your phone to click one. lando leaned into the frame and for a second he didn't notice. only for a second.

"wait a minute—" he turned to look at you fully and his jaw fell. he cupped his mouth as he registered your presence.

"y/n?" he whispered and pulled you into a tight hug. you wrapped your arms around his body, soaking him in. god, you had missed him so much.

"holy shit— i can't, what?" he whispered in confusion, not letting go of you. you felt people taking pictures and videos and admiring you both, but you couldn't care less about them at the moment. the only person that mattered was lando. your lando.

he finally pulled away after a few minutes.

"you— you said you wouldn't be able to make it until the end of the season!" he said, cupping your cheeks. he couldn't believe you were right in front of him, safe and sound. tears of joy were brimming in his eyes. you felt your own running down your cheeks.

"well— i lied." you shrugged and laughed. the entire world had blurred for the both of you. no one existed in that moment, only you and your lover.

you leaned in and gave him a peck on his lips. he stared at you with so much awe and admiration, you could melt just from his soft gaze.

slowly, everything returned back to normal. the world came into being again. cheers and 'aw's could be heard. but lando could only stare at his world.

as if you were his good luck charm, lando won the race. after months of bad races, he finally won. the sun shined down on monaco, the mclaren team jumping with joy.

lando didn't wait for any interviews or meaningless 'congratulations'. he ran up to you and hugged you. you were ecstatic. you kissed his helmet where his lips were supposed to be and hugged him again, jumping as you do.

"this one is for you." you heard his voice through his helmet, and you couldn't help but cry again. after the race, lando took you back to his place.

he was telling you random stories about other drivers and you listened intently, your fingers running through his hair. his head was on top of your chest, his arms around your waist. you lay there in a comforting silence, which communicated everything words couldn't.

"how much longer till you go back?" he asked, his soft eyes looking at you.

"don't worry about that right now." you assure him.

"i can't help but worry, y/n. you're so important to me. when you leave it— it feels like you take a part of me with you. i'm constantly worried about your health, and i hate the fact that i can't even check up on you. i just wish i could be by your side at all times." he hugged you tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck. your heart broke when you felt wet tears on your neck.

"lando— look at me." you urged him. he finally looked up at you, tears staining his cheeks. his eyes were slightly swollen from the amount of times he had cried.

"i'm right here, okay? i'm right here with you. nothing will happen to me." you kissed him gently, as if he would break at the slightest discomfort.

"i know, it's just been so long since i saw you." he sighed. you smiled and kissed his cheek.

"you're glowing. you look so beautiful." he whispered as he pulled you onto his lap. you wrapped your hands around his neck.

"and you look as handsome as ever" you dragged your thumb along his lower lip, leaning in. your lips were almost touching.

"i missed you so fucking much. please don't leave yet." he whispered, staring at your lips.

"even if i do, we'll meet again." you closed the gap between his lips and yours, savouring the moment forever.

the end.

[sabxynsweet]

i'm so invested already.. how did mattheo and yn meet? did she freak out when she first saw him?

sweetheart!reader and mattheo meet for the first time

The first time you saw Mattheo was not the first time you met him.

It was orientation day at the very beginning of the semester for your sixth year in Hogwarts when he first came into your sight.

He was sitting a few rows away from you, a cold (bored) look on his face. It was something about his hair or his eyes, maybe, you weren’t sure but in that moment you decided you had to have him.

You had heard of Mattheo Riddle - who hadn’t. He transferred in third year but you somehow never crossed pasts until now.

The daydreams you had in class were now centred around one thing, a plan: How to get Mattheo Riddle’s attention.

The first time you met Mattheo - properly - came a few months later.

You were transferred to a more advanced potions class for your second term due to an improvement of your grades.

When you walked into the classroom for your first day, you cheerfully floated over to Pansy - barely noticing who was around her.

“Mattheo, Blaise; have you met yn?” She asked, your heart stopped at the mention of his name before it started again (very quickly) when you saw him behind her.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ve met yet.” You said nonchalantly, like you haven't spent countless 11:11’s wishing for him to notice you.

Blaise introduces himself while Mattheo simply nods. You’d have to work just a little bit harder for him, you guessed.

Professor Snape walked in and you quickly glanced at Pansy with wide, scared eyes.

“Scary.” You mouthed.

“A little.” Pansy confirmed, mouthing back.

Your very first assignment for the new year was amortentia.

Pansy turns to you with an apologetic look, speaking in a hushed voice. “I really don’t want to ditch you for your first class but please let me pair with Blaise. It’s amortentia!”

You laughed, “No, totally. Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

She squealed, thanking you and blowing you a kiss before rushing to her boyfriend.

You turned to Mattheo, a silent agreement forming. You gathered the ingredients together, you talked a lot about everything while he simply listened (you hoped) quietly.

After your potion was mixed, you immediately caught the smell: cigarettes, cologne, something metallic? Blood, you presumed. You weren't even surprised that the scent of the amortentia was your favourite infatuation.

“I don’t smell anything!” You declared, quickly. You hoped he believed your lie.

“I don’t smell anything, either.” Mattheo said.

Well, typical, of course he wasn’t interested in anyone.

“We must’ve made a mistake, oh well!” You said frantically, “live, laugh, love, I suppose!”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“What? Have you never heard of that expression.” You asked with genuine concern in your eyes.

He laughed. “No, I have. I’ve just never heard anyone use it besides people who design divorced women’s throw pillows, I suppose.”

“Well, now I’m feeling very judged.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s cute.” He pauses, “very… you.”

You squealed inwardly at the sort-of-compliment but kept calm outwardly, smiling at him.

The bell rang, you put the cauldron of the “failed” amortentia potion to the side before packing your things away.

“Bye, Mattheo!” You smiled, waving your hand before making your way to the next class.

You turn your back so quickly you didn't see Mattheo’s lips quirking into a small smirk.

He leaned in closer to the cauldron of amortentia you created and inhaled: vanilla, raspberries and cinnamon - pure sweetness, all of which were notes of the perfume you’ve worn since third year.

The year that Mattheo first noticed you.

author's note: thank you for the ask angel! i'm so happy you're invested because i am as well. here's when evenmoredownbad!mattheo comes out !

[mr-glorbiezzz]

pride day 5!!!!

my t4t couple! Meet Terry and Mary Lamb. aw their names rhyme i just realized that!

So, they dont exactly have a story of their own, because they are actually part of Edd’s story!

How it goes is that they own a casino sex club type thing (is there casinos in NY? there is now!), and are mostly well known for the freedom provided in their place….and the scandals that happen in their place too. For some reason, bigot politicians walk in and pay to sleep with one of the male workers and think that the trans couple owners WONT sell this information to the newspaper companies! They don’t like to see the audacity to think they can walk in and be safe from scandals.

Anyway, how they tie into Edd’s story is; Edd and Lorraine bump into Terry while eating from the garbage behind Terry’s casino thing. He (Terry) invites the two fugitives in and congratulates them for being alleged domestic terrorists. Despite living in the US, Terry and Mary hate everything except for the informed people that are forced to crash down with the idiots (same). They meet Mary, who allows them to stay so long as they try to do some work around the place. She needs work done at some point and she isn’t forcing her employees to do more than they’re oaid to! Edd and Lorraine stay for almost two months, Edd working as a busboy, and Lorraine helping to operate the casino games. Then some asshole politician walks in, and loses his shit when he sees both of the “terrorists” working at the casino.

A raid is ordered, and seeing as they weren’t committing any crimes, Terry and Mary (and their employees) were allowed to walk free. Edd and Lorraine managed to scurry off again, running off to a cousin of Mary’s who she assured them would help them get outta this mess.

Now some facts about them cause unfortunately they dont play too big a role in this story!

- They have won “healthiest and happiest NY celebrity relationship” in their local magazine five years in a row.

-They have a baby boy together! The name was never revealed to the public (it’s Rodney), but the couple isn’t out as t4t yet. So when he was born, all the press would talk about was how good Mary looked after birth, while simultaneously wondering where Terry was since he didn’t appear openly in pubic till about 6 months after the baby was born.

- They met when Terry was 19 and Mary was 20. It was during a raid of an underground club, they ran out at the same time, and decided to get coffee. They started dating a week later, and got married a year into their relationship.

- Mary once smashed a wine glass on a random dude’s head after he claimed he was better for Mary. Terry was never told of this until he had to bail Mary out of jail.

oh how i love them, my dear Mary and Terry.

hm now who do i tag

@broareweabouttoviberightnow or @kalied0skull hmmmmmm

[applepiiex]

OFFICE SIREN ! ! ! ⋆. 𐙚 ⎚-⎚

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader

It was simple, really. The minute you stepped into the building, walked into his office, you knew how this would end. You both did. This was your dance. Secretary and CEO. I mean, could I make it any more obvious?

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻

The second you stepped into Nanami & Co. headquarters, it was like dropping a match in a boardroom full of oil. Quiet, composed, and dressed like sin in slacks, you weren’t flustered or fumbling, you were intentional. Efficient. Too good at your job to just be “eye candy,” but too stunning for that not to be the conversation behind closed doors.

You were the new Executive Secretary to CEO Nanami Kento. And the office knew it the moment he first looked at you.

That first day, he didn’t blink when he met you. He barely spoke, except to offer a flat-toned, “You’re early. Good.” But there was a flicker, a tension, in the slight clench of his jaw, the way his hand paused before handing you a folder.

It wasn’t nerves. It was restraint. You weren’t the type to pretend not to notice. And he wasn’t the type to admit it.

It made the air between you thick with unspoken things.

The second week in, the HR representative was still pretending to “casually” check in on you. People from accounting suddenly had a lot of print jobs that needed to be picked up from the copier by your desk. One intern from Legal walked straight into a glass wall watching you adjust your sleeves.

You, as always, didn’t acknowledge any of it.

You just took notes in meetings —  immaculate notes, mind you — had coffee waiting before Nanami arrived, scheduled his meetings down to the minute, and somehow, still made time to sit with legs crossed in the lobby and read a novel on your ten-minute break. Like this whole building didn’t revolve around you now.

Nanami hated how much he noticed.

The shape of your hands on a pen. The way you leaned over his desk to pass him a memo. The sound of your voice when you called him sir in a tone that was 90% professional, 10% devastating.

He didn’t speak more than he needed to. But he always said thank you. Always met your gaze longer than necessary. Always waited for you to leave the room before exhaling like you’d taken the air with you.

You were in his office now, sorting through schedules while Nanami typed behind his desk. The clock ticked. The tension simmered.

“Mr. Nanami,” you said calmly, eyes on your tablet. “You have a meeting with the board at three. Followed by your review call with the Kyoto division.”

“I’m aware,” he said, not looking up “Thank you.”

A moment of silence follows between the two. Then, he added, more quietly, “You’re remarkably efficient.”

You looked up at him, slowly. Cool. Collected. “It’s in the job description,” you said smoothly. Then, after a beat, “But I appreciate you noticing.”

There was a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. It passed just as quickly as it came.

“I assume the presentation materials are already prepared?” he asked.

“They’re in your inbox. I took the liberty of refining the talking points for maximum board approval.”

Nanami closed his laptop. “You’re wasted as a secretary.”

You tilted your head, smirking just enough to keep him thinking about it later. 

“Maybe,” you said. “But I like working under you.”

The silence that followed was not appropriate for the workplace.

Nanami did not reply right away.

His fingers tapped twice, precisely, rhythmically, against the desk. Then, he leaned back slightly in his chair, expression unreadable, posture perfect, suit impeccable. But the vein in his neck twitched.

Outside the glass wall of his office, someone dropped a stack of papers.

“Is that meant to be a joke?” he asked finally, measured and dry, like you were discussing quarterly losses and not the way you just set his spine on fire.

You only smiled, softly. “Not unless you want it to be.”

And with that, you turned and walked out casually, like you hadn’t just declared subtle war. Your cologne lingered in the air. Nanami stared at the door long after you’d left, his jaw set, one knuckle curling against his temple in thought.

The next ten minutes of silence were absolute hell for him.

The office chatter dialed up after that.

“I swear he smiled at him,” whispered someone from PR.

“I heard he let Y/N skip the morning report,” another gossiped near the espresso machine.

"There's no way nothing's going on," muttered HR. "Have you seen the way they talk? It's like watching a legal liability form itself in real time."

You ignored all of it. You always did.

Until Friday afternoon after a board meeting you helped him absolutely dominate when Nanami called you into his office again.

And locked the door.

Click.

You turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong, sir?”

Nanami’s expression was as cold and unreadable as ever… but he had taken off his jacket. His sleeves were rolled up. And his tie was loosened just slightly, in that way that somehow made him even more intimidating.

“I’ve been patient,” he said, slowly, like each word was weighed against his better judgment. “Professional.”

You blinked, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at your lips. “You have.”

“I’ve given you space to work. Room to show your skill.”

“You have.”

He stepped closer. Just a little. Just enough that your breath caught without you meaning it to.

“But if you continue making comments like that without consequence,” he murmured, voice low and firm, “you’ll make it very difficult for me to keep being professional.”

For once, the office siren faltered, just a flicker. You recovered fast.

“Well then,” you said, stepping closer with an infuriating calm. “Maybe I want to make it difficult.”

The clock ticked.

Nanami’s hand twitched at his side.

Someone knocked on the glass. “Mr. Nanami? Sorry — your three o’clock—”

“Reschedule,” he said, without looking away from you.

You smiled slowly. “I’ll handle it.”

“Of course you will,” he muttered.

There was something about the way he said it, quiet reverence with a simmering edge, that made your whole chest tighten.

The following days, the office entered the Cold War of the century. 

You place a stack of files on Nanami’s desk. He glances up from a document, and for once, doesn’t look away right away.

“You got a haircut,” he says.

You pause. “I did.”

He stares for a moment too long. Then goes back to reading. “It suits you.”

You walk out of his office smiling, which does not go unnoticed by half the floor.

In the break room, someone mutters, “If I have to watch that man fall in love in real-time one more time, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

- You’re typing something into his calendar when Nanami walks in behind you.

He says nothing, just leans over to read what you're writing.

His tie brushes your shoulder.

You don’t flinch but your breath catches.

“Don’t forget the quarterly lunch,” he murmurs near your ear, and you swear he knows what he’s doing now.

You look over your shoulder, expression unreadable. “Don’t forget I’m in charge of your entire life, sir.”

He blinks.

“You’re right,” he says quietly.

He doesn’t move for a beat too long.

- There’s a company-wide meeting. Big conference table. Full of execs. You’re seated just behind Nanami, taking notes.

At some point, he subtly pushes his coffee toward you.

You sip it without asking.

Across the table, the COO blinks. Slowly. “Am I hallucinating or are they—?” “They’re sharing drinks now,” someone whispers. “This is better than succession.”

-

You’re working late,again. He’s working late, again. It’s just you two and the silence of the 27th floor.

Nanami sets his pen down. “You didn’t need to stay.”

“I wanted to,” you say, eyes still on your screen. “Besides, who else is going to remind you to eat?”

Nanami watches you for a long time. “You're very good at taking care of me.”

You finally look up. Your gaze is even.

“You let me.”That shuts him up for a while.

- Someone from Legal corners you in the elevator. “So. How long until the two of you combust?”

You blink, deadpan. “I assume you mean from overwork. No comment.”

They grin. “Sure. We’ll call it that.”

When the elevator opens, Nanami is already waiting by the front doors. You walk to him without hesitation.

You hand him his forgotten phone. He gives you a rare, real smile.

The Legal rep watches the interaction with the expression of someone watching a slow burn romance anime in 4K.

- Rain’s coming down hard. You’re leaving the building, umbrella in hand, when Nanami appears beside you.

You glance up. “Didn’t think you were done.”

“I’m not,” he says. “But I didn’t want you walking alone.”

You stare at him. “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”He doesn’t reply.

Just takes your umbrella and holds it over you both. He walks you all the way to the train station. Quiet. Close. He doesn’t brush your hand, but he wants to. You can feel it.

When you say goodnight, he only says: “Text me when you get home.” Because of course you have his number. 

-

Finally, the staff prepared for the company gala, a massive fundraising and charity event. It’s annual. Lavish. Hosted in a glass ballroom overlooking the city. Everyone who’s anyone is there—CEOs, board members, investors, and a lot of people who’d kill for a merger and a martini.

Nanami, of course, hates it. 

You, however? You thrive.

You're not just his secretary tonight, you’re the company’s most devastating asset. Crisp tailored suit. Collar unbuttoned just enough. That magnetic calm confidence you wear like cologne. You don’t cling to Nanami like the other assistants do to their execs. You orbit him.

Close. Measured. Professional. But every time you adjust his tie or whisper something into his ear, more than one person at the table has to look away. It doesn’t help that Nanami, for all his stoicism, is visibly tense.

A partner from a competing firm slinks over. "Mr. Nanami. L/N," she says, eyes flitting over you with the sharpness of someone trying to provoke. "Quite the asset you've brought with you."

You smile politely. Nanami’s voice cuts low. “He's far more than that.”

The woman raises a brow. “Oh?” Nanami blinks once, like he’s realizing what he just said.

“I meant professionally,” he adds flatly.

You chuckle quietly behind your glass. “Mmhm.”

Later that night the two of you are alone in the company car. You’re tucked beside him, fingers scrolling through emails. He’s staring ahead, jaw set.

You glance over. “You good?”Silence.

“Nanami.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time in hours. The tension in his shoulders has built up to his neck, his posture rigid, and his hands curl on his knees like he's holding something back.

“Why do you let them look at you like that?” he asks suddenly.

You blink. “Who?”

“The others,” he mutters, voice tight. “Everyone at that gala. At the office. The people who think you’re just...an accessory.”

There’s a pause. Then you say, quiet, “Because I know I’m not.”

He turns to you.

"And the only person whose opinion actually matters? He’s sitting right beside me."

His breath hitches. You smile slowly, eyes warm but not soft. “Unless, of course, you see me as just your secretary.”

Nanami exhales like he’s been holding that breath all year. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t.”

-

After the Gala, there’s a shift. Not dramatic. But tangible. You bring him his morning coffee. His fingers brush yours. He doesn’t move his hand.

At the team check-in, he glances up at you twice. HR gossips so loudly over Slack that IT temporarily disables the chat.

Then your phone dings. 

An announcement: the entire executive team is heading to a retreat. Out of town. Four days. Two nights.

Guess who’s organizing it? Guess who Nanami insists personally accompany him?

It’s a two-hour drive upstate. Forests. Fog. Secluded high-end resort with sleek wood cabins and private hot springs. “Team-building,” they said.

Nanami didn’t even blink when he insisted you ride with him instead of the company shuttle.

You’re in the passenger seat, legs crossed, sunglasses on. He’s gripping the wheel a little too tightly.

“So,” you say casually, “shared rooms?”

“No,” he replies.

You raise a brow. “You didn’t want to share?”

“No,” he says again, quieter. “I... booked us a suite.”

Silence, heavy and lingering. 

“With two beds,” he adds stiffly “Obviously.”

You smirk, leaning your head against the window. “Obviously.”

-

Everyone gathers around a giant firepit with wine and half-burnt s’mores. You're seated beside Nanami, your knees nearly touching. He’s unusually quiet. Staring at the flames like they’ve insulted his mother.

“You hate this,” you whisper.

“I loathe this,” he murmurs back.

A tipsy intern walks past and says way too loudly: “If those two don’t hook up before the end of the trip, I swear to God—”

Nanami visibly twitches. You sip your wine and don’t stop smiling.

-

The suite is warm. Modern. Dimly lit.

You’re taking your tie off when Nanami steps out of the bathroom, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled.

He pauses.

You pause.

You both definitely pause.

You clear your throat and move to unpack your things. “...You’ve been quiet today,” you say.

He exhales. “I’ve been trying to remain professional.”

“And how’s that going?”

Silence.

Then, “Badly.”

You look up. Your breath catches. He’s standing closer now. Close enough to touch.

“I don’t just respect you,” he says quietly. “I don’t just trust you. I want you.”

You stare at him.

“And not just here. Not just at work. I want... all of it.”

Your voice comes out lower than expected. “So take it.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, There are two cups of coffee on the table. Yours has a note, 

“Meeting at 9. Your tie is under the bed. — Kento”

You walk into the dining hall 15 minutes late, hair still wet, and no fewer than four coworkers do a full double take.

Someone drops a croissant.

Someone else mutters, “So it finally happened.”

Nanami doesn’t say a word when you sit beside him, he just passes you a scone and doesn’t stop smiling.

Coming back from the retreat, things are different. You walk in precisely at 8:59 a.m. Button-down open just enough. Coffee in one hand. The tiniest, smuggest little smirk on your face.

And the office?Ferally quiet.

HR intern spills their yogurt. Three analysts whisper so fast it might as well be Morse code.

There’s already a Slack thread titled:

#kentoandsecretary???? with 84 unread messages and one blurry photo of Nanami brushing something off your collar during breakfast.

You pass by the breakroom.

“...he came in glowing. I swear, they didn’t even touch their second bed.”

“Did you see the way Nanami looked at him during the meeting? Like he was five seconds from committing arson!”

“I asked if he needed help filing something and he said he already has someone for that.’”

You smile sweetly as you walk by “Morning, boys.”They nearly implode.

Meanwhile, Nanami is back to being composed. Cold. Precise. Except… When someone else tries to get your attention? His jaw ticks. When a junior executive leans just a bit too far over your desk? His knuckles whiten on the espresso cup. When someone from accounting touches your shoulder while laughing? Nanami appears out of nowhere.

“You have something to say?”Flat. Deadpan. Terrifying.

“...N-no, sir. I was just—uh—asking about quarterly reports.”

Nanami doesn’t blink. “Then ask with your hands to yourself.”

The guy scurries off like he’s been personally marked by death. You watch the whole thing, sipping your tea like you’re watching your favorite drama.

He turns to you. “Is there a problem?”

You tilt your head innocently. “Not at all, sir.”

He narrows his eyes. You wink.

-

He calls you in for a “filing task.” You both know it’s fake.

The second the door clicks shut, “You’re doing it on purpose,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“...Smirking.”

You lean across the desk. “Maybe I like seeing you a little jealous.”

He exhales sharply, looking away. “It’s... unbecoming.”

You grin. “You didn’t seem to mind Saturday night.”

His ears turn pink.

Later that day, they finally call you in, HR. Just you. You think it’s for a report.

Instead, “We’re not... formally asking,” your HR rep says delicately, “but could you maybe... tone it down?”

You blink. “Tone what down?”

“The... aura. The vibe. Whatever happened on the retreat has caused a 62% spike in distracted employees and a 94% spike in caffeine intake. Half the floor is in emotional distress.”

You blink again. Then smile. “No promises.”

-

It happens over lukewarm coffee and passive-aggressive bagels in the breakroom. You’re at the counter, calmly stirring honey into your tea, when it happens. Bryce, two floors down, fake-deep voice, always wears too much cologne, walks up beside you. “So... what’s the deal with you and the CEO?”

You pause, blink, and smile. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, pretending like the whole floor isn’t holding its collective breath. “Just saying. You two came back from the retreat... different. And Nanami nearly bit my head off when I asked if you needed help yesterday.”

You sip your tea. “That sounds like a you problem.”

He frowns. “Come on, you expect us to believe nothing’s going on?”

You set your cup down gently. Turn to face him. “I’m Nanami’s secretary,” you say smoothly. “It would be incredibly unprofessional to imply anything else, don’t you think?”

He opens his mouth to argue—

Nanami walks in.

Silence. Absolute deathly silence.

You don’t even flinch. You smile, nod politely, and leave the room with your tea.

Nanami doesn’t say a word to Bryce. He just stares at him for a solid five seconds. Bryce almost drops his bagel.

-

It’s 4:43 p.m. You’re both the last to leave. You step into the executive elevator. Alone. Or so you think.

A hand stops the doors just before they close. Nanami steps in. Silent. Stone-faced. You glance up at him, all innocence. “Evening, sir.”

He doesn’t answer. He hits the button for the lobby. The doors close. The second they do— BAM.

He presses you against the mirrored wall of the elevator. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmurs.

“I’m just doing my job,” you whisper back, breath hitching. “Smiling. Being helpful. Professional.” His jaw clenches.

“You’re not just my secretary.”

You tilt your head. “Then what am I?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Just closes the distance between your lips and his with a slow, searing kiss.

You walk out first. Perfectly composed.

Your tie’s slightly askew. Your smirk? Deadly. There’s an intern waiting in the lobby.

He watches you walk past. Then watches Nanami walk out behind you, adjusting his cufflinks, not saying a single word.

The intern faints.

-

The day starts off normal. Too normal.

Emails. Meetings. Budget revisions. Nanami is in a sharp charcoal three-piece suit that he hasn’t worn since Q4 board reports. You’re wearing your best shirt, crisp, tailored, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the forearm tattoos everyone pretends they’re not staring at.

You’re good at your job. Unbothered. Unshakable.

But not unnoticed.

So when your inbox dings with another "quick check-in" from someone in analytics, followed by someone from HR offering to grab lunch "just to decompress", you already know where this is going.

The final straw comes just before 3 p.m. You're walking back from the copy room when Sara, the lead designer, corners you by the espresso machine with a conspiratorial smile.

“I just want to say,” she begins, twirling a pen between her fingers, “if you and Nanami aren’t exclusive or anything... I’d be happy to take you out. You know. No suits. Just fun.”

The room goes quiet. You take a sip of your drink, unfazed. “Sara,” you say with a smile, “I appreciate the offer. Really. But... I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

She blinks. “Why not?”You shrug. “It’s just not professional, is it? Us coworkers crossing boundaries?”

That earns a few nervous chuckles from those listening in. You start to walk away and that’s when you see him.

Nanami. Standing at the end of the hallway. Holding a folder from Finance. He hadn’t announced himself. He hadn’t needed to. His gaze is unreadable.

You don’t flinch. Just walk right past him. Calm. Collected.

But you don’t miss the subtle shift in his jaw. Or the way his fingers curl tighter around the folder.

-

You knock once before stepping inside.

“Sir, you asked for the personnel reports—”

“Close the door.” You pause. You do. Nanami doesn't look up right away. He’s sitting behind his desk, back ramrod straight, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the tight grip he has on his pen.

“You don’t have to entertain them,” he says quietly. “The others.”

“I’m not.” You fold your hands behind your back. “I told her it wasn’t professional.”

He looks up. And that’s when the mask drops. The careful CEO facade he’s worn for weeks cracks in half. Something darker flickers in his eyes, want, frustration, protectiveness all mixing under the surface.

“Good,” he says, standing slowly. “Because I’m getting very tired of watching them circle you like you’re available.”

Your breath catches, just for a second. “I never said I was.”

He steps around the desk. “You never said you weren’t.”

The air between you practically vibrates. You could hear a pin drop on the marble floors.

Then, “You don’t get to be jealous,” you say softly. “We never defined anything.”

“You’re right.”

Another step. Another inch closer.

“I’ve been acting like your boss because that’s what I am. But I’m also a man who’s very aware of what he wants. And what I want is you. Not as my secretary. As mine.”

You smile, slow and dangerous.

“You’re the CEO,” you say, stepping into his space. “I’m your secretary.”

His hands are on your waist before you finish the sentence. You’re pressed against the glass wall of his office before you take your next breath.

You kiss him like you’ve been waiting weeks for it. Because you have.

-

Rumors fly.

No one knows what happened in that office, but Nanami comes out with his tie loosened and a look of pure peace for the first time in weeks.

You come out ten minutes later. Slightly flushed. Smug.

Sara avoids eye contact. Bryce calls in sick the next day.

And from that moment on, not a single soul dares hit on the CEO’s secretary ever again.

Because everyone knows.

That desk? That office? That man?

All claimed. 

[lnracer]

➵ Pairing: Lando Norris x Female Reader.

➵ Warnings: Angst, insecurity/self-doubt, jealousy and vulnerability.

➵ Word Count: 3.239k.

➵ a/n: First of all, sorry for the delay in posting 😞 I've been extremely busy but I've had this in my drafts for a while and I finally had time to finish it. I hope you like it! ☺️🧡

Lando Norris had always made bad habits look good.

Always been the one to leave, the one who gets bored fast, parties faster. Fast cars. Fast girls. Fast love, if you could even call it that.

He was fun — a handsome disaster dressed in a McLaren fireproof suit and with a smirk that promised nothing real.

He was the kind of man who knew how to lean just right against a bar, glass in hand, wearing a grin that made girls feel like they were the only ones in the room — right before he forgot their name the next morning.

He’d stroll into parties like he owned them, sharp jaw, loose curls and just the right amount of cockiness. It always ended the same — someone’s number in his back pocket, lipstick smeared on his collarbone.

That night wasn’t supposed to be any different.

The rooftop in Monaco was crowded with people, champagne was flowing like water, speakers thumping bass that rattled the marble tiles. The Mediterranean sea glimmered dark below them, and the sky above was split with stars and cigarette smoke.

Lando was half-listening to some girl with red nails talk about how she used to model in Paris when he saw her.

He didn’t even notice he’d stopped breathing.

She was across the patio, backlit by warm golden light, laughter falling from her lips like honey into whiskey. There was something old-Hollywood about her, like a screen siren who accidentally wandered into the modern world and decided to wreak havoc just for the thrill of it.

She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t trying. But somehow, every molecule in the room had shifted around her.

She wore midnight blue like a second skin, the hem of her dress swaying softly around her thighs as she walked barefoot across the marble, heels dangling from two fingers like she couldn't care less.

He watched as she leaned into someone and giggled, head tilted, eyes crinkling with mischief, glossy locks cascading down her back and her perfume — though she hadn’t come near him yet — felt like it was already in his lungs.

“Earth to Lando,” the girl beside him said, waving her fingers in front of his face.

He blinked, slowly, his gaze dragging back to his drink. Too late. The red-nail girl was already walking away, muttering something about "typical."

He didn’t notice.

Because her laugh cut through the air again, and Lando looked back just in time to catch her eyes briefly meeting his.

Soft, curious, amused. Like she already knew exactly what he was and wasn’t impressed.

Lando’s stomach dropped. He hated that.

He’d never had to chase anyone before.

They usually came to him — with fluttering lashes and sugary giggles, fingers trailing over his forearm, whispers of “I’ve never done this before” while already tangled in his sheets.

But her?

She disappeared before he could get close.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

The next time he spotted her that night, she was halfway down a hallway, swiping a glass of champagne from a silver tray on her trail. Lando didn’t realize he was following her until he was already halfway through the crowd.

“Hey,” he said, catching up, cool grin in place. “Didn’t catch your name.”

She looked up at him, lashes thick, expression unreadable.

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you.”

And then she walked right past him.

He turned around slowly, lips parted in disbelief, gaze trailing her like gravity had a favorite. She didn’t look back, didn’t slow. Just vanished into the dark corners of the party, her perfume the only thing left clinging to the space around him.

It was infuriating.

It was hot.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

Y/N — he discovered her name after incessantly pestering a mutual friend of theirs. They met again a few nights later — same city, different rooftop, more exclusive this time. One of those parties with whispered names at the door and waiters who judged your shoes.

Lando found her sitting on the edge of a velvet couch, legs crossed. She saw him before he could pretend not to notice her.

“Still chasing ghosts?” she asked lazily.

“Only the beautiful ones,” he replied, settling beside her without invitation.

She hummed. “Flattering. I bet that works on girls who don’t know better.”

“And you do?”

She turned, eyes locking with his — those soft irises lit up under the chandelier, reflecting light like some kind of mirage. “I know boys like you.”

He smirked. “Charming?”

“Reckless, bored and addicted to attention.”

He let out a low laugh. “Well, damn. Are you going to psychoanalyze me now?”

“Depends,” she murmured, leaning in just slightly. “Are you going to keep trying winning me over?”

That made him pause, but before he could answer, she stood, smoothing her dress down.

“You’re not used to this,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Being the one chasing.”

And then she was gone. Again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

It was Milan this time.

A designer afterparty somewhere in the hills, far enough from the city that no one came unless they were meant to be there. The music was soft and sinful, wine poured like water, and Lando was feeling dangerous.

She was there — of course she was. Leaning against a stone balcony wrapped in ivy, glass in hand, the city lights flickering behind her like a backdrop meant only for her silhouette. Her dress was satin, clinging in the right places, hair wild from the wind. She looked like a painting.

And this time, he didn’t hesitate. He slid right beside her, close enough to graze her arm, wearing that crooked smirk that usually got him kissed.

“You always look like you’re trying to break hearts,” he said, fingers tapping the rim of his own drink.

She glanced at him, lazy and slow. “And you always look like you’re asking for yours to be broken.”

That made him chuckle, breathless. “I can handle you.”

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, smile slicing sweet across her lips. “You think you can.”

Her voice dipped on the last word, just enough to make his skin pull tight.

Still — she didn’t walk away. Not this time.

He leaned a little closer, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “Let me take you out. Just once. No games.”

“No games?” she echoed, amused. “From you?”

He nodded, sincere for once. “Just dinner. No pressure. No chasing.”

She studied him for a second, then — smiled. A real one. And something about that smile lit up his chest like a fuse line.

“Alright,” she said softly. “One dinner.”

And just like that, he felt proud, like he’d cracked something, like maybe he was special, maybe he’d broken through the mirror she held between herself and the rest of the world. He thought he’d won.

But she didn’t feel cracked. Didn’t feel caught.

As she turned back to the view, sipping her wine, she gave him one last look over her shoulder. Lashes low, lips soft, voice like silk dipped in honey.

“You’re cute when you think you’re in control.”

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

The dinner never happened.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the way she looked at him — lazy, amused, like she already knew how the night would end — plans unraveled. Quite literally.

His hotel suite. Crisp sheets. Shadows dancing across candlelight. Her legs over his hips, her lips curved into something smug and breathless. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask, it told. Her hands mapped his skin like she wasn’t curious — like she already owned it.

And Lando? He thought he’d won. Thought the way she tangled her fingers in his curls meant she was falling. Thought the soft gasps she made were a secret slipping through the cracks. He didn’t usually stay after — not really — but this time? He wouldn’t have minded.

His heart thudded hard in his chest when it was over, adrenaline and satisfaction melting together like warm wax. He let out a quiet breath, head resting back against the pillow, arm outstretched toward her side.

But she wasn’t there. She was already out of the bed.

His head lifted. “Wait— hey, where are you going?”

She stood by the window, slipping her dress back on, calm and untouchable, like what had just happened was a commercial break. A sweet intermission.

She glanced over her shoulder, all lipgloss and flushed skin. “That was fun.”

Fun. The word hit him like a punch to the ribs.

She wasn’t blushing or clinging. No sleepy smiles. No twirling his curls between her fingers. She looked… pleased. Polished. Like he had been the detour.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, propped on an elbow, voice rough with disbelief.

She smiled — that smile. The one that made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“Don’t pout, Lando,” she purred. “I’ll see you around.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked softly shut, leaving nothing behind but her perfume and the hollow echo of everything he thought he’d just earned.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling, a strange weight curling low in his gut, because he wasn’t used to this. He was the one who slipped away, the one who called it fun and meant forgettable. He was the storm, the addicting mistake.

But this time? He was just another page in her story, and he didn’t like the way that felt.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

He hadn’t slept well in days.

Not because of jet lag or the late nights — but because she haunted his mind like a ghost. Her voice, the way she’d said fun and left without a backward glance.

He’d never been one for feelings, never got tangled in the mess of emotions, never chased anything more than a good time. But with her? He was unraveling.

His phone lit up with her name on the screen and he’d hesitate — then tap the call button like a fool. When she didn’t pick up, he’d send a string of texts, trying to sound casual.

“Had a good time. Hope you did too.”

“Hey, I’m around if you want to talk.”

“Just want to see you again.”

Lando clenched his jaw, swallowing down the strange ache that was settling deep in his chest. He was the playboy, he pulled the strings, he was on the loose.

But she’d trapped him — tangled him in a web he couldn’t break free from.

And now all he wanted was the scraps of her attention, even if it was pathetic.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

The low hum of the city outside was a soft contrast to the storm inside the room.

Lando sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twitching, eyes restless like a caged animal. His phone had been silent all day — no message, no call, nothing —but he’d convinced himself she would reach out.

And then, like a breath of smoke curling through the door, she was there.

Y/N. She didn’t knock, didn’t apologize, just leaned in the doorway, that angelic face framed by loose waves, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Missed me?” she purred, voice low and teasing.

Lando’s chest tightened. He nodded, words stuck somewhere between pride and need.

She smiled — too sweet, too knowing — then crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. Her presence was magnetic, dangerous.

“You’re pathetic, you know,” she whispered, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “messaging me like a lovesick fool.”

He swallowed hard, wanting to protest, to tell her it wasn’t like that — but the truth was written plain on his face.

She laughed softly with a hint of mocking. “I could leave right now, and you’d still be begging.”

Her hands slid down his neck, warm and intoxicating. Then she dropped onto the bed beside him, pulling him close.

Their bodies tangled with the kind of reckless intimacy that only comes when walls crumble and truth lies bare.

She kissed him slowly, like she was savoring the control, the power in his helpless surrender.

When the sheets twisted around their skin, when breath mingled and fingers mapped familiar territory, she whispered against his ear, “You’re mine tonight.”

And for a moment, Lando believed it. But when sunlight crept through the curtains, so did the cold distance. She was gone before he woke — quiet as a shadow slipping from the room — leaving behind the scent of her perfume and a bed still warm with promises unkept.

His hand reached out for where she’d been — empty. The cruelest part wasn’t that she left. It was that she could leave.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was the one who pulled the strings, who left hearts tangled and tossed aside. But now—

Now he was the one caught — falling. Hard. Lando, the playboy, the untouchable, was unraveling in the private hours no one saw.

“You okay?”

“Missing you.”

“I’m here if you want.”

Each message felt more desperate than the last, the tone shifting from confident charm to raw, exposed need.

And Y/N? She was a master at the game.

Her responses were like razor — sharp, cutting through his facade with honeyed venom.

“You’re exhausting.”

“Grow up, Lando.”

“I’m not your trophy.”

Yet, every time she fired back, she left just enough space to keep him coming — craving her approval, her attention.

He felt it knot in his chest, a raw, suffocating ache that no amount of charm or bravado could mask.

He thought back to their last night together — the way she looked at him afterward, that faint, cruel smile as she muttered how fun it was, then walked away without a backward glance.

He clenched his fists, the pain breaking through his carefully constructed armor. She never wanted more. He had been so used to being the hunter, never the one hunted.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut: she was playing him with his own game, using his moves against him, stripping him bare. And for the first time, Lando couldn’t keep it together.

He sank back onto the pillows, the dam breaking. Tears slipped free — raw, unfiltered — blurring his vision. The playboy was gone.

All that remained was a man, lost in the cruel gravity of falling for someone who never saw him as anything more than a passing thrill.

He whispered her name into the darkness, a prayer and a curse all at once.

“I’m fucked.” he breathed.

And for the first time, he meant it.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

Lando wasn’t quite sure when it had started feeling like humiliation. Maybe it was by the third time she left his bed with nothing but a smirk. Maybe the fourth when she ignored his messages for days, only to respond with a careless “Sorry, was busy.” like she hadn’t been his entire world in the meantime.

But tonight? Tonight was hell, all because she had walked in with someone else.

Taller, older — confident in a way Lando used to be — Y/N on his arm, her head thrown back in laughter, lips stained in red, wearing the same black slip dress Lando once peeled off of her like religion.

She didn’t even glance at him at first. But of course, eventually — she did.

Lando’s breath caught the moment her gaze found him from across the room. And God, she smiled. Not the sweet, bashful smile she gave him that first night, no. This one was deliberate — mean.

Her new guy leaned in to say something, and Y/N’s hand graced his chest, just the way it used to linger on Lando’s.

He downed another drink, then another. By the time she approached, glass in hand, chin tilted in amusement, Lando was somewhere in between drunk and devastated.

“Rough night, Norris?” she asked, voice dipped in sugar and poison.

He scoffed, blinking away the sting in his eyes. “Are you trying to break me?”

“Trying?” she laughed, breathy and cruel. "Something tells me I already have.”

He stared at her. The way she glowed. The way her cruelty was wrapped in silk and perfume.

“What did I ever do to you?”

She leaned in, too close, that damn scent of hers fogging his brain.

“You made the mistake of thinking I was something soft. That I’d fall for you just because you flirted pretty.” she dragged her eyes down him, as if unimpressed. “You’re not the first man who thought he could tame me. But you...” she paused, voice dipping lower, “you’re the first one I let think he could.”

“Why?” His voice cracked. “Why me?”

She gave the kind of smile you give someone before lighting the match.

“Because you always got away with breaking hearts, Lando. I thought maybe it was time someone broke yours.”

She walked away after that, trailing fire in her wake, back into the arms of the stranger.

And Lando? Lando stood there, hollowed out. A party boy turned pathetic, begging behind screens, crying in rented cars. Waiting for a girl who never even looked back.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

He wasn’t expecting anything. Not anymore.

His friends had stopped trying to talk him out of it. Stopped asking who she was or why he kept letting her ruin him like this. And truthfully, he couldn’t even give them an answer.

But then — Bzzz. A message lit up the screen.

Y/N:

“Alone tonight.”

Image attachment: 1

He didn’t need to open it, although he eventually did, of course. The photo was grainy but deliberate — lingerie black, hair a mess of soft waves over one shoulder, lips parted just slightly, as if she were about to sigh his name. She looked bored. Beautiful. Dangerous.

Below the picture, just three words:

"You coming over?"

He stared at it, jaw locked. His throat was tight.

And then — he laughed. Not the kind of laugh that came from something funny. Not even the kind that came from surprise. It was bitter, hollow, tired. A soft, broken thing slipping from his lips.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself, thumb hovering over the reply button. “You pathetic fucking idiot.”

But he was already pulling on his jacket.

Because he knew it, every time. Every goddamn time. He would keep coming back.

To the messages. To the picture-perfect destruction. To her.

And that was the worst part of it all. She knew it, too.

[ellyswsw]

⪩⪨ ── actor!Angel x actor!David headcanons ; no magic au, this is a pretty long one bear with me here, insomnia spoon-feeding me headcanon ideas and finally being helpful instead of being a son of a bitch and giving me eyebags, probably the longest post I've ever posted

☆ the couple. these two have acted together in so many films and shows and almost 90% of the time it blows up the charts. almost everyone you meet will probably know two or more movies where their star in. they're both iconic.

☆ david's really known for his villain roles in horror films, and he's basically just dwayne johnson at this point. every horror film he's ever acted in was the most suspenseful and terrifying shit you'll ever see, all because this guy is so good at playing the killer, it's actually kinda scary,,. he's also playing a guy that can turn into a wolf on a 'fantasy universe" a big company created.

☆ he's so thirsted over by so many people it's kinda insane, guarantee that your ears will be bleeding whenever he walks on red carpets cause of all the high pitched squealing.

☆ david practically grew up around cameras, and has achieved great roles as a child actor. gabe was a really well known iconic figure at the time and when he died, david definitely needed a break, and a long one. after 2 years of hiatus, he finally got active. he didn't land roles immediately, but he still got back and now he's one of the most awarded actors.

☆ angel has a big history on the comedy and drama side of the industry. their first ever successful job that can actually pay their rent was comedy, so they're pretty witty, and they're known for being witty at interviews and being pretty good at dodging some risky questions that can only be answered with risky responses.

☆ angel's digital footprint is so scattered and over the place, so there's a chance that you'll just randomly stumble upon their audition tape to be one of ariana grande's backup vocals on your youtube recommendations.

☆ angel's famous for improvising a lot throughout a film. ironically, half of their popular scenes probably have one or two improvising.

☆ the most popular film david and angel have ever acted in is the first ever film where they first met and worked with each other. it was an enemies-to-lovers romcom film, as cliche as it sounds. it got so many positive feedbacks, even twitter loved it. it was on top of the billboard. everyone was so taken aback by david and angel's chemistry with each other; every eye contact, every lingering touch, every snarky comment, every emotional scene, every kiss. it was phenomenal, these two were in their prime.

☆ during their first days of working together, david and angel had this.. playful flirting thing going in between them. angel would shamelessly flirt with david by complimenting him when a cameraman goes up to them for a behind-the-scenes like; "oh, david? I'm literally saying to you guys, that man knows how to act, if i didn't know any better i'd assume he actually means every 'i love yous' he said."

☆ days when david remembers gabe a little too much, angel would be probably the only one that's gonna notice. david's a professional actor so he knows how to suppress his actual emotions, and so is angel.

☆ lunch breaks where every other actor eats out but david and angel lingers and stays seated in front of a big flashy vanity mirror and talk about random things is what hits hard.

☆ angel knows how to distract david and turn his emotions upside down whenever he's feeling blue. david gives angel space to be more sincere and serious, angel knowing that they'll be free of judgement and expectancy to be funny and chaotic anytime that they're around david.

☆ a year and a half later of dating rumours, and fans and paparazzi spotting them coming out of hotels and mcdonalds; awooga, they both finally announced that they were dating by angel posting pictures of the both of them hugging and kissing each other in front of the same restaurant they got caught in numerous times, with a caption saying "idk guys all this acting shit makes me miss my boyfriend" (with a shrug emoji)

☆ definitely have won an mtv movie award for the best kiss

☆ david's famous for doing half of his stunts by himself

☆ if they weren't already successful in the acting industry, they definitely would've been models and are probably walking down on runways right now if they were. these two know how to serve face, they just suit each other so well.

☆ angel is that celebrity that either has a really goofy picture of them as their profile, or just a picture of them posing as if they're auditioning to be one of the models on the next victoria's secret show. they change profile pictures like twice a month, different profile pics for each social media account.

☆ angel reposts edits of them and david

☆ david has an official verified tiktok account with millions of followers but he only has like 7 videos and is following only one account (angel's)

☆ these two are just so addicted to looking at each other with the most love and adoration anybody has looked at anyone with the most love and adoration ever at interviews. the way angel tilts their head ever so slightly, and the way david gives out the most inconspicuous smile. ugh we love to see it

☆ you don't need to know anything about the two of them to know that they are the most devoted and loyal people each other will have in both of their lives.

[rafeys-angel13]

parenthood with jj

jj always wanted to be the dad he dreamed of having. when he found out you were pregnant with your first child, he swore to himself and you that he would be the best dad ever to his children— and he definitely was.

from the moment he first held his son, he was inlove. you remember the midwife laying finley on jj’s bare chest for skin to skin. jj looked down at him and stroked his cheek and you vividly remember jj tearing up, looking over at you in absolute awe.

-

when you brought him home from the hospital, jj showed finley around the house, even though he was half asleep the whole time.

“that’s mama’s and dada’s bedroom… then this is yours” he held him up carefully.

he’d also called john b and pope to come over and meet him as soon as they can. he was desperate to show his baby boy off.

-

when finley said ‘dada’ for the fist time, you guys were sat at the kitchen table. you’d just finished eating and you were talking to finley. he was babbling and jj asked him to say ‘dada’— not thinking much of it. but finley very clearly said ‘dada’.

jj’s face light up and he looked over at you with a huge smile on his face, he picked finley up out of his high chair and hugged him tightly.

“that’s my boy…” he kisses his cheek and bounces him, to which finley giggles and reaches out for jj’s face.

-

when you were pregnant with your second child, he was a lot more confident with your bump. the first time, he was scared to hurt you— but now he knows that he won’t crush the baby just from laying his head on it, he’s much more relaxed than last time.

he’d speak to the baby everyday and squish your belly, sometimes getting finley to join in. to which finley would tell the baby to “hurry up”.

“come outttt” finley would call and press a kiss to your bump just like his dada does, looking up at jj for approval. jj smiles softly at the moment and kisses finley’s head.

-

when you found out you were having another boy, jj was over the moon. another son he can be the dad he never had for. he immediately started talking about baby names.

“i like luca, do you like luca?” his eyes flicker from your bump to your face then back again.

“yeah i like luca…” you smile and he pulls you into a tight hug, kissing all over your face and then your bump.

“i can’t wait…” he grins.

-

when it came to luca being born, he was a lot more experienced and he was proud of himself for knowing what he was doing.

he knew different techniques to get them to sleep easier or even ways to convince them to eat food they don’t want.

he’s also your personal bodyguard when you’re breastfeeding in public, he’d had enough practice with finley. as soon as he realises luca is crying for milk, he’s draping a blanket over you and luca to give you privacy.

jj’s eyes scan the area you’re in, keeping an eye on finley who’s playing, while also looking out for any creeps or just judgmental people.

-

he loves playing with your sons and he thinks it’s the cutest thing when they play together.

when they’re both old enough to walk and run then he’s playing soccer and football with them. you’ll watch from the porch as they run around the garden like mad men.

sometimes when you’re not home, he’ll let them play video games with him— and then act confused the next day when you ask why the boys are pretending to shoot each other.

-

finley was 5 and luca was 3 when you decided to try for another baby.

when your test came back positive, he was just as happy as the first and second time. he even teared up a little— though he hides it by burying his face in your neck when he hugs you.

-

when you found out that you were having a girl, jj was excited of course— but he was also nervous.

he doesn’t know how to raise a girl, how on earth was he going to do this.

he told you that he was anxious about it, you reassured him that he was going to be just as amazing as he is for finley and luca and that you’d always be there.

he knew that you were there for him already but the reassurance was like a weight lifting off his shoulders.

-

when your baby girl was born, he immediately felt extra protective over her— and boy did he protect her.

if you went to the beach, avery had to sit on a towel and have sunscreen reapplied every hour and a half. he’d also make sure she had a sun hat too.

he’d let her join playing soccer with him and the boys, of course he would— he couldn’t say no to his little princess. but he would be so careful around her compared to the boys.

he knew the boys could take it, they’re tough just like him— but when it comes to avery, he was so careful with he she never even had scratch on her until she was around two.

that was a heartbreaking day for jj, finding a small scratch on her face when he went to wake her up in the morning.

he brought her through to you and showed you the scratch, which you look unfazed by.

“baby, look at her gorgeous face. it’s scratched!” he kisses right next to the small scratch.

“dada’s overreacting, isn’t he?” you coo at avery and she giggles.

meanwhile, the boys were outside rolling in mud with grazes on their knees and bruises on their elbows.

-

[reveriebae]

Hi! I just wanted to say I adore your writing—especially the smut pieces you’ve done inspired by Daniel di Angelo’s songs. You capture the vibe of his music so perfectly, it’s honestly addictive 🔥

If you’re ever taking requests, I’d love to see you do something based on his song “Promiscuity.” It’s got such a sexy, messy, intense energy, and I just know you'd bring it to life in the most delicious way 😩🖤

Thank you for sharing your amazing work—you're such an inspiration!

REQUESTING PROMISCUITY IS SUCH AN EVIL🫠🫠 but sure, baby! I'll give you what you want😏

Promiscuity

pairing(s) : Yunho x reader

word count : 2146

summary : He cheated. You left. But you still came back—and Yunho makes sure you never forget why.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Heavy toxic relationship dynamics, Cheating (referenced but impactful), Emotional manipulation, Degradation + possessiveness, Dubious consent tones (power imbalance, pressure), Crying during sex, Verbal cruelty, Rough sex, choking (consensual but intense), Mental/emotional whiplash. Let me know if I missed anything!

Minors do not interact, 21 only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

The hallway smells like someone’s leftover takeout and cheap weed, and the longer you stand in front of Yunho’s door, the more you hate yourself.

You should turn around.

You should delete his number. Block him for good. Go home, put on a face mask, and pretend like he never turned your entire spine to liquid with one look.

But here you are—three months, two breakdowns, and one fucked-up rebound later—wearing the short black dress you know he likes, standing at his door like you didn’t swear you'd never do this again.

The music thumps faintly from inside. Of course there’s music. Of course it sounds like something someone would fuck to.

You lift your hand to knock.

The door swings open before you can touch it.

And there he is.

Yunho.

Leaning against the frame, shirtless, a drink in one hand, eyes scanning you so slowly it makes your stomach tighten. His mouth curves into a slow, arrogant smile.

“Damn,” he hums, voice low and thick like honey poured over rust. “You look good when you’re lying to yourself.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“You told all your little friends you were done with me, right?” His head tilts, tongue running over his bottom lip. “And yet—here you are. Middle of the night. Wearing that.”

You should slap him. You should walk away.

Instead, you cross your arms and lie.

“I came to talk.”

He laughs.

“Yeah? That what we’re calling it now?”

He steps aside, giving you just enough space to walk in, but not without brushing your hip with his. You feel the heat of his bare chest even through the thick air, feel his eyes burn through the back of your dress as you step inside.

Same apartment. Same dim lights. Same scent—him. Warm cologne and smoke and something darker.

You turn to face him.

“Why her?” you whisper. “Out of all people—you fucked my friend.”

He shrugs, walking to the counter and setting his drink down like you didn’t just drag your shattered pride into his living room.

“You weren’t around. She was.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“No excuses.” He leans against the counter, jaw tight. “I’m just not gonna lie to you.”

You swallow hard. Your throat aches.

“She told me everything,” you say, quieter now. “Every filthy little thing you did to her.”

He meets your gaze. Unflinching. Unapologetic.

Then he says it—just one line, but it carves through you.

“Did she tell you I moaned your name when I came?”

Your chest tightens. You can’t breathe. You want to slap him, scream, cry—leave.

But you don’t move.

He steps closer, voice dropping an octave. “Hate me all you want, baby. But I’m still the only one who knows how to make your legs shake just from kissing your neck.”

Your lip trembles. You hate that he’s right. You hate how fast your body reacts to him. You hate yourself for wanting him even now.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Then leave.”

You hesitate. He sees it. He knows he’s already won.

But just when you turn toward the door, he speaks again.

“I left the bedroom lights on.”

A pause.

“For you.”

You don’t speak when he closes the door behind you.

You just stand there, jaw locked, eyes burning—and legs already too warm.

Yunho doesn’t rush. He never does. He moves like he knows time bends for him. Like no matter how angry you get, how many times you swear him off, you’ll always come back just like this—silently begging to be ruined.

“You wore perfume,” he murmurs behind you, voice dragging over your spine like silk. “Didn’t have to. I already know how you taste.”

You whirl around. “Fuck you.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “You keep saying that like it’s not exactly what you came here to do.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond.

His hand is on your jaw before you can breathe—tilting your face up, backing you into the wall with all the gentleness of a warning shot.

“You’re mad,” he whispers, brushing your lips. “But not enough to leave.”

Your pulse races. You hate how his voice wraps around your gut, how your thighs tighten with every word. He leans in closer, forehead to yours, and murmurs like a threat:

“You should’ve slammed the door in my face the second I opened it, angel. But you didn’t. You looked me in the eye… and stayed.”

“I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not here to sleep with you.”

He hums, eyes dropping to your mouth. “Then why are you already wet?”

You gasp, and that’s all he needs. His mouth crashes against yours—hot and vicious and impossibly slow at the same time. He kisses you like he owns you. Like he’s reminding your body who it belongs to even if your heart’s still bleeding.

His hands slide down, gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist by instinct.

“I fucked her,” he mutters against your mouth, dragging your back along the hallway wall as he carries you. “But she couldn’t take me like you do. Couldn’t look me in the eye when I broke her open.”

“Shut the fuck up—”

“No.” He pushes you into the bedroom. “You want honesty, right? Thought you liked it when I told you exactly what I did.”

The mattress meets your back before you can answer. His hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just enough to make you feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“You came here because you missed how it feels to be used.” He bites your lip. “Admit it.”

You shake your head, eyes glassy. “No, I didn’t—”

His thumb presses against your lips. “Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

You have no answer. You don’t need one.

Because your hands are already pulling at his sweatpants. Because your hips are already arching. Because your pride never stood a chance the moment he said your name.

“Take it off,” he growls, yanking your dress up your thighs. “All of it.”

You hesitate.

Wrong move.

Yunho smirks, hand sliding down to cup you over your panties. You jolt, gasping, and he watches your face like it’s his favorite show.

“I said take it off. Or I’ll fuck you with it on and rip it off later.”

Your fingers fly to the straps.

The dress hits the floor with a soft sound, but the silence afterward is louder.

Yunho takes a step back.

His eyes sweep over your body—your bare skin under the glow of those bedroom lights he “left on for you”—like he’s starving and you’re already halfway chewed.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You really let me fuck that up.”

You blink. “What?”

“This.” He nods at you—at your curves, your flushed chest, the way your nipples harden under his gaze. “You really let me go fuck someone else when this was mine?”

You scoff. “You fucked her while I was yours.”

He grins. “Still are.”

He doesn’t give you time to argue.

He kneels between your legs like worship, then spreads them apart like vengeance. His hand slides up your inner thigh, slow enough to make you twitch.

“Can’t even look me in the eye,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles over your soaked panties. “But your pussy’s screaming for me.”

“Yunho—”

“Shh.” He hooks a finger around the waistband and pulls them off in one smooth, greedy motion. “Open wider.”

You do.

You always do.

He groans the second he sees you.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “Still so perfect.”

His mouth replaces his fingers without warning—hot, slow, deliberate. He eats you out like he’s got time to kill and demons to feed. Licks slow and wide, then short and fast, tongue curling right against the spot that makes your vision go white.

Your hands fly into his hair. He groans when you tug, eyes rolling up to look at you, fucked out and gasping, chest heaving like a whore in a dream.

“Don’t stop—oh my god, Yunho—”

He pulls back, lips glistening, jaw sharp enough to cut.

“I didn’t say you could cum.”

You stare at him, blinking through the haze. “W-What?”

“I said you missed me.” His hand slides up your torso, thumb brushing your nipple. “But you didn’t say it with your mouth yet.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“And you’re dripping for it.” He crawls back over you, cock thick and heavy between your legs now. “Say it.”

“No.”

He nudges the tip against your entrance, not pushing in—just threatening to. Your breath catches. Your legs tremble.

“Say you missed this dick,” he says, voice low and lethal. “Or I’ll make you sit on it and fuck yourself while I watch.”

Your pride burns.

Your body wins.

“…I missed it.”

He smiles. Not sweet. Not kind. Dangerous.

“How much?”

You stare at him—this man who destroyed you, ruined your trust, twisted your sanity—and you say the one thing you swore you wouldn’t:

“Enough to let you ruin me again.”

His cock slams into you.

No warning. No hesitation.

You scream—half from shock, half from the overwhelming stretch—and he groans like a demon exorcised.

“Shit—tight as ever. You missed this.”

He thrusts again. Deeper.

Your back arches, hands scrambling for the sheets as he picks up pace, rough and relentless, fucking you like he’s reclaiming territory that never stopped being his.

“Did she scream like this?” you choke out, head thrown back.

He laughs—a low, taunting thing.

“She cried,” he says, fucking into you harder, “but not for the same reason you do.”

You moan, hands clawing at his back. His lips find your throat.

“No one fits me like you do,” he growls. “And you fucking know it.”

His grip bruises your hips, dragging you to the edge of the bed as he keeps slamming into you—like he’s chasing the version of himself you once trusted and destroying it in your cunt instead.

“You think I feel guilty?” he pants against your mouth, sweat slick between your bodies. “You think I lost sleep?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

“You said you loved me,” you choke out.

He smirks.

“I do. But I never said I was good at it.”

Your body jolts with the force of his next thrust. You’re unraveling, but you don’t stop him. You couldn’t if you tried.

“Do you know how hard it is not to fuck you every night?” he growls, voice gravel. “But you wanna cry about one girl? One night?”

You gasp when he grabs your throat again, not tight, just enough to trap the heat between your thighs and your shame.

“I break your trust once,” he whispers, hips still rolling deep inside you, “but you still came back to get broken again.”

“Yunho—!”

He leans in closer, tongue teasing the shell of your ear.

“You love it. You love being the one I come back to after I fuck other girls. You love knowing none of them scream for me like you do.”

A tear slips from your eye, and he groans.

“Fuck, baby… are you crying?”

He slows down, thrusts deep and deliberate now—meant to hurt and please all at once. Meant to make you feel every single inch of how much you hate loving him.

“You gonna cum for me now?” he whispers against your lips. “Gonna let me fuck the pain out of you like I always do?”

You nod, barely able to speak. “Y-Yeah, please—”

“Say it.”

“I wanna cum,” you sob. “I wanna cum so bad.”

He kisses you like a war—biting, sucking, ruining.

“Then cum for me, angel. Cum on the same cock that fucked your friend—because it’s still yours.”

You break.

Your body tenses, pleasure crashing like a scream through your core as you shake in his grip, crying and moaning into his shoulder, completely wrecked.

And Yunho doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it—chasing his own high now, muttering filth against your neck.

“This pussy,” he pants, “is fucking mine. I don’t care who else I touch, I always think about you. About this tight little hole—fuck—mine.”

He buries himself to the hilt, cumming hard with a guttural groan, body jerking into yours.

The room goes quiet except for the sound of both of you trying to breathe again. His cum starts dripping out of you while he’s still buried inside.

But he doesn’t move.

He kisses you—this time, soft.

Like none of it just happened.

Like your heart isn’t on the floor again.

[chrissv4mp]

invisible string theory ᝰ.ᐟ

wind whistles quietly through trees on sidewalks as you pass by them, the leaves rustling gently, loose ones falling to the patch of dirt where it was planted.

billie's beside you, fingers brushing yours every other second but not quite interlacing fully. your steps are in almost in sync, blurring together under the setting sun of los angeles. it's still warm even as the shining star lowers itself under the mountains, enveloping the city in near darkness.

you walk side-by-side in comfortable silence, legs occasionally brushing every now and then when you walk too close—though, neither of you mind. you'd morph into one human being if you could. just to be close to each other.

but something in your stomach twists that you can't name.

her hand snakes around your waist before you even realize it, a small gasp escaping your lips—before you notice that she's guiding you over the grass toward a small playground. not many kids were here at this time of day, probably scared of the dark or the dog that was always lurking around the block. you'd heard some rumor about him "eating someone's face off."

once billie situates herself on a park bench, you lower yourself onto the empty spot next to her. there's a small gap between your legs, the wood of the bench visible—and it feels so close yet so far.

but the distance was gonna be so much longer in just a couple of weeks, when billie kicks off the next leg of her tour. every time she left it felt more and more heartbreaking. the feeling of her lips on your forehead right before she left for the airport made your stomach twist, a frown forming on your lips that seemed to never go away until she came back.

but she's always made sure to call you—every morning, every night, even in the middle of the day while she was exploring the city sometimes—and that made you feel a little better. still, the space between you two always felt too much to bare. to you, at least.

you wondered if she felt that way too.

"...so, i have a question," you murmur suddenly, turning your head to look over.

billie glances over a second later. "what's up?"

you kick a rock on the pavement just below where you're sitting, eyes moving away and locking onto the plastic red slide on the playground.

a small smile curls on your lips. "why don't you hold my hand anymore—?"

"oh, here we go again," billie laughs, lips pulling up into an amused smile as she throws her hands up in fake exasperation.

you shake your head, talking over her as she complains. "no, i'm serious—i'm so serious."

billie meets your eyes again, pausing for a moment and tilting her head, hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. she nods over at you. "alright, okay—okay, continue, c'mon."

"i haven't held your hand in, like—" you start, but billie mocks you halfway through your sentence, tone high in a way to match yours.

you push her shoulder softly, knocking her a little off balance and nearly making her fall—the two of you fall into a mess of laughter for a few minutes. you try to seem serious after a moment, though your smile won't go away.

"dude, shut up—you're not funny," you say, punching her shoulder playfully. "i swear, you're not funny."

she clears her throat. "my fault. okay, i'm done, i'm done."

"m'kay," you murmur. "let me think."

billie tsks, shaking her head. she moves to grab her phone from her pocket, checking the time. "'bouta set a timer."

your mind wanders, trying to remember the last time she held your hand for more than just a minute—which was every single time. including yesterday, at the grocery store.

it was friday, so you knew it'd be busy—but not that busy. every time you moved, you bumped into someone, or someone's arm brushed yours. billie picked up on your discomfort upon seeing the way you practically clung to the shopping cart like it was your lifeline.

her hand had wrapped around your waist at first, then realized she didn't like the feeling of people brushing up against her either—so, her hand found yours, and it felt like you could finally breathe normally.

you hum. "it could—mm, it could've been yesterday."

"okay, yesterday, wow," she gasps fakely, mirroring your exaggeration from earlier. "i'm—i'm glad you remember that. really, i'm glad that—"

"yeah, thank you," you say, tone having that playful finality in it that it always had when you two were arguing over small things like this.

billie rolls her eyes, but she's not annoyed. far from it. she's just happy to be in your presence, even if it's not in the quiet, secluded safety of your home—she favored moments like this more than anything in the world. the stupid debates. the dumb rough-housing. the even dumber attempts at trying to fact-check the other knowing damn well both of you were wrong.

"alright, alright, i—i got a question for you now," billie states, eyes drifting back to yours, smile fading a bit.

you nod. "okay."

"why do you think we met?" she asks, tone still amused. but there's hint of seriousness it in. like she's genuine. "yeah, answer me that."

a nearby streetlamp illuminates the side of billie's face, the curve of her nose, the pretty color of her plump lips. it may seem like a hard question to most, but you didn't need time to think. you just wanted the words to linger a while.

wanted billie to think of—maybe predict—your answer before you even spoke. the look on her face never changed. that curious, amused look where her eyebrows were knit together just slightly, eyes narrowed.

"well, i think, personally—" you cut yourself off, pausing for a moment before turning to face her fully. then adding,

"have you ever heard of the invisible string theory?"

she looks puzzled for a moment—and you see the exact moment the memory clicks in her head. you'd told her about it a few years back, after the first year anniversary of your relationship. you hadn't expected her to remember, it was just a thought that came to you after you snuck off at an after party together and went to stargaze at a nearby park. similar to the one you were at now.

"oh, yeah," she nods. "yeah—yeah, you told me about it."

"mhm. so, basically, we met because we were supposed to meet," you say.

billie nods, interested.

you take a breath before continuing. "and, and we're connected because... we're supposed to be connected, y'know?"

"okay," billie says through a quiet chuckle.

"it's kinda like that, "i loved you before i existed, and i'll love you even when i die"," you add, then your voice goes quiet. the silence isn't tense or uncomfortable, it feels rather safe, the space filled with understanding.

she smiles after a moment, fingers creeping up your thigh, hand resting there warmly. "okay. guess i shouldn't have doubted my smart girl,"

"exactly," you tease.

"but, yes, like," you struggle for a moment before finding your words. "it's crazy, it's scary—it's, it's unpredictable."

billie nods again, eyes on your lap—her hand, in specific. your own hand comes down, fingers sneaking under her hand then locking between hers. you see her cheeks heat up, a light pink washing over her face.

"so don't leave me."

a beat. then billie looks up. eyes soft.

"please."

she huffs a laugh, nods. "yup, you got it."

"alright, alright." you giggle softly. but your heart's beating 10x harder than it was before, pounding against your chest nervously.

that comfortable silence envelopes everything again. the rustle of the trees is gone now, though the buzz of the light overhead replaces it. the playground is still, the woodchips dull, unmoving. billie's hand in yours, soft. warm.

"i love you," you say, voice not quiet nor loud.

the silence that comes after that is anything but comfortable. billie doesn't say anything, just sits still, eyes locked on your lap like a robot. it feels weird now—tense. but you're not sure if billie feels that way too.

maybe not. maybe she doesn't feel anything.

not the warmth of your touch. not the meaning behind your words. not the twitching of your fingers. not even the undying love you have for her.

so you try again.

"i love you."

and, this time, she looks up.

but she doesn't say anything. just stares into your eyes. it feels different though. because she's looking at you, but it doesn't even feel like she sees you.

and maybe that's what you've been feeling all along.

invisible.

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @love4madii @livvydunneness @partyf4vor @chxhir0 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @strwberrybils @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @kittymarrow @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @eeuni @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz

[diorgirl444]

you’ve got mail or a dallas winston x reader prison penpal au…

warnings: bad writing?, um swearing i guess, fem! reader, set after the events of the novel, brief mentions of period typical prison violence, 3.1k words <3

also if people like this au i’d be happy to write more drabbles for it if they wanna send requests in!

to be completely honest dallas winston has no idea why he signs up for the penpal program in the first place.

he knows why the other men do - “hope to get a pretty thing who sends me real nice pictures” “yeah bet she’ll be a real betty” and he nods and guffaws like the rest of them but the real reason is a lot harder to think about.

he tells himself that it’s the boredom which is partially true. he isn’t the kind who thrives of the dull monotony of prison life the way some men do. knowing what’s about to happen everyday makes him feel strangled, makes him feel suffocated and like a cog in this endless machine of the corrupt federal system of Oklahoma.

but in the smallest part of him, the part that nobody will ever see or hear from he thinks the reason might be a bit simpler. that he just wants to remember that there are nice things out there. way, way out there. things that feel pink and golden and light the way ponyboy said there was. things like cinemas and banana splits and the cool silk of girls underwear and cigarettes that you don’t have to loose part of yourself to get. it’s not his first time in a prison, hell he attends prisons the way most people attend schools but now johnny’s gone it certainly feels like his longest sentence.

so he goes to the stupid meeting, walks along the corridor to with an officer and a gun at his heels and sits down at the scratched desk that feels altogether too small for his body. glancing around the room he’s struck by all the different sorts of men sat there: tall men, short men, old men, young men, innocent men, guilty men and he wonders where that puts him. what draws all these men together though is the hope - he can see it glinting in their hollow eyes,desperate, hungry hope.

the kind of hope you’d kill for.

the officer at the front rattles off rules though it’s clear he’s rather be anywhere else

1. no asking incriminating things like names or locations

2. no asking for things like pictures or cigarettes. if the person chooses to send it to you it’s different but you can’t ask for it

3. no using it to contact any gang friends

and that’s it, with the strict reminder that every letter is examined before being sent.

in that all too small desk he writes:

hi you,

if you’s one of those freaks writing hoping to get to talk to a real sicko you’re about to be real disappointed. mine was a real simple issue with the fucking asshole sorry we’re not supposed to say stuff like that. what i mean is i’m in here because of a little falling out with the cops. so yeah don’t be sending me vials of your blood or any witchy crap like that because i don’t want it. a pack of kools wouldn’t go remissed if you’s offering though.

i kinda wonder if we ever met before i was locked up but i doubt it. most people i know either already know someone locked up that is if they haven’t been in the jailhouse themselves so they probably wouldn’t be writing to some inmate. nah my guess is your some bleeding heart beatnik who wants to know what’s really going on behind the bars. good old commie bs. still i’d like to hear from you, don’t let my words fool you. i may be an ass but i’m a bored one so i’ll pretty much take anything.

anyways i think i’m supposed to tell you about myself or something like that so i guess i’ll do that. i like the band the monkees, paul newman because he just gets it, dairy queen sundaes, mustangs and the smell of cheap beer. christ how i miss ice cold beer, you don’t know what it’s like only get stale water and moulding milk with every meal. i’m telling you go and crack a beer open right now, one for me. also in your letter back to me tell me what stuff you like. and if you’re a guy or a girl… can’t blame a guy for wanting to know that.

thanks,

inmate 4175

he can’t lie he’s curious and strangely excited to hear from his penpal. some guys he knows have already got there’s and yeah it’s pretty infuriating the way they brag and preen about there’s. it’s even more infuriating the way his stomach sinks at breakfast every morning when there’s nothing on his bench.

but then on a rainy friday morning, he gets his letter. he wants to save it till he’s alone but patience has never been his strong suit and so he tears into reminiscent of the way a wolf hungrily tears through flesh.

dear inmate 4157,

glad to report that i have no evil powers that you need to be on the look-out for nor sick fascination of criminals (i could barely get through psycho) and most mention of any gore has me hiding my face in my hands. which now that i think about it probably isn’t the best thing to tell a criminal… but then again i don’t wanna think of you as a criminal which is silly i know but criminal is such a nasty word. it makes it sound like you did something completely wrong which i’m certain for most cases i simply isn’t that cut and dry. does that make me naive? maybe but i don’t mind.

and ouch bleeding heart beatnik that was kinda mean don’t you think? whilst i wouldn’t consider myself a beatnik, i like the colour pink too much to dedicate myself to that lifestyle, i don’t think there’s anything wrong with having empathy! that was part of the reason when i saw the flyer about the program i couldn’t help but sign up. it sounds kinda strange but i thought i could kinda connect with you. i like my life i do but it’s very ‘samey’ i talk to the same girls everyday, we all have the same opinions on things, we all go out with the same boys and are all planning on going to the same colleges as our parents. which is nice i mean i’m lucky, far luckier than most in fact but i can’t help feeling dissatisfied. the one girl i know who did break out of the box now refuses to talk about it and acts us if last year didn’t happen. secretly i’m jealous i wish i was as brave as her.

j guess this is me breaking out / rebelling in my own way, in my bedroom lit by candles writing a letter to convict which i suppose will do for now. maybe if we meet when you get out you’ll like teach me how to rob a store or something (joking!!!) and sorry i don’t fancy a beer! anyways i got side tracked from what the actual letter was supposed to be about so to answer your questions i’m a girl if that wasn’t obvious enough already and to answer whatever question you might be wondering next - no i won’t send you any pictures. but for likes, my favourite band is the beach boys (don’t laugh even though i bet you want to), audrey hepburn because she just gets it!!!!, vanilla milkshakes, peonies and the smell of the ground after it rains. i’ll stop it here though because my letter has turned out so much longer then yours so sorry about that.

bye for now,

a friend <3

the letter is - the letter is so nice which he knows sounds ridiculous but it’s true. there’s hardly anything nice in his life right now but this is truly nice. he can imagine the sort of girl that would write a letter like that, pretty and sweet and clever. the exact kind of girls who would never so much as look at him on the outside let alone talk to him and instead here she is spilling her guts out. he reads it over and over tucking into against his undershirt so that nobody else can read it. then he sets to work writing his response.

dear a friend,

is that what we’re calling each other now? pals are we? i’d tell you that’s pretty dumb of you but you’ve made it pretty clear that you’re aware so i guess it’s alright. you probably need someone to take care of you, one day someone’s gonna try and take advantage of that thing you call optimism. so just be on your guard okay? but and even though it’s the same kinda thing it did make me smile to read that you don’t think criminal means fully guilty or whatever. not many people look at it like that, the jury certainly didn’t.

on the whole your life being “samey” thing i would tell you to embrace it, that at least it sounds like you’re well provided for and looked after. the truth is though reading what you said about it makes me not think that at all. because what kinda life is it if it’s living you and not the other way. my life was the opposite of that, it was wild and chaotic but it was mine. you should do something wild, doesn’t have to be big like stealing from a store (might hold you to that offer) but you should do something. i dare you to do something and then you have to write and tell me what it was. i’m living through you right now after all.

and yeah i think i worked out that you were a girl the second you started your letter with dear. that’s a dead giveaway. anyways wasn’t gonna ask for pictures, i can already tell you’re pretty just from the things you say you like. the beach boys might need a rethink if you ask me. i mean you got the beatles and the rolling stones and you choose some guys with stupid soc haircuts and striped shorts who sing about going surfing and cars…. i’d sort that if i were you. peonies were something i’d never heard of before your letter so i visited the library here, my first time ever going in that dusty old building, and i asked the guy what they were. he just threw this yellowing book on the table in front of me and said “picture in there”. i learnt that they’re those fluffy ones that grow on big bushes. i’d seen them before. i used to pass pink ones growing in front of this masisve old white house on the nice side of town. never saw the people inside it which is good because they were probably they were probably a bunch of preppies too scared to even look at a greaser. but i mean part of me wonders if we weren’t writing to each other would you even look at me? ignore me, being in prison so long has got me overthinking stuff.

bye,

inmate 4175

which begins the friendly correspondence of dallas winston and his mystery girl. what’s great about writing to her is there’s no societal pressures, though he’s gathered she’s a soc, or worries about matching how people think guys like dallas winston should act. they talk about anything and everything and he hoards whatever he learns about her like its the most valuable jewel.

“grandiose gestures are so wonderful, i think if you were out i’d be you a bouquet of cigarettes. how’d you like that inmate 4157?”

“i think things are getting better on the outside. still your lot had a right to be angry considering the way my lot screwed them over”

“i want, no i beg even for you to give the beach boys another try. don’t worry baby is the most gorgeous song in the entire world”

and she sends things too, sweetheart that she is, packs of cigarettes, those caramels that old women keep in pockets, polaroids of her dog françoise and posters of movies that he’s mentioned liking tied up with pretty pink ribbon. he thinks johnny would of liked her, yeah johnny would of liked little miss optimism that’s for sure. every letter from her is carefully tucked away from his bunk mate and though the guys tease him, he’ll never let them read her words. the only person he tells about her properly is ponyboy when he visits.

“no i don’t think you understand kid if this girl is even half as pretty as a box of matchsticks i’d be crazy not to turn my life around and marry her in some dinky chapel out west” he whispers passionately to ponyboy one one of his visits, glancing around to make sure no one head such a soft statement and anxiously running his hands through his cropped too short hair.

ponyboy just grins, bemused at how these letters has reduced his friend to a different man altogether. “must be a pretty special girl then” he drawls knowingly.

but the letters continue, sweet as anything and then she asks something especially wonderful.

dear inmate 4157,

this isn’t my best letter. i haven’t got anything special to tell you about but i wanted to write because the truth is i’ve grown to love writing to you more than nearly anything else. you are the rebellion in my life, i hope you don’t mind and i hope you understand. most of friends don’t, they think i must be crazy to write to some greaser convict. my father kinda think your okay though so i guess that’s kinda good. anyways i’m getting sidetracked. the real reason i’m writing now is because i wondered if i could come visit you?

it’s okay if not but i desperately want to. to see you, to hear your voice, maybe take your hand if that’s allowed. i’ve imagined it all lots but i can never get it right in my head. i mean how can you imagine someone who you’ve never met but seem to know more intimately then anyone else. i hope you feel the same, i hope you aren’t dreadfully disappointed by what you see. i’ve been more hopeful then i ought to be about something that i don’t want to have to write. i want to say it to you face to face. i hope that’s okay.

yours,

your dear friend <3

it’s right at the end and beside it there a few scribbled out words as if she overthought it again and again before finally settling on asking. his letter back is short, he wants it sent as quick as possible. and to her question it says “yes”

he awaits that visit with ther nerves of a schoolboy awaiting a test, pacing his cell, splashing cool water on his face and making sure the dull grey of his jumpsuit is unbuttoned just enough to see his vest and st christopher. the bang of the guard’s truncheon against the metal of his cell bars breaks him out of it.

“out you go winston” grunts the man as dallas is carted along the corridor like cattle but all is forgotten when he sees her sat at his table.

he knew she’d be pretty but christ.

she looks too good to be sat there, her floral dress splayed out prettily as she sits, hands nervously clasping at the fabric and her hair framing her face like a dream. her expression softens into a surprises smile when she sees him sit opposite.

“dallas winston” she says quietly and his own eyes widen.

“you know who i am? thought i was supposed to tell you that angel” he says in quiet disbelief.

she laughs softly, idly wonders if he could tuck the sound beside her letter in his vest.

“oh no it’s just that everyone in tulsa knew you. i didn’t realise it was you i was writing to. goodness i probably bored you half to death with all my ramblings about flowers and whatever else i was blabbering about” she says chewing on her lip, shy expression on her features but he just shakes his head.

“nah doll i liked hearing about your world, the things that mattered to you. all flowers and shit” and he means it, desperately but even if he didn’t it’d be worth it to see the way her face lights up. she introduces herself, and “isn’t that funny?” he thinks. that to know someone the way he knows her and yet to not even know her name.

then she’s looking at him again, eyes wide and hopeful before speaking and her hands now toy with a silver locket at her neck “well that’s - um - that’s good. the thing that i wanted to talk to you about - well the thing i was hopeful about - about you was that maybe um - i could write to you not just as friend. if you feel the same that is…”

a grin cracks across his face. there she is - the girl he’s had countless foolish dreams of, the girl who’s letters he’s cradled like precious gold and who knows more about him then he probably knows about himself - sat before him with a shy little smile on her face asking if they could go steady.

he’s an asshole though and so he can’t help but tease her ever so slightly “nah don’t think that’s gonna work doll” and yeah he gets a confidence kick from the way her features fall as if the thought of him not wanting her is upsetting, as if he ain’t lucky just to breathe in her perfume (something sweet and floral - he hopes she’ll spray some on his next letter for him). quickly he glances at the guards which since they’re not looking he leans over and tilts her chin up to meet his gaze.

“ah cool it duchess it’s only not gonna work cause i get out on account of good behaviour next month. just making sure that you know i’d want you to be my girl when we’re both on the outside too…”

he decides it was worth it to tease her if only to see the way her smile returns, bright as sunlight and twice as warming.

“yeah i’d like that dallas” she says softly just as the guard calls visiting time over.

and as he’s walking back to his cell he thinks ponyboy might be right, there are nice things out there…

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

[monserelates]

P.S. He still can't know ; James Potter

⇨ f! reader x james potter

part lll of P.S. Do you still love me?

⇨ summary: You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues. Secrets uncover.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, angst, not proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters.

a/n: okay i actually loved this episode, includes more girlhood than all that but i promise things will get more exciting.

⇨ word count: 3.2k

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter — clinking cutlery, owls swooping low with parcels, a third-year bursting into tears over a Transfiguration essay. And yet, for Y/N, everything was muffled. Distant. Like watching the world through glass.

She sat beside Lily, toast untouched, fingers wrapped too tightly around her cup of tea. It had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she had. She just didn’t care.

Across the hall, Amos Diggory laughed at something a friend said. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look up.

They had broken up the night before.

No fighting. No drama. Just… stillness. She told him she wasn’t in it anymore, and Amos, Merlin bless him, had nodded like he already knew. Like he had for a while.

Y/N hadn’t slept.

“You okay?” Lily’s voice was quiet, almost apologetic. Like she knew better than to pry but couldn’t stop herself.

“Yeah.” Y/N’s voice came out thin. Too smooth to be honest. “Just tired.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t push, but the air between them tightened anyway.

Down the table, Marlene and Dorcas were trying — and failing — to act normal. Marlene sent her a sideways glance every few seconds, lips twitching with the effort of not asking a thousand questions. Dorcas offered her a slice of marmalade toast without a word. Y/N shook her head.

Then came it. The shift.

James Potter walked into the Great Hall, hands jammed into the pockets of his robes, hair looking like he’d fought sleep and lost. He moved like someone who was trying not to look for something.

But then his eyes found her.

He faltered. Just a step. Just for a second. Enough to notice if you were paying attention. Y/N didn’t meet his gaze, but she felt it — heavy and loaded and ..knowing?

The boys followed behind him like shadows. Sirius cracked a joke that made Peter snort and Remus roll his eyes. But James? James didn’t laugh. He barely sat down.

He was at the middle of the table. She was on the edge. It might as well have been inches. The silence between them buzzed louder than the entire hall.

She could feel the weight of the unsent letters burning behind her eyes.

He knew she’d seen them. And now he did not know how to act.

James stood suddenly, muttering something to Remus, who gave him a look but didn’t argue. He walked past her on his way out.

And for a fleeing second, he slowed.

The scent of him—vainilla, broom polish, and something sharp like cinnamon—brushed past her. Her fingers curled around her teacup. Her breath caught.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look at her.

The moment passed, and he was gone.

Lily whispered, “You’re allowed to talk to him, you know.”

Y/N shook her head once. “Not yet.”

Her tea had gone ice cold by the time she tried it.

..

James spotted her the moment he turned the corner — standing outside the library, arms folded, books clutched tight to her chest, face unreadable. The flickering torchlight caught in her hair, and for a second, he just stared.

He didn’t plan this. Or maybe he had. He'd been walking aimlessly for the last fifteen minutes, telling himself it was coincidence. But here she was.

And he couldn’t not try.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet. Careful. Like she was something made of glass.

Y/N didn’t look up immediately. When she did, her face was polite. Too polite. He knew her, for God's sake, he spent and still has every waking moment thinking about her.

“Potter.” A nod. Distant. Like he was someone she used to know.

James winced at the way it sounded — his surname, formal and sharp like an old scar reopened. Not James. Not even nothing—just Potter. Like he was a stranger. Or worse, not important. It cut deeper than he’d admit.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you here,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the wall, trying to seem casual. He hated how stiff his voice sounded.

"Why would you even say that James, are you dense?" He said to himself.

She offered a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “It’s a library, James. Not exactly a secret location.”

He laughed once, short and nervous. “Right. Yeah. Just meant—never mind.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

James shifted, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I, um—How’ve you been?”

Y/N blinked slowly. “Great.”

It was a lie. They both knew it. But she said it like it was fact. Like it would be embarrassing to suggest otherwise.

He nodded, staring down at his shoes, then back at her like he wanted to say something else. Something important. “Listen, I—”

But she was already stepping away.

“You don’t have to pretend, James,” she said softly, almost kindly. “We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

That smile again — brittle as ice.

And then she was gone. Disappearing into the library without giving him the chance to finish the sentence that had been burning in his throat for days.

James stood there a while longer, staring at the spot where she’d been. Then he let his head thump gently against the wall behind him.

“Brilliant,” he muttered to no one. “Absolutely brilliant.”

..

The dorm was quiet for once. Marlene and Dorcas were off at practice. Lily was probably finishing some Prefect patrol. And Y/N… Y/N sat alone on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, her uniform still rumpled from the day, her tie barely undone. Suddenly all the feelings tumbled onto her--not in a loud, thunderous way, but settling into her heart, aching.

The late afternoon sun spilled across the room in long golden stripes, catching dust motes that floated lazily in the still air.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the drawer where she’d hidden the letters.

His letters.

They were still there. She hadn’t dared to read them again since that first night. As if rereading them would somehow make it worse — like letting the words echo again would seal something irreversible.

She stood up, walked over to the full-length mirror beside her wardrobe, and stared.

She looked the same. Slightly tired, maybe. Her cheeks were a little hollowed, like she hadn’t been sleeping well. But otherwise — unchanged.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

“What do you want?” she whispered to herself.

The reflection didn’t answer.

“Do you want him to chase you?” she asked, softer this time, voice tinged with frustration. “Do you want him to hurt the way you know he did?”

Still nothing.

“Because he is hurting. And you know it. You see it.”

Her jaw clenched. A familiar ache bloomed behind her ribs.

“You loved him,” she said, bitter now. “Before Amos. Before the letters. You loved him when he didn’t know what to do with your feelings. When he laughed too loud and looked at other girls and never looked at you the way you looked at him.”

A beat.

“And now he has looked at you like that. You know he did. You read it. Every word of it.”

She shut her eyes tightly, like she could squeeze the memory out of her brain. But it stayed. Every “I couldn’t say this out loud,” every scribbled “I miss her,” every stupid little drawing in the margins of his letters.

Her voice cracked.

“So why does it still feel like I’m the one losing?”

She pressed her hands against the mirror, fingertips smudging the glass.

“I broke up with Amos,” she whispered, her voice wobbling. “I don’t even know if it was because of James or just because I couldn’t lie anymore. But I did it. I did the right thing. So why do I still feel like I’m in the wrong?”

She dropped her head.

Silence.

And then, in a breathless murmur, like a confession too fragile to say out loud—

“Do you still love him?”

Her reflection blinked back.

She didn’t answer.

Because she already knew.

What she did not know is what she was going to do about it.

..

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with the usual early evening chatter — games of Exploding Snap in the corner, someone practicing levitation charms too close to the drapes, the crackling fire casting gold across the walls.

But the mood around the two friend groups? Tense. Observant. Completely distracted by the same two people pretending the other didn’t exist.

James was slumped in a chair by the window, chewing the end of a sugar quill like it owed him money, his eyes occasionally flicking toward the sofa near the fireplace.

Y/N sat curled there, a book in hand, but her eyes hadn’t moved from the crackling fire in nearly ten minutes.

Lily flopped onto the couch beside Marlene and Dorcas with an exasperated sigh, setting her Charms book aside. “They’re still doing it.”

Marlene didn’t even look up. “Still not speaking?”

“Still not looking.” Lily gestured with her chin. “She’s avoiding his entire aura.”

Dorcas raised a brow. “You know that’s not how magic works.”

“I teach him,” Lily said, deadpan. “You don’t have to be a Seer to feel that tension radiating off him like a bloody fireplace.”

Marlene glanced over her shoulder, then winced. “Oh, Merlin. He’s staring again.”

“He’s brooding,” Dorcas corrected. “Let’s be accurate.”

"I saw them this morning in front of the library, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife. I'd rather hex myself than being alone with the two of them in a room-- it's saddening, really." Peter said, staring at the two of them.

Across the room, James’s chair creaked as he shifted, pretending to be very invested in his notes. Sirius, sprawled beside him, didn’t bother hiding his disgust.

“You’re a mess, mate.”

James didn’t look up. “I’m not.”

“You’re rewriting the same sentence for the fifth time.”

“It’s a thesis statement, Pads. It matters.”

Sirius snatched the parchment, reading it aloud with mocking flair: “The Patronus Charm is a deeply emotional piece of magic, rooted in joy, hope, and— Merlin’s balls, is this about her?”

James lunged for the paper. “Give it back.”

Remus, seated nearby, sighed into his book. “You’re both exhausting. Just talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk.”

“She doesn’t know you want to talk.”

James gave him a pointed look. “She knows I know she knows.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—she doesn’t know that you know that she knows.”

James froze. “Wait. She doesn’t?”

Sirius dropped his head into his hands. “I swear, if I hear the word ‘know’ one more time—”

From behind them, Professor McGonagall’s voice cut in, dry as parchment. “If you boys spent half this energy on your actual coursework, you might pass your N.E.W.T.s.”

They all snapped to attention.

She sipped her tea. “And yes, Potter. She knows. We all know. The portraits know.”

She walked away muttering, “Honestly. It’s like watching two Hippogriffs do a mating dance and missing every cue.”

Remus winced. "I did not enjoy imagining that."

Back on the girls’ side, Y/N had shifted in her seat, one arm curled around her legs as she pretended to read. Lily watched her quietly.

“She’s cracking,” she said softly. “Bit by bit.”

“She was never really okay,” Marlene replied. “Just… patching herself together with pride.”

Dorcas looked at them both. “What do we do?”

Lily gave a helpless shrug. “We wait. But not forever.”

A beat.

Then, softly, as Y/N’s eyes flicked to James — just for a second — and then away again:

“This is getting really hard to watch.”

..

Marlene hadn’t meant to snoop.

She really hadn’t.

She was just looking for the missing tube of starshine lip balm they all passed around—and Y/N’s trunk had been half-open anyway. It wasn’t like she’d planned to stumble across a folded, time-worn letter tucked between an old copy of Hogwarts: A History and a forgotten Chocolate Frog card.

She nearly put it back.

But then she saw the handwriting.

Y/N’s.

And at the top, two words—"James Potter."

The breath caught in her throat.

She hesitated only a second longer before slipping it out, fingers already trembling.

December 18th, 1975 Somewhere between courage and heartbreak

My Dearest James,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. You’ll never read it. You’re probably laughing with Sirius somewhere, chasing Bludgers or charming your way out of detention.

And I’ll keep pretending I don’t care. Because that’s what I’m best at—pretending.

But if I don’t write this down, I think I’ll come undone.

The truth is—I think I love you. And it’s ruining me.

You get under my skin in the most infuriating, impossible way. You make me angry and breathless and terrified and so alive I don't know what to do with myself.

Every time you grin at me like I’m the sun, like your world revolves around me, I want to scream. Because how do you not see it? How do you not see that I’ve been yours for longer than I care to admit?

But then you’ll joke. You’ll flirt with someone else. You’ll be so effortlessly you, and I’ll remember that I’m just the girl who rolls her eyes at your antics, who never says the things she really means.

You make it easy to hide, James. Because if I say it out loud—if I say I love you—then what?

What if you don’t love me back?

Or worse… what if you do?

Because I’m not ready for that kind of truth. Not when I still don’t know how to quiet the voice in my head that says I’m not enough. Not for you. Not for the kind of love you’d give.

You love big, James. Loud. Brave. Unapologetically. I don’t know how to do that.

All I know is that I dream of you more nights than I don’t, and every time you touch my hand—even by accident—my whole world stutters.

I’m scared. Of ruining things. Of wanting more. Of losing you.

So I’ll fold this letter. I’ll hide it. I’ll pretend it never existed.

Just like I’ll keep pretending I’m not in love with you.

But maybe… If one day you feel it too—if one day this all makes sense to you—

Then maybe you’ll understand why I never gave this to you.

And maybe then, you’ll come find me.

Yours always,

Even when in doubt,

– Y/N Y/I Y/L/N

By the time she finished reading, her hands were shaking.

Marlene sat back on her heels, staring at the parchment like it had scorched her. Her chest felt too tight, her eyes glassy.

“Merlin,” she whispered.

She pressed the letter against her chest, heart hammering. It had been written in fifth year. Fifth year. Y/N had been carrying this—feeling this—for years, and none of them had known. Not Lily. Not Dorcas. Not her.

And James?

He had no bloody idea.

Marlene blinked back the sting in her eyes. It felt like looking at a map of someone’s heartbreak, carefully hidden in the dark for so long it had almost fossilized.

“No wonder you’re scared,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You’ve been bleeding for him this whole time.”

She didn’t know whether to feel furious or heartbroken or helpless. Maybe all three.

Because this? This wasn’t just a crush or a passing heartbreak.

This was a girl who had loved in silence—too afraid to speak, too brave to walk away. A girl who had written her soul onto a page and buried it because she thought she’d never be enough for James Potter.

Marlene exhaled shakily.

She folded the letter back with slow, reverent hands, like it might shatter. And for a moment, she just sat there, knees drawn up to her chest, clutching it in the quiet.

Then, almost silently, she asked the room:

“What the hell do I do with this?”

..

The girls' dorm was too quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

The moment she stepped inside and noticed her trunk slightly ajar, her heart dropped like a stone in her chest.

She lunged toward it, yanked it open—empty.

The letter was gone.

“No—no, no, no.” Her voice cracked. “No.”

Her eyes darted around the room like she might’ve just misplaced it, like maybe her brain was playing a cruel trick, but deep down she knew.

The letter. That letter. Her fifth-year ghost of a confession—the one she never meant to send, never meant for anyone to read—was gone.

Her door creaked.

“Marlene?” Y/N’s voice snapped like brittle glass.

Marlene paused in the doorway, a half-eaten chocolate frog in her hand, suddenly very, very guilty.

Y/N didn’t wait. “Did you take it?”

Marlene blinked. “Take what?”

“The letter,” Y/N hissed, the panic sharpening her words. “You know which one. Don’t lie to me.”

Marlene shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t—technically—take it.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed. Her hands flew to her hair. “Did you read it? Did you SHOW him?”

Marlene flinched. “Of course I didn’t show him! I’m not evil.”

“But you read it.”

Silence.

Y/N’s knees hit the edge of her bed. “I trusted you. Marlene, I trusted you with that part of me.”

“You left it in your trunk,” Marlene said quietly, “like you didn't mind if it was found.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

Marlene stepped closer. “You still aren’t. That’s the problem.”

Y/N’s voice broke. “He can’t read that. Not now. Not when I don’t even know what I want.”

Her lip trembled, and then the tears came fast and hot, making her swipe at her cheeks furiously like she could erase the entire moment.

Marlene sat beside her and didn’t speak for a while. She just offered the last piece of her chocolate frog, which Y/N took, sniffling.

A few minutes later, Lily and Dorcas burst into the room, summoned by one very cryptic howler Marlene had sent earlier that just said: "Emergency. Emotions. Bring snacks."

They took one look at Y/N’s blotchy face and the tension in the air and immediately knew.

“You told her?” Dorcas asked Marlene.

“She figured it out.”

Lily folded her arms. “What letter?”

Marlene reached under her pillow and pulled it out—Y/N's old, aching confession, still folded, still dangerous.

Lily read the first few lines and gasped. “Bloody hell.”

Dorcas whistled low. “You were in it.”

“I was fifteen,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “And delusional.”

“No,” Lily said, sitting on the floor dramatically. “You were in love. That’s not delusional.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It's cinematic,” Dorcas corrected.

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“What are we going to do with it?” Lily asked. “Because you can’t keep pretending you don’t feel anything, Y/N. And neither can he.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Dorcas raised a brow. “So we intervene?”

Marlene smirked. “Subtly.”

“Soft chaos,” Lily nodded.

“Ethically ambiguous meddling,” Dorcas agreed.

Y/N stared at them like they were mad. “You’re not actually planning something.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” Marlene said.

Y/N groaned. “Guys—”

But her protests were drowned out by the sudden sound of parchment unfurling, ink bottles uncorking, and the rapid-fire clatter of girlhood conspiracy.

Plans were already being made. Timelines. Locations. Distractions.

“If they won’t fix it themselves,” Marlene muttered with a wicked grin, “we bloody will.”

And in that moment, Y/N realized something chilling: she might have just lost control of her own love story.

But did she love her girls? Obviously.

taglist:

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[lividvamp]

Roommate!Sukuna x Reader Pt.5

A/n: Just a small drabble on Sukuna graduating from fast food to an office job. Office Siren Sukuna here I come 😁

w.c–1044

Divider– @justrainandcoffee

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

The day has finally come when Sukuna has admitted to being besties with you. You swore just a year ago he would say how much of a lone wolf he is and he doesn’t need anybody (he would have a breakdown every other week because of how much he felt like he was alone). Back then too, he would literally avoid being in the same room as you, most nights he wasn’t even home—he was either at someone else’s house or at work, it felt like you could never catch a glimpse of him. Almost felt like you were living with a ghost.

You sighed happily to yourself, you were actually proud of yourself. Not only did you manage to help a scary guy like Sukuna to break out his shell, you also proved to everyone that you could move out of your parents house and not end up homeless. It kind of felt like feeding a stray cat until it began to trust you and let you rub its belly (you haven’t gotten into that stage of rubbing his stomach yet).

While you laid on your bed (very joyfully you might add), a soft knock at your door had brought you out of your daze. Right after the knocking, a rough voice barked at you, “brat, hurry up, I gotta go.” You checked your phone—it was way too early to be leaving the house, “whaaaat? We gotta leave already? I didn’t even eat breakfast yet,” you whined.

“I don’t care, get your ass out of your room, I gotta be at this place in 10 minutes, and if I’m late I’m going to eat your leftovers,” Sukuna barked out while running a hand down his face. He was really dreading this meeting, but at the same time he can’t wait to stop working at Mcdonald’s.

He swears every shift he works there’s always a fight breaking out, or just some weird shit going on. Waffle house type of situations.

“What time should I come back for you?” you walked out just wearing something comfortable but totally fashionable (in your eyes), which leds to Sukuna looking you up and down then scoffing while murmuring out, “took you long enough.”

“I’m not going to be long, so I just suggest staying in the car.”

“Okay… What is this even for?”

You guys walk outside the apartment then slowly go into your very cool whimsical car (everybody either hates it or loves it. Personally Sukuna hates how ugly looking it is, he genuinely doesn’t understand how you can drive a car like that). “Don’t worry about,” he gruffs out then ruffles your hair, in an older brother way where he’s about to beat you with his controller because you accidentally got him killed in Halo. He didn’t like people prying into anything that has to do with him, it made him feel insecure, made him feel like any info he gives out would come back around and bite him in the ass.

However, when it came to you? He wanted to tell you everything, man he’ll even tell you about the pet pigeon he managed to tame. Nonetheless when those times came to talk about something personal his words would get stuck in his throat, so he eventually just went to tell you back off. But if you catch Sukuna past his bedtime? He’s throwing out his dad lore like it’s Kohl's cash.

“I’ll tell you where to go, all you gotta know is this is an opportunity to get the hell away from Mcdonald’s.” You let out a soft chuckle in a knowledgment. Most of the car ride was silent, other than Sukuna’s monotone voice telling you directions.

Once you reached the place you noticed it was a small office in a very downtown area, was Sukuna finally getting a new job? At an office too? With those tattoos? And piercings? Before you could say anything Sukuna skaddled away from the car—What is this man hiding? Well, might as well get yourself comfortable because who knows when he’ll come back.

Knock knock

You looked outside your window and saw the all famous Satoru Gojo. Oh goddamnit, of course he’s here.

“Ah! Fancy seeing you here! I didn’t think you leave that small apartment of yours, especially when you have such a roommate,” he propped his arm on the car with a small smirk on his face. “Haha, you think you’re soooooo funny.”

“Yeah, how about you roll down that window, it feels like I'm talking to a glass window!” he started to tap on the glass like you were a fish in a tank. “I think I’ll keep it up for your safety. Don’t you have anything else to do than terrorize innocent citizens?” Satoru gives out a long dramatic sigh.

“I am busy, but for you–“ he stops himself for a moment and then giggles, “I’m still busy, anyways I gotta go! Nice seeing again!”

“Goddamn that guy is a freak-a-zoid.” you scoffed before completing blanking out until Sukuna comes back.

“I fink I got ta job,” Sukuna muffled out as he kept shoving food in his mouth. He made the grave mistake of not eating before leaving the house, especially knowing his nerves were going to act up before the super important meeting. “Dude, calm down you’re gonna choke, then I’ll have to pay rent on my own ‘cus I’m not saving you.”

“Fuck you, I buy you food and this is the thanks I get? Your mama taught you to be an ungrateful shit?” He lets out a playful scoff, he was just trying to rage bait you and get a reaction out of you.

You were about to take the bait and spit something back, but you paused. You gave him a nasty side eye before punching him in the side. Sukuna lets out a small huff, seeing your small pout brought him joy, he was actually glad you weren’t mad, because in all honesty he would’ve felt bad if you genuinely got angry.

“That’s nothing kid. Anyways you owe me dinner when I get this job,” he stuffs another bite into his mouth, and right before you could say you’re he shoved a bite of his food into your mouth.

[leeknowslov3r]

✦‎ birds don't sing

౨ৎ "birds dont sing, they just fall from the sky. girls dont call and they never tell you why." - tv girl

ꪆ୧‎‎‎ pairing : lee know × f!reader

✶ cw : mentions of smoking & sex, college!au, roommate! felix and hyunjin, dirty jokes

𖦹 from cali's desk : my first fic on this blog!!! I hope you guys enjoy it !!

copyright leeknowslov3r on tumblr : do not plagarize, repost, or translate ©

Your head pounds as you lay down on your bed and stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on your ceiling. You wish to simply turn your brain off, to stop thinking about studying for your mcats, to stop basking in the uncertainty regardibg your future. The future you had dreamt of since you could remember.

Sure, you wouldn't receive an adequate paycheck until you were 32, and you would have to take out a hefty loan to pay for medical school - pursuing medicine has always been all you've ever wanted for yourself.

With your senior year of college being in full swing, you had no time to meet anyone new. The only people you even spent time with nowadays were your roommates Hyunjin and Felix. The two of them were both seniors like yourself, yet the three of you were so different and so similar. The both of them were both busy in their own respect.

Felix attended university on a cheerleading scholarship. He used to do gymnastics in highschool, as he told you one night over dinner, but had to quit his senior year due to a leg injury. Felix was a social butterfly, he knew half the football team and frequently was asked to go to frat parties. He was the golden boy, popular and unafraid of his future.

Hyunjin was much more introvered than Felix, but still remained quite popular around campus. Hyunjin is naturally beautiful and gifted at art. He runs the art club like the navy, and has a quick tongue that no one would suspect him to possess.

However, you were far from any kind of real status among other people. People only knew of you because you were roommates with Felix and Hyunjin.

The two boys have always tried to get you to break out of your shell. While the efforts were ultimately futile, it was nice knowing someone cared.

There's a faint knock on your door before it opens. Felix stands in your doorway holding a bag of takeout food. "Figured you hadn't eaten anything yet, thought I'd pick you up some thai," he smiles his signature smile.

"Yeah, thanks Lix, just put it on my desk," you say from your spot on your bed.

Felix walks over and places the box of food on your desk and hovers momentarily before he asks, "are you okay?"

"Mhm?" you hum, "yeah, 'm fine."

"You just-," Felix pauses, "-seem depressed or something."

"Depression is caused by a combination of genetics, environmental factors, and psychological factors, Lix. I have no fucking reason to be depressed," you retort, saltier than you wish you had.

Felix rolls his eyes and sees through your facade, "is this because of medical school? There's no reason why you wouldn't get in, y/n, you need to take a break."

"Lix, I can't," you wish he would understand, "my MCAT is in one month, I don't have time to relax."

"You realize your life won't end if you do poorly? Right?" Felix comments and crosses his arms.

"This is the only future I know I can have, Lix," you sigh and sit up on your bed and look directly at the boy in your room.

Felix sighs with disappointment, "you won't have a future if you basically fucking kill yourself, which is what you're doing right now. No future is worth wasting your youth."

You know that if he were talking to someone other than yourself he would be right, but he isn't. Your youth - did you even have one?

Sure you are young and have been younger, but were you ever truly young? You spent your entire highschool career working to be valedictorian and get as many scholarships as possible so you could attend a prestigious college - because it looks good on medical school applications. How could you waste your youth when you've only used your youth to prepare for your future.

"Can you go, Lix, I have to study," you request and stand up on the floor, walking over to your desk.

"Yeah, just know - I'm here for you," Felix gives you a sad smile and walks out of your room, closing the door behind himself.

Your alarm blares in your ears and you jolt awake. Your medical textbook must have served as your pillow. You sit up and feel a slight pain in your back as you sit up straight.

Fuck. You had your stem cell research lab study. And you're running late. You jump up from your seat and open your closet to try and find an acceptable outfit to wear.

You throw on the first things you find. Grey sweatpants and a graphic t-shirt. You quickly lace up your white converse before grabbing your school bag and stumble out the front door.

Luckily, you only live 5 minutes off campus, and are able to make it to the science building relatively soon.

You race up to the 6th floor lab and step inside. Your anatomy professor, Dr. Jones, looks at you blankly as you walk in. "Sorry I'm late," you mutter an apology to him and grab your labcoat, slipping it on.

"It's fine, I'm going to grab a coffee, you two want one?"

You know he is just trying to find an excuse to have a smoke, though.

The other person in the room is the student you are collaborating on the study with, Minho Lee. "Yeah, I'll take one," Minho chimes.

"Yeah-yeah m-me too," you huff.

"Okay, I'll be back in a minute," Dr. Jones bids a momentary goodbye and walks out of the lab.

There's a moment of awkwardness between you and Minho before he speaks, "so, long night?"

"Incredibly long."

He chuckles with amusement, "didn't take you for that kind of girl."

You glare at him, "get your head out of the gutter," you huff, "I was studying."

"Oh, I believe you," he says jokingly, "studying anatomy, is very exhausting, in my experience. If you need a study partner I'm always avaliable."

You put your hair up in a hairtie and roll your eyes. Minho Lee always knew how to turn anything dirty. It was almost a gift of his.

He was much more gifted at science, though. He was naturally smart and good looking, two luxuries you didn't possess.

He had every girl in the science department, except you and the lesbians, in a chokehold. You knew he was also applying for medical school. In the future he'd surely find a pretty wife and have a good career.

"Are you here just to annoy me or to work on the study?" you ask rhetorically.

"God, you're clueless," Minho sighs, "I was hitting on you."

"Well can you like... not?"

The shock on his face was comical. It's clear he has never been so blatantly rejected by a woman before.

For the last 3 months, since you and Minho had started the research study, he has made it his personal mission to try and crack you. It wasn't a secret. Honestly, if you didn't have better things to do with your life, you would entertain him and his advances.

You frequently vented to Felix about Minho's unrelenting interest in you. Felix, being concerned that you have never had a boyfriend before, urged you to go for it, even though he knows you never would.

The sunset peeks through your window, the warm glow illuminates your room. You're focused on the textbook in front of you until your doorbell rings.

You know it isn't Hyunjin or Felix, they always kept their keys with them. You sigh with annoyance and leave your room to open the front door.

Minho stares back at you blankly with your bag in his hand. "You forgot this," he states and hands you the bag.

"Oh," you huff, "yeah thanks, Minho."

You close the door in his face after he hands you your bag. Where were your manners? Surely your parents had raised you better than the way you just acted.

You sigh and open the door again and Minho looks at you with confusion. "Sorry, do you want to come in for a minute?," you ask the man in front of you.

"Yeah, sure," he laughs under his breath and steps inside.

He takes in your apartment, looking at all the decorations placed by Hyunjin. You close the door and walk into the kitchen. You open the door to the refrigerator, "do you want something to eat? I can heat up leftover thai food," you ask Minho, who is still looking around.

"Sure," he hums.

You pull the leftovers out of the fridge, shut the door and put the food in the microwave to warm up. "This place is nice, much more homey than I imagined your place being," Minho comments and turns to face you.

"It's cause of my roommates," you reply and walk to sit on the couch in the living room, "Hyunjin and Felix."

"You live with those two?," Minho looks at you incredulously.

"Why're you suprised? Do you know them?," you ask from your seat on the couch.

Minho sighs, "they're just... different from you, I guess. I've seen them around campus and at a few parties before," he pauses for a moment, "also, I'm sorry about coming over uninvited."

"No, it's fine," you smile.

Minho walks over to your couch and sits a respectful distance away from you. "So, when are you taking your MCAT?," Minho asks you.

You grin at the thought of medical school, "in a month," you inform him.

Minho nods in understanding, "then I can see why you've been so stressed lately. I took mine over the summer."

"Yeah," you chuckle, "I want to try and get a 515 or higher. What did you get as your score?"

Minho smiles because you smile, "I'm sure you can do it. I got a 518 on mine," he swallows a lump in his throat, "I'm sorry about earlier... hitting on you and everything, I should've known- well, acted- better."

You're stunned silent, for the first time in a long time, you don't know what to say. "'t's fine," you mumble.

The microwave beeps and you quickly stand up to grab the food. You put the food on plates and grab the silverware needed to eat and bring Minho his plate of food. You grab your plate then sit back down on the couch.

You and Minho talk about everything for what feels like the next few minutes, but what the clock says is hours.

You learn that he used to dance in highschool, and that he has 3 cats, that his favorite color is mint green, and that he wants to be a Cardiothorasic surgeon.

He was easier to talk to than you thought he would be. He seemed more human now, you also realized that you and him were more similar than you previously imagined.

The front door opening interupts Minho's current sentence, Felix and Hyunjin step inside, "it's us y/nnie!," Hyunjin calls out, but then falls silent when he and Felix notice you're sitting in the living room.

Felix and Hyunjin glance at each other then back at you when they notice Minho sitting on the couch with you. "Oh, who is this?," Hyunjin inquires.

Felix closes the door behind the two of them, and waits for a response. "Minho," you introduce the man next to you.

"Wait!," Felix practically screeches, "this is Minho. Like the Minho? The one you told me about?"

"Wait, who is Minho? Why is he important?," Hyunjin asks Felix under his breath.

"He-," Felix begins but upon seeimg the glare you're giving him silences himself, "he's y/n's research partner."

"Yeah," Minho confirms, "I think I'm gonna go," he stands up and looks down at where you sit on the couch, "thanks for dinner, sorry again for coming uninvited," he bids farewell, "see you next week, y/n."

He walks promptly out the door.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Felix and Hyunjin verbally assault you with comments and questions.

"Did you two... y'know?"

"He is hot. Y/n you didn't tell me he was that fucking hot!"

"Oh, he definitely likes you! Did you see the way he looked at her? 'See you next week, y/n' he's looking forward to seeing you!"

"If you don't go for it, you'd be such a fool, y/n. He's hot and smart!"

You sigh, "no we didn't, and so what if he's hot? We're colleagues- well now we're more like friends I guess."

"Okay, at least you acknowledge that he's hot," Felix sighs, "that's progress."

You're convinced you've never been more exhausted. Felix drives you home from the MCAT testing facility and helps you carry your things inside. Hyunjin pounces on you as soon as you walk through the door, "yay! I'm so glad you are finally done!" he exclaims as he hugs you.

"Yeah, me too," you sigh and return his embrace.

Once Hyunjin stops doting on you, you, Hyunjin, and Felix all sit on the couch together, Hyunjin flips through TV chanels trying to find something interesting to watch.

Meanwhile, you finally check your phone and see a notification from Minho.

New Text from Minho :

good luck on your MCAT~~ you'll def do well ^_^ sent 8:40 AM

You can't help but smile at his kindness. For the past two weeks Minho came over every evening and helped you study for your MCAT.

He stayed over until the early hours of the morning going over every topic that would be covered on the test. Some nights, he even fell asleep on the living room couch because he was too tired to walk back to his apartment.

You're positive that he is the main reason you felt so confident going into the exam.

For now, you didn't have to worry about your future, you could finally turn your brain off. "Minho came over earlier and left you a basket," Felix informs you and hands you the gift.

You open the wrapping, inside was a white labcoat with your name embroidered on the right side, a stethescope, a bottle of wine, snacks, and a note asking you to call him. Your heart swells at the kind gesture. You pick up your phone and dial his number.

It only rings twice before he picks up on the other line, "hey, Minho," you greet.

"Hey, how do you think you did?"

"Good, I think I did pretty well," you grin at hearing his voice.

"I'm sure you did great," you can hear his smile, the same smile he would flash when you would get a practice question correct, "I know you're exhausted but maybe next week we could...," he hesitates, "go somewhere together- t-t' celebrate of course?"

Hyunjin and Felix both stare at you expectedly.

You're stunned for a moment before you reply, "a-are you asking m-me out? On a date?"

Now Minho is the stunned one, "... well if you w-want to y'know- maybe we c-could."

"Good," you grin happily, a wave of boldness overcoming you, "tomorrow work for you?"

"Y-yeah, tomorrow works great, I'll pick you up at 8?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Minho."

"See you tomorrow, bye, love you," Minho hangs up the phone.

The words 'love you' whirl around in your brain, you regret not saying them back to him momentarily.

"I have a date!" you squeal.

You and your roommates freak out together and you begin counting down the minutes until tomorrow evening at 8.