#many of his expression this chapter was like the first chapter after he get beat lol

[asmodeusamaryllis]

Many call backs this chapter

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 1: March 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

....Do not expect particular quick updates on this, because it's a beast of a story. Also: kinda Charles bashing, but not really? You'll see.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

A Bar in Montecarlo: 

Max had come to the bar for a quiet drink, not to get his world flipped upside down. But then he spotted her.

She was standing at the counter, waiting for her drink, all soft confidence and effortless elegance. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to turn heads—she just did. And Max, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, slid up beside her with his most charming smirk and opened his mouth. 

And because apparently, he had actually listened the last time Lando told him all about the absolutely horrible Pick-Up-Lines that he had tried with middling success…that was what came out of his mouth.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, “but do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

She turned, amused—

And Max nearly choked.

Because he knew her.

His brain scrambled for a second before his mouth caught up. “Oh, shit. You’re Charles’ little sister.”

Her entire expression changed. The amusement faded, her jaw tightening. “Wow,” she deadpanned. “That’s one way to ruin a moment.”

Max grimaced. “That’s not what I—”

She picked up her drink and turned fully toward him, raising a brow. “I do have a name, you know.”

He nodded quickly, recovering. “Right. Isabelle.”

“Good job,” she said dryly. “Want a gold star?”

Max huffed out a laugh. “Look, I just wasn’t expecting you. I see a beautiful woman at a bar, and my instinct is to flirt. Then I realize she’s my colleague’s little sister, and I panic.”

Her lips twitched. “And?”

“And… I’m still going to flirt with you,” he admitted, grinning. “But properly this time.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max leaned in slightly. “Can I buy you a drink, Isabelle?”

She pretended to consider. “That depends. Are you going to keep calling me Charles’ little sister?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear never to utter those words again.”

Her lips curled in the slightest smirk. “In that case, sure. Let’s see if you can impress me, Verstappen.”

Max had never been one to back down from a challenge. And something told him this was a challenge he’d never want to walk away from.

Max flagged down the bartender, ordering another round for both of them. Isabelle took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.

He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t falling over herself just because he was Max Verstappen.

“So,” he said, leaning against the bar, “what exactly would impress you?”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her glass. “A conversation that doesn’t involve my brothers.”

Max smirked. “That easy?”

“You’d be surprised how many people fail that test.”

He could imagine. Charles was everywhere in the racing world, and by extension, so was Isabelle. It must be exhausting, always being seen as an extension of someone else.

Max took the challenge seriously. “Alright,” he said, shifting toward her. “Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with your family.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was assessing if he was genuine. Then, after a beat, she said, “I work in architecture.”

Max blinked. “Really?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I never thought about what you do.”

She smirked. “That’s because you’ve only ever seen me as Charles’ little sister.”

Max winced. “Okay, fair. But I’m interested now.”

“Are you?” She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I have heard your name at work before.”

Max frowned. “You have?”

“Oh, yeah,” Isabelle said, taking another sip of her drink. “Apparently, you’ve been house hunting. One of my colleagues nearly had a meltdown over the idea of designing a place for Max Verstappen.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait… which project?”

She bit back a smile. “A penthouse. You toured it a few weeks ago.”

Max suddenly knew exactly which one she was talking about. He had liked the place, but something had held him back from committing.

Now, though?

Now, he was very seriously considering signing the papers just for an excuse to see her again.

He leaned in, watching her reaction closely. “And if I were to, say, buy that penthouse?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’d know you had good taste.”

Max grinned. “That’s it?”

She shrugged. “That, and I’d probably have to endure my colleagues freaking out for at least a week.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, then. Guess I have some decisions to make.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Yeah. He was definitely buying that penthouse.

Max drummed his fingers against the bar, pretending to think. "Alright, so let’s say I do buy that penthouse. Hypothetically."

Isabelle gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically."

"Would I get a personal consultation?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "That’s not how it works."

"But if I had, I don’t know, questions about the design, or maybe some concerns about the layout, I’d need someone to talk to, wouldn’t I?"

Isabelle swirled the last of her drink in her glass, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "Max, are you trying to say you need my number for professional reasons?"

He grinned, tilting his head. "I mean, what if I need an expert opinion? You are the only architect I know."

She sighed in mock exasperation, but he could tell she was entertained. "I really shouldn’t encourage this."

"But you want to," Max countered, smirking.

Her lips twitched, and after a moment’s pause, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "Fine. Give me yours, I’ll text you."

Max typed in his number so fast that she actually laughed. She typed something in her phone. 

A second later, his phone buzzed with a new message.

Unknown Number: Congratulations on your completely unbiased, definitely not suspicious real estate decision.

Max chuckled. "So, what happens if I text you about things that aren’t penthouse-related?"

Isabelle lifted her glass to her lips and said, before taking the last sip, "Guess we’ll find out."

And just like that, Max Verstappen knew he was completely screwed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

(Unknown Number): Hey, it’s Max.

(Unknown Number): Verstappen.

(Unknown Number): Just in case you know a lot of Maxes.

Isabelle: I don’t.

Max: Good. Would hate to have competition already.

Isabelle: Already?

Max: What can I say? I like you.

Isabelle: You barely know me.

Max: That’s true. But I’d like to change that.

Isabelle: …That was smooth.

Max: Was it?

Isabelle: Surprisingly, yes.

Max: Noted. I’ll add it to my very short list of smooth moments.

Isabelle: Very short?

Max: Tragically short.

Isabelle: I don’t know if I believe that.

Max: I promise, my sister would confirm it.

Isabelle: You have a sister?

Max: Victoria.

Isabelle: Right, I think I’ve seen her before.

Max: Probably. She’d probably like you, by the way.

Isabelle: Oh?

Max: Yeah. She has a good instinct about people.

Isabelle: And what does your instinct say?

Max: That I really, really want to see you again.

Isabelle: You’re very direct, aren’t you?

Max: Is that a bad thing?

Isabelle: No. Just… unexpected.

Max: Well, I can be subtle too.

Isabelle: Can you?

Max: Definitely. For example, I could subtly ask what you’re doing tomorrow night.

Isabelle: …Very subtle.

Max: Thank you. So?

Isabelle: I might be free.

Max: Good. Then I’ll subtly ask if you’d like to have dinner with me.

Isabelle: Are you always like this?

Max: Only when I really like someone.

Isabelle: …Dinner sounds nice.

Max: Perfect. I’ll send you the details.

Isabelle: Looking forward to it.

Max: Me too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: I met someone.

Victoria: …Okay?

Max: And I think I’m in love.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: You literally just met her??

Max: Yes.

Victoria: And you think you’re in love?

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: Max.

Victoria: WHAT.

Victoria: HOW.

Victoria: WHY.

Max: I don’t know, Vic. I just know. I met her tonight and I just…I just know.

Victoria: You’ve known her for one night.

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Vic.

Victoria: Oh my god, you’re serious.

Max: Very.

Victoria: You’re actually gone for her already.

Max: Completely.

Victoria: …Okay.

Max: Okay?

Victoria: Yeah.

Victoria: I mean, I think you’re insane, but if anyone deserves to fall stupidly, recklessly in love, it’s you.

Max: …Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: You deserve to be loved, Max.

Victoria: For who you are. Not because you’re Max Verstappen, two-time world champion, but just because you’re you.

Max: …

Max: I think she sees me that way.

Victoria: Then hold onto her.

Max: I plan to.

Victoria: Is that why you’re texting me at midnight like a lunatic?

Max: …I may have also just bought that penthouse.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: YOU HAVE BEEN UNDECIDED ABOUT THAT PENTHOUSE FOR MONTHS.

Victoria: AND NOW YOU MEET A GIRL AND SUDDENLY YOU’RE BUYING IT???

Max: Her architecture firm is working on it.

Victoria: This is why people say Libras are intense.

Max: That’s astrology nonsense.

Victoria: SAYS THE MAN PLANNING A WHOLE FUTURE AFTER ONE CONVERSATION.

Max: I have a good feeling about it.

Victoria: MAX.

Max: What? You just said I deserve to be loved.

Victoria: YES, BUT I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D LOSE YOUR ENTIRE MIND OVER IT.

Max: Too late.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: You are actually the most ridiculous person alive.

Victoria: But if she makes you happy… then I’m happy for you.

Max: She does.

Victoria: Then that’s all that matters.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emergency. Crisis. Disaster.

Emilie: That’s a lot of words. What happened?

Isabelle: I have a date.

Emilie: And that’s a disaster because…?

Isabelle: Because it’s with Max Verstappen.

Emilie: …

Emilie: I’m going to need a second.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: Okay, I’m back. WHAT???

Isabelle: We met at a bar. He asked me out. I said yes. And now I don’t know what to wear. Focus. Help.

Emilie: We met at a bar, he asked me out, I said yes—DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF???

Isabelle: EMILIE. FOCUS. OUTFIT.

Emilie: Right. Okay. Where is he taking you?

Isabelle: Some fancy restaurant. Not too fancy, but still expensive.

Emilie: God, of course. Okay. Simple but elegant. A dress that makes it look like you didn’t try too hard, even though you absolutely did.

Isabelle: Black dress?

Emilie: Obviously. And heels. You own some ridiculous ones. Wear those.

Isabelle: You are suspiciously good at this.

Emilie: Because I have taste. Now, more importantly—DO YOUR BROTHERS KNOW??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: No, they do not.

Emilie: WHY NOT???

Isabelle: Because I don’t want to deal with it.

Emilie: You are dating CHARLES LECLERC’S BIGGEST RIVAL. YOU DON’T THINK THAT’S WORTH MENTIONING???

Isabelle: One date does not mean I’m dating him.

Emilie: YET.

Isabelle: I don’t think Charles would care.

Emilie: …That is the saddest sentence I have ever read.

Emilie: You don’t think Charles would care.

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Are we talking about the same man??? The one who holds grudges against people for bad karting races from 15 years ago??

Isabelle: I am saying that I am basically invisible in my family, and therefore, he will not care.

Emilie: THAT IS SO DEPRESSING.

Isabelle: It’s just reality.

Emilie: No, it’s tragic. And when Charles inevitably does care, I am going to be so smug about it.

Isabelle: He won’t.

Emilie: He will. And when he finds out from Twitter instead of you, I am going to remind you forever that I was right.

Isabelle: Fine. If he does, I will buy you dinner.

Emilie: And?

Isabelle: And I will admit you were right.

Emilie: Good girl. But first, we need to make sure Max Verstappen is absolutely floored when he sees you tonight. Let’s pick out your dress.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: HELP.

Max: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: I’m serious, Vic. This is important.

Victoria: It’s one date.

Max: Exactly! First impressions matter. What if I wear something stupid?

Victoria: You wear team merch 90% of the time, so that’s a real possibility.

Max: NOT HELPING.

Victoria: Okay, okay. Where are you taking her?

Max: Nice restaurant. Fancy-ish but not too fancy.

Victoria: Alright. Dark jeans, nice shirt, jacket. Clean shoes.

Max: That’s it???

Victoria: Yes, you’re not walking a red carpet, Max.

Max: What if she thinks it’s boring?

Victoria: If she’s going out with you, she probably already knows you’re a little fashion-challenged.

Max: Wow.

Victoria: I’m just saying, if she agreed to a date, she clearly likes you. Just wear something that fits and isn’t Red Bull merch.

Max: I feel like you’re underestimating the stress of this situation.

Victoria: I feel like you’re underestimating the fact that she already said yes.

Max: …Good point.

Victoria: Obviously. Now go find a shirt that isn’t a team polo and try not to overthink it.

Max: No promises.

Victoria: You’re impossible.

Max: And yet, you still love me.

Victoria: Unfortunately. Now go. And don’t text me from the restaurant freaking out.

Max: No guarantees.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Well????

Isabelle: Well, what?

Emilie: Isabelle. Do not play dumb with me. How did the date go??

Isabelle: …It was really nice.

Emilie: THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING ME?

Emilie: I want DETAILS. Did he show up looking stupidly handsome? Was he nice? Did he make you laugh? Did you kiss him??

Isabelle: Yes, yes, yes, and Yes.

Emilie: YES??

​​Isabelle: I kissed him.

Emilie: !!!!!

Emilie: Details. Now.

Isabelle: It was after our date. He walked me to my door, and I just… kissed him.

Emilie: You just kissed him?? Who are you and what have you done with my overthinking best friend??

Isabelle: Shut up. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.

Emilie: And???

Isabelle: And then he kissed me back.

Emilie: …That better not be the end of the story.

Isabelle: It was soft. And slow. And he cupped my face like I was something precious.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: Isabelle, my love. My dearest best friend.

Emilie: You’re done for.

Isabelle: … I know.

Emilie: And how did he look after?

Isabelle: Like he was trying very hard not to kiss me again.

Emilie: Oh, you’re so doomed.

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: Tell me everything.

Isabelle: He was already at the restaurant when I got there, which was sweet. He pulled out my chair for me. He was nervous, which was insane to me because, you know, he’s Max Verstappen.

Emilie: Boy has driven through Eau Rouge at full speed, but a girl makes him nervous. I love this.

Isabelle: He kept looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the world. Like he actually wanted to hear everything I had to say.

Emilie: I love him already.

Isabelle: You love him?? Emilie, I might actually be in trouble here.

Emilie: Uh oh.

Isabelle: …He sent me flowers.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: When???

Isabelle: They just got delivered.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME.

Emilie: You go on ONE date with Max Verstappen and wake up to FLOWERS???

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: What kind?

Isabelle: Peonies.

Emilie: Belle.

Emilie: He is so in love with you.

Isabelle: It was one date.

Emilie: AND???

Emilie: The man sent you flowers the morning after like he’s starring in a romance novel.

Isabelle: Maybe he just does that?

Emilie: Girl. Be serious.

Emilie: Did he say anything with them?

Isabelle: There was a note.

Emilie: AND???

Isabelle: It just says ‘Last night was perfect. Can’t wait to see you again. – Max’

Emilie: I’M GONNA SCREAM.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is courting you.

Isabelle: Courting is a strong word.

Emilie: He sent you flowers. He is so gone for you.

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: So… second date?

Isabelle: Saturday.

Emilie: GIRL.

Isabelle: I know.

***

Isabelle Leclerc’s Instagram Post

Comments:

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: That’s a very ‘I have a thoughtful boyfriend’ kind of flower arrangement.

↳@/paddockprincessx: Soft launch era????

@/leclercsiblingtea: If Charles doesn’t know who sent these, I need his live reaction immediately.

↳@/monacogossip: Why do I feel like this is someone wildly unexpected?

↳@/redbullsimpclub: Place your bets now, I’m saying it’s a paddock guy.

↳@/f1shenanigans: If this is from an F1 driver, I am losing my mind.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.

Isabelle: And for yesterday. I had a really nice time.

Max: I’m glad you liked them. 

Max: What’s your favorite flower? For next time.

Isabelle: Snowdrops.

Max: Snowdrops?

Isabelle: Yes?

Max: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone whose favorite flower is snowdrops.

Isabelle: That’s a shame. They’re beautiful. And they bloom in the cold, when nothing else does.

Max : Like you, then.

Isabelle: …Are you trying to be charming, Max Verstappen?

Max: Is it working?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Good.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: So… Victoria told me something interesting.

Max: She needs a new hobby.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What?

Sophie: Are you in love?

Max: …Maybe.

Sophie: After one conversation?

Max: No! After two conversations.

Sophie: Oh, well, that’s much more reasonable.

Max: Mom.

Sophie: Max.

Max: Look, I just know that it’s different. I’ve never felt like this before.

Sophie: That’s a big thing to say.

Max: I know. But I can’t explain it. It just makes sense.

Sophie: So how did the date go?

Max: …It was perfect.

Sophie: Now we’re getting somewhere.

Max: She’s funny, she’s smart, she actually listens when I talk about racing—like, really listens. And she doesn’t care about the other stuff. The money, the fame. None of it. She just likes me.

Sophie: That’s important.

Max: I know.

Sophie: So when do I get to meet her?

Max: When she doesn’t think I’m a crazy person for how fast I’m falling for her.

Sophie: I hate to break it to you, Max, but you bought a penthouse because her firm is working on it.

Max: …

Sophie: That’s what I thought.

Max: It’s a very nice penthouse.

Sophie: Of course it is.

Max: So you’re not going to say I’m insane?

Sophie: Oh, you are insane. But you’re also my son. And if this makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.

Max: Thanks, Mom.

Sophie: Now tell me, do I need to start planning a wedding?

Max: Goodbye.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale) 

Arthur: Dinner at Maman’s, Saturday, usual time?

Charles: Yeah, I’ll be there.

Lorenzo: Me too.

Isabelle: I can’t make it, I’m busy.

Arthur: What’s Maman making?

Charles: Probably something with pasta.

Lorenzo: Didn’t she say something about lamb last time?

Arthur: Oh yeah, I think so.

Isabelle: Have fun!

Charles: See you all Saturday.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey, if I were to ask for date advice, purely hypothetically…

Victoria: Oh my God.

Max: What?

Victoria: You NEVER ask for advice. This must be serious.

Max: It’s not that serious.

Victoria: You literally bought an apartment because of this girl.

Max: …That’s unrelated.

Victoria: Sure it is.

Max: So… hypothetically… if I needed some guidance, what would you suggest?

Victoria: Are you actually asking for advice, or are you just hoping I’ll make it easier for you by giving you a list of things not to do?

Max: ...

Victoria: That’s what I thought. Give me a second.

Victoria: Okay, here’s your DO NOT list:

Do not talk about tire degradation.

Do not mention iRacing, no matter how good your last stint was.

Do not wear a Red Bull hoodie.

Do not check F1 news during the date.

Do not turn the date into a competition.

Do not text me mid-date if you panic. Figure it out.

Do not propose.

Max: …That last one was unnecessary.

Victoria: I’m just covering all bases.

Max: I wasn’t going to propose.

Victoria: Good. Then this should be easy for you.

Max: The Red Bull hoodie rule feels unfair.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Fine. No Red Bull hoodie.

Victoria: Thank you.

Max: …Can I at least wear the cap?

Victoria: Max.

Max: Alright, alright. No cap.

Victoria: Proud of you. Now, go be normal.

Max: No promises.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hypothetically. If you were taking someone on a second date. What would you do?

GP: …Why are you asking me?

Max: Because you’re married!

GP: And?

Max: That means you’ve successfully dated someone.

GP: That does not make me a dating expert.

GP: Also, since when do you ask me for relationship advice?

GP: Who is she?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max:

GP: MAX.

GP: WHO IS IT.

Max: Isabelle.

GP: Isabelle who?

Max: …Leclerc.

GP:

GP: MAX.

GP: CHARLES LECLERC’S SISTER?!?!?!?!?

Max: Yeah, she doesn’t really like being called that.

GP: MAX.

GP: DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?

Max: Not particularly.

GP: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

Max: I met her.

GP: OBVIOUSLY.

GP: Where?! When?! How long has this been going on?!

Max:  A few days.

GP: And Charles doesn’t know???

Max: I don’t think he notices much about her.

GP: Okay, that’s a whole other issue, but back to you.

GP: Do you have any self-preservation instincts?

Max: She’s nice. I like her.

GP: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

GP: Do you realize the incident this could cause?

Max: If I wanted overreactions, I’d have texted Victoria.

GP: I AM REACTING APPROPRIATELY.

GP: What does Victoria think?

Max: She said, "You deserve to be loved."

GP: …Well, that’s suspiciously sentimental.

GP: But also, Charles is still going to kill you.

Max: You’re being dramatic.

GP: AM I?

Max: Are you helping or not?

GP: I AM TOO BUSY PROCESSING YOUR TERRIBLE LIFE CHOICES.

GP: Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Let’s focus.

GP: You need a second date idea.

GP: That does not result in Charles Leclerc murdering you.

Max: I think you’re overestimating how much he pays attention to her.

GP: That’s between them. I am concerned for you.

Max: You’re being dramatic again.

GP: No, I’m being realistic.

Max: …I’ll deal with that when it happens.

GP: Unbelievable.

GP: Alright. Date ideas.

GP: What did you do for the first one?

Max: Dinner. Talked a lot.

GP: What does she like?

Max: Horses.

GP: Horses.

GP: You’re dating someone who likes horses.

Max: Yes?

GP: I feel like that’s relevant information I should’ve had sooner.

GP: Have you ever been near a horse, Max?

Max: Not really.

GP: Okay, no horse-related dates yet. You will get yourself killed trying to impress her.

Max: She’d find that funny.

GP: I wouldn’t.

GP: Let’s keep it simple. Somewhere quiet. Private. Where you can talk.

Max: I was thinking that too.

GP: What about a picnic?

Max: A picnic.

GP: Yeah. You get some good food, go somewhere nice, and just relax. No stress.

Max: Where am I supposed to find a picnic spot?

GP: You have a balcony, Max.

GP: You literally have a balcony with a view.

GP: Just set something up there.

Max: …That’s actually not a bad idea.

GP: Wow. Praise from the great Max Verstappen. I’m honored.

Max: Don’t get used to it.

GP: Okay, what kind of food does she like?

Max: She ordered pasta on our first date.

GP: That’s a start. You could order from the same place.

Max: Or I could cook.

GP: You could what?

Max: I can cook, GP.

GP: Since when?

Max: Since I lived alone?

GP: Okay, sure. But can you cook something that won’t poison her?

Max: Wow. Faith in me is at an all-time low.

GP: Just making sure she survives the night.

Max: I’ll make pasta. It’s simple.

GP: Fine. But don’t experiment. Stick to what you know.

Max: What do you think I’m going to do? Try molecular gastronomy?

GP: I wouldn’t put it past you.

GP: Okay, what else… You need drinks. Dessert.

Max: She likes red wine.

GP: Get a good wine, then. And dessert?

Max: She mentioned liking raspberries once.

GP: So get her something with raspberries.

Max: Got it.

GP: And what about ambiance?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max: What?

GP: Do you even own candles?

Max: …Victoria gave me some once.

GP: Use them.

GP: And put some effort into setting the table.

GP: You know, for someone who acts like they don’t care about romance, you’re actually putting effort into this.

Max: …She’s worth the effort.

GP:

GP: Damn.

GP: Okay.

GP: You have to survive Charles finding out.

Max: I told you. I’ll handle it.

GP: Yeah, yeah. Just keep me updated.

Max: Sure.

GP: And if you need actual advice, ask Victoria.

Max: I did ask Victoria. She just sent me a list of things not to do.

GP: What was on the list?

Max: "Don’t talk about tire degradation. Don’t mention iRacing. Don’t wear a Red Bull hoodie."

GP: Solid advice.

Max: She also said, "Act normal."

GP: That one might be harder for you.

Max: Wow.

GP: Just being honest.

GP: So, do you have everything planned?

Max: Yeah. I think so.

GP: Good. Now all you have to do is not mess it up.

Max: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

GP: Any time.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Soooooo... how was the date?

Isabelle: Good.

Emilie: …That’s it? "Good"? You had dinner with Max Verstappen, a man who has clearly lost his mind over you, and all you have to say is "good"???

Isabelle: Fine. Great. Amazing.

Isabelle: Happy?

Emilie: Better. But I’m gonna need DETAILS.

Isabelle: We had dinner, talked a lot, and then I stayed over.

Emilie:

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Emilie: YOU STAYED OVER????

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: As in "I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie and went home in the morning" stayed over, or "I am now intimately familiar with Max Verstappen's bedsheets" stayed over???

Isabelle: …

Emilie: ISABELLE.

Isabelle: Nothing happened. 

Emilie: Oh my god.

Emilie: OH MY GOD.

Isabelle: I swear, nothing happened. It just got late and…

Emilie: This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Isabelle: I’m so glad MY love life is giving you entertainment.

Emilie: You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting for you to have an actual romance for YEARS. YEARS, ISABELLE.

Isabelle: You make it sound like I was living in a cave.

Emilie: Emotionally? Maybe a little.

Isabelle: Rude.

Emilie: True.

Emilie: But seriously. How do you feel?

Isabelle: …I don’t know. It’s weird.

Isabelle: He likes me. Like, really likes me. And I’m not used to that.

Emilie: Then get used to it, babe. Because that man? He’s already gone for you.

Isabelle: You think so?

Emilie: I KNOW so.

Emilie: Now tell me: does he have nice bedsheets, or do I need to stage an intervention?

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Well???

Max: Well, what?

GP: Don’t play dumb. How did it go?

Max: …

GP: MAX.

Max: It went well.

GP: That’s it? That’s all I get after coaching you through this?

Max: What do you want me to say?

GP: I want details. Did she like the food? Did you talk about tire degradation anyway? Did she laugh about your terrible jokes?

Max: She liked the food. No, I did not mention tire degradation. Rude.

GP: Growth. I’m proud of you.

Max: Thanks.

Max: The cats love her.

GP: …THE CATS?! MAX. That is NOT the update I was looking for.

Max: No, but it’s important. They don’t just like people.

GP: I was expecting romance, maybe a ‘we stayed up talking all night’ or ‘she laughed at all my jokes’—and you’re giving me ‘the cats love her’??!

Max: It means a lot! Jimmy and Sassy were literally fighting for her attention. She was just sitting on the couch, and they both climbed into her lap like she was their owner.

GP: …Okay, I’ll admit, that’s kind of a big deal. You’re in love, aren’t you?

Max: I mean… yeah.

GP: I knew it. The cats knew it. Everyone knew it. Charles is gonna lose his mind.

Max: That’s a problem for future Max.

***

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - A simple day turns into something much more. Tension brews, words are exchanged, and things begin to shift between old friends.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild language, romantic tension, use of a gun, emotional vulnerability, slight suggestiveness.

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - Part 1 of this is series is the very first time a post of mine has gotten that many likes. I’m mind blown, excited, thrilled and juts so grateful that you guys are liking this idea i literally just threw together. I’ll have to make a special chapter to express my gratitude but i hope you guys truly enjoy this, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! Sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes!!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 13,018+

The girls had barely gotten the bags set down when a knock sounded at the door. Sinclair, baby Ryan perched on her hip, answered it with a small smile. Standing there was Smoke, Stack hanging back in the car. Smoke was looking stoic as ever, and Stack waved and offered a sheepish grin as he looked at the baby in her arms.

“Uh, left my wallet.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I dropped it in one of the bags.”

Sinclair didn’t miss a beat. “Perfect. Y’all can help me real quick too.” She said, shifting Tyson to her other hip. Before Smoke could protest, she nodded toward the driveway. “Car won’t start. I was gon’ get Juicy to call Keith to take care of it, but since y’all are here…”

Juicy groaned softly behind her sister as she came from putting some of the things away in the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was to owe these two anything — they had just gotten back into town, and she wasn’t tryna look helpless. But Sinclair had already ushered them inside, thanking them sweetly before disappearing down the hall with the baby.

“I can call a tow or something.” Juicy tried weakly, crossing her arms as she followed Smoke outside. “Ain’t no need to trouble y’all—”

Stack waved her off, already heading for the hood of the car. “Ain’t no trouble. We bored anyway.” He said, flashing her a wink as he popped the latch.

Smoke was quieter, surveying the car with narrowed eyes. He glanced at Juicy once, reading her reluctance, but didn’t say anything. Just lifted the hood and started working with the tool bag so close placed on the porch before running back into to Tyson. Mary flopped down onto the porch swing beside Juicy, nudging her shoulder into her leg with a grin.

Juicy exhaled loudly and joined her, watching as the twins tinkered with the car. Occasionally, Sinclair peeked out from the doorway, shouting little updates or asking if they needed anything.

After a while, Stack called over his shoulder, “Y’all just gon’ sit there and stare?”

Juicy, ever the quick one, shrugged, trying to mask her real reason for watching. “The view ain’t so bad.” She quipped, flashing a cute, closed-lip smile.

Both men chuckled. Stack shook his head while Smoke smirked under his breath, glancing back at her with an amused, almost… intrigued look. Juicy could feel her cheeks heat up, but she played it cool, sitting back and licking at her slowly melting strawberry ice cream.

“Girl.” Mary leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper only Juicy could hear. “I’m sorry, but if that was me? I’d hop on that so fast.”

Juicy frowned, glancing sideways at her. “Huh?”

Mary gave her a look like it was obvious. “Come on, Ju. You see how they lookin’ at you. Both of ’em. Like they tryna figure out who’s gon’ get the first move. You or one of them.”

Juicy shook her head, lips pressed tight to hide a smile. “You trippin’.”She mumbled, though her heart picked up in her chest.

“Nah, you just blind.” Mary laughed, licking her own ice cream cone. “I’m just sayin’ — if you don’t do something about it, I might.” She said suggestively, nudging in the arm. Juicy just rolled her eyes, pretending she wasn’t affected, but her eyes wandered back to the driveway, watching the way Smoke leaned over the hood with his sleeves pushed up, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each turn of a wrench. Stack was no better, lounging against the side of the car, wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, flashing a glimpse of his abs.

Damn. She thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Mary wasn’t crazy.

After a while, since Juicy wasn’t about to let the twins work themselves to death, she brought the men out something to drink. Slipping back inside the house, she returned with a small tray balanced in her hands, setting down a cold pitcher of lemonade and a stack of bottled waters on the porch railing. She also dragged out an old, battered radio, plopping it near the steps and fiddling with the dial until it landed on a station spinning smooth R&B tracks.

Stack caught the change in atmosphere first, glancing over his shoulder and giving a low chuckle when he saw Juicy setting everything up like a little hostess. Or a nice housewife. Smoke didn’t say anything — just wiped his hands on a rag and nodded his thanks before ducking back under the hood of gray ‘96 Buick LeSabre.

Juicy and Mary settled on the porch again, bare legs swinging lightly above the ground, chatting and laughing while the twins worked. Every so often, Stack would pop his head up, teasing them about being lazy, and Juicy would shoot something back just as quick, the easy back-and-forth slipping into something more familiar. Something warmer.

“You gon’ sit there and watch all day?” Stack called out as he tightened a bolt.

Juicy rolled her eyes as she sipped at her lemonade through a straw, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a smile. “I’m minding my business, which just so happens to be that car, and making sure y’all don’t make it worse. Now get back to work, handsome.” She tossed back sweetly, flashing him a playful grin.

Both twins barked a laugh at that — Smoke shaking his head with a smirk while Stack grinned wider, flashing those gold fronts that caught the sunlight.

They were almost finished when a group of girls strutted up the sidewalk, all lip gloss and cut-off shorts, waving excitedly at Juicy and Mary.

“Y’all coming to the rink tonight?” One called, Sharee, bouncing on her toes. “It’s ladies night — free entry. And DJ Sammie’s on the music so you know it’s gon’ be poppin’!”

Juicy hesitated, letting out a questioning him and glancing sideways at Mary, who immediately nodded like a bobblehead. Juicy couldn’t help but laugh as she stood up from the wing and moved over to the porch railing.

Sensing the pause, another girl chimed in, grinning mischievously. “Keith’s gonna be there…”

That name got both Stack and Smoke’s attention. Stack looked up from under the car, wiping his hands on his jeans, while Smoke just leaned an elbow against the hood, eyes narrowed slightly as he listened.

Juicy groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out. “We ain’t goin’ for Keith.” She said firmly, crossing her arms. “We goin’ for the music. And the skating.” The group of girls just giggled, but the twins kept their reactions to themselves, although the way Stack shook his head and muttered something under his breath wasn’t lost on anyone paying attention.

Just then, Smoke stepped out from under the car, grabbing the hem of his white muscle shirt and dragging it up to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. The move revealed a long stretch of carved abs and broad chest, glistening slightly under the sun.

The girls on the sidewalk went still, staring, barely trying to hide it. Mary leaned over to Juicy and whispered something that made her snort.

Smoke’s arms, chest, and abs were cut and gleaming, every muscle shifting as he moved. His expression was calm, like he didn’t even notice the sudden heavy air. But the girls noticed.

They tried — tried — to stay cool, fake texting on their phones, fiddling with their hair, pretending to stretch like they weren’t sneaking glances at every inch of him. One girl tilted her head, lips parting slightly before she caught herself and quickly turned to whisper something to her friend, who was already elbowing her back.

The whole group looked like they wanted to fan themselves but knew better than to make it obvious.

Smoke ignored the attention entirely as she turned and waked towards the porch. His focus stayed locked on Juicy as he strolled up to the porch, a confident stride. Without a word, he picked up one of the glasses she had set out and drained it in a few long gulps.

When he finished, he lowered the glass, standing close enough that Juicy had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. The other girls might as well have disappeared.

“Can I get some more ice, please?” Smoke asked, his voice deep and steady. Juicy blinked, a little caught off guard by the way he said it — by the slow, deliberate way he spoke, like every word was dipped in syrup.

“Of course.” She said, a little softer than before, reaching out to take the empty glass from his hand.

“Thanks, ma.” He added, flashing a rare, almost boyish grin that somehow made him even more dangerous.

Juicy barely managed a nod before spinning on her heel quickly and disappearing into the house with the glass, feeling the heat creep up her neck.

Smoke watched her go for a second longer than necessary before heading back to the car without a word, his expression unreadable. Stack only laughed lowly, shaking his head as he tightened another bolt. “You got her flustered, boy.”

Smoke just smirked under his breath and leaned back under the hood. “Shut up and fix the damn car.” He muttered, but even then, there was a certain lightness to him that hadn’t been there before.

Meanwhile, on the sidewalk, the group of girls tried desperately to collect themselves, sneaking peeks at each other like who the hell are they and why haven’t we seen them before? Their excitement was bubbling under the surface, barely contained, especially knowing there was still another fine man half-hidden under the car.

Juicy came back out seconds later, filling the ice cup with water and said it down, waiting for the man to come get whenever he wanted. She saw the looks on the girls faces, and before the girls could even chime in about the fine men fixing the car, Juicy suddenly rethought what Mary had just said, realizing she didn’t like the way the newcomers were looking at Smoke and Stack. She blinked, glancing between the ogling group.

The girls were too busy stealing glances to notice Juicy’s mood shift, or even her arrival, especially as Stack slid out from under the car, sweat dripping down his bronze skin. Without a second thought, he tugged his white muscle shirt off completely, exposing his toned body to the beaming sun. He used the shirt to wipe his face, running a hand down his cornrows before slipping right back under the car like he hadn’t just stopped half the sidewalk.

Juicy felt something twist in her chest. She didn’t like this one bit. Straightening up, she forced a polite smile, her arms folding over her chest tightly.

“Okay, I’ll see y’all at the rink.” She said, voice tight but sweet.

The girls, slow to pull their attention away from the men, nodded distractedly. One of them even started to raise a finger, angled towards the men and probably about to ask something Juicy had no patience for. Before she could get a word out, Juicy was already coming down the porch steps, keeping her arms folded as she approached.

“I have to go help Mary pick out an outfit. We’ll see y’all there.”She said firmly, her tone leaving no room for further conversation.

Her smile stayed taut and polite, but her eyes sharpened a bit as she looked at the girl who’d been about to speak. The girl simply blinked and nodded. Maybe they caught on to the shift in attitude, maybe they didn’t. Either way, Juicy didn’t care.

She waved them off, watching with a hard stare until they turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

When she turned back toward the house, Mary was sitting on the porch, one brow raised knowingly. Juicy rolled her eyes at her friend’s silent teasing.

“Come on.” She huffed. “We gotta find you something to wear.”She stayed planted on the sidewalk, not bothering to head back inside since they were about to walk to Mary’s house anyway.

Mary scoffed as she stood up, amusement all over her face as she made her way down the porch. “Don’t be mad at me ’cause you’re conflicted.”

“I’m not conflicted.” Juicy snapped, arms still crossed over her chest, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. It was a look Stack, still under the car, caught from the corner of his eye — a look that he and Smoke both secretly adored.

Stack rolled out from under the car and looked between the girls. “Where y’all going?” He asked, already pretty sure he knew from the bits of conversation he’d heard. “To Mary’s.” Juicy replied quickly, still sounding a little ticked off without even knowing why.

Stack stood up, stretching his arms over his head lazily before wiping his sweat away with the shirt still in his hand. “Okay, well, you’re not gonna walk. I’ll take you.”

Juicy frowned, confused. “Why? What about the car?”

Stack looked down at her, his gold skin glinting in the sun, cool and unaffected. “Smoke got it.” He said, simple and sure. Juicy opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Stack cut her off, stepping closer and towering over her just slightly.

“And he don’t care. He’ll be a’ight. Now walk on over to that car so we can get you girls ready for the rink tonight.” He said, more a command than a suggestion.

Juicy bit the inside of her cheek, arms pressing tighter against her stomach, trying to ignore the way her body responded to the authority in his voice. When she didn’t move, too caught up in her spiraling thoughts, Stack quirked a brow at her, waiting.

That little flick of his eyebrow snapped her out of it. She blinked, glancing away quickly, then shoved her hand out toward him. “I need the key.” She said sassily, shifting her weight onto one leg, her chin tilted up in challenge.

Stack smirked slightly and pulled the key from his low-hanging pants, dropping it into her palm. Their fingers brushed, and Juicy had to bite back a shiver at the sudden spark that zipped up her arm.

“Go.” Stack said again, his voice low, almost amused.

Juicy scoffed, even though she was already moving toward the parked car across the street. Mary fell into step beside her, grinning devilishly. “Girl, if he talked to me like that, you don’t even wanna know the things I’d be calling him. Shit you only hear in pornos.” She said, her voice loud enough to make Juicy’s face heat up.

Juicy scoffed softly but said nothing, sliding into the back seat with Mary right behind her.

“Girl, you say things you hear in pornos in regular conversation.” Juicy shot back once they were both buckled in.

Mary laughed so hard she snorted. “Exactly! That’s why I said you don’t even know what I could pull out. I got a Rolodex of words that would taint the whole Hall household if I even thought of ’em.”

Juicy scrunched up her nose playfully, a look of exaggerated disgust crossing her face. “Yo freaky ass.” She muttered. The girls’ laughter echoed in the car as Stack disappeared inside briefly, grabbing one of Martin’s spare shirts to tug on and fixing himself a glass of lemonade before joining them.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The drive to Mary’s house didn’t take long—it never did. Just a few blocks through the old neighborhood, past houses that still had their porch swings and clotheslines, windows cracked open to let the breeze in. Stack drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. Mary sat up from the back seat, chatting about outfit options for the rink while Juicy stayed quiet in the back seat, arms still folded, her mind split between Stack’s voice in her ear and the way her body still buzzed from it.

When Stack pulled up in front of Mary’s house, he barely shifted the car into park before he popped open his door. Juicy blinked, confused, leaning forward from the back seat. “Where are you going?” She asked, watching as Stack stepped out, the driver’s side still wide open. Her brows were drawn together, confused by his quick exit.

He paused, glancing back at her with that same half-annoyed, half-amused look that always made her want to slap him—and maybe kiss him, too, if she’d ever admit it.

“You thought I was about to sit in this hot ass car while you girls take forever to find one outfit?” He asked, brows raised like she was the one being unreasonable. “Hell no.” Before Juicy could reply, he added with a shrug, “Plus, I gotta speak to Ms. Boothe.”

That caused Juicy to scoff a little and roll her eyes, the corner of her lip twitching into a pout even she didn’t realize was there. “My bad.” She muttered, opening her door. “I was just asking.”

As she began to step out, hand on the car door, he hit her again with that low, level voice.

“Don’t slam my door.”

Juicy paused, one foot on the curb, one hand still gripping the door. She stared at him over the top of the car, unblinking. No sass. Just that locked-in eye contact that always made the air thick between them. He knew her too well. Without a word, she eased the door shut—not too soft, not too rough—just enough pressure to make sure it caught and locked, but nothing close to a slam.

Stack smiled up at her as he got out and rounded the car, locking it behind him. “And I know you’re sorry, baby.” He dded, eyes playful. “I wasn’t yelling at you.”

That smug little smirk made Juicy roll her eyes again, but there was no heat behind it now—just a flutter in her chest that she refused to acknowledge. She turned without another word and made her way up to Mary’s porch, Stack only a few paces behind her.

Mary was already up the steps and in the home, letting herself into the house as if she lived alone as she waked to her on after a quick greeting to her mother. Juicy followed suit, opening the screen door and stepping into the familiar scent of lemon oil and hot grease.

“Hi, Missy.” She called out automatically, slipping off her shoes by the door like she always did.

Missy Boothe, Mary’s mother, was in the kitchen as usual, standing over a simmering skillet and humming something old-school under her breath. At the sound of Juicy’s voice, she turned from the stove with a warm smile.

“Hey, baby.” She said, her voice honeyed and sweet.

But her eyes immediately shifted past Juicy, going wide as she spotted the tall figure behind her.

“Oh, Elias!” She practically sung, her arms already opening as she came toward him. Stack grinned and stepped into the hug with ease, like he’d done it a hundred times before—because he had.

“Hey, Ms. Missy.” He said, wrapping his arms around the petite Southern woman, careful not to smother her with his size.

She pulled back just far enough to look up at him with adoration. “Just look at you.” She fussed, eyes shining. “You’ve grown your hair out again! And that skin is just glowing, boy. You look so handsome. So grown.”

Stack chuckled low in his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve just been outside, Ms. Missy. That’s all the glow you’re seeing, sweat.”

“Oh, hush that modesty.” She waved him off. “You and Elijah must be doing something right. Still keeping up with your cousin?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s good.” Stack nodded, his voice softening with respect.

“That’s good. Well, you have got to come sit with me for a spell and tell me what you boys have been up to. Come on in here, let me fix you something.” She was already turning back to the kitchen, hand still gently latched around his wrist like she didn’t want him slipping away.

As she led him deeper into the house, Stack glanced back over his shoulder at Juicy. She hadn’t followed yet. She stood near the front room, watching the exchange with a small, unreadable smile on her lips. One that held warmth… and maybe just a hint of something else. A tenderness that surprised even her.

Missy Boothe was one of those women who made everyone feel like home. She’d known them since they were small children, always feeding them, always welcoming them in like they were her own. But Stack had a particular place in her heart. She’d always doted on him a little extra, claiming it was because he was so well-mannered, but Juicy suspected it was something else. Like the way his father treated him. He’d always been around. Showing up for more than just meals. Fixing things around the house. Walking Mary to the store when Missy couldn’t. Making sure her trash was taken out without even asking. That kind of presence made a mark.

She watched as Stack settled onto one of the barstools at the counter as Missy poured him a glass of sweet tea. She was talking a mile a minute now, and Stack was answering with polite hums and the occasional laugh that made his shoulders shake. Juicy watched them from the kitchen doorway, a soft smile on her face before she walked further into the house, leaving the man with the woman that adored him most.

Upstairs, Mary’s room was still the same explosion of color and chaos it had always been—posters of Dru Hill and B2K on the walls, an old Destiny’s Child CD case cracked open on the nightstand, and a tangled mess of clothes spilling from an overworked dresser. The window was cracked to let in the breeze, the lace curtains fluttering gently as the soft hum of a fan blew from the corner. It was just past noon, and the air smelled faintly of coconut oil and flat iron heat.

Juicy flopped onto Mary’s bed, laying on her stomach as she watched her friend rummage through her closet. Mary, dressed in a pink camisole and cutoff shorts, was talking to herself more than anyone, throwing tops over her shoulder and groaning dramatically.

“I swear I don’t have nothing to wear!” She exclaimed, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips.

“You have too much to wear.”Juicy countered, grabbing a red Baby Phat halter top off the bed beside her and holding it up. “You could pull this with your denim mini.” She suggested.

Mary turned and wrinkled her nose. “Girl, I wore that the last time I went out.”

“And nobody remembers but you.”

“I remember, and that’s what matters.” Mary said, then spun around with a grin. “But I know you’re not talking. You know you gon’ pull out that same lil’ rhinestone tee you always wear when you tryna be cute. The one that say ‘Spoiled’ on it.” She snickered.

Juicy narrowed her eyes, flipping her off playfully before burying her face in the comforter. “The shirts nice. Can’t help it if it makes my boobs look good.” She shrugged. Mary laughed and flopped down beside her. “Yeah, you’re tryna be cute. And make them look good for somebody.”

Juicy raised her head slowly. “What you mean?”

“I mean…” Mary’s grin grew wide and mischievous. “Keith gon’ be there tonight.”

Juicy’s face twitched—but only just. “I don’t care if Keith there.” She muttered.

“Mmmhmm.” Mary sing-songed. “You was all shy when he asked for your number last week. Actin’ like you ain’t like him back.”

“I didn’t give him my number.” Juicy mumbled, face buried in the pillow now.

“Yeah, ‘cause I was standing right there.” Mary laughed. “But I know you wanted to.”

Before Juicy could respond, the floorboards outside the room creaked. They both glanced up at the same time.

Stack leaned against the doorframe, shoulder pressed to the wood, arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t bothered knocking—he never did when it came to Mary’s house. He let his eyes trail lazily across the room until they landed on Juicy still lying on the bed, then flicked toward Mary with a lopsided grin.

“Keith, huh?” He questioned.

Juicy sat up fast, like she’d been caught red-handed. “Were you eavesdropping?” She asked.

“I just walked in.” He said, pushing off the doorframe. “Y’all was talkin’ like I wasn’t even here.”

Mary, unfazed, gave him a look. “Yeah, because you wasn’t here a second ago.”

Stack turned to Juicy, narrowing his eyes a little. “So who this Keith dude?” He asked, going back to the subject.

Juicy avoided his gaze. “Ain’t nobody important.” She shrugged.

“Seem like somebody.” His tone was light, teasing even, but there was a sharpness just beneath the surface. His eyes didn’t leave hers, though she didn’t look at him, Mary, still oblivious, perked up as she sorted through more clothes. “He’s the boy that helped us bring the sodas to some function last week, he went and picked them up for the free. Real polite. And cute too—Juicy even said it.”

“Mary…” Juicy warned, her voice low.

“What?” Mary said with a shrug. “He’s nice. You blushed when he said you smelled good.”

“You know that my favorite compliment.” The darker skinned girl mumbled, crossing her arms. Stack looked at Juicy, face unreadable and jaw ticking ever so slightly. “You like him?” He asked.

Juicy met his eyes but only for a second before glancing away, her voice suddenly clipped. “No.”

Mary snorted. “You do. You just don’t wanna admit it ‘cause he quiet and not all hard like—”

“I don’t like him.” Juicy cut her off sharply, more forcefully this time, her eyes flicking to Stack’s.

He studied her closely now, catching the shift in her tone, the way her shoulders stiffened a bit and how she wouldn’t look at him. Something about her denial felt too practiced, too deliberate. Like she wanted him to hear it, believe it—need him to.

Mary didn’t seem to notice. She was still talking, still pulling tops and jeans and accessories. But Stack… he was locked in on Juicy. And the longer she avoided his gaze, the more his protectiveness stirred.

“Just curious.” He said finally, voice dropping a notch. “I don’t know the dude. If he weird or got a rep, I need to know.”

Juicy shook her head. “He’s not weird. And he don’t got a rep.”

“So he just a regular dude… interested in you.” Stack said, stepping further into the room.

Juicy sat up straighter, furrowing her brows at him. “Yeah?” She said. “Why does that sound like a problem?”

“It doesn’t.” He said simply, but his eyes told a different story. “Just don’t like niggas coming around who ain’t got good intentions.”

“And who’s to say he don’t?”

Stack smirked a little but didn’t answer. His silence said enough.

Mary finally caught the shift in energy, turning from her closet with a raised brow. “Okay, why does it feel like y’all are arguing over a boy that neither of y’all dating?”

“I’m not arguing,” Juicy muttered, sliding off the bed. “Ain’t nobody checking for Keith.”

“Exactly.” Stack said, but softer now. His voice didn’t carry the same edge. He watched her brush past him toward the door, like she needed some air. And when she left, Mary gave Stack a look that held just the slightest suspicion.

“You ain’t never asked me about no other boy before.” She said.

Stack’s jaw flexed. “Cause you can take care of yourself. I taught you that.” He said. “She’s…I have to look out for her.” He said, but even he didn’t believe it. Not all the way.

Because when it came to Juicy, looking out always felt a little too close to holding on.

Mary finally ended up settling on a teal crop top with rhinestone straps and a pair of low-rise jeans that hugged her hips just right. After a playful back-and-forth, Juicy finally came back and Stack was back in the kitchen. Juicy claimed a vintage red mesh top with long sleeves and a white tank underneath that gave just the right ‘03 attitude. The girls had spent the last hour laughing, poking fun, dancing to 106 & Park reruns in the background, and throwing clothes across the room like it was a sport.

Mary’s room looked like a dressing tornado had touched down—tops and skirts strewn across the bed, sneakers tossed into corners, and hangers hooked on anything that could hold them. Juicy stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands down the borrowed crop top, a snug baby pink number she’d snagged from Mary’s drawer the moment she saw it.

“You sure you don’t want this one back?” She asked, turning with a sly smile.

Mary grinned from where she knelt on the floor, digging through a pile of shorts. “Nah, it looks better on you anyway. Plus, I’m tryna go a little tomboy cute tonight. Let folks know I got range.”

Juicy laughed and adjusted the hem of the top. “I still can’t believe you keep clothes like this tucked away. What else you got hiding in this closet, Mary Poppins?”

Mary tossed a pair of high-waisted denim shorts at her and stood. “Years of thrift and heartbreak, that’s what. You look cute, girl.” Mary said, admiring Juicy’s reflection in the mirror as she tucked one side of her shirt behind her belt loop.

“You think?” Juicy asked, checking herself out with a slight turn.

“I know. Keith might choke on his words if he see you like that.” Mary teased, bumping her with her hip.

“Don’t start.” Juicy warned, grabbing her flip phone and slipping it into her back pocket. “I’m tryna skate, not entertain.”

By the time they made it downstairs, dusk was slipping through the windows, casting the living room in a warm honey-glow. They laughed all the way down the hall, the sound of their sneakers and flip-flops echoing against the hardwood. The smell of baked chicken and cornbread drifted from the kitchen where Missy was pulling something from the oven. She was a sharp woman, always dressed even when she was home, with earrings in her ears and her hair pinned up with care.

“Where y’all headed?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder. “To the rink.”Mary answered, swinging into the kitchen to grab a bottled water. “Me and Juicy. It’s ladies’ night so we get in for free.”

Missy arched a brow, her lips already curling with suspicion. “Who all gonna be there?”

“Just us.” Mary said with a shrug. Missy turned to look directly at Juicy, a woman-to-woman kind of look, as if she knew her daughter could get a little wild sometimes, but Juicy? She trusted Juicy. Still…

Juicy stepped forward. “We’re not doing anything crazy, Missy. Just skating, maybe a slice of pizza and back before midnight.”

Missy’s eyes narrowed just slightly, still unconvinced.

That’s when Stack’s voice cut in from behind. “Me and Smoke gon’ be there too, Miss Miss.” He said smoothly. “Ain’t nothin’ gone happen to them with us around.” He was lounging against the archway, arms folded and keys twirling on one finger, decided to chime in.

Missy turned to look at him, eyes softening a bit. “You and Elijah?”He nodded, stepping into view and flashing her that easy, boyish smile. “Yes, ma’am. Promise they’ll be good.”

“Well…”She said, resting a hand on her hip and looking from Juicy to Mary and back. “As long as y’all got some backup, I don’t see no problem with it. I know Juicy’s a good girl.”

Mary rolled her eyes dramatically. “Here we go…”

Missy leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “Juicy, baby, what you been up to now that school’s out?”She asked. Juicy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just… enjoying the break while I can. Taking it easy, having fun, you know?”

“Well, I hope not too much fun.” Missy said with a teasing tilt in her voice. Juicy groaned, throwing her head back while Mary cackled. “Missy…”

“Oh come on.” Mary waved her hand. “You know she’s not that kind of girl.”

“I know, I know.” Missy said with a nod. “But I also know how these boys around here get. They see a sweet girl like you and think they can play you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Juicy said, her tone reassuring but calm.

Missy hummed, then tilted her head. “Speaking of, how’s it goin’ with that Powers boy? What’s his name—Kevin?”

“Keith.” Juicy and Mary corrected at the same time.

Stack raised an eyebrow, cutting a look toward Juicy, as well as Mary, who avoided their eyes. “Mm.” Stack muttered under his breath, eyes sliding over Juicy’s figure.

Missy chuckled. “Right, Keith! How’s he doin’? I know he’s sweet on you. I’ve seen the way that boy look at you when he mowin’ that lawn. Almost broke his neck tryin’ to catch a glimpse.”

Juicy sighed, her smile bashful and soft as she avoided Stack’s gaze. “I think he’s doing fine.”

“You think?” Missy prodded.

Juicy shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, we’re not together. We barely even talk. He’s just… around. I don’t know why everyone’s so pressed about who I’m supposedly dating.”

“Because you’re a nice girl.” Missy said plainly, “And nice girls should have nice young men in their corner.”

“Well, I’m not interested in none of that right now,” Juicy replied gently. “I’m going to school and getting my degree. That’s the goal.”

Missy nodded thoughtfully, her tone softening. “I hear you. But don’t work so hard you forget to enjoy yourself. Everybody needs somebody in their corner. Even the strong girls.”

“I am enjoying myself.” Juicy said, her voice just as gentle.

Their eyes met for a moment, the quiet between them holding weight. Missy smiled then, a glint of pride flashing in her eyes, just before something else crossed then as she looked at the girl.

“Have you talked to your parents?” She asked after a pause.

“Mama.” Mary hissed, shooting her mom a warning look as Juicy stiffened slightly. Stack eyed the women, wondering why was going on.

“What?” Missy said, raising her hands. “I’m just asking. I talked to Serena this morning—”

“It’s okay,” Juicy cut in smoothly. “Uh, no, I haven’t spoken to them in a bit, but it’s just been… you know, school. Finals. Everything’s been a blur. I’ll reach out soon, though.” She reassured, but wanting nothing more than that part of the conversation to be over. Stack eyes the girl, seeing the way she had stiffened at the mention of her parents.

Missy hummed again, slow and understanding. “Alright. Long as you do.”She then clapped her hands once and pointed toward the door. “Now go on. Get dressed, go skate, and have some clean fun. Y’all hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Both girls said at the same time, heading for the door.

Missy turned to Stack on their way out. “And you better come visit me again soon. Bring Elijah with you. I got questions for that boy.”

Stack grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

As the screen door creaked open and the sun spilled across the porch, Juicy caught herself thinking—still feeling the heat of Missy’s words, of Stack’s lingering gaze, and the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

By the time the sun had started its lazy descent behind the neighborhood rooftops, the girls were back at Juicy’s house with Stack pulling into her driveway like he belonged there. He cut the engine, and hopped out of the car, just as Smoke came out of the Hall home, watching as Juicy and Mary dashed past him.

“We taking them to the rink now.” Stack said, watching the girls disappear into the house. He watched as Smoke’s face morphed into one of annoyance, but he continued before his brother could express his discontent verbally. “I promised Missy I’d keep an eye on them. You in? Cause I know you ain’t got none better to do.”

Smoke shot him a look. “Yeah, whatever nigga.” He said.

They crossed the street to their place, casual and unbothered, stepping into the familiar scent of cologne and laundry detergent. The music thumping faintly from Stack’s room gave the air a soft pulse while the boys got changed—nothing fancy, just fresh fits and cologne. They weren’t skating, but they weren’t about to show up looking like they didn’t belong either.

By the time they were back outside, posted in the car and waiting, the sky had shifted to blue, the street lights casting long shadows across the pavement. The car windows were rolled down halfway, the breeze just enough to cool the sweat off their necks. They didn’t say much—just let the music play and kept an eye on the house.

An hour passed before the front door opened again.

Juicy stepped out first, her curves hugged by denim jeans and a tight off-the-shoulder top the color of blush wine. Her skin caught the soft shimmer of the porch light, collarbones on display and hair done up in that effortless way that still looked like it took forever. Mary trailed after her in a cute, more sporty outfit—a cropped tee Juicy had let her borrow and a skirt with built-in shorts underneath.

Smoke leaned forward. “That’s them?” He asked, since he couldn’t quite see the door from the page her seat,

“That’s them.” Stack said with a little smile, unlocking the doors. “Hop in.” He called out to them.

The girls jogged up to the car, Juicy opening the back door on Smoke’s side with a teasing smirk. “Y’all wasn’t gon’ leave without us, right?”

“You know I wouldn’t dream of it.” Smoke said, sliding his phone into his pocket.

The ride to the rink was filled with soft music and low chatter, the windows cracked to let in the cooling night air. The city was still humming—streetlights flickering, kids biking down sidewalks, couples walking hand in hand, and the occasional honk from a car passing through a yellow light. It was summer energy—slow but charged, with laughter always somewhere in the background.

By the time they reached the rink, the parking lot was alive with it. Cars lined up like a pop-up car show—hoods open, music blasting, boys leaned back on their trunks with drinks in hand and girls circling like butterflies. The smell of hot food, cherry slushies, and lit blunts hung thick in the air. Laughter mixed with the low thrum of bass-heavy music and the metallic clang of skates hitting pavement.

Martin and the crew were already there, posted on the hoods of their cars, chopping it up like they ran the block.

“There go our people.” Smoke nodded, gesturing toward them.

“You go on.” Stack said, looking back at the girls. “We’ll meet y’all inside.”

“Say less.”Mary said, hand in hand with Juicy as she led them to the building while the men were already veering toward Martin and the crew.

Juicy and Mary stepped into the rink like they’d done it a thousand times before—confident, cute, and catching attention. Inside, the air was cooler, tinged with sweat and slushie syrup, the wooden floors gleaming under the multicolored lights that spun in slow circles above. The DJ booth was lit up, music flowing loud but smooth, classic 2000s R&B remixes with just enough bass to keep the rhythm.

Near the tables by the rink, Sharee and the girls from earlier were lounging, drinks in hand and skates already laced up, legs stretched across benches. The moment they spotted Mary and Juicy, they perked up.

“Heeyy!” Sharee waved, sliding out from behind the table with practiced ease. “Look who finally showed up.”

“You know we had to get cute first.” Juicy teased, laughing.

“You didn’t have to try that hard.” One of the other girls said, eyes sweeping Juicy’s figure. “Damn, girl.”

Mary bumped her shoulder, grinning. “Told you this top was gon’ cause a problem.”

“Let’s get you laced up.” Sharee said, already pulling them toward the counter. “The floor’s live tonight.”

Back outside, Stack and Smoke dapped up Martin and the others. They leaned against hoods slick with the day’s heat, cooling drinks in hand and shoes crisp as new, now matter the scuffs they faced from the street. A few of the guys had new cuts, fresh white tees, gold glinting under the glow of streetlamps. They talked hoops, girls, and music—nothing deep, just that loud, layered kind of conversation that could only happen between boys who’d grown up together.

“You came out with Juicy?” One of Martin’s homeboys asked them, flicking ash off his blunt. They glanced at Martin, who was too busy rubbing up on some shock to even pay attention to their conversation.

Stack shrugged. “Yeah, she’s with Mary. Promised her mama I’d keep an eye out. Plus, it ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lil rink night.”

Smoke grinned. “Girls look too good to let ‘em come alone anyway.”

Everyone laughed, the night stretching wide in front of them like a scene from a coming-of-age movie, the kind where nothing big had to happen for it to feel unforgettable.

Inside, Juicy stepped onto the rink, her body finding the rhythm easily, hips swaying as she slid across the polished wood. The girls flanked her and Mary, all of them catching the music like they were made for it. Lights danced across their skin, and for a moment, the world outside the rink—the boys, the pressure, the expectations—melted away.

And it felt good.

The rink was buzzing, the air thick with the sugary scent of concession stand snacks and body spray. Colored lights flickered overhead in lazy circles, casting moving shadows over the skating bodies below. Music thumped with a throwback beat, and the floor pulsed under the weight of roller wheels. Girls glided in tight curves, boys tried to show off, and somewhere in the chaos, Mary and Juicy were exactly where they were supposed to be—together, laughing, skating fast and carefree.

But even in the haze of fun, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show

They’d met up with Sharee and the girls by the tables again, and as soon as Juicy and Mary sat down to catch their breath, the gossip started flowing like soda from the fountain machine.

“You see what Jaleesa got on?” One girl leaned over, dragging a French-tipped nail through her hair. “I know she saw that little muffin top when she looked in the mirror.”

“Girl, don’t play.” Another snickered. “She wore that on purpose, swear she thick now ‘cause she got some new jeans.”

Juicy raised her brows, sipping from her slushie with furrowed brows. Mary met her eyes with the same familiar look—Here we go.

They listened, half-engaged, nodding here and there, but it was the same old routine. The moment one of the girls left to go say hey to someone else, she became the next topic.

“Did y’all peep how Destiny keeps skating past Keith like she don’t seem him?”

“Mmhm, and acting like she didn’t cry when he stopped messing with her.”

“She was real loud last week talking about how she ‘don’t care about no boy’—now look.”

Juicy and Mary both leaned back a little. It wasn’t like they were innocent—hell, they had sharp tongues too, but something about the girls’ energy was just off. And it’s something they peered everyone they were asking the girls they considered acquaintances. It was loud and fake and dipped in desperation. The kind of thing you could only stomach in small doses.

Mary leaned over and whispered, “They so fake. And boy-crazy. Like, get a grip.”

“Girl.” Juicy said, voice dry. “You one to talk.”

Mary laughed. “I like men. That don’t mean I’m dumb about it.”

“No,” Juicy agreed, “You just use ‘em.”

“And they love it.” Mary flipped her hair and looked over the rink like a queen surveying her kingdom. “These chicks only keep us around ‘cause dudes still be thinkin’ I’m exotic or whatever.” She said in disgust. “Only white girl they ever seen with a little edge and ass.”

Juicy smirked. “And me?”

“Please. You know why, Miss Juicy. All them boys lookin’ at you like you a prize they ain’t won yet. You know every boy in here waitin’ for you to slip up and let one of ‘em get a taste.

Juicy rolled her eyes. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t let none of ‘em hit.”

“Exactly,” Mary said with a wink. “Mystery makes ‘em drool.” She smirked, taking a sip of her drink before starting again. “And they don’t even like each other for real.”

Juicy laughed low. “Tell me about it.”

“They just keep us around for clout. Me ‘cause dudes still think I’m exotic or some shit.” Mary said, her voice only for Juicy as she scoffed in disgust.

Juicy rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She knew how they looked at her—especially now. She’d grown into herself, thick in the right places, cute with a touch of mystery, and still untouched. That part made them more curious. She hated it sometimes.

“You the main one they scared of.” Mary added, nudging her. “They’re trynna peep who you want and act accordingly for themselves.”

“Too bad none of ‘em will get anything from me.” Juicy said sweetly, standing up. “I need me something sweet.”

She rolled off on the carpet, coasting across the floor toward the concession stand. Her body moved with practiced grace, her skates soft against the rhythm of the music. The line was short, just two people in front of her, and soon she was at the counter, fingers tapping lightly as she placed her order.

“One strawberry cotton candy, please.” She said, already fishing out her few crumpled dollars.

And then, rolling up beside her on silent wheels, came Keith.

“Didn’t expect to see you off the floor.” He said with that easy, boyish smile that always lingered too long. Juicy looked over at him, trying not to grin but failing. “Didn’t expect to be stalked at the snack bar either.”

He laughed. “Stalked? I’m offended. This here’s just coincidence.”

“Mhm. Coincidence got you skating all the way over here, huh?” She questioned, waiting for the man to come back with her sweet treat. “I call that audacity.”

Before he could answer, the concession guy came back, handing Juicy her fluffy, pink cotton candy wrapped around a paper cone. Juicy reached into her pocket, but Keith slid his hand in first, already paying.

“Come on, Keith.” Juicy frowned, smacking his shoulder lightly. “I had that.”

“Nah, let me.” He said with a grin. “Sweet stuff for a sweet girl, ain’t that what they say?” He smirked, causing Juicy to side eye him, though the blush was undeniable. “Oh, you are so corny.”

“But you smiled, didn’t you?”

She tried not to, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “Barely.”

“So not funny, but corny and generous.” He said he said with a shrug, plucking a piece of her cotton candy before she could stop him.

“Boy, get your sticky hands out my—!” She laughed, trying to shield the candy, but he grinned through it, teasing her as they shared space there by the counter. “Oh, no sir. You didn’t even ask.”

He popped the bite in his mouth anyway, laughing. “Mmm. Tastes better when it’s yours.”

“You are triflin’.”Juicy muttered, spinning away, but she was grinning. And then, right on cue, Sammie’s voice came over the speakers, smooth as syrup and twice as slick:

“Alright, alright, alright. Y’all know what time it is—it’s 10 o’clock and that means love jams, baby. If you got you a lil somethin’ somethin’ or wanna get you a lil somethin’ somethin’—this is the part where you skate up close. We playin’ them slow ones now. Lovers only.”

The lights dimmed slightly, shifting to a warm red-and-purple glow, and the first slow song came on—“So Into You” by Tamia sliding in soft and sensual.

Keith looked over at Juicy, cotton candy still in hand, his smile tilting into something more. “You wanna skate with me?” He asked.

Juicy blinked, caught off guard. “What, like now?” She asked as she put a piece of cotton in her mouth.

He glanced at her lips as she sat and nodded. “What about my candy?” Juicy said. “I just got it. And I can’t have it in the rink.” She said, giving him a flat look, only for him to grin wider and say. “I’ll buy you another one. Maybe even two more.”

“You makin’ some big promises.” She said, eyes narrowed playfully.

“I’m good for it.” He smirked. And something about the way he said it—smooth, sure, not cocky but real—made her believe it.

She sucked her teeth, laughing. “You are somethin’ else.”

“You like it.” He said simply, holding out his hand.

“Please.” Juicy scoffed. The them look down at his hand, and she hesitated just a beat—long enough to feel that nervous flutter in her chest—but then she set her cotton candy down and took his hand, warm and sure in hers.

“Come on, Miss Hall.” He said, tugging her gently toward the rink as the beat throbbed and couples began pairing off under the dim, romantic glow.

And just like that, they rolled out together, hands locked, the world around them fading for a little while as Tamia sang softly overhead and the air spun slow with sweet summer magic.

Juicy and Keith were giggling like two kids sharing secrets, fingers laced as they rolled in unison across the floor, their skates moving in an easy rhythm.

Juicy’s cheeks were still a little pink, but it wasn’t from skating—it was from Keith leaning in too close, whispering nonsense in her ear that had her biting her lip to keep from smiling too wide. Every now and then, he tugged her hand to spin her, and though she wobbled, she laughed and let him pull her back, their fingers never losing contact.

They ignored the eyes, because there were eyes. Girls posted up by the benches, whispering and frowning behind manicured hands. Boys paused mid-glide to try and piece together who Keith was, and why Juicy—the thicker, glowing, and untouchably pretty girl—was giggling with that square. The looks were hot, heavy, and nosy, but neither of them paid it much mind. Not tonight.

Across the way, Mary had peeled off from the rink, gliding smoothly toward the concession stand with her usual sway, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she was walking a runway. Her eyes scanned the crowd lazily, but they sharpened the second she noticed a familiar figure at the entrance.

Smoke.

He walked in slow, scanning the place like he owned it, his eyes low but alert. He didn’t come to skate, not really. He’d told himself he was just checking in, that maybe Mary or Juicy needed a ride or an excuse to leave if things got too messy. But the truth was more complicated—more annoying to admit. He just wanted to see her. Juicy.

He clocked Mary first, her red lips curved into a knowing smile as she spotted him. She raised her hand and waved, but he barely gave a nod before his gaze drifted past her—to the rink.

And then he saw them.

Juicy.

And some dude.

Holding hands.

Skating like they were in a damn music video.

Smoke’s jaw tightened, not all the way, but enough that Mary caught it when she walked up beside him, sipping from Juicy’s forgotten cotton candy. “Didn’t know you were coming in tonight.” She said casually, leaning one hip against the wall.

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on the couple on the rink that guy with his laid-back smile and cocky posture, Juicy with her radiant laugh and those soft brown thighs thick in her jeans as she spun around, smiling over her shoulder.

He didn’t recognize the boy. And he didn’t like that he didn’t recognize the boy.

“Who’s that?” He asked, still watching.

Mary licked a bit of cotton candy from her thumb, eyes twinkling. “Keith. We went to school with him, but he and Juicy’s dint started talking until a few months back. He been sniffin’ around since.”

“Yeah?” Smoke muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.

“She ain’t locked down with him or anything.” Mary said, a little too pleased. “Girls gotta skate with somebody.”

Smoke didn’t laugh. He crossed his arms, watching the way Keith spun Juicy one more time, then pulled her close so they glided side by side, nearly shoulder to shoulder, laughing about something only they could hear.

He wasn’t mad. Not really. But something settled low in his gut. Tight. Irritating.

He’d seen Juicy laugh before—she always had a laugh that felt like honey, thick and warm and sweet—but he hadn’t seen her laugh like that for another dude.

That was his girl.

Except she wasn’t.

He had only just gotten back and now he seemed to want this new version of Juicy he was seeing before him. He was just like every other guy, but they had history. He knew her better than she knew herself, and he wanted her before any other guy could come along and ruin the beautiful woman she was becoming.

But since he’s been back, he’s never made a move. Never said anything. Just hovered in her space like a shadow, being there when she needed him, listening when she talked, watching when she wasn’t looking. And now, someone else had slipped into the light.

Smoke’s fingers twitched at his sides.

Mary, sensing the tension, leaned in a bit. “Stack’s been askin’ about her too.“ Smoke’s head turned slowly toward her, a frown tugging at his lip. “Stack?”

She shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? She’s a catch.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared back at the rink where Juicy and Keith moved in sync, the lights reflecting off her skin like she was glowing from the inside out.

Mary nudged him. “You wait too long, Smoke, someone else gon’ scoop her up. That girl is gold. Every boy in this building got their eye on her.”

Smoke didn’t look at Mary, but his voice dropped low, quiet.

“She don’t belong to nobody.”

Mary’s smirk grew. “Not yet.” She said.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the two on the floor finish the song, Juicy still giggling as Keith led her to the edge of the rink. He said something that made her shake her head and laugh harder, brushing his hand off her shoulder in mock annoyance.

Smoke’s fingers curled loosely into fists at his sides. The lights dimmed again, a new slow jam beginning to play. He watched Keith lean down, whisper something in her ear, and watched her smile, wide and unguarded.

Smoke didn’t move. Didn’t storm over. He wasn’t up for a show like that at the moment. But his jaw locked, and his gaze darkened, his stance quiet and unreadable. Mary tilted her head, watching him. “She ain’t picked yet, y’know.” She said, and Smoke finally glanced her way, catching the grin she was giving him. “But they sure tryna make her.”

And with that, she stepped away, cotton candy in hand, hips swaying back toward the crowd, leaving Smoke alone at the entrance, still watching Juicy like she was his favorite secret.

The music began to fade, the rink’s lights lifting into a lazy spin overhead, casting a golden shimmer across the floor. Juicy and Keith slowed to a halt, still holding hands, breathless from skating and laughing. She gave him a soft smile, her hand slipping from his fingers as they made their way off the rink, shoes tapping back onto solid ground.

Just before they could grab their seats or even decide what came next—maybe snacks, maybe a few more laps—Smoke appeared.

Before Keith could speak, before Juicy could even brace herself, Smoke’s hand wrapped gently but firmly around her wrist. He didn’t say a word, didn’t spare Keith a glance, and pulled her away as if he’d been looking for her all night.

“Hey—” Keith started, but stopped when Juicy gave him a small smile over her shoulder, eyes soft, waving her fingers as if to say, It’s okay. I know him.

She did.

Even if she didn’t always know what to do with him.

“Who is that?” Smoke asked, low and rough, not even glancing back at her as they moved. Juicy stumbled slightly on her wheels, nearly losing her balance.

She huffed. “Smoke—”

But instead of shaking him off, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin just barely against his shoulder. He didn’t let go right away, but her warmth did something to him—made his grip shift, his hands finding a resting place on her hands that were placed on his abdomen as she coasted behind him. She wasn’t walking. Wasn’t skating. Just letting him pull her along like he was gravity and she was the moon.

“Why is that any of your business?” She asked, voice drowsy with irritation.

Smoke slowed a little but didn’t stop. “Because you are my business.” He said, tone flat but firm. “And I asked politely.”

Juicy sighed, eyes rolling so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall right out her head. These twins—always in her damn orbit.

“That’s Keith.” She muttered.

Smoke veered toward one of the booths near the edge of the rink, dragging her the last few feet before sliding in without asking. She didn’t sit across from him. Not yet. She stood there, leaning her weight on the table, hovering like some storm he couldn’t ignore. Her brown skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and her denim jeans gripped her thick thighs in a way that made Smoke’s gaze flick there—just for a second—before dragging itself back to her face.

“And who’s Keith?” He asked, tone deceptively neutral. Juicy blinked, arms crossed. “What do you mean, who is he?”

Smoke tilted his head, voice a little sharper now. “Who are his folks? What’s he do? How you know him?”

Juicy raised a brow. “Is he my boyfriend now?”

“That too.” He said, calm, but unblinking.

Juicy took a breath and finally plopped into the booth across from him, sliding in slow, arms still crossed beneath her chest. Her legs stretched out under the table, brushing against his.

“He’s from Clinton. The Powers people.” She began, tone clipped. “His daddy owns that car wash off Main and his mama runs the beauty shop next door. I sweep floors there on Saturdays. He’s got other folks—one granddaddy’s a preacher, the other’s a retried principle, I think. Keith’s a sophomore at Morehouse. Same year as me, but he came back for the summer.”

Smoke listened, his face unreadable, only the slow tightening of his jaw betraying how closely he was taking it all in.

Juicy kept going. “We went to Provine together. Barely talked. He played basketball. His sister was prom queen. But when he came back about a month ago, we started talking a little. Nothin’ serious. He brought his boys down to see what Mississippi life is like.”

Smoke raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And what?”

“He your boyfriend?”

Juicy gave a dry little chuckle. “No. And I don’t think I’m interested either.”

He leaned back a little, arms stretching over the back of the booth. “What do you mean, you think?”

“I mean what I said.” Juicy’s gaze dipped for a second, her voice losing some of its edge. “He’s cool. Sweet, even. But I don’t know. Something about him feels more… friend-like.”

Smoke nodded slowly, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but didn’t. He looked up at her fully now, meeting her gaze as she halfway sat up on the table, the curve of her body framed by the light above.

Juicy tilted her head, eyeing him.

“Why are you and Stack so interested in who I’m dating, huh?” She asked, a teasing edge returning to her voice. “What? Y’all interested or something?”

Smoke didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“In you?” Be asked, voice low. “Yeah.”

Juicy froze.

For a beat, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. Her lips parted, brows knitting together just slightly. “Huh?” She asked, breath quieter than before.

Smoke licked his lips, never taking his eyes off her. “You heard me.”

The air between them thickened, her heart skipping a beat even though she didn’t want it to. He was sitting there, arms stretched like he wasn’t affected, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes—were watching her like she was the only thing he saw in the whole damn rink.

She stared at him, mouth still slightly open, heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted to leap out and slap her.

And then, softly—so softly—she smiled. Not wide. Not flirty. Just… soft.

Like maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting for him to say it. “Smoke—” Juicy began, but Mary interrupted, her voice sharp as she rushed over to them.

“Sharee’s fighting some girl outside over Jarod.”

Juicy gasped, her eyes widening. “What?”

Mary grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the large windows overlooking the parking lot. They skated over, their wheels clacking against the floor, and pressed against the glass, trying to get a clear view, Smoke right behind them.

Outside, under the harsh glow of the parking lot lights, a crowd had gathered. Sharee was in the center, her hair wild, arms flailing as she shouted at another girl. The other girl, equally animated, was yelling back, her friends trying to hold her back. The tension was palpable, the crowd’s energy feeding the chaos.

Suddenly, fists flew. Sharee lunged, grabbing the other girl’s hair, pulling her down. The crowd erupted, some cheering, others trying to intervene. Men began to get involved, pushing and shoving, the fight escalating beyond control.

Juicy’s eyes scanned the crowd, her heart pounding. She spotted one of Donavan’s boys throwing a punch at one of Martin’s homeboys. Her stomach dropped. She knew what was coming.

She gasped, stepping back from the glass. Smoke stood behind her, his eyes fixed on the scene outside.

“Where you going?” He asked, his voice low.

“Martin’s out there.” She replied, trying to remove her skates. Smoke grabbed her arm, his grip firm. “You’re not going out into that bullshit.”

“My brother’s out there; something could pop off.”She scoffed, struggling against his hold.

“And he’s a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions.” Smoke hissed, tightening his grip. “What the hell are you gonna do, huh? Stop the fight? Yell?” His voice was as fine as he stare as she looked down at her.

Juicy paused, her eyes meeting his, fire blazing within them. Before she could respond, the sharp crack of gunshots rang out. Three shots, each one louder than the last.

She gasped, turning toward the window, but Smoke pulled her down, shielding her with his body. Mary dropped beside them, her hands over her head.

The rink fell silent, the music cutting off abruptly. Screams echoed from outside and inside as people scrambled for cover. Security rushed toward the exits, trying to restore order.

Amid the chaos, a familiar voice boomed over the commotion.

“Get yo ghetto asses on with this bullshit! Get the fuck outta here before I bust every last one of you!” Stack hollered, his voice cutting through the noise.

Smoke muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. Mary peeked over the window sill, her eyes wide with fear and curiosity.

The night had taken a dark turn, the once vibrant energy now replaced with tension and fear. Juicy clung to Smoke, her heart racing, unsure of what would come next.

The parking lot quieted in slow, tense waves, the smoke of chaos still lingering in the air like the fading scent of gunpowder. Tires squealed in the distance as the last of the scattered crowd peeled off, leaving only a few clusters behind—faces tense, adrenaline high.

Stack stepped through the roller rink doors, his presence commanding even without a word. He adjusted his oversized tee, slipping his piece back into the waistband of his jeans. The music hadn’t resumed. The rink was silent now, a thick hush of unease draped over everyone still inside.

His eyes scanned the crowd until they found Juicy crouched behind one of the snack counters, her curls wild, jaw clenched. Just as he opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, she pushed past him—skates gone, socks damp on the rink floor—and made a beeline for the exit.

Smoke was leaning against the wall nearby, arms folded. He met Stack’s glance and simply shrugged.

Mary, quick to catch on, stumbled after Juicy. “Ju!” she called out, struggling to keep up with her determined pace.

But Juicy had her eyes locked on someone else.

Her feet hit the pavement outside like a warning shot. “Are you fucking crazy?!” She snapped the moment her gaze landed on Martin, who was leaning against a car, arms crossed like he hadn’t just helped set the whole block on fire, cloths a little disheveled from the brief scrap he’d gotten into.

Martin sucked his teeth, clearly over it already. “Not now, Ju.”

“Not now?” She echoed, her voice rising. Her fists were balled at her sides, brows knitted in fury. “Not now?! Nigga, it obviously is now since you and these other dumbass niggas out here startin’ shit!”

Before Martin could even respond, Smoke and Stack jogged up from behind her, Smoke with her shoes in his hands, the gravel crunching beneath their sneakers. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the night felt heavier than ever.

“What the fuck is your problem, Martin?” Juicy went on, unrelenting. “Out here fighting���for fucking what? That shit didn’t even have anything to do with you!”

Martin’s jaw twitched. His hands dropped from his chest as he stepped forward, the tension between them flaring like fire to oil. “And it definitely ain’t got shit to do with you! So just shut the fuck up!” He pulled as she walked up on her.

Juicy reeled her head back, stunned at his tone and the way he was approaching her. The insult didn’t sting so much as the threat behind it did.

“Oh, so what, nigga?” She barked. “You were gonna hit me?!”

Smoke was already stepping between them, one firm hand on Martin’s chest. “Chill, Mar.” He said evenly, nudging him back just enough to plant a line in the dirt.

Martin’s nostrils flared. “All you fucking do is butt into shit that ain’t got shit to do with you! I’m handling my shit like a grown-ass man!”

“Handling it?!” Juicy yelled, the two of them shouting over each other now. “You tryna act hard in front of these broke-ass bitches with no fucking life, huh?! These fucking bums! You gonna put your fucking hands on me, huh?! That’s what you’re doing now?!”

“Juicy,” Mary whispered, catching up and tugging on her arm. “It’s okay.” Her voice was soft, but her grip was steel. She was trying to hold the girl back, to reel her in before it really got out of hand.

But it was already too late.

“Yeah, get your bitch before she gets her ass whooped.” A voice piped up from the sidelines.

Everyone turned.

A light-skinned girl stood next to Martin, arms folded, lip gloss gleaming under the streetlight. No one remembered her name—just that she was Martin’s latest. The flavor of the month. The disrespect in her voice was enough to turn the air toxic.

Juicy’s eyes snapped to her like a trigger being pulled. “Girl, shut the fuck up. Wasn’t nobody talking to you, bitch.” She spat.

The girl straightened. “Who you calling a bitch?”

“You, bitch!”Juicy and Mary said in perfect unison.

“Martin, you better get your sister and her lil’ friend.” The girl sneered. Martin looked at her like she had just spat on his momma’s grave. “Louie, shut the fuck up and mind your damn business.”

The air cracked with tension. The vibe was off, and everyone felt it.

That one sentence set everything off again. A whole new layer of commotion buzzed to life—heated glares, muttered curses, the tension between family and outsiders now reaching a boiling point. The looks from Stack, Smoke, even Mary—all shot straight toward Louie with collective disdain.

Juicy stepped forward again, but this time Smoke grabbed her from the side, lifting her by the waist with practiced ease. “Nah, baby. That ain’t worth it.” He murmured, his voice low and soothing in her ear even as his eyes stayed locked on Martin. He was handling it—but only barely.

“Let me go!” Juicy shouted, still swinging as he hauled her backward toward the car.

Mary wasn’t far behind, shouting over her shoulder, “Nah, you better watch your fucking mouth, you tired-ass hoe!”

“Bitch, who even are you?” Juicy spat over Smoke’s shoulder.

Louie opened her mouth again, but this time Stack got involved, stepping between the girls and throwing up his hands.

“Enough!” He barked, his tone sharp, slicing through the mess. “Y’all out here lookin’ real fucking dumb right now.”

Finally, after enough huffing and yelling and near blows, Smoke and Stack wrangled the two angry girls back into the car they came in. Mary got in first, pulling Juicy in behind her while still shooting death glares at Louie.

Martin, left to handle the foolish woman he was still stupidly sleeping with, didn’t say much else. Just shook his head, muttering something under his breath while Louie scoffed and rolled her eyes, clearly still not getting it.

The parking lot fell back into uneasy silence. Whatever heat had ignited earlier had burned itself down to embers—but the damage had been done. Lines had been drawn. And Juicy, still seething as the car door shut beside her.

The ride to Mary’s place was quiet, tired but quiet, the kind that settled in after long nights full of heat and mess and words better left unsaid. Smoke sat in the backseat, gazing out of the window as he smoked while Stack drove, hands loose on the wheel. Mary leaned forward between the seats from the passenger side, breaking the silence with a soft voice.

“I’m not staying over tonight.” She said. “Gotta be up early to help my mama shop.”

Juicy, nestled in the corner behind Stack, turned her head and smiled. “Call me. I’ll come with. Ain’t got shit better to do tomorrow.”

Mary grinned. “You sure?”

“I mean, I ain’t say I was reliable. But I’ll show up.”

They both laughed, their shared chuckles easing the final moments of the evening. Mary grinned. “Bet. I’ll call you after breakfast.”

When the car pulled up in front of her place, Mary opened the door, but before she stepped out, she and Juicy leaned toward each other, pressing cheek to cheek in their usual goodbye. A sweet ritual. One kiss each side, soft like sisters.

“Be safe.” Juicy murmured.

“You too.” Mary said, her eyes flickering toward Smoke for a second before hopping out. She offered a lazy wave, then disappeared behind her gate.

The silence returned as Stack finished the drive, turning down their block, the tires crunching soft under the gravel. They pulled up in front of their house, and the car shifted into park. Juicy reached for the door handle before Stack even turned off the engine.

“I’m out.” She said, already stepping out.

“I’m gonna walk her.” Smoke told Stack, nodding toward her as he slid across the backseat and stepped out himself. Stack gave a simple nod, already leaning back in the driver’s seat, half-asleep.

It was silent as the pair walked, and it wasn’t until Juicy was halfway up the porch steps when she looked over at him. “You know you didn’t have to walk me. I’m literally right across the street.” She said. The air was cooler than before, the night settling into its stillest hour.

“I know.” Smoke said, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “But I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need that. I’m fine.” She replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

He glanced at her, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Based on today? I’m sure you can handle yourself, but I don’t know if you should.” He quipped. And Juicy let out a short laugh, her breath fogging up in the night air. “You’re a mess.”

Silence hung between them again, thicker this time. He looked at her, really looked at her—like he could see beneath the tough exterior and find the girl who once used to braid ribbons into her curls and laugh with her whole chest.

“You got a key?” Smoke asked, breaking the quiet.

She blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Uh, yeah.” She patted down her jean pockets, checking front, then back. ”…Somewhere.”

“If you don’t, you can always crash with us.” He offered casually. “There’s more than enough room, and I don’t want you waking Sinclair trying to get someone to open up.”

She laughed again, patting her back pocket now. “It’s okay. Here it is.”

Smoke watched her pull the key ring free, his mind drifting for a second when she turned around, her figure bending just slightly to line the key up with the locc since she couldn’t see that well in the dark without her glasses.

Couldn’t feel the key with all that ass back there, he thought, mouth twitching before he quickly checked himself, eyes raising the second she turned back to him. She looked soft again. The fire from earlier was gone, her stress dimmed like the rest of the night. Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight, lashes long and glossy lips catching what little light was left. Her voice broke the moment.

“Goodnight.” She said gently.

“Goodnight.” He replied, his voice low and a little rough.

Juicy started to push the door open but hesitated, turning to look back. Smoke was already descending the steps, his shoulders broad, head ducked, like he’d made peace with leaving.

“Smoke.” She called, stopping him.

He paused on about the third step, glancing back. “Yeah?”

Juicy lingered in the doorway. Her lips parted like she had something to say, but nothing came out. Her fingers played with the edge of her jacket sleeve. He noticed her nerves instantly.

“What is it, Ju?” He asked, brow narrowing in concern and stepping one foot up.

She swallowed. “Did you mean what you said?”

Smoke blinked. “What I said?” He questioned.

“Earlier.” She began softly. “At the rink. Did you mean it?”

There was a long pause—pregnant, heavy, something sitting thick between them that neither wanted to name just yet. The kind of silence that tugged on heartstrings and made the air feel full of something tender.

“I did.” He said simply. His voice was honest. Steady.

Juicy’s eyes fluttered once. Then something cracked open inside her, soft and trembling. She stepped forward without thinking, crossing the space between them in two strides and threw her arms around his neck, her lips landing on his in a kiss that felt like a storm giving way to calm. Her feet stayed on the porch while he stood a step below her, but he reached up for her like he’d been waiting.

His hands landed on her waist, a bit of warm skin meeting his fingers where her shirt had lifted. The contact was electric, but the kiss was affectionate—slow, meaningful. Her hand curled behind his head, thumb brushing over the waves at the nape of his neck.

The kiss was tentative. It was full of the quiet ache of wanting someone for a long time but never knowing if you could say it out loud. Her lips pressed against his like they belonged there, her body warm against his as she stood a step above him. His hands found her waist instantly, skin meeting skin where her shirt had ridden up, and he breathed her in.

Juicy’s hand found the back of his head, fingers threading into his waves. The kiss deepened, languid and tender, a slow dance of mouths and want and words they couldn’t say.

When they broke apart, the need for air becoming undeniable, Smoke didn’t move—just stared into her eyes, dazed. Her gloss left a faint trace on his lips, and she looked at it before meeting his gaze again.

“I feel the same.” She whispered, rubbing her nose against his.

He blinked, stunned for a beat. Smoke didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. catching her lips again in a kiss that was heavier, needier. His hands slid lower, resting just above the swell of her ass as her own hand tugged him closer. Juicy hummed into the kiss, and he swallowed the sound like a promise.

When they broke apart again, they couldn’t stop pecking each other’s lips—one, two, three soft kisses shared like a secret. Soft, delayed kisses, forehead to forehead, breath to breath, her eyes closed, and his stayed on her. She looked peaceful, and for a second, it felt like the world had gone quiet just for them.

Finally, Juicy leaned back, her palms resting lightly on his shoulders. “Have a good night, okay?”

Smoke nodded, and so did she. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, then turned and opened her door. Before disappearing, she looked back over her shoulder.

He was still watching her, eyes tender.

She smiled bashfully, locking the door behind her. Smoke lingered on the steps for a moment, heart still racing, lips still tingling. He exhaled through his nose, smiled to himself, and made his way back home across the street.

Everything felt different now. Everything felt like something had finally begun.

They would’ve stayed like that all night if the world would’ve let them.

But Juicy slowly pulled back, hands drifting to his shoulders. She looked into his face, eyes half-lidded and warm. “Have a good night, okay?”

Smoke nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. You too.”

She leaned in one last time, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He didn’t move until she slipped inside, the door closing softly behind her. She paused just before locking it, her bashful smile the last thing he saw before the bolt slid home.

Smoke stood there for a moment longer, staring at the closed door. Then he exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and made his way across the street in silence.

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[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twelve

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, some drama oops.

Notes — Share all of your thoughts/feelings after the chapter, I love to hear your yapping!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2020

The walk to McLaren’s hospitality felt longer than it should have. Amelia’s badge (the one Lando had given her, told her to keep with her at all times, even if she didn’t ever think she’d need to use it) beeped against the sensor, the door sliding open with a familiar hiss; and the second she stepped inside, every head turned.

The room stilled. Engineers, strategists, pit crew. Her people. Or they had been, once.

No one said anything. A few exchanged looks. One person reached for a coffee cup and missed.

Amelia stood frozen just inside the door, throat tight. Her fingers trembled against her sides. It felt like there was static electricity in her head and cotton in her mouth. 

“Amelia?”

Will Joseph’s voice cut clean through the thick air. He all but jogged over to her from the other side of the room, expression crumpling into something akin to concern the moment he got a good look at her. Pale face. Shaking hands. Wet eyes. 

“Are you alright? Are you looking for Lando—?”

“I need my dad,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I need Lando. I need—I need my dad and Lando. I need—”

Will’s face shifted immediately. He reached out, stopped himself at the very last second, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, slow down—what’s happened? Are you okay?”

“I need my dad and Lando,” she repeated, more forcefully now. Why wasn’t he listening to her? “I need them. I need them now. I need—”

Her breath caught. Her eyes were glassy. The pressure in her chest was a rising tide. There were too many people. Too many eyes. She was too warm. Her skin was burning red hot. 

“I need them,” she whispered, over and over again, like a prayer or a plea, her voice cracking on every third word.

Will’s expression sharpened into action. “Alright. Okay. Hold on.” He pressed two fingers to the comm in his ear and turned away slightly, shielding her from the curious stares. “I need Zak and Lando here right now,” he said, voice clipped. “Hospitality. Main area. Something’s wrong with Amelia.”

—

Footsteps pounded down the corridor.

“There,” Will said, relief audible. “They’re here.”

Lando appeared first, eyes wide and frantic, scanning the room until his gaze locked onto her. Zak was right behind him, sharp-eyed and tense.

“Amelia?” Lando didn’t wait. He closed the distance in seconds, hands already reaching for her.

She didn’t even try to speak. Just looked at him, wide-eyed and trembling. Lando’s face fell like something inside him snapped, and he gathered her into his arms without hesitation.

His hands were gentle but searching, over her shoulders, her face, her back. “Are you hurt? What happened? Baby, talk to me.”

She clung to the front of his hoodie, pressing her face into his chest like she was trying to disappear. “Jos told me to come and get you,” she mumbled.

Lando stilled. “Jos?”

Zak stepped forward, brows knitting. “Jos Verstappen?”

“He and Max were with me. When I got a call.” Her voice shook. “From the FIA.”

Will, still hovering nearby, muttered something under his breath. Zak’s posture changed immediately, tighter, angrier.

“What did they say?” Lando asked, trying to keep calm.

Amelia didn’t look at either of them. “That I’ve been reported. Someone raised concerns about... ethics. That I might have compromised data. That the report has been been escalated internally.” 

There was a beat of stunned silence.

She took a shaking breath. “They didn’t say who reported me. But I think it was Christian.”

Zak swore—quiet, but venomous.

“He’s been trying to control everything,” she whispered. “And it wasn’t working. So now he’s using the FIA to force me into doing exactly what he wants. I didn’t do anything wrong, but that doesn’t matter. It’s like—like he wants to own me.”

Lando grit his teeth. “You’re not something to be owned.”

Zak looked at his daughter, at the fear in her eyes, and something broke loose in him. “Has it been like this for a while? Him treating you like that?”

She shook her head. “No. He used to be so nice. Always telling me how great I was doing, how lucky Red Bull was to have me. But I spend most of my time with Adrian, not him. It only changed after… after me and Lando. That’s when he got weird. Angry. Like he actually believes me dating a driver means I can’t do my job anymore. It’s bullshit.”

Zak’s mouth opened, then closed again. There weren’t words strong enough for the way that made him feel.

Lando pressed his cheek to the top of her head, holding her close. She felt the knot of panic inside her ease slightly at the warmth of his touch.

“Jos and Max are waiting for us?” he asked gently.

Amelia gave a weak nod.

Zak scrubbed a hand over his face. “Christ. You’ve got the Verstappen’s mobilised like a personal militia?”

She blinked. “Is that… bad?”

Zak stared at her, torn.

Lando pulled back, cupped her face in his hands, and stared down at her. “Everything will be fine. We’ll fix this.”

Zak looked between them, something stewing behind his eyes. “You know this might bounce back on you too, right?” he said to Lando. “If this turns into a political mess; if Horner tries to spin it like there’s bias, or manipulation—”

“Do I look like I care?” Lando cut in, voice low, steady. “They’ve upset my girlfriend. That’s all I need to know.”

Zak exhaled, long and slow. There was something in the way Lando had said it—no hesitation, no caveats. Just conviction. That was new. And a little terrifying, in the way all earnest, young love was. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or concerned that this kid clearly loved his daughter.

Still, he nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go.” 

There was a beat of silence before Amelia pushed herself back against Lando’s chest and exhaled shakily. “Okay. Just give me a second first.”

Zak looked at her, really looked at her, and saw not the genius, not the engineer, not the Red Bull prodigy, but the daughter he hadn’t been close to in far too long. His jaw tightened as the rage boiled up behind his ribs again.

“Take your time,” he said. “Then we go.” 

—

The meeting room was tense. Bright with overhead lights that were humming too loudly for Amelia to tune out. The air-conditioning unit was pushing recycled air around. 

Christian sat stiffly at one end of the table, flanked by two FIA representatives. His expression was thin-lipped, trying for composed, but Amelia could read the irritation in the way he tapped his fingers against his thigh.

On the opposite side, Jos sat with his arms crossed, gaze like steel. Max beside him, not even pretending to hide his fury. Her dad and Lando were across from them, both sharp with controlled emotion; her dad tense, and Lando visibly vibrating with anger.

Adrian sat next to Amelia in the corner. Quiet. Watchful.

“I’m telling you,” Christian snapped, “it’s a matter of professionalism. There’s a clear conflict of interest here—”

“Like fuck there is,” Lando said, voice cutting through the rising tension. “She’s not sharing any Red Bull intel with me. She never has, and she never would.”

Christian scoffed. “You expect us to just take your word for that?”

“I expect you to look at the facts,” Lando snapped. “She’s spent months earning your trust. You know her. You know how seriously she takes her work. She’s not some PR liability, she’s not some leak. She’s one of the smartest people in the paddock and probably more professional than half of your fucking pit crew.”

Christian ignored him. “It’s a question of integrity—”

“She’s not a driver,” Max interrupted, his voice sharp. “And she is not your property. You’re only calling it a conflict because you feel like you have no control over her.”

Christian’s jaw tightened as he stared at his star driver. “She’s dating a McLaren driver. Whose team principal is her father. You don’t see how that might look?”

“She’s making you look stupid right now,” Jos said coolly, “and you don’t like it.”

Christian’s jaw clenched.

No one noticed Amelia lean slightly toward Adrian, voice low and even. “If I didn’t work for Red Bull. If I just worked for Max, exclusively, would you still be able to mentor me?”

Adrian didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t let anybody tell me otherwise.”

She nodded once. Quietly overwhelmed, nauseous from the adrenaline crash and the stifling heat of so many raised voices, she stood and reached to tap Jos on the shoulder. He turned to her immediately, eyes slitted.

“I accept your offer,” she said, soft but firm. “Buy me out.”

The room fell silent.

Christian turned slowly. “What?”

“I said,” she repeated, louder now, “buy me out. I will still work for Max,” she continued, voice unwavering despite the way her hands trembled at her sides. “And I will liaise with Adrian. But I do not want to work for Red Bull if this is how you will treat me.”

Christian looked like he’d swallowed a wasp. “You’re under contract.”

“I know,” Amelia said, tilting her head slightly, like she was explaining something painfully simple. “I read it thoroughly. One-year, a fixed term agreement. You never made me sign a new one. Too focused on my love life, apparently.”

Jos smiled like a man satisfied with the inevitable.

Christian’s face went red. “I—I’m sure you were contracted for longer. That’s not possible.”

Max leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “It’s very possible.”

Jos tapped the table with satisfaction. “Very good. We’ll have our lawyers begin the process today. As soon as Amelia is out of contract with Red Bull, she will begin working for the Verstappen camp exclusively.” 

Max looked at Amelia, relief washing over his face, his shoulders relaxing. Adrian gave a small, approving nod beside her, proud in his quiet way. Lando’s jaw was tight, his eyes burning into Christian like he was ready to throw something. He reached over, wrapping an arm around Amelia’s waist, tugging her close. His eyes didn’t leave Christian, almost cockily daring him to say another word.

Zak stood slowly, his voice cutting through the tension. “This has been a complete waste of the FIA’s time,” he said, calm but sharp. “If Christian isn’t investigated for this false accusation, I’ll be incredibly unimpressed by your lack of integrity.”

The FIA reps exchanged nervous glances, clearly unsure how to proceed.

Amelia stood still, pressed close to Lando. He glanced up at her, nodded once, and she exhaled a slow breath. 

— 

Amelia was standing by the wall, her eyes trained on the monitor displaying Max’s lap times as he pushed his car around the track

Jos approached quietly. 

He didn’t say anything at first, simply observing the screen with her, watching Max as he accelerated through each corner. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but firm. “Amelia,” he began, his eyes still on the track. “You already know that you’re good at what you do. So, when you are working for us, all I expect from you is one thing.”

She didn’t look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the screen. “I’ll make sure he wins the championship,” she said bluntly, her voice steady and certain. “Next year, I hope. The year after that, for sure.” 

Jos’ eyes flicked to her, a slight but approving nod of his head. “Good. Your personal life does not matter to me. What matters is that Max gets that title.”

He paused, and then gave her a tight squeeze on the shoulder; brief, but strong enough to make her feel it. Amelia stiffened at the touch, but it was firm, controlled, and left no space for doubt. It also didn’t linger long enough to make her uncomfortable.

He looked at her one more time, the lines of his face softening just a fraction. “You will give him the car that he needs to win?” 

She didn’t smile, but there was a quiet certainty in her that matched his. “I will.”

With that, Jos turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, her focus once again solely on the screen in front of her.

She felt the weight of his words settle over her, the one singular mission that he’d handed to her. No outside expectations. No silly aspirations. 

Just a championship. 

She could make that happen. 

— 

Most of the team had dispersed for the evening, the buzz of the paddock giving way to a more subdued hum of late-night prep. Amelia stood near the back of the garage, fingers curled around the edge of the workbench, eyes fixed on the schematic spread across the screen. She didn’t look up when Adrian joined her.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said.

She didn’t reply immediately, just let out a slow breath. “I didn’t want to go back to the hotel yet.” She was waiting for Lando, too. He’d been called in for a post-practice debrief. 

Adrian nodded, folding his arms loosely over his chest as he stood beside her. “You’ve had a long day.”

There was a pause before she finally spoke again, quieter this time. “Are we really still going to be able to work together?”

Adrian turned to look at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he said, gently, “Of course we are. That’s not how it works. You’ll still be a crucial part of Max’s race program. Nothing changes in that regard. You’re just no longer on Red Bull’s payroll.”

She nodded, slow, like she was digesting that. “So… limited access to team-wide data.”

“Yes. You won’t be able to view Alex’s telemetry or setups anymore. But Max’s car? That’s still yours to develop. Full access. Always.”

Amelia’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I don’t need anyone else’s data anyway.”

Adrian smiled, faint but fond. “I didn’t think you did.”

She glanced over at him then, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. I never wanted to leave Red Bull. Not like this.”

“I know,” Adrian said simply. “And I am sad that you won’t be as involved in our broader operations anymore. You were, are, an extraordinary presence. But I’m also glad you’ll be able to live your life the way you wish. And I trust Jos to protect your work. Max too.” He rested a hand on the edge of the bench beside hers, close but not quite touching. “You deserve to do the job you love, without sacrificing the life you want to live.”

Amelia’s throat tightened a little. She looked away, back at the schematic.

“I’ll make sure Max wins,” she said, voice steady and certain.

Adrian smiled, the kind of quiet, proud smile that only came from deep trust. “I never doubted it.”

She hesitated, then glanced sideways at him. “You need to keep an eye on the second car. On Alex—and whoever Christian decides to replace him with at the end of the year. Something’s wrong with it. It’s not just setup issues.”

Adrian’s expression sharpened ever so slightly. He nodded once. “Okay. I’ll look into it.”

“Okay,” she echoed, her voice soft but resolute.

— 

Lando was cross-legged on the hotel bed, headset balanced over his messy curls, half-focused on the screen of his laptop and chatting idly to stream chat. He’d dragged a small streaming setup with him like always, ring light, mic, the works, even though he wasn’t planning a long one. Just something to decompress.

Amelia had been pacing softly near the window for the last twenty minutes.

He noticed, of course. She hadn’t said much since dinner, and she hadn’t taken his hoodie off since they got back. The sleeves were pulled halfway over her hands, and she was rubbing her thumbs in a tight, repetitive rhythm against the seam at the cuffs. Small, barely-there stims that told him everything he needed to know.

He muted the stream briefly. “You okay, baby?”

She hesitated mid-step. “I—” Her voice caught. “I need to…. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” he said simply. “You want me to stop streaming?”

She blinked at him. “No— I like listening to you play. It’s relaxing. I just. I don’t know if you’ll find it weird. Or annoying.”

Lando let out a soft, disbelieving breath and tilted his head at her, fond. “Babe, you’re literally the least annoying person I know.”

She gave him a flat look.

“Okay,” he amended, grinning, “Top five. But seriously, just do your thing, yeah? You don’t have to, like, hide anything around me.”

Her shoulders softened a little at that. Still hesitant, she grabbed her favourite stim toy from her bag, a little handheld tangle of soft silicone loops, and curled up on the far end of the couch, letting herself twist and flex it between her fingers and bounce her leg all at the same time. 

Lando unmuted his stream. “Sorry guys, back. Had to check on something more important than you.”

Chat immediately flooded. 

WHO’S MORE IMPORTANT THAN US IS AMELIA THERE????? LANDO IS WHIPPED LMAO

He glanced over at her and added casually, “Yeah, she’s here. And no, you can’t see her. She’s doing her genius secret stuff.”

“You’re a menace,” she murmured.

“You love it,” he replied, dimpling.

A few minutes passed in a warm hush, the occasional stretch-snap of the stim loops in her hand and his gaming chatter the only sound in the room.

Eventually, she whispered, “Thank you.”

He didn’t even turn, just kept playing and grinned, voice soft but certain. “Always, baby.”

— 

The hotel breakfast lounge was quiet, sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows in soft, hazy beams. Amelia spotted her dad sitting alone at a small table in the corner, nursing what had to be his third cup of coffee, half a croissant on his plate and his phone face-down beside it.

She hovered near the entrance for a second longer than necessary, then took a breath and walked over.

Zak looked up the second her shadow hit the table. He stood halfway, unsure, and only sat back down once she slid into the chair opposite him.

“Hey,” he said gently.

“Hey,” she replied, voice low but calm.

“I didn’t know what to get you,” he admitted, nodding at the small spread he’d asked the waiter to leave on the table; toast, eggs, fruit, a tiny tower of pancakes. “So I just… ordered too much.”

“That’s fine,” she murmured. “You always do that anyway.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Amelia reached for a piece of melon, then paused. “Thanks for being there yesterday.”

Zak looked at her closely. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I’m your dad.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “But still.”

A silence settled. Not awkward; just a little heavy.

He fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup. “I meant what I said. If the FIA don’t investigate Christian, I’ll make a big deal out of it. He shouldn’t get to throw around accusations like that without consequences.”

Amelia nodded slowly, chewing her bite of melon.

“And I meant what I said,” she told him, “about not wanting to be owned by anyone. Not even you. I— I want you to be a part of my life. I do. But not if it means I have to be part of McLaren, or do things your way.”

Zak sat back, hands resting on the edge of the table. “That’s fair.”

She looked at him properly for the first time since she’d sat down. “I forgive you.”

His expression cracked. “I’m— God, I’m so sorry, honey. I just wanted to protect you. And I thought I was. I really did.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m not a little girl anymore. I needed you to be proud of me, not just afraid of what might happen to me.”

“I am proud of you,” he said immediately. “I’ve never stopped being proud. I just didn’t know how to show it when things started changing so fast. You and Lando, Red Bull, the Verstappens, the FIA— Christ. I didn’t even see half of it coming.”

Amelia picked at the edge of the napkin in her lap. “I’m happy you were there yesterday.”

Zak’s face softened. “Me too.”

He hesitated, then reached across the table and offered his hand, palm up.

She didn’t take it straight away, but eventually, slowly, she slid her hand into his and let him squeeze it.

“Start over?” he asked quietly.

“Start new,” she corrected. “Not over. Just… from here.”

He smiled. “From here.”

Amelia’s phone buzzed beside her plate.

iMessage — 6:14am

Lando Norris bring me pancakes pretty pls 

She snorted quietly.

Zak raised an eyebrow. “Lando?”

“Mmhmm.” She tapped out a quick reply.

Amelia What type?

Zak sipped his coffee, like he wasn’t trying not to pry but couldn’t help himself. “Is he in your hotel room?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, lifting a pancake onto her plate. “He stays with me every race weekend.”

Zak blinked. “Wait— what?”

She looked up, furrowing his brows. “He sets up his streaming stuff and everything. Takes up so much room. It’s a bit annoying, actually.”

Zak set down his cup. “You’re telling me McLaren’s been footing the bill for hotel rooms all season and he doesn’t even use them?”

Amelia shrugged. “I mean, he uses the toiletries.”

Zak pressed his palms to his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“Well,” she started, a little too helpfully, “that’s a budget inefficiency you should probably address. Might leave you with some more money to spend on your terrible rear suspension.”

— 

Amelia swiped the keycard and nudged open the door to her hotel room, balancing a plate of pancakes

“Delivery,” she called softly, toeing her shoes off at the door.

From the bed, a groan. Then a voice, muffled by pillows, “you were gone forever.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was gone for forty-eight minutes.”

“Forever,” he repeated dramatically, arms already reaching out for her. “I woke up and you weren’t here. I almost died.”

“That would have been a tragedy,” she said, deadpan, leaning over to kiss him. “I brought you the pancakes you demanded.”

He cracked one eye open. “Are they the good kind?”

“American. I also brought you extra butter and syrup which we won’t tell Jon about.”

That earned her a sleepy smile. “You’re perfect.”

She just passed him his plate. “Eat.”

Lando sat up against the headboard, messy-haired and warm-eyed, and dug into the pancakes without bothering with cutlery. Just fingers.

“You have a fork,” she pointed out, furrowing her brows.

“Mmh,” he said, mouth full, “tastes better like this, though.”

Amelia sat beside him, tucking her legs under herself. He bumped her shoulder gently.

“Everything go okay with your dad?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Fine. He’s not very happy about the fact that you haven’t been using your hotel rooms.”

Lando shrugged around a bite. “He’ll get over it.” He leaned over, pressed a sticky kiss to her cheek, and added, “Also, just so you know, I missed you the whole time you were downstairs. Deeply. In my soul.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She sighed, but the flutters in her stomach were back. 

“You like me anyway.” He teased. 

“Unfortunately,” she agreed.

He beamed. “So much romance already today. And it’s not even eight in the morning!”

She stole a pancake from his plate. With the fork. Because she was an adult. 

— 

The sun had barely cleared the Belgian hills when they stepped out of the car, but the press were already waiting.

“Ready?” Lando asked, nudging her shoulder with his.

Amelia adjusted the lanyard around her neck and eyed the sea of photographers near the entrance to the paddock. “Not even remotely.”

He grinned and reached for her hand. “Too bad. Come on.”

Her fingers curled into his instinctively. Warm. Steady. She glanced down at their joined hands and then up at him, squinting slightly. “You know I’m wearing Red Bull team kit and you’re literally in McLaren orange, right? This is visually confusing.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I think it’s a nice contrast.”

They started walking toward the paddock together, hand-in-hand, her oversized Red Bull fleece flapping against his arm, his McLaren polo already attracting attention.

The cameras clicked faster. Voices called out. Amelia flinched slightly.

Lando glanced at her. “You okay?”

She hesitated. “Yeah. Just… weird.” There was a pause. Then, “I feel like a WAG.”

Lando burst out laughing. “You’re in team issue. Literally on your way to work. How are you a WAG?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m dating a driver, I’m walking in holding his hand, and people are taking photos of me.”

“You’re an engineering prodigy,” he said, grinning at her like she’d hung the damn sun. “They should be taking photos of you anyway.”

“Still,” she muttered, cheeks pink, “if I end up in one of those 'F1 WAG fashion' pages I’m blaming you. They’ll probably be so mean. Navy blue isn’t my colour.”

Lando squeezed her hand, eyes flicking briefly to the line-up of screaming fans behind the barrier. He waved at them. “Nah, you suit it. I think you’d suit papaya more, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

Amelia glared at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re stuck with me.” He grinned. 

They reached the paddock entrance, where the staff were already turning to stare. Some familiar faces. Some curious. 

Lando didn’t let go of her hand.

— 

Max kicked lightly at the concrete with the toe of his show. “You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

Amelia glanced at him, frowning. “I know.”

“I mean it,” he said, looking over at her. “I wouldn’t have blamed you for walking away.”

She shrugged. “Okay. But I didn’t want to.”

He studied her, skeptical but quiet.

“I want you to win,” she told him. “I want you to be world champion.”

His brow lifted. “Even if it’s at the expense of Lando?”

Amelia hesitated.

Lando, who curled around her in bed and whispered nonsense until her thoughts stopped spiralling. Lando, who paid for every meal and date and filled her car with petrol whenever it needed it. Her Lando.

“His time will come,” she said, the certainty in her tone pure and unwavering. She looked at Max. “He’s my boyfriend. But you’re my…” She trailed off, the word catching on uncertainty. She didn’t quite know what the label was; what Max had come to mean to her.

Max gave a crooked little smile, eyes soft despite the teasing edge in his voice. “Zusje,” he crooned lightly.

Amelia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Maybe that was what it felt like. She wouldn’t know for sure; she’d never had one before. A sibling. A brother.

“Come on,” Max said, bumping her shoulder with his. “Walk me through the new upgrades again. I want to make sure I’ve got it.”

Immediately, she lit up, snapping back into focus, hands moving as she began talking aero dynamics, balance, and torque maps.

And Max listened. Closely. Like he always did when it was her voice explaining exactly what he need to do in order to win.

— 

Lando finished in the points. Max finished on the podium.

Amelia curled up on a chair at the back of the garage, knees tucked close, her iPad balanced against them. She scrolled through an Instagram page called @WAGFASH, which had somehow racked up nearly five thousand followers.

They’d rated her team kit a 5/10.

In her opinion, that was generous.

She double-tapped the post, closed the app without a second thought, and flipped right back to Max’s strategy notes.

NEXT CHAPTER

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition

I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order – there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.

gojo satoru

☆ only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.

☆ summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]

"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"

in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".

☆best of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

☆Ah, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]

4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.

[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]

☆ For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]

“Would you like anything else?” “Actually, yeah.” He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. “Can I get your number too?” “Haha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...” But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. “...Oh, you're for real.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).

☆ I Want to Kiss You / キスしたい by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.

geto suguru

it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo

☆ gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." ☆☆☆ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.

☆ unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]

comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

☆ Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]

Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ☆ Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]

Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. ☆ the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]

bonus!

☆ Digest Your Feelings (DYF) – First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.

[peachylynnie]

ace

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: in which sylus defies all logic and odds, just for you.

contains: part 2 of blackjack, sylus x fem!reader (non mc, first time meeting), slightly obsessive sylus, alcohol consumption, cursing, mentions of weapons and violence, and gambling (know the rules of blackjack).

a/n: in blackjack, you want to get as close as you can to 21 without going over. to bust means to go over 21. to stay means to stay with the cards you have. you can tap for more cards or wave to stay. a natural (best outcome) means you immediately get 21 with your initial cards. but, you don't have to get to 21 to win. so long as the dealer has a worse hand than you, you win. essentially, it's a game against the dealer, not the people you play with. reblogs & comments are appreciated.

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sylus has never lost in blackjack before.

he's mastered every gambling card game for the sake of business deals and corrupt clients. and yet, here you are, spitting at his mastery as you flip another twenty, forcing him to either stay at his nineteen or risk a bust. and sylus never stays or busts in blackjack.

while your hands question almost every statistic and probability out there, your expression is what truly does it for him. even though you've only been winning, you haven't shown a trace of happiness or any other emotion normally present at a poker table. there's nothing when your opponents raise their bets, nothing when you win their bets, and infuriatingly nothing when your silver-haired opponent leans on the table and gazes at you hungrily after you take his chips for the umpteenth time tonight.

chuckling to himself, sylus can't help but think, what's going on in that pretty little head of yours? what will it take for you to look at him with half the interest he's looking at you with right now?

"because the lounge closes in less than thirty minutes," you gesture to the clock, snapping the silver-haired man out of his thoughts. "this will be the final round."

you hand a deck of cards to sylus, signaling him to shuffle. he takes it from you, trying not to shudder when his finger grazes yours.

sherman and his lackey groan upon checking how many chips they have left. "and here i thought blackjack was the easiest game against the house," the former complains as he lights a cigar.

"perhaps," the latter starts carefully, "we can wager something different this round." he shares a knowing look with his boss before turning to sylus. "what do you think, mr. sylus?"

sylus sighs as he finishes shuffling the deck. that idiot messed up his shuffle. great, now he looks like an idiot to you. "what would you like to wager?" he huffs as he places the deck in front of you.

"the deal, sylus," sherman snaps. "if i win, we have a deal."

sylus laughs mirthlessly, shaking his head. seems like the imbecile finally decided to drop his friendly act. "and what will your little employee wager?" he asks with faux curiosity.

"that depends on the lady in front of us, mr. sylus," the man in question answers before licking his lips at you. "say, miss dealer. if i win, how about you accompany mr. sherman and me back to a hotel nearby? we promise you'll be thoroughly compensated."

the head of onychinus stands up swiftly, his hands curling into fists. he should have seen this coming. the knowing look sherman and his lackey shared earlier wasn't just a shot at trapping him into a deal; it was an attempt at you and who knows what nauseating desires. before he can pummel the two men into the ground, you speak.

"i'm afraid that won't be possible, gentlemen," you pick up a chip and flip it between your knuckles. "the main objective of blackjack is to beat the dealer, not to win exclusively." your eyes never leave the chip. "for example, what will happen to your wagers if only i win?" you place the chip down. "in other words, multiple wagers are useless in blackjack due to its main objective."

sylus smirks as he sits down, pride blooming in his chest. not only were you good at blackjack, but you were also good at navigating your way in and out of technicalities. oh, he's definitely buying you a drink after this. you earned it. besides, he's curious to know what a talented little lamb like you is doing in the n109 zone. maybe a drink or two will soften you up and lay your mind bare.

"what would you suggest, miss dealer?" sherman questions angrily, his eye twitching. "you're impossible to beat, and unfortunately," he chucks a gun onto the table, "i'm not walking away without a deal."

sylus tenses. you don't flinch.

"change the main objective," you eloquently respond as you reach for the deck of cards sylus shuffled. "the three of you will play against each other, and whoever gains a blackjack or the hand closest to it will have their wager fulfilled." you fingers never slip as you pass out the cards. "while a tie may be possible, the likelihood will be drastically reduced, as you will no longer be playing to beat me." your braid your fingers and rest them against your stomach, your eyes unwavering. "you will be playing to win."

while sherman and his lackey mull over your proposal, sylus takes a sip from his glass, his eyes glued to you. what could you possibly gain from this? no bets you can profit from have been placed. not to mention your choice to stay out of this round just cost you your chance to prevent sherman and his lackey from fulfilling their profane desires. his brows furrow, no longer enjoying the feeling nor taste of fizz on his tongue. this entire night you've only led him in circles, forcing him to deal with your unpredictable actions and signature indifference. does he hate this? fuck no. your antics give him a sense of desire, a drive—something he's been severely lacking for a while.

but, sylus' patience is wearing thin. he swears if he can't get you to look at him with anything but that damned emptiness, he's going to force his way into your eyes until they are filled to the brim with nothing but him, him, him.

"mr. sylus?" sherman's lackey snaps him out of his thoughts. "your wager?"

"ah," sylus places his glass down, ignoring the cracks forming on it from how tightly he was gripping it. "if i win-"

he pauses, noticing something.

"miss dealer, why did you give yourself cards? i thought you weren't playing," he inquires with a tilt of his head.

"i gave myself cards to stay true to the dealing rules of blackjack," you answer calmly, extending your arm towards sherman's cards to begin the game. "don't worry, mr. sylus. i won't be playing this round, only dealing. my cards are facedown, after all."

sylus inhales sharply. you said his name. you said his name for the first time. and fuck, did it feel so good to hear it on your tongue.

"stay or hit, mr. sherman?" you option the man. he has an ace of spades and a seven of hearts, giving him eighteen. the man takes another puff of smoke before tapping the table. "a hit," you confirm before flipping a four of clubs. the man curses loudly, sputtering on his cigar. "too high," you declare as you immediately move on to his lackey.

"stay or hit?" you repeat. the lackey has an ace of hearts and an eight of clubs, giving him nineteen. the man sighs before waving a hand. "stay," you confirm before turning to sylus.

you still upon seeing his cards. a ten of diamonds and a nine of spades, bringing him to tie with sherman's lackey. so much for the likelihood of a tie being dramatically reduced. you exhale before asking, "stay or hit?"

"hm," sylus hums. he could technically stay and walk away with a tie. sherman won't be selling him fake protocores since he lost, and his lackey won't get his way with you since he tied. besides, hitting would be risky since the chances of getting a two are barely one percent, and the chances of getting an ace are either four or two percent, depending on what you have.

sylus tilts his head, realizing something.

"miss dealer, may i look at your cards?"

"i don't see why not," you say after a few seconds, ignoring sherman and his lackey's complaints.

"thank you, miss dealer," he purrs, reaching for your cards. "you won't regret it."

you don't say anything. you just cross your arms and lean against the table, resuming your unconcerned demeanor.

sylus grins after flipping your cards. an ace of diamonds and a ten of diamonds. you had a fucking blackjack. for the nth time of the night, you drew another natural. there's no way he's letting you go after this, not after you reduced his chances of getting an ace from four to two percent.

at this point, you've already realized why sylus wanted to see your cards. he was trying to gauge his chances of getting an ace, but since you had the third one from the deck, his chances were now fatally low. not to mention, his chances of getting a two were also low, meaning staying was the best option. you reach for his cards, hoping to clean up and get the fuck out of the n109 zone because you know from the depraved looks he's been giving you, prolonging your stay would be dangerous.

but what you don't know is the type of person sylus is. he's the type of person to spit in the face of fate, probabilities, and every distinct concept known to dictate humanity. people don't call him a "relentless conqueror" for nothing. unfortunately for you, this man has found something he relentlessly wants to conquer: your fucking attention. he makes that very clear when he taps the table.

and god, is he glad he decided to hit because you finally reacted to him.

your once-indifferent eyes were now faltering with uncertainty. your once-crossed arms were now hanging loosely at your sides. your once-relaxed voice was now quivering as you asked, "i'm sorry, a hit?"

sylus runs a finger upon his lips, trying to control his manic grin. oh, you looked utterly confused, and he was all for it. never has he seen such a beautiful and enticing sight: you, pushed to the absolute brink with your eyes bewitchingly transfixed on him, trying to figure out why the hell he would hit when his chances of winning are painstakingly low.

"yes, sweetie." your brows furrow when he calls you that. "a hit," he confirms with a teasing smile.

you gape at him (yes, keep looking at him like that; fill your eyes with him and him only) for a few more seconds before reaching for a card. people just really like to gamble, you reason. there's no way an ace can come out of this. however, your lips can't help but part when you flip over the card.

an ace of clubs.

he won.

[joelmillers-wife]

take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter four

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: you do your best to avoid joel for weeks following your argument at the comic book store, but luck doesn’t seem to be on your side for long. wc: 4.6k rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters  chapter warnings and tags: cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, TW: discussions of suicide and grief of a loved one, angst, reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn, enemies to friends to lovers type-beat ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

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IV. LITTLE LION MAN

But it was not your fault but mine And it was your heart on the line I really fucked it up this time Didn't I, my dear?

On your first week off from patrol following that day at the comic book store, you isolated yourself. Trying your best to avoid as many people as possible by only leaving your house for absolute emergencies.

Maria had tried to come by and talk to you the day after your patrol with Joel. You assumed Tommy was still worried and had asked her to check on you, but you had dismissed her by assuring you were fine. Her expression showed she didn’t quite believe you—that she knew something must have happened, but she was kind enough to not push on the subject.

What hurt you the most was Ellie. 

She had shown up the first few days trying to get you out of your house and hang out with her, but you declined each time. You could tell it hurt her, that she was confused. Hell, it pained you. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t face anyone. She eventually withdrew into only trying to grab your attention when you would leave the house, but her smiles soon faded when all you would give her was a small wave as you kept moving. 

By the end of that first week, you were lucky enough to have avoided seeing Joel completely the entire time. Your luck soon ran out when you had gone to the Tipsy Bison for a drink that first weekend.

You walk in and make your way over to the bar counter to order a drink, resting your arms on the cool marble surface. Looking around the place, you take note of the area—a spacious restaurant-style bar with all kinds of animal heads mounted upon the walls. Old, tattered posters hang in the empty spaces, pool tables and dart boards in one corner of the place with tables filling the rest of the floor. Being a Saturday night, there were more people than usual, making the bar louder than you would have liked. Originally having the intent to drink in peace here, you decide to have your one drink and then go back home to avoid the noise.

Your fingers drum against the counter as you wait for your order—Seth said they were backed up a bit and your drink would take a second as he had to take food orders first. The sound of the doorbell chimes for what must be the dozenth time since you had gotten there, yet something about it felt different—it felt as if the air had shifted.

You hear the sounds of someone walking near you from behind, attempting to make their way around the other side of the bar counter when suddenly the footsteps stop. A quick squeaking sound of shoes rubbing onto the wood floor comes from directly behind you—a sound that, typically, you would not think anything of. Except, the figure doesn’t move, and you feel the intensity of someone’s gaze burning into the back of your skull.

Slowly, with a confused yet polite frown on your face, you spin around on your stool, turning towards the person. Joel.

Of fucking course.

You clench your jaw at the sight of him standing before you. You knew your avoidance of him couldn’t go on too long—you were never someone who’s luck lasted.

Joel might as well be a statue planted in the bar with the stillness that you see in him. He looks at you with his brows furrowed per usual, lips parted ever so slightly at the sight of you there. Surprisingly, the stoic look in his eyes you normally see in him is replaced by a gentler one—one that you remember seeing at the comic book store when you had let the truth of your lack of care for your safety slip from your lips.

His eyes are rounded just a bit, as if he is shocked to see you, making his brown eyes shine, something that makes him look softer—more… beautiful.

You wait a moment, unsure what to say or do, as the two of you continue to stare silently at each other. Wanting a break from the torture, you decide to speak up.

“Yes?” Your voice sounds so small and pathetic, it makes you angry. 

For a moment, you think— No… You hope that maybe he’ll say something. Maybe, just maybe, the awkward tension that has surrounded you for the past week has impacted him just as strongly, and that he’ll want to ease the tension himself, too.

Like you said, you had never been one to have your luck last too long.

Joel doesn’t say anything. He simply closes his mouth, clears his throat, and walks away from you and right back out of the bar. You stare after him dumbfounded, but scoff and shake your head before turning back around.

At that moment, Seth slides your drink your way before rushing off to help another guest seated at the bar. You grip the glass in your hand, forcing the bitter liquid to go down your throat, hoping to ignore the frustration that goes through you. 

How foolish you feel, to think that he might just fucking feel bad.

The following week was when you were set to return to your patrol schedules. Tommy had listened to your request to not work with Joel, at least, and you found that you had three different partners for your new shifts. They were fine enough—things went smoothly and without any chaos. You had seen them around town before, knew their names but not much about them, and your interactions never surpassed talking about patrol. It wasn’t much different than the conversations you would talk about with Joel, but it somehow felt more lonely.

Speaking of Joel—he kept looking at you. 

After your… interaction at the Tipsy Bison, it was as if he was everywhere—constantly around you after not seeing him at all for that first week before the bar. You’d be leaving your house, or coming back home, and you’d see him hovering on his porch watching you. He used to look at you with a frown that held anger behind it. These times, he looked at you with a frown, but there was a softness there. It was almost in a shy manner, his furrowed brows showcasing a sense of concern rather than annoyance. 

That stupid hope you had before that he would say something came back. Every time you thought he regretted his words, that feeling quickly went away due to the fact he never walked up to you—never gave you any sort of greeting or even an indication that he wanted to talk. 

He had his chance—you gave it to him. You offered him a chance to talk at the bar, and he didn’t take it. He just ran off at the first sign of confrontation, so why should you think he cares about you?

A month had gone by since that day at the comic book store with him, and you couldn’t tell if you felt better or worse because of it. A part of you felt hollow inside as the space you forced made you feel that maybe you hadn’t made the right decision. You missed Ellie. You missed the routine you had set with Joel, even if your interactions weren’t very personal. It was… comforting, and now it was gone.

So, maybe you were capable of treating him the same way he had been treating you—simply patrol partners. Just enough familiarity with one another for you two to not have this tension that caused such great discomfort. 

You’re given a chance to figure out if this change was good or bad. When you walk over to the stables this morning, ready to go out on patrol, you find Tommy and Joel standing there waiting for something. Both men are leaning against the wall with their arms crossed when they see you approaching. 

At the sight of you, Joel quickly straightens up and starts fidgeting with his hands. You give them a brief glance before going to walk past them and towards your own horse, but stop as Tommy reaches out for your arm.

You turn to him with an eyebrow raised in question and take a quick glance to Joel to see him looking at this brother with a hint of panic in his eyes—so brief that you think you merely imagined it.

“Do you need something, Tommy?” You ask.

He looks nervously between you and Joel before sighing. “So… Eugene is sick today.”

Your confusion deepens—what did that have to do with you?

Tommy’s pause and nervous glances between Joel and you grab your attention, and you find yourself clenching your jaw in anticipation—bracing the news that you figure you’re about to hear but would rather not be the truth.

Please don’t say it, Tommy.

“Joel here’s gonna be your partner for today’s patrol.”

Your heart stutters for a moment as you feel a heavy weight settle in your stomach, disappointed that your assumption was correct. That knot of anxiety you feel answers your earlier question that you were in fact better off not being around Joel. 

You look over to see Joel shifting awkwardly behind his brother’s shoulder while staring down at his feet and holding his hands in his pockets. The sight makes you feel a tinge of anger swelling inside you—angry that he gets to be the one to look uncomfortable.

Tommy looks at Joel and back at you apprehensively as he anticipates your reaction.

“Okay.”

Tommy looks surprised upon hearing your response. “Okay? You’re alright with this?”

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s just patrol.” Except your voice holds a sense of dissociation and numbness that you haven’t felt since you came to this town. It’s as if your brain switches onto autopilot so that you’re just moving through the motions without having to deal with your emotions.

“Well, uh, alright then. You guys know what to do… Be safe.” Tommy gives Joel a stern look before walking away. Leaving just you and Joel, you don’t break your stoic nature as you wait for him to make some move or give a sign of wanting to talk. 

He doesn't. He simply walks to his horse, mounting Callus before heading for the gates, just like he did at the Tipsy Bison. With a scoff, you move to ready your own horse before taking off after him. 

Why do you keep hoping he will say something?

The route for today took the two of you further than normal—almost two hours on horseback as you headed for a ski lodge that you both were meant to check out for supplies. The steady snowfall made the wind hit you a bit harder than usual as you both made your way slowly through the woods.

About halfway into the journey, Joel speaks up. “You’re quiet,” he says. Not as a question, but as a statement.

“I’m always quiet.”

“No. You’re not. You always talk ‘bout Ellie or ask about us— her,” he corrects himself.

His words make you turn your face to him with a frown as you respond to him coldly. “And you never answer me. Suppose I’m saving you the effort you would need to ignore me.”

Joel’s expression conveys something you can’t quite figure out as you notice him look down at the ground while chewing the inside of his cheek. You think he has something to say at first, but ultimately seems to decide against it as he faces the direction you are traveling in.

By the time you two reach the cabin connected to the ski lodge, the weather has picked up from a flurry to a more steady snowfall. You bring your horses into the garage and tie them up on some pipes after you both dismantle them together and walk into the cabin.

Stepping into the main living room, you take a brief moment to look around, noticing how spacious the area is. Boxes of supplies are haphazardly thrown around the kitchen and living room area, making the two of you take some time to gather everything. You each pick out items that were needed back in Jackson—weapons, extra food rations, tools, and more casual items such as books and magazines. 

It was one thing you had always enjoyed about patrol runs—being able to find and bring back old pieces of media that had been lost. It gave you, and others, a sense of normalcy. Proof that the world you once knew before wasn’t completely lost. 

You pack everything silently as you feel more than see Joel’s eyes on you the whole time.

The two of you are done rummaging through all the items and collecting them in your packs after a few hours. Making your way back to the garage, you hear the sounds of harsh winds outside. You carefully lift the garage door open and find that the snow has picked up greatly—the winds turning it into what looks to be a growing blizzard, you realize, as you have to squint to see the trees out a few dozen yards ahead of you.

“We can’t ride in that,” Joel says as he takes in the sight, having come up to stand beside you.

You shake your head in a stubborn manner. “Yes we can… we just need to be careful.”

In a harsher tone, Joel says, “No. We can’t, and we won’t. Need to wait for the storm to pass before we can head back. If we go now we’ll either get hurt or lost on our way back. I don’t feel like takin’ that risk, so we’re stayin’. I’ll light a fire in the livin’ area while we wait it out.”

You know he’s right, but you do not want to be stuck here with Joel. You sigh in defeat as you have no choice but to close the garage back up and make your way back into the cabin after setting up the horses with some fresh water.

As you walk into the living area, you see the fireplace lit up but no trace of Joel. You take a seat on the carpet in front of the fireplace with a coffee table placed in the center, leaning your back against the couch in hopes to get some sleep until the storm clears.

Hearing heavy footsteps walking towards you, you look up to find Joel returning from upstairs with a box of old magazines, books, and vinyls. He places them on the table in front of you as he says, “Thought ya might want to read somethin’ while we wait. Found this box of vinyls too… Know you like ‘em so, I mean I don’t know if you have any of these. Just… if you wanna look.”

Your mouth parts open in a small look of surprise as he talks. “How do you know I like vinyls?”

Joel sits on the floor a few feet away from you, leaning himself back against the recliner that’s placed beside the couch so that he faces you. You see him rub the back of his neck as he responds. “Uh, I see you walk home with boxes of ‘em all the time. Or I'll catch ya walkin’ in and out of those stores in town with ‘em.”

“Plus, Ellie told me you got her into some good music finally.” He smirks, laughing softly to himself as he pauses. “Guess I oughta be thankin’ ya for that. Kid didn’t know what real music was until she met you.”

You look at him a bit startled, not knowing he knew all this or that he paid attention to what you did in town. “Oh… yeah,” is all you offer in response.

A small look of hope leaves his face as it’s replaced by a trace of disappointment you see flash across his features when you don’t continue talking.

About an hour and a half passes of the two of you sitting there in silence, switching between going through magazines and flipping through the vinyls in the box. You take a look outside through the windows that go from the floor to the ceiling, noticing that the storm hasn’t died down at all. You begin to wonder just how long you’re going to be stuck here together.

Boredom hits you, and you toss the magazine you had been reading back down on the coffee table with a sigh. You see Joel sitting across from you with his knees to his chest, looking down at the floor. You sigh and close your eyes, hoping to get some rest when Joel mumbles something.

You lift your head to face him with a frown. “What?”

He stays silent for a moment, his mouth closed tightly as he almost burns a hole into the carpet with how intensely he looks at the floor.

“I care.”

Your brows furrow together further in confusion. What is he talking about?

He slowly looks up at you and clarifies his words when he sees your expression. “That day… Our last patrol. You said, ‘who cares what happens to me’.”

Keeping his eyes on yours, Joel says, “I’m tellin’ you… I care.”

You’re stunned in silence as you recall the moment, feeling your face soften and your lips parting slightly as he speaks.

He continues on. “I… I know I don’t know how to… show it—that I care. Ellie and Tommy get on me ‘bout it a lot,” he softly laughs. 

His face shifts into a serious frown as he speaks honestly. “I know you ain’t a kid. I didn’t mean it… What I said about you not knowin’ how to take care of yourself. I’ve seen you do it.”

Joel looks down to the carpet as he recalls the memory. “That very first patrol with you… I was mad, yeah. Thought Tommy just wanted to get a kick outta me. But… but you handled yourself well out there.” A half-smile appears on his face as he talks. “Guess I liked how you were—how you carried yourself. Liked hearin’ you talk ‘bout things. Askin’ me stuff. Liked how I felt I could… rely on you. And I know Ellie was close with ya—trusted you. Saw how you were around town and… I guess I just… cared about you.”

His eyes look up to yours briefly before shyness takes over. “When you said I talked to Tommy after our first patrol to change my partner? That wasn’t it… Was the opposite, actually. I told him I wanted you as my partner.”

You feel your eyebrows twitch in confusion as you struggle to take in what he says.

“I— I got scared. When I thought you’d been bit...” Joel shakes his head lightly. “I froze. I heard you yell. I didn’t hear the damn thing ‘til after you had pushed me, and when I finally caught up to what was happenin’, I looked over and you were… It was on you. I saw it bite somethin’ before I grabbed my gun. I was too slow.” 

His face twists into frustration towards himself. “It’s my own damn fault I didn’t hear that fuckin’ clicker in the first place—”

You cut him off. “It’s not your fault. It’s your ear from when you got shot. You can’t blame yourself for someone shooting at y—”

“It was me.”

Your face scrunches up in confusion at that. “What?”

Joel looks around uncomfortably as he forces the words out. “I… I did it.” 

A sharp inhale of breath comes from you.

He looks down and begins twisting the broken watch around his wrist nervously. Joel looks as if his next words are being ripped from his throat—the look of someone who wants to share something but struggles in getting the words out.

“I had a… daughter. Sarah.”

You feel the air leave your lungs as he continues. “She, uh, well… Happened on the day of the outbreak. I didn’t— fuck. I didn’t know how to keep goin’, so I went to…” He gestures to his temple where his scar sits. “Missed. I flinched. Don’t know why. I wasn’t scared. Wasn’t like I didn’t wanna do it—I did. But… I missed. And now I got this scar… And I can’t hear out this fuckin’ ear, and it haunts me. I can’t… I can’t protect people the same. Can’t be relied on… I—” 

He stops talking for a moment, shaking his head and sighing before looking back up at you with an intensity in his eyes that overwhelms you. “I need you to know I would care if…” 

Joel stops, swallowing hard as if the thought pains him. “I just—I care, okay? M’sorry for what I said to ya that day. Sorry for how I’ve treated you this whole time. I don’t want anythin’ to happen to you out here, or anywhere… Especially not if I can help it.”

You feel your eyes burn from the tears that have welled in them as he speaks. You don’t think you even realized they were forming until he stops talking. Hearing this from Joel—hearing this about Joel… It’s intense. It makes you realize he does trust you, at least enough to share this with you.

A part of you feels like it’s out of character from him. The two of you were never chatty—never shared much more than comments on patrols or, at the most, Ellie. But you think about what he told you, how the first patrol made him want to keep you on shifts with him. That whole time, you thought he was so distant from you because he didn’t like you… You never expected to be so wrong about it—about him. 

For the past few weeks, you felt annoyance and frustration towards yourself because you hoped he would care about your argument enough to talk—hoped he would care about you enough to talk. And… here he was. Doing exactly that. Going an extra step, sharing something so deeply personal about himself in an attempt to show you he doesn’t hate you. You realize that the bond you have with Ellie, and the fact she trusts you, has inadvertently made him trust you, and that realization stuns you into silence for a few seconds.

Finally able to give some response, you nod your head softly, whispering, “Okay.”

He keeps his eyes on you as if he’s looking to make sure he believes you. Seemingly satisfied, he nods. “Alright.”

You feel unsure of what to say or do. A large part of you feels so stupid for having come to your own conclusions on Joel’s thoughts about you—stupid for assuming what he had said about you to Tommy.

You also feel a sense of ease. So many of your questions about Joel and why he is the way he is are answered. Why he treated you as he did, how you differed from everyone else in town. Even if he didn’t treat you like he does with Ellie and his brother, you still now recognize that you were separate from everyone else around. How his relationship with Ellie is the way it is and what she must mean to him. You feel like you want to say something, and find yourself speaking before you can stop yourself.

“What was she like?”

Keeping his eyes trained on the carpet, you can tell he knows what you’re asking. He takes a deep breath in before saying, “She was smart. Too smart sometimes,” he sadly laughs. “Don’t know where she got it from—sure as hell ain’t from me.”

“Funny too… real funny. I know she’d give Ellie a run for her money with those stupid puns.”

Genuine laughter bursts from your lips, the tears you were keeping in come spilling out slightly. Joel matches you in your laughter before a thoughtful remorse shines in his features. “She would’ve liked Ellie. I know Ellie would’ve liked her.”

The thought makes you smile. “I’m sure they would’ve. I can totally see you getting ganged up on by two teenage girls,” you offer lightheartedly.

Joel lets out another laugh before his brows furrow in pain, a glassy look appearing in his eyes. He blinks away tears before clearing his throat and looking up at you. “Yeah… yeah, I can see that too.” His voice makes a lump grow in your throat—the way he sounds wishful, so hoping, yet grief-stricken all at once breaks your heart.

The two of you share a meaningful look as you sit in silence—the both of you feeling a sense of unspoken understanding that had always been missing between you.

Looking over at the windows showcasing the outside, Joel says, “Looks like the storm’s cleared up a bit.”

Following his gaze, you realize that he’s right. You can’t recall how much time had been spent while you both spoke, but the storm was now clear enough to be able to return to Jackson safely.

“You ready to go?” He asks, a soft grunt leaving his lips as he moves to stand up.

You nod as you look down to place your hands on the carpet and push yourself up, only to falter when you find Joel looking down at you with his hand extended out to help you up. Placing your hand in his, he closes his calloused palm over yours and pulls you up until the two of you are standing close enough that your chests touch. He looks down at you with a look that you can’t quite place before he clears his throat, pulling his hand away and beginning to walk towards the garage.

You stand there feeling oddly breathless for a moment before you follow him, entering the garage and beginning to untie your horses. You then gather some of the extra vinyls and books you had been searching through while you both were waiting, and add them to the packs that held the supplies you two were meant to bring to Jackson.

When you finish packing, you move over to mount your horse once Joel opens the garage. Bracing your hands on her and putting one foot in the saddle, you use the balance to push yourself up but stop when you feel Joel’s hand on your waist. Shocked at the warm contact, you look down to see that he was moving to help you onto your horse. You relax as you allow him to guide you until you are settled in the saddle, looking down at him and muttering a small thanks. His hands linger on your waist before nodding at you, sliding his hand off and walking over to his own horse before climbing up himself—the two of you sharing a small smile before taking off back to Jackson.

The journey home felt quicker than the way up to the cabin. The time was spent with light conversation between the two of you, specifically from Joel as he seemed to be more at ease sharing small details of himself and Ellie. He doesn’t bring up Sarah and you don’t ask—relishing in the current moments with him that you had been hoping for since you got to know Ellie. 

Arriving at Jackson, the two of you catch Tommy waiting at the front gates while looking panicked. He rushes down the ladder and hurries over until he reaches you. “Y’all alright? Storm started soon after you guys left, and we got worried people on patrol were hurt. The others came back a little bit ago, but y’all were gone a while.”

Joel answers him. “Yeah. Storm hit when we reached the cabin and decided it’d be best to rest there ‘til it cleared up. We didn’t run into any trouble though.” 

He looks at you with a soft smile before turning back to his brother saying, “Don’t worry, we’re all good.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3

a/n: hi guys!! hope you enjoy this chapter :) i wanted to let y’all know that i made an update blog, so follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for updates! I’m still doing my tag list, but i wanted to let y’all know about that in case the tags don’t work or i missed anyone’s username <3

🏷️: @dendulinka6 @suzysface @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @emmasveinyahhdih @thatoneperson38747 @lcvespedro @orodaeh @ithinkimokeei @emnull0 @warriorkarol

[mydearestbeloved]

#?.5 [Chapter Concept]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Placeholder Title: "The You I Love"

Content Warnings: Yandere, might be OOC, and severely UNEDITED

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT to my "Trial Player"-AU

*This is a rough summary of multiple drafts, definitely future subject to change whenever Trial Player AU will get to this point. Since this is still just a draft, this is not as detailed as the finished product would've been, especially in relevance to the main story. This is supposed to be Trial Player AU's Side-stories/Sequel Materials, some things to come after the main story. Thus, many major information are also omitted in this draft to avoid spoilers.

Thank you, @julietunknown, for sending your ask that motivated me to share this. 💕

Take this with a grain of salt, or like a free sample of a future dish—as a friend of mine put it. 😉

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

——oOo——

Draft 1.2_PART I: You and ‘Him’

The first thing you noticed was the way he looked at you when he woke up.

Your husband—or at least, the man who share the same looks—gazed at you with a strange, distant sort of curiosity. Your husband wasn’t one for subtlety when it came to his affection; this detached look didn’t fit.

It was in the way his gaze lingered on details he should have already memorized—the lines of your face, the small band on your finger, the photographs on the wall of the children and you together. It wasn’t his usual silent reverence. This time, it was as if he was seeing them all for the first time.

But you kept quiet, watching him. Hours passed. He tried to keep his responses vague, carefully navigating every word like he didn’t quite know his own story here.

Finally, that evening, after putting the children to bed, you cornered him. "You’re not… my Jinwoo, are you?"

He froze. His expression gave him away—confusion, then surprise, and then a flicker of guardedness. Slowly, he shook his head. “You’re… perceptive.” He paused, lowering his gaze, almost apologetically.

“What gave it away?”

“Oh,” you replied, almost chuckling, “I have my ways.” You leaned against the doorframe, watching his guarded movements, noting how he braced himself for battle despite standing in a place that should have felt like home. “Let’s just say… I know my husband.”

The guarded look in his eyes faltered for just a moment before returning, his expression unreadable.

“I… am Sung Jinwoo. But maybe… not your Sung Jinwoo.”

It was a confirmation you had braced yourself for, and yet it still brought a pang to your chest. You knew this was not your Jinwoo, and, if you had to guess, this was likely the Sung Jinwoo. The original one, from the story you’d read back in your world, the Jinwoo who knew nothing of you or this life.

“I’m guessing,” you said after a pause, “that you’re looking for a way back.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together as he seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders relaxing just enough to suggest a sliver of trust.

Despite his efforts to remain aloof, you could sense a hint of unease beneath his calm exterior. In this moment, he reminded you of the man he was in the original story—the man burdened by impossible decisions, the lone soldier on a battlefield against insurmountable odds. It stirred something in you, something you had buried away for the Jinwoo you had fallen in love with, but that now resurfaced for this alternate version.

You exhaled, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. “Alright,” you said after a beat. “Here’s the deal. You can stay until we figure this out. Of course, we’re sleeping separately.”

“But… please, don’t tell the kids.”

His brow arched, clearly surprised by your offer. “You’re letting a stranger stay?”

“Stranger?” You let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, you’re not a stranger. Not really.”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that normal doesn’t apply when it comes to us you.”

You gave him a small smile. “You’ll adjust. Until we fix this, you’re welcome here.”

His silence lingered longer than you expected. You caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he watched you, but you didn’t offer any further explanation.

——oOo——

It took days for the tension to ease, though Jinwoo—the original Jinwoo, as you’d begun to think of him—kept his distance. He explored the house cautiously, explored the world that mirrored his own but held their differences.

One difference was the children.

Your firstborn—a boy with his father’s hair and eye color—was an exact replica of his own son, thus clearly showing Hae-in’s features as well. The resemblance was uncanny, and Jinwoo almost thought that you were not this Suho’s biological mother, that was until he met the Cha Hae-in of this world.

He felt guilty, but you laughed it off, and Jinwoo found himself silently wondering if it was, in some strange cosmic way, certain things were just meant to be.

Hae-in visited more than once; she seemed closer to you than she was to him. Not that she didn’t treat him well, in fact, she treated him with an unfamiliar mix of rivalry and the closest of friends. And she was more… energetic than he remembered.

“You didn’t give (Name) a hard time while I was away, right?” She unceremoniously jabbed him on the side, grinning.

“Guess who’s back? ~”

“Auntie!”

“How’s my favorite nephew? Oh, don’t think I forgot my favorite niece as well!”

“Auntie, we’re your only niece and nephew!”

Then there was your second child—a daughter who looked exactly like him.

The first time she approached him; it was with the kind of confidence only a child could muster. She tugged at his sleeve, her small hand clutching the fabric tightly. “You’re not Papa, are you?”

Jinwoo froze, his mind racing as he tried to formulate a response.

But the girl simply smiled, her expression full of innocence. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft and sleepy. “Mama said Papa is special. You’re just... different special.”

Before he could respond, she climbed onto the couch beside him, curling up against his side like a cat, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Will you tell me a story?” she asked, her voice soft and hopeful.

Jinwoo hesitated. He didn’t know what kind of stories your Jinwoo told her, but the earnest look in her eyes made it impossible to refuse. And before he realized it, he was recounting tales from his own life, stories of battles fought and won, of courage and sacrifice.

She listened intently, her head resting against his arm, her small hand gripping his sleeve as if anchoring herself to him.

“Goodnight, not-Papa,” she murmured as sleep claimed her, her breath even and calm.

Jinwoo stared at her for a long moment.

——oOo——

One evening, as you prepared dinner, you caught him lingering near the kitchen door, watching you in silence. His eyes softened for just a moment before he realized you’d noticed, his expression quickly reverting to one of guarded indifference.

“Care to join us?” you offered, gesturing to the table where your children sat, eagerly waiting for their meal.

Jinwoo looked away, trying to muster a polite refusal, “I—thank you, but I shouldn’t.”

You looked at him, a gentle smile on your lips. “You know… you don’t have to be a stranger.”

And that’s how Jinwoo found himself reluctantly seated at your dinner table, your children talking to him as though he’d always been there. He knew, deep down, that he was a mere placeholder, a temporary stand-in for your real husband, but somehow, the warmth of this little family, the glances you gave him that were so full of kindness and understanding, chipped away at his defenses.

The meal was simple but hearty, the kind of food that spoke of a life filled with love and effort.

——oOo——

One afternoon, as the day waned into soft evening light, you proposed something he didn’t expect.

“Jinwoo,” you said, stretching out your hand with a slight smirk, “Fight me.”

He looked at you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Fight you?”

“You heard me.” Flexing your hands as you stretched.

He was silent for a moment, before an amused smirk broke his usually serious expression. He couldn’t resist the spark of curiosity, taking off his jacket and rolling his shoulders. “You think you can keep up?”

“Oh,” you laughed, “I think you’ll be in for a surprise.”

Jinwoo expected to have to hold back, but instead, he found himself pushed to his limits. The last time—yeah, it was with Antares, but that was a live or die battle. This, however, was… exhilarating in a different way.

Your strength and speed almost a match for his own, but your endurance was the most superb. You were remarkably resilient, you were pushing him, truly challenging him. Each clash of your fists, each dodge, every calculated strike—it was like he’d found his equal, a rival who understood him on a level no one else did. In the end, his dagger was a hair’s breadth away from grazing your throat while the glowing tip of your scepter was aimed to the back of his neck should you will it to shot in a moment’s breath.

“Well,” you both were breathing hard. “Do you feel better?”

What?

As the days rolled on, he moved a bit more comfortably, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. But there was still a storm in his mind, and he spent his days pouring over books and papers, searching for a way to return home.

He was… restless

Don’t tell me she—

“Good,” Your grinned bright. “You needed that.”

——oOo——

“How… do you know me so well?”

That night, as you helped accelerate his healing factor (which too him by surprised too) on the faint bruises from your fight, he finally asked you what had been on his mind since his arrival.

“Who are you, really?”

There was a hesitation, the flicker of an emotion in your eyes. But then you nodded, as if deciding it was time to tell him the truth.

“I suppose you deserve to know,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “I wasn’t originally from this world. I was just an ordinary person who read about you, who watched your story unfold like a tale in a book. You… your world, it was fiction to me. But one day, I found myself here, thrown into your life as the ‘Trial Player.’”

His eyes widened slightly, an edge of disbelief in his gaze, but he said nothing, listening intently.

You explained the special circumstances of your existence, from the start to the end—everything.

{Many information here have been cut off to avoid spoiling the main story. My apologies, dear Readers, you’ll just have to wait and see.}

You gave a rueful smile. “Funny how life turns out, isn’t it?”

“I came to know him, to trust him, and to… fall in love with him.” You finished; your gaze softened with memories of the man you loved.

“I choose him.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you as he processed the enormity of what you’d just revealed. He didn’t know what to make of it, of you—this woman who seemed to know every part of him yet belonged to another life.

The only her there is, huh?

“You asked me why I treat you like this? Even though you’re not him?”

“It’s simple really, almost silly.”

“I have always loved you… as the hero I first met on the pages. That’s a fact that won’t change, for any version of you.”

A forbidden thought crossed his mind as he watched you in the firelight later that evening, tucking the children into bed with a gentle smile and warmth that seeped through the home.

“But my heart belongs to the one I came to know here.”

What would it have been like to have you by his side instead?

He pushed those thoughts aside, he had his own life, his own family to return to.

——oOo——

Draft 1.2_PART II: What Was Supposed to Be

When Jinwoo opened his eyes, he immediately sensed something was off. The air felt different—thinner, quieter, lacking the subtle warmth that had always reminded him of you. And then he looked over, expecting to see the familiar curve of your form beside him, only to freeze as his gaze landed on another woman lying there, her face serene in sleep.

Cha Hae-In.

Jinwoo sat up abruptly, his heart pounding as he tried to process the sight. This can’t be right. He closed his eyes and opened them again, half-expecting to wake up beside you, his wife, his partner… but there she was, Cha Hae-In, lying next to him, the soft morning light casting a gentle glow over her familiar face.

In a controlled but shaky breath, he forced himself to get up, slipping out of bed to avoid waking her. Every step felt surreal as he moved through the house, his mind whirling with questions. A few framed photos on the wall caught his attention, and he stopped in front of them, his blood running cold as he scanned the pictures. There was him, standing beside Cha Hae-In, and… a small child, his hair dark, his eyes bright with a familiarity that twisted the dagger deeper.

His son, Suho.

But where was Aera?

Where were you?

——oOo——

Days passed in an agonizing blur. Jinwoo tried to act like the original version of himself, the one who had married Cha Hae-In, but it was like walking through a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. Every time he saw her, every time Suho’s voice called him “Dad,” it felt like an echo from a story he’d once known. His heart pounded with a raw, aching desperation as he searched for you—your face, your touch, any sign that you’d ever existed here. But no matter where he looked, there was only emptiness, the quiet certainty you were nowhere to be found.

The realization tore at him, dragging him back to a memory he’d thought he’d buried. He remembered the day he had finally uncovered the truth about your origins, learned the truth of your existence as the ‘Trial player’—the day he learned that you were an anomaly—

{The following information have been redacted to avoid spoilers.}

—The knowledge that if you chose to, you could leave him, vanish from his life, and he would be helpless to stop it. He remembered the days that followed, how he had nearly unraveled, feeling as powerless as he had in his weakest days, before the power, before the trials. He had to live with the knowledge that at any moment, you could decide to walk away, to return to wherever you had come from. But you had stayed, chosen him, anchored yourself in his world. And he had never taken it for granted since.

But this—this was worse. In this world, you didn’t exist. You had never been his to begin with.

Every day, that fear twisted deeper into his soul, pulling him into a dark, spiraling despair. Searching for answers that didn’t exist, he would return to Cha Hae-In’s side each night, his body going through the motions, but his heart felt like it was being strangled.

One night, as he lay in bed, the panic finally overtook him.

I have to get back to her. The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra. “Where… where is she?” he whispered, choking on the words, a sob escaping his lips as he buried his face in his hands. He could barely breathe, the space around him closing in as his heart thudded in his chest, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. He was shaking, his fists clenching as the reality sank in further. Where is my wife?

[ERROR: Your wife < Cha Hae-in > is right beside you.]

(Name). He repeated. (Name). (Name).(Name)(Name—

[ERROR: No matches found for < (Name) >. Do you want to look for something else?]

No. No. He clutched his head, the world blurring around him as he felt himself unraveling. The life he’d known, the home you’d built together, your children, your touch—all of it felt like it was slipping away, becoming some half-forgotten dream.

——oOo——

Jinwoo awoke with a sharp gasp, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he clutched the sheets. For a moment, he was still caught between the nightmare and reality, his mind reeling, his heart still gripped in panic. But then he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, the warmth of a touch that soothed him like nothing else could.

“Jinwoo…?” Your voice was soft, concerned, as you looked down at him, a frown creasing your brow. “Are you okay? You’re burning up.”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he took you in, alive and real, right here. He could barely register anything beyond the sheer relief of having you beside him, the way your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin.

“I… I thought you were…” His voice broke, and you hushed him gently, pulling him into your arms as he clung to you like a lifeline, burying his face in your shoulder as his body shook with silent sobs.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice a balm against the ache in his heart. “I’m right here, Jinwoo.”

Above him, a faint message flashed in the corner of his vision:

{Error resolved; welcome back ‘Trial Player’s Sung Jinwoo, we apologize for the delay.}

But Jinwoo barely registered it, couldn’t care, because the only thing that mattered was the feeling of you, solid and warm in his arms.

——oOo——

Jinwoo had always been possessive of you, but this nightmare—this terrifying glimpse into a world where you didn’t exist—had perhaps, pushed him to the edge even further.

Over the next few days, Jinwoo’s attentiveness to you took on an edge, his glances lingering a little too long, his touch a little too possessive, as if he couldn’t bear to let you out of his sight. You’d catch him watching you with an intensity that made you shiver, his eyes dark, haunted, yet filled with a fierce protectiveness that bordered on obsession.

As for you, you kept silent about the other Jinwoo—the original Sung Jinwoo who had stayed in your home, the man you had come to befriend in the short while he had been here. Your Jinwoo didn’t need to know now. You weren’t sure how he’d react, and truthfully, it felt like a wound you had no desire to reopen. You wanted to hold on to the peace you’d found with him, to continue loving your Jinwoo, even if his grip on you felt a little tighter than before.

Once, you had looked at him through the detached lens of an observer. Back then, you had loved him, but it was the way a reader loves a character, a hero that existed in a world apart from yours. He was someone who deserved happiness, someone who, in your mind, belonged with Cha Hae-In. She was the light he’d found after a life of shadows, a gentle presence to soothe his broken heart.

For a long time, you’d believed he’d be happier with her, the one he was destined to be with. You’d accepted the idea that if he ever chose her, if he ever drifted away from you, you would step aside willingly, content with the knowledge that he was happy. You had even been prepared to disappear if it meant he would have the ending he deserved.

But that was then. Over time, the lines between fiction and reality had blurred, and you’d come to love him as a person, not just as the character who’d once graced the pages of a story. You had chosen him, and he had chosen you—your futures intertwined in ways you’d never imagined possible. Now, there was no turning back, no “right” ending for him that didn’t include you by his side.

And you knew, in your heart, that if he ever fell—if the world ever turned against him—you would fall with him.

——oOo——

One evening, as you were preparing dinner, Jinwoo entered the kitchen, his gaze tracking you with that same instantly. You smiled, stirring the pot as he came up behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

“Jinwoo,” you murmured, laughing softly as he rested his head against your shoulder, his hair ticking your neck.

“Don’t… don’t ever leave me,” he whispered again, and there was a rawness in his voice that made your chest tighten.

You turned in his arms, looking up at him, your eyes meeting his as you reached up to brush your fingers along his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him, your voice soft and steady. “You’re stuck with me, remember?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes still held that desperate edge. “I mean it,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t—won’t—lose you.”

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “You won’t,” you promised.

Somewhere, the original Sung Jinwoo had found his light in Cha Hae-In, a gentle love to soothe his heart. But you… you were something different, a reflection of the man beside you, as fierce and unstable as the shadows that bound him. You weren’t a light that would pull him back from the darkness.

No, you were the one who would fall with him, hand in hand, if that was what it took. And as Jinwoo held you, his love for you all-consuming as yours was to him, you knew that you would never walk away from him—not now, not ever.

——oOo——

Draft ???_PART III: You and ‘Me’

“Just once… one more. A single chance, to meet you again.” –OG(?)!Jinwoo

——oOo——

Draft ???_PART IV: A Farewell Without Goodbye

“Do you really think… I can find that same peace, that same happiness, without… you?”

“You already have it. You had it long before I ever appeared. Don’t throw it all away. Please.”

“You… you want this…do you really want me to—”

“Yes.” It’s what you need.

Live a life untouched by my existence, free of this… obsession. I don’t want you to end up like my Jinwoo, someone who would break if I ever left.

Let this be the end of it.

“…Then do it. Take the memories (of you) away. Before I change my mind.” –OG!Jinwoo

Thank you… for everything.

“Welcome back,” Jinwoo’s voice greeted you, his eyes lighting up as he crossed the room to pull you into his arms. The weight of his embrace, the steadiness of his presence—it was everything you needed, everything you had fought to preserve.

“Did everything go okay?” he peppered your face with sweet little kisses, making you giggle.

You offered a gentle smile, nodding as you leaned into him, letting he soothe all of you. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice steady.

As long as you’re here, with me.

End Note:

It's bittersweet, I know. 🥹

When I said I'm not going to throw Cha Hae-in under the bus, I mean it, I'm really going to try not throwing her under the bus. I hope I'll do that well enough at least, considering what role I planned for her in Trial Player AU. 🫣

This is already a 3k+ worth of words. Damn.

Apparently, it's my definition of a summary, or rather, how bad I am at making one 'cause I put too much importance on details. It's both a blessing and a curse. 🥲

This is a 'summary' of drafts already planned long ago, like, the very same moment I decided on Trial Player AU's canon ending and the fact that Trial Player would be written as an AU. So, yeah, that's why this 'summary of drafts' is already like (and perhaps feel developed as) the usual main story's chapters when it is in fact isn't (yet).

This summarized version is obviously shorter than the original drafts (and far shorter than the finished product I planned for in the future), with these many things omitted:

Deeper emotional aspects;

Many instances of relevance from what we know now of the main story and its other spoilers, for example: The shadows and butterflies part in the scenario, small mentions like the light and shadow marks and how they worked in actuality, and so many others;

Many major spoilers, like the truth behind 'Trial Player';

PART III and PART IV (End of scenario) are actually fully-fledged (FULL scenes) in my original drafts. Here, they are just direct cut-offs from the original (like, they are actual dialogues from the scenes planned)—cut-offs that I think able enough already to summarize the main plot of those scenes respectively.

I think that's all I can say for now.

Oh yeah, "Aera" is the placeholder name for TP!Suho's younger sister as of now. 💕

Happy reading! ❤️

[paranoiddreams]

Ch.1 - Spare Tire

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tags/warnings — allusions to death, grief, overall really angsty, assassin!toji, Nobara was adopted by Nanami, Yuji lives with his grandpa and big brother!Sukuna, mamafushiguro is mentioned (not sure if I want to give her a specific name yet), Toji is depressed, Megumi asks a lot of questions, descriptions of murder and killing, one allusion to alcohol consumption, not a lot since this is the first chapter hehe, reader is very confusing and mysterious rn but her side of the story is coming next!

WC — 3.48 k

a/n — oh my god thank you all so so much for all of the support that this series is getting so far!! Chapter one hasn’t even come out yet (until now obviously) and so many people are excited for this series like I am! This chapter is pretty angsty, but we need to hurt before the comfort 🥹 It’s also more of Megumi and Toji but the next chapter will be reader’s POV! I want to make this a story with heavy plot lines, but also with fluff that makes up for the hurt. It’s also a pretty self indulgent series since it’s my first on here lol.

Nobara’s small fingers braid strands of Megumi’s jet-black hair as Yuji spins on the swing wildly next to them. His cherry blossom colored locks are already sticking up from the tiny braids Nobara attempted to put in his hair as well, but gave up after deeming it too short.

“Have you guys ever lost your parents?” Megumi asks as he kicks the rocks below his feet. The chains of the swing holding him up creak as he slowly sways, adding onto the usual ambiance of recess.

“What? Like in the store?” Nobara asks from behind him, still working on his loose braids with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth.

“Mmm, maybe,” he mumbles, green eyes looking up into the cloudless sky as he thinks. “I didn’t get to ask.”

“Sukuna lost me in the mall once,” Yuji chimes in, his lisp slipping through when he says his brother’s name. “He told me that if I told my grandpa then he’d lose me on purpose next time!”

Nobara clicks her tongue, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You’re both stupid—my daddy always says that I have to stay by his side when we go somewhere because someone bad could try and take me.”

Megumi shakes his head slightly, wincing when Nobara’s fingers pull a strand of his hair roughly. “I was at the car shop with my dad and a woman gave me a quarter for the gumball machine,” he explains, “I got a blue one.”

“You took the quarter?!” She suddenly shrieks, as if he had just stepped on her toes.

“Yes,” he says blankly. “She asked where my dad was, and when I told her about Betty, she said that she lost her dad.” Megumi explains, trying to remember everything the woman said with all of his might.

Yuji’s gaze snaps away from a cloud he was ogling shaped like a duck, back to Megumi. “What?! She lost him?”

“Yeah,” the boy confirms.

A short silence falls over them as Nobara finishes with trying to drain Megumi’s hair, sitting on the third swing.

“Maybe he passed away,” She sighs solemnly. “My daddy’s mom died before he adopted me.”

Yuji gasps softly. “Yeah maybe!”

Megumi shakes his head. “No, I asked her that,” he says.

Nobara pulls one of the practice braids she weaved into his hair, an angry expression on her tiny face.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“Why would you ask someone that? How rude!”

Megumi looks down at his old beat up shoes, a wave of embarrassment heating his face. “She said he didn’t,” he mutters.

“Then what happened?”

Nobara and Yuji both look at him in search of an explanation; but Megumi looks as if he’s searching for one as well.

“I don’t know,” he says, “we left before she told me.”

Megumi had spent the rest of the day thinking about the woman and what she could’ve possibly meant. He knew what loss was—the concept of death wasn’t lost on him. But how else could someone lose someone else?

He even asked his dad when they got home, but he was only met with an “I don’t know kid,” before he watched him disappear into the garage to work on the car.

“Maybe you can help her find him,” Yuji’s enthusiastic voice makes Megumi wince slightly.

“Maybe my dad can,” he theorizes, looking up in thought, “he said he finds people sometimes for his job…”

…

Toji’s nail beds are caked with blood and dirt, as well as the material of his sweats.

“Damn it, fuck!” He hisses under his breath. He just washed them, the memory of the journey to the laundromat still present in his mind; Megumi’s stubborn attitude, the long wait, and the stares from concerned mothers and old men.

He’s only snapped out of his temporary agitation when he hears the sound of a blaring train horn in the distance—it’s nearly sunset, which is how he knows that he’s taken way too much time on this job.

As Toji walks to the back of the abandoned building where he parked, he unstraps all of his knives and guns from his body. He opens the passenger door before throwing them inside, right under the loose floorboard. His gaze drifts to the back before closing the door, spotting Megumi’s car seat still strapped into the seat. With a sigh, he slams the passenger door closed and gets into the driver’s side, speeding off before anyone could catch sight of him.

The radio in his car doesn’t work, so the drive home is quiet, as usual. It hasn’t worked for the past 5 years, but Toji’s just never gotten around to replacing it. So he’s gotten used to the silence during morning drives to Megumi’s school, or the ride back from a bloody job worth a few weeks of food on the table.

He was never much of a music guy anyways, and funnily enough, Megumi never was either.

When Toji pulls into the driveway of his house that’s never truly felt like a home, he sighs in relief knowing that Megumi is back from school. But before he opens the front door, he takes a deep breath, ready for a usual evening home. When he does walk in though, it’s just as silent as it was outside.

“Megumi,” Toji calls out, dropping his car keys onto the kitchen table. He spots papers of math equations and grammar practice filled out next to a glass of juice in his usual spot.

“I’m home,” Toji calls out again. He steps into the hallway, the sound of his steel-toed boots echoing loudly against the tile. When he’s only met with silence again, he turns his head to look down the hall towards his son’s bedroom, beams of his yellow night light pouring through his slightly ajar door. He slowly walks over to peek his head in. But all he finds is Megumi fast asleep in his bed, his Spider-Man blanket wrapped around his little body. He’s still wearing his shoes, and his hand is dangling off the end of the mattress, but he looks just as comfortable as ever; like a grown man who’s passed out after a few too many beers. A bit of drool drips from the side of his mouth, onto the pillow under his head. His black hair is a mess around his face.

Toji doesn’t know how he could’ve created something so…small and innocent. He isn’t sure how so much good came from him. But then he catches his son in moments like these, when he’s asleep, or playing outside with his friends, and remembers that beautiful face he’s tried to forget for so long.

Some days, Toji can’t even look at him without seeing her.

…

Megumi wakes up to the sound of his dad’s heavy work boots clomping around in and out of the open garage. He rubs his eyes with his small hand before hopping out of bed and waddling sleepily out of his room.

“Daddy?” He calls out into the empty hall.

Toji peeks around the corner, coming out of the garage. “Get dressed kid,” he says, “we’re going back to the car shop.”

Megumi pulls his hand away from his droopy eyes and looks up at his dad. He looks tired, and if he had to guess, that could only mean he spent the night sitting on the back porch drinking his ‘grown-up juice’.

“Betty’s broken again?” He asks.

“Nah, we just need a spare tire.”

The little boy cocks his head to the side, emerald eyes trained on his father to try and decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Just go get dressed and we can get breakfast after, yeah?”

A rare smile creeps onto Megumi’s face and he nods his head adamantly, his messy locks falling over his eyes. He turns around and speeds down the hall towards his room, his tiny feet pattering against the tile.

Toji warms up the car as he waits for Megumi to get dressed, the garage door wide open. He hears two distant voices across the street, and when he looks up he spots the familiar blonde business man he’s lived in front of for 3 years now. His daughter, Nobara, is tugging on his coat while rambling on about something that Toji can’t make out from where he is.

Nanami’s wife walks out behind them a moment later after locking the front door. She skips over to him and kisses his cheek before picking Nobara up and putting her into the backseat of their car. The little girl’s laughter echoes through the neighborhood, along with the chirps of morning birds singing, and Toji finds himself slightly annoyed.

Does the world have to be so sunny and beautiful while he goes on feeling like he’s stuck? Did the world have to keep spinning after his crumbled right in front of him?

Nanami’s car pulls out of the driveway, the happy family waving at Toji from inside as they drive away down the road. He lets out a low sigh and unlocks his own car, just as the garage door opens.

“I’m ready,” Megumi says when he walks out in a shirt and shorts he put on quickly.

Toji helps him into the back of the car, making sure he’s strapped into his car seat tightly before getting into the driver’s seat himself. He pulls out of the driveway and into the morning sun, immediately putting his visor down to block his rusty green eyes from the rays.

“Daddy, do you remember that lady that was at the car place last time?” Megumi asks as they drive onto the main roads.

Toji’s eyes flicker up to the rear view mirror for a moment to look at his son before the face of the woman his son is referring to pops back up into his mind. He hadn’t given her a thought since that night a few days ago, when Megumi asked him about something the woman told him. But he can barely even remember what that something was since he seldom comes up for air when he drowns himself in work.

“I do,” Toji answers Megumi after a few moments of reminiscing about the woman. He faintly remembers the name y/n attached to the image of her face in his mind. “What about her, kid?”

Megumi looks out the window as he speaks to his father, watching as the traffic lights turn green and red. “I told Nobara and Yuji about how her dad was missing,” he says. “They said that I should ask you to find him for her.”

Toji’s eyes fly back up to the rear view mirror, his scarred lip twitching slightly. “What?”

“I told them that you find people for your job sometimes,” Megumi confirms, “so they said you should find that lady’s dad.”

A soft sigh fills the car, Toji running his fingers through his hair. His face is one of a father’s whose child just asked him what death is. His face carried the same expression when a 4 year old Megumi first asked him what he did for a living to put food on the table and buy his favorite animal crackers.

Toji just didn’t have the heart to tell him what he’s really doing when he’s not home. He doesn’t have it in him to look Megumi in the eyes and tell him that he kills people he only knows the names of for a couple grand.

So, he told him the least monstrous part of his profession.

“I find people.”

It was a meek response compared to the reality of things. He wishes he would have prepared more, maybe before he took the job, just so he had an answer for what he does. And maybe why. But he stopped looking for those answers a long time ago.

“I can’t just find y/n’s dad, it doesn’t work like that,” Toji says after a long pause. He doesn’t even realize the woman’s name slipped from his lips until he hears Megumi softly repeating it to himself in the back.

“Why not?” He asks, expression blank, as if the answer was owed to him.

Toji clears his throat. “Because, it just doesn’t, Megumi. Mr. Shiu gives me my…clients.”

Megumi’s ears perk at the familiar name of his father’s boss. Couldn’t his dad just save the day for once?

“Then can’t you ask Mr. Shiu to talk to her?”

Megumi just wishes that he could say anything but, “My dad finds people,” when it’s his turn to share in class. Because then, when he only manages to get confused looks in return, they ask about his mom. And he’s not sure what to say about her either.

“Can’t, kid. I only know her first name.”

Toji’s not sure why he’s even saying this; even if he did happen to know y/n’s last name he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not even mentioning the fact that people who don’t want to be found will not be found.

“Besides,” he adds on as he pulls into the parking lot of the car shop, “she probably doesn’t want to find him.”

Megumi’s confusion only grows.

“Daddy, why? He’s her dad.”

Toji’s hit, yet again, with another question he doesn’t know how to answer without wanting to smoke a cigarette. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the all too curious seven year old.

“Well, she’s not a kid anymore, so there’s probably a reason she doesn’t know where he is. Some people just don’t talk to their parents after a while,” he explains slowly. “I don’t.”

Megumi’s eyes widen with realization before he looks out of the car window, the sun just starting to fully rise into the sky. His little face scrunches in thought before he looks back at Toji.

“Will I talk to you when I’m older, daddy?”

A moment of silence passes through the car, sending a chill down both of their spines. The answer Megumi is looking for is one Toji is afraid to even consider.

…

The glass door of the car shop swings open, a small bell chiming as Megumi scuttles in with Toji trailing behind him. He goes immediately to the front counter to talk to a bald man with glasses, the owner of the shop, about the spare tire for Betty.

Megumi takes it upon himself to wander away as soon as the words the two men are exchanging turn into a jumble of adult words. He looks immediately for the two rusty gumball machines near the front window; and to his immense surprise, there’s already a figure standing in front of one.

He dashes towards the machines, turning his head up to look at the figure’s face. And just as he suspected, there she is.

“Oh,” it comes out almost as a question, “the gumball police are back.”

“You’re back,” Megumi retorts, pointing a small finger up at her, “y/n.”

She smiles softly, putting a hand in her pocket. “You remembered? Smart kid.”

He smiles ever so slightly, deciding to leave out the fact that his dad is the one who remembered and reminded him in the car during their conversation.

“I told my dad to find your dad,” Megumi says, tilting his head slightly as he looks up at y/n. “He said that there’s probably a reason you don’t know where he is though—because you’re not a kid, or something.”

Y/n lets out a soft laugh, a little taken aback at how much this kid remembers about their encounter just a few days ago.

“Your dad’s right, there is a reason. There’s a lot of them, actually,” she says, not really knowing why she’s explaining this to a kid. Y/n has always been a brutally honest person, but she’s never met anyone bold enough to actually match it; but now, this kid she bribed with a quarter one time knows about one of her tightly sealed secrets.

“Megumi, what did I say about running off—“

Toji, just like their last trip to the car shop, interrupts a conversation between his son and y/n, the woman who ‘can’t find her dad’.

“You again,” he boasts, as if he’d expected this, “y/n.”

“Toji,” she counters, his name falling from her lips with ease. “It is me, again.”

“You come to this shop often? Or should I be worried about you stalking me?”

Megumi looks up at his dad, a little hand tugging on his pants. He wants to ask if his dad really thinks y/n is stalking them, but when he sees his scarred lip curl into a smile, something he hasn’t seen in a while, he has his answer.

“Yeah, I’m stalking an old man and his kid,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. The same subtle smirk that Toji has on his face settles on her’s as well.

“Old man? I really wouldn’t expect a girl who’s barely an adult to determine if I’m old or not,” Toji says.

Y/n’s smirk turns into a soft smile as she shakes her head. “I can assure you, I am an adult,” she says, looking into Toji’s eyes, “and a woman, not a girl.”

He only raises a brow in response, feeling a burning sensation in his chest as she quickly snaps back at him with the same passive aggressive tone as him. By now, most women would be scoffing and walking away.

“Megumi,” Toji looks down at the now scowling boy; his conversation was yet again interrupted by his dad and he is not happy about it. “Take this,” he says before reaching into his pocket to get a quarter, “and get a gumball while I get the spare tire for Betty and put it in the trunk.”

Megumi looks up at his dad for a moment, before turning to put the quarter into the gumball machine. As he turns the metal knob he hears his dad, and y/n, walk over to the counter of the car shop.

“What a coincidence this is,” Toji says once they’re far enough away from his son, in front of the counter where he was just speaking to the owner; the bald man is still in the back of the shop looking for his tire size. “Makes me think I should ask for your number.”

Y/n mirrors Toji’s stance, huffing out a soft laugh. “Really? What exactly makes you think you need my number?”

“Because,” he says in the same unconvinced tone as her, “I’ve lived here for a while now and I’ve never seen you around.”

He says this with some truth mixed in with his sarcasm; he feels as if he’s met nearly everyone in this small part of town, and never once has he seen this woman. But now he’s run into her again, and in the same place no less. He also knows that if she even has a car, it’s not here; only his, and the owner’s are parked out front.

“But,” he continues, “this is the second time this week we’ve met.”

“Via your son,” y/n adds.

“Yes, the brat,” Toji huffs. “He’s always running off…”

“Well, if you must know,” she sighs after a moment, “I grew up here. I’m back again.”

The man’s eyes run up and down her face, searching for any sign of dishonesty; after being in his profession for as long as he has, he’s adopted the ability to tell when someone is telling the truth, or maybe only half of it. Because humans are predictable. The people around him are all the same, morally weak, copies of one another.

But Toji can tell that y/n is telling the truth—she’s not like the people he’s used to being around, she’s unlike anyone he’s met, which he believes he could bet a lot of money on despite this only being their second conversation.

Although, he can also tell there’s something that she isn’t telling him.

The two are suddenly interrupted when the sound of the owner’s heavy boots interrupt them as he returns from the back of the shop. He lays the spare tire Toji requested onto the counter, a sleazy smirk on his face as he looks between him and y/n.

Toji huffs and stares the grimey man down as he grabs the tire, before turning his head to look at her again.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a softer expression than before. “It was nice to see you—again.”

He then turns around to walk away from her, prepared to call for Megumi, who’s now tapping impatiently on the glass bowl of the gumball machine. But he stops when he hears a soft giggle followed by y/n’s voice:

“Gonna give up on my number that easily?”

Toji turns around with an incredulous smile on his face and feels something inside of him come back to life after being dead and gone what feels like centuries.

♡🏷️: @palmtreepanik0 @nina-from-317 @your-mum3000 @dahwcwb @weeezeerrss @just-lilita @averyjadedemerald @pinkhoneydrop @gina239 @tojisrealwifey @teacuup @cor-asomatum @newcina @deathrye @yoymii @evilari111 @sonakshrs @gradmacoco @edgyficuselastica @yourgirljasmine5 @Ivrndkoo @kaiparkerwifes @evilari111 @sonakshrs @llamatravel @ourfinalisation @aiahmwah @xoxoblueyy @1lastair @lavenderdaydream97 @imnotlurkingherepls @idkccdfnfz @amortsukii-writes @totallygyomeiswife @vehuzzzz @tinytinalifes @youngwizardfox if I forgot anyone I apologize!! Please let me know if you want to be on the permanent tag list in the comments below!

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track five: the battle of the bands

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, DOGGOS, yuji literally is just a ray of sunshine 24/7, mentions of drunk driving, so much fluff, ridiculous amount of kissing tbh, short time skip at the end, FINAL CHAPTER! || sfw. 8.8k words.

FOR THE FIRST time in a long stretch of busy days, you wake up not to the chirp of your alarm but to soft rays of Saturday morning sunlight seeping through the cracks in the blinds, painting your eyelids orange-gold. You crack an eye open and find Takuma stirring beside you. Right.

“Morning,” you whisper. For a moment, when Takuma opens his eyes, he looks surprised, and then he seems to remember why and how you got here and his expression melts into a soft smile.

“Morning, Skip.” He yawns. “Time’s it?”

You shrug. You’re pretty sure your phone is dead.

“Eh, it’s Saturday,” he mumbles. “S’fine.” You chuckle, daring to reach out and ruffle his hair. You don’t know what this is, the unspoken thing in the thin slice of air between you. You know what you want it to be, though.

For a while you both lie in comfortable silence, letting the sounds of the awakening house float up the stairs toward you. Murmuring, clattering around in the kitchen, the front door opening and closing, cars outside.

“Hey,” you say eventually, making eye contact. His eyes are a very deep shade of brown, dark but warm in a way that reminds you of old bookshelves or tree bark after the rain.

“Hey back.”

He’s relaxed, every part of him unhurried, and you take the image of it and stamp it into your mind over the memory of the night prior. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Takuma smiles. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Maybe it should be more awkward, the fact that you’re here in his bed in his clothes and you haven’t named whatever it is that stretches out in the silence. But it’s not. It’s just… easy.

“Skipper?”

“Hm?”

“I really, really like you,” Takuma whispers. The words wrap themselves around you, warm when you didn’t know you were cold.

“Yeah?” You bring a hand up to his face, trace the line of his jaw. His cheeks are a little colored in the mix of light slipping through the window and the cracked door. “I really, really like you too, Takuma.”

He cups your face in both hands, pulls your lips to his, and your whole body responds, pressing up against him in the too-small twin bed. Your hand goes to hold the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, and this is what people write love songs about, you fucking get it now, all the metaphors and cliché words you thought were exaggerations but no, they’re not, because you’re feeling all of them all at once and you don’t ever want to leave this moment in time.

“Like” doesn’t feel strong enough, not for this. You’ve only known him for a month. Is it really possible he’s already become so integral to the structure of your heart?

You’re kissing in the early morning light and it’s hungrier than you thought your next kiss would be, because even though all the rest of your days are rolling out before you, you don’t know how many there are. He twists so he’s above you on his knees, one of them between your legs, and it’s like a reversal of that night on the roof, like you can feel the night air even in the golden midmorning hours.

“Kuma,” you murmur between kisses, and he grins against your mouth, takes your next breath and makes it his.

At some point you’re interrupted by the startled growl of your stomach, and you break apart, unable to stifle the giggles rising up in your throat. “Well.”

“Well,” Takuma echoes, grinning. He stands and offers you a hand. “Breakfast?”

Downstairs, the house is alive with idle chatter and the clinking of silverware. Kirara is seated atop the counter, legs swinging as she eats a plate of eggs, and Hakari stands beside her leaning against the cabinets. Megumi scrolls absently through his phone at the table, the dogs looking up at him expectantly from either side, and Yuji is digging through a bunch of take-out boxes. When he sees you, his whole face lights up.

“Morning!” he practically sings. “Here, eat food.”

“Where’d this come from?” Takuma asks.

“My friend dropped off breakfast,” Yuji chirps, pushing a Tupperware container of pancakes toward you. If it weren’t for the brace wrapped around his wrist, you’d have no idea anything happened. He’s his usual golden retriever self.

You smile, forking one of the pancakes onto a plate. “That’s sweet.”

Your phone buzzes, and it’s Tsumiki sending you the link to the news brief. You frown at the headline, not out of any disrespect for the writer who stepped up to cover it, but more at the fact that it’s unfortunately true.

JU senior issued DUI after crash on 34th and Olson Blvd Friday night

“What’s up?” Takuma asks, immediately noting your expression. You slide the phone across the counter, watching its screen catch the light from the kitchen window. Kirara leans over it as well and starts reading off Junpei’s story halfway through.

“Zenin, who according to a campus police report was driving under the influence of alcohol, was on the phone with an ex-girlfriend when he swerved into the opposite lane.” Her dark brows knit together in some combination of anger and disbelief. “Jesus.”

“That’s fucked,” you murmur.

Someone’s phone rings, and Megumi glances at his screen and blinks, seems to hesitate. Then he gets up and disappears down the hall. You glance at Takuma, but he just shrugs. It’s probably Gojo.

The rest of you eat and eventually make your way to the living room, scattering yourselves across the couch and carpet and chairs.

“That single last night,” Takuma says, letting Kuro jump up beside him on the couch. “Concept. Make it the title track of an EP.”

You blink for a second, startled. “Wait, for real?”

“Yes!” Takuma says, sitting up straighter. “Think about it. Cover art is one of those name tag stickers, you all sign it, wrinkle it up and crease it and take a grainy film photo. And you put the song on it with Next Fix and a couple of your older singles you and blow up.”

“Or you print one off that says hello, our name is,” Kirara pipes up, seeming excited by the idea. “Ooh, you can have an intro track like that.”

“All caps. Just to match the energy,” you say, picturing the EP cover in your mind. “HELLO MY NAME IS. No punctuation either.”

“I like it,” Kirara nods. Takuma’s got that excited shine to his eyes, and you realize he’s very in his element in this conceptual space—he really will be a good producer. He has the mind for it.

Megumi slips back into the room looking a little haphazard, disgruntled, looking anywhere but into anyone else’s eyes, and Yuji cocks his head in question. Not Gojo, then. “Who was that?”

“No one,” Megumi lies, waving him off and turning back toward the kitchen to avoid everyone’s questioning gaze. Hm.You know better than to ask, and it seems that’s the consensus, because nobody pushes it—Megumi will open up in his own time. You hope he figures it out soon.

For your part, it’s a lazy Saturday, hanging out with Takuma, Yuji, Megumi, Kirara, and Hakari, gaming and talking and generally just existing in each other’s presence. After the chaos of last night, it seems to be exactly what all of you needed.

It’s not until late afternoon that Kirara broaches the topic of the band.

She gestures at Yuji, a flapping motion that misses the mark a little because Kirara is sprawled upside-down in the beanbag in the corner. “Itadori, can you, like… drum with that?”

He shrugs, looking down at his injured wrist. “Yeah, probably!” You frown. So much of drumming is in the wrist, and you kind of figured Kirara’s question was rhetorical. You realize abruptly that Shibuya Incident is still going up against Black Flash in the finals on Friday, and if they don’t have Yuji, they’re fucked.

“Psh, don’t look like that, it’s fine,” Yuji insists, grabbing two Wii remotes and wielding them like drumsticks. He goes to bang them around, mimicking a rock beat, and you watch as his face twists into a grimace and he drops one of them. “Okay, so, update: never mind!” He grins sheepishly.

Kirara is the first one to look at you, and by the time you’ve processed what exactly it is she’s trying to say, everyone else has their eyes locked on you—including Yuji.

Oh, shit.

“Whaddaya say, girl drummer?” Kirara asks, pointing a finger gun at you.

“Oh, guys, I don’t… I don’t know, it’s your band. Yuji—”

But Yuji is the one who seems the most excited about it. He’s abandoned both Wii remotes on the floor and is now looking up at you with bright eyes and his eternal grin. “No, Skipper, please? It would be so fun! I can still do aux and stuff. But we could play together! It would be so awesome!”

“Is that even allowed?” you ask, glancing at Takuma, who’s trying and failing to hide a boyishly excited smile. “I mean, I already got eliminated.”

“Hang on,” Hakari says, pulling out his phone. It takes you a minute to realize who he’s asking. “Yeah, no, Panda says it’s whatever. Better that than not have a battle at all.”

Takuma nudges you with a knee, looking at you with steady eyes. It’s your choice, he seems to say.

“I think,” you say slowly, “I should talk to my band first. But… I’m not opposed.”

Yuji whoops so loudly you flinch a little and Takuma grins, putting his arm around you and squeezing your shoulder.

“I probably should head out,” you say, a little reluctantly. “Kinda left the roommates high and dry last night.”

Kirara salutes you, her face red from the blood rush of still being upside down, and Yuji chirps out a happy see ya!

“I’ll walk you out,” Takuma says, standing when you do. You say bye to the band and the dogs and he follows you to the front door, going as far as to step just outside with you. The door stays open just a crack as you linger, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. He pulls you in and kisses you right there on the front step, and you smile against his lips.

“Are we, like…?” Takuma murmurs when he pulls away, cheeks flushed from the question or the cold, you can’t tell.

“Are we what?” you tease, shoving lightly at his chest.

“You know.”

“Well, if you don’t say it I’m gonna beat you to asking—”

This seems to zap whatever hesitation Takuma had right out of him, and he cuts in, “Willyoubemygirlfriend?”

“Sorry, what was that?” You know you’ve got a shit-eating grin on your face, but you can’t stop it. “Couldn’t really hear you—”

“Oh my god. Will,” he says slowly, drawing out the word, “You. Be. My. Girlfriend?”

You can see your laugh fanning out before you in a puff of warm air, and you tip your head forward into his chest, grinning. “Yes, Takuma, I would love to be your girlfriend.” You pull back and look up at him, lacing your fingers together. “I was kind of trying to get you alone all week so we could figure out what the fuck was going on. But it worked out, huh?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “It worked out.” He reaches up and ruffles your hair, laughing when you go to swat his hand away. “I was trying to get you alone, too,” he admits. “I like spending time with you, Skip. I’m pretty sure you’re the coolest person I’ve met, like, ever.”

“Ever,” you echo. “Those are some pretty lofty expectations to live up to.”

He shrugs. “You meet them all.”

Despite yourself, heat creeps up to your cheeks again.

“That was less scary than I thought it was gonna be,” Takuma confesses. Your phone rings in your pocket, and you glance at it and see Maki’s name sliding across the screen.

“Think that’s my cue.” You plant one last kiss on Takuma’s lips and turn around, throwing a “bye, boyfriend” over your shoulder. You glance back and catch him mid fist-pump, and he sheepishly shoves his hands into his pockets when he realizes you saw.

You’re still wearing his clothes, you realize as you answer your phone. Guess it doesn’t really matter, since they’re your boyfriend’s.

“Hey,” Maki says in your ear. “You comin’ home anytime soon? No rush, but we’re making lunch so we figured we’d ask.” In the background, you can hear Toge singing what you think is a dramatic rendition of Kristoff’s song from Frozen II, but you aren’t entirely certain because none of the words are right.

“Yeah, I’m literally walking through the door in thirty seconds,” you say, and Nobara’s face appears in the kitchen window. She waves excitedly and you raise a hand in return.

“Oh, sick.” The line goes dead as you open the front door. “Hey!” Maki shouts when she hears it click, and you slam it closed against the rush of cool air trying to sneak inside with you.

“Hi!” you call back.

Yuta pokes his head around the corner and grins at you. “Welcome home, our favorite breaking news reporter.”

“I didn’t actually report on anything,” you admit, kicking your shoes off and padding into the kitchen. Toge is somehow balancing cross-legged on one of the high stools, and Maki is making tacos. “Conflict of interest once I realized who it was.”

“Yeah, I saw the article,” Nobara chimes in, glancing up from her phone. “Yikes. Frickin’ Naoya Zenin. What an asshat.”

You snort. What an understatement.

“Hope he rots in jail,” Maki says in a sing-song voice, not even looking up.

“I love family,” Toge says.

You fill your friends in on the crash and the aftermath and Yuji’s wrist, leaving out some of the details about Takuma, because that feels a little invasive. And then Yuta asks the big question: “What about the band?”

“About that,” you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not exactly sure why this makes you so nervous. Maybe it’s just that these are your people, your band, and you all worked so hard and then went down together. It doesn’t seem fair that you get to go back on stage and try again and the rest of them don’t. “So. They asked me to fill in—“

“Yes!” Nobara shouts, pumping a fist in the air. “Oh, that’s so awesome!”

“Well, I didn’t say yes yet—”

“What? Why?” Toge asks incredulously. You laugh, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. Of course they’re okay with it. These are your best friends. They’ll always have your back.

“I wanted to check with you guys,” you say, feeling silly about it now. “Just—I don’t know, to make sure. Since it’s not our band, and I didn’t want you guys to feel like I was, I don’t know, like…”

“Musically cheating?” Maki chuckles. “Skipper, this is great. You should say yes.”

Yuta solemnly puts a hand over his heart. “Avenge us.”

“Thanks, guys.” You grin as you hop up on the counter next to Nobara, pressing your shoulder to hers. “I love y’all.”

“Sap,” Maki says, which means love you too.

—

Using a drum set that isn’t yours is always a weird experience. You feel like everything is just ever so slightly off, and Yuji’s kit is an absolute patchwork of different brands of heads and shells and cymbals. You have to lower the stool because he’s taller than you. But it’s just for rehearsal, at least—you can use your own kit at The Fix.

It’s your first time in the shabby basement of Takuma’s house, and it looks distinctly different than your own. They’ve pinned old rugs to the walls as a type of sound deadener, not dissimilar to your own setup, but their lighting is a collection of Facebook marketplace floor lamps and a little disco ball that’s apparently Yuji’s. Your basement has string lights and a bunch of stools and beanbags, and this one has extra blankets all over the floor where Yuji and Kirara have made themselves at home.

Learning Shibuya Incident’s songs isn’t difficult—you’ve heard enough of their music to anticipate what’s coming, and Yuji’s there to give you pointers. Their three-song set for the final performance isn’t actually done, because they don’t feel like they have a good enough finisher, and after you’ve run the first two songs several times you mess around with potential chorus lines.

“What about that?” Kirara says after plucking out a new melody. “It’s hype enough, I think. Or it will be, once we add the rest of you.”

“I like that.” You tap out the rhythm on the snare rim, humming. “You have lyrics?” You look at Takuma, who’s staring at the ceiling like it might have all the answers if he just squints hard enough.

“Somethin’ about, like… losing your head a little bit because you caught feels,” he says. “Like, you’re down so bad you can’t function, to be dramatic about it. That triplet at the beginning of the chorus, Kirara—”

She plucks it out again, down-up-down. “On my own,” Takuma echoes, down-up-down. “Every little move I can’t pin down…”

The words tumble past your lips before you can stop them, because they’ve been circling your head for a week now. “Friends with all the dead in my ghost town.”

He spins around to look at you, a grin spreading across his face. “Yes! It’s like I’m going…”

“Going,” Kirara echoes, and they go back and forth—going, going, “out of my mind!”

“Whoo!” Yuji cheers, pumping a fist in the air. “Holy shit. That was crazy.” Takuma grabs the nearest beat-to-hell spiral notebook and starts scribbling.

Megumi starts laying out a bassline, subtly driving the beat forward a little, and you clamp the hat down on two and four to keep time. Kirara comes in with something that must be the verse, and Takuma reads off, “You left in the morning after eight, I got into work two hours late, I can’t see the sun without your face.” Bass, bass, bass. Megumi nods along and Yuji is practically dancing from his spot on the floor.

“One day and I run fresh out of light…”

Hm. You add, “Twelve hours without your hand in mine.”

“I’m dizzy and overworked and tired,” Kirara sings lowly. All three of you sing the chorus again, and you feel just like you’re at home in your own basement, writing a song in real time with Nobara and Maki and the boys.

“Oh, that slaps,” Takuma practically shouts. “Jesus. We’re gonna win.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Megumi warns, a wry quirk to his lips.

Kirara glances at her phone. “Food’s here. Break time, freaks.” She bounds up the stairs and Megumi follows to help her grab the bags—you DoorDashed Taco Bell, since Yuji never got his beloved crunch wrap on Friday.

You leave your sticks on the snare and move around the drum set, flopping down on the ground beside Takuma. “You’re good at that,” you tell him honestly, pulling the notebook away to read what he’s writing down. I met you across the darkened stage, you shook up my life, you got me made, you’re drivin’ me crazy night and day.

You can’t help thinking of the night you met him, locking eyes while he sang from the edge of the low stage at The Fix, lit up by purple-red stage lights and putting you in a trance. You scribble a few more lines after his and hand the pen back.

“You’re a poet,” he tells you, and you laugh.

“I’m a journalist.”

“Woman of many talents,” he says, echoing Maki’s words from that first night you met.

“Itadori!” Kirara shouts down the stairs.

“Coming!” Yuji leaps up and disappears up the rickety basement staircase, leaving you and Takuma alone.

“Hey,” he says, tapping the pen on the page. You glance up at him, nodding for him to keep going. “Can I take you out? Like, on an actual date?”

Something light and quick kicks around in your chest, a hummingbird loose in your ribcage. “I would not be opposed,” you say, as if the idea doesn’t make you want to kick your feet like a little kid. “When are you thinking?”

“Mm, you’re in night class prison tomorrow,” he says, tapping the pen against his lip now. “Tuesday?”

It shouldn’t make you so irrationally happy that he remembers your schedule, but logic seems to go out the window where Takuma Ino is concerned. “Tuesday’s good. Where do you wanna go?”

He shakes his head adamantly, tapping you on the nose with his pen. “Leave it to me.”

—

The only things Takuma’s told you about your date tonight are dress warm and bring your board. He meets you outside your place at four, his bag definitely bulkier than usual, his own skateboard under one foot.

You’re wearing a denim jacket over a hoodie and your favorite cargo pants with your boots, and you tucked a beanie and gloves into your bag just in case, but it’s surprisingly balmy out for late October. The wind is the worst of it.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Takuma says when you coast down the driveway and come to a stop beside him. The greeting makes you blush as much as his smile does, and he chuckles as he pushes off. “This way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Crazy,” he says. You roll your eyes. Sounds like the kind of dad joke Yuta would make.

“Well, then.” The two of you make your way down the street and around the bend, and you realize he’s taking you to the skate park. But at the entrance he keeps going, around the pit and a few of the ramps and to the largest one, back in the corner—not the one Sukuna deals under, but the one opposite. And you stop in your tracks, your longboard making a protesting schkk under your feet, when you see it.

Battery-powered string lights loop around the posts and down the underside of the ramp, and blankets and pillows are spread out across the ground. The area is sheltered from the worst of the wind, and you know your jaw is hanging open a little as you watch Takuma unload his bag—JBL speaker, two thermoses, and a bunch of food.

“Takuma,” you say, not knowing what other words suffice. “I—oh my god.” You did not peg him as being this romantic.

Then you think about his song lyrics and think maybe you should have.

He grins at you from where he’s sat down on the blankets, holding out one of the thermoses. You leave your board by one of the poles and sit down beside him, taking it and letting the warmth seep into your hands. “What is it?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Mm.” You scoot closer to him, staring up at the layers and layers of graffiti and marker art covering the underside of the ramp. “This is maybe the sweetest thing ever.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” You take a sip of the hot chocolate—still warm. “It’s romantic. Big fan.”

“Really?” He points to where somebody drew a dick on the far side of the ramp.

“Okay, well, you didn’t have to point it out,” you smirk. “You ever done graffiti?” Looking at his mischievous smile and the beanie tugged over his head, the skateboard abandoned a few feet away, he does look like the type.

“Tagging?” He shrugs. “No. I would, though. Maybe we should.”

You hum, staring up at the arcing bubble letters and jagged black lines all over the ramp. You think you’d be horrible at graffiti, but you’ve always appreciated it, the way it sends a message and doesn’t ask for anything in return.

“This is like… alternative aesthetic stargazing,” you muse, lifting a finger and tracing the sharp lines of one of the illegible words in the air. You could stare at all this art for hours and never find all the intricacies of it.

Takuma digs around in his bag and produces a Sharpie with an “aha!”

“You’re gonna graffiti with a Sharpie?”

He throws it at you and you catch it in one hand, instinctively twirling it like a drumstick. “We’re gonna graffiti with a Sharpie,” he corrects.

And so you do.

The nearest part of the wall is covered in bright pink paint outlined in black, and it takes you a moment of squinting and tilting your head to realize it says LEAVEYOURMARK. Seems as clear of an instruction as any. So you do—scooting forward, you start to draw flowers into the thick bands of pink lettering, and soon they’re shifting to music notes, percussion notation, aimless squiggles. Takuma queues up a laid-back playlist with a few artists you recognize and many more you don’t, and you pass the pen back and forth, adding tiny notes to messages around the ramp, doodling in the empty space.

You’ve been on dates before, but this feels wholly different. With Takuma, you’re not stressing over conversation starters, worrying about commitment, wondering if you picked the right outfit, trying to gauge your shared interests with carefully planned questions. It’s just easy, existing with him like this.

After a while, you’re on your back in the mess of pillows and blankets, staring directly up at the massive painting of a skateboard with a face. Takuma is drawing something on the wall behind you.

Squinting, the green streaks under the skateboard look like that loss meme Toge sends you at least twice a week. You take a photo with the intention of showing it to him later, though maybe you shouldn’t—he gets way too proud of himself for versing you in what he calls Reddit culture.

You crane your neck to see what Takuma’s drawing and find the thick, dark strokes of a city skyline, towers and domes and boxy apartment buildings.

“Artsy,” you tell him, smiling when he appears in your line of vision upside-down. “You sure about this computer science thing? You’re too creative.”

“That’s what my mom said,” he chuckles, capping the Sharpie and sitting down beside you. As you sit up, he leans back on his hands and glances over at you. “I told her about you. She’d love you. I mean, I’m pretty sure she already does.” He hesitates. “Is that weird? Too soon?”

“No,” you grin. “I—that’s really sweet, actually. I would love to meet your mom.” Your gaze softens at the relieved smile that crosses his face. “Gotta thank her for raising a guy like you, anyway.”

You realize you want Takuma to meet your family too—you want to show him all the corners of your too-small town, show him the place you grew up. It made you who you are—it led you here, to him, after all.

“So,” you say, tilting your head. “When you say you wanna be a producer. Where do you mean? Like, LA?”

He shrugs. “Probably. But I’m sure it’s more competitive there than anywhere else. I feel like the major hubs are there and New York, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere quieter, either.” He loops an arm around you, and your head finds its way to his shoulder. “What about you, world-class journalist?”

You grin, thinking of all the places you haven’t been, all the places you want to go. “Anywhere and everywhere. I just wanna see it all. I wanna travel.”

“You should!” He sounds genuinely excited about the concept, and you lift your head, taking in the expression on his face—he looks the way he did when he was talking about making an EP, like the world is full of possibilities and he wants to see them all play out. “You’d be so good at it. Being a travel writer or international correspondent or whatever.” He clears his throat. “I read some of your stuff, y’know.”

“What?” Suddenly you’re racking your brain for every piece you’ve published in the JU Journal, overly critical of your own work in hindsight. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s good. Really good, Skip, seriously.” He reaches out and tugs a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, and you find yourself leaning into the contact.

You aren’t sure what to say, so you settle on a soft, “Thank you.” Somehow, the idea of Takuma going out of his way to read your work feels personal on the same level that writing a song together does. Taking in your words, your ideas, internalizing them. What is intimacy if not that intellectual exchange?

“I think you’re going to be a really good producer.” It’s his turn to blush. “I mean it. Not everyone has the perspective for it, or the ear. But you do.”

“Ah, well, I—”

“Am not good at taking compliments?” you cut him off, raising a brow. “Mm, we’ll fix that.” He laughs, and you’re leaning in to kiss him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is the most natural thing in the world.

It’s late October, and you are not the least bit cold.

—

Your hands need to stop sweating before you lose a drumstick or something.

Shibuya Incident has about twenty minutes before you’re all due on stage for the finals, and The Fix is alive with students and lights and drinks and music and chatter. You’re out on the floor tonight, off to the side for easy access to the stage once Black Flash clears out.

“We’re kicking off with the reigning champions of the Battle of the Bands,” Panda booms, throwing an arm out as the band takes the stage. “You know ‘em, you love ‘em, they’re every genre and no genre, covers and originals, brass and wind. Give it up for Black Flash!”

You whoop just as loud as anyone else here, grinning at Nobara’s animated cheering from closer to the center of the floor. Miwa walks right up to the mic and takes it off the stand, the neck of her white electric in her other hand. “Hey, folks!” She brushes her bright blue hair out of her face and shouts, “Y’all ready to hear some good music?”

She has the sort of infectious enthusiasm that could work on pretty much anyone, and before you know it you and Kirara are spinning each other around to the beat of a synth-heavy pop song that sounds like it came straight out of the 80s. The instrumentals are simple but tight, and Miwa jumps around, engaging the crowd, belting like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“They’re good,” you catch Megumi saying lowly, probably to Yuji, but Takuma’s the one who answers.

“If I tell you the power of friendship will lead us to victory—”

“No.”

“Well, okay, you’re no fun.”

Kirara turns around and plants a hand on her hip, looking at Megumi. “Fushiguro, we’re fine. We’re going out with a badass new single and not one but two percussionists. We’ve never sounded this good.”

“Just being the token pessimist,” he sighs, cracking a reluctant half-smile. “I know we’re good.”

Yuji elbows him playfully. “Mr. Realist.”

Black Flash segues into a second track, an ABBA cover that has you dancing without thinking, and Takuma catches your eye and grins, moving along with you. And all too soon it’s over, a third song come and gone, and Panda’s back up on stage and the five of you are hopping up over the side to make your way to your places. Hakari and another tech have already swapped out the kits, and you settle yourself in the comfort of your own throne, your own pedals, flipping on the snare and pounding the kick a few times.

Yuji’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning at you. “You got this,” he mouths, shaking his tambourine at you.

You truly have no idea where he got a tambourine.

“What happened in Shibuya? Who the hell knows?” Panda shouts, riling up the crowd. “Give it up for Shibuya Incident!”

That’s your cue. You look at Kirara, who nods with a conspiratorial smile, and then Megumi, who plucks out a few notes in answer. Yuji’s already giving you a grin and a thumbs-up. And Takuma… he’s already stepped into his on-stage confidence, all relaxed, easygoing performer, and the look he gives you has energy coursing through your fingertips like an electric shock.

You hold your sticks above your head, clicking them loud on the lower end of the shaft, and shout, “One, two, three, four!”

You are alive.

The first track is another pulled from their EP, and you’ve listened to it probably an embarrassing number of times—you know Yuji’s part down to the sixteenth note, the roll, the rest, but you don’t hesitate to put your own spin on it, and he’s alight with the same energy beside you, messing around with a tambourine and a few other aux instruments near a mic of his own, since he’s also doing backup vocals tonight.

Your hands are moving fast, your feet pumping the pedals of their own accord, an instinct, and it’s over before you know it, a sheen of sweat already forming under the stage lights. You grin, catching your breath, wiping your hands on your jeans as Takuma introduces the band.

From your place near the back of the stage, you get more of the low feedback than anything else, but you definitely hear when he says Shibuya Incident and the crowd responds raucously in kind.

“That’s Kirara Hoshi on guitar and vocals,” he says, pointing to her as she does her little riff.

“Yeah, Kira!” You have no idea where Hakari’s voice is coming from, but it’s unmistakable.

“We got Fushiguro back there on the bass,” Takuma continues, and Megumi gives the crowd an unbothered nod, showing off his own instrument for a moment. “Itadori’s back here on aux and vocals.” He pauses to let the crowd shout for Yuji and then adds, “And filling in for him on kit, we’ve got the legendary drummer from Cursed Technique. Everyone give it up for Skipper!”

You do a quick roll, laughing as your own band goes crazy—you can’t see them in the glare of the lights, but you (and everyone else) can definitely hear them.

“I’m Ino, we’re Shibuya Incident, and this next one’s gonna slow things down a little.”

This one starts with Megumi, a laid-back track with a similar vibe to the first song you ever heard Shibuya Incident perform, but a little smoother. It’s over before you know it, and then you and Kirara are launching into the new single. Even Yuji looks like he’s having the time of life on backup vocals.

“On my own,” he and Kirara harmonize, Takuma taking the lead, and you nail the next two lines with punchy cymbal-tom hits, “all the shadows look like a death threat, everybody’s waitin’ to get hit, it’s like I’m going (going) going (going) out of my mind!”

All your worries melt away as the beat drives your movements. You’re not thinking about dropping a drumstick, missing a measure, losing the competition. You’re doing what you love with people you love, and that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.

“Think I’m seein’ double in one eye, startin’ to think this air is spiked, no one told me that’s what love is like.” Takuma lets the guitar hang and grips the mic in one hand and the stand in the other, leaning with it as he engages the crowd, and you definitely hear Nobara screaming. “You got me going (going) going (going) out of my mind, yeah, yeah.”

It’s over so fast you can barely breathe, and you’re laughing before you know what’s happening, Yuji throwing his arm around you and shouting, “You killed it!”

Takuma turns around and locks eyes with you, and you see that same adrenaline high in his gaze that you know is in yours, and when the band stumbles off stage in Panda’s wake, he grabs your hand and pulls you into a hug. “That was crazy!” he practically shouts, which is probably good, because your ears are ringing so much you probably wouldn’t have heard him otherwise.

“Guys,” Megumi says, deadpan as always, but you can see the effects of the performance even on him, his usually stoic expression unable to mask his own excitement. “I think… we might have a shot.”

“Holy shit,” Kirara says. “Skip, write the story. Resident pessimist breaks vow of negativity—”

“Oh, shut up.” Megumi elbows her as she dissolves into laughter. In the wings, you can hear the indistinct sounds of Panda’s instructions as he starts voting, and music kicks up over the speakers. Ten minutes. Ten minutes.

It’s the longest and shortest wait of your life, and then you’re back on stage with Black Flash and Panda, and it’s fucking time.

You wonder if everyone else can hear your blood roaring, too.

“Once again, an insanely tight vote,” Panda says, a hush falling over the crowd as they wait for the verdict. “Phenomenal performances from both of our final bands, but someone’s gotta win. Give it up for the champions of this year’s Battle of the Bands…”

You imagine Maki hissing under her breath for Panda to hurry it up, Nobara’s hands clasped together as she anxiously bounces on the balls of her feet, Yuta biting his lip and trying to get Toge to shut up.

Takuma’s hand is on your shoulder, Yuji on your other side, Megumi and Kirara behind you. You glance at Miwa, and she gives you a knowing look that you can’t interpret.

You almost don’t hear it.

“SHIBUYA INCIDENT!”

You don’t know which screams belong to who—maybe one of them’s yours—but you’re swept into a massive pile of musicians drunk off victory, and you’re laughing, and Miwa’s jumping up and down and saying how that was insane, guys, you were amazing, and even Mai nods at you in congratulations, and Yuji is abruptly on Todo’s shoulders, and as the stage lights turn down a bit you finally catch sight of your own band, losing their minds on the floor.

“That’s our girl!” Maki hollers, and Yuta whoops as Toge pumps a fist in the air. You realize you can’t see Nobara, and two seconds later your questions are answered when she somehow materializes on the stage, launching herself at you with a massive grin on her face.

“You did it!” she shouts. “Holy shit, Skipper!”

Everything around you is chaos and laughter and noise, but something in the center of your being is incredibly still, and you think maybe it’s contentment. In this moment, you would ask for nothing else. It is perfect.

Nobara detaches herself from you after more profuse congratulations, turning to Miwa, and the bands make their way gradually off stage. Takuma’s hand is in yours—you don’t know when that happened—and he pulls you past the band, past the wings, all the way into the drum storage room backstage.

“That was fucking amazing,” he says. “You’re fucking amazing.” His beanie is off, tucked into his pocket, his hair as wild as his eyes as wild as your heart.

You close the door.

It’s a pulse. That’s the only way you can describe it, the rush of living energy that comes with kissing Takuma Ino behind the stage of a shitty campus bar, the heat shooting through your veins in time with the throb of the bass from distant speakers. Breath on your teeth and hands in your hair, the warmth in your gut from skin-on-skin proximity, ears ringing with the sound of your name on his lips and love-blind eyes, you’re alive and addicted to a feeling you know you’ll chase forever.

—

TWO MONTHS LATER. DECEMBER 19.

The house is alive with laughter and chatter and Michael Bublé’s Christmas album spinning from the record player. The semester is over, and tomorrow you’ll scatter for winter break, home for the holidays. Nobara insisted on throwing a party before all the inevitable road trips and flights, and the main floor is strung with multicolored lights and tinsel—Yuta’s plant, Rika, even has a tiny Santa hat on.

In addition to the actual residents of the house, Takuma and the band are here, as well as Hakari, Panda, Tsumiki, Miwa, and a handful of other friends. Megumi’s even brought the dogs, who have both taken a liking to the loveseat by the window and claimed it as their own. You’ve informed Megumi that they’re going to stay here with you forever (he said no, but you don’t take orders from him).

“Okay, I’m dropping you off at ten, right?” Yuta quadruple-checks. You’re huddled in the kitchen with him and Maki—Toge was here a minute ago, but he heard someone in the living room mention Just Dance and ran off to assert his dominance or whatever.

“Oh my god, yes,” Maki answers for you. “Yuta. You wrote it down. It’s in your calendar. You live in the same house as Skip, you’re not gonna forget.” She bumps her shoulder with his and he sighs in admission.

“I know.” He smiles at you. “Just gotta make sure she gets home for the holidays. Can’t have you turning into a sad Christmas cliché on us, Skip.”

You salute him with half a gingerbread cookie. “Appreciate it.” He’s taking you to the airport tomorrow for your flight home and refuses to take your gas money, so you’re already planning on beating him to paying for the first grocery run when you get back.

“Things with Mai are good?” you ask, glancing at Maki. She shrugs noncommittally but doesn’t correct you, which is a good sign. She and her sister met up the week after the Battle of the Bands for coffee, which you genuinely thought was a joke when she told you about it. They’re both going home for Christmas and have apparently decided to try and like each other a little more openly. And she actually showed up tonight, which you have to admit you weren’t entirely expecting.

“Yuta!” Toge hollers from the other room. “You have to come do Rasputin with me!”

Yuta groans, looking pleadingly at Maki like she can get him out of this, but she just grins. “You heard him.”

“You hate me.”

“Yeah,” Maki says fondly. Yuta, defeated, goes to join Toge in the dance of death. Maki whispers to you that she’s going to record it for blackmail and slips out after him.

Tsumiki appears beside you, drink in hand, and leans against the wall. She tilts her phone screen toward you and you see it’s the Journal website analytics.

The top story right now is yours. You grin. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize.”

“I expected it,” she admits, tucking her phone back in her pocket and gazing out across the room. “Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you. We won’t start the application process until spring sem, but, if you want it,” she glances at you, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, “I really think you should apply for editor-in-chief, Skip.”

Your mouth opens and closes without anything of use coming out, and Tsumiki laughs. “You don’t have to, but—”

“No!” you blurt, grinning. “I—I want to. I would love to. I was planning on it. I just didn’t know you… wanted me to.” Kusakabe’s just the advisor—when it comes to actually hiring the next editor, Tsumiki has the final say. Her endorsement is as good as a job offer. “I… thank you, Tsumiki.” You look down, suddenly overwhelmed by the words. “Big shoes to fill.”

“Aw, none of that,” she says, stealing a cookie from the tray on the counter next to you. “I literally can’t think of anyone better.” With a wink, she disappears through the doorway, where Kirara and Nobara are talking animatedly. Nobara gestures to you when she catches your eye.

“Dude, our listens are shooting up!” she says, shoving her phone into your hands. Your EP dropped mid-November, six tracks recorded in the studio with Takuma and Hakari, and you’ve performed better than you ever expected. The analytics show a sharp uptick that’s probably in large part due to Panda playing your stuff on the radio station.

You whistle, leaning on Nobara’s shoulder. “Awesome.”

Kirara leans against the wall, considering. “You guys thought about what you’re gonna do next year?”

Truthfully, you’ve really tried not to. The idea of Maki and Yuta graduating is so bittersweet. But graduation means Shibuya Incident will have a hole in their band, too. Kirara will be gone.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Nobara muses. “We could join forces. If we lose Maki and Yuta and Kirara, the only thing we’re doubled up on is drums and lead.”

It’s not a bad idea. And if Yuji is track captain next year and you get that editor job, neither of you will have as much time for the band—switching off could actually be very helpful. You hum, considering. You’ll have to talk to the others.

“Oi,” Kirara says, reaching out to poke you with a socked foot. “Your boyfriend’s in lost puppy mode over there.” You glance into the living room to see Takuma scanning the room next to Megumi and the dogs, probably looking for you.

“Dumbass,” you say fondly, and nod goodbye to Nobara and Kirara before making your way over to him. The boys are halfway through Rasputin and Yuta is, much to Toge’s chagrin, kicking ass. Toge looks like he’s just run a half marathon.

Takuma lights up when he sees you, a mischievous smile appearing on his face as he intercepts you by the hall entrance.

“Oh, wow, what is that?” he asks cheekily, and tilts your chin up to see a piece of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. That was definitely Nobara’s doing. “Crazy that we just happened to—”

You cut him off, dragging him in by the shirt and kissing him, and makes a surprised sound that has you smiling against his lips.

“Crazy,” you repeat after you pull back, relishing the flush on his cheeks. Even after dating him for two months (as of today), every reaction you get out of Takuma makes your heart rate bump up a few beats. “Oh!” he says, suddenly remembering something. “Wait, c’mere, I have something for you.”

“Takuma!” You swat at him. “I told you not to—”

“Boo hoo,” he says, sticking his tongue out and dragging you toward your room, where he dumped his stuff earlier. You quietly close the door behind you as Takuma digs around his bag, standing up with his hands behind his back. “It’s Christmas and it’s been two months. You have no defense. Close your eyes.”

You do, giggling a little as he grabs your hand and presses something into it—something soft. “Okay,” he says, and you open your eyes to see a little stuffed penguin perched in the palm of your hand. It’s fucking adorable.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “Oh, he’s so cute! Takuma.” You cradle the penguin to your chest with both hands, grinning.

“It’s you!” he says, laughing. “Not official Madagascar merch, but I thought it was pretty cute. Your own lil’ Skipper.”

“I love it,” you say, making the penguin do a little dance in the air. You grab its tiny wing and poke Takuma on the nose with it. “Thank you.”

“Merry early Christmas.” His nose scrunches up a little in thought. “Early Merry Christmas? What’s the right way to say that?”

“Happy early nondenominational holiday of your choice,” you say teasingly, because the public university won’t actually say Christmas despite the decorations all around campus.

It’s a running joke among the entirety of the student body that the massive tree in the arts lobby is not a Christmas tree but a secular modern art installation. There are variations of insane alternate tree names on the school meme accounts. The knockoff JU Barstool page even got in on it, and the student groups hosting the Hanukkah and Kwanzaa celebrations.

Takuma’s answering laugh is bright and it follows you as you cross the room to your desk, pulling a box out of the second drawer. “Your turn.”

“What?” He has the audacity to look confused. “Skip—”

You hold up the penguin. “Objection denied!” The box is light and square, and you watch excitedly as he opens it.

“Oh my god,” he says when he realizes what’s inside. “No way. These are the exact ones—how did you even—?”

You had to do some investigating to figure out the precise guitar strings he uses, but what's your journalism degree for if not this?

“Who knows?” You shrug playfully. “Maybe it’s the psychic powers, maybe it’s the housemate I begged to sneak into your room and find out.”

Kirara was more than willing. “Good thing you came to me and not Itadori,” she laughed. “That kid can’t be subtle to save his life.” Takuma’s strings have been on the brink for a while, and you’re honestly shocked none of them have given out yet.

“They’re perfect,” Takuma laughs, setting the box back on your desk. “I love them. I love you.”

He says it so easily it takes you a moment to realize what just happened. He freezes, mouth opening and closing like he doesn’t know what words he’s looking for.

“I—uh,” he says eloquently. “It’s—I mean. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I didn’t mean to say it like that but I did mean it, you don’t have to say it back, if it’s too soon or you—”

Instead of cutting him off verbally, you grab him by the shoulders and press your lips to his. His eyes are wide when you pull back, despite the way he relaxed into the kiss on instinct.

“Hey,” you laugh, one hand trailing up to the back of his neck. “I love you, too.”

The excited smile that spreads across his face is slow and hesitant, like he can’t believe you reciprocate. You pull him back in and feel his grin against your lips, his hands coming to rest at your waist, warm.

“Thank god,” he murmurs between breaths. “Because I keep almost accidentally saying it, and it was gonna happen sooner or later.”

“Least it didn’t happen over the phone,” you grin, your hand skating down his arm and coming to rest in his.

Sheepishly, he admits, “Almost did. Yesterday.” Your laugh is bright and so is his answering one, and you perch your little stuffed penguin atop the guitar strings and tug Takuma toward the door.

“Okay, lover boy. Back to the outside world.”

“Lover boy, huh?” he teases. “Kay, pretty girl.”

“Couple of cheesy ass romantics we are.”

“Mm.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the action so casual and unthinking you want to melt. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The second you step back into the living room, Yuta grabs you by the elbow and presses a Wii remote into your hand.

“Oh, no. Yuta—”

The song’s been chosen for you, and Toge has passed the remote to Maki, who looks like she’d rather die than give a rousing performance of TiK ToK by Ke$ha.

“Well, at least it’s you,” she says. Toge tries to discreetly pull his phone out, but Maki gives him a death glare that could send a grown man to his grave. He nearly drops it in his hurry to shove it back into his pocket.

You snort, patting Maki sympathetically on the shoulder. “Let’s kick ass.”

Three hours later, everyone has somewhat settled down, sprawled across furniture and countertops and the carpeted floor. Yuta’s grabbed an acoustic from the basement and it’s being passed around, goofy Christmas songs overlapping with the still-spinning record player.

You enrolled here with the intention of building a new life, finding a new purpose—new faces, new music, a new place to call home. And you feel like you’ve found it. This is the point of college. You’re surrounded by the best people you’ve ever known, and your heart is practically overflowing with how much you fucking love them all.

After all, your heart is not a finite thing. You’ve just got an endless supply of affection, and you’re not scared of it.

Love is the right word, you think, letting your head fall onto Takuma’s shoulders, legs tucked up beneath you on the couch.

“I love you,” you whisper, just to say it. When he whispers your name, your real name, in the shell of your ear, something in your chest sparks a little. He makes it sound like a song.

“I love you, too.”

directory | prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222 @honeyyhuggs

a/n: that’s a wrap on out of my mind! ahh! i loved this one a lot, and it has so much spinoff potential i’m going a little crazy with it—keep an eye out for the megumi spinoff dropping soon. if you want to be alerted when it drops, lmk and i’ll put you on the jjk taglist. also, greta wrote a sukuna spinoff here—go read!

@bitchkay i need you to know your reblog tags give me life and you were fucking RIGHT ON THE MONEY with these developments

i’m not sure if i’ll start writing other fandoms or not—if y’all would want to see attack on titan or blue lock do let me know!

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You get your job back and celebrate. And then you meet someone at the park.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance

Chapter 17: Gravity

Your knee won’t stop bouncing with anxiety. The sights and smells of the Hunter’s Association are familiar but foreign. It’s been too long since you’ve been in this building, and you feel like everyone can tell. 

Xavier leans over to place a hand on your trembling knee and gives you a warm smile. “It’ll be alright. You can do this.”

You sit up and take a short breath, “I didn’t talk to any of the counselors she recommended. I technically haven’t done anything to prove I can come back to work. What should I say? Oh, I’m feeling much better! My four boyfriends helped me stop being all dark and twisty inside?”

Xavier chuckles and sits back in his seat. The two of you are waiting for an appointment with Captain Jenna, and you’re close to bursting. Thankfully, Xavier is more than calm. If anything, he’s bursting with excitement. He’s tagged along to personally request you as his permanent partner. 

Jenna’s assistant calls for you, and your heart jumps into your throat. Xavier takes your hand to stand and follows you all the way to the door— only letting go when you enter without him. You have to speak with Jenna alone first, and at least Xavier believes in you. 

Jenna is as stoic as always. A tall, thin figure of authority that rivals Zayne with her icy expressions. “It’s good to see you.” She says almost warmly and nods to the seat across from her desk. 

You take a steadying breath and sit, “Thank you for seeing me.”

”I heard you were hurt,” Jenna wastes no time, cutting to the quick. “How are you?”

You laugh sheepishly, “There was a small stalking incident. I suffered a mild rib fracture, but I’m fully recovered now! I’m ready to get back to work.”

Jeanna sits down at her high backed carbon-black chair. The screen on her desk is illuminated with the many open files she has up— open cases of protofield fluctuations, wanderer sightings and attacks, and an increase in flux stabilizer vandalism. 

“I’m willing to talk terms.” Jenna says like she’s opening up a hostage negotiation. “If you can tell me why I suspended you in the first place.”

Your hands clench in your lap, and the scarf around your neck feels suddenly too hot. “I…I wasn’t performing to standard. I was slacking, and missing work without reason.”

Jenna’s eyes narrow, and she leans back in her chair. All of a sudden, you’re eight years old again. Sitting in the principal’s office of your elementary school, wondering what the right thing to say is to get you out of trouble. 

You can tell that isn’t what she wanted to hear, and so you try again, “I wasn’t taking care of myself. I was depressed and not coping with what happened. You suspended me for my own good, because I wasn’t well.”

A beat passes, a quiet tick of the clock as Jenna lets you mull over your words. At the time, it’d felt like one cruelty after another, but you know now– with a clear head and a healing heart– that it was the right thing to to do. 

“I also  heard that you were evicted from your apartment.” Jenna’ voice is even, but her eyes are frigid. “When I inquired what had happened with the landlord, he told me you left no forwarding address. I apologize for that. If you had reached out, I would have made things clear with the landlord and fixed it.”

Sitting up a little bit straighter, you mind whirls at that. Spinning with the conjured alternate present that would have occurred had you thought for half a second. Why hadn’t you thought to just ask Jenna to talk to the landlord? The past three months would be so different. 

You look out the window at the skyline of Linkon city, and imagine a world where you hadn’t been on that park bench. Where you hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to be Zayne’s housekeeper. 

Spring is just around the corner, if you had been smarter, would you be greeting the cherry blossoms alone? It’s hard to fathom that. A reality where you aren’t intertwined in the four of them. 

You shake your head, “To be honest, it didn’t even occur to me. Everything happened so quickly and I was so…well, you know. I was out of it.”

“I regret placing you on leave without ensuring you had a support system. I fear I may have only made it worse.” Jenna’s face curdles with guilt. 

You’re quick to correct her, “Oh no! I reconnected with a friend, and I’m very happy where I am now. I have a new place, and they’ve helped me back on my feet. That’s why I’m here today. I want to come back, ma’am.”

Jenna’s features soften, and her warm eyes fall on you with a little bit of hope. “I see. I’m glad to hear it. Well, as I promised, your position here with the UNICORNS is waiting for you. But, protocol dictates that you be put on probation for ninety days before you’re fully reinstated.”

You nod emphatically, “Of course, that’s fine. I understand, and I’m ready to prove myself.”

Jenna taps away at her computer for a moment. “Tara, of course, will be ecstatic. The others missed you as well– I was certain there would be a mutiny.”

You can’t help but laugh, “I apologize for any grief I may have caused, captain.”

“I prefer fruit bouquets over flowers.” Jenna remarks, and then stands from her chair. A dry joke that she merely smirks at. “Now, I’ve sent a message down to HR to reinstate your ID. Head over to armament and they’ll set you up with a new watch– we’ve upgraded since you were last here.”

You rise to your feet, and follow her back towards the door, “When can I start?”

Jenna smiles in that matronly way she does when one of her subordinates amuse her, “Next Monday. There’s a cleanup effort on the south side of the city, and they need some Hunters to supervise in case of Wanderer interference. I’ll send you the details when you come back Monday morning.”

“Right! Thank you so much Captain Jenna. I…I really can’t thank you enough for letting me come back.” 

Jenna opens the door and you step out, feeling fifty pounds lighter. The Captain of the Unicorns shakes her head, “This was always the plan. Go ahead and check in with the others if you’d like. I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes I need to get to.”

Xavier is standing six feet away. Though his expression is even, you can see the eagerness sparkling in those cerulean eyes. The twinkling of wishing stars. 

“I won’t keep you any longer then. Thank you again, Captain. I’ll be here bright and early on Monday.” You try not to bounce too much with glee, and Jenna laughs at your barely tempered excitement. 

Captain Jenna retreats back to her office, and you approach Xavier. He takes your hand like he might lead you in a dance, but instead just draws you close. “How’d it go?”

“Perfectly, just like you said. I start again on Monday.” You practically squeal. 

Xavier’s eyes crinkle with his smile, and the air around you feels a little bit lighter. “That gives us enough time to get some more training in. We should run some simulations as partners to make sure we’re on top of our game.”

You elbow him with a bubbly giggle, “Are you ever not on the top of your game? C’mon I have to get a new watch from Armament. And then I want to stop by HR to make sure they got Jenna’s message.”

Your coworkers are happy to see you, and Tara nearly tackles you when she spots you in the office. Some confess their concern when you disappeared– how much they noticed you struggling, and how much they fought Jenna on suspending you. 

It’s startling, realizing how much your fellow Hunters cared. Even when you were lost in a fog– when their faces had turned into nothing but blurs and their words fell on deaf ears– they had cared. The anxiety you’d been feeling since deciding to come back eases even more. There wouldn’t be some great awkwardness to overcome, thank god. 

Xavier lingers near you while you’re fitted for a new watch, and the armament team goes over the changes. An updated GPS system. Improved vitals tracking, and increased sensitivity to protocurve fluctuations. 

HR is….hr. It’s a corporate nightmare of legal jargon and people-pleasing. You minimize your time there as much as possible, only making sure someone has it in the system to reinstate you as an active Hunter. 

Xavier treats you to oversized ridiculous boba on your way home. The kind that’s way too expensive but comes in a cute pink cup with a round bottom and three different color gradients. You sip happily at your treat in his car, simultaneously giddy from the familiar weight of the hunter’s watch on your wrist and the realization that the place where your boys are is home now. Forever. 

You hook arms with Xavier to take the elevator up from the garage to the main house and he’s looking at you with this funny kind of playfulness. Like he’s in on a joke that hasn’t been told yet. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, and you hear the hushed voices arguing.

“Don’t touch that. You’ll set it off prematurely.” Zayne’s voice hisses under his breath. 

“I just want to make sure it works! Geez…” Rafayel’s replies with signature sass. 

You turn towards the living room and see a large banner strung up across the windows, a multicolored ‘Congratulations!’ written on a confetti background. 

Rafayel and Zayne stand in the middle of the room. Zayne smiles when he sees you, and Rafayel nearly jumps in utter delight. A party popper in each hand, the minute you step into the room and out of the hall they pull the strings and pop! A sharp burst of confetti explodes towards you, not just from Rafayel and Zayne but from either side of you as well. 

You jump and squeak, turning to see the two bird masked hooligans of Sylus’ who snicker all too pleased. They pull out more party poppers and pop them, covering you with more strings of confetti. 

“Congrats boss girl!” Luke cheers from your right, and then Kieran pops another, “Good job on the— whatever it was! Hooray!”

“Boys,” Sylus calls from behind Luke, and they flinch a little. Caught being a little more than just helpful. The young masked man turns back to you and offers you a sheepish shrug. 

“We’re behaving!” Kieran adds as he throws his arm over his brother’s shoulder, “We can have cake yeah?”

“What’s going on?” You laugh as you pick some confetti out of your hair, “Why all the… confettiing?”

“It's for you, dumbie!” Rafayel scoots around the couch to get to you, “A congrats party!”

“What?” You mumble, looking at the banner, the streamers, and even a sheet cake sitting happily on the kitchen island, “For what?”

“For you, of course.” Sylus adds, walking his fingers up your back and plucking another errant piece of pink confetti from your hair. “For getting your job back. Or for choosing to stay with us. Regardless, the day felt worth celebrating.”

You feel like you're made of cotton candy. Tiny strings of heated sugar spun into cottony webs. So fine and airy that you melt upon the tips of tongues. Strawberry flavored and filled with the memory of sunshine and summer. 

What an utter, lovesick fool you are. And how lucky you are to be cradled in the arms of those who love you for it. 

“You didn’t know that I’d even get the job back,” You argue as Zayne cuts you a piece of cake with a picture of a Hero from Super Hunters punching a Wanderer on it. He places it onto a little pink paper plate and then shrugs as he hands it to you. 

“There was little doubt, love.” He says with certainty. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Luke and Kiera waiting patiently at the dining table, buzzing in place as they wait for their cake. Sylus had had to tell them to sit down with as much force as a father to toddlers, and so they sat– albeit impatiently. 

You wait till Zayne cuts another piece and then take both plates over to the poor kids. From what Sylus has told you they’re barely eighteen, if that. They’re kids. Kids that work for an international criminal syndicate and arguably more dangerous than even seasoned criminals, but kids. 

They thank you in unison for the cake and then you retreat back to the kitchen for your own piece. 

It seems that cake and confetti are not all you have to look forward to in this little celebration, because Sylus drops a large aluminum crate at your feet with an obnoxiously large red bow on top. 

“What’s this?” You ask.

“Your present, kitten.” Sylus says with a grin that’s too smug. “Open it.”

Setting aside your half-eaten cake, you hop off your barstool to open the large metal monstrosity. You pluck the bow off of it and use the adhesive still on there to plant it onto Sylus’ chest. He chuckles at you, and leaves it there. 

You unlatch the crate and you have an inkling of what awaits you inside. Black egg-crate foam meets your eyes first, and then– as you expected– a pair of shiny silver handguns. They’re chrome, with carbon hand grips and red detailing down the barrel. A pair of shiny chrome blades sit next to them, a thigh holster for each one. And lastly, a small pocket handgun that’s baby pink with a kitten on the grip– tiny enough to fit in a clutch handbag.

“There’s more below,” Sylus whispers at you, and you pick up the first layer to reveal more. 

A layer of combat gear. An elaborate set of body armor as pretty as it is functional. It’s similar to some of the armor worn by hunters, but this looks custom. 

“Wow, this is amazing, Sylus!” You breathe in awe. Looking at him, you can practically see him preening like a peacock at your excitement, “Thank you!”

“Me next!” Rafayel inserts himself in front of Sylus and offers you a small, blue box. 

You rise from your crouch and take the softly texture box. Opening it, you’re met with the most delicate, beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen. An elegant chain with little teardrop gemstones the faintest shade of blue. At the center is an oblong, opalescent centerpiece. It takes you a second to realize what it is. A scale. A large, paper thin scale like something from a massive fish. You can only fathom what kind of ethereal sea creature this must have come from. 

“It’s beautiful.” You say, turning to Rafayel with stars in your eyes.

“You have to wear it everyday, okay?” Rafayel insists, grabbing the box from your hand and taking out the necklace. He moves around you fluidly and places it around your neck without request or hesitation. 

“This is too nice for everyday!” You argue, “I couldn’t wear this while working!”

“You have to.” Rafayel chirps, “This is scale from Lemuria. It’ll keep you safe.”

You sigh and concede. You’re not entirely sure what Lemuria is, but it sounds fancy, and if it makes the second biggest worry-wort in the house chill, then so be it. 

Zayne’s gift is a little snow globe. Well, a glass globe with a sphere of ice inside it. Within the ice is a small pool of water and a shell you recognize from one of the many you found at the beach. It’s a beautiful memento, and he blushes when you gush over it. 

Xavier gives you a crystal replica of the solar system to hang up in your room. Each planet is a different precious stone, reflecting the light with sunbursts and rainbows. 

Once you’ve had cake and drank some bubbly concoction that Rafayel mixed, you hang up your gift from Xavier above your bed– with a little help of course. You place Rafayel’s necklace safely back in its box, Zayne’s snowglobe goes on your bedside table, and the arsenal from Sylus gets slid into your closet. 

Sylus comes to you to kiss you goodnight, mentioning some work over in the N109 zone he has to get done– that he won’t be back until late tomorrow.

Zayne, dressed in pajamas, catches him just before he leaves your doorway. And catches Sylus by the back of the neck to press a kiss to his temple. His signature parting farewell. Sylus chuckles into it, and you feel that familiar fizzy happiness at seeing the two of them so content. 

Sylus parts, and Zayne follows you into bed. 

Rafayel and Xavier drew the short straw of tidying up the little party, but you’re sure you’ll see them in bed soon enough. 

It’s been a long, rollercoaster of a day. And everything is almost back to the way it’s supposed to be. You have Zayne. Xavier. Rafayel. Sylus. You have your job as a Hunter. 

Love. Purpose. A future. It lingers on you like an expensive perfume. You stink of happiness. 

If only things could stay this way….

A week later, the weather is warming up. You still can’t leave the house without a jacket but gloves and scarves can be left at home. The smell of earth fills the air as the soil gradually thaws, and the energy of the city shifts from its sleepy, winter hibernation to its maiden-pink excitement of spring. 

You’re back at work. Fighting wanderers but this time Xavier is at your side. It’s distracting at first, watching him fight. He’s as graceful as a ballerina on the field. His precision with the blade is masterful, and you’re caught starry eyed a few times on that first day. 

He pushes you harder now in training. You attend simulations at the Association to get better fighting side by side without the danger, and you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the feeling of resonating with Xavier’s Light Evol. It explodes like a supernova beneath your skin– utter destructive power with the potential to create universes and decay time itself. 

The household chores are divided. A little schedule and a checklist that the five of you divvy up. Zayne doesn’t mind doing dishes, so that’s his preferred chore. Xavier likes to cook, but can’t so he does mostly dusting and tidying. You’re pretty sure Sylus has someone sneaky coming in at night to do his chores, and so long as he’s not making the twins do it– you’re fine with that. 

You should have known it was too good. Nothing gold can stay, and all that poetic nonsense. Something about the other shoe dropping or the calm before the storm. The glassy top of your pool of happiness ripples. 

A phone call. 

Your old phone has been off since your accident on the roof. Better to let it die, you thought. The stalker could just be an unfinished chapter– not knowing was better than chasing. 

It was one of the very rare early mornings that you were alone in your bed. The echoes of your lovers were there, indents in the bed and the sheets from where’d they’d been.

 Zayne had risen for work at nearly three– an early shift that the rest of you dreaded. Sylus had business that night and was likely not even home yet.  Xavier had been put on night patrols this week. His light evol and experience specifically requested by some stuffy higher-up he couldn’t say no too. And Rafayel was likely passed out in his studio, trying to finish his latest painting for an art exhibition coming up. 

Alone in your big bed, the last to rise and it's a nagging buzzing in your drawer that pulls you from sleep. 

Half-asleep, you yank the drawer open and pull out the phone. You’re struck with irritation more than confusion, but when your eyes finally adjust to the bright screen, your stomach drops. 

You’re suddenly sitting upright. Covers pushed away from you as your hand begins to shake. An unknown number. A plain white-blue screen, and the rhythmic humming of the ring over and over again. 

Answer it. You’re feeble, reckless mind cries. Answer it quick!

When you press the phone to your ear and answer the call, you’re met with silence. Barely even static meets your ears. Your hands tremble, but you force yourself to hold together. “Hello?”

Music meets your ears. Discordant and garbled like it's being played through a speaker, and then put through the phone. The sound of wind cuts through the melody before you can hear it again, and dread slinks down your spine, coaxing every hair on your body to stand on end. 

It’s more than creepy. It’s haunting. Is this some kind of threat? Or a message?

You keep listening, Holding your breath so you can hear the receiver over the sound of your own rattled breathing. 

The melody shifts, and you can hear rustling of something and then something that sounds like— children? Playing? 

It’s barely 60 seconds. A mess of sounds and then click. Nothing. 

You pull the phone away to check, making sure the call was disconnected. With quickened breathing, you go to the home screen of the phone. Checking for anything else– a text. A voicemail. An email? Nothing. 

You throw the phone back into the drawer and close it. Rising out of bed, you’re out of your room in record time. This time you won’t be foolish and end up with a punctured lung. You rush down the hall and into the spacious studio. The light of dawn casting everything in a grey-blue haze. 

“Rafayel!” You call, unable to find him for a moment. But a jolt of movement catches your eye, and you go to him. 

You’re not sure why it’s rattled you like this. Why this time it’s made the scar on your ribs ache or your gut tight, but Rafayel is barely sitting up from his place on the couch before you fall into him. 

Chests pressed together, you hold him close and he wraps his arms around you without question. He hums like a satisfied cat, pleased that you’ve come to him, and he seems keen to go right back to sleep. 

But you squeeze him tighter, and hide your face away in his neck. Only when  your inhale sharply does his mind rouse from sleep enough to realize something is wrong, and he holds you all the tighter. 

“What happened?”

“This has gone on long enough.” Sylus states with murder is his voice when you finish explaining the events of the morning to him. 

It’s midday when you’re able to gather everyone together. The living room feels cold, but you’re sure that’s your own anxiety making you break out in a cold sweat. You’ve had your hunter weapon on one side of your hip all day, and Rafayel at the other. 

“Believe me, I’m way ahead of you.” Scoffing, you continue your pace back and forth next to the windows.  Zayne and Xavier are sitting on the couch, but they're at the edges of their seats now. 

Sylus had dragged his tired feet through the door at five am, less than an hour after the phone call. And you grabbed him the second he was inside, and when you explained that had happened, you watched as his previous exhaustion melted away– replaced by a cold, deadly determination. 

Xavier had gotten home around six, and he’d run into Zayne on his way in– much to the blond’s surprise. But a quick call to Zayne had brought him rushing home, the tremor in your voice more than enough to reassign some surgeries and take the afternoon off. 

“I’m serious, kitten.” Sylus practically growls as he rests his hands on the back of the couch. The matching bracelet the five of you wear shines on his wrist. “It is one thing to have your life at risk from Wanderers. This stalker will not be tolerated.”

You let out a strangled breath and run your hand through your hair the umpteenth time today. “The call was nonsense. Some music and some sounds. No words. Not even heavy breathing.”

“There must be some reasoning behind it.” Zayne rises to his feet as he speaks, “Do we think the motivation is simply to terrorize? Or is harm the ultimate goal?”

“Terror has been achieved. Harm has been achieved– which was my fault, but still.” You bark out, and then laugh uncomfortably, “The crazy thing is I think I recognize the music.”

“You do?” Xavier asks.

Rafayel quietly comes up to your side, and with a hand at your waist, he halts your pacing. Being anchored in place you take a deep breath, surprised by Rafayel’s silent support. 

“Do you remember that park near where we lived as kids, Zayne?” You say a bit more evenly. 

“There were a few…”

“There was one. One that took longer to walk to.” Your voice goes a little quieter as you pull the memories from deep within your mind. “There was this carousel. Antique. It cost a coin to ride it and we would– we would go there during the summer a lot.”

“Ah, yes,” Zayne concurs, “Adams Park. You’re right. That one was farther out than the others, but I remember the carousel. Last I recall, it’s out of commission now.”

“The music…” You sigh, “I know it's crazy but– but it reminded me of that. There was wind, and the sound of kids playing. I think….I think it was telling me to go to this park.”

“Absolutely not.” Rafayel hisses, “Even if that were the case, why play into their plan? No. No.”

“I can send Luke or Kieran to scope it out.” Sylus says as he’s already tapping away at his phone. 

“No!” You shout, “No, don’t involve them. If this is dangerous, then I’m more than capable of handling it. I’m telling you guys because the last time I did something stupid I got a broken rib.”

“You’re not thinking of going?” Xavier’s dulcet voice is serrated. 

“I am.” You say, though you’ve only barely convinced yourself of the fact. “Either it’s a nonsense noise meant to scare me, or it's a way to find this guy once and for all. End this.”

“Kitten…” The pet name is purred, but it’s dripping with so much disappointment that it sounds like a threat. Sylus looms like a shadow, reckoning with the apocalypse. “I would highly suggest you don’t do that.”

You adjust the gun at your hip and do not cower under Sylus’ ire. “Then come with me. I’m not planning on doing this alone, not again. Come with me. If it’s a setup, then I have backup. And if it’s nothing, I’ll buy ice cream.”

The park is smaller than you remember it, and the trees are just starting to bud. The scent of fresh rain fills the windy air, brushing against you as you exit the car with the four of your lover’s right behind you. 

Sylus comes up to you once again, adjusting the strap of the body armor across your chest. As if touching it settles some anxious worm in his heart. He has to make sure its real– that it's secure. You’re armed like you’re going into battle, and so are they. The necklace at your throat feels cold, the scale shifting so lightly against your clavicle as if to remind you of it’s presence. 

Your group must look quite the sight, walking into the park and along the winding path that leads across it. The carousel sits as the centerpiece of it. Its once colorful brocade faded with age and wear, and it sits completely still and quiet. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen it last, and you’d all but forgotten those days of summer scouring couch cushions for coins to ride it. Over and over and over again, choosing a different horse each time to make sure the ride was the same. 

There’s a temporary fence surrounding the poor ride, and some tape warding off troublesome teenagers that might think it’s fun to climb on it. 

“There’s no protocurve fluctuations that I can detect,” Xavier remarks while examining his new Hunter’s Watch. 

“I doubt we’re dealing with Wanderers.” Sylus rumbles, hands at his hips and he slowly scans the surroundings. Casually like he isn’t slightly dewy with anxiety. “Unless you’ve got a creep detector on that thing, it’s not of any use.”

You huff in amusement at his comment and go over to Zayne, who is standing stiffly looking at the carousel. “Do you remember it?”

“Faintly,” Zayne replies. “I didn’t come here often.”

“I remember one time we did.” You say, looking towards a pair of horses side by side, one set higher than the other and frozen in time. “It was when we were a little old. Ten maybe? You didn’t want to ride it, and so I rode it alone. I think that– I think that was the last time I ever did.”

Zayne turns to look at you and there’s guilt in his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

You laugh, “Why? You were a teenage boy at that time. You couldn’t be seen riding some childish carousel with some girl.”

“I should have,” Zayne says softly, “Even if I looked silly. I should have ridden with you. One more time.”

You open your mouth to reply�� to ease that forlorn melancholy in his voice because it hurts you just as much to hear it as it does for him to feel it. However, Rafayel’s voice cuts like a blade, “There’s someone here.”

The five of you turn in unison, the path towards the other side of the park from the way you came is occupied by a figure. A person clad in a light grey hoodie, and walking with their hands in the pocket. Their hair rustles wildly with a sharp gust of wind, and it shifts with shades of ash mauve, taupe and russet. 

His pale skin is ghostly, and the dark circles under his eyes don’t disappear no matter how much you try to imagine them away. 

Gripping Zayne’s hand so tightly, you’re sure that it hurts, but your muscles have locked. Death itself has come to stand before you, clad in the face of one you once loved. Wrenching from you a horrid, desperate gasp that won’t leave you. Air is stuck in your lungs, and breath won’t come. 

Fifteen feet away. You measure the distance with your eyes, and dammit, why does your vision keep going blurry? What’s happening? The man is fifteen feet away, and you can cross that distance in less than ten seconds. Faster even. You’re fast. He always said so. 

A step is taken, but you’re not sure if it’s you. Not until you step again. The sound of your footsteps so loud in your tunneled mind that it might as well be thunder. 

Your hand slips from Zayne’s because you’re moving. Drawn from those who wish to hold you to that which you have lost. Back to that void in the cosmos where there lies only one singular star. 

“Caleb,” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, but it is. It’s you weeping the name like a keen wail. Like if you say it aloud it will keep the spectre of his spirit here in this mortal world, and that he won’t slip away the moment you reach for him. 

Through the grey of his pallor and the tired look on his face, Caleb smiles. And when you reach out to him, he’s solid beneath your fingers. The cotton of his sweatshirt meets your skin and it's real. It’s tactile. This horrid hallucination. 

The two of you collide harshly. Crashing into one another like colliding atoms in a supercollider, nothing but immeasurable quantum energy. You fit back in his arms like you’ve never left and underneath the scent of sterile soap and ash it’s him. 

Caleb’s arms are tight around you, hiding you into his chest like you’re the one that might slip away, and you sob brokenly. 

“Caleb…” You wail. Wail like begging for rest, “Caleb…”

You feel his lips against the crown of your head, and the heat of his breath as he exhales heavily through his nose. “Pipsqueak. Oh god…it’s me. It’s me. I’m here.”

<- Previous Next ->

[bachissidehoe]

too far gone - nagi s. & mikage r.

chapter 7 of 7 in the blue lock band series. chapter 1. chapter 2. chapter 3. chapter 4. chapter 5. chapter 6.

synopsis: nagi is so selfish after finally getting to y/n, but he can't help but dream of his manager being involved with both of them too. and lucky for nagi, reo is always eager to please, letting nagi call on him for whatever he wants all hours of the night.

warnings: smut; penetration (male & female); multiple orgasms; semi-coercion; oral (receiving); mmf threesome; fem!reader; submissive!reader; minors DNI

disclaimer: all songs referenced are credited to THE DEEP END

w.c. 2.9k

“Fuck~” Y/n moans out, her fingernails digging into the sheets as Nagi thrusts into her from behind. He fucks his cum back into her, somehow popping right back up after filling her over and over again. 

His hands hold her hips in place, forcing her back to arch as she whines and mewls. It’s impossible for her to catch her breath, each thrust forcing little squeaks from her parted, drooling lips. 

“Little more~” He sighs, making it seem like nothing to fuck into her like this. Y/n can’t even fathom what he’d do to her if he were willing to put in any amount of effort, especially since right now he’s practically turning her insides out. 

Knock knock. 

Y/n silences her whines, her heart skipping a beat as she turns her attention to the door. Someone’s looking for Nagi? At this hour? 

“Sei-” She whispers, but he doesn’t slow down, his cock still buried inside her, pounding her g-spot with every thrust, her walls still milking him dry. 

“Come in!” Nagi calls toward the door, his voice clearly shrouded in a horny rasp. 

“Sei! What?” Y/n panics as the door opens, Nagi holding her hips against the base of his cock with such strength that she can’t escape him. He’s inviting someone into the room to see her like this, to see her so vulnerable with her ass pressed against him, his cock burying itself between her soaked walls and forcing gasps from her lips. 

Nagi doesn’t slow down, clearly enamored with the idea of someone watching them like this, with the sweat forcing his white locks against his forehead, unable to catch his breath as he feverishly rearranges her insides. 

As y/n looks over, she sees perhaps the last person she’d hope to see there, still wearing his suit from earlier with his purple hair professionally pushed back, his skin perfect and his posture even moreso. 

“Reo!” Y/n calls, shocked, trying to process the fact that her manager is watching her get fucked as he stands still inside the hotel room, with one hand on his hip. “Seishiro!” She gasps, louder and more serious this time. 

“Hm? I’m close, hang in there.” He replies, paying no mind to Reo standing there, his expression becoming more annoyed by the second. But still, he can’t look away. 

She snaps her eyes shut, trying to suppress her gasps and moans as Nagi finishes once again, his cock forcing out what little cum is possible after shooting so many loads inside her tight little cunt. 

Nagi breathes, finally pulling out, a load of thick cum flowing out along with him. 

“Hey Reo.” Nagi breathes, falling backward on the bed. He wipes his sweaty hair out of his eyes, his toned chest rising and falling as he finally tries to catch his breath. 

“Hey.” Reo replies, the disappointment prominent in his tone. 

“I’m so sorry Reo, I didn’t want him to let you in- not that I didn’t want you in- I just- I would have told him to stop-” Y/n rushes to defend herself, grabbing the sheets to cover her completely exposed, cum-soaked body. 

Reo only sighs, finally taking a seat on the empty couch. “This wouldn’t be the first time, y/n.” He chuckles. “He loves making me jealous, unfortunately.”

“J-jealous?” 

“Give me like a 5 minute breather then you’re in Reo.” Nagi says it like it’s nothing, like y/n should understand and be okay with whatever it is he’s proposing. 

“You always do this, fucking some girl when you invite me over and I fall for it every time.” Reo sighs again, leaning his head on his hand. 

“And you let me fuck you anyway, every time.” Nagi smirks, staring at the ceiling. 

“Wh- can someone tell me what’s going on?” Y/n chimes in, the covers still pulled over her bare chest. 

“I’m sorry y/n, never wanted to involve you in it but Nagi can’t keep it in his pants.” Reo starts, followed by a brief pause. “We’ve been somewhat of a thing for a while now, me and him. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the rest of the band.” He explains casually. 

“Ah, I see.” She nods, turning ti Nagi. “Is that what you meant this morning? When you thought I was Reo?” 

“Mhm. Thought you knew.” Nagi replies. 

“Last night he invited me to his room and I didn’t go because I was pissed he didn’t come to the after party.” Reo says. 

“Are you- is this just normal- like you don’t care that I’m-” Y/n stutters. 

“Was hoping you’d want Reo too.” Nagi reveals his plan. 

“I expected that much.” Reo sighs, a light smile pulling at the corners of his lips. 

Y/n feels her face reddening once again, her ears flushed and burning as her eyes dart between Nagi and Reo. “Huh?”

“I want Reo to fuck you while I fuck him.” 

“Are you serious?” Y/n nearly chokes.

Reo doesn’t say much, just side-eyes y/n trying to read whether she’s into it or not. Reo’s done things like this before with Nagi- even though Reo calls the shots in the band, Nagi calls the shots in the bed. And Reo’s fine giving up that control for someone as gorgeous as Nagi Seishiro. Not only is Nagi the fan favorite, he’s the manager’s favorite too. 

“Yeah, of course I’m serious.” Nagi chuckles. He reaches over, his long arms finding y/n’s covered body and swiftly pulling her on top of him, the covers sliding off in the process. 

“Nagi-” She argues, but is quickly silenced as her bare tits rest on his perfect chest, her eyes locked on his half-lidded golden-brown ones, overwhelmed by his slight smile. Despite his exhaustion from non-stop fucking her, he’s still got this sassiness to him that only comes out once in a while. He knows he’s teasing her, and he doesn’t seem to care. 

“Come on now, you can take it can’t you?” He coaxes her, lacing his fingers through her hair and pulling her head down. Her lips move on their own, leaning down to meet his. Being around Nagi Seishiro is hypnotic- she suddenly doesn’t care about Reo watching them, or her body being exposed, all she wants is to kiss Nagi. She can only imagine what Reo is like, how perfect his body must be, how pretty he must sound if Nagi continues to crave him like this. 

“Mhm.” She lets a light whine escape. She should be exhausted by now, but she feels her pussy tighten at the thought of both of them at once. He must have drugged her or something, she shouldn’t be able to take this much. 

“Hear that Reo? She can handle it.” Nagi turns his head to look at the purple-haired manager, who looks like a prince sitting on the couch the way he is. He’s still dressed up in his suit, he looks so professional, with his legs crossed and wearing a slight cocky smile. 

“You sure you want that y/n?” Reo asks, ensuring he hears it from her directly. 

She nods. “Yeah.” Truthfully, she isn’t sure. But her body wants it, her body wants to know what both of them feel like. 

“That’s a good girl.” Reo smiles, standing up to pull his blazer off. Y/n stares at him with tired eyes as he unbuttons his shirt and slides it off, then moves to pull his undershirt off his body. He’s so pretty like this, she’s never seen him so vulnerable and sexy. And of course his body is perfect, his bulge pressing on his pants as he slides them down his legs. “How much has that pretty body taken? Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel real good.” 

“Plenty. She’s so good about it though.” Nagi pulls her closer, bear hugging her against his chest. 

“Pretty girl loves Nagi’s cock yeah?” Reo climbs into bed with them, sliding y/n off Nagi’s body so they both lay on their backs under him. “You take that breather Nagi, let me make her feel good.” 

“Fuck, really?” She gasps. Nagi hasn’t done that for her yet, that selfish guitarist. He just loves his cock inside her, doesn’t want a second where his hard shaft isn’t buried in that pretty pussy.

“Nagi hasn’t taken good care of you hm? Poor girl.” Reo dips his head between her thighs, placing a kiss to her throbbing clit. “Look at you, still with cum spilling out. I’ll clean you up nice and good.” His voice is so soft yet dominant, it’s almost degrading how sweet he’s being to her. 

His tongue is like magic against her used hole, lapping up the drops of cum that still leak out of her. It dips between her folds like a hot knife through butter, slicing away at her oversensitivity and overwhelming her with pleasure. He flicks and sucks on her, drinking up her sweet taste.

Nagi wraps his arm around her, his fingers gliding through her hair as if he’s been nothing but a sweetheart to her since this started. He’s so confusing, but everything he does feels damn good. Before she knows it, Nagi is leaning over her tits, circling her nipples with his tongue and pulling her skin between his teeth. 

The sensitivity of both of their mouths on her is sending her to a different planet, her vision blurred with sparkling stars as the knot in her stomach grows with each passing second. Her muscles tighten, her hands find themselves wrapped in Reo’s hair, desperately tugging on it, pulling his mouth tighter onto her stimulated clit. 

It’s like Reo knows her body better than she does, making all the right movements, his tongue finding spots around and in her hole that y/n didn’t even know existed. Reo is truly good at everything, just like the white-haired guitarist sucking on her tits. They really are a good match for each other, even better when they’re double teaming her. 

“So- s’close Reo~” She mewls, her whines and gasps filling the room as she tries desperately to remain earthside. Reo’s tongue is just that good, she might teleport to a different universe. 

“Hmm~” Reo hums against her vibrating clit, finally driving her forcefully over the edge. 

“Ah, fuck~ ah!” She moans out, unable to stop herself from squeezing her thighs tightly around Reo’s head, her fingers pulling hard on his hair. It feels like a wave rushing through her body from head to toe, trying to force a tsunami through her tight little hole. 

“Look at you~” Reo hums, tilting his gaze to look at her from between her gorgeous thighs, her cum dripping down his chin and coating his plump lips. “You sound so pretty when you cum.” He compliments her, so much kinder than the selfish white-haired boy with his tongue gliding across her tits. 

“You can take Reo now, yeah?” Nagi moves it along, eager to continue the pleasure he feels from his multiple orgasms. For such a lazy boy, Nagi’s stamina is unmatched. Even in the evenings Isagi would fuck y/n until she’s drooling sloppily and half asleep from cumming so much, he would be just as exhausted. Nagi is a different story. 

“Don’t worry beautiful, I’ll take care of you.” Reo says kindly, lifting himself up from the comfortable spot nestled between her thighs. 

Y/n always tried not to imagine Reo in a compromising position like this, given that he’s technically her boss, but after making her way through band member after band member, including the choreographer, she often couldn’t help herself from thinking about Reo’s kind eyes, his sweet smile, his likable yet manipulative demeanor. She couldn’t help but to imagine how Reo would treat her in bed, even though it felt so wrong to think about. Turns out she was right, Reo is a soft dom who loves to please, putting her needs first and ensuring her safety above all else. This is the type of man y/n doesn’t quite think she deserves, especially after being such a slut this entire tour. 

Nagi, on the other hand, is a man created for someone as slutty as her. Y/n can’t help but feel a bit bad for Reo, being put in a position night after night to please Nagi no matter how much he’s had already. Reo must have an intense masochistic side despite being dominant with her, given that he’s such a leader in his daily life. 

Reo helps y/n sit up as Nagi reaches into a bag he messily half-unpacked next to his bed, grabbing a bottle of lube to lather on his thick, hard cock. 

“Good girl, bend forward f’me.” Reo whispers, placing a few soft kisses to her temple. 

She obeys him, as it would be nearly impossible not to follow directions from that gorgeous boy. She positions herself on all fours, the same compromising position Reo found her in when he first entered the room. 

Y/n turns to look back at Reo and Nagi, watching Nagi spread a sizable glob of lube on his cock, using the lube remaining on his fingers to plunge some into Reo’s hole, preparing him to take his girth. 

“S’okay doll, I got you.” Reo leans forward, one hand resting on her hips and one resting on his cock as he lines it up with her, slowly sliding it in her abused, soaked cunt. “Wow~” He moans. “You can take it so good.” 

He bottoms out in no time, with y/n already being substantially stretched out from Nagi relentlessly fucking her all evening. 

“M’gonna let Nagi do the work, yeah? He deserves to put in some effort.” Reo smirks, warming himself inside her. 

“Hmph.” Nagi huffs. “You’ll regret that.” He jerks his cock a few times, pushing his tip into Reo’s ass. He goes much slower than he did with y/n, obviously, but he’s not kind about it nonetheless. Nagi’s such a desperate boy, needing his fix at practically all hours of the day, always calling on Reo to indulge him. And Reo can never refuse, it would be nearly impossible to refuse fan favorite Nagi Seishiro. 

“Mmm~” Reo hums again, his cock pulsing inside y/n as Nagi slowly forces his thick length inside him. “Fuck~” Reo moans out, not holding back the pretty noises. He sounds gorgeous, his breath catching in his throat as his grunts and moans fill every corner of the hotel room. 

Nagi thrusts, starting slowly at first, letting Reo’s tight ass adjust to him before fucking hard into him, bullying his prostate with every forceful thrust. As Nagi moves, Reo’s body moves too, his cock fucking into y/n just from Nagi’s movements. 

Reo’s body practically rests over hers, her wetness coating his thighs as it can’t help but dribble out. She gasps for air with every one of Nagi’s thrusts, her fingernails digging into the sheets and her back arching, giving Reo a full view of her gorgeous ass. 

Nagi’s movements get sloppy fast, his body rocking into Reo’s repeatedly, sending shock waves down y/n’s spine. 

“M’close. So close- Nagi~” Reo gasps, whining out as he’s stimulated from both the front and the back at the same time, overwhelming his entire body with an intense orgasm. “F-fuck~” He whimpers, releasing hard into y/n’s tight cunt. 

“There y’go.” Nagi moves faster, abusing Reo’s hole to the fullest as he chases his own high, reaching it quickly. He cums hard again, stuffing his cum inside his purple-haired band manager. “Always givin’ me what I need.” Nagi takes a breath, pulling out of Reo and collapsing back on the pillow. 

Reo pulls out next, cum now coating his cock and his ass. He wraps his arms around y/n’s stomach, pulling her backward so she falls onto the bed with him, right next to Nagi. 

“You okay y/n?” Reo asks.

“Yeah.” She nods. “Real tired.” 

“I bet.” He replies. 

“You got through everyone in the band now right? Our own personal slut.” Nagi chuckles.

“Nagi-” Reo starts to scold him.

“No, he’s right.” Y/n chuckles weakly. “I’m proud to be Blue Lock’s personal slut.” 

“So we can all call you when we want it, hm, we don’t have to dance around it anymore then.” Nagi turns his head so it rests next to Reo’s, suddenly cutely snuggling the two of them as if he didn’t just fuck them senseless. 

Reo sighs. “That’s fine. As long as it doesn’t go public.” 

And y/n doesn’t want that either, publicly admitting to being passed around the band would be a horrible look. However, y/n can’t be happier with this arrangement. Plus, how could she still want to be tied down to Isagi when she has all these perfect boys with expertly crafted cocks to fuck her whenever she needs it? She’s perfectly fine with being the band’s personal slut, in fact, it may be her dream job.

“I’m too far gone anyway.” She chuckles, quoting her favorite Blue Lock song, the first song she ever heard from them. 

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter twenty nine

Summary: Adrenaline courses through Cry Baby as she takes on some deep and needed conversation.

Warning: None, I don't think? Other than it being a Bucky-free chapter.

Word Count: 1266

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

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A/N: I have nothing to say with this one, except MY GIRL HAS A BACKBONE. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez | @am-3-thyst

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602

Your feelings were a mixture of emotions when you woke you the morning after the art exhibition. Bucky’s absence and your revelation of your feelings for him weighed heavily despite the success of your show. You began getting ready to leave for the gallery again, hoping the familiar surroundings and schedule would bring some distractions. However, more than anything, you wanted to talk to your brother. 

You took a deep breath, picked up your phone, and sent him a message: “Can you meet me at the gallery? I need my brother.” 

His response was quick, he agreed to meet you there. The gallery was quiet, a stark contrast to the lively celebration from the night before, as you arrived first. The art pieces stood silently, every pen stroke a testament to your hard work and passion. 

A few minutes later, Steve walked in with a concerned expression. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s going on?” 

Emotions swirled within you as you turned to face him. “I’m not over what you did,” you began, the turmoil inside you betraying your voice causing it to tremble. “But, I really need my brother right now.” 

Stepping closer, Steve’s eyes softened. “I’m here for you,” he assured, reaching out and gently squeezing your shoulder with a small smile. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

You hesitated, taking a deep breath as you tried to find the right words. “I’m in love with Bucky.” Your words hung in the air, undeniable and heavy. 

Steve’s jaw clenched, as his face tightened with anger. “What did you just say?” 

“I love Bucky,” you repeated, your voice was firm.

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to stop him?” he mumbled, anger flaring visibly. “How many times he crossed the line?” 

You stared at him, confusion etched in your face. “What are you talking about?” 

His face could barely contain his fury, his fists clenched at his sides. “Every time I thought he was getting too close, I made sure he knew his place. I did it to protect you.” 

The realization of his words hit you like a freight train. Memories of all those times Bucky would turn up at your apartment with new cuts, new bruises. “You… you were the one beating him all these years?” 

Steve’s eyes widened, and shock filled them as he realized his slip-up. “I was trying to keep you safe,” he said, his voice softening, trembling with anger and regret. “He’s not right for you.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes, anger and frustration consuming you. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Steve! You don’t get to control my life like that!” 

“I was trying to protect you!” Steve’s voice raised, his voice straining with emotion. “He’s my best friend, if anyone knows he’s not good for you, it’s me! I’ve seen what he’s capable of.” 

“You’ve seen what he’s capable of because you pushed him to it!” you snapped back at him. “You beat him up every time you thought he was getting close to me? And, do you think that’s okay? You think that’s protecting me?” 

The realization of his actions dawned on him, you had never seen Steve look so taken back. “I… I didn’t mean to…” 

“But you did,” you interrupted, your voice beginning to break. “It’s not your decision to make. I love you, Stevie, but if you want to be a part of my life, you need to stop trying to fucking control it. I’m in love with Bucky, and that is my choice.” 

The silence between you grew heavy, filled with the weight of your words hanging in the air. Steve looked at you, regret and stubbornness warred on his expression. It seemed for a moment like he might argue back, but then he simply nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For everything. I’ll try to let it go. I just… I’ve always just wanted to protect you.” 

Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around your brother tightly. “I know. But, you have to trust me to make my own choices. That’s what we do, we trust each other.” 

Steve hugged you back, his grip strong and desperate. “I’ll try. I promise.” 

A weight lifted off your shoulders as you pulled away. The gap between you was far from resolved, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

~

You were left feeling both empowered and vulnerable as the adrenaline from your conversation with Steve coursed through you. You knew what you had to do next, you needed to act on your promises, and you couldn’t keep Peter in the dark any longer. 

As you walked into the cafe you arranged to meet him at, your mind began to race. On the way, you rehearsed what you were going to say, and how you were going to explain your feelings. The adrenaline pushes you forward, giving you the strength you need. 

Just as before, Peter was already seated at the corner table. There was a knowing look in his eyes, making your heart ache, as his expression stayed calm. 

“Peter,” you began, your vice trembling slightly as you sat with him. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

His gaze was gentle and understanding as he looked at you. “I know,” his soft voice cut you off before you could continue. 

Confusion washed over you. “What do you mean?” 

He sighed, a small sad smile playing on his lips. “I know you’re not in love with me. And I know you’ve tried to be, but… I’m not him. I’m not Bucky.”

His words sank in, tears welling in your eyes. “Peter, I’m so sorry. I truly never wanted to hurt you.” 

Reaching across the table, he rested his hand on yours reassuringly. “I know you didn’t. I’ve seen it for a while now, the way you look at him. Your eyes light up when you talk about him… It’s always been him, hasn’t it?” 

The tears spilled down your cheeks as you nodded. “It has. But, I didn’t realize until last night.” 

Squeezing your hand gently, Peter continued to speak softly. “I want you to be happy, and I can’t be the one to make you happy if your heart belongs to someone else.” 

You nodded again. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” you whispered, your voice choking with emotion. 

Another reassuring smile was sent your way. “It’s okay. I’ll always care about you, and even if it’s not with me, I want you to be happy.” 

Pulling your hand back, you wiped away your tears. “You deserve to be with someone who is truly in love with you. You’re a good man, Peter, and you’ve been such an important part of my life.” 

“And you mine,” he replied softly. “We’ll always have that.” 

You both stood up to leave, Peter pulled you into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself,” he murmured. 

“You too,” you replied, tightening your hold on him for a moment longer before finally letting go. 

Walking toward the cafe door, you felt a strange mixture of sadness and relief. The adrenaline still lingered, causing you to turn back to Peter. 

“Peter?” you called out, causing him to look up from his coffee cup. “I like Michelle.” His eyes flickered with surprise, a smile forming on his lips after a beat. 

With a final nod toward him, you turned and walked out of the cafe. The sense of closure settles in your heart. As you stepped onto the bustling city sidewalk, you knew you had made the right decision for both you and Peter.

---

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[knnichs]

i love you in the worst way

his work was not what kept him up–tossing and turning on his bed. it was you.

c. goro akechi, gn!reader

t. mentions of shido (i hate him,) major p5r/p5 spoilers, slight implications of suicide (very plot heavy, but vague,) yearning who cheered, not beta read

reupload once more… second part of the first akechi fic, as always original notes are at the end & you can find the og ao3 link here!!

The dimly lit apartment had a comforting emptiness to it, regardless of what everyone says about loneliness. Akechi always found himself missing its familiar quiet, akin to a park with the occasional muffled voices of others. He would sit under the bridge if no one was there, maybe near the lake–or alone on the bench, watching as the birds fly free across the blue sky. Work as a detective would mean socializing with others, even if it meant becoming a little fake towards them. But he chose this line of work, he knew what he was getting into the moment he and Shido had struck a deal. 

Nevertheless, he felt a little sick that night. Somehow dreading coming back home. Maybe it was the insomnia, maybe the lack of a companion–a true one–the entire day. As much as he loved working with Sae, they can get into some heated arguments sometimes and Akechi didn’t need that on his already overfilled plate. It wasn't that, however, that was not what kept him up–tossing and turning on his bed.

It was you. 

If he was being honest, he didn’t think he would ever fall in love. In a romantic sense anyway–with his grand death on step 30 of his revenge plan against Shido (that damned politician) and if everything went well, his poisonous blood would forever stain that man. With patience wearing thin, he wouldn’t dare do anything aside from preparing for the last chapter, the finale, of the famed detective prince.

He sighs, exhausted from the entire day and everyone in general. If he was going to be honest, meeting up with you was the one thing he was looking forward to. But of course, his fans just had to ruin the moment. He’s half thankful, somehow, if he’d stay any longer–his heart would’ve lept out of his chest and taken control of his brain, leaving nothing unsaid.

Just how nice would that be? Seeing the expression on your face as he says things you would’ve never thought the detective prince would say. Three words, spoken in hushed whispers, mumbling too quick that you wouldn’t even be able to understand it immediately. 

I love you, and the words are on the tip of his tongue everytime he sees you.

If you were to ask him, that's exactly what he hates the most. Not the feeling of being a dead man in a body somehow still full of life, or the metallic taste of blood in his mouth after he bit his cheek trying to restrain himself from saying things he would later regret. He would act as if the vision of the white curtains blowing in the wind from an open window and the sun just–shining on your face, a single moment of calm in his lifetime of chaos and fighting. Oh, you would look so beautiful. You would wake up smiling–at him, of all people. It would reach your eyes, an expression of pure joy, and it would forever be etched into his memory. 

To him, it’s like lyrics to a song he’s listened to one too many times. He keeps repeating the same things to himself, words he could only wish to tell you–because it’s you, it’s you who his heart yearns for. It’s you who causes the inner meltdowns because his heart is beating way too fast and his breathing is uneven when he sees you, only hoping that you could somehow pick up on the signs and tell him the same things back. 

A backyard, hanging up the clothes with you underneath the early morning sun. Running across hills filled to the brim with flowers. Traveling country to country, making lunch at the airbnb you two stayed at to save money. The laughs, the smiles–no. He’d be driving himself insane going down that rabbit hole. There will always be that voice in his head that tells him it’s wrong, and truth be told, he’s getting sick of it.

Fine then. So be it, he has other things to worry about anyway. 

The boy rolls over the bed, lazily reaching for the phone he put on the desk drawer and turning it on. 2:03 am, that would mean he had spent the last two hours thinking about you since he got home. 

Tomorrow, he’d whisper to himself. Interview at 10 am, attend as many classes until lunch break–go to the station and help Sae with the cases, investigate for Akira. And a beat of silence in his mind before a familiar name shows up; capture the leader of the Thieves, kill Shido. His plate was already overfilled, and it didn't take long for him to realize that he had to fit you somewhere on his schedule too. What was he even worrying about anyway? There’s a busy week ahead of him and you would understand the distance, more than anyone for that matter.

So, why does he feel guilty? His chest feels tight, this is wrong. You’ve done so much for him and yet–you let him treat you like this? You know everything about each other, you know him better than he knows himself…

That part was a lie. As far as he knows, you only know of his past–but not as the culprit of the mental shutdown cases. You know him from the princely “good boy” ace detective Akechi, he’s done a good job at covering everything up and you–you’re just…

It’s frustrating for him, it really is. He knows you see right through him, you’re the only one who asks how he’s doing after all. You know something’s up, you’ve been with him long enough for it to become an instinct to you. And it's most definitely affecting his plan that he’s developed for years–you were ruining it. 

3:14 am.

He’s still awake. Wondering about the choices he’s made for it to lead up to this… Nonsense. He doesn’t understand why you make him feel this way, he doesn’t know why you choose to care about some worthless child. It’s almost like he’s your greatest wish and to him it's foolish. Who would want someone like him? A murderer, some fraud persona built for the tv, a child who was never loved by their own parents–a curse. 

He’ll have to blow off some steam in that metaverse later, but now, he needs to get rest for the long day tomorrow. 

Slowly, he reaches for his phone. Turning it on only to be blinded by the light–despite it being on the lowest brightness setting–and he stops for a bit to get adjusted to it. He scrolls down to your contact, swipes right, and removes you. 

That was all it took for him to completely forget about the yearning he had just felt, a swipe of the finger, and you were–as he thought–gone.

hi.. im back :pray: heres a part 2 to the last work i made about akechi (message in a bottle) part 3 will be the very last, finally. Valentines (teehee) this is set in the same day as when he left immediately in the restaurant, so !!! yeah thats all okay goodbye :heart: thats all, see u all again next month if i ever come around to finishing part 3 ^^

[kooppss]

Fucking Kim Taehyung (teaser)

Teaser for a still unnamed Taehyung series. This is from the first chapter — their, sort of, first meeting after many years.

word count: 500

He looks in your direction with a slightly amused expression and a crooked smile.

He looks a little surprised, but definitely not as much as you look. He raises his glass subtly as if motioning hello to you.

It can’t be.

Does he recognize you? Does he even remember you?

“You know him?” Sohee whispers in your ear, noticing something is going on with you.

It snaps you out of your shock a little.

You nod as you turn to look away from him. “Yeah, we knew each other in high school,” you reply quietly.

She gives you a questioning look as if saying, ‘That’s it?’ you shrug and turn back to look at the chairman and the new director.

Fucking Kim Taehyung.

From this point, you have no idea what the speakers are talking about. You just try to calm your beating heart and stop blushing like a stupid teenager.

You down a second glass of champagne as if it’ll help you to wrap your mind around the fact you’re standing in front of Kim Taehyung. You feel like you should pinch yourself, to make sure this isn’t a wild dream. How is that the reality of your life? How is it even possible?

When it’s his time to talk, you feel like you spiral even more. His deep voice fills the room. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts for your kind words. I’m excited about this new opportunity. I hope to lead the department through the challenges we have the following year.” He continues talking, you try to listen, you really do. But your mind is in haze. His voice has a calm confidence quality. He commands the room’s attention easily with his gentle charisma and natural charm. And probably the way he fucking looks, because normal people don’t usually look that good. It’s like he didn’t change at all.

He raises his almost-empty glass and smiles. You feel like he’s looking directly into your eyes as he says, “I can’t wait to get to know and to work with all of you. Thank you for coming.”

But you might be delusional. You probably are in delusion. You’re in some sort of hallucination. Because it can’t be happening.

Why does he have this effect on you? After all these years?

Everyone is clapping. You blink a couple of times and snap back to reality.

Sohee is looking at you with an amused look on her face while she’s slowly clapping.

“I never saw you blushing like that for a guy.”

You frown at her. “I’m not blushing. It’s just the alcohol,” you shoot back too quickly for it to be normal.

She chuckles and raises her hand in mock defense. “Okay okay, so will you go to say welcome?” she motions her head in his general direction.

You look to where he stands and can only see the sea of people surrounding him.

“Nah, I need to head out. I’m meeting Gabby at some bar.”

It’s not a lie. Mostly not a lie. You are going to meet Gabby. But if you head out now, you definitely will be there earlier than you told her you will.

Yet you know you need to get out of here.

So you say quick goodbyes to the people around you and deep out as soon as possible. Practically fleeting from the event.

Running away from facing a meeting you're not ready for. Not right now.

This is a very small taste of the story and the vibe. Let me know what you think and if you have some name suggestions ❤️

[nectardaddy]

full throttle | sakusa kiyoomi

chapter three | boss level germ | 🏎️

masterlist

Heart racing and hands sweaty, she took a deep breath before reaching over to grab the steering wheel in the passenger seat. The quick release making a small ding as it's turned into place and locked.

This is dumb. So many people are watching.

But thoughts were drowned out by the passenger door opening and closing abruptly; an all too cheeky smile greeting her, making her worries wash away. "Kick his ass!" Noya yelled with a laugh, "you did it before, do it again!" In one fluid motion, he had buckled himself in and deemed himself her co-driver. Not that she minded; she needed the morale boost that he was all too good at giving.

Only minutes before, the tall, standoffish Sakusa had walked right up to her. Looked down upon her with a hard gaze and an annoyed expression, a mask hiding the small scowl on his features. "Are we racing, or not?" Asking like it was already predetermined, a disservice that he had to, but a given that she would. Now here she sat, mind reeling over the fact that now she had to. Talked a big game and now had to deliver once more.

She knew the street like the back of her hand. But so did he. And he was seasoned in all regard: a pro in drifting, always racking up points for angle and straight up style. It was menacing.

At the end of the day, Sakusa was nothing more than an adrenaline junky who hid it well. Relishing in every qualifier, every tandem, and every street race he so happened to come across on occasion.

But this was exhilarating, a passion he had only ever seen in the eyes of other professional drivers. A drive that was fiery and loud, one of which that might have intimidated him if he thought too long about it.

A passion that was kind, bubbly even, despite the loss she took. Running to his car with lack of regard, only to tell him, "that was sick!" And "that's the best drifting I've ever seen! How'd you do that?" Voice loud, even through reveling in loss, and excited.

Remembering in high school she was nothing more than a girl with a souped up car, and not a clue how to use it, didn't make sense now. She could drift. That was for certain. Drift with a blazing passion that even he couldn't rid his mind of. "You could've fooled me as a pro."

maybe he was flirting, just a little, maybe? but there's no way he'd tell those three that. he did like her in hs after all, and seeing her (almost) beat him again was pretty nice.

he doesn't even know himself, but it was nice to talk to her again.

yn only blew an oil gasket so her miata lives on!! she just has to fix it first

noya's car was insanely messy before today until yn told him to clean it out before the meet. stepping over random wrappers and everything just to get in.

noya is always late to trade classes so that means yn will be too :)

atsumu genuinely stopped asking sakusa things and just started doing them from this point on

sakusa simply wouldn't know what to do with himself if she actually went to the qualifiers. obviously people go, it's a well known thing, but that would mean the public and press see his friends trying to set him up with a random woman.

suna really doesn't care that yn likes sakusa, he's just here for drama

yn will be asking akaashi for help to replace the gasket

taglist under cut

@wyrcan @hilichurl-lover @neuviloved @mayariviolet @wqnsho